thoughts...

—

Although it was true that Daeron was the dragon dreamer of the family, prophetic and misconstrued dreams plagued three of Maekar’s six children. It wasn’t something your husband talked about often, but you knew he understood the weight of them. He’d familiarized himself with the history and legacy of his house from the time he could read. Of course he knew who throughout his ancestry possessed this rare skill. 

It wasn’t something Daeron could hide. Plagued the most, he chose to drink, gamble, and lust his way through the nights to avoid them. Aerion, however, was much more reserved about it.

When your marriage was first arranged, neither of you were thrilled. You didn’t want to leave your home in Highgarden, and Aerion had no interest in some simpering girl who couldn’t meet his gaze without trembling. Despite his fondness for women, he preferred having the choice. What fun was it if you didn’t know how to play the game with him? 

You were summoned to court shortly after the news of Baelor’s death. Maekar, clinging to what little good he could make of his family after everything that happened, was desperate for a girl that could whip his son into shape. He needed a girl that was strong as well as beautiful, smart as well as dignified. He needed a match for his son that would hopefully finally make a man out of him. After carefully examining the eligible daughters of the Great Houses, you were selected. Within a fortnight of Lord Tyrell receiving the raven, you were on your way to King’s Landing.

Much to his father’s dismay, Aerion was the first to greet you upon your arrival. He didn’t even let Maekar get a word in before he stepped up to the carriage once the door was opened, offering you his hand to help you down. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought the action chivalrous and princely. But you’d heard plenty of tales of the prince before your arrival. You knew this was a calculated move, a test. He was purely waiting to see whether you’d pass or fail. 

Without missing a beat, you hiked your skirts up with one hand and gripped his hand tightly with the other. “Did you know you can smell the shit for miles coming into the city?” 

You carefully stepped over a pile of mud as he helped you down, letting go of him to smooth out your skirts. Once you were satisfied with your appearance, you looked up to meet him in the eye. He didn’t say a word, but you could see the intrigue in his gaze. He cocked his head to the side, glancing back at Maekar.

“Did you hear that, Father?” he hummed, clearly amused by his father’s usual grimace that was temporarily stunned into a look of confusion. “You can smell the shit for miles.”

You remembered your lessons, curtsying carefully. “My lord. It is an honor to meet you. I thank you for the invitation.”

You spoke like the lady he’d hoped you would be, but Maekar could hear the disgenuine tone in your voice. Either you were even smarter than you looked, or he’d made a grave mistake. Only time would tell. 

“The journey was comfortable, I hope?”

More pretty words his own mother had taught him to say. Princes were supposed to care about hospitality and manners, as though they were golden knights among mere men. He’d always found it to be a load of bullshit, but he’d grown accustomed to it over the years. He’d never heard a lady of a noble house speak to him with anything but the carefully crafted words their mothers or septas taught them to say when addressed by a lord. But here you were, swearing upon your first meeting with them. He couldn’t help but begin to like you. 

“Highgarden must smell pleasant with all those gardens,” Aerion mused, gaining your attention. “Does the smell of our city offend you, my lady?”

“Aerion—”

“Nonsense, my prince,” you answered sweetly, taking a deep breath of city air. “It suits me just fine. Shit and all.”

Maekar couldn’t help but laugh, trying and failing to stifle it. “Shit and all, my lady?”

“Shit and all.”

—

The following days were spent getting to know your new home and your betrothed. Aerion, ever the little shit, did all he could to bother you. But not once did you let him phase you. Every harsh word, every too tight grip, every whim he wanted you to indulge him on, you endured it. His father was never far, always watching with a scrutinizing stare to see if you’d slip up. He watched for days and days, but you never once faltered. Whatever tests he and his son had for you, you’d passed them with flying colors. He grew surer and surer about his decision to betroth you by the day. 

When the day of your wedding finally came, Aerion was enamored with you. 

He didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t help himself. He liked you. Your beauty, your wit, your tenacity. He thought he would enjoy making you squirm and wince, but he found himself enjoying the chase more. Your bark was every bit as big as his, and he could only hope your bite was the same. 

He used to shudder at the idea of becoming soft for someone. The only woman he ever got that way for was his mother, and she was long gone. He had no intention of ever letting that part of himself surfacing again, yet you brought it out of him as you slowly settled into your marriage. 

He was still every bit as harsh and possessive as he was the day he’d met you. But where he used to dig his claws in, he now favored a tight grip. His bite had turned into nothing more than a nip. He was learning to love you how you deserved to be loved, unwilling to settle for anything less.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes — the prince was head over heels for his wife.

Despite his closeness to you, Aerion was a tough nut to crack. He was always fond of jokes and deflection when the moment turned serious. Any time you prodded into his past, he’d gently guide you away with a sharp quip or wandering hand. More often than not, you’d let him. But over time, you slowly wore him down. 

It took him weeks into your marriage to even admit that he had strange dreams. You’d pried the information from him the third night in a row you’d found him staring up at the canopies once you started sharing a bed.

“It’s just dreams,” he scoffed once you sat up and looked at him with concern in your gaze. “They don’t mean anything.”

You frowned, reaching up to smooth a hair out of place back down. “You need your rest, Aerion. You annoy me as it is. I will not indulge a husband comparable to a whining child all day tomorrow because he was too stubborn to sleep.”

Aerion stifled a grumble, turning his head to nip at your wrist. He caught it when you tried to pull away, pressing a kiss into your skin instead. You let your wrist go slack in his grip, watching as he guided your hand back into his hair.

“So spoiled,” you whispered, but you were smiling as he relaxed into the pillows once more.

Aerion huffed, closing his eyes. “I am what you made me.”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?”

“It is.”

“It has nothing to do with being a brat all your life before I came along?”

“Shut up, woman.”

“Excuse me?” you asked with a raised brow, pulling your hand away.

“No, no, no, no,” he rushed out, hastily pulling your hand back to his head. “I take it back, I take it back.”

You rolled your eyes, relenting. “Of course you do.”

—

As your marriage progressed, Aerion’s dreams got worse. 

They were violent affairs. Before you, he dreamed of dragon fire and burning cities, the stench of death filling his nose. And before you, these dreams didn’t bother him much. Death was an inevitable thing. He would greet death as he greeted life, with a glint in his eye and a sword in his hand. It was no matter to him. The lives he took, or the one that claimed his, it was all inconsequential. It was a fate his ancestors met for centuries before him, and it was a fate his descendants would meet for centuries after him. 

As his affection for you grew, his dreams began to shift. What was once vague and out of body became too up close and personal. The faceless men he’d watch be slaughtered suddenly began to morph into you, his beloved wife he’d burn down cities for.

The first time it happened, he was dreaming of your wedding day. 

He dreamt of you standing at the altar with him, your beautiful gown flowing behind you. Your hair was done flawlessly, every pin placed with purpose. You smelled of roses and sunlight. Your father had arranged to have oils sent to you to remind you of home. Aerion felt weak in the knees the first time he smelled them on you. You had to pry him off you every time he’d get a whiff in passing and promptly bury his nose in your neck. 

He dreamt of your smile, the way your gaze met his as you said the vows countless others had made before you. Up until that point, it was perfect. It was a happy memory. 

But then your smile faltered.

You lowered your head slowly, grasping at the fabric banded across your stomach. Aerion watched in confusion until he felt dread spread throughout his chest, watching in horror as blood began to seep through your dress. You clutched helplessly at your stomach, looking to Aerion for help with desperate eyes, but there was nothing he could do. His own hand moved to cover yours, pressing down as hard as he could to stem the bleeding. But it was to no avail. You were bleeding out.

You crashed to your knees, clutching at his shoulders like a scared little child. He could hear himself screaming. It was a carnal and pained sound, a wail like the one his mother used to make when it was time to bring a new little brother or sister into the world. He felt like he was drowning in it. 

He clawed and pawed at you, desperately looking around for help from someone, anyone. But help didn’t come. He had no choice but to watch you bleed.

He finally ripped himself from the dream when the light left your eyes, shooting up in the bed with a gasp from breath. His chest heaved as he panicked, blindly reaching over to your side of the bend until he could feel warm skin under his palm. 

“Mmm,” you groaned, shifting onto your side as you cracked open an eye. “Aerion? What is it?” 

I watched you die, he immediately wanted to say. I couldn’t save you. 

But Aerion was full of pride. It pained him to admit vulnerability. He already choked on his love for you as it was. He couldn’t stomach the inevitable look of pity in your eye when he told you the truth. So he took a shaky breath, slowly laying back down.

“I dreamt I was falling,” he murmured, patting your thigh. “Go back to sleep.”

You frowned, throwing a leg over his hip to hold him down. “That’s silly.”

You twisted and turned in his grip until you were pressed flush against him, your limbs intertwined. One hand reached up to thread through his hair, the other resting on his arm. He let out a content purr, like a cat who’d just found a warm lap to sit in. 

“There,” you whispered, resting your head on his chest. “I’ve got you. You can’t fall.”

He turned his head until his nose was buried in your hair. “Clever girl.”

—

The dream repeated itself often in various forms, always ending the same way — he couldn’t save you. 

Whether it be by his hand or another’s, he’d watched you die now more times than he could stomach. Aerion wasn’t as foolish as some of his ancestors. He knew what the dreams were, and he knew they weren’t to be ignored. 

Not when it came to you. 

Still, though, he couldn’t talk to you about it. What if you didn’t understand? What if you laughed at him? What if you looked at him like he was crazy? What if—gods forbid—he burst into tears like some sniveling child clutching at his mothers skirts? 

Before his mother passed, all of his siblings had nightmares at some point bad enough to send them climbing into her bed. Maekar was absolutely no help when it came to comforting his children. 

“It’s not real,” he’d grumble, shifting over in the bed to get whichever child it was off of him. “Don’t be silly.”

Dyanna was kinder. “It was real to them.” 

She’d sit with them until they calmed, rubbing their backs and stroking their hair. Then she’d take them back to their room and tuck them into bed, promising them a restful sleep now that they’d chased the bad dreams away. Aerion’s mother had been gone for years now. He hadn’t had anyone to chase the dreams away in quite a long time, and he didn’t want the burden to fall on you. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t comfort himself, though. 

You’d feel him reach for you in the night, clinging to you even worse than he normally did. He’d hold you close, whispering something you couldn’t quite make out into your skin. If you rolled away from him, he’d drag you back into his chest and lock his arm around your waist. If some part of him wasn’t touching some part of you, you’d get an earful in the morning about it. 

As the dreams progressed, the worse about it he got.

One day, he decreed that you couldn’t leave his side unless absolutely necessary. “Where else do you have to be that’s more important than by my side?”

It was ridiculous, but he looked adorable when he pouted. You couldn’t help but goad him on. 

“So, I'll never have anything for myself again? I have to follow you around to training, to meetings, to wherever you’re summoned? I can’t spend time in the gardens, or meet with any of the ladies of the court?”

“They’re quite dull, I assure you,” he shrugged, a goblet of wine poised at his lips. “We can go to the gardens if you wish. But not by the little yellows ones. They make my eyes water.”

He’d discovered that after following you in one day. He was sneezing for a week before he figured out that the few you’d plucked and gathered into a vase for your room was causing it. He promptly threw the entire thing out the window. 

“You’ll go to the gardens with me?” you asked with a raised brow. 

He smirked, and you knew his intent was less than innocent. “We can hide behind the ivy walls and play a little game. See just how quiet my girl can be.”

You laughed, but there was a shred of annoyance in your tone. “I am not a dog to be leashed, Aerion. You can’t command me to be by your side every second of every day.”

“Can’t I?”

You narrowed your eyes at home. “You can if you tell me why.”

“Because I said so?” he mused, narrowly moving out of the way fast enough to avoid your attack on his arm. “Can’t a husband want his wife by his side?”

“Can’t a husband be honest with his wife?” you countered, grinning when he glared. 

You reached for him, taking his hand in yours. “When you’re ready to tell the truth, we can open this discussion again. Until then, I’m going to the gardens. You’re free to do as you wish, husband. Do behave yourself.”

You turned and walked away before he could protest. He watched you go with a longing ache in his chest, willing himself to call out to you. But his pride wouldn’t let him. Instead, he let you go. 

—

This behavior continued until it all came to a head one night when a dream ripped him from sleep like claws digging into his side, piercing his skin. 

He shot up into the dark with a cry, sucking in air like it was the last breath he’d get. His hand fumbled in the dark for any inch of warm skin he could get his hands on, but dread settled in his stomach when all he felt was cold sheets below his palm. His mind was still muddled with sleep, his heart racing in his chest. He’d yet to get his bearings, but he willed his brain to catch up with his body as he frantically reached around for you. 

It was the middle of the night — where could you have gone? Has something happened to you? Did someone come in and take you? Did you leave him? 

He nearly made himself sick, bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of any one of those possibilities. He quickly ripped the sheets off his body, clambering to his feet. He stumbled around as he looked around for the clothes he’d kicked off the evening before, finding his shirt at the foot of the bed and his pants across the room on the floor. He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes that he willed not to fall as he moved around in the dark with nothing but a single candle to light the way. 

Just as he reached for his shirt, he heard the chamber door creak open with a groan. He immediately lunged for the sword he kept by his bedside, only to stop in his tracks when his wild gaze met your bewildered one. He stared at you in shock for a moment before he finally snapped out of it, his face growing cold. 

“Where were you?” he demanded to know, dropping the sword and the shirt he had balled up in his fist. 

You gently shut the door behind you, setting down the plate you’d taken from the kitchen on the side table. “I was hungry?”

You cautiously approached your husband as if he was a cornered animal, gently reaching out to brush the tips of your fingers along his arm. “What’s going on?”

“You weren’t here!” he spat, pulling away from you like your touch burned. “Why didn’t you wake me? Why did you leave?”

“Aerion—”

“I told you not to leave my side!”

“Aerion!”

There was clearly a lot more going on here than meets the eye. You gently shushed him, reaching for him again, this time with a firmer grip. You could feel him flinch under your grasp, but you didn’t relent. He fussed and whined like a child until you managed to catch both of his wrists, squeezing them until he finally let his arms go lax. 

“There,” you murmured, releasing your grip to slide your hands into his. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

He was breathing heavily as he clung to your hands, a look of distrust in his eye. You frowned, reaching one hand up to run your thumb along his cheekbone. 

“What is it, Aerion?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead pulling you into a bone crushing hug. He would’ve knocked you off your feet if you hadn’t dug your heels into the floor to brace yourself. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying your best to sooth him. 

“What is it, love?” you asked once he’d calmed down some. “What happened?”

He whispered something into your skin, unwilling to pull away even an inch to speak more clearly. 

But you didn’t need to hear him. You’d been seeing the change in him for weeks now. The restless nights, the fidgeting in his sleep. The way he’d refuse to talk about it, always throwing you off the scent. He wasn’t going to talk about it until you forced him to. 

“A dream?” you asked.

His silence was enough of an answer. 

“Someone hurt you?” you gently prodded, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. “Someone hurt me?”

He winced, a blazing look in his eyes. “Never. I will never let anyone hurt you.”

His voice wobbled as he spoke, and you felt something crack in your chest. You slowly guided him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed, silently asking him to sit. When he did, you promptly tucked yourself into his lap, your eyes level with his. He held you so tight that all you could manage was shallow breaths. 

“I’m safe,” you tried to reassure him, speaking softly but surely. “You’re safe. We’re alright.” 

Aerion nuzzled his nose into the crook of your shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I told you not to leave.”

You would’ve scolded him if he didn’t sound so pathetic. You cupped his cheeks, squishing them together until his lips puckered into a pout. You could tell he was scowling, but he made no move to pull away. Any touch from you would be welcomed with open arms.

“Stubborn thing,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He scoffed. “And say what? ‘My love, I keep having dreams of you dying horrible deaths where there’s nothing I can do to stop it?’ That’s what you want to hear?”

“That’s a start,” you mused, brushing his hair back with gentle hands. 

Aerion rolled his eyes, turning his head to nip at your palm. “You’re a pain.”

You laughed, pinching his cheek. “Takes one to know one.”

Aerion grumbled to himself, pulling you closer. He was always like this. He always had to be touching you, feeling your skin on his. Now you understood why. You let him squeeze the life out of you, running a hand up and down his back. 

“You smell like wine,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Have you been drinking?”

“Sometimes it stops the dreams,” he shrugged. 

You sighed, pulling back to look at him. “It also makes you restless. You never sleep well, and you always complain about your chest burning. If you want to sleep dreamlessly that bad, we should ask the Grand Maester if he can make you something.”

Aerion didn’t answer you, too busy analyzing every nook and cranny of your face as if it was the last time he’d get to see it. He scowled at the dreaded love and affection he felt for you growing tenfold when he saw the concern in your eyes. 

“He’ll just tell me to drink tea. I hate tea. It tastes like grass.”

You hummed, leaning forward until your nose brushed his. “I have a question.”

“I don’t have an answer.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Do you have good dreams? Happy ones? Or is it only the nightmares?”

Aerion thought a moment before shaking his head. “I have good ones too.”

“Well? Don’t leave me guessing.”

He let his hands settle on your hips, gently squeezing. “Days at Summerhall. Mother telling me a story. You…the day you arrived.”

“Such a sap,” you mused, patting his cheek.

Aerion groaned, dramatically flopping back onto the bed. He dragged you down with him, refusing to let go until you were pressed flat against him like a weighted blanket. Only then did he let you reach for the covers, letting you shift until you were comfortable. You relaxed into the warmth of him. 

“I didn’t even get to eat the bread I took.”

Aerion bit back a grin. “Well, excuse me for wanting to hold my wife. Think you can hold out till morning, you bottomless pit?”

You smacked his arm, earning a laugh. “Bottomless pit? Do you want me to stab you? That can be arranged, husband.”

“I’m sure it could,” he replied, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Sleep.”

You frowned. “What about you? The dreams.”

You could feel him shake his head. “I think you’ve chased them away, love.” 

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, hoping he couldn’t feel the heat of the one pressed against his chest. He softened underneath you, the tension in his muscles starting to ease. His breaths got shallower as sleep started to take hold. You spared a glance up at him once you felt his hands loosen their grip on you. You smiled at the look of peace on his face.