#nonbinary main character

Chapter One

The dreams did not always have dragons, but some of the worst ones did. The ones he couldn't predict, the ones that fortold the deaths of his loved ones. He'd dreamt of a dragon lying on top of Ser Duncan the Tall in the months before the tourney at Ashford, and that had come true. His Uncle Baelor had been killed in a trial of seven.

The dragon in this dream was drowning, falling into a mysterious, dark liquid. Had it been water, ink or alcohol, Daeron could not say. It just was what it was. The liquid filled the dragon's mouth and nose, causing steam to rise up from the waves. The dragon was dying, would die soon. Was this about himself?

~

He had been on a boat… there had been a storm. Daeron remembered putting on his clothing and sliding what valuables he had into his clothing after the ship's steward told him what had occurred. He'd strapped his dagger around his waist. Around him had been chaos. Waves and sheets of water pelted the deck while the wind howled around him. Lifeboats had been sent into the water, but had been quickly dashed upon the rocks. How would he get out?

He searched and searched until he found an empty cask in the captain's quarters. So that was where they'd hidden the wine… well too late now. And it looked like none was left for Daeron. He remembered finding a rope and tying it around the cask, standing on the boat's stern as it slipped into the waves below. He'd gripped onto the cask, hoping against hope that he'd live, that maybe his stupid plan would work. Daeron held on, when the water sucked him down. Water filled his mouth and stung his eyes. Blindly, Daeron kicked his legs, managing to get his boots off in the process. He kicked and kicked, not knowing if he was sinking or rising through the waves. But somehow… he made it to the surface. However he didn't have much time to get away from the wreck site with his cask before something, maybe a bit of mast or some other piece of wreckage hit Daeron on the back of the head.

Now he was dreaming.

~

The dragon had struggled, tried to escape, but its wings were too wet. It's beautiful wings were being dragged down, like they'd been dipped in tar. Perhaps that is what the mysterious liquid was. Perhaps the dragon would drown and nobody would know, just like Daeron.

But something came out from underneath the struggling dragon. A fish, with scales the colour of the rainbow, shining in the dim light. The fish had something in its mouth, which it dropped onto the Dragon's partly submerged wing. A finger bone.

The fish slipped back beneath the water, while the finger bone remained. The dragon just looked over, as if nothing fascinating had happened, because it had resigned itself to its fate. The bone did not care for the dragon's attention. It shook and began to multiply.

One bone became two, three, then many more. The bones held together by some magnetic force, becoming a skeletal hand.

~

Daeron woke up to the gritty taste of salt and ash in his mouth. He was wet, that was certain, as he opened his bleary eyes he saw the chaos around him. He was holding onto an empty wine cask, his body submerged in deep water. How Daeron managed to hold on while unconscious, he did not know, but somehow he did.

'Thank the seven,' he thought, though Daeron wasn't really very religious.

Around him laid the detritus and debris of the ship he had been travelling on, The Tempest, an ironic name considering how it was a storm that caused the wreck in the first place. And Daeron wouldn't have even been on the cursèd ship, if it wasn't for his damn brother's mistakes. Maekar had sent Daeron to visit Aerion in Lys, having heard some troubling rumours about Aerion falling in with a group of mercenaries. Ever the worried father, Maekar had sent Daeron to prove the rumours wrong, though perhaps it was Maekar's way of sobering Daeron up. What could be more curing to Targaryen madness than an endless sea voyage without alcohol, travelling towards a land of vice. Clearly, Maekar had high hopes that travel would knock some sense into both of his sons.

'How wrong he was,' thought Daeron derisively.

The storm had subsided so that was a real at least, but Daeron realized he would soon need to find dry land, food and preferably something to drink. The empty wine cask he was clinging to taunted him with the smell of a sweet arbour vintage on the sea air.

"Lovely," he muttered sarcastically, his voice raspy from dehydration and the salty air, "I guess my version of hell is to constantly be near temptation, only to have it ripped from me."

Daeron didn't know why he was talking. There was nobody to hear him except for corpses and gulls. Parts of the ship floated by him aimlessly, some beginning to sink into the waves. Perhaps Daeron would join them soon, at least it would provide a permanent rest from the dreams. If he would only just let go of the cask… but then what about his siblings? His family? Would they spend the rest of their lives wondering where he was? Would they mourn him for who he was or who he could've been? Would Aerion be pulled back from Lys, now that he was the heir to Summerhall?

So many questions. The thing is, Daeron wanted to live as much as he didn't want to dream, which was a lot. But what chance would he have? Daeron could swim a little, having learnt in the lake at Summerhall, but how long would he last in the waters before exhaustion, hunger or thirst took him. Not long, he calculated. Gods he wished he'd been drunk before jumping into the water. At least then he would be a little warmer. His dragon blood only did so much when he was fully soaked from head to toe.

For hours, Daeron drifted along, his hands grew numb from clutching the cask, but he couldn't let go. Something made him want to hold on, if only just to have one last drink. The sky looked so calm and clear, the sea now gentle compared to the choppiness of the night's storm; it would be so easy to drift away in that calm. But the fates had other ideas for Daeron.

In the distance, Daeron could hear the sound of wood crashing against wood, the flap of sails and the shouts of men. He kicked his feet in the water so that he could look around. Behind him, in the near distance, Daeron could see a ship. It was sleek and small compared to the ones royalty normally used, but it was a ship, and Daeron was determined to get on it. He tried moving his left hand to wave at the ship, but after hours of clinging to the barrel, his arm was stiff. It was no use. Unless Daeron rested, his arms would be of no help to him.

'Shouting might do it,' he thought, 'but my voice may be dry from not speaking.'

"Help!" He cried out, his voice cracking from the effort. He tried to clear his throat to make it easier to speak but it was too dry, "Help!"

He kept shouting out, hoping they heard him, and eventually, Daeron could see a small skiff being lowered into the water. He wasn't sure if they were coming towards him, but Daeron hoped they would. He would make them notice him.

"Over here!" He cried, his voice wavering with the effort, "I am alive!"

Daeron could see a few heads on the skiff turn towards him, one man pointing towards Daeron's cask.

"Yes. Please. Notice me." Daeron begged, his voice a half whisper.

The skiff slid through the water smoothly and swiftly, the men's oars moving in unison before coming up to Daeron. At the head of the ship was a person with the most beautiful head of curly russet hair Daeron had ever seen, their features androgynous and ethereal. Perhaps it was the dehydration, but Daeron felt like he'd seen this person before. Somewhere….

The red head reached out to take Daeron's hand when the skiff got within his reach.

"My arms are too stiff to move, I've been here for hours."

The redhead nodded, standing up and stabilizing themself before they started pulling off their jacket, vest, belt and boots.

"What are you doing?" Asked Daeron.

"Coming to get you." Declared the redhead as they slid into the water. Daeron was struck by their voice. Not quite masculine, but deep and husky. It was an attractive voice, Daeron thought.

Gods, the dehydration was getting to him.

The redhead swam towards Daeron, their swimming polished and clean as they came up to the cask, resting their hand on it as they began to tread water.

"I'm going to put your arms around my shoulders," said the redhead, whose face struck Daeron as even more enchanting up close. They had pale green eyes and freckles that dotted along their refined features.

"Alright," agreed Daeron, his voice crackling from the effort.

The redhead nodded again, before they slowly slid between Daeron and the cask, pulling Daeron's arms around their neck, twisting around so their back rested against Daeron's chest, "stay relaxed if you can."

"I don't think I would have the energy to panic if I could," Daeron said with a half hearted smile.

The redhead laughed. "At least you have a sense of humour. Can you move your feet?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. We will kick together towards the boat."

Pushing away from the cask, the redhead swam themselves and Daeron to the boat in a method that seemed practiced.

"You've done this before." Daeron remarked.

"True. You are not the first nor the last person I've rescued from a shipwreck."

"I'm in good hands then."

"Hmm didn't say that," joked the redhead as they came up to the skiff.

"You got 'im Gi?" Asked one of the men, a rough looking bald man with a dark beard.

"Sure do." The redhead, Gi, said before sliding Daeron's hands onto the edge of the boat, “help him in, will you lot?"

Daeron could start to feel the feeling coming back into his fingers, but it was good to have help. The men in the boat pulled him in, resting Daeron in the centre of the skiff. Gi pulled themself into the boat nimbly, as if they hadn't just dragged a man from a shipwreck. They started to put their clothes back on, passing the jacket to Daeron.

"You can hold onto that for me for now," said Gi with a wink as they pulled on their leather boots.

In the light, now that he wasn't trying to conserve his energy, Daeron noticed how the other men on the boat had averted their eyes while the redhead was dressing. As Gi put on their green vest over their shirt, Daeron began to understand why. Gi had breasts. Not sizable ones but breasts nonetheless. A female sailor? Perhaps the wife of one of the crew members? But that wouldn't explain why Gi came out with the crew.

"Captain? Shall we head back to the ship?" Asked another man to Daeron's left, a young and handsome Dornish looking fellow dressed in mustard yellow clothing. He was looking at Daeron's rescuer.

Gi cast her eyes over to the man, "Aye, I do not see much in the way of survivors or materials, other than cask boy here. We can head back."

The other men nodded and began to turn the skiff around using the oars. Gi was chatting with the Dornish man with a serious look on her face. Daeron could not hear what was being said.

The bald man handed Daeron a flask, "Drink slow, lad. And stop staring at the Captain. It's rude," he whispered.

"Oh, my apologies," said Daeron, taking the flask and having a sip. Sadly it was water. "Thank you for the drink."

"Eh, don't mention it." The man grunted.

"I am grateful though. I was being taunted by the smell of that wine cask for hours," Daeron admitted.

The bald man barked out a laugh, "Ha! Some cruel form of torture that is. It's partly because of the cask that we noticed you. Such a large thing! Here we were hoping that there would be some wine left over." The man joked.

"Alas no. Wish there was."

"Did you drink it all while you were waiting for rescue?"

It was Daeron's turn to laugh. "No, I wasn't even aware we had wine casks on the boat. The captain and crew were under strict instructions to not allow any alcohol within my sight."

The bald man gave Daeron a sideways glance, "You a teetotaller?"

"Nope. A total drunk. My father thought the sea voyage would cure me of my lust for drink. If anything, it made me want to drink more."

The bald man laughed again, paddling his oar through the water, "You won't be the only person struggling with that problem. Though on our ship, our captain strictly rations spirits."

Part of Daeron was disappointed but he did not really get a say in his choice of rescuers. "Is it usual to have a female captain?," he asked while swigging a little more of the water.

"Not on most boats, but we pirates are not picky so long as they're a good leader. And our Captain is a good leader and an even better pirate."

"Pirates?" Oh no. What had Daeron gotten himself into, "like Ironborn reavers?" Would they kill him? Ransom him as a bargaining chip to his family? Not that they'd pay it. He wasn't the heir to the throne. Just a lesser prince of the realm.

The bald pirate looked offended at the suggestion of reavers, momentarily pausing his rowing before shaking his head in the negative before rowing again. Around them, all the other pirates were rowing, chatting and singing as they did so. The captain remained chatting with the handsome fellow at the front of the boat. None of them noticed the man's conversation with Daeron.

"Not like those bastards. They have no honour. Rapers and thieves, they are. We don't stand for none of that," replied the bald man, "Captain prefers the term privateers. Sounds much more professional-like."

"Huh," said Daeron, "I guess it does," he agreed with a shrug. He was getting sleepy, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He hadn't rested since he'd been on the boat. And that hadn't been rest. That had been the fevered dreams of a man going through withdrawal. Sobriety and dragon dreams did not make for good bedfellows.

"Sleep lad." Grumbled the bald pirate, "There'll be time for explanations once you're rested."

It felt like when he was a child, his mother telling Daeron to go to sleep after she'd found him awake in the library, book in hand, hoping to stay awake.

"But I…"

"You're safe, lad. We may be pirates but we take care of others. You just rest."

Daeron wanted to protest, to say he'd rather stay awake and alert, but it was no use. His body made the decision that Daeron needed to sleep. With the rocking of the waves and the chatter of the pirates he fell into the realm of his dreams.

Next Chapter

Authors Notes:

Teehee I am so excited to share this story. It’s been cooking in my head for a while. I love the idea of Daeron amongst a swashbuckling group of adventurers. Daeron is the character who has fascinated me the most since watching the show, so I thought I’d give him some love.

Some notes about the story and inspiration:

-Gi (pronounced Gee) is nonbinary but doesn’t really care about pronouns. I based them on my own experience as I am very femme appearing but I’m pretty good with any pronouns. You’ll see that later on in the story as Gi’a gender identity kinda fluctuates based on their mood and what they’re wearing.

-I really wanted to explore some horror elements in the dreams, as I want to show just why Daeron would want to avoid dreams at all costs.

-I was very inspired by the interpretation of Long John Silver in Treasure Planet when I wrote the one bald pirate. (No foreshadowing there. Just character personality inspiration)

Features

- Follow Riley’s point of view, a nonbinary and neurodivergent main character, whose bubbly personality hides dark and confusing depths, just like the sea that they so covet.

- An oil rig is no place for such a pretty face, many would say to Riley before they applied for their new occupation. There are many men who work alongside them, some with far more sinister intent than anyone dares to believe.

- Riley will explore the complex love interests and their characters, all while trying to keep in like with their work contract and their duties below the waters surface. Will they meet these otherwordly creatures with fear or fascination.

- Set in a soft sci-fi Earth, not too far in the future. Technology has advanced enough to provide those who work in the depths with decent accommodations at the rig’s base. Nestled against the ocean floor is a metal gut for employees to rest comfortably within, rusted, yet reliable. It’s deep enough that when one looks out the viewport, all they can see is darkness…

- Watch as Riley undergoes a grievous transformation as a result of their bond with Prince Amniel. No matter how much one yearns for submersion, the unwanted twisting of your bery being will always have consequences…

Romantic Options

The Crown Prince: Amniel Hellun

Playlist (WIP)

In a great show of defiance, Amniel threw the bracelet he was meant to give to his betrothed during their bond ceremony out of the nearest window. To say that he was not pleased to find himself bonded, albeit by accident, to a human would be an understatement. Hard to like and a bit of a brat, Amniel is an unlikable mix of prickly and pompous. He’s more likely to look down his nose at those who cross his path, the only exception being his one and only friend, Lauryn Junias. Putting up with him from childhood bestows one with certain privileges, revealing that Amniel is more self-aware than many are led to believe.

Amniel has a long face, his nose somewhat thin, though straight. With eyes a pretty shade of light green and hair a colorless sort of pale, long and straight as it drapes down his back, one would say that Amniel is bordering on an ethereal sort of pretty. His tail is a pure white, even if his coloring is particularly unfortunate. His particular shade makes him vulnerable to undersea predators, causing him to lead a rather sheltered life within the hallowed palace of Atlantea. Unlike his kin, his fangs are small and kitten-like, and he has a sickly sort of pallor to his skin…

The Second Prince: Memorias Hellun

Playlist (WIP)

When Memorias was born, the kingdom rejoiced, for there would be a replacement to the sickly and surly Amniel should anything befall him. Only for those around Memorias to find that, if his elder brother was staunchly unlikable, Memorias was certifiably strange. Quiet and intense, Memorias has an uncomfortable tendency to stare, not to mention an all consuming love for his pet sea slugs. Every time he circles the reefs near the shore, he returns with at least two more. For those he cares for, his affection can be all consuming. Obsessive, if one is feeling nice, stalkerish if one is not.

Memorias is bigger than Amniel, muscle layered over with soft fat that keeps him warm away from the sun. He has dark hair streaked with gray despite his age, theorized to be from stress(?) — or as Amniel believes, a cosmic joke at Memorias’ expense. His nose is large, and his eyes are a deep black, usually alight with a manic gleam. When he speaks, Memorias’ voice is soft, soothing despite the intensity of what he says. His tail is frilled and a ashy shade of gray. Memorias takes his physical regimen incredibly seriously and his build shows for that.

The Noble: Lauryn Junias

Playlist (WIP)

In comparison to his best friend, Amniel — and the mer who tolerates him, Memorias’ — Lauryn is a ray of sunshine. Sporty, active, and a high ranking member of the royal guard, contrary to popular belief, Lauryn is a well-liked person by those who know him, not a nepo baby raised up solely by his connections. His family’s name holds little weight, they are no more than elevated merchants, even without his connection to the prince’s, Lauryn would still have his position. Once you get to know him, and his radiating, almost too perfect personality, it’s hard not to like him. Unfortunately, not many deign to get close. If you do, you will come to find that Lauryn skews toward awkward and paranoid. Not many get past his outer shell to see that, though.

Everything about Lauren his soft. A sloping nose, full lips, a gentle jawline, there’s something inviting about Lauryn. A great contrast to his nature as a lionfish mer. His venom is potent, and it’s one of his only attributes that keep people from getting truly close to him. If you look closely, you can see the scars left behind from when Lauryn has ripped out his spines, only for them to grow back. His hair is in tight curls close to his head, a pretty shade of black that almost glows when the sun hits it. Lauryn has a smile that can melt hearts.

The Alchemist: Valette Rudys

Playlist (WIP)

Analytical, cold, with a sharp tongue and a blunt manner of speech, if anyone were to give Amniel a run for his money in the everpresent ‘bitch competition’ going on, it would be Valette. Nobody in the palace likes him. In fact, nobody wants him there either. Unfortunately, Valette’s skills as an alchemist has made him more useful at work than he would be rotting away in prison— where he belongs, many would say. If you take the time to get to know him, you will come to find that he can be excitable and he gets attached easily, no matter how hard he tries otherwise. During his free range hours, Valette may be found in the vicinity of those he likes, though still several feet away.

Thin in spite of the cool waters, Valette is an electric eel mer, with a toxic bite and a preference for a more tropical climate. A bit of fat would help him be more comfortable if he actually ate. Maybe that is why he’s always so snippy, he’s cold and hungry. His jawline is sharp and his cheekbones high, with a pair of piercing eyes framed by full lashes. Long curls fall down his back, well cared for despite the circumstances and dark in color. Valette takes great pride in his appearance and can be considered somewhat vain. Denoting his status as prisoner, he is forced to wear two cuffs around each wrist that will begin to emit a shrill sound when Valette leaves the vicinity he is allowed in.

The Financier: Paolus Fazis

Playlist (WIP)

Despite his small size, Paolus is confident in himself and his skills. He has been working in finance with the royal family when he was naught but a pup, trained almost from birth by his strict father. After his father’s death — though Paolus would never celebrate… publically — he took over the royal family’s fortune as a trusted member of their court. Despite his friendly, goofy attitude, Paolus can be a little domineering, a mer who enjoys being in control, though he is thankfully not overbearing. He is very mature and emotionally intelligent, to the point where he was considered to be a sought out bachelor in certain gossiping circles. Paolus is entirely unaware of this, however.