got hyperfixation vault

an: first time writing in this format plz enjoy :3

Daeron tries not to be a jealous lover, but he is too painfully aware of his own shortcomings. He torments himself, contemplating how your other suitors are better with the sword or lance. It is his deepest fear when it comes to you, that you might see him for who he is- a failure. When he is in a self-deprecating mood, all your kindest words are like water against stone: it takes a momentous amount of effort to wear his misery down.

Before your betrothal, Daeron hovered around you and your companions like a moth to a flame, cautious of being seen too clearly in your radiant light. Despite the fact that your father had planned to wed you for another for some time, he was determined to steal your affections away. He would compliment you, ask you about the books you were reading, all the while oblivious to the way you laughed around him, or how you would always lean close to him when he spoke, eyes gazing at him with pure sincerity.

If a suitor approaches you, perhaps paying you a compliment or asking for a dance, Daeron has no shame cutting in with a withering remark. When his wits are about him he is able to temper his wrath, keeping his words light and humorous, focusing on making you laugh. He fears your disdain, your disgust. In the times he has overstepped, wine loosening his tongue, the look in your eyes hits him like a knife to the chest. He has learned not to risk it.

When your suitor managed to get you alone for a walk in Summerhall’s gardens, Daeron would slink back to the tavern, drowning himself in whatever wine the barkeep served him. Every regular patron of that tavern had heard him bemoaning his fate. He imagined the other man’s hands all over you, his envy rotting inside him like a fungus. Yet whenever he saw you again the look in your eyes would melt his pain away instantly.

When your betrothal to Daeron was finally announced, a weight lifted off of him and he was lighter than he had been since the dreams first plagued him. He spent every moment he could in your company. When your former suitors approached you he would stand beside you, still as death, his face a rigid mask of courtesy. He barely tolerated them speaking to you, and his eyes would follow them as they walked away.

Even once you were wed, Daeron would fear losing you. He never feared you would leave him, but he feared you would wish to. A part of him hated his selfishness for trapping you with him and his dreams and his drinking. He never could truly understand why you wanted him so. He wished he could see himself as you did. You were always so generous, so understanding. It would take years for him to accept that he had been blessed, and that you were his, whether he deserved you or not.

Tourneys were particularly painful for Daeron. He saw the way you cheered when knights unhorsed one another, and how you looked on while another lady was crowned queen of love and beauty. It had been bad enough with his father breathing down his neck. Once you were alone, he would rut into you, apologizing for not being a good enough warrior, not being able to place a crown on your head. No matter how much you reassured him you did not mind, that you were relieved you did not have to watch him risk his life, still he would weep and apologize as he took you. It was not until he lay still, resting his face on your chest, that his tears finally dried.