henlo

beware of the unbetaed rambling below

it was sooooo fun to weave in omegaverse with the universe of asoiaf, i am fully aware that a good part of the rules of my omegaverse stands on very traditional and outdated view of the world, it's a choice i made that fitted my vision (it is a medieval based universe with similar rules such as the succession system which favored boys), i do not stand by those values in real life;

i'm sorry if the physical description of my oc happens to hurt anyone. i wanted a brown skin girl (north africa style) since i see so few of thoseand it happens to be my ethnicity. also height difference makes my brain go brrrr so i couldn't help but make her a small bean (well, a medium bean surrounded by very tall bean);

sorry to disappoint but i didn't include m/m and mpreg to my omegaverse, i'm not aganst it at all (it's one of my favourite manhwa tag) but it didn't fell right to write it for the sake of including it and never mentionning it again after;

i made a post about it but the architecture of the red keep and maegor's hodlfast nearly made me lose my mind, i ended on the verge of tears until i realized it wasn't worth it (although i really liked learning about it). i am terrible at translating description of buildings in my head. so i'll be as accurate as possible aside from the things i decided to tweak for the benefit of my story, and i will sometimes resort to the magic of teleportation :)

i understand that some characters may be ooc and/or not written in the way you would have wanted but i'd like people to respect it still since i wrote this for my own enjoyment;

haven't realised how many daddy issues i had, i am still adding father figures to the lady and i can't help myself;

Daeron was dragging his feet in the direction of the rookery. It was one of his daily tasks as Baelor's help or whatever he was meant to be called. He still had no idea what his uncle's agenda was or if there even was an agenda. Nonetheless, the Hand wasn't complaining, so he simply did his best to maintain the rhythm they achieved.

Slowed down by the weight of yet another terrible night, Daeron felt sick. Each day ended with the impossible dilemma of choosing between drowning himself in wine or facing his dreams, which inevitably led to insomnia. Tossed around between hungover, exhaustion and sometimes a cruel mix of both, he took his usual route, crossing the lower bailey, rounded Maegor's Holdfast by following a path adjacent to the spiked moat and, finally, the tower housing the rookery as well as the grand maester apartments came into his view.

The notes of Maelis' scent came unexpectedly to tickle his nose. A few days had passed since she surrendered to peace between them. It allowed them to share greeting nods, fleeting glances, and even small smiles. Daeron felt a bit childish, but he tried to adjust his timing so they could meet again and maybe even interact. He got rewarded when they almost bumped into each other. She looked genuinely surprised. It seemed she hadn't gotten around to mastering her sense of smell yet. He, however, took large gulps in the pretense of being of being a little out of breath. Every time he managed to do that, an invisible force came over him to release a part of the tension Daeron always carried around.

"Oh!" Maelis started, looking up at him while rearranging the books she held in her arms. "Hi."

"Good morning." He cast a glance at the quantity of reading materials and then joked, "On your way to Oldtown?"

The gods allowed him the sound of her laughter despite his stupid joke.

"I was harassing Lorian for more documentation on moonbloods." She explained, "you?"

"Errand boy for my uncle."

"You make it sound like it's nothing." She pointed out.

He shrugged. "It's not nothing, but it doesn't mean it's a big affair either."

Maelis gazed at him with a pointed look. "You're assisting the heir to the Iron Throne, right?"

Past Daeron would have loved to jump on the occasion to show off. But it felt deeply wrong to lie to a person like her.

"I would have agreed with you if not for the fact that my uncle is capable of holding the fort by himself. I swear to the old gods and the new, I have never seen a man so enthralled by crops' yield, rotation, and other things I couldn't describe because I stopped listening."

She laughed again, and once again, that instantly made him feel better. Daeron wasn't foolish enough to ignore that it was probably the biology of who they were that was... encouraging him to have those sensations. It didn't matter to him, actually; the relief she was unknowingly offering him was too good to pass up.

He didn't let her respond as the feeling of wanting more overwhelmed him.

"How are you planning to spend your afternoon? Our fathers seemed to take our betrothal too lightly for my taste." He chukled, a little embarrassed.

A very pretty shade of pink tinged her cheeks at his invitation.

"I was planning on diving into those." She confessed, reminding him of what she carried. "What do you have in mind?"

Good, good. It was going well. He had to think of something now. Unfortunately, all the lessons on the etiquette of courting had long been forgotten. He tried to think of mundane activities. Nothing felt good enough.

She cut him in his panic, "What's your favorite place of the keep?"

He didn't anticipate either that she would come up with something, let alone that. Suddenly, his all-time-honesty strategy came as an incredibly bad stance to answer this question. Was he really supposed to say "the cellar or my chambers"? He would either appear as a drunk or as a pervert.

"Have you ever been to the Godswood?" he suddenly wondered out loud.

"Can't say that I have, no."

"Great! I'll show you then." He concluded.

They parted right after agreeing on the time, both wearing smiles on their faces.

Baelor was glad his nephew requested the afternoon off. Judging by his embarrassed demeanor, he wondered how well Daeron was getting along with Maelis. It was long overdue for something good to land on in his tortured lap.

As for him, he finally saw the opening he needed to summon his brother and Ser Alaric for a much-needed conversation. The Hand of the King wasn't as close to the master-at-arms as his brother was. However, he valued Maekar's judgment as well as remembered all the times the knight proved himself to the Crown.

The three men sat down, a little wary of all the work they each had to ensure the realm stayed safe from the wrong hands. As Baelor was facing two very taciturn men, he opened the conversation.

"Time flew by since your daughter's presentation. We are glad to have her now in full health and overjoyed by the prospect of welcoming her into our house. However, as you might suspect, we have no choice but to question you about her lineage."

Alaric had never left as much as a crumb of information regarding Maelis' mother. He tried to keep the same stance in front of the two princes.

"The identity of her mother isn't relevant to you."

"Up until now, we respected your privacy because we trust you. However, Maelis' moonblood nature must be explained. It is also required within our own family. You cannot benefit from special treatment."

"The answer's simple. I carry, as you both know, Valyrian blood as a member of House Celtigar."

Baelor shook his head side to side, not falling into the man's obvious lie.

"It couldn't have been enough. Valyrian blood is way more dilute in your house than in ours. Moreover, the chances of passing the blessing from a carrier and a non-carrying union are already very thin in our own house, so imagine in yours; it simply is nearly impossible. Maelis' mother has Valyrian blood, there's no doubt about it." He concluded.

Alaric snorted sarcastically. "If you already know, then what am I doing here?"

It was Maekar that intervened this time. "Let's get it over with, Alaric. We need to know if she's of noble descent. And it's especially because we trust you that we need this information in case someone tries to use it to do harm later."

Baelor had imagined every scenario possible, even the worst ones, from a lost Targaryen branch blooming in Essos to an affair from one of his own family members and even the possibility of Maelis being conceived in Westeros with a Blackfyre.

Alaric was thoughtful for a moment. "So, if I assure you, on my honor, that Maelis' mother is not of noble lineage, will it be enough?"

Maekar and Baelor exchanged a quick glance.

"It will." Baelor promised.

What kind of world did they live in if they couldn't even trust the Oathkeeper anymore? Moreover, many dragonseeds roamed the land of Essos; it was entirely in the realm of possibility.

Alaric nodded at their expression of trust and then announced, "Maelis' mother has Valyrian blood, but she is not of noble ascent. I swear it on her life."

Maelis was waiting for Daeron, posted at the entrance of the Godswood in the middle bailey. The prince's attention these days had been nothing but laced in softness and careful approaches. It felt good to be on the receiving end of such treatment aside from the giddy sensations, which she really didn't know what to do with.

She didn't have to wait long before she saw him approaching with a light jog.

"I'm—I'm sorry..." he started, clearly out of breath. "I decided on a last-minute detour—but, dear gods, I must look pitiful."

Once again, she wanted to laugh at his antics. As she started to realize, as time passed , the prince was quite the funny one.

Daeron finally regained control of his breathing and said, "I brought sustenance," while showing a poorly wrapped cloth heavy with hidden treasures.

"Did you steal this?" she exclaimed, half horrified, half impressed.

"No, I found it. In the kitchens. It's like stealing except no one yells at you." He bragged.

Maelis felt a bit uneasy, as she wasn't keen on ending up in trouble.

As if reading her thoughts, Daeron reassured her, "Don't worry, my lady; since it's my doing, I'll take the blame. I quite excel at it by now."

As they sank deeper in the woods, Maelis was surprised to see how nice it felt. Provided she didn't look too high in the sky, it was easy to imagine they were outside of King's Landing. The air smelled better, not a fake pleasantness brought by incense or flowers but the real thing one can only find in nature unencumbered by the touch of men. Moreover, the quasi-constant shade of the leaves allowed a distinctly lower temperature.

She mentally added this place to the list of secluded areas she liked to escape to.

Deep in thought, she hadn't noticed Daeron slowing, then stopping in his tracks. Naturally, she collided headfirst with his back.

Taking a few steps back, she yelled, "I'm sorry!"

He was lightly mocking her. "You're not supposed to look at your feet while walking you know?."

"I was deep in my thoughts."

Daeron shrugged. "Better me than a tree, right?"

She still felt embarrassed, but Daeron wasn't bothered in the least.

He pointed in front of him. "Here is the weirwood tree."

Maelis directed her gaze toward the mighty tree. She had already heard a description of it. None of them were up to the majestic sight before her. The width of the trunk was impressively massive, carried by so many visible roots it looked like the tree couldn't contain itself. Other than the gigantic form of the tree, the colors it wore made it clash with its brothers. The crimson red leaves did nothing but highlight the whiteness of the wood. In the center of it, the infamous face sat like in a silent and eternal prayer. She felt at a loss for words in front of the tree.

"Uncanny, isn't it?" Daeron knowingly asked her.

"Well, yes, but still strangely beautiful, though."

He seemed to agree with her.

"Still, nobody comes here," he paused before adding, "Except sometimes my uncle Rhaegel hides here to nap unencumbered by his wife's or the queen's surveillance."

She playfully tested, "Do you think you'll also hide from me as well?"

"I'm not the fleeing type, don't worry." Daeron assured her.

Maelis glared at him with accusing eyes. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Daeron looked at her, a picture of innocence itself.

She reminded him, "Ashford?"

He looked a little bashful before counteracting with, "Let me rephrase; I don't see myself in need of fleeing from you."

Maelis almost regretted her question as she now couldn't figure out how to deal with Daeron's intense admission.

As they sat comfortably on the grass, she inquired, "why are you so nice to me?"

Daeron laid down completely to answer. It felt too much to unveil himself while looking into her eyes.

"You're a nice person entangled in a difficult position even if you didn't do anything to deserve it. Adding to that shitty base, you're stuck with me, the drunk loser of House Targaryen. Nonetheless, you never treated me as such even when I deserved it. I'm not a perfect person, but I am trying to be your ally despite everything."

Maelis smiled to herself. She was definitely moving from one surprise to another.

"Your reputation doesn't do you justice." She decided.

"Let's grab a pitcher of wine in the kitchen, and I'll change your mind," he answered bitterly.

"You were in the kitchens earlier. Why haven't you then?"

"I... didn't want to look bad for our first official—"

"What about the other day? The cyvasse incident?"

"Doesn't count. Valarr and Kiera were here, and I ended up being a cunt," Daeron dismissed swiftly.

"So selective memory then," she teased.

"See, you already get me," he said completely unbothered as he went into an upright position to unfold the package of sweets. "Dig in. I didn't know what you liked, so I stole—took a bit of everything."

She grabbed a honey-glazed biscuit. "Are you trying to evade the question?"

"What question would I be evading?" he said.

"About what people say about you."

"It wasn't a question."

"Are you always such a hassle?"

The question carried no real harm.

"Maelis, I have five younger siblings. At this point, it's second nature to me. Go on, I can do this all day."

He was having a field day teasing his betrothed.

"Why do people say you drink?"

"Because I do. They're right."

She groaned. "Why do they say you're a drunk then?"

"Because I am." He shrugged.

"Then why do you never drink in front of me?"

"Already answered this one. Keep going."

"Why do you drink then?"

That finally seemed to shut him up, although he still wore a pleased expression.

"I am plagued by dragon dreams," he finally confessed. "Have you ever heard of it?"

"Dragons' dreams, as in prophetic dreams? Like those preventing your house from falling from the Doom of Old Valyria?" She couldn't help but sound skeptical.

"Is it so hard to believe? Valyrian blood has enabled extraordinary things to happen like magic or dragon riding. You can add prophetic dreams to the list."

"It sounds more like a blessing than a curse."

"In theory, I would happily agree with you. In truth, I would give a limb to be rid of it. The visions are cryptic, bear the worst omens that I can only decipher once it's too late, and haunt my nights incessantly." Daeron explained, with his gaze locked on hers.

"So... the wine helps?"

"It numbs enough for me to sleep. Of course, those nights are terrible for other reasons, but I've found myself preferring this over and over. So, yes, it helps." He admitted.

"And the mornings after, aren't they difficult to endure?"

"Oh, quite. This way of life has given me my signature complexion." He bitterly passed a hand over his face.

Maelis grew accustomed to the prince's skin tone. Upon his revelation, the redness around his eyes and the blue hues under them stood out a bit more on his pale skin. She assumed it was his normal color. However, if Maelis based herself on the sibling that resembled him the most, which would probably be Daella, it was obvious that his skin tone was lighter than it should have been.

Adding to that, she thought again of the reputation he was stuck with. How unfair it was that people chose to relay half-truths as long as they entertained them. How powerless her betrothed might be in regard to those mean words and opinions. How alone he must feel, having to face his dreams during the night and, even as a prince of the realm, ill-intentioned people during the day.

"Isn't there anyone who can help you? Maybe someone who shares the same burden?" she asked.

"My uncle Rhaegel suffers from them too. Unfortunately, he endured a very bad rut when he was around my age, similar to the one you had during your presentation, actually. That left his brain with permanent damages. He's still a very sweet man, but it's very difficult to maintain a serious conversation with him."

"Isn't he married?" Maelis suddenly remembered, with a pained expression.

"He is. To Alys Arryn. What's with the face?"

She whispered as if sharing a forbidden secret. "They have children."

"Yes, they do. My twin cousins Aelor and Aelora," he confirmed.

"Doesn't it make you uncomfortable? He's... impaired. How does one—You can't—It's not... right!"

"Oh, right. I understand what you mean. However, I believe there were some... 'lucky' encounters between him and his wife during one of his ruts," Daeron shrugged. "Believe me, he was exactly where he wanted to be."

Maelis wanted to slap her own brain before it started to run wild with imagination, but the damage was done. There was a high possibility she would end up with the same fate as Alys Arryn. Worse even, since her biology was meant to respond to that of her future husband. Each time she grazed the subject in one of her books, she ended up not being able to read through it all for how embarrassed it made her.

No, no. There was no way she would let anything damage the friendship they were slowly building. Her father's words about Daeron not being the worst choice finally made sense. Sure, she wasn't impatient to witness him drunk out of his mind or in the throes with his nightmares, but for one, she wasn't perfect either, and secondly, everything about him was slowly starting to make sense. Enough sense to shift her perspective on her impending marriage.