Chapter Text
When they were mere boys, Daeron had done something he couldn't take back, and that was showing kindness when he shouldn't have.
Aerion perceives kindness as pity, and it angered him so much that he casts Daeron aside with resentment, not seeing him as his older brother, but a burden among their family, one that had been born first to ruin them, and worse an omega, because omegas were meant to beautiful, and Daeron wasn't.
That hadn't stopped Aerion from climbing into his bed, and taking what he wanted. It was a routine that Daeron had grown numb to as Aerion appears contented and radiant during the day while Daeron drinks more.
It wasn't a mistake, but a violation, his brother had threatened to go to Aegon's room instead if he didn't spread his legs for him, and Daeron didn't fight as hard as he could, because he was grieving the lost of his brother. Aerion was no more to him, the boy was dead and in his place was a monster so cruel.
It becomes worse when they're headed to the capital, and they're meant to be wards of the king because he wanted his grandchildren at court. He wanted to see what they could bring to their family; and after he's summoned them individually to share tea with him in his solar for an hour, he comes to his conclusion a week later, so Aemon is sent to the Citadel, Rhae and Daella are too young and are to remain in Summerhall in wait of future considerations, as Aegon becomes a cupbearer, but Aerion is granted a promise of knighthood as the second son, and Daeron is meant to be someone's bride after he's weaned off wine.
It's a painstakingly gruesome process that Daeron almost begs mercy from his grandsire, but he's locked in his chambers during these turbulent moods, supervised by guards that shield the door should he try to break out. Only his father and a maester is allowed in whenever Daeron is hit with this drought sickness. Some days, he sees it as a blessing because the door doesn't creak open at night and the hidden passageways is unknown to his nightly intruder since they haven't explored enough of the castle yet, but the days of being in these walls start to haunt him, even when he can sleep at night undisturbed, there are dreams.
And his father is the harshest he's ever been, smacking Daeron from these spells and roughly seizing his arm he could feel bruises to lead him to the bath for a wash.
Daeron gradually fears his father's presence even as a respite to being alone so he starts washing himself up, but his hair is still tangled because he doesn't know what to do with it. He's brushed out the snags after a bath, but they'd get tangled again afterwards so he grows frustrated and leaves it be while waiting to be granted his freedom. His father never looks pleased to see him, but he's never pleased about anything concerning Daeron. But Daeron must have looked so pathetic he couldn't even scold him since his jaw merely tightens that day.
"I'll have the septa braid your hair," Maekar says. "She'll annoint you with some oil for the Faith after you're healthy again."
Daeron doesn't follow the Faith of the Seven, and he's not particularly sure his father does either but everyone in the capital does, and Uncle Baelor is the one that's slipping sermons into conversation as he imparts his wisdom. Daeron only nods without much feeling.
This is to be his life now, in a tower, while his brothers are venturing paths of prestige, glory and knowledge, and broadening their horizons.
Then, at supper, when Daeron's been sober for a moon turn, the announcement King Daeron seems fit to make changes the course of Daeron's life for the worst, and he hadn't thought that possible.
"PRINCE VALARR AND PRINCE DAERON WILL BE WED IN THREE MONTHS!" King Daeron is jovial yet his voice booms to shake people from their meals, startling them in their seats but everyone at the high table remains solemn. Baelor has no surprise over his face neither does his son, nor Maekar, but Daeron is stunned. He hadn't known his grandsire would punish Valarr this way.
His cousin hasn't spoken a single word to him after greeting him upon arrival other than that he stuck to competing with Aerion in the training yard and sitting beside his younger brother at feasts.
Even then he doesn't spare Daeron a glance, calmly eating his savory lamb without a ripple of dismay. So he's known for a long while to mentally prepare. The mad omega was his to marry, and he'd been resigned to his fate.
Daeron releases a sharp breath, hand clenching over his fork before he finds the moment to leave his seat for fresh air at a balcony, away from the crowd that are chattering over the newly announced wedding.
No one had warned him, because anyone would be joyous to be with Valarr, but Daeron's stabbed by a sense of panic. Valarr's to be king one day, and his queen would be Daeron the Drunk.
A whipping force of disturbance in the atmosphere doesn't startle him, because he's numb but his chest tightens when he's turned around forcibly.
"Tell Father the truth of what we are," Aerion says, rage in his voice, hand clenching around Daeron's wrist so hard he thinks his bone can snap.
"We aren't anything," Daeron says.
Aerion snarls, looking far more hideous than any other man, "He'll know when he beds you that you have already been taken. He'll smell my claim on your cunt."
"Everyone knows I'm a whore," Daeron says. "He'll not be surprised."
"He'll be appalled to know that you let your younger brother fuck you," Aerion says viciously, leaning in like he means to kiss Daeron, but his lips are a cruel brand on Daeron's ear.
Being Targaryens came with the stigma that they were all like to fall into their siblings' bed one day, and an alpha and omega like Aerion and Daeron would have crossed that boundary at some point but they were raised as brothers, with none of that put into their heads and no real attraction on Daeron's part.
Aerion wasn't attracted to Daeron either, he didn't see Daeron as some beautiful omega, but someone to vent his frustrations on.
"You have wenches," Daeron says, "far prettier omegas falling over for you, so let me go." He means in this instance where his brother is holding him possessively, and whatever grudge that has poisoned his mind, so he seeks vengeance on Daeron almost every night.
"I don't care for them," Aerion says with honey in his tone. "They're not of my blood."
"You don't care for me either," Daeron says, resenting himself for being weak, to the core he wants to see good in Aerion, wants to believe that he genuinely cares so they're brothers again. But he knows his brother isn't there anymore.
The boy is gone to the dragon, and the dragon is inhumane.
"I care for you more than Valarr does," Aerion hisses, claws coming out to grab Daeron's face, nails pricking his skin. "He'll never give you what I have, look at him, a cold block of ice with no dragon's blood."
"A spring prince," Daeron murmurs.
"A dead one soon," Aerion says but he shoves Daeron into the wall after that, and doesn't stop there as Daeron's mind turns to other terrors.
The ones that distract him from his brother's touch.
*
Daeron and Valarr are given time to know one another but the prince only takes Daeron out to the gardens for picnics and doesn't speak much, he also invites his brother, Matarys, and other companions from Great Houses, none of whose faces Daeron can recall and their names are awashed by the fog in his brain. He's not had a sip of wine, only ginger flavored water, and a mint leaf to chew on, but he's still stuck in a stupor that feels close to being drunk.
Days pass and he's not sure if he's endeared himself to Valarr. Weeks pass and he's sure that Valarr is starting to see that how their marriage will pan out and he becomes moody, tone clipped and his eyes are frostier, and he's more detached, with his brother carrying the conversation awkwardly whenever they're together.
If anything, Daeron's lackluster responses to Matarys pisses Valarr off more and he's grabbed Daeron during a luncheon to talk in an alcove.
"Don't be rude to Matarys," Valarr says frigidly but his heterochromic eyes are full of heat. "Respect him as you shall if you want a moment's of peace in our marriage, because I will not bother you after these required lunches. He wants to spend time with his good brother."
It's the most the alpha has ever spoken, and the first time Daeron has ever properly appreciated him, mind cleared up to see his visage and smell the pheromones of his discontent. All of the sake of his younger brother. Daeron's heart aches, and he manages a dry smile. Valarr stares quietly, expression slightly thawing but to irritation.
"Matarys is the only friend you'll have," the alpha says, as some warning. Daeron knows he hasn't tried hard to build any friendships with others and Matarys likes him because they're cousins, but he could lose him if he's not being as affectionate. Matarys is a sweet boy.
Daeron nods, the closest thing to an apology. And he does try afterwards. Not with Valarr who's guarded against him, but his good cousin who seems to think Daeron is intriguing. But that might wear off soon. The allure to Daeron is his random prophecies with no correlation to the conversation, for some reason Matarys thinks it reminds him of Baelor.
"Those are sermons, sweet one," Daeron says, amused as he picks at his stacked bread of honey drizzled meat. "Do you pay attention to the septons?"
"I do," Matarys says with a nod, blushing a little, "but you have that enigmatic tone Father likes to use when his voice gets all deep."
"He does that to make himself seem wise," Daeron shares, "but my words are from my own dreams, meant to forewarn people of the horrors."
"They always come true?"
"Always," Daeron says.
"How do you know? If someone actually followed the words of your dreams if they're far away?" Matarys asks, eyes rounded by curiosity. Daeron glances at Valarr. He's quiet, only ever answering to Matarys but he's listening as he chews bites from his own meal, eyes intent.
"I don't know," Daeron admits. He laughs bitterly. "The gods gave this talent to the wrong person, as impressive as it is, I have no clue how it works."
"You can learn," Matarys says earnestly, and rather innocently. "We have many tombs in the library. I'll show you later."
Daeron doesn't want to read any texts, he doesn't want to wound up disappointed if there's nothing helpful to guide him, but he can't say no when his cousin stares at him so. He thinks he understands why Valarr is such a doting older brother that will never neglect Matarys unlike Daeron with his other siblings. They have a true bond of affection.
"Aye, I'd like that," he says softly, looking at his plate, shoulders stiff. He feels Valarr staring at him, but ignores him, because he's doing what the alpha had asked. He's not being rude to Matarys at all.
*
The truth comes to light eventually as to why Daeron is to wed Valarr though it wasn't hard to figure out and Daeron's not surprised. The only expectation was to give his cousin heirs, and nothing else would spring from their union, those months leading up to the wedding didn't make them friends either, only comfortable enough with each other's presence.
The duty of their marriage was borne of keeping their lineage intact.
Daeron could not wed another alpha, Maekar had practically said, not that he couldn't find anyone for Daeron, anyone in Westeros would want a prince, mad drunk that he was, but he didn't trust Daeron. He didn't trust Daeron in King's Landing either, but this was to keep him tethered to the family. Valarr was not happy after a time, many could see, but he did his duty, and bedded Daeron, for they needed an heir. But they slept in separate chambers.
The daughter Daeron gives birth does not invoke any intense feelings, as exhausted as he is, but he holds her in his arms, and feels like his mind is quiet. Then Valarr takes her from him, wanting her properly cared for, because he doesn't trust Daeron. No one trusts Daeron, but he watches as his daughter is held by other omegas, and Valarr smiling at Vaella with the freest expression he's ever had since their marriage. Vaella isn't the son that they needed, alpha or not, the council would want a male heir. But that's not a worry Valarr has since he's too pleased over their sweet daughter.
So are Baelor and Maekar from what Daeron has heard from the midwives, and his father isn't barging into his rooms demanding he try again so Daeron is relieved for now, but he doesn't see his daughter overly much over the coming weeks, bereft of what he'd been carrying in his womb for nine months, a sharp pang of loneliness hits him.
Valarr hasn't visited, he's not fond of Daeron, and Daeron doesn't seek him out either even when his omega craves contact, and the birthing had messed him up in the head more because there were things he was crying over that didn't make any sense. The chambers weren't cold, he had enough blankets and he laid curled up there surrounded by a stack of pillows, but crushing one to his chest still made him feel empty. He adjusts the pillow in his arms wanting to carry a weight against his chest, but it's too light, even his daughter had been heavier than feathers, as small as she was.
His eyes itch again. Nostrils stinging. And all he hears are the chambermaids coming and going and then someone jostling him lightly for a bath that he must take, "my prince," coaxingly, "my prince, the sheets need be changed."
The stink of foul omega is on them, he realizes, but he doesn't realize how stuffy his head had been until he's in the tub, being washed by firm hands, and scrubbed down of the sweat that had soaked his skin. He'd been in a disgusting state, no wonder Valarr had taken his daughter from him, she would have gotten sick from his unbearable stench.
"My prince," the coaxing tone does something to him, has him leaning closer to listen even when he's whining over having to move much, but the maid coaxes some more, "your husband wants you to share a meal with him in his chambers."
Daeron shivers even though the water hasn't gone cold yet. His damp hair falls over his face as he hangs his head low, eyes unseeing. "How long it's been?" He manages to say, voice a growl.
He senses a pause but the maid chirps, too cheerfully bright for the gloom of his chambers, "A day, your grace."
A day?
"A day," he rumbles out in disbelief.
"You did so well," she says, "birthing the princess."
"No," Daeron says with some hysteria, "don't lie to me. When has my husband come to see me? How long had he kept my daughter from me?"
"Prince Valarr had been by your side until you asked him to leave," the chambermaid says neutrally, loyal to her sweet spring prince, so Daeron will never get the truth from anyone serving him. Not a single person in the Red Keep is on his side not even his own father who had found him the perfect husband. The husband that could do no wrong in anyone's eyes.
"I don't wish to eat with him," Daeron says with an emotion swelling in his throat, and the water sloshes out of the tub as he steps out, gliding down his calves, and droplets clinging to his skin. He doesn't heed their pleas to wait as he stumbles to his bed, where the sheets have been changed so it smells like lemon.
Angrily, he rips the sheets off and falls onto the mattress shivering, wet and soaked and tears soaking his eyelashes.
A day, it's impossible, so much has happened. His daughter stolen from him, Valarr taking her to his wing of the castle, to his own rooms with other omegas to care for her because Daeron isn't able to, he's too incompetent of an omega and a mother, but he hadn't even tried yet before he was deemed unsuitable.
He shivers nonstop. And the maids coaxing him don't rouse him either because he knows the tactic for what it is, the fake gentleness to an omega like him that's desperate for tenderness. His father would have slapped him awake and dragged him out of the bed, but these maids try to lure him out.
No one trusts Daeron, so he refuses to trust them in turn. Coyly sweet like honey, but poisoned, and his omega wanting it so badly it would listen with no self-preservation. He coughs, his body wracks with it, eyes shuddering shut. "My prince," they continue helplessly, a towel attempting to dry him off but he knocks his arm out and growls when they touch him.
After that he is left alone, but his head is still filled with too much noise, their voices swarming in his head and the smile Valarr had on his face appears throughout, the first sign of his happiness and the daughter that had no discernible features, with her scrunched up face, but dark hair like Valarr, and some streaks of white.
A sob rips from his throat.
Why wasn't he a good enough mother?
*
A day passes, and Daeron is aware this time that it's a day, but Valarr still doesn't come by. He's taken the rejection to his summons with vengeance then, and Daeron's used to long absences of people since he's been locked in his chambers for a stretch of a month before.
But this is worse, because he's had company, had his baby attached to him, in his womb but it's bereft now, and his arms are empty. The pillows around him smell like wet dog, because of his hair soaking the silk. The maids only come by to set his meal on the table but avoid touching him since he's bared teeth at them. A day passes, and then an hour after his lunch has been dropped off on the table. The maids scurrying out quietly even though he'd felt them staring.
"No," Daeron says when he hears the creak of the door again. The maids walk in on sure feet, not like a slithering snake.
Its not night, the sun's peeking through the window but the door creaks, and footsteps glide over the ground instantly so he feels the familiar body curving over him within seconds, pinning him down, with hands locked around his wrists.
"You have me," his brother says. He's ignored Daeron since the wedding and looked repulsed by his belly when it had been growing but mostly he's been a knight traveling the lands to bother with Daeron. It had been a reprieve.
Valarr's claim had warned Aerion away, because he doesn't like sharing and would never touch what his cousin has since he despises him.
"No," Daeron says, but his body inclined towards the heat of his brother's presence. The only person who's come to see him, not even his father has come by the scold him. When he had given them all a baby, they discarded him.
"I told you," Aerion whispers. And Daeron sobs. He wants to hold something, his arms are empty and his chest aches, he thinks he could feed his daughter but Valarr had taken her. "I have you, brother," Aerion says and Daeron doesn't struggle because he knows nothing else. He wants nothing else. This is his rotten truth. His brother is the only person who cares, even when he's cruel.
He holds Aerion and feeds him from his leaking nipples out of gratitude then later after he's felt his womb be filled by his brother's seed he's numb again.
Aerion sighs, pleased, and Daeron's mind shatters.
His brother gives him a baby, a baby that's swathed in a blanket scented of lavender and sweet honey, the baby, his brother says, our baby, and your duty is to nurse him and Daeron stares numbly at his brother. He holds the baby with arms that don't feel alive and all of his blood is drained because he's only a cold husk waiting for his brother to do something else. The puppeteer, the one that will guide Daeron into being the perfect omega.
He doesn't move after that, not until his brother is gone and not until he's sure hours have passed when his supper is brought. When his room becomes darker than night, with no lit candles, he's scrambling out of his bed with purpose and running to his husband's door, slipping a few times so he's bumping into the castle wall but he pounds on his husband's door, waiting with urgency.
Moments later, Valarr opens the door, but even in his sleeping clothes, he appears to not have been disturbed, blue and brown eyes too bright and clear, but he stares at Daeron with that familiar aloofness.
"What--"
Daeron surges forward, kissing him. They've kissed once. After they said their vows and it was chaste and brief not this insistent hunger. Valarr is still and then he pulls Daeron inside, taking him to bed. But he freezes over Daeron, hands on either side of his head.
"What's brought this on?" He asks lowly.
"I miss you," Daeron says.
Valarr growls, an alpha through and through even when the flirting comes from an omega like Daeron and he's kissing Daeron with the most passion he's ever shared with him. Their lips still locked together before Valarr seems to have gained his senses.
"Too soon," Valarr says. "You just gave birth."
"Where's Vaella?" He asks.
"In your father's room," Valarr says, "He's hogging her from me."
From me, Daeron thinks, feeling tears in his eyes. His father will not give Vaella back to him, because he knows Daeron can't be responsible enough for her wellbeing.
"Please," Daeron says, "please, I haven't...you haven't come to me, so have I displeased you? My body isn't the same."
Valarr hushes him, and nuzzles his jawline and over to the crook of his neck, hot breath causing his gland to tingle, and his pheromones are inhaled. The alpha freezes for a moment, but then his hands are clutching Daeron's hips tightly. And he's fervent again.
"You yelled at me to get out," his husband says, licking a stripe up Daeron's chin. "I would not go inside when you did not wish to see me, but you are recovering, my heart. Go to sleep." He turns Daeron around to hold him to his chest, instead of fucking him, and he doesn't seem to care that Daeron stinks, either.
Daeron sniffles. Valarr tenses behind him. "What is it?" The alpha asks in stilted voice.
He's betrayed the man, even if it was his own brother and here he is chasing for some gratification. "I don't know," he lies, because he knows too much. He knows that he will not give Valarr another baby. He knows Valarr merely tolerates him, so how much worse can it get? Moon tea would be questioned if he asked for it and he can't find it in him to sneak around at night trying to be unseen when he's so tired.
"Here," Valarr says, turning Daeron again to face him, and he directs Daeron's head to settle over his shoulder so his nose is smushed to his neck. The alpha's scent gland is warm, and his pheromones are heavily floral scented, dragon's breath and lilies, honeysuckle and everything refreshing to calm Daeron.