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"No! I refuse," Daeron shouts at his own father, feeling his cheeks flush with anger. He circles the room, which is decorated with various books and paintings. These depict the beauty of dragons when they were still alive, while the pages describe the power of those with fire in their veins. However, right now, the power is absent, leaving only fire.
"You have no opportunity to give your opinion," comes the reply. Maekar sits at the table, feeling Baelor's strong hands on his shoulders.
This was unexpected for everyone. Traditions, rules, laws... All of these things are strange and dangerous, but they are written down on paper, and once you begin, you must follow everything written there. And if it says that the winner of the Trial of Seven must marry a person from the losing family, then so be it.
It was a difficult choice. One of the hardest things Maekar and Baelor had to face in their entire lives, probably. However, there was nothing they could do. The law is the law. Family is family.
"But why me?" His voice trembled without him even noticing. He wanted to scream, to try to prove something. Maybe even tell the truth.
Eyes of different colors looked him over from head to toe, forcing him to answer his own question immediately.
He was the only one they could rely on in this decision.
The prince sighed heavily, sitting down on a chair. He looked at his hands, while blond curls covered his face.
He had seen it all. He had seen it all in a dream. He had seen his wedding and marriage, and he had also seen the dragon eggs from which the most terrifying creatures had emerged, filling absolutely everything before his eyes with fire, including his firstborn and only child. He was afraid, so afraid of losing it all. Of losing what he didn't yet have. Losing something he'd rather give up before accepting the fact that fire would consume everything he held dear, everything he was proud of, everything he'd ever truly wanted… a family of his own.
It was a true miracle to see himself in traditional wedding attire, with a smile on his lips and dragons bearing stars that flew around him, swirling like hurricanes around his new marriage. It was an even greater miracle to watch him take his child in his arms, promising to defend and protect them from everything. However, it was a curse to hear the screams of thousands of people and creatures in pain as they were devoured by the most terrible beast – fire.
It was an even greater curse to see your future husband for the first time in person, trying to keep control of yourself, trying not to seem crazy. Although, who cares about him and his madness anymore?
"What terms?" he asks quietly. He doesn't know what he wants more: to flee right now or die on the spot.
"There aren't many. Be a good husband, give him a child, respect and care for them both..." Maekar sighs, throwing his head back and looking at Baelor. "By rights, you should leave with him. However, we decided it would be better for everyone if you remained at the palace. Until Ser Duncan decides otherwise."
"I don't think he will. He's not stupid. He fully understands the incredible conditions awaiting him at the castle. A clean bed, warm food, assistance with the care of the heir... Even the title of lord." The dark-haired man looks at his child, knowing he is partly to blame for this. But Aerion is dead, the others are betrothed or too young, and Daeron... He will be a loss to them, but not for the crown. "We will be with you at all times, my dear, I promise."
"If he dares do anything you don't like, I will kill him myself," Maekar whispers. The hands on his shoulders begin to move, trying to calm him. They lost one child, perhaps not the most saintly, but still their child, and now they have to give up another.
"There won't be a need for that," he always knew this moment would come. No matter what he did, fate would always bring this outcome. However... fate can be tricked, if only for a year, maybe two, or even three if you're lucky.
He tries to calm himself with these thoughts, but the escape plan has already formed in his head.
"When will it happen?"
"What exactly?"
"The wedding, dad," he replies to Baelor. He hasn't addressed him so informally in a long time.
The back of the chair sags slightly as Daeron leans against it.
"In a month, if I recall," no one says out loud that Aerion's body hasn't even had time to cool yet.
When they finally let him go, they warn him not to do anything stupid.
"Too late for that," Daeron replies, entering the stables in the middle of the night. A small bag hangs from his shoulder, and his dark tunic screams wealth with its silken fabrics and meticulous stitching. He doesn't want to leave, that's true. He doesn't want to deprive his family of another child, he doesn't want to deprive his siblings of a brother, but he also doesn't want his visions to come true.
And he always knew that luck wasn't on his side, but it was confirmed yet again at the worst possible moment.
The moon doesn't illuminate everything equally, modestly hiding behind the rain clouds, so Targaryen doesn't even have time to scream before he crashes into someone, feeling a large hand cover his mouth.
"Shhh," he hears very quietly, and Daeron immediately recognizes that voice and that strong grip that once pinned him to the table.
"Dunk?" he asks in genuine surprise.
"My prince?" Duncan blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust to the darkness.
The modest moon finally emerges from its hiding place for a few moments, blessing with her light those very blue eyes Daeron so desperately wanted never to see in person.
"What are you doing here?" For a second, the thought crosses his mind that he, too, is trying to escape. "Were you trying to escape from our marriage?" The question rises to his lips, anger tinging it with bitterness.
He has his reasons for running away, very, very good ones, but Dunk? Daeron might not be the best choice, but trying to run away from him in the middle of the night without even attempting to explain himself to him, or to the crown?
"I wasn't," comes after two long seconds, and he releases the prince from his arms, nodding at the horse behind him. "I thought he would be lonely."
Daeron looks at the horse, realizing his vision is much clearer now. He also realizes that Dunk has likely figured out what he was trying to do.
"I... It's not what you think," the prince begins to say, seeing the knight's gaze. However, he is interrupted mid-sentence.
"It's okay, you can do it. I will not blame you," of course he won't. Dunk turns to the horse, beginning to stroke its mane.
"Ser Duncan, it's really not what you think," he begins again after a moment. He walks around the horse, trying to peer into the blue eyes of the man opposite him. "Do you remember what I said about my dreams?"
"That they come true? Yes, I remember that," he says quietly.
"I had them about us."
"Was it an unhappy marriage?"
"It was the most beautiful and loving one I ever saw," a mere whisper.
"Then I don't understand," he hates feeling stupid, but there's no time to dwell on it now. Just when he thought his life could get better, his betrothed tries to escape in the middle of the night. Is he really such a bad option? Sure, he has no title, no land, no knowledge, no... Okay, maybe he's the worst option ever.
But he doesn't consider himself a bad person. He always tries to help, always does everything in his power and even more, always follows his principles and his values. He also became interested in Daeron from their very first meeting in the tavern, and took the chance to get to know him better the night before the tourney (after, of course, he held a steel to his throat in a fit of anger).
The feeling that awakened within him that night was the most wonderful thing he'd ever experienced. This desire to care for, to protect, to hold him close and kiss every tear that Targaryen shed down his face. Duncan didn't think the feeling was mutual, certainly not, but hope dies last, and that was precisely what helped him win. Winning to see that face again, to smell that scent again, which, even through the harsh aroma of the wine the prince was drinking, seemed so sweet and comforting. A scent that, for the first time in his life, made him think of children. Of finally sharing his life with an omega.
Daeron places his hand on him, forcing him to stop, to finish creating the false impression that the horse's mane was so interesting.
Finally, he can look into those eyes once again.
"I saw our deaths, the death of our child, the deaths of mine and our family." He wants to tell him everything in the most horrific detail, perhaps to scare him, or perhaps to finally share the pain in his heart. But something forbids Daeron from doing so.
Maybe that "something" is the hope that Duncan won't care about all this, that he'll want to be with him, no matter how hard it is.
"Deaths are inevitable, and our fate too. I didn't believe it for a long time, but with each thing that happens to me, I think more and more that this is all someone's plan. Maybe as a joke, or maybe completely serious," he finally approaches the prince, taking him by the hand, leading him out of the stables. The rain falls quietly, but not without traces. "Without the clouds and the rain, we wouldn't have food, my prince."
He turns to Targaryen, unable to muster the courage to take his face in his hands.
"If you don't want to be with me, you can run away. Or come up with something. Hell, even kill me; you're part of the royal family," a sad chuckle is heard. "But if you don't want to be with me because you're afraid of the future, then please let me prove to you that I won't leave your side."
Those were the very words Daeron so desperately wanted to hear.
He knows the future; he knows what will happen, yet how easy it is to give in to his desires, to be happy, loved, adored...
At the end of the day, he's just a man.
A man with hope.
Daeron kisses him first, before he can change his mind and his head fills with the most terrible thoughts again.
The warm hands on his waist only confirm what everyone in the kingdom already knew – he's a weak man, so giving in to the moment was easier than ever.
Duncan kisses him slowly, trying to delay the moment when their lips must part. He kisses him as if he were the most beautiful thing in his life, as if he were the sun, and Dunk a flower that watches him all day long, turning to follow his position in the sky.
This warmth, this sense of belonging, these dreams finally becoming reality – reach out a hand and feel the strong muscles of your beloved's back. All of this makes their heads spin.
"Don't leave me, my knight, please," comes a quiet whisper. "Promise me, my love," he's called him that so many times in his dreams that now, in reality, he doesn't even notice.
Duncan can do nothing but blush and smile back, hugging his prince even closer.
"I promise you, Daeron," he doesn't dare say 'love' yet. "I promise it with all my heart."