Chapter Text
Daeron stumbled from his chambers into the dimly lit hall. Despite his almost constant drunken state, he knew the shortest pathway from his chambers to the nearest wine cellar as well as his own palm.
Some fortuneteller had read his palm once and told him that he would live a long life and sire many healthy sons. Daeron had just laughed bitterly at that. Naturally, no one who wished to keep their head would dare say anything else to a Targaryen prince, but Daeron had known better even then.
He needed wine. Wine, and wine, and wine. It alone was able to stop the screaming torrent of thoughts and visions plaguing his every waking hour. Some wine, just a little, and it would be over and quiet for some time. And the damn scar would probably stop hurting too. Daeron ached all over, but the scar that took most of his ear hurt like a proper bitch.
Somewhere in the courtyard Father raged at the Kingsguard, at the servants, at everyone who was unfortunate enough to cross Maekar Targaryen’s path. Egg had disappeared again, and Father was arranging a search party or something. Or maybe he had already left. Daeron snorted and grabbed the wall steadying himself on the uneven stairs down into the darkness.
Egg would be all right. His and this strange hedge knight’s fates were intertwined now forevermore. Daeron did not know every detail of an uncertain future, but years upon years of involuntary visions taught him some unique sense other people did not possess. He could feel some predetermined things just by looking at someone, at being near them, and Egg with Dunk? Those were joined at the hip seemingly for life, strange as it may seem, and Egg got away from the Red Keep, from Summerhall, from underneath the black dragon banner. He had a chance now. Fleetingly, Daeron wished Father could see it that way too, but how could a father agree that the very presence was harmful for his child? And Father never listened to him anyway.
Daeron was met with quiet hiccups coming from behind a barrel of his favorite strong Arbor red. Well, that was quite unexpected at this hour. He stood, swaying in place.
“Listen, friend, crying is better when drunk and I don’t mind sharing your company. Are you also there to mourn our great Prince Baelor Bre…oh fuck”.
A silver streak of hair glistened faintly in the torchlight. Valarr stared disdainfully at Daeron with red-rimmed mismatched eyes.
Then he hiccuped again, grabbed a dark bottle and took a generous swig. Daeron’s throat felt dry as he watched the apple of Valarr’s throat jump. A drop of dark red wine slipped between his lips and the bottle’s rim and disappeared behind Valarr’s collar.
Seeing him like this, clearly drunk and lost, his hair and clothes disheveled, eyes blurry and full of tears, was so wrong and terrifying, that Daeron recalled the sight of his father howling like a wounded beast, clutching something akin to a lifeless doll. Daeron didn't even catch who it was at first, until he saw a gold ring with a huge amethyst on the doll's - the corpse's - finger.
Mother. Lifeless, silent, pale. And Father - howling, screaming, shaking her so roughly, it all seemed unreal, they both didn't seem themselves. Mother used to dance slightly even when she walked, sing to herself, light up every room she was in, she simply never was quiet and still, she glowed even when asleep. And Father was always composed, even when annoyed with Daeron and Aerion, or tired because of his work or Daeron's little siblings screaming through the night. He never screamed like this. Daeron stumbled out of the room and ran.
These are not Mother and Father. Someone took their place.
Now Daeron knew better. But seeing calm and composed Valarr, the perfect son, reduced to a drunk wreck...
Nobody's son now.
"If you came to gloat then fuck off", Valarr spat out, looking like a feral animal. "If you're here to get drunk and piss yourself again, then be my guest".
Daeron shook his head and lowered himself on his knees next to Valarr. He once repeated the profanities he had heard from Father to uncle Baelor, laughing - he and Daeron both thought they sounded funny. Uncle didn't hit Valarr, he just talked to Father quietly, and from the next day forward Valarr has never said so much as one bad word to anybody.
Apparently all rules were out the window now.
"Have you eaten anything at all before trying to drown yourself in a barrel?"
Valarr shrugged, then shook his head. Daeron sighed heavily and held out his hand.
"Gimme that".
To his surprise Valarr meekly did as he was told and hiccuped again. It sounded so helpless, almost cute, like Egg's little kitten meowing.
Daeron took a swig and shook his head again. It would not do to think about Egg crying over his poor wet drowned kitten and Aerion smirking as soon as Father turned his back to him trying to comfort Egg best he could, which meant "distract the child and when that failed, get wroth at the child and my own helplessness".
"You'll feel even more like shit in the morning, cousin. Come".
Valarr stayed where he was and stared at the torch right in front of him with empty eyes.
"And now I feel splendid, I suppose".
"No", Daeron agreed and finished the bottle. He found a full one atop the barrel and grabbed it before helping Valarr up. "Which is precisely why you don't want to make your situation worse on your own accord. The gods will make sure you feel like shit most of the time, why help the bastards?"
Valarr burst out laughing, and unshed tears finally wet his reddened cheeks. Well. Small victory.
Uncle Baelor would definitely not approve of such blasphemy. Shame he wasn't there anymore.
Daeron helped Valarr back to his chambers and ordered the servants to fetch the most greasy foods they could find in the kitchens, lots of fresh cool water, and some more wine - for himself, of course. He made Valarr drink water, didn't let him near the wine and fed him bread, cheese and venison, until Valarr threw up on the floor, then made him eat pigeon pie, butter and lamb. Daeron opted out of calling the servants and letting them see, and cleaned the vomit himself with a rag. He had to deal with way worse, while alone in some inns.
Valarr seemingly decided that years of having been the perfect heir entitled him to being the insufferable shit now, worse than Aerion, Egg and Rhae combined. He refused to drink water, he spat out the food, he cried and screamed at Daeron something incoherent about life not being fair, about wanting his father here with him. He cursed himself, Daeron, the hedge knight, Egg, his uncle Maekar, Aerion, those puppeteers neither of them ever saw, Aerion and Maekar again, the hedge knight, he raged, he threw an empty bottle at the wall and broke it, he hit Daeron and feebly tried to strangle him, then cried and clutched at Daeron's arms.
Daeron saw Valarr's knuckles busted and bleeding.
"Did you punch a wall, cousin?"
Of course, no answer, just more crying, snot and incoherent babbling. It looked really unsettling, seeing Valarr like this. He was so composed at all times, even at the funeral, that Daeron began to view him as something other than a human or even a Targaryen. He and Baelor were so impeccable that they, like His Grace King Daeron, seemed more like extensions of the Iron Throne than flawed people.
Well, here goes the last of my childish beliefs. The heir died from a blow to the head on an ordinary day during a stupid trial he had no business to attend, and his heir now lies in my arms, more drunk than Daeron the Drunken himself. If the Iron Throne began rusting tomorrow, I wouldn't be surprised.
Daeron clumsily pressed Valarr against his chest and adjusted his position by the fireplace, propped himself up and laid his palm upon the crown of soft brown hair split by the single silver strand. Valarr had already spent all his tears, all his rage, grief and strength, and just lay motionless in Daeron's arms watching the fire. They both smelled of wine stains and vomit. Neither could bring himself to care one fig.
"You know I once read that somewhere in Asshai or somewhere there people believe in the Lord of Light instead of the Seven", Valarr mumbled. Daeron slowly caressed his hair, soft as a small bird's feathers.
"Really".
Who cares, what those idiots believe. If there are gods, they don't care for the prayers and names we feeble ants give them. You'll realize it soon enough, my perfect cousin, you bright and beloved shining future king, you poor orphan.
Do they ever remember that the path to the Iron Throne is paved with our fathers' and brothers' corpses?
"Yeah". Valarr clutched at Daeron's hand, traced the line of life on his palm. "And the Lord of Light allegedly can bring people from the dead. Multiple times sometimes".
"We both know it's not possible, otherwise people would've stopped dying altogether. Gods are bastards and sadists, playing with us like children with bugs, and the Stranger is the worst of them all, he never gives back what he once took".
Cruel words, but Daeron saw no reason to soften the blow. Better this, than Valarr going fucking mad like Lady Shiera and Brynden, like Aerion or worse, dabbling in blood magic.
"He asked if I would join the trial", Valarr mumbled hoarsely and pressed his cheek to Daeron's chest, "said Aerion was in the wrong, that it would serve well the strength of the Iron Throne, if the heir took the side of the righteous..."
He buried his face in Daeron's neck.
"I should never given him the damn armor!.."
He sobbed, just like Father had done that day. Daeron just sat there. What else could he do but sit there?
When his mother died, everybody forgot about Daeron, he was already far too grown to be comforted. Aerion threw a fit demanding Mother and wouldn't hear that she was gone. Daeron took Aemon, Daella and the little ones to his bedchambers and sang to them to drown out Father's howling and people's cries, and when his voice gave out, small brave Aemon distracted his little siblings with tales about Old Valyria. Even six years old Daella, frightened and hardest to comfort, got interested - she always loved scary stories...
And when the little ones fell asleep, and Aemon quietly cried holding baby Rhae, peacefully asleep in his arms, it once again fell to fourteen years old Daeron to comfort his baby brother, who else was there?
And if Daeron stayed awake holding vigil over his siblings and listened to Father sobbing, all alone and frightened in the starless darkness, then who cared? He was a man grown. He was the oldest.
He got piss drunk the next day trying to forget the dream he had right before Mother's death - a terrible dream of a thousand stars falling from the sky and leaving him in pitch black darkness. And then he got drunk again, because it was the first Mother's nameday without Mother. And again, when Father spat at him in the training yard "what a fucking disappointment you're turning out to be". And again, when Aemon got sent to the Citadel. And again, just because he could.
Daeron really didn't want Valarr to go down the same path. So he stayed and held onto him as tightly as he could. Please, you bastards, he prayed, please let him stay with us. I saved Egg, I helped get him out, I'll endure another decade of nightmares for them, you know I'm not fit for anything else, just let Valarr be all right. Help me hold onto him and push him away from the endless pit I ended up in, you owe me that much you pieces of shit.
Some prayer, but Daeron could not find it in himself to call the gods anything else.
Valarr fell asleep. Daeron carried him to his bed and undressed them both, tucked Valarr in and got under the covers with him. Gods, did he stink. Daeron wasn't nearly drunk enough to not feel the stench.
Whatever. Valarr was alive, and thank the gods for that at least. Life was far too fragile, and Daeron held onto Valarr's warm body with all of his, committed to memory his breath, little sobs, red cheeks glistening with tears, even the smell.
He could feel something ending very soon and so prayed again: not him. Please, not him, take me, if you must. Father has other sons. Aemon hasn't said his maester oaths yet. The family could spare a sad useless drunk, but not Valarr. Please. Don't be cruel to us just this once.
He fell asleep and for the first time in a long while he saw no dragon dreams and no nightmares about the past. Nothing, just sweet dark oblivion and Valarr's warmth in his arms.
In the morning they both grossly overslept. Daeron woke up first, courtesy of not nearly enough wine, and lay very still watching the sun creep into the room.
Funny that the sun didn't care who died, it just rose without fail every morning.
Valarr groaned and buried his head in Daeron's neck. That tickled, but Daeron didn't dare move. And anyway, the bliss of another person's warmth didn't last long. Slowly Valarr sat up and pointedly looked away.
"I'm...sorry, cousin. That outburst last night was unseemly and undignified".
Daeron was silent. A bitter smile parted his lips involuntarily. His cousin, the broken, lost and so painfully alive boy in need of comfort was now gone, and the heir to the Iron Throne took his place.
Daeron wanted to scream, to throw something just as Valarr had done last night, to get drunk and forget.
Yes, that last thought sounded like a plan. Daeron also sat up avoiding looking at Valarr's face.
"Go".
One hoarse word was enough to get Valarr out of his chambers. Daeron laughed bitterly and kept laughing until his laughter turned to sobs. Then he got out of the castle and got properly drunk. His guards would surely get severely punished for losing him again, but Daeron could not give less of a shit.
The following nights the dreams returned, like predators lying in wait. Dragons roaring in fury, someone bald and small, like Egg, but not Egg, or maybe Egg, green unquenchable fire, someone screaming as they burned alive, a white cloak in the wind, the sun extinguished by a monstrous mountain, screaming, screaming, snow covering the whole continent. Daeron tossed, and turned, and screamed, woke up shivering and looking for a bottle. He didn't know how many days passed - four? More? He didn't let himself get sober for a single hour, but then unfortunately Father turned his attention to him and forbade the servants to let Daeron into the wine cellar and had the door barred. The servants were afraid of Father far more than of his sad useless drunk of a son, especially after Father became a kinslayer. Daeron closed his eyes and bumped his head on a wall. There was nothing worse than having to endure his nights sober.
And after that strange night with Valarr Daeron's lonely nights became only worse.
He didn't expect it to happen again; he and Valarr played together as children close in age, but not very often. They grew up in different castles, but might as well grown up on different continents. Valarr was the joy and pride of his family, and Daeron was its shame.
And yet Daeron was never jealous. Valarr wasn't allowed to be a shame. He wasn't allowed to make mistakes. He tried his best at everything - counselor work, fighting, riding, politics, history, he even picked up High Valyrian, even though it was pretty useless without the dragons, but despite his best efforts he remained only an adequate fighter, no match to Aerion or his own father. He didn't shame himself on tourneys, but there was no promise of glory.
Since birth Valarr existed in a cage made out of molten iron swords. So did Matarys, and his cage was hardly lighter. Daeron didn't envy that. He endured Father's pressure to be better than Valarr and Matarys, he endured his disappointment when Daeron could not rise to the occasion, despite his best efforts, and now existed in perpetual shadow, forgotten, ignored, discarded in favor of Aerion and the promise Egg still held.
Daeron didn't mind, he really, really didn't, but sometimes he wanted...he wished...
His door was thrown open by the guard, and in strolled Valarr. It was the dead of night, and Daeron tried his hardest not to fall asleep. He sat up, surprised.
"Cousin?"
Valarr jerked his head in an annoyed gesture, and the guard hurried to close the door. Only then Valarr swayed and dropped into a chair by the fire.
He was drunk, and there was a full bottle in his lap.
Daeron's heart sank.
No.
He grabbed the bottle from Valarr, and his cousin only laughed drunkenly, looking up at him with glistening eyes.
"What did you do?"
"What, worried I'll be a better drunk than you?" Valarr's speech was slurred. He laughed, a strange, angry laughter, waved his hand and stared into the fire. "Don't fret, cousin. No one will outshine you in this regard".
Daeron shook him by the shoulders.
"What the fuck are you doing? Why? Was my example not enough..."
"Why?!" Valarr shot out of the chair, his handsome face twisted in an unfamiliar fury. "Don't you think I have every reason to? I'll never, never measure up to him! I shouldn't! He was supposed to have a lifetime before him, I expected to inherit the throne by fifty, if the gods were good!" He snarled. "Instead I might be crowned tomorrow, for all we know! I need him, and he isn't there, and I'm supposed to have all the answers, and I don't, I don't, and they all will hate me for it, if they don't already! This is so stupid, that it should not even be real, any of it! I... I..."
Valarr fell silent, his chest heaving, eyes crazed. The iron cage didn't let him breathe.
"Kiera keeps losing babes", he whispered so quietly that Daeron struggled to hear. "The gods are telling me I'm not fit to be king. They didn't give any sons to Maegor either".
"Stop it, you're not Maegor".
"Am I not?" Valarr stared him down, took a step closer. "Are you sure, cousin?"
Daeron clutched the bottle tighter. Valarr repeated:
"Are you sure?"
Daeron snorted, shook his head.
"You're going crazy. You should really stop drinking. Go back to your chambers, and", he smirked, "thank you for the wine".
Valarr shook his head. He smelled of wine so strongly that it was intoxicating. Daeron wanted to get closer to the delicious smell, but Valarr gave a loud sigh, turned away from Daeron and unceremoniously dropped onto his bed.
They lay there together, Valarr's head in Daeron's lap and Daeron's hand in his cousin's soft hair, trading the bottle between them. It wasn't nearly enough for Daeron, but Valarr was already drunk when he came here, so Daeron took most of the bottle for himself. Strangely, Valarr didn't mind.
"Have you ever thought how did the Valyrians practiced sibling marriages?"
Daeron shrugged.
"To tame dragons, so our blood was pure. Not much reason to do it now, except alienate the Westerosi nobility and weaken our already unstable position on the throne".
Daeron hiccuped. Valarr raised his head and stared at his cousin.
"Well, I never thought you were so keenly aware of our political situation".
Daeron grimaced.
"Don't get your hopes up, I'd make a shitty Hand".
"Clearly, cousin. You answered the wrong question. I didn't ask why our ancestors did it; I asked how".
Daeron lowered his gaze to look at Valarr and found him smiling. How strange... He didn't seem drunk at all.
"I don't understand".
Valarr's smile turned sad. He closed his beautiful mismatched eyes.
"Forget it. Is there any wine left?"
"With me in the room? Not a chance".
They fell asleep again in each other's arms, their shirts gone and wine-stained breath mingling. In the morning Valarr disappeared again to soothe his wounded family, appear before the people of King's Landing, take on his father's duties. These days king Daeron seldom was seen without the slender and quiet shadow of his new heir. Daeron's chest hurt when he saw him in the halls, from a distance.
He didn't know where his father had gone. He didn't care. He got Egg out, and he wished vehemently that his little brother would never be found.
He found Valarr next to his bed one stormy night. With Arbor gold, significantly lighter than the red, preferred by Daeron.
"Cousin", Daeron hoarsely whispered, trying to smile. A mistake - his stitched cheek and half of the ear left hurt terribly. The storm raged outside so badly that Daeron could be forgiven if he mistook King's Landing for Storm's End. "Brought me more water of life?"
Valarr frowned and held the bottle closer.
"Half is mine".
"Why are you doing this?" Daeron sat up in a jerky movement. "To make me look even worse, helping the royal heir drink himself into an early grave? Do you want to toss your burdens to Matarys? Is that what a good brother does? Or a good..."
Valarr grabbed his throat and squeezed. Gods, but he was strong. The relentless training, while not making Aegon the Dragon out of him, nevertheless paid off.
Daeron smirked. Bad idea, and if Valarr had frequented brothels with him, he would've known that. His throat squeezed shut, vision blurred. Daeron closed his eyes, smiling.
Do it. If I go, which I'm sure will happen soon anyway, let it be like this.
But Valarr abruptly let him go. Air smelling of sea salt and the city's stench rushed in Daeron's chest, sweet, oh so sweet. He coughed and fell onto the bed.
It took his relieved body some time to feel the heavy warmth on his chest. Valarr was squeezing him again - but this time in a hug.
Poor guy really was at the end of his rope.
Daeron coughed again and gently rolled on his back, tugged Valarr closer.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me, I didn't want to, I'm sorry", Valarr whispered softly. His cool fingers caressed Daeron's neck so gently that he wished to push them away, scream and burst into tears, all at once.
The last time someone close to him touched him as gently as this was Aemon, who hugged him right before he departed to the Citadel. And before that - Mother.
But Daeron gathered these gentle fingers in his palm and said nothing. He just held Valarr, and his cousin kept whispering.
"I heard you scream. The guards told me not to worry, said you do this almost every night, and I..."
Couldn't leave me suffering, you golden child.
"I just wanted to be with you a little, but then you... how do you do this?"
Silence stretched between them. Valarr's long fingers trembled in Daeron's hand.
"Do what, infuriate you? Please, no one in the family is better than me in this. Well, maybe Aerion, but he left now, so..."
"I broke his nose the night you found me in the wine cellar".
Daeron fell silent, startled by sheer hatred in Valarr's voice.
"If not for him, I'd still have a father".
That's true, but me, Egg and that hedge knight, what's-his-name also share the blame. And so do you, cousin.
"Come here", Daeron whispered, "and give me the damn wine".
How strange. That was all they did together these few precious days - lie around, sleep (no, really sleep), drink and sometimes talk nonsense. Valarr tried to teach Daeron to play cyvasse. Daeron preferred dicing, and cheated horribly. Either Valarr was far too noble to notice such dirty backstabbing, or...
However, Daeron could not help but notice Valarr drinking more and more. True, he switched them both from the strong red wine to lighter Arbor gold, and the wine cellar was the forbidden ground for Daeron still, but Valarr always came with a bottle or two in tow and fell asleep in Daeron's arms drunk. He was dutiful and obedient during the day, but spent his nights either working till the first light, or staying with Daeron. Kiera must have noticed. Daeron avoided her, his uncles, his grandparents and cousins, like a coward. He ate his meals in his bedchambers. He didn't know where his father was. He didn't really wish to see his disgusted, disappointed face.
Terrible dreams, the ones that only Valarr could chase away, were enough of a fucking torment.
And Daeron knew what he had to do. He saved Egg, now it was time to save Valarr.
What a selfless little shit you are.