Chapter Text
They had been back at King’s Landing for less than a week when his father summoned him. The court was still in mourning for Baelor, everyone was still dressed in black and the halls were eerily silent.
He walked down the hall to his father's chambers, trying not to stumble. He wasn't drunk, not really, but he was pleasantly tipsy. The world had lost its sharp edges and everything was more manageable.
He found his father in his office, writing something. Father looked up at him and winced at his disheveled appearance.
“Daeron, it's not even dinner yet, how much have you had to drink?” he said.
Daeron shrugged, “Lost count.”
Father closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “This is exactly what I brought you here to talk about, the events at Ashford Meadow have made it clear to me that changes must be made. Your behavior and that of your brothers cannot continue.”
“It was Aerion’s fault,” Daeron said, “You have to see that now.”
“And yet, if you had merely done as I had commanded, perhaps none of this would have come to pass,” Father said.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Daeron said, “If you wish to exile me as well, I will go without quarrel.”
“No,” Father shook his head, “Exile will do naught for you. Since you cannot mind yourself, your wife will do it for you.”
Daeron paled, “Father, Daella is too young, I cannot marry her.”
“Not Daella, you fool,” he swore, “You will marry Lady Elinor Tyrell, Leo Longthorn’s daughter. The Tyrells have long been loyal to the crown, it is time they were rewarded with a royal marriage. She is a comely maid of six and ten, I am told. You will marry her, get children upon her, and when I am dead, you will rule Summerhall with her.”
“She’s agreed to marry me? Knowing what I am?” he said.
“She's a gently bred lady, if she had any complaints, she would not tell her lord father,” Father said.
“When is the wedding going to take place?” he asked.
“In three months, in Baelor’s Sept,” Father said.
Daeron nodded, then left the room. His head was spinning and he needed a drink. He stumbled down the halls of the Red Keep to his room. Sitting on the table in his bedchamber was a pitcher of Arbor red waiting for him. He poured himself a goblet and drank deeply. A wife. What was he to do with a wife? He supposed she might do some of the things his mother might have done, if she was alive. Most castles had a lady, and he was certain whatever duties the lady of a castle was meant to do, were not being done at Summerhall. His sisters could use a female presence in their life that wasn't their septa. Perhaps between her duties as lady of the castle and doing ladylike things with his sisters he wouldn't have to do much of anything with her, merely share a meal and a bed from time to time.
Just as well that she would be busy as Princess of Summerhall, in all but name. Leave him to his drinking, it was better that way. Just as he was finishing up his third goblet, his door creaked open. Melony slipped in.
“Are you well, my prince?” Melony said.
“I’m to be married,” he groaned.
“Poor you, forced to deflower some highborn maiden,” she teased.
“Do not mock me,” he said, “This poor girl, she has no idea what she's saying yes to.”
“Like as not she has as much a choice in this as you, her lord father saw the message from your royal father and said yes before she could blink,” she said, crossing the room to stand behind him.
“The wedding is in three months,” he said glumly.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, milord?” she said, running her hands down his arms.
He turned and kissed her arm, “I know what might cheer me up.”
He pulled her onto the floor and tumbled her there. She giggled as he kissed her, and they stumbled into bed afterwards. Fucking and wine, those were the only things that kept the dreams away, today he was lucky enough to have both. They had sex again in bed, and he fell asleep tangled in the sheets and Melony’s arms.
He woke the next morning to Maekar throwing open his bedroom door angrily.
“Your wedding is in three months and you're carrying on with the maids!” he yelled.
Daeron sat bolt upright, Melony was gone.
“Your guard brought her to me when she tried to slip out. I gave her some money for her troubles and some moon tea, and dismissed her,” Father said.
“You fired her?” Daeron said groggily.
“You think your bride will take kindly to you fucking the maids?” Father said.
“You didn't have to fire her,” Daeron said.
“I’ll not insult Leo Longthorn by parading your whores in front of him and his daughter. Nor will I suffer you to sire a bastard on that girl. She is the last, Daeron, do you hear me? Whoring while unwed is one thing, but you will not disrespect your wife with this behavior,” Father said, “You’ve been a man for two years and a knight for one, it's high time you grew up.”
His father left and slammed the door, back to his brooding no doubt. Daeron flopped back onto the pillows, and drifted back to sleep.
It was not a dreamless sleep, but fortunately, it was a more pleasant dream than most. It was one of those dreams, for sure. It had that sharp quality, as if this were real and the waking was the dream.
He was walking in a meadow, green grass beneath his feet and blue sky overhead. There were birds chirping in trees and bees buzzing among wildflowers. A pleasant breeze played with his hair. He continued walking, until he came upon a great rose bush. He heard something crying underneath the bush. He got on his hands and knees and peaked under the leaves. There were several dragon hatchlings all curled up together in a nest of rose petals. One by one, they opened their eyes and bathed him in fire.