Whispers of Night
She woke up with the feeling that there was something amiss. In the pale veil obscuring the world right before the dawn came, her eyes went to the head next to hers on the pillow. At some point at night, they had rearranged themselves so that their legs were now entwined and he had turned on his side so his arm had stayed wrapped closely about her. Quite a good instinct for a man who doesn't like being touched and haven't slept anywhere but his own lonely bed for fifteen years, Daenaera thought and smiled.
Her hair was caught beneath his back. Daenaera tugged at it slightly and immediately regretted it, for her stir woke him up. His eyes slowly opened and the sight of the unfamiliar surroundings – or at least, as unfamiliar as far as waking up was concerned – made his eyes widen. He jumped up in blind panic, dragging the covering with him. Daenaera buried her face in the pillow so he would not see her weeping. At this hour, the swelter had started sneaking into the grim abode that was Maegor's Holdfast but she was suddenly so very cold.
A moment later, Aegon's reason came back. Daenaera felt the blanket being placed around her once again, felt his cold hands tucking her in. "I am sorry, Daenaera," he said haltingly. "I just… I just couldn't find my bearings. I did not want to scare you or make you cold."
"You didn't," she sniffed. "I'm fine."
"Are you?" There was a tone of doubt in his voice.
She sniffled again and willed herself to compose. She couldn't tell him that she was crying because of the pain that would not leave him alone, because he didn't even have the luxury of estimating before shapeless fear rushed in, because the walls he had erected in his mind stood on the way of everything that he felt for her, always stronger, never to be overcome.
His hand brushed over her hair, so familiar and forever out of her reach. "Don't cry," he said clumsily. "It… pains me when you do."
She sobbed and then willed her throat and mouth to clench. There was no use of giving way to tears. Slowly, she rolled on her back to find his deep purple eyes, darkened with regret, so very close to her face.
"I am not," she sniffled. "I am not crying."
She was well aware of the sight she must be. Without paint on her face, the ugly brown spots that plagued the women in her state so often stood out even more because she was so fair in the rose glint of dawn. Her nose was running, no doubt swollen and red. The tears did not fall prettily on her cheeks but cascaded, mixing with snots. She had heard that there were women who only became more beautiful when weeping but she was hideous.
Aegon's hand brushed her cheek. Through the sheen of tears she saw his anguish, his guilt. And a little voice in her head squeaked, "Great! He should feel guilty!" Was she so monstrous indeed that for so many years, he had been unable to stand her presence without jumping out of his skin?
"I didn't mean to," he said softly, not quite looking at her. "I just… I just can't fight it. But it isn't something that I desire. I do wish I could wake up next to you and meet the new day with joy." He paused. "I love you, Daenaera."
She felt hollow inside. She had dreamed of hearing those words for so long, yet now all they evoked was dull longing for something that had been the centre of her core once and no longer was. She had no doubt that he did love her. Had started just when she had stopped. They had missed each other and there could be no regaining what they might have had. If he was a different man. If she was a more patient woman. But hadn't ten years been enough? In her very core, she knew that it wasn't true. She did love him, just not the way she had before, but the nasty little voice in her head didn't let her utter words of love back.
His face fell; with a pang of pity and remorse, Daenaera reached for his hand. He no longer flinched at a random touch when it came from her. That had to count for something…
"I know you didn't," she murmured. "Will you come back to me tonight?"
He hesitated, so handsome and tormented that her heart broke anew. "I… I wouldn't want for that to repeat," he finally said. "Why would you want me here anyway after today?"
She opened her mouth to tell him why – and her morning sickness descended over her a good few hours before usual. It wasn't a mild bout either – it splashed all over her side of the bed, right to Aegon's nightclothes.
To his credit, he reacted almost immediately, emptying the nearest vase and pushing it under her chin, then supporting her head as she parted with anything that she had ever eaten in her life.
"Better now?" he asked after a while, handing her a goblet of water.
Right now, she wasn't sure. She drank cautiously. A little warmth for him sneaked back into her heart when he insisted on changing her himself before calling for her ladies. And if he didn't know how to pull the fresh nightgown over her head – well, Daenaera supposed she could overlook this small inconvenience.
Afterwards, though, a strange embarrassment settled between them. They had just seen each other at their most vulnerable, the side that they kept jealously guarded. Mortificated and humiliated, they did not dare look at each other.
And still, he came. It was long after they had left the great hall, when Daenaera's ladies were bustling about, making her ready for bed. At the sight of his silent figure at the threshold, though, they sank into deep curtsies. He waved them away and they left in a flurry of skirts, giving their mistress covert pitying glances. Daenaera had to admit that his slim dark figure, the black garments standing out against his pale skin did make him somewhat sinister.
"Does your invitation still stand?" he finally asked.
She shrugged. "Why shouldn't it?"
He hesitated. "I don't know…"
He headed for the great bed, placing a decanter of wine and a goblet at his bedside. Daenaera looked at him under her eyelashes, feeling ugly, ungainly, and utterly vulnerable. He had come just when she had been changed out of her gown and before the nightdress had been put on. She still hasn't started to show and was slender as a young doe but her breasts, still swelling with milk, were huge, more fitting to a wetnurse than queen. The candlelight danced over her, casting in sharp relief the wrinkled skin of her belly. The two childbirths had left their mark. It didn't matter in the storm of passion – but he had never seen her, not like this.
He came near. To her surprise, he seemed to have read her thoughts. "Even when your time draws near, you'll be the most beautiful one to me, Daenaera," he said, very gently, helping her rise. She reached for her nightdress and then nodded at his side of the bed, the wine decanter.
He looked away. "I've got… horrible nightmares. It helps me go back to sleep."
All of a sudden, it occurred to her that his nightmares might be another reason for his reluctance to spend the night with her. He would never say it but she was aware of just how much the thought of being weaker, less than other men tormented him. He'd be mortified if she saw him shaking in the clutches of a nightmare.
Outside, a dragon roared. Aegon jerked back and turned pale.
Very gently, Daenaera placed a hand over his arm. "Help me with the nightdress," she murmured. "I want to go to bed."
He startled back to his senses and started acting. When they were ready, Daenaera pressed his hands against her shoulders. "It's chained," she murmured. "It's far away, in the Dragon Pit. It cannot reach us here. We're safe in the palace, safe with each other. Come now."
Silently, he followed her and unlike last night, it was him who reached out for her as soon as they drew the covers over them.
Night had well worn out when Daenaera was startled awake by his scream to realize immediately that he was tossing and turning in bed, clearly suffering the nightmare he had warned her about. She dodged a flailing arm and started shaking him, trying to wake him up as soon as possible. Tears were running down his contorted face but when his eyes finally opened, he seemed to recognize her and calmed down somewhat.
"Hush," Daenaera said softly, stroking damp hair away from his sweaty forehead. "It was just a dream. Only a dream, Aegon. You're here now. You're safe."
"I saw her." His voice was so low and shaking that the words were almost unintelligible. "I saw the dragon… I saw what was left of her face. I knew then that she'd never be beautiful again. She was yet to turn fourteen, you know."
Daenaera went silent, realizing with horror that his dreams did not discriminate between what had been done to his mother and Baela; in the power night gave his nightmares, he was relieving everything again, mixed and contorted beyond the worst of his actual memories.
"By the gods, I am only upsetting you," he said after a while, angry with himself. "It isn't as if dreams are something new. I shouldn't have come here at all. Now I got you all distressed."
Daenaera could lie and say that she was not distressed. Instead, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I am glad that you came," she murmured.
He reached for the decanter and she watched silently as he poured himself a liberal dose of wine. But after that, when she leaned back and held out a hand, he came to her without hesitation. Despite his distress, he looked more confident in his actions than he had been last night.
One day, I'll throw this decanter away and I'll be the only thing he reaches for when he wakes up like this, Daenaera thought and cradled his head in the crook of her arm. She might not be in love with him anymore but she did love him, this broken man, this young king whose life was a constant battle for his own sanity. Indeed, what else could she do?
"Your mother is where her brother cannot reach her anymore," she whispered. "And Baela survived. Think of me, Aegon. Dream of me."
He didn't say anything but after a while, his breathing evened out and he did not wake up anymore this night.