Unable to Sleep: Daeron wakes up from a nightmare, Lyarra consoles him.

Daeron woke up with a gasp, he sat up slowly, the covers fell from his perspiring bare flesh. He panted and swallowed from the nightmare he suffered through. Soft breaths made him turn to see his wife slumbering peacefully on the left side of the bed, her pale bare skin gleaming in the moon's light.

Daeron let out a shuddering breath of relief at the sight of his beloved queen. He reached out a hand to her, but froze as memories from that nightmare halted him in his tracks. He withdrew his hand and looked away from her, fearing his touch would hurt her now.

With slow careful movements, he left the comfort of their bed and put on a red and black robe. He sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together with his mouth resting on his knuckles. Violent eyes stared into the hearth, watching the flames lick at the air and the embers crackle. For a moment, he thought he saw the flames turn a demonic green color. He clenched his eyes shut and rested his forehead in his hand in a vain attempt to rid himself of that nightmare.

"Danny?" A gentle Northern-accented voice pulled him out his dreadful thoughts as he looked up to see his wife before him in her pale blue robe. Her dark brown hair, though somewhat disheveled from sleep, fell around her in a beautiful halo and her grey eyes stared at her husband in concern. No matter how she dresses, she always looked beautiful without even realizing it.

"Lya. You should be asleep." Daeron stated, his voice heavy from sleep as his wife came to sit beside him on the chaise.

"So should you." Lyarra responded as she took in the layer of perspiration coating his skin. Her pale hand cupped his cheek, his skin felt hot, and not in the way she's used to. "Daeron, what's wrong?"

Daeron turned away, unable to look her in the eyes. "It's nothing."

Lyarra shook her head with a smile, "You're just as bad a liar as I am my king."

Daeron glanced at her to see her rest her head on his shoulder as she rubbed his back in a soothing gesture. He sighed, enjoying the touch and proximity that only his wife could have with him. He wrapped his arm around her, their hands immediately found each other without their owners' consent. His nose rested in her hair, taking in her natural winter rose fragrance. She never realized how her mere presence alone put him at ease.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Just don't carry the pain all on our own." Lyarra whispered as she stared into the flames.

Daeron opened his eyes. "I have to, or else you'll get hurt." He whispered against her hair.

Lyarra released a humorless laugh. "You fool, seeing you in pain is what hurts me."

Daeron couldn't find a proper response to that statement. She always knew how make him lose his tongue with just a small sentence. He hummed in his throat as he watched the flames with Lyarra. "It was a nightmare."

Lyarra looked up at him, silently urging him to continue. "I was in the throne room. There was a man sitting on the Iron Throne." He swallowed, "The Mad King." He felt her hold on him tighten slightly. "He was laughing as he roasted a man over a pit of wildfire while another strangled himself to death trying to reach the sword. They died in front of each other."

Lyarra stiffened at the story she remembered hearing all these years. "That was my grandfather, Rickard Stark, and his eldest son, Brandon Stark, my uncle." She told him, her heart clenched at the horrific recount of her family members. "That came to King's Landing to demand Lyanna's return. But Aerys had them killed."

Daeron held her tightly. "I am so sorry Lyarra." He felt he had to apologize over and over for his father's wrongdoings.

Lyarra felt there was something else he was keeping to himself. "That's not all, is there?"

Daeron looked away, his hold on her slackened as fear and shame painted his features. "Danny." She called him by the nickname she reserved for him as she pulled his face to look at her. "What has you so frightened that causes you to hide from me?"

The king could not withstand those grey eyes filled with worry and sorrow for him. After a moment of painful silence, he bowed his head. "When I looked back at the Iron Throne, my father was no longer sitting there...it was me." His voice became heavy with anguish, "I was laughing at a woman screaming in pain. Your grandfather and uncle were not my victims, it was you I was torturing." His teeth clenched, "I used wildfire to kill you."

Lyarra's eyes shined with tears as she shook her head and brought their foreheads together. "It was only a nightmare. It doesn't mean anything."

"We don't know that." Daeron whispered, "My father, mad as he was, didn't lose his mind until many years later into his reign. I heard people talk of how he used to be before madness took him." He pulled away slightly, but Lyarra didn't release him, and the selfish part of him never wants her to. "I'm afraid that will be me someday."

Lyarra shook her head fiercely. "No, no it's not. That'll never happen to you."

Daeron opened his mouth to speak, but his wife quickly cut him off, "Listen to me. It's not gonna happen, because I'll never let that happen to you." Her passionate declaration made his eyes widen. Usually she is calm and centered, never letting her emotions get the best of her.

"You are not your father, and you never will be. You wanna know why? Because you are Queen Rhaella's son." Daeron's eyes glistened at the mention of his mother, this kind yet tragic queen cursed into a marriage with her mad brother. "His blood may run through your veins, but it is your mother's heart you inherited." Lyarra placed her hand on Daeron's beating heart, "There is a much bigger difference, one you don't seem to realize. He never had any real friends." She smiled tearfully, "But you do, friends and comrades who follow and protect you not because you are a king, but because you're you. Connington, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Missandei, Grey Worm, the Dothraki, all you have freed love and care about you. They may not be your House, but they are your family, and family will never let you stand alone against that madness."

All the fear and self-loathing Daeron felt faded away, like icy snow putting out a fire. That is what Lyarra is, the ice which cools the flames of madness that threaten to consume him. He pulled Lyarra to him until she was straddling his waist, his arms around her back and his face buried in her chest as he trembled all over.

Lyarra wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sighed sadly against his hair. "You're not alone in this Danny. I too share those fears." He looked up at her in question as she continued, "I fear that I will also fall into that madness. Though I'm only half, I'm still a Targaryen. As horrible as it is, being afraid is a good thing, because it is the only time when you must be brave. For yourself, and for the people who believe in you."

For a long time Daeron stared up at her sympathetic yet hopeful eyes, her smile and her voice soothed his tormented soul. "I don't deserve you." He whispered into her chest, feeling selfish for wanting her all to himself, and for needing her to keep the madness from consuming him.

Lyarra chuckled as she combed her fingers through his silken tress. "Well too bad, you're stuck with me."

Daeron smiled for the first time that night, he never thought his heart and soul would be ruled by this wise honorable woman. But he didn't mind as long as it's her.

Lyarra smiled as she felt her husband relax in her embrace and whispered, "I will stay up with you, until you feel you are brave enough to go back to sleep."

They laid together on the chaise, cuddling and making sweet tender love until they fell asleep in each other's embrace. Daeron watched his wife sleep peacefully against his chest as his eyelids became heavy. That horrible feeling from before when he woke up no longer haunted him. As long as she was with him, the madness doesn't exist.