Daeron woke to the creaking of the door. Having never truly been as light a sleeper as his elder brother, he had to make do with the knowledge that should an assassin take it into his head to visit his own bedchamber, he would be beyond the shadow of a doubt deaf and dumb to the danger. What he could recognise of the present intrusion was the scent of his sister's preferred oils. Thus, with unspeakable fright at the prospect of her taking a knife to his throat, he shot up, mindless to the moan of misery given by his partner.
His expectations were fully fulfilled when he saw Shaena, candle in hand, eyeing him with a look equal parts consternation and equal parts disgust. "I should have known," she whispered hotly, her flaming face mustering a downward curl of lips. "Only you would be so uncouth as to bring a strumpet to your bedchamber."
"Servant's beds are woefully lacking in comfort," he answered back, more lightly than he had cause to feel. Glancing at the side, he realised he could not even recall her name. "Pray you give us a moment, sister mine," he spoke once more, eyes straying from his companion.
Shaena harrumphed, but acceded to his request, making her way behind a wide screen. The faint light from her candle made the shadows stand out. She was bending over the small table, replacing an unlit wick with her own. For his part, Daeron rolled his shoulders, chasing sleep away. His hand reached for the shoulder of his bed-mate and he shook her gently awake. An undignified sort of grasp left the girl as she came to, but gods willing, she was easily dismissed.
Sidling out of bed, he reclaimed his own sleeping garb and robe, the second tying securely about his form. With a soft sigh he hoped Shaena would not catch, he called her out of her hiding spot. "Are you certain you are decent?" she questioned, peeking around the edge of the screen as though great care might ensure the continued innocence of her eyes.
"Fairly certain." She made her way out from behind the protective wall she had so fiercely clung to. Shaena gave him a harsh look and sat herself on one of the empty chairs, the warm glow of the fire creating a halo around her head. He supposed that was the only way she'd ever be crowned, so Daeron decided against teasing her about that. He occupied a chair so he might face her and slouched in his seat, smiling at her frown. "Well, have you aught to say or were you simply in need of company?"
Her frown deepened. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a deep breath. "I find I am uncertain." Unburdening herself to him had never been one of Shaena's strong points, if anything, it simply told Daeron that she was truly uncertain and knew not how to proceed, thus he pushed away his more familiar disposition for a grave countenance which might convey his attention if not his willingness to aid. "He was vexed with her at the feast but he truly seems invested. I don't," she trailed off, eyes sliding towards the door. "What if it is the wrong thing to do?"
He did not respond straight away. The weight of his silence must have registered even upon Shaena for she shifted uneasily. "Men aren't that complicated," she continued after a hesitant moment, licking her lips, "and it's all the same to them, in any event. But what if I am doing the wrong thing?"
"Then you shall have to live with the consequences, I don't doubt," he managed after a time, "and the rest of us with the consequences of our own actions. Does it bother you that he is, how did you put it," he searched her face, "invested?"
"Not as much as I thought it might." Her candour shone through her voice. "Storm's End is a good home, I will be happy there. And I shan't cause trouble. I might even aid Rhaegar if he asks nicely." That day would never come. Still, Daeron nodded, allowing her to continue uninterrupted, "That girl, she holds Baratheon in no regard. And if you have your way she will someday be queen. 'Tis enough, is it not?"
"More than she had any right to hope to." A crown for the very little and unimportant service of giving up a connection she did not wish for. Daeron contemplated his sister's willingness to fall in with his plans. "You will not regret having placed your trust in me."
"I hope not." She blinked and uncrossed her arms, allowing her hands to rest upon her lap. The soft cloth of her sleeping garment creased beneath the ministration of restless fingers. "But what do you plan to do about the Dornishwoman? He fairly promised her a place at his side."
"Never have I heard of any such promise." A private vow might well have been given, and that Daeron had little power over, but seeing as Rhaegar had never truly been free to do as he pleased, he would simply have to be disappointed a second time in his choice of bride. Mayhap in time he would even be able to see the wisdom of his actions, if not express any gratitude for the intervention.
A small smile from his sister had his attention snapping back to her. "Typically male of you. He won't give in as easily as you seem to think."
"My will is as strong as his. I daresay stronger even." Certainly strong enough to withstand some glowering. "And I do this for all of us." She did not look as though she believed him, but then Daeron had no need of that. "How soon do you believe you can work your way into Baratheon's heart?"
Before she could make any manner of reply, a loud sound broke through the silence, startling the both of them. Ever one to exhibit her sentiments, his sister was already out of her seat, stumbling towards the source of the ruckus. He followed, somewhat more restrained. He knew what had caused it within moments and almost advised Shaena against stepping within their brother's bedchamber.
There was no knocking at doors and no chance allowed for their brother to straighten himself before they intruded upon his solitude. Daeron, whose experience with such episodes was vast if not impressive, walked around his gaping sister, doing his best not to alert any other living soul of the current events. He ordered the door closed and approached his kneeling brother.
Rhaegar was fairly blind to their presence, and no wonder. He had his hands full with exorcising the last remnants of one of those blasted dreams. Daeron was left little enough in wander that the hand he placed upon his brother's back created a manner of disturbance and not at all surprised by the sharp, almost immediate rejection he read in taunt lines. Like a cornered beast his brother reared back, eyes swinging wildly between himself and Shaena. Able to half make out the horror morphing the girl's features, Daeron steeled himself.
"Out," Rhaegar hissed, voice rough. No doubt his throat was sore and stinging. And his temper was riled. Daeron gave a decided shake of the head and again directed Shaena, she moved, almost as though she were a puppet on strings and filled a cup of wine. Whatever scruples might have held Daeron back from challenging a clearly ill-tempered dragon, they were laid to rest by said man's poor condition. Shaena continued to hold the cup as Daeron helped Rhaegar into a chair. A lesser man might have taken some joy from the clear discomfort written into his brother's face.
"Here, drink," their sister encouraged, for once displaying some softness of tone. She held the cup to the eldest's lips but he merely drew away, as though she offered poison.
"No need," came the same gravelly voice, even coarser than before.
"There is every need." He took the drink from Shaena's hand, dismissing her along with the relief welling up. "Seek your bed now, sister mine. You shall need your strength." If their brother thought the phrasing odd, he did not indicate by as much as a lift of his eyebrow. Not that one could be expected to give thought to such in his present condition.
Turning his attention back to Rhaegar, Daeron frowned at the sickly cast of his features. "The maester would be glad enough to see to your comfort, I don't doubt." As expected, a shake of the head was his answer. "It cannot be good to be so obstinate."
"Neither can it be good to be so very persistent in your bothering me." The words were sharp, but at least the voice was somewhat firmer than before. Another moment and his brother even drank some wine. "Why are you still awake?"
"Sleep is ever elusive." He would not mention the servant girl or his sister waking him. He supposed that irritable as his eldest sibling was at the moment, such would only serve to drive a wedge between them. "Truly you ought not to torture yourself so. You might have refused to attend the tourney."
"All of it might have turned out differently, but it has not. So here I am." So there they were, Daeron echoed. "Are all of us to be sleepless this night? Or was Shaena here at your instigation?"
Laughter tore itself from his throat. Rhaegar might not have their sister's flair for dramatics or even their father's voluble manner of expression, but he was equally volatile in his own fashion. "You will make me quite the villain afore the tourney is finished." Clearing his throat, he sought to alleviate the suspicions bubbling to the surface. "But I am not quite as wretched as you would have me. Shaena thought she heard a strange sound and came in search of a source. We met quite by accident." He held his brother's stare. "She worries as much as any of us."
Between Rhaegar's utterly foolish plan and Shaena's scheming which would bring her no end of grief, Daeron might yet manage some comfortable situation. If only he were not so put upon by the natural inclination of his kin to suppose the world at large an enemy. "I don't doubt," Rhaegar said. Apparently, one's family was equally to be distrusted. Daeron gave a long sigh, feeling his usually even temper strain under the threat of disruption.
He'd never truly envied Rhaegar his position, if only because of the state it brought him in. He had and at times still did, however, envy that particular talent his kin possessed to cut to the bone with the slightest of efforts. He could only hope to one day equal it. Meantime, he was obliged to make do. "There are times I wish I knew what to make of you."
"Are you truly desirous of speech? At this point?" He'd ever been more comfortable with plain speaking than careful manoeuvring; necessity had taught him the value of the latter though and it was a lesson he took to heart. His brother would not be swayed by words alone.
"I am always desirous of speech," he answered. "And you do not seem much for sleep. I thought to at least keep the both of us entertained." Clearly, his sibling was not at all amused. Even so, he allowed there was little else to be done and, might be, he was not yet willing to confront the emptiness his leaving would invite.
"Have at it then." And so he would, just as soon as he decided which subject to broach. Daeron offered a brief smile meantime, reaching for a cup of his own. He poured some wine, swirling it slowly.
"Jeyne Whent will be disappointed when she loses her crown," he said but a few moments later. "And I shall be disappointed to witness her disappointment. She is truly a sweet girl, albeit most unfortunate in her tendency to align herself with Shaena's schemes. Although I suppose she cannot quite help that." He took a sip of his drink before setting the cup away from his person. "You might give her the crown, you know, and I daresay Lord Whent will be too pleased at that to deny you anything."
"Alas, I have no intention of wooing his aid. One does not seek to win what is already in one's possession." What an odd manner of thinking, Daeron could not help but consider, as the words flittered through his mind before dwindling into the confused morass of disagreement. And yet, for a lover of words, he could not articulate his sense of unease with anything which might resemble intelligent speech.
He only knew it could not be as Rhaegar professed. "Where does it end then?" he questioned, tapping his knee in an almost thoughtful manner. "If one is to set goal after goal, and win victory after victory, is there ever time for rest, or even to rejoice?"
"What would be the point of stopping?" That wasn't an answer. "Have you ever seen a child learn how to walk? We learn to sit and crawl and take tentative steps. But no sooner than we have achieved masterly over our own legs do we spring into motion and before anyone knows we're running. It's the thrill of it, I reckon."
"I cannot recall the first time I ran." He did not even recall his first steps. Daeron had a thousand memories, of snows and sunshine, of smiles and tears and a great deal in between. He could not recall firsts though. "Can you?"
Rhaegar shrugged. "Who is to say; there are so many memories. And my mind is a fickle thing where memories are concerned. I do recall a particular moment though." Leaning in, Daeron encouraged him silently to continue. "It was some years before you were born. A warm summer day. I'd just seen one of those strange birds, the brown ones." Ordinary birds hiding their way through low bushes and small trees. He knew them as much as anyone else. "And I was fascinated, but every single time I tried to get close, it flew away. Only a short distance. Enough for me to give chase. It was the most exhilarating thing, the first time I recall running in such a manner."
There he paused, as though suddenly apprehensive. "And?" Daeron urged, wondering and failing to come up with a reason behind his brother's tale. He listened still. Rare were the moments when his brother trusted him enough to willingly reveal something of himself. And he, poor wretch, yet lived with a tiny sliver of worship in his breast for a brother who had been more akin to the mythical hero during his childhood than to a being of flesh and blood. But bone and flesh he was, and demanded his attention not by his graces, but by his failings.
"And finally, when I had chased it far and wide and my legs felt as though they would give way at any moment, one of those damned cats snatched my prize away." There was little enough to indicate a great grief but the slight wobbling of his lower lip. "The poor thing was struggling with all its might to get away. Have you even seen a cat tormenting its prey?" Daeron shook his head uneasily. "In any event, I got to observe the bird as closely as I ever could have wanted after I shooed the cat away. Fat lot of good that did."
"You couldn't have known. No one could have predicted that." His arguments were falling on deaf ears. "That bird would have ended someone's meal sooner or later, or else die in the cold of winter." But he could well see his words had not the impact he desired of them. "What has that to do with goals?"
"Set for yourself only those goals you can achieve by causing as little harm to others as can be. I may run at leisure and have no fear of bringing anyone undue ache. I cannot, however, chase a fancy I might have without giving thought to the consequences." Daeron digested the words for a time. He perceived in them a wisdom of sorts which pleased him.
"And when you say you would give as little trouble to those around you as you may, do you include yourself amongst those you would protect?" It was a risk, he did not wish to push too far, too soon. Faint heart never won glorious battle, though, thus she pushed on.
"No one goes through life wanting to be unhappy." Rhaegar shifted in his seat. "But a lack of unhappiness does not signify happiness necessarily. And might be strong emotions, whatever their bent, ought to be avoided altogether."
"But we are these things we feel," Daeron protested gently. "They make up our world as surely as the physicality of the objects and persons one interacts with. You sit by the fire and you are warm. Speak to a witty and genial acquaintance and you are well-entertained. Why curtail any of that? Why put the pleasure of good company on par with a lover's embrace?"
"Impetuous passion is a dangerous thing, little brother. Fire consumes, after all." With improper use all things spelled danger. Daeron did not pick up that tack, however. He gave a short nod. "And when it is done feeding, it leaves one empty. A husk."
"Fires can be banked. Surely one need not heedlessly embrace passion anymore than one need build impenetrable walls." There it was, his chance to make himself understood. "A banked fire is a wonderful thing. Especially after a cold journey through freezing lands." And he had just the flame in mind, if only the gods could be persuaded to cooperate.
He reached for his wine, draining about half the contents of the cup, waiting for whatever rejoinder percolated through his brother's mind. They certainly had some hours more afore the sun rose. And enough wine.