⸻ ( Daemon Targaryen )
She comes like rain, soft and gentle, upon his cheeks. The taste of summer snow and enduring love, like a declaration of war upon fate.
( house of the dragon ) • 2022
( editing in progress )
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LYRA felt a sense of familiarity as she took Aerion in her arms. There was a dread in her belly from the thought that she might never be able to hold him again. She stroked her son's rounded cheeks, a soft smile lifting the corners of her lips as she gazed into his violet-green eyes. Aemma used to laugh about how he could not decide whether he wanted to be a Targaryen or a Stark. Even his dark strawberry-blonde hair was reminiscent of neither hallmark of his parents' lineage.
There was Glover in him and Lyra had never felt so homesick as she did at that moment. She missed the sight of the ice-tipped pines stretching out at far as the eye can see, the frosty winds that kissed her face upon the ramparts and the flurrying snowflakes that would crown her sable hair. She yearned for the embrace of the hot springs in Winterfell that they would say was warmed by a dragon beneath the castle grounds and the raucous songs on the muddy streets of winter town when the Northmen gathered during the colder moons.
The door to the nursery opened and Daemon walked in with soft footfalls against the Myrish carpet. He closed the gap between them and his arms wrapped around her waist as his head rested against hers.
"Kepa!" called Aerion with a babbly voice.
Lyra chuckled, turning her face slightly to her husband. "He calls for you."
The edges of Daemon's lips curved slowly as he gently plucked the babe from her arms. In a few more moons, Aerion would turn three and Lyra wondered how time could pass by so quickly. She watched as Daemon coddled his son and a nostalgic ache bloomed within her chest. He was so good with the children. So kind and affectionate and heartfelt.
"Baelor used to cry every night," he murmured, "he was always afraid of the dark and could never sleep by himself."
The throb in her heart grew and rose upwards to the back of her eyes and Lyra had to blink the tears that threatened to spill across her cheeks. She forced a smile instead, capturing the image of him and their children onto the canvas of her mind so that she could immortalise it. Daemon placed Aerion back in his crib with a peck on the top of his head.
