Chapter Text
Joffrey had loved Daeron since childhood. And how could he not? Daeron was the ideal alpha: handsome, intelligent, and above all, kind. Unlike his brothers, Aegon and Aemond, Daeron never mocked him or his other siblings for not having the typical Targaryen appearance.
When Daeron presented as alpha, Joffrey began to beg the Seven that he would present as omega. He didn't know if his prayers were answered or if it was pure coincidence, but he thanked fate for his presentation as omega at the age of fourteen.
His mother, the princess heir to the Iron Throne, began to seek a strategic marriage alliance for him to strengthen her claim to the throne. But Joffrey refused to marry anyone other than Daeron, so he decided to confess his feelings to his mother. He believed she would understand.
Rhaenyra looked at him with a mixture of tenderness and concern. She sighed, searching for the right words.
—Joffrey, my dear son —she began softly, avoiding the formal tone she sometimes used with him—. I understand you feel a lot for Daeron. But you are so young... Are you sure this isn’t just a crush, a passing infatuation?
Joffrey looked up, his green eyes shining with an intensity that surprised his mother. A tear rolled down his cheek.
—It’s not an illusion, mother. It’s… as if I were destined for him. I can’t imagine my life without him. I thought you would understand, that you would see in me the same thing that you feel for Daemon. It’s… it’s more than just a desire, mother. It’s a need.
Rhaenyra felt a pang in her heart. The comparison was inevitable, but the situation was different. Her love for Daemon had been a storm, an uncontrollable fire that had consumed everything in its path. But Joffrey’s love seemed more… delicate, like a flower that needed protection. With delicacy, she tried to explain the difference.
—Joffrey, my sweet son… it’s not the same. My love for Daemon… was an unstoppable force, a destiny that united us despite everything. It was… chaotic, overflowing. Your love for Daeron… is beautiful, pure. But it’s still young. What will happen when the initial passion fades? What if he doesn’t feel the same? You must consider that, my son.
Joffrey stood abruptly, his face burning with indignation. His voice, though shaky, reflected an unwavering determination.
—It won’t fade, mother! It’s different! It’s as if we were destined to burn together! It’s not just passion, it’s something deeper! I know! I feel it!
Rhaenyra sighed, running a hand through her hair. She saw the determination in her son’s eyes, the same determination she herself had shown in fighting for her love with Daemon. A sad smile touched her lips.
—Alright, Joffrey. You win. I’ll stop looking for suitors for you. But remember my words. I hope you won’t be disappointed.
Joffrey’s eyes welled up, but this time, they were tears of relief. He knelt before his mother, hugging her tightly.
—You’re the best mother in the world —he whispered, his voice broken with emotion.
After that, Rhaenyra went personally to King’s Landing and proposed to King Viserys a marriage alliance between Daeron and Joffrey to “end the disputes and strengthen House Targaryen.” Viserys loved the idea, but Queen Alicent found it horrible. Still, the king persisted despite his wife’s disapproval.
Viserys informed his son, Daeron, through a raven about his engagement and ordered him to return to King’s Landing. Daeron obeyed without complaint, leaving Oldtown on the back of his dragon, Tessarion.
The wedding was celebrated when Joffrey turned fifteen. The omega waited patiently for his wedding day, until it finally arrived. Joffrey walked slowly towards Daeron, who looked majestic, elegantly dressed, with a serene, almost distant expression. Daemon, Joffrey’s uncle, handed Joffrey over to Daeron and gave him an enigmatic smile. The Septon began the ceremony immediately.
The seven vows were formulated, the seven blessings invoked, and the seven promises exchanged. Once the wedding song was finished, without objections, the time came for the exchange of cloaks.
—He may cover the bride and place her under his protection.
Daeron quickly unfastened his cloak of House Targaryen, while Joffrey turned and allowed his uncle to unfasten his maiden cloak and place his cloak over his shoulders. They took each other’s hands and looked back at the Septon.
—In the presence of the Seven, I bind these two souls, uniting them for eternity. Look at each other and say the words.
—Father blacksmith warrior. Mother lady old stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day until the last of my days. —They said at the same time.
—With this kiss, I give you my love as a pledge and accept you as my lady and omega. —Daeron said.
Daeron closed his eyes and placed a chaste kiss on the omega’s lips.
—Here, before the eyes of the gods and men, I solemnly proclaim Daeron of House Targaryen and Joffrey of House Velaryon, Alpha and Omega, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be anyone who stands between them.
After the kiss, the Septon ended the ceremony. The two looked at each other intently. As the hall erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating the union of the two young princes. Together they walked down the center aisle of the Septon’s hall, and people threw grains, seeds, and flowers at them. Some shouted, others cried, and the crowd applauded them. Then, the royal family and the nobles moved to the Red Keep to celebrate a banquet. During the banquet, Joffrey and Daeron were busy greeting guests, with no time to interact.
When the bustle of the banquet finally subsided, whispers and laughter replaced the clamor of conversations. Joffrey, radiant but exhausted, felt a shift in the energy of the room. A group of nobles, friends and family of Daeron, surrounded him with knowing smiles. With a mixture of nervousness and anticipation, he felt them help him unfasten his wedding tunic, with a mixture of joviality and respect. The laughter and comments, though suggestive, stayed within the bounds of decency. The atmosphere was festive, an ancient tradition maintained with a touch of elegance and discretion.
In a nearby room, a group of ladies-in-waiting and friends of Joffrey’s family were doing the same for Daeron, with a similar atmosphere of restrained joy and respect.
Finally, both were taken to the bridal chamber. Joffrey, slightly flushed but with a nervous smile, was gently placed on the bed. Daeron joined him, with nervousness. Once they were both naked, the groups withdrew, leaving the couple alone, though whispers and laughter from the other side of the door were still present, an echo of the celebration.
The next day, Joffrey woke up alone. A letter lay on the bedside table. With trembling hands, he opened it.
“Dear Joffrey, I will be leaving for Oldtown for a while to serve as a knight. I hope you understand.”
Tears welled up as he finished reading. Why hadn’t Daeron told him before he would leave? And why hadn’t he taken him with him? The joy of the previous night vanished, replaced by deep sadness and a sharp sense of abandonment.
The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. No letter from Daeron arrived in King’s Landing. Joffrey’s letters, filled with longing, returned unanswered. Daeron’s silence became an unbearable void in Joffrey’s life. The joy of the wedding faded, replaced by deep loneliness and growing bitterness. The image of Daeron, once so radiant, grew dimmer, tinged by disappointment and abandonment.
Seeking an escape from his pain, Joffrey traveled to Driftmark. It was there that he met Addam Velaryon, the bastard son of his grandfather Corlys. Addam, unlike Daeron, was warm, simple, and understanding. His laughter was a balm for Joffrey’s wounded soul. Addam listened without judgment, offering physical and emotional comfort that Daeron had denied him. In his arms, Joffrey found a different intimacy, a passion that was earthy and visceral, a response to the physical and emotional need that Daeron had left unsatisfied.