Chapter Text
Chapter 1. Flowers
Daemon Targaryen, at sixteen, was sure he knew everything about life. He was an alpha, a prince, a handsome fellow, and in his own opinion, a gift for any omega in all Seven Kingdoms.
Except for one.
Harwin Strong, his peer, a huge guy who until recently had been just "that guy you better not fight," had suddenly presented as an omega. A late presentation, rare, almost legendary. And Daemon, seeing Harwin the day after the news, realized one simple thing: this omega would be his.
The problem was that Harwin didn't seem to share this enthusiasm. He generally tried not to look in Daemon's direction and pretended not to notice his meaningful glances.
"He's shy," Daemon decided, sitting in his room and consulting with the only authority — his reflection in the mirror. "I need to make the first move. What do omegas love? Flowers! All omegas love flowers."
He remembered how his mother had once been moved to tears when his father gave her a bouquet of roses. Perfect.
Daemon went to the royal garden and personally cut the most beautiful red roses. Many. Very many. The bouquet turned out so huge that Daemon himself could barely wrap his arms around it.
"Your Highness," the gardener tried to stop him, "those are the queen's favorite roses!"
"The queen will be happy that her flowers went to a good cause!" Daemon waved him off, already imagining Harwin falling into his arms with delight.
He found Harwin in the training yard. As usual, he was pounding a training dummy with such force that the poor dummy seemed to be begging for mercy. Daemon struck the most effective pose (slightly sideways to highlight his profile) and stepped forward.
"Harwin!" he proclaimed. "These roses are for you!"
Harwin turned around. Looked at the bouquet. Looked at Daemon. At the bouquet. At Daemon again. His face showed nothing but slight bewilderment.
"These are... for me?" he repeated.
"For you!" Daemon stepped closer and shoved the bouquet right into Harwin's hands. "A symbol of my... well, you know."
Harwin took the bouquet. And then the terrible happened.
Harwin's eyes began to redden. Then swell. Then they started watering.
"Ahchoo!" Harwin sneezed deafeningly, and it seemed the very walls trembled.
"Wow," Daemon admired. "You're that happy?"
"Ahchoo!" Harwin sneezed again, dropping half the roses to the floor. "I have... ahchoo!... allergies!"
"What?" Daemon stared at him in horror. "To roses?"
"To all flowers, you idiot!" Harwin tried to breathe, but it wasn't working well. His nose was swelling before their eyes, his eyes had become slits. "Ahchoo! Ahchoo! Ahchoo!"
"Gods," Daemon exhaled. "I didn't know!"
"How... ahchoo!... could you know?! We've never even talked!"
Daemon darted around the hall. He had no idea what to do about allergies. In desperation, he grabbed some rag (turned out to be someone's training uniform) and tried to wipe Harwin's face.
"Don't touch me!" Harwin fought back, but due to his swollen eyes couldn't see well and punched Daemon right in the solar plexus. Daemon doubled over, gasping for air.
"Oops," Harwin said through his sneezing. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."
"It's nothing," Daemon wheezed, trying to straighten up. "I deserved it."
At that moment, Ser Criston Cole entered the yard for training. He froze in the doorway, looking at the scene before him: Harwin Strong with a face like a ripe tomato, sneezing so hard it clogged the ears, roses scattered around, and Prince Daemon Targaryen holding his stomach trying to catch his breath.
"I don't want to know anything," Ser Criston said quickly and walked back out.
"Ahchoo!" came after him.
---
A Few Hours Later
Daemon sat in his room staring at the ceiling. His first courtship attempt had failed spectacularly. Harwin probably hated him now. And rightly so.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Daemon muttered.
In the doorway stood... Harwin. With a swollen nose, red eyes, but alive.
"How are you?" Daemon asked cautiously, jumping up.
"The maester gave me medicine," Harwin sniffled. "It'll pass in a couple of days."
"I'm sorry. I really didn't know."
"I understand." Harwin hesitated. "I came to say... thank you for the roses. They're beautiful. Too bad I can't appreciate them."
"I'm an idiot," Daemon said.
"Agreed."
Daemon looked up at him. Harwin looked back without anger. More with weariness and... a glimmer of amusement? Yes, in the corners of his swollen eyes, a smile was definitely hiding.
"Are you laughing at me?" Daemon asked.
"A little." Harwin finally smiled. "You looked so proud with that bouquet. And then so scared when I started sneezing. It was... cute."
"Cute?" Daemon didn't know whether to be glad or offended. "Alphas aren't called cute."
"This alpha is." Harwin turned and walked toward the door. "Good night, Daemon."
"Good..." Daemon stumbled. "Wait! You're not angry?"
Harwin turned around.
"I'm angry. A little. But you tried. That's... nice. Even with the allergies."
The door closed. Daemon collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling with a new smile.
He doesn't hate me. He said it was cute. He smiled.
Daemon screamed into his pillow with joy so no one would hear.
The first step had failed spectacularly. But it seemed Harwin had given him a second chance.
And Daemon was determined not to miss it.
Even if it meant burning all the flowers in King's Landing.