Beauty Of Rediscovering Love
Draco knew he'd be marrying Helaena since he was five. It hadn't been a secret, really. He knows Targeryens have a queer custom of marrying into the family, much like the Blacks. But the Black family never married their own sisters or twins. They married cousins, and generations of this practice resulted in inbreeding which in turn has caused problems such as low fertility and emotional instability throughout the family line, similar to the Tragaryens. It was also one of the motivations the Malfoy family had many half-bloods in their line, knowing that it would and could potentially endanger their genes if they were to inter-marry.
It was also the sole reason Draco had been inclined more towards the Malfoy family than the Black one because even though they went against the notion of blood purity, they never let it deter their family's respect in society from other pure-blood families. Because Malfoy's always used promises and money as leverage to gain what they desire. Because they know following such foolish notions as keeping a bloodline pure would make them enfeebled or unstable, and they would not risk losing control over themselves and what they wish to do by letting madness rule over them.
Still, he understood. Unlike the other Muggleborn and Half-blood kids, he understood such practices in great detail, even if he would not necessarily encourage it. And he didn't make his preferences a secret either.
If there is something he and his mother didn't explicitly agree about one thing, it would always be the marriage between him and Helaena. Not because he didn't love his sister or anything. He knows he'd never love anyone as much as he had his own family. Strictly speaking, the arrangement is ideal, considering Draco would get to marry someone he truly loves instead of choosing a bride from a noble house that is not even loyal to him and his family and only has interests in his titles or lack thereof.
Yet, that would not erase the fact that Helaena is the girl he knew growing up and was but a fetus in his mother's belly. Or that he watched her take her first steps towards him, that she was the only girl child of their age in the family and would always be protective of the little silver-haired treasure. And though he believes he's the only person in the entire world who could keep that sweet summer child safe from the vile world and politics, he knows Jacaerys would be more deserving of that position than him.
Because Draco knows himself, he knows what he is capable of when push comes to shove. He knows the lengths he would go to protect what's his, cross lines that no one would dare to cross. Knows how he'd become a wild animal, raging and inexhaustible. And maybe Helaena knows it too, for there had been times when his sister would go too far into her head and see something that would make her jump in her own skin at the sight of him.
And when those visions cut her deep, leaving a scar inside her already breaking mind, she would disappear for days into her room and not let anyone touch or talk to her. She shuts down completely and burrows inside herself. Not even their mother can do anything when Hela's emotions become extremely unstable. The only one who could coax her out of her pain is Aemond, yet, at times, even he would fail in it.
Draco doesn't know what she sees in those visions, what kind of monster cascaded over her in those dreams, but whatever it is, she comes back looking afraid of him and the rest of her family. So, of course, sometimes, he could not help but think they were the monsters in her prophecy. They were the reason behind her terror.
So, yes, even though he knows in a place like Westeros where men have power over their wives and children, only he could protect his sweet sister, he also understands Helaena would never want to be tied down to him. Jace would be a much better choice. For all his sister's mistakes, Rhaenyra remained a good mother to this day. And Jace would one day grow out of his foolishness and treat Helaena the way she deserved. And to learn her mother rejected the idea when Rhaenyra bought up had indeed caused a drift so huge between the two for the first time that it resulted in him storming out of her chambers in pure rage, a coal burning in his chest, and his mother shouting after him to stop and listen.
He finds her in her chambers, sewing a silk tunic, her pale hair escaping out of her braids. Aegon's anger dissipated a little at the sight of her. For all the weirdness his sister is known to revel in, there was undoubtedly a sense of peace surrounding her. Maybe because she choose places like that, or perhaps, she is just serene by nature, Aegon doesn't know. But he understands he could always sit beside her and bask in that quietness and not think about the politics and future of his family as long as he wished.
He calmly walked up to sit beside her on the ground, just a step above her, and observed the lone princess without destroying her peace for a few moments as she looked like she always did. Her straight hair that's always cool to the touch, with a soft, rounded earlobe and a tiny mole beneath it. "Black, Blue, and Red. Seven gems of power united by one. Wingless child, death begets him." The princess mumbles over and over, her tone barely a whisper. "Black, Green, and Red. Seven gems of power united by one. Wingless child, death begets him."
Draco did not have it in him to unravel the prophecy to see who was the unfortunate human that gained the honor of being considered a child of death at that moment. And from what he understood, Hela's riddles were spun based on an image or a sign existing inside her mind. And before long, those images she had never laid her eyes on become inseparably fused to the actual scene before her, and it would already be too late.
"You are not him, you know," she says suddenly, startling him from his thoughts. It takes him a minute to realize she is talking to him now instead of herself. He didn't even realize Hela had noticed him entering the room and sitting beside her, much less had expected her to start a conversation.
He blinks, his eyes slipping into focus as he tries to glean some assistance from his brain regarding the situation. "Not who?" He asks at last, feeling a tremor of foreboding deep inside him for some reason. And Helaena just continued looking at him as though she couldn't hear the rapid beat of his heart.
"Aegon." Helaena might as well have kicked him in the stomach. Draco couldn't speak; his breath stuttered in his throat, and there was a rushing sound in his ears, like beating wings. He stared at her, trying to frame a response, any response. He wants to close his eyes and listen for the this is not happening voice in his head, but the voice in his head remains silent. The voice knows that this is happening, and so does he.
"The Aegon in my dreams... he is different," She allowed herself to continue, unaware of the turmoil going through him. If there was anything Draco knew about Hela, it was how she would always choose her words with care. She would do it sometimes as though she was slowing down to find the exact word choice she had been looking for. And the fact that she chose ' different' to describe her statement did not help.
And somehow, Draco's first instinct was to apologize to her. "I am sorry you got stuck with a brother who is not a white knight," He wants to tell her. But he watched her talk as if paralyzed; he couldn't move his mouth as much as he wanted to. He can feel the walls closing in on him, could fill the heaviness of the darkness in his lungs and in his shoes.
But then she adds calmly. Sweet yet vicious, the words flowed one after the other, inevitable and unstoppable. "He was a boy who did not care about anything and was weak against the pressure of the throne and the duty upon his shoulders. A drunkard who hated everything and everyone in his family, but mostly he hated himself for being born."
It was probably not the longest Helaena had ever talked to him in one conversation. But Draco couldn't help but stare at the diminutive girl in surprise. His sister had always deigned to use words when she could show them through her actions. Nor had she ever gone out of her way to discuss her visions.
Yet she did it now. She chose the uncomfortable way. But, he supposes, this time, she thought her actions alone won't be enough. "But you are different, aren't you?"
His mind was buzzing with questions, but he was too afraid to ask him any of them. "I -" Draco starts, but he does not know how to complete the statement. He does not know what he could possibly say to that. The words seemed to be stuck in his throat.
"It's okay. I like you better than the one in my dreams," Hela says, and the smile which accompanies her sentiment is a sad one... one that's burdened by love or dreams or the pain of a broken heart, he doesn't know. He doesn't know how one can live a different life above their own and cling to her life's delicate hope by walking a different path that might not be defined. Can't comprehend how she aches and feels the pain of those who'll never be the same. "I am sorry it took so long to realize, brother," She says, holding her hand for him to grasp. It was a small action that held a promise of forever.
He sits there silently, listening to the crash of the waves against his heart, the howl of the wind in his lungs, and the beating of wings circling through his stomach. Without waiting another moment, Draco pulls her closer by her arm and bows his forehead against Helaena's. He feels warm yet cold. Real yet unreal all at once.
The whole world holds its breath and reduces to the soft echo of their heartbeats. And he falls in love again. And marvels at how easy it is to do so, almost like feeling warmth of the sun on his face, finding a star that shines, or seeing a moon that glows. And it's on that day Draco decides that Hela would be the person he could lose himself to and never wish to be found.
"And I'm sorry you had to go through that alone," His hand cradles the back of her neck, holding her close. His mouth hovers over her own, his voice dropping to nothing but a breeze. "I'm so sorry I let you face your horrors alone." Something at the center of her unwinds, and a sob escapes her, her shoulder sagging in an almost relief at his words. Tears fall like rain, a mournful sound. Because even if it hurts, the loss is easier to bear when shared with two.
She leans into him, hands grasping his shoulder, seeking comfort in his touch. In her newfound belief that even if she collapses under the weight of sorrow and death, Aegon will be there to carry her through. Because for as long as Helaena remembered, she always wanted to be held by someone. Someone whose eyes she could look into and see their darkest parts and not flinch. Someone who would understand her and tell her that everything would be okay. Even if it was a lie, even if it was for only a second.
After glimpsing at the darkness yet to be found, trust feels like falling. But Aegon had, big, warm hands... he will catch her.