you did not think about where you ran. you did not think at all — only that you needed to get away from there, far from the darkness, from someone else’s breathing above your bed. and only when you burst into his chambers, when the door slammed against the wall with a dull thud, you suddenly realized: you did not come to your brother, not even to your father. you came to him.

maybe deep down you always knew the thing your mind refused to believe: that aerion would kill anyone in the world and die himself if it meant you were safe.

he jumped out of bed in an instant — sleepy, disheveled, in only a shirt, but already on his feet, already ready. his eyes found you immediately, and all the sleep vanished from them in a moment, replaced with worry. “what happened?” his voice sounded low and rough with sleep.

you tried to speak, but the words stuck somewhere in your throat — you only caught air with your mouth, swallowed, tried again. “there… there was someone… i saw… he had a blade…” you forced out broken pieces of words that drowned in all your fear.

you shook your head, unable to continue, and he crossed the distance in two steps, took your face into his hands — firm, but careful, making you lift your eyes. “hey,” he said quietly, and his voice suddenly turned soft, almost gentle. “i am here. you are safe.”

you shook your head again — and tears flooded your cheeks once more, and the trembling returned, and you could not stop it, could not force yourself to calm down, because that silhouette with a blade in its hand still stood before your eyes.

“i woke up because i felt someone else’s presence,” you breathed out, almost in a whisper, and your voice cracked. “and when i opened my eyes — i saw him. he stood over me, aerion. with a knife. i do not know who it was, but he wanted… he wanted to kill me—”

he frowned so hard that a deep line appeared between his brows, and his eyes darkened, turned cold and dangerous like ice. "where the fuck were the guards? whoever he is, i will fucking kill him.”

he let go of your face and stepped back — toward the door, toward the sword, toward murder. and you grabbed his hand sharply, almost desperately. “no,” you breathed out, and there was such pleading in your voice that he froze in place. “do not leave. please. stay with me.”

he stood still for a moment — looked at you, at your face wet with tears, at your hand trembling in his, and his expression softened. the look he showed only to you and only when nobody saw. “come here,” he said quietly and pulled you toward him.

you fell into his arms, pressed your nose against his chest, breathed in his scent and felt his arms wrap around you. one rested on your back and slowly, heavily stroked it — from top to bottom, again and again, chasing away fear with every touch. the other rested on the back of your head, fingers buried themselves in your tangled hair, played with the strands, soothed you.

he rested his chin on the top of your head, and you felt him breathe — steady, deep, and that rhythm slowly became yours, pushing the panic away.

you still trembled — in your thin nightgown, in the fear that refused to leave completely — but with every touch from him, the trembling weakened. his lips touched your temple — slowly, gently, as if he sealed your pain away with that kiss — and stayed there for a long, long time. then he brushed his lips lower — over your cheek, your cheekbone, where the trails of tears still glistened — kissed them and wiped them away. and finally — the corner of your lips. he froze there, feeling you relax, feeling the last tension leave you, feeling your body stop trembling and trustingly melt against him, surrendering to the warmth.

“nobody will touch you,” he whispered against your skin. “let them just fucking try.” you sobbed one last time — quietly, with relief, letting the last pieces of fear leave with that sound.

“i was so scared,” you said, and your voice sounded muffled because you still did not lift your head, still hid your face against his chest. “i do not want to go back there. i do not want to sleep alone.”

he held you tighter. “you will not go back there,” he said. “and you will not sleep alone. you will sleep with me.”

you lifted your head, rested your chin against his chest, and looked up at him with wet, shining eyes. “aerion,” you whispered. “if father finds out…”

he leaned down and kissed you — soft and quick, without deepening it. enough to stop your words and your doubts. “he will not,” he said, pulling away only enough to see your eyes. “and if he does — we are soon to be betrothed. i think i have the right to sleep beside you.”

you looked at him for a long time — at his face, at his eyes where there was no usual mockery, only quiet, tired tenderness — and finally nodded. “fine."

“fine,” he repeated and led you toward the bed, never letting go of you for even a second, one hand holding your waist as if he feared you would disappear.

he laid you down on the bed, covered you with a blanket — thick, warm, smelling like him — and you felt warmth spread through your body, driving away the last remains of cold and fear. and then he simply looked at you — for so long that you started to feel shy.

“stop looking at me like that,” you mumbled quietly.

he smirked. “it is not every day you see a princess in your bed.”

you rolled your eyes — but smiled, and for the first time that night the smile came easily. then you reached your arms toward him, and he did not make you wait, settling beside you. he covered both of you with one blanket, pulled you close, and you felt him breathe, felt his heartbeat — steady, strong, calming. his nose buried in your hair, his hand found your waist on its own, and his thumb started drawing slow circles against your skin — again and again, lulling you to sleep, taking away the last scraps of anxiety.

and your fingers wandered across his chest, tracing patterns even you did not know the names of — simply moving back and forth, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it felt so familiar, so right, as if you had done this your whole lives. “i thought i was going to die,” you said quietly into the silence.

his hand stopped for a moment — and immediately held you tighter, almost painfully. you stayed silent for several heartbeats, feeling the knot in your throat finally melt away.

“the only thing i thought about,” you said even quieter, “was that i didn't have time to tell you… didn't have time to say the most important thing.”

his hand froze on your waist. his whole body tensed at once.

you understood that he stayed silent because he did not know how to speak about things like this. aerion always thought feelings were too complicated — he preferred to act instead of explain. he knew that he needed you, knew that he would never give you to anyone else, knew that you were his — and that was always enough for him. why use useless words that might mean nothing when everything already showed itself without them?

but now he stayed silent not because he did not care. but because he was afraid. you felt it in his tense shoulders, in his uneven breathing, in the way his fingers dug into your skin.

you leaned down and kissed his chest — right where his heart beat beneath the skin. loud, fast, frightened. “i know you will never say it,” you whispered into his shirt. “because you think you are above things like that. but i… i love you, aerion. and i always will. i was afraid i would die — and never get the chance to tell you.”

his hands froze where you left them. the chest beneath your cheek barely moved — he held his breath. one second passed. another. a third. you already thought he would not answer, that he would simply pretend he did not hear — the way only he could.

and then — a slow, long exhale. his hand started stroking your back again — heavy, soft, soothing. and he said nothing. but you felt it — he heard you. you closed your eyes. breathed in rhythm with him. almost fell asleep.

and when you already drifted into sleep, when your thoughts turned slow and weightless, you suddenly heard his voice — quiet, rough, almost impossible to hear.

“me too.”

deep in the night, while you slept — and did not feel how he carefully slipped out from beneath the blanket so he would not wake you. through your sleep you only heard his quiet “i will be back soon,” and then the darkness closed around you again.

in the morning the whole castle talked about nothing except the traitor knight who broke into your chambers. they found him dead in the dungeons — people said he died the most vile, most inhuman death these walls had ever seen.

and you sat in his chambers, lying on his bed, and understood. understood that he did not know how to speak beautifully. that his words would never carry the tenderness you read about in old books. but he always spoke through actions — every single time. and you did not need anything else. this was enough for you.

“what?” your voice came out quiet, trembling, almost impossible to hear.

aerion let out a short, bitter laugh and released your hands, which he held crossed against his chest all this time. and you immediately felt the cold, even though a second ago you yourself tried to pull away from his grip.

“now it is your turn to pretend, huh?” his voice sounded low and rough, and he dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek. he looked at you, and there was no mockery in his eyes — only bitterness, so thick it could choke someone.

“what will you do this time to avoid marrying me? throw yourself off the castle walls? or lie to me again all this time — gain my trust, make me think…” he fell silent for a moment, and his voice turned quieter, heavier. “and then run away to that puppy?”

your heart twisted into a tight knot — painfully, so painfully that it stole your breath. but then anger replaced the pain. how dared he? after all those years when you thought you would die faster from the way your heart hurt than from some illness or accident — how dared he look at you as if you were guilty of everything?

you opened your mouth to answer — but he spoke first. a quiet laugh with not a drop of amusement slipped from his lips.

“tell me one thing,” he leaned closer, and his voice turned smooth, dangerous. “judging by how hard you defend him, did he already shove his coc—”

he did not finish. your hand flew forward before you could think — the sharp slap tore through the silence. every sound disappeared — the noise of the feast beyond the walls, the voices of drunken guests. aerion froze, his head turned to the side, and he did not move. did not turn back. simply stood there, taking the blow.

your voice trembled — from pain, from anger, from thousands of nights you cried into your pillow, and now all of it finally burst out. “it hurt to breathe!” you shouted, and tears streamed down your cheeks, hot like molten metal. “it hurt to breathe from the thought that something could happen to you! never — do you hear me? — never in my life would i say something like that about you. and you… you think i was capable of writing something like that?”

he slowly turned his head, and his eyes met yours. he looked at you — without looking away, without blinking — and you did not know what you saw in his gaze.

you did not stop, because if you stayed silent now — it would tear you apart from the inside. “did you not feel even a drop of respect for me?” your voice cracked, and you did not even try to hide it. “did you really not have even a drop of warmth left to not make up this lie right now? to stop justifying yourself? to stop pretending this is my fault? guilty because you left. because you abandoned me. because you broke my heart, and then i dealt with the consequences alone — all that pain, all that humiliation…”

your voice broke, and tears poured endlessly, and you did not even wipe them away. let him see. let that man see how much suffering he brought you.

he opened his mouth — wanted to say something — and stepped toward you. you flinched back as if his hand was fire, as if he could hurt you with one touch.

his face fell. for a moment something flashed in his eyes —confusion? disbelief? you saw the way he clenched his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed. he did not know what was worse — that you did not even want to stand near him, or that you were afraid he could hurt you.

“i know you never loved me,” you said, and your voice turned quieter, but no lighter. “but making up such a stupid lie just to justify yourself — that is low even for you, aerion.”

you sobbed, closing your eyes, and the tears still slipped through your lashes. it always seemed to you that you cried out every tear in the world — from your mother’s death to the day he left — but somehow new ones still came.

and then you turned around and ran. not walked — ran, grabbing the skirts of your dress with both hands so you would not trip, even though it was pointless — everything blurred before your eyes from tears, and you simply prayed none of the guests walked outside tonight. rumors about your family were the last thing anyone needed now. you did not want the reputation your grandfather and his sons built for years to collapse because you and aerion failed to divide something that never existed. not love, of course. because it never existed.

behind you, fast footsteps echoed. you quickened your pace. aerion was wounded — he could not run at full strength, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still tightened at the thought that every step probably caused him pain. you would give everything you had to every god alive if they granted you the same calm and devoted love for tristan instead. instead of what you felt for a man who was never worthy of you.

you did not look back. you rushed into the castle, made your way through the corridors without stopping for even a second. in your chambers you almost slammed the door shut — it nearly closed completely — but at the last moment his hand slipped through the gap. the door flew open, and he filled the doorway, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

you turned to face him, dragged your palm across your cheeks — wiping away tears even though new ones still fell — and lifted your gaze. “i command you to leave the princess’s chambers immediately.”

aerion breathed heavily one of his hands clenched into a fist, the other pressed against his chest, where the wound hid beneath his shirt. you noticed the movement, and something inside you twisted violently — you almost physically forced yourself not to step closer, not to touch him, not to check the wound the way you used to. like back then, near the old wall, when he was just an angry boy with bloody knees, and you were the only one who dared touch him. you were never able to look at his pain calmly. what a bitter joke — he did not feel the same about you.

“i am not going anywhere,” he said, and there was no doubt in his voice.

“as heir to the throne, i stand above you,” you barely raised your voice, but every word fell heavy like stone. “and i tell you—”

"i do not give a fuck about all these. i am not leaving this room until we fucking talk.”

he stepped forward, and you aggressively shook your head, backing away even though the wall was already close and there was nowhere left to go.

“there is nothing to talk about,” you threw back, and your voice trembled, but you could not stop. “feed your lies to someone els—”

he did not let you finish — grabbed your wrist, pressed you against the wall, towered over you, and you smelled blood. apparently his wound reopened when he chased after you, and that thought caused almost physical pain, even though you should not care about him. should not. but you still noticed how the hand pressed to his chest stained dark and sticky.

“i did not lie to you,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “i received that letter.”

you looked up at him — tiredly, so tiredly that you did not even have strength left for anger. “and all those things you said were really written there?”

he stared directly at you, without looking away. “every single word,” he said, and then smirked — bitterly, looked away to the side and added as if spitting the words out. “ah, yes, and ten more lines. about how you regretted the gods ever bringing us together. about how all those septas and all those people were right — calling me mad and saying i belonged in exile. about how slitting your own throat would be less humiliating than becoming my wife and carrying my heir beneath your heart.”

he looked at you again, and there was such emptiness in his eyes that it stole your breath away. “detailed enough?”

your lips parted more and more with every word he said, and you shook your head sharply, unable to believe it. he tried to hide it, but you saw it — saw the pain and hurt he hid behind that smirk. and the sight of it made your heart tighten so painfully that breathing became difficult.

“i did not…” you started, but he did not let you finish.

“and you know what?” he leaned closer, and something new appeared in his voice — almost desperate. “after all those words about me — i still want you more than anything.”

“i would never…” you tried again, but once more he interrupted you with a bitter, joyless smirk.

“me and your knight are on the same level now, huh? what makes me different from that dog?”

“you are not different from a dog?!” the words burst out of you — loud, almost a scream, and they spilled from your mouth on their own, without thought, without restraint.

he fell silent immediately, he breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling hard, and right now he did not look angry or arrogant — he looked empty. you had never seen him like this.

but you did not stop yourself anymore — you could not, did not want to. “i was the pathetic fool who believed i meant something to you!” your voice cracked, and you no longer tried to hide that you cried — tears streamed down your cheeks, and you did not care. “i wrote that letter after i spent an entire week begging father to speak with you! to give you a chance!”

you looked at him — at his confused, tense face — and continued. “do you want to know what i wrote to you? instead of all that filth you just repeated?”

you stepped closer yourself — one step, then another — and pressed your finger against his chest, right where his heart beat beneath the fabric.

“i wrote that father wanted you to prove to everyone else that your intentions were serious. that if you waited for the right moment to announce the wedding — then you should stand before everyone like a man. that if your feelings for me were pure and you loved me, then he would give you his blessing, and we would be married within two moons.”

you pulled your finger away as if burned. “that is what i sent, aerion. not whatever madness you imagined instead.”

he looked at you, and you saw the way he frowned — heavily, slowly, as if he tried to swallow every word you said, but they stuck in his throat like a stone.

you sniffled, and the sound came from somewhere deep inside — from that little girl who sat beside her mother’s bed and did not understand why she would not wake up, while valarr stood behind her and tried to stay strong for both of you. you felt like that same helpless, crushed little fool again.

“i talked nana’s ears off since morning,” you continued, and your voice turned quieter, but heavier. “i told the servants to prepare the best dress. the jewels — the ones mother used to wear.”

you squeezed your eyes shut — the memories pressed down on you, hurt physically, as if someone squeezed your ribs.

“because i wanted to look like your bride,” you breathed out, opening your eyes. “we talked about it for so long, and i wanted that day to be memorable. i wanted you to think i was the most beautiful woman alive. do you know how happy nana was? how she said she would tell our story to our children?”

his face changed — his brows pulled together, his lips parted slightly. he looked at you as if you spoke in a language he did not understand, as if he heard all of this for the first time. he did not take his eyes off you for even a second.

but you did not let him say a word — you sobbed again, unable to stop the trembling in your voice, and you noticed the way he twitched automatically, wanting to step closer, but you immediately stepped back, and he froze in place, not daring to follow you.

you slowly shook your head, and your hand grabbed at your heart so tightly it felt like you could tear the fabric of your dress apart. “i stood in the rain and waited for you,” you said, and your voice broke into a whisper. “i stood in that cold garden for three hours. my dress soaked through completely, my hair came undone, i could not feel my fingers anymore. i thought i would die from the cold, but i did not leave — because you promised. you promised you would come.”

you squeezed your eyes shut — and suddenly that night stood before you again, the cold garden, the empty benches, and you alone, small, worthless, waiting for the earth to split open and swallow you whole.

“then i heard footsteps,” you continued, and your voice trembled. “and do you know something, aerion? i was so happy. i could barely stand, but it was enough that you came.”

you opened your eyes and looked directly at him. “it was tristan.”

his body tensed immediately — his jaw clenched, muscles moved beneath his skin, and you knew that even hearing that man’s name infuriated him. but it was not aerion who stayed with you that night. not him who covered you with his cloak. not him who took responsibility for explaining everything to the royal family while the servants led you back to your chambers and forced hot bath.

you struggled to breathe — the air disappeared, your lungs burned, and it felt like you would collapse right there at his feet. “that was when i understood,” you breathed out. “that you were not coming. and then tristan told me…”

you could not finish. your voice broke, you shook your head, covered your face with your hands, and your shoulders trembled with silent sobs.

this time he did not stay still. he approached quickly, soundlessly, towered over you and pulled your hands away from your face. carefully, almost gently. “what did he tell you?”

you shook your head, tried to pull away from his hands, to move back. “it does not matter, aerion,” you whispered, and your voice cracked. “none of this matters anymore.”

“what the fuck did that dog tell you?” he repeated, and there was steel in his voice, bordering on desperation.

you stopped resisting. lifted your gaze to him — swollen, red, with wet lashes clumped together from tears. and you spoke — quietly, almost soundlessly, but every word felt like another step into nothingness.

“he said people saw you leaving a brothel.”

you did not hold back anymore — tears poured endlessly down your face, and you no longer wiped them away, no longer tried to seem strong, because you had no strength left at all. for anything. “while i stood beneath the pouring rain and froze, while i breathed onto my numb fingers and shook from the cold, you… you chose that easy pleasure instead…”

he shook his head sharply, almost violently, and tried to catch your gaze, but you saw nothing, heard nothing except your own voice tearing the silence apart.

“i was always beside you, aerion. there was nobody i loved more than you. nobody. and on the day when you were supposed to tell the entire kingdom that you loved me… you chose them. you chose these women instead of me.”

you sniffled, your chest heaving, and you almost choked on your own sobs.

“no,” he said, and his voice sounded dull, desperate. “i nev—”

but you did not hear him. you stopped hearing him completely.

“all this time, while i believed you felt at least something for me, at least something small that looked like love… you went there and…”

he stepped closer — right against you, took your hands and pinned them to the wall on either side of your head, leaned so close that his breath mixed with yours.

“i was never there,” he said, and there was no steel in his voice now, no anger, but something else you never heard from him before. pleading. “i swear on my dead mother, i was not there. how could i even do that?”

you froze. because he never joked when it came to his mother. never. you lifted your eyes to him and saw his face — confused, pleading, more open than ever before. he looked at you as if you were his last hope.

“i was not in a brothel or anywhere else,” he continued, and the words rushed out quickly, unevenly, as if he feared you would stop listening. “i swear. i got that letter, got angry, and left immediately. i could not even think straight after that wretch handed me the lett—”

he stopped in the middle of the sentence. you saw the way his eyes scanned your face, and with every second something new appeared in them — understanding, heavy and cold. his brows pulled together tighter, deeper.

you were not foolish children. both of you understood in the same second.

there was only one person who needed all of this to happen. the one who could easily switch your letter — you studied under the same septa, even if he was often absent because of his duties. the only person besides aerion and your family whom you trusted completely, without ever asking for proof.

and he used that trust.

something cruel and dark appeared on aerion’s face, and his voice turned low, almost into a whisper. “i will kill him. he will die the most painful and shameful death.”

he pushed himself away from the wall, turned around, and you grabbed his forearm sharply, with the last of your strength. he turned back to you, looked down at you, and that cold fury still burned in his eyes.

“don't,” you said.

“are you still protecting him?”

you stayed silent. because you knew his words were not empty threats. if he wanted to kill tristan, he would do it. right now. and maybe somewhere deep inside you wanted the same thing. but tristan was your friend, your brother, your support. the person who stayed beside you when nobody else did. and your heart still could not believe that he spent all those years saving you from pain he created himself.

so you said the thing that would work. you knew it was not a lie — just not the whole truth. “can you stay with me?”

he looked at you for a long, long time — and you saw the rage fighting with something else inside him — he knew exactly what you were doing. knew you distracted him, bought time, saved someone who maybe did not deserve saving.

but he was too tired. or maybe he always allowed you too much. either way, he let out a deep painful breath and then sharply pulled you closer.

his lips crashed against yours — not softly, not gently. there was nothing careful in this kiss.

he pulled you by the waist so suddenly that you cried out against his mouth, but the sound drowned in his silent groan. your hands slid over his chest on their own, wrapped around his neck, fingers buried themselves in silver hair — so soft, so familiar, so him.

he bit your lower lip — not painfully and there was so much desperation in the gesture that it stole your breath. using your short gasp, he deepened the kiss, and his tongue pushed into your mouth — greedy, demanding, tasting you as if he wanted to memorize every part of you, every tiny piece.

he kissed you as if he wanted to devour you whole, swallow you completely so you would always stay inside him, beneath his skin, in his blood, where nobody could ever take you away. and you answered him the same way — pressed yourself against him, tugged at his hair, bit his lower lip, and he groaned, low and rough, and there was so much desperation in that sound that it made your chest tighten.

“finally,” he breathed directly against your lips, and his voice cracked, and you felt his smile — too unexpected and too rare.

he pulled away from your lips — but not from you, his mouth started wandering across your face, covering it with small, lingering kisses: your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your lips, your eyelids that you already squeezed shut.

“how could i ever want anyone else,” he kissed one cheek, then the other, “when you are the only thing i have ever needed?"

you only breathed out quietly, melted against him, because you no longer felt that heavy guilt that suffocated you for years every time you thought about him. the pain of all those years did not disappear — it stayed there, beneath your skin, in your memories, in those nights. you did not know if you would ever forgive him, if you'd forget. but right now, while he kissed your face and held you as if you could disappear, you thought maybe you could think about that tomorrow.

he was never a master of tender words. but now — it seemed even this stubborn, unbearable man could not hold himself back anymore.

he lifted his hands, brushed your hair back, exposing your forehead, and kissed it for a long time — simply stood there with his lips against your skin, breathing in your scent as if he would not survive a single day without it.

“never,” a kiss to your cheek, “nobody,” a kiss to your nose, “was or ever will be worth more than you. i realized that after you started coming to my training sessions.”

you stayed silent for a long time, simply pressed against him, feeling his heart beat in rhythm with yours. then you hummed quietly, lazily, hiding your smile. “actually, that was my reading spot long before your training sessions.”

he smirked — softly, without any sharpness — and kissed your temple. “whatever you say, my love.”

he held you tighter, and you stood there for a long time, you felt his fingers stroke your back — slowly, soothingly, felt the way he breathed — steady, deep, pulling you into himself.

you pulled back just a little to look at him, and he immediately resisted, pulling you close again. you did not want to ruin this moment — the one where you could finally be with him openly, not in stolen one. but you could not stop yourself from saying it. you could not do this to yourself again.

you lifted your head and met his piercing gaze. in the light of the few candles his eyes looked only at you.

“if you truly love me, you will let tristan win the tourney.”

a/n: i genuinely believe this story needs sad ending. pt5 is in process ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

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⭑ they told him to show you around the gardens of your future castle — so you saw everything and got used to the place. and he, naturally, refused. why would he waste his time and entertain you like a fucking servant? but under maekar’s supervision, he agreed after all.

he walked too fast. you clearly fell behind and did not intend to hurry or run after him. noticing that, he suddenly turned around. “do you have the legs of a five year old? can you walk faster?”

you did not even speed up. “i can,” you answered calmly. “but i will not. you walk like a horse and my legs are tired.”

he only looked at you for a few moments. “you are acting like a child.”

you shrugged and kept walking at your own pace. but you noticed how he slowly, almost unnoticeably, slowed down to walk next to you.

⭑ at the wedding, when the hour of the common cup came, you took the heavy silver cup from the steward's hands. you hesitated. you brought it to your face, smelled the sharp sour wine, and the corners of your lips dropped.

"i will not drink this," your voice sounded quiet but petulant. you pushed the cup away, almost spilling the wine on the white cloth.

"it is part of the rite," he answered, enough for you to understand how important it was.

you frowned. tiredness hid in the creases of your forehead, your lips were pressed tight. the candles danced in your eyes. "it is too sour," you said, like a child who did not want to take bitter medicine. "i do not like it."

aerion slowly turned his head to you. his eyes, usually feverishly bright, now looked at you with close attention. he was silent for a few heartbeats, then slowly turned his head and nodded to a servant.

"change all the wine to sweet."

and later, at the feast.

the feast was only growing stronger: the music became deafening, the laughter of neighbors too sharp, and the gazes of the drunken lords too intrusive. you felt your head start to hum from the chaos.

you touched aerion’s shoulder, interrupting his conversation with daeron. “it is too noisy here.”

aerion raised an eyebrow and looked at you as if you'd said something foolish. “this is a feast. did you expect silence like at a funeral?”

you did not answer — you just pressed your lips together and turned away, staring into emptiness. he immediately felt the change: you no longer tugged at his sleeve, no longer criticized the serving of dishes, and no longer rolled your eyes at the stupid jokes of the retinue.

aerion exhaled loudly, cutting daeron off mid-sentence. he suddenly stood up, firmly grabbed your hand, and pulled you with him, forcing you to rise.

“we are leaving.”

⭑ "i want candied flowers."

aerion raised his eyes from the scroll slowly, as if he did not hear you correctly.

"flowers," you explained, brushing your hair in front of the mirror. "the ones they make in highgarden. white, pink, in sugar glaze. they say they melt on the tongue like the first snow."

he rolled his eyes, the gesture came out almost too dramatic. "it is pointless," he dropped. "highgarden is weeks away."

you pressed your lips and turned away to the window, not saying another word. the evening passed in a heavy silence, you went to bed with your back to him.

he did not apologize. aerion targaryen never apologized, you learned that long ago.

on the fourth morning, you entered your chambers and stopped at the threshold. on the dressing table was a casket. black wood with silver inlay, too elegant to be just a box. you opened the lid.

flowers lay in rows. roses, violets, petals of plants unknown to you — each covered in the thinnest crust of hardened sugar, sparkling like frost. you breathed in the delicate scent and smiled brightly, looking at him as he stood by the fireplace.

"do not ask for more."

you took a white flower and brought it to your lips. the sugar crunched on your teeth, the petal melted — and he was right. like the first snow. "they are cold," you remarked.

your husband only raised one eyebrow. "the road is long."

"should have been faster."

he slowly walked closer, thinking about how he no longer even felt angry at such remarks of yours, only fully accepting them. "next time," he said, "go yourself. and we shall see how fast you return with flowers in your hands."

you took another one. a pink one. "you would not allow it," you answered him back, "for your wife to freeze somewhere on a distant road."

aerion closed his eyes. he was silent for a long time. and then the corner of his lips twitched. "no," he said so quietly that you barely heard. "i would not."

⭑ night fell on the castle, heavy as a blanket of lead. you did not speak for several hours — since he said: "no. i only got you the valyrian steel last moon" when you asked for a necklace of that rare blue stone.

you did not argue and did not fight, but simply went silent and lay on the very edge of the bed, turned away to the wall and did not even fix the blanket — let it be cold, let him get out to his own chambers.

aerion sat in a chair by the fireplace for a long time, drank wine, looked at the fire. he was right, and he knew it: you were unbearable, capricious, demanding the impossible with such an air as if the air around you should turn into gold. any other husband would have sent you to a family estate long ago to learn humility. but you were not just anyone. and he was not any other husband.

aerion set aside the glass, stood up, walked to the bed and looked at your back — offended, beautiful and sometimes (always) unbearable. he did not lie down at once: first he just sat on the edge, then slowly stretched out beside you.

you felt how he moved closer — the mattress sank under his weight, the warmth from his body reached your back. his hand lay on your waist.

"do not touch me," you whispered to the wall.

he did not remove his hand. on the contrary — he pulled you closer, insistently and pressed his chest to your back, buried his face in your hair and was silent for so long that you thought — he fell asleep.

"in a week," he said suddenly into the top of your head, muffled and tired. "your necklace will arrive."

⭑ well, he remembered everything about you.

he might seem busy talking to the lords, but his gaze was always on you. if you kept your hand on the fabric of someone's dress for even a second or looked with interest at an unusual brooch on a guest's shoulder, aerion noted it to himself. a week later, exactly the same thing, only more expensive and of better quality, waited for you in your chambers.

if you tried to express delight or ask how he knew, he only jerked his shoulder irritably. last moon, you kept your eyes on a silver tiara in a merchant's shop — for exactly one second, no longer. a week later, it lay in a casket on your table. you did not even remember it.

"it will suit you," he said, seeing your questioning look.

⭑ you were often capricious — sometimes because of trifles, the wrong fabric, the wrong taste, a word said at the wrong time. it would irritate anyone else to the limit. it irritated aerion too. for a second.

today was the fitting of a new dress. you turned in front of the polished steel mirror for an eternity, frowned, and pulled the lace on the sleeves. "it is terrible," you announced, pulling a ribbon off your shoulder. "the color makes me pale, and the style is baggy, as if i am a servant."

aerion raised his gaze and looked at the dress, then at you. "the dress is just a dress."

you froze, slowly turning your back to him — so proud, offended, with pressed lips and tense shoulders, as if he just insulted your entire existence.

"fine," he said more quietly, almost tiredly, and rose from his chair. he walked closer, stopped by your shoulder. "tell me how it should be."

you turned fully — still sulking, still with a stone face, but in your eyes was already that same spark which he learned to recognize since your first wedding night.

"silk, not brocade, the color lavender, not blue, lace only on the collar and take the waist in by three fingers." aerion listened, did not interrupt, and then nodded to the tailor, ordering him to begin.

he looked at you — there was no irritation in his gaze, only endless patience of a man who surrendered long ago and was even glad of it. "is that all?" he asked. you thought for a second. "and pearls along the hem." aerion closed his eyes, then opened them. "fine. pearls along the hem."

⭑ he loves when you sulk. when you cross your arms on your chest and turn away with pouting lips.

at first, of course, he ignored it — he pretended that he was busy, that it did not concern him, he even spoke to some knight louder as if on purpose, but he still looked at you out of the corner of his eye. the pause stretched, you did not move, did not even look in his direction — and he could not stand this. "again?" he said with light irritation, but he already walked closer, leaned down, and caught your gaze. "what now?"

"nothing," you stubbornly shook your head and turned away again. he exhaled, his hand laying on your chin. he turned your face to him, squinting slightly. "you do not know how to do 'nothing'," he said quietly.

you were silent and pouted your lips again, making him lean down and kiss you shortly and softly. he pulled away first and looked closely. "now?" you still frowned, but already weaker. "still nothing."

he laughed quietly — almost unnoticeably, only the corner of his lips twitched — and kissed you again, longer this time, warmer, as if he tried to fix your mood just like that. "is that better?" he asked in a low voice. you paused as if you thought about it, then nodded slightly. "perhaps."

⭑ aerion targaryen wasn't stupid. he distinguished a real tantrum from a theatrical one, a sincere offense from a fake one. he knew when you were truly tired, and when you simply wanted his attention. and still — every damn time — he gave it to you.

because the point was not whether you outplayed him or not.

the point was that he wanted to spoil you.

masterlists ˚.⋆

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@littlewritergreatgirl-blog @besonderselyy @thoughtfully-burning @rubyannebeaufoy @catmikaelson20 @unramdommas2004 @dragon-moonstar @sahvlren @quixoticrai111 @comzetogether @ladychaos1525 @hanakotateyama @bookishdelights @besonderselyy @jinmjy @naty-sunshine @jaemimpulsive

you felt your heart beat too fast, though you would never admit it. today’s stage was completely different from the previous ones: all the weak knights and minor lords were gone, and now it was his turn to ride out onto the field.

technically, the tournament did not involve deaths — usually the losers yielded after a couple of precise lance strikes — but the dread did not let you go. you did not know what scared you more: that something might happen to him, or that he himself might do something terrible.

while noble ladies in silk slowly took their seats, and lords lazily discussed taxes and other men’s brides, the smallfolk already pushed near the barrier.

“look! the first rides out!” a boy cried out wildly as he climbed onto a post, and all eyes turned at once to the entrance.

aerion appeared in shining steel, holding his helm in his hands. his opponent — a stately lord from distant lands — looked no less impressive, clearly inspired by the chance for a great victory. aerion’s eyes instantly found you in the crowd: his gaze slowly, almost tangibly, slid over your scarlet dress and your arranged hair before meeting your eyes again.

noticing that the rival lord smiled brightly at you and respectfully inclined his head, you involuntarily answered him with a soft smile. aerion, who did not miss this fleeting gesture, only gave a short, predatory smirk, after which both riders guided their horses toward your stand.

the smallfolk grew quiet when you rose from your seat, and the two riders stopped right before your box.

the dark-haired knight, whose gaze shone with sincere excitement, inclined his head. “my lady, i know i have no right to ask for such a thing… but if you grant me the high honor and allow me to carry your favor into battle, i swear i will fight ten times fiercer.”

you turned your gaze to aerion. he did not even grant his opponent a passing glance — all his attention was fixed only on you. he did not speak gallant words or give compliments; he only silently raised a brow, as if your ribbon already belonged to him by right.

you looked at each other for some time — the silence between you lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity — and then you lowered your eyes and look back at the lord, softly smile dat him, removing the white ribbon from your wrist, carefully tied in the morning by nana’s hands, and hand it to him with. “may it bring you luck.” the young man smiled from ear to ear, and there was such sincere delight in his eyes. “all for you, my princess.”

it seemed the whole field freezed for a moment — or maybe it only seemed so to you, because blood rushed to your cheeks, and you shyly lowered your gaze down, but not for long. nearby, a quiet chuckle from aerion sounded — short, but you heard it clearly, like the crack of a whip, and you lifted your eyes. he was already looking at you, and there was such confidence in his gaze that it made you want to strike him, like before.

then he slowly raised his lance — and you saw that a ribbon was already tied to it. red, old — faded, almost pink with time, but still holding firm, and you recognised it the same second you realize what you were looking at.

aerion lifted the corner of his lips. “i already received my best favor when it was the most important.”

and in that moment a sharp, burning memory struck you straight in the heart.

you ran toward the tent with the black dragon, laughed, lifting the hem of your long dress with your hands so you would not trip, and did not look back at the people who called your name — you did not care about them at all right now.

it was after his first victory at a small tournament, where no one expected that a boy in fitted armor would last longer than the first round, and he rode out onto the lists and took down all three opponents one after another, as if it was nothing.

you rushed inside while he still pulled off his armor, threw yourself at him, grabbed his shoulders and kissed his cheek — bright, happy, without thinking about propriety or who might see. “i knew you would win!” you breathed out, shining and looking at him in a way that made your cheeks ache from smiling. “i told everyone, and they did not believe me!”

aerion frowned, but the corner of his lips betrayed him and twitched upward. “i will scratch you with iron if you do not step back,” but instead of pushing you away, his hands settled on your waist, carefully pulling you closer, and you felt how he exhaled, how the tension left his shoulders.

“take it off,” you commanded, nodding at the remains of the armor. “i brought you something.”

the squire hurriedly finished with the clasps and slipped out of the tent, clearly not wanting to be a third wheel, and you waited until aerion remained in only a shirt, sitting on the bench, and then you reached to your hair — today it was braided into one long, thick braid, tied with a red ribbon.

“what are you doing?” he asked, and all the sharpness suddenly left his voice, leaving only quiet curiosity, almost childlike.

you did not answer — you walked to his lance, which stood leaning against the tent pole, and began wrapping the ribbon around it. the ribbon still held the warmth of your hair. “father said that victors should wear their lady’s favor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“my lady?” he raised a brow and stood from the bench, stepping closer, and you felt his presence behind you, but you did not turn, because otherwise you would surely ruin the knot.

you fumbled with it for what felt like an eternity — your fingers trembled from excitement, the ribbon slipped, and the knot refused to tighten properly, and you already wanted to click your tongue and just hand it to him so he could deal with it himself, when aerion stepped behind you and covered your hands with his.

his fingers were warm, rough from calluses — marks of long training, and you froze, feeling his breath at the top of your head, feeling how his chest touched your back, and everything inside turned over because he was so close. “like this,” he said quietly and finished the knot himself, firm, secure, so it would not come undone, and you watched his fingers as they adjusted the ribbon.

you turned to him and ended up very close — he looked at you, and there was no smirk on his face, only something warm.

you lifted your chin, looked him straight in the eyes. “if you lose it, do not expect anything more from me.”

he was silent, and then instead of answering, with one hand he pulled you closer by the waist, so you pressed your nose into his shoulder and felt his heart beating — just as loud as yours — and with the other hand he slowly ran through your hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers, from the crown to the very ends, gently. you froze from the touch — it was soft, almost intimate, and you felt how his fingers lingered at the back of your head, calming, pressing your head to his shoulder. your heart pounded somewhere in your throat, and you were afraid he would hear how loud it beat.

“i will not lose it.”

you blinked, and the memory scattered like smoke in the wind.

again — the noise of the tournament, the cries of heralds, the neighing of horses. again — sand under your feet, the burning sun, the heavy smell of metal and sweat. and he stood before you.

you looked at the ribbon — and could not look away. it had faded to pink, worn at the edges, but it was here.

you raised your eyes to his face — he slightly tilted his head, watching you, and there was so much in his gaze that you could not bear it and you looked away.

aerion slowly shifted his gaze to the boy beside him. “time to face the dragon, little knight.” you felt his eyes lift to yours one last time, linger for a moment, and then he put on his helm and the metal closed over his face.

your eyes closed on their own, because watching him leave was too painful. a lump stood in your throat, and you could not swallow it, and you did not understand — why? why did he want to hurt you like this? did he hate you so much that he would do anything to make you suffer forever?

suddenly, someone touched your hand, making you open your eyes and see valarr. he stood beside you — having approached unnoticed, silent, as always — and looked at you without words, because his gaze replaced them. he gave you a quiet nod — once, barely noticeable, and his hand squeezed yours, and you felt how it became a little easier from it. not much. but enough to endure.

it turned out to be not enough to endure.

in one moment you saw how aerion’s lance lightly touched the chest of the dark-haired man, and he fell to the ground — he did not yield, just lost his balance, and you managed to exhale, thinking that now it would end, that the opponent would stand up and brush himself off. but in the next second aerion had already dismounted, his sword shone in the sun, and the blade drove into the fallen man’s chest several times — without mercy, without stopping.

blood splashed in all directions — scarlet, thick, it flooded the sand, flooded the armor, flooded the pale face of that boy, making the ladies in the stands scream in fear. the smallfolk, on the contrary, shouted in delight, almost crushing each other just to watch.

“i yield!” the dark-haired knight screamed. “i yield, i yield, i yield!”

but aerion did not stop. he drove the blade in again and again, and his movements looked almost bored, as if his opponent had been a ten-year-old boy, not a fully trained lord.

you looked at it, and everything inside turned over, because it was unacceptable. any honorable man should stop the moment the other yields. that was the point of a tournament — not to kill, but to make the other lose. to show superiority, not to drown it in blood.

but aerion seemed to have forgotten that. or he did not care.

you squeezed your brother’s hand so hard that your knuckles went white, and you could not say a word. you only watched as before your eyes someone’s brother, son, future husband died.

and then — sudden silence. aerion stopped. his sword froze in the air, not reaching the chest of the defeated man, who no longer screamed, did not move, only rasped, covered in blood, choking on it. the field was quiet — so quiet that you heard the sand crunch under aerion’s boots when he stepped back.

he lifted his visor and slowly looked over the field, and you felt how he searched for you — because he always found you, always knew where you were.

“he is dead,” aerion said, and his voice was even, almost casual, as if he spoke of a sunday prayer. “it is over.”

somewhere in the distance a woman sobbed — maybe the boy’s mother, or maybe just someone who could not bear it.

aerion bent down, pulled the lance out of the sand — slowly, his fingers slid along the shaft upward, reaching your red ribbon. he untied the knot carefully, almost gently, without haste, as if he did not want to tear the fabric that was already worn by time. the ribbon remained in his hand, and he clenched it as he threw the lance aside, raising a cloud of dust, and walked away.

the doors to his chambers burst open from your push — you did not even think to knock, did not think about propriety. the guards at the entrance tried to gently explain that it would be better for you to come tomorrow, but you walked past them without listening.

you stepped inside just as the old maester was about to leave — he said something to aerion, listing instructions, dry and clinical. he stood in the middle of the chambers, wearing only a shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and he tied a bandage around his left wrist, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. he looked tired — shadows under his eyes, hair stuck together with sweat, a fresh bruise on his cheek.

they both turned at the sound of the door. the maester immediately nodded to you — hurriedly and a little guiltily. “my princess, i am very sorry! i am sure you came for an important matter, but the prince needs rest for now an—”

he did not finish, because aerion lifted his bandaged hand, and the gesture stopped the maester mid-sentence. “she may enter whenever she wants,” he said, not looking at the old man, but at you, and his voice sounded even.

the maester looked from you to him, then back at you — your dress was still stained with blood that you had picked up somewhere along the way — and in the end he exhaled and nodded. “then i will leave you.”

when the door closed behind the maester, you could not hold back. you walked up to him — quickly, almost too close, so that you saw every scratch on his face, every drop of sweat that had not yet dried at his temple.

“are you really so pathetic that you enjoy tormenting those who are weaker than you?”

aerion froze, holding a heavy silence. he simply looked at you with that unreadable, burning gaze, and then his lips touched with a fleeting, bitter smirk.

“and is that not the whole point of a tournament?” he threw out carelessly.

“the point of a tournament is to overcome your opponent, to prove your skill, not to kill!” you exclaimed, almost breaking into a shout.

aerion smirked again, but this time a dangerous fire flashed in his eyes. before you could pull away, he sharply caught your hand. you tried to break free, but he only tightened his grip and forcefully pressed your palm to his bare chest — to the place where his heart beat fiercely under the skin.

“he struck me with his lance right here,” aerion said, and his voice grew lower, heavier, and he pressed your hand harder against that spot, so you felt the hard iron of a bruise under your fingers. “if he missed even by an inch, you would be mourning my corpse now. i only found it fair to repay him the same.”

he fell silent, not taking his eyes off you, and then shifted his hold on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. aerion suddenly pulled you closer, closing the distance between you to something dangerous, his voice became quieter.

“and maybe i was a little more… insistent than usual. simply because he did not deserve your favor.”

you stood so close to him that there was no air, no distance left. his breath touched your cheek — hot, uneven, mixing with yours. your fingers were still intertwined — he did not let go, only held tighter.

aerion looked at you with such intensity that you wanted to close your eyes — but you could not. there was something hungry in his gaze, long restrained.

“i missed you every fucking day,” he said quietly, his voice low, hoarse, almost inaudible. “my little dragon.”

the words hit the breath out of you — because only he used to call you that, because that nickname died many years ago.

his gaze dropped to your lips. lingered there — for a moment, for an eternity, you did not know. you felt the blood rush to your face, how your heart started pounding somewhere in your throat, how your whole body went still in anticipation of what was about to happen. he leaned in — slowly, almost teasingly, and you saw how his lashes lowered, how he came closer, felt the heat coming from his bare chest, and you were already ready to close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable—

“princess?”

the voice behind your back sounded like a crack of a whip. you let out a startled cry and sharply pushed away from aerion, almost stumbling over the hem of your own dress. your heart pounded somewhere in your ribs, loud, painful, and you felt it beat through your whole body — in your temples, in your fingers, in the tips of your ears. you barely caught your breath and took a step back, then another, and only then turned toward the voice.

tristan.

“i did not mean to interrupt you,” tristan said, and his voice sounded too strained. “whatever… whatever that was, my princess.”

you raised your eyes to him — and something in his face made you freeze for a moment. he smiled, but his smile was different from his usual warm one. the corners of his lips were raised, but his gaze stayed cold, studying.

the feast went on — some danced, some laughed at foolish jokes, some were already drunk senseless, just to be seen by the princes, to earn their attention. the air was hot, stifling, the smell of roasted meat and expensive perfumes made you feel sick. you barely touched your food — the meat on your plate had long gone cold, the fat hardened into an unappetizing layer, but you did not care. you felt nothing but nausea and that strange emptiness in your chest.

all your thoughts circled around what happened just moments ago. how could you allow it? just a few sweet words from him — and you almost believed, almost gave in. again.

again you fell for words that probably meant nothing. as if there had not been a time when he fed you the same empty lies. and all it took was for him to appear — and you were ready to fall into his arms, like a foolish, trusting, worthless idiot.

“princess?” tristan leaned closer to you, and you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, blinked, returning to reality. “are you alright?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “yes… it is very stifling here. i think i will step outside.”

he immediately offered his hand. “allow me to escort you.”

you shook your head. you smiled — probably crooked and strained, because tristan narrowed his eyes slightly, noticing the falseness. “there is no need. i will go alone.”

for a few moments, silence hung in the air — tense. tristan looked at you with a long, strange gaze, then glanced around, searching for someone — maybe aerion, maybe someone who could see this scene — and you noticed how his jaw tightened, how the muscles moved under his skin, how his fingers clenched into a fist before he forced himself to relax. he gave a short nod and stepped aside, giving you way.

you rose from the table and walked away — from the noise in your head and from his gaze that drilled into your back all the way to the exit. and only when you walked along the path leading into the garden did you take your first proper breath of the evening.

you did not manage to go far into the garden — you only reached the first stone column, hidden from sight by the castle arches, when suddenly a familiar low voice came from the darkness.

“another moment — and he would have climbed under your dress.”

you stopped. you did not see him at the feast — he never appeared in the hall after the maester treated his wounds. where did he…

everything inside you twisted. it was too much. too much for one day. tristan with his strange looks, the feast, the tournament, and now him.

you slowly turned, raised a brow and tried to make your voice sound mocking, not trembling. “i thought the maester told you to lie down. or did you decide his advice meant nothing to you?”

aerion did not answer, just stepped closer — smooth, silent, like a predator that had already chosen its prey and only amused itself before striking. he smelled of smoke, the metallic scent of blood, and herbs used to treat his wounds.

“are you worried about me, little dragon?” his voice was low, almost gentle.

you closed your eyes in irritation, clenched your fists. “do not call me that.”

he did not listen. of course not. he stepped closer — and you stepped back, not breaking eye contact, not lowering your head, until your back hit the cold stone of the column. and then he loomed over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you.

“i see,” he said slowly, tilting his head. “you want me to call you what that dog does? princess? or maybe some other false shit he made up for you?”

“don't you dare speak about him like that.”

he smirked — short, and there was not a drop of amusement in it. “interesting. what did he do to earn your defense? spin around you for years like a chained dog, wait for you to grow tired, whine and hope for scraps?”

“at least he is not a coward,” your voice grew firmer, and you lifted your chin higher. “and he actually loves me.”

the smirk vanished from his face so sharply as if it was blown away by the wind, all amusement in his eyes gone. “careful.”

that made you smirk. “or what? your threats are as empty as your promises? i am almost sure you will forget those too, and then pretend nothing happened.”

aerion slowly leaned closer — so close that you felt his breath on your lips, felt the heat coming from his body. at the last moment you raised a finger, pressing it to his chest, not breaking eye contact. “if you come any closer, i will scream.”

he did not pull away, instead his eyes locked into yours, and there was no doubt in them. “you will not.”

you opened your mouth to prove him wrong, to call for valarr or even tristan — but you did not manage to make a sound before his lips crashed onto yours.

there was not a drop of tenderness in that kiss, only open, primal hunger. he pressed you into the stone column, and the cold of it bit into your back even through the thick fabric of your dress — but you felt nothing except his mouth, his tongue, his teeth that bit your lower lip.

he kissed as if he wanted to drink you dry, to burn your taste into his memory so he would never forget again. his breath was uneven, mixed with yours, and you did not understand where you ended and he began. his fingers dug hard into your waist, and his other hand slid higher, to your neck, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of your head, pulling your head back, opening you for his mouth that moved along your jaw, to the corner of your lips, to your cheek, and then back to your lips again, making you let out a quiet breath.

and you, damn you, did not push him away. because you wanted this. because no matter how much you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that you hated him, swore it was the last time — you wanted this. you always did. and now, when his tongue pushed into your mouth, rough and demanding, tasting you — you melted like wax, gave in to this man who never left your thoughts.

your fingers tightened on the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, as much as it was even possible. he groaned into your lips — a low, dull sound that echoed through you, and you felt it in every nerve.

when there was too little air left, he broke the kiss, but did not pull away. his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, hot, mixing with yours.

“marry me,” he whispered, his lips almost touching yours. “marry me and i will stop all this. i will do anything you want.”

you froze. his words fell into the silence of the garden like heavy stones, but instead of warming you, they poured over you like ice water and brought you back to your senses.

what were you letting happen? you were in the castle garden, where any lord, any servant, gods, even your father could come out and see you pressed to the stone column, his hands on your hips, your fingers still clutching the collar of his shirt.

you pushed him away — sharp, so that he, losing balance, stepped back, stumbling over the wet grass. and before he could straighten, you raised your hand and struck his face. the sharp crack of the blow tore through the silence, his head snapped to the side, and for a moment he froze, pressing his palm to his burning cheek.

you breathed heavily, fast, your chest rising and falling, your eyes filled with moisture — but you would not let the tears fall.

“don't you dare do this,” your voice trembled, but you held it with all your strength. “i let you fool me once. i will not let you do it again.”

you pressed your lips together and shook your head — loose strands from your disheveled braid fell over your face, making you look more vulnerable, more defenseless. “i've had enough.”

you pushed yourself away from the cold stone, walked past him and headed back toward the castle. tears treacherously gathered, ready to fall, and you barely saw the path, but your feet carried you forward — away, far from this man, from his lying words, from the kiss that still burned on your lips and scorched you from the inside with shame. you did not think about how you looked — disheveled, with red eyes and heavy breathing — you just walked, faster with each step.

but you did not manage even ten steps — a hand caught your wrist, iron grip pulling you back, turning you toward him. you, without thinking, raised your free hand to strike, but he caught it too, pressing your wrists to his chest, trapping you — his fingers closed around your bones, not painfully, but so tight you could not break free.

“i was a fool,” he said, and his voice sounded low, strained. “i did terrible things. but i never lied to you.”

the first tear slipped from your lashes and rolled down your cheek — hot in the cold night air. you smirked, crooked, bitter. “you really have no conscience, do you?”

he leaned closer — so close that his lips almost touched yours, and you felt his breath. “every word i told you was the truth,” he whispered hoarsely. “i fucking always told the truth when it came to you.”

you jerked, trying to free your hands, but he held firm — and you stayed trapped, looking through wet lashes, through tears already streaming down your face.

“oh yes, you were honest,” your voice broke, became quieter, but heavier, as if every word had to be torn from your chest along with a piece of flesh. “and when you left me alone that day, when you were supposed to tell everyone — most of all my father — that you loved me? i noticed how honest you were while i stood there, in front of everyone, and waited for you until the very end. like a stupid, naive fool.”

he frowned — so deeply that a shadow settled between his brows — and his eyes locked onto yours with some kind of wild confusion.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

you glanced around — at the empty garden, at the tree trunks, at the castle glowing with candles in the distance — and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“do not pretend you do not know. it does not suit you, aerion. i sent you a lette—”

“yes, a letter where you said you would rather commit treason and let them flay you alive before the smallfolk than marry me.”

that made you frown and look up at him. you heard his words, but they did not reach your mind — they drifted, distorted, as if through thick, icy water.

“what?”

more of aerion & akotsk! 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 part 4 is in process ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you felt your heart beat too fast, though you would never admit it. today’s stage was completely different from the previous ones: all the weak knights and minor lords were gone, and now it was his turn to ride out onto the field.

technically, the tournament did not involve deaths — usually the losers yielded after a couple of precise lance strikes — but the dread did not let you go. you did not know what scared you more: that something might happen to him, or that he himself might do something terrible.

while noble ladies in silk slowly took their seats, and lords lazily discussed taxes and other men’s brides, the smallfolk already pushed near the barrier.

“look! the first rides out!” a boy cried out wildly as he climbed onto a post, and all eyes turned at once to the entrance.

aerion appeared in shining steel, holding his helm in his hands. his opponent — a stately lord from distant lands — looked no less impressive, clearly inspired by the chance for a great victory. aerion’s eyes instantly found you in the crowd: his gaze slowly, almost tangibly, slid over your scarlet dress and your arranged hair before meeting your eyes again.

noticing that the rival lord smiled brightly at you and respectfully inclined his head, you involuntarily answered him with a soft smile. aerion, who did not miss this fleeting gesture, only gave a short, predatory smirk, after which both riders guided their horses toward your stand.

the smallfolk grew quiet when you rose from your seat, and the two riders stopped right before your box.

the dark-haired knight, whose gaze shone with sincere excitement, inclined his head. “my lady, i know i have no right to ask for such a thing… but if you grant me the high honor and allow me to carry your favor into battle, i swear i will fight ten times fiercer.”

you turned your gaze to aerion. he did not even grant his opponent a passing glance — all his attention was fixed only on you. he did not speak gallant words or give compliments; he only silently raised a brow, as if your ribbon already belonged to him by right.

you looked at each other for some time — the silence between you lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity — and then you lowered your eyes and look back at the lord, softly smile dat him, removing the white ribbon from your wrist, carefully tied in the morning by nana’s hands, and hand it to him with. “may it bring you luck.” the young man smiled from ear to ear, and there was such sincere delight in his eyes. “all for you, my princess.”

it seemed the whole field freezed for a moment — or maybe it only seemed so to you, because blood rushed to your cheeks, and you shyly lowered your gaze down, but not for long. nearby, a quiet chuckle from aerion sounded — short, but you heard it clearly, like the crack of a whip, and you lifted your eyes. he was already looking at you, and there was such confidence in his gaze that it made you want to strike him, like before.

then he slowly raised his lance — and you saw that a ribbon was already tied to it. red, old — faded, almost pink with time, but still holding firm, and you recognised it the same second you realize what you were looking at.

aerion lifted the corner of his lips. “i already received my best favor when it was the most important.”

and in that moment a sharp, burning memory struck you straight in the heart.

you ran toward the tent with the black dragon, laughed, lifting the hem of your long dress with your hands so you would not trip, and did not look back at the people who called your name — you did not care about them at all right now.

it was after his first victory at a small tournament, where no one expected that a boy in fitted armor would last longer than the first round, and he rode out onto the lists and took down all three opponents one after another, as if it was nothing.

you rushed inside while he still pulled off his armor, threw yourself at him, grabbed his shoulders and kissed his cheek — bright, happy, without thinking about propriety or who might see. “i knew you would win!” you breathed out, shining and looking at him in a way that made your cheeks ache from smiling. “i told everyone, and they did not believe me!”

aerion frowned, but the corner of his lips betrayed him and twitched upward. “i will scratch you with iron if you do not step back,” but instead of pushing you away, his hands settled on your waist, carefully pulling you closer, and you felt how he exhaled, how the tension left his shoulders.

“take it off,” you commanded, nodding at the remains of the armor. “i brought you something.”

the squire hurriedly finished with the clasps and slipped out of the tent, clearly not wanting to be a third wheel, and you waited until aerion remained in only a shirt, sitting on the bench, and then you reached to your hair — today it was braided into one long, thick braid, tied with a red ribbon.

“what are you doing?” he asked, and all the sharpness suddenly left his voice, leaving only quiet curiosity, almost childlike.

you did not answer — you walked to his lance, which stood leaning against the tent pole, and began wrapping the ribbon around it. the ribbon still held the warmth of your hair. “father said that victors should wear their lady’s favor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“my lady?” he raised a brow and stood from the bench, stepping closer, and you felt his presence behind you, but you did not turn, because otherwise you would surely ruin the knot.

you fumbled with it for what felt like an eternity — your fingers trembled from excitement, the ribbon slipped, and the knot refused to tighten properly, and you already wanted to click your tongue and just hand it to him so he could deal with it himself, when aerion stepped behind you and covered your hands with his.

his fingers were warm, rough from calluses — marks of long training, and you froze, feeling his breath at the top of your head, feeling how his chest touched your back, and everything inside turned over because he was so close. “like this,” he said quietly and finished the knot himself, firm, secure, so it would not come undone, and you watched his fingers as they adjusted the ribbon.

you turned to him and ended up very close — he looked at you, and there was no smirk on his face, only something warm.

you lifted your chin, looked him straight in the eyes. “if you lose it, do not expect anything more from me.”

he was silent, and then instead of answering, with one hand he pulled you closer by the waist, so you pressed your nose into his shoulder and felt his heart beating — just as loud as yours — and with the other hand he slowly ran through your hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers, from the crown to the very ends, gently. you froze from the touch — it was soft, almost intimate, and you felt how his fingers lingered at the back of your head, calming, pressing your head to his shoulder. your heart pounded somewhere in your throat, and you were afraid he would hear how loud it beat.

“i will not lose it.”

you blinked, and the memory scattered like smoke in the wind.

again — the noise of the tournament, the cries of heralds, the neighing of horses. again — sand under your feet, the burning sun, the heavy smell of metal and sweat. and he stood before you.

you looked at the ribbon — and could not look away. it had faded to pink, worn at the edges, but it was here.

you raised your eyes to his face — he slightly tilted his head, watching you, and there was so much in his gaze that you could not bear it and you looked away.

aerion slowly shifted his gaze to the boy beside him. “time to face the dragon, little knight.” you felt his eyes lift to yours one last time, linger for a moment, and then he put on his helm and the metal closed over his face.

your eyes closed on their own, because watching him leave was too painful. a lump stood in your throat, and you could not swallow it, and you did not understand — why? why did he want to hurt you like this? did he hate you so much that he would do anything to make you suffer forever?

suddenly, someone touched your hand, making you open your eyes and see valarr. he stood beside you — having approached unnoticed, silent, as always — and looked at you without words, because his gaze replaced them. he gave you a quiet nod — once, barely noticeable, and his hand squeezed yours, and you felt how it became a little easier from it. not much. but enough to endure.

it turned out to be not enough to endure.

in one moment you saw how aerion’s lance lightly touched the chest of the dark-haired man, and he fell to the ground — he did not yield, just lost his balance, and you managed to exhale, thinking that now it would end, that the opponent would stand up and brush himself off. but in the next second aerion had already dismounted, his sword shone in the sun, and the blade drove into the fallen man’s chest several times — without mercy, without stopping.

blood splashed in all directions — scarlet, thick, it flooded the sand, flooded the armor, flooded the pale face of that boy, making the ladies in the stands scream in fear. the smallfolk, on the contrary, shouted in delight, almost crushing each other just to watch.

“i yield!” the dark-haired knight screamed. “i yield, i yield, i yield!”

but aerion did not stop. he drove the blade in again and again, and his movements looked almost bored, as if his opponent had been a ten-year-old boy, not a fully trained lord.

you looked at it, and everything inside turned over, because it was unacceptable. any honorable man should stop the moment the other yields. that was the point of a tournament — not to kill, but to make the other lose. to show superiority, not to drown it in blood.

but aerion seemed to have forgotten that. or he did not care.

you squeezed your brother’s hand so hard that your knuckles went white, and you could not say a word. you only watched as before your eyes someone’s brother, son, future husband died.

and then — sudden silence. aerion stopped. his sword froze in the air, not reaching the chest of the defeated man, who no longer screamed, did not move, only rasped, covered in blood, choking on it. the field was quiet — so quiet that you heard the sand crunch under aerion’s boots when he stepped back.

he lifted his visor and slowly looked over the field, and you felt how he searched for you — because he always found you, always knew where you were.

“he is dead,” aerion said, and his voice was even, almost casual, as if he spoke of a sunday prayer. “it is over.”

somewhere in the distance a woman sobbed — maybe the boy’s mother, or maybe just someone who could not bear it.

aerion bent down, pulled the lance out of the sand — slowly, his fingers slid along the shaft upward, reaching your red ribbon. he untied the knot carefully, almost gently, without haste, as if he did not want to tear the fabric that was already worn by time. the ribbon remained in his hand, and he clenched it as he threw the lance aside, raising a cloud of dust, and walked away.

the doors to his chambers burst open from your push — you did not even think to knock, did not think about propriety. the guards at the entrance tried to gently explain that it would be better for you to come tomorrow, but you walked past them without listening.

you stepped inside just as the old maester was about to leave — he said something to aerion, listing instructions, dry and clinical. he stood in the middle of the chambers, wearing only a shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and he tied a bandage around his left wrist, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. he looked tired — shadows under his eyes, hair stuck together with sweat, a fresh bruise on his cheek.

they both turned at the sound of the door. the maester immediately nodded to you — hurriedly and a little guiltily. “my princess, i am very sorry! i am sure you came for an important matter, but the prince needs rest for now an—”

he did not finish, because aerion lifted his bandaged hand, and the gesture stopped the maester mid-sentence. “she may enter whenever she wants,” he said, not looking at the old man, but at you, and his voice sounded even.

the maester looked from you to him, then back at you — your dress was still stained with blood that you had picked up somewhere along the way — and in the end he exhaled and nodded. “then i will leave you.”

when the door closed behind the maester, you could not hold back. you walked up to him — quickly, almost too close, so that you saw every scratch on his face, every drop of sweat that had not yet dried at his temple.

“are you really so pathetic that you enjoy tormenting those who are weaker than you?”

aerion froze, holding a heavy silence. he simply looked at you with that unreadable, burning gaze, and then his lips touched with a fleeting, bitter smirk.

“and is that not the whole point of a tournament?” he threw out carelessly.

“the point of a tournament is to overcome your opponent, to prove your skill, not to kill!” you exclaimed, almost breaking into a shout.

aerion smirked again, but this time a dangerous fire flashed in his eyes. before you could pull away, he sharply caught your hand. you tried to break free, but he only tightened his grip and forcefully pressed your palm to his bare chest — to the place where his heart beat fiercely under the skin.

“he struck me with his lance right here,” aerion said, and his voice grew lower, heavier, and he pressed your hand harder against that spot, so you felt the hard iron of a bruise under your fingers. “if he missed even by an inch, you would be mourning my corpse now. i only found it fair to repay him the same.”

he fell silent, not taking his eyes off you, and then shifted his hold on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. aerion suddenly pulled you closer, closing the distance between you to something dangerous, his voice became quieter.

“and maybe i was a little more… insistent than usual. simply because he did not deserve your favor.”

you stood so close to him that there was no air, no distance left. his breath touched your cheek — hot, uneven, mixing with yours. your fingers were still intertwined — he did not let go, only held tighter.

aerion looked at you with such intensity that you wanted to close your eyes — but you could not. there was something hungry in his gaze, long restrained.

“i missed you every fucking day,” he said quietly, his voice low, hoarse, almost inaudible. “my little dragon.”

the words hit the breath out of you — because only he used to call you that, because that nickname died many years ago.

his gaze dropped to your lips. lingered there — for a moment, for an eternity, you did not know. you felt the blood rush to your face, how your heart started pounding somewhere in your throat, how your whole body went still in anticipation of what was about to happen. he leaned in — slowly, almost teasingly, and you saw how his lashes lowered, how he came closer, felt the heat coming from his bare chest, and you were already ready to close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable—

“princess?”

the voice behind your back sounded like a crack of a whip. you let out a startled cry and sharply pushed away from aerion, almost stumbling over the hem of your own dress. your heart pounded somewhere in your ribs, loud, painful, and you felt it beat through your whole body — in your temples, in your fingers, in the tips of your ears. you barely caught your breath and took a step back, then another, and only then turned toward the voice.

tristan.

“i did not mean to interrupt you,” tristan said, and his voice sounded too strained. “whatever… whatever that was, my princess.”

you raised your eyes to him — and something in his face made you freeze for a moment. he smiled, but his smile was different from his usual warm one. the corners of his lips were raised, but his gaze stayed cold, studying.

the feast went on — some danced, some laughed at foolish jokes, some were already drunk senseless, just to be seen by the princes, to earn their attention. the air was hot, stifling, the smell of roasted meat and expensive perfumes made you feel sick. you barely touched your food — the meat on your plate had long gone cold, the fat hardened into an unappetizing layer, but you did not care. you felt nothing but nausea and that strange emptiness in your chest.

all your thoughts circled around what happened just moments ago. how could you allow it? just a few sweet words from him — and you almost believed, almost gave in. again.

again you fell for words that probably meant nothing. as if there had not been a time when he fed you the same empty lies. and all it took was for him to appear — and you were ready to fall into his arms, like a foolish, trusting, worthless idiot.

“princess?” tristan leaned closer to you, and you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, blinked, returning to reality. “are you alright?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “yes… it is very stifling here. i think i will step outside.”

he immediately offered his hand. “allow me to escort you.”

you shook your head. you smiled — probably crooked and strained, because tristan narrowed his eyes slightly, noticing the falseness. “there is no need. i will go alone.”

for a few moments, silence hung in the air — tense. tristan looked at you with a long, strange gaze, then glanced around, searching for someone — maybe aerion, maybe someone who could see this scene — and you noticed how his jaw tightened, how the muscles moved under his skin, how his fingers clenched into a fist before he forced himself to relax. he gave a short nod and stepped aside, giving you way.

you rose from the table and walked away — from the noise in your head and from his gaze that drilled into your back all the way to the exit. and only when you walked along the path leading into the garden did you take your first proper breath of the evening.

you did not manage to go far into the garden — you only reached the first stone column, hidden from sight by the castle arches, when suddenly a familiar low voice came from the darkness.

“another moment — and he would have climbed under your dress.”

you stopped. you did not see him at the feast — he never appeared in the hall after the maester treated his wounds. where did he…

everything inside you twisted. it was too much. too much for one day. tristan with his strange looks, the feast, the tournament, and now him.

you slowly turned, raised a brow and tried to make your voice sound mocking, not trembling. “i thought the maester told you to lie down. or did you decide his advice meant nothing to you?”

aerion did not answer, just stepped closer — smooth, silent, like a predator that had already chosen its prey and only amused itself before striking. he smelled of smoke, the metallic scent of blood, and herbs used to treat his wounds.

“are you worried about me, little dragon?” his voice was low, almost gentle.

you closed your eyes in irritation, clenched your fists. “do not call me that.”

he did not listen. of course not. he stepped closer — and you stepped back, not breaking eye contact, not lowering your head, until your back hit the cold stone of the column. and then he loomed over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you.

“i see,” he said slowly, tilting his head. “you want me to call you what that dog does? princess? or maybe some other false shit he made up for you?”

“don't you dare speak about him like that.”

he smirked — short, and there was not a drop of amusement in it. “interesting. what did he do to earn your defense? spin around you for years like a chained dog, wait for you to grow tired, whine and hope for scraps?”

“at least he is not a coward,” your voice grew firmer, and you lifted your chin higher. “and he actually loves me.”

the smirk vanished from his face so sharply as if it was blown away by the wind, all amusement in his eyes gone. “careful.”

that made you smirk. “or what? your threats are as empty as your promises? i am almost sure you will forget those too, and then pretend nothing happened.”

aerion slowly leaned closer — so close that you felt his breath on your lips, felt the heat coming from his body. at the last moment you raised a finger, pressing it to his chest, not breaking eye contact. “if you come any closer, i will scream.”

he did not pull away, instead his eyes locked into yours, and there was no doubt in them. “you will not.”

you opened your mouth to prove him wrong, to call for valarr or even tristan — but you did not manage to make a sound before his lips crashed onto yours.

there was not a drop of tenderness in that kiss, only open, primal hunger. he pressed you into the stone column, and the cold of it bit into your back even through the thick fabric of your dress — but you felt nothing except his mouth, his tongue, his teeth that bit your lower lip.

he kissed as if he wanted to drink you dry, to burn your taste into his memory so he would never forget again. his breath was uneven, mixed with yours, and you did not understand where you ended and he began. his fingers dug hard into your waist, and his other hand slid higher, to your neck, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of your head, pulling your head back, opening you for his mouth that moved along your jaw, to the corner of your lips, to your cheek, and then back to your lips again, making you let out a quiet breath.

and you, damn you, did not push him away. because you wanted this. because no matter how much you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that you hated him, swore it was the last time — you wanted this. you always did. and now, when his tongue pushed into your mouth, rough and demanding, tasting you — you melted like wax, gave in to this man who never left your thoughts.

your fingers tightened on the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, as much as it was even possible. he groaned into your lips — a low, dull sound that echoed through you, and you felt it in every nerve.

when there was too little air left, he broke the kiss, but did not pull away. his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, hot, mixing with yours.

“marry me,” he whispered, his lips almost touching yours. “marry me and i will stop all this. i will do anything you want.”

you froze. his words fell into the silence of the garden like heavy stones, but instead of warming you, they poured over you like ice water and brought you back to your senses.

what were you letting happen? you were in the castle garden, where any lord, any servant, gods, even your father could come out and see you pressed to the stone column, his hands on your hips, your fingers still clutching the collar of his shirt.

you pushed him away — sharp, so that he, losing balance, stepped back, stumbling over the wet grass. and before he could straighten, you raised your hand and struck his face. the sharp crack of the blow tore through the silence, his head snapped to the side, and for a moment he froze, pressing his palm to his burning cheek.

you breathed heavily, fast, your chest rising and falling, your eyes filled with moisture — but you would not let the tears fall.

“don't you dare do this,” your voice trembled, but you held it with all your strength. “i let you fool me once. i will not let you do it again.”

you pressed your lips together and shook your head — loose strands from your disheveled braid fell over your face, making you look more vulnerable, more defenseless. “i've had enough.”

you pushed yourself away from the cold stone, walked past him and headed back toward the castle. tears treacherously gathered, ready to fall, and you barely saw the path, but your feet carried you forward — away, far from this man, from his lying words, from the kiss that still burned on your lips and scorched you from the inside with shame. you did not think about how you looked — disheveled, with red eyes and heavy breathing — you just walked, faster with each step.

but you did not manage even ten steps — a hand caught your wrist, iron grip pulling you back, turning you toward him. you, without thinking, raised your free hand to strike, but he caught it too, pressing your wrists to his chest, trapping you — his fingers closed around your bones, not painfully, but so tight you could not break free.

“i was a fool,” he said, and his voice sounded low, strained. “i did terrible things. but i never lied to you.”

the first tear slipped from your lashes and rolled down your cheek — hot in the cold night air. you smirked, crooked, bitter. “you really have no conscience, do you?”

he leaned closer — so close that his lips almost touched yours, and you felt his breath. “every word i told you was the truth,” he whispered hoarsely. “i fucking always told the truth when it came to you.”

you jerked, trying to free your hands, but he held firm — and you stayed trapped, looking through wet lashes, through tears already streaming down your face.

“oh yes, you were honest,” your voice broke, became quieter, but heavier, as if every word had to be torn from your chest along with a piece of flesh. “and when you left me alone that day, when you were supposed to tell everyone — most of all my father — that you loved me? i noticed how honest you were while i stood there, in front of everyone, and waited for you until the very end. like a stupid, naive fool.”

he frowned — so deeply that a shadow settled between his brows — and his eyes locked onto yours with some kind of wild confusion.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

you glanced around — at the empty garden, at the tree trunks, at the castle glowing with candles in the distance — and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“do not pretend you do not know. it does not suit you, aerion. i sent you a lette—”

“yes, a letter where you said you would rather commit treason and let them flay you alive before the smallfolk than marry me.”

that made you frown and look up at him. you heard his words, but they did not reach your mind — they drifted, distorted, as if through thick, icy water.

“what?”

more of aerion & akotsk! 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 part 4 is in process ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

he raised a brow slightly, pushed his chair back, and stood up. in a couple of steps, he was already next to you, closing the distance.

“pardon me,” he said quietly, and that familiar spark lit up in his eyes. “guess i got too distracted if i made you forget i’m your husband. come here.”

꒰ maekar ꒱

you were getting ready to go visit his son. maekar was already fully dressed — dark tailored trousers, a fresh shirt, and that faint trail of a good perfume hanging in the air.

he was standing in front of the hallway mirror, trying to tie his tie, getting more and more irritated with every failed knot. you walked up to him gently and took the tie from his hands.

“maekar, stop moving, i’ll do it.”

while you fixed his collar, he kept watching your fingers first, then your face. after a moment he asked, quiet and a little too calm. “what did you just call me?”

“i said stop moving."

the tie was instantly forgotten. he stared at you like you’d done something absolutely outrageous.

“i’m your husband, the father of our future children, and you’re just calling me by my name? maekar?”

you blinked at him, confused, because yeah, that was his name. but he was already frowning and stepping away.

“of course. so now we’re just going to call each other that. maekar.”

he started pacing around the living room, gesturing sharply, mocking your tone under his breath. “maekar, help me. maekar, i’m tired. maekar, pick aegon up from school.”

then he stopped and looked right at you. “do you not see me as your husband anymore?”

when it was time to leave, he grabbed the keys without saying anything and waited by the door, very pointedly not looking at you. but the second you came closer, he still reached for your hand out of habit and opened the door for you, letting you go first.

because even when he was annoyed, he was still your husband.

꒰ daeron ꒱

you were sitting in a local bar, wrapped in noise and cigarette smoke. daeron was already a little drunk, fully invested in some argument about football match with an equally tipsy valarr.

when you needed salt, you just asked him to pass it. “thanks, daeron.”

he snapped his head toward you immediately. all his relaxed drunk energy just vanished, the smile dropped off his face. he froze. “huh?”

“i said thanks, daeron.”

“why are you calling me that?” his voice was genuinely confused, like you’d just spoken a foreign language.

“probably because that’s your name?”

he set his beer down with a dull thud and shook his head. “okay, sure. but that doesn’t mean you get to call me that.”

“your mom didn’t name you for nothing,” you shot back, “she probably wanted people to use it.”

“my name is babe," he said firmly, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.

“okay,” you said, barely holding back a smile, “but your name is still daeron too.”

he stared at you for a long, unblinking moment, then dramatically turned his head and scanned the packed bar.

“does anyone here go by daeron?” he called out loudly. “please hand my girl some salt, she really needs it!”

꒰ valarr ꒱

valarr already picked up his keys from the hallway table and was heading out, casually throwing over his shoulder his casual. “bye, baby.”

“bye, valarr,” you answered calmly.

he froze, then slowly turned back and just stood in the doorway, staring at you like his brain had stopped working. “valarr?” he repeated, like the word itself was offensive.

“yeah,” you shrugged, completely unbothered, “what’s wrong with that?”

he kept looking at you, shaking his head in pure confusion. “only that idiot aerion calls me that. you’ve never called me that.”

“i just thought we needed a little variety,” you said, barely hiding your smile.

he lifted a finger slowly, like he was setting a rule in stone. “bye, baby,” he said again, more firmly this time, and turned back toward the door.

“bye, valarr.”

he stopped dead. turned right back around and walked back in, locking eyes with you. “we have exactly two options. babe or my love. no valarrs.

you rolled your eyes on purpose and nodded. “fine, fine.”

“i’m leaving,” he muttered, taking a deep breath like he was trying very hard not to lose it. “bye, baby. i love you. see you later.”

“bye, valarr.”

he froze again, slowly set his keys back on the table. “nah, i’m not going anywhere.”

꒰ aerion ꒱

he was working in his home office while you were relaxing in the bedroom, stretched out on the bed.

“aerion!” you called out brightly.

fast footsteps echoed in the hallway, and a second later he basically burst into the room like he was expecting a battle. “who the fuck is aerion?” he snapped immediately from the doorway.

you tilted your head, confused, slightly frowning. "... you?"

“i have no idea who you’re talking about,” he cut in, stopping right in the middle of the bedroom.

“i need help, aeri—”

“there is no aerion in this house,” he said firmly, staring at you like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

you sat up a little and just pointed at him. “you’re literally standing right there.”

he slowly looked around the room on purpose, like he was checking corners, then shrugged. “i don’t see any aerion here.”

“that’s literally your name.”

“no. my name is babe, my love, my husband, or my dragon. i have no idea who this aerion is.”

you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself at how serious he was pretending to be. but when he leaned down toward you, you still lifted your arms, pulling your stubborn little dragon closer anyway.

꒰ dunk ꒱

you were fixing a bike in the garage. well, more like duncan was fixing it, and you were just holding a flashlight, half-asleep already. he was crouched down, covered in oil, wearing that old tank top that said “i love my wife.” his hair was tied into a tiny messy ponytail, and there was a thick black smear across his forehead.

“duncan, are you done soon?” you asked, yawning softly. “i’m sleepy.”

he didn’t stop working on the pedal, but his shoulders suddenly dropped. like all the air had been let out of him at once.

“duncan…” he repeated under his breath. “duncan. so i’m duncan.”

he slowly sat down right on the garage floor and started wiping his hands with a rag, staring into nothing.

“what?” you asked, not getting what just changed.

“not my husband, not duncan, come here, i’m cold. just… duncan.”

“that is your name, dunk.”

he pushed himself up with effort, grabbed the bike, and slammed it lightly against the wall. “my name is everything but duncan.”

from inside the house, you heard Egg laughing, and duncan turned his head toward the sound immediately. “what are you laughing at? what’s funny? my name is babe.”

“it’s not that deep."

“it is. now i'm going to shower,” he said flatly, already walking toward the door. “if anyone asks, tell them duncan left. he had a heart stop and can no longer function.”

he disappeared, but a minute later came back, poking his head into the garage. “and duncan says don’t sit on the floor. you’ll get sick.”

masterlists! | just a quick one before 3rd pt of aerion series ::