Dragoness Writer

~~~

The joust was unlike any you had ever attended. The lists were packed with knights, high born and peasant born alike, all competing for the glory of a win. The air was thick with anxiety, sweaty horses and the pure adrenaline of knights awaiting wins.

His name was called, and he rode forth. His stallion shuffling underneath him as calm as any day, simply trotting up to take his place. As he rode by the stands where you were sitting, he looked your way, and you swore he was smiling underneath his helm. Smiling at you.

You had given him your favour. How stupid could you have been, you gave him your favour. That was before, when eyes had still been warm and kind. He had been so soft as he pointed his lance at you, gingerly asking for your luck in the tourney. You had blushed and giggled as you accepted, tying your ribbon around his lance before sitting down, still smiling like a fool. You didn’t know then just how much of a fool you were.

His opponent today was a skilled knight. An older gentleman, his shield bearing up a lifting swan as his Personal Arm. In shame you hoped, prayed, that the knight would knock yours out of the saddle, to forcibly put him out of the joust and loose the win. It was a feeble, desperate dream.

The winner of each tilt won the opponents horse and armour, and the looser would have to ransom it back. Your own knight had won all his tilts thus far and won a small fortune selling everything back. If he won the whole tourney, he would win so much money as to consider him slightly rich.

Rich enough to ask for the hand of a minor noble lady like yourself.

You dreaded the idea, the sick feeling returning stronger as you watched them stand on opposite sides of the tourney field. The older knight looked calm, he had done this plenty times before. Your knight also looked calm, too calm. Calculating and cruel in his shining armour. As the trumpets blew, both knights pushed the spurs into the side of their horses and raced towards each other, landed already tilting down.

Mud flew around the hooves, and the roar of the people were deafening. You were quiet, too absorbed in the match, to eager to see one win and one loose. In seconds, they would meet and one would emerge victorious.

1, 2, 3…

All you could see in front of you was his face, those kind brown eyes now muddled into some distorted version. That once sweet smile that had haunted your dreams, nightmares. What once seemed to shy, now a distant memory.

4, 5, 6…

His face, covered in blood. Dripping from his cheeks and fists.

The poor stableboy had done nothing wrong, not really, apart from speaking with you. You had searched him up, a foolish non important romance, if it could even be called that. You liked him and liked spending time with Derek, and he liked you. It would never be more than that, but you were young, and a secret romance had always seemed to sweet.

Your knight didn’t seem to agree.

You didn’t even know he was watching, nor that he had followed you there. Derek had stepped closer, to put a flower behind your ear. A sweet mistake.

Your knight pulled poor Derek off you and before anyone could explain, a fist had met his face and he did not stop punching. Not when you screamed, cried, tried your best to pull him off. Not when Derek passed out, lying in a pool of his own blood, barley breathing.

It wasn’t until he felt done and ready, he had released Derek and turned to you, smiling a wide smile, the smile of a predator. His hair flew loose around his face, the soft curls blowing in the wind. He had stepped closer, his eyes now dark and dangerous.

“He didn’t hurt me!” You cried. “I wanted to meet him”

“I know” he had simply answerd “but you are mine. You gifted me your favour, that meant something, right?”

You shook in shock and fear, completely bewildered by his words. You thought he had forgotten you, that the favour in the tourney was nothing more than luck and a bit of harmless fun. But the way he was advancing on you now left you feeling wrong. Everything was wrong.

The soft grass underneath you were a stark contrast to the ferociously with which you fought. He had pushed you down, falling on top of you and trapping you underneath him. You hit and scratched and kicked at him, anything your panic-driven mind could think of.

It didn’t help, and your knight (despite not wearing armour, only his tunic with the coat of arms on) was heavy. He took every slap and kick with a laugh, and slowly his hand inched up your thigh, pushing your dress up.

When you cried, he almost looked offended.

“I won’t rape you. I would never subject you to the shame of being soiled before the wedding. I will wait until we are husband and wife. It doesn’t mean we can’t do other things”

He licked the tears off your face, and you turned away in disgust. He merely chucked, before burning his face in your neck and licking stripes there instead. It was wet, and you shivered in panic. There was no way out.

7, 8…

His hips jerked against you in abandon, his clothed erection hard agains you. You still cried, but it didn’t stop him as he rutted into you. One of his hands hold a firm grasp on your thigh, so hard it will bruise, forcing you open. His other hand has a firm grasp on your neck, holding you down. He has a fast, steady pace, and his breath his hot on the side of your face.

Your back slides against the wet grass underneath with you the force of his thrusts, and your hand curl into fists as you hold onto his tunic.

He came without warning, at least you think he did. He let out a groan in your ear, and you shuddered in horror. His tongue was wet on your neck and you couldn’t decided what had traumatised you worst tonight.

Afterwards, he was different. He helped you up and fixed your dress as if nothing had happened. He pulled your hair to the side, checking to see if you were presentable, before he hocked your arm in his and quietly escorted you right back to your tent.

A short kiss on the forehead and he was gone. But his touch remains, and you felt dirty. You hadn’t stopped feeling dirty.

9…10… CRASH.

The lances hit the shields at the same time with such force they both shatter into tiny wooden sticks. The horses scream and the clanking of metal is loud. Both riders loose balance and fall backwards, desperate to stay on. You lean forward in your seat and pray, oh how you pray. But luck is not on your side.

It never is.

He recovers quickly, faster than his opponent and he turns his horse around so fast you cant keep up. With a new lance in hand, he once more pushes the spurs into the horse and they fly away. His opponent has just regained control over his animal, but the fight is already decided.

It’s something unnatural about the way he moves. So swift and fast, almost one with the animal. It’s like he is a fae, moving with grace and elegance, and something so dangerous about him.

Like he didn’t, for even a second, consider he wouldn’t win.

This time, when the lance hit the shield, the other rider has no chance of staying on. He flies off and dumps into the mud with a splash. The audience scream and cheer, everyone overjoyed. He is starting to become a local favourite, and with heavy wages on his name every small-folk and peasant see him as one of them.

Somehow, his gaze finds yours in the crowd. You don’t know how, but they do. He lifts his visor, waving happily at everyone, but he only has eyes for you. It’s like a promise, an awful, dreadful, frightening promise. He had decided since the first moment that you were going to be his wife, and it didn’t matter how many knights he had to force into the mud to make it come true.

You were his.

You shiver, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. He hasn’t won yet, you try to convince yourself, but it is in vain.

You force yourself to applaud right with the crowd, cheer for his victory and glory. The sunrise on his shield of arms mock you, the rising sun flashing in the morning light.

You cant help but wonder if it’s actually a sunrise, because to you it looks much more like a dark ominous sunset, promising a future far more frightening.

~~~

Sometimes you think of what life was like before everything happened.

When everything was so much simpler. When you could walk along the shores of the beach, dance with your siblings and enjoy the calm sound of nature even from within the castle. Now, everything was anything but calm.

The musicians were still playing so loud and fast music you were surprised they had been able to keep up. The feast was dragging well into the night, and yet no one had retired yet. Everyone was up and about, dancing and drinking and yelling.

You had no mind for it. You had always preferred the quiet and calmness of a dinner, or maybe even the library over the swell of music and crowds of people. Still, the feast was for you, in your honour, and it was rude to leave. Your husband would never take it well if you wanted to leave.

The smile you had forced upon your lips were straining at the edges by now, your eye practically twitching. You had drunk wine and eaten food til you were full, and then some more just to try and calm yourself.

You were already dreading the joust tomorrow, the knowledge that eyes were to be upon you and knights fighting for the favour of crowning you queen of love and beauty. You were sure your husband would win no matter what, though. He was not about to let another man that close to you.

Speaking of your husband, he was still dancing somehow. How he hadn’t yet fallen down from being too drunk or simply exhausted, he was partying on in full swing. He had lost his doublet, and the undershirt was halfway open at this point. The antlered crown still resting on his brow as he danced yet another lap around the room. You try and keep your eyes one him, but he comes and goes a bit as he pleases.

For a while you had been up there with him, despite your protests. You hated how visible you were, how everyone was watching you. But, if your husband wished to dance, there was little else you could do but smile and accept his hand.

You had been pleading for almost a full hour to sit down before he finally relented, and thus you find yourself alone at the head table, your husband drunk somewhere in the mids of people.

You love him, you suppose. He is older than you, with his graying beard and hair, but he always says he loves you. He helps you, he hosts feasts in your honour (despite how you beg him not to, you hate the attention). Everything considered he is a good husband, so you must love him, right?

Your eyes flicker around the room, trying to find something steady to focus on, something that wasn’t either spinning or frolicking with whores. It’s getting harder and harder, and you find your patience fraying. How you wish you could be curled up in bed with a book, or in the garden listening to the crickets in the night.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you almost jump out of your seat. You don’t get far, and the owner of the hand unceremoniously drops down into the seat beside you. Your husband is laughing still, a large grin covering his face. In his other hand he carries an empty goblet, one you swore were filled with ale only minutes ago. The antlered crown sits slightly crocked on his head.

His booming voice rings in your ears, and you can feel the headache pressing behind your eyes.

“There you are, my beauty. How are you enjoying the festivities?”

You nod shakily, as subtly as possible trying to inch away from the hand weighing you down, but its futile. He simply grasps harder and you are forced to stay still, smiling.

“Very well, my sweet husband” lies. “It’s a beautiful feast…”

He cuts you off with a laugh, leaning in so close you can smell the ale and sweat coming of him.

“And its all in your honour! Nothing less for my very own wife”

Before you can answer or protest, he leans in and kisses you. You have to duck to the side to avoided getting an antler in the face, but he still manages to capture your lips. He catches you so off guard you don’t even think to kiss him back, much less lean away. It’s not until his hand grabs your jaw with such force you gasp and he forces his tongue into your mouth, you remember. You kiss him back, not with the same amount of enthusiasm, but enough to make him grin into the kiss.

 When he parts, he stays close, grinning like a fool. You try to keep your smile genuine and your feelings light, but you are getting more nervous by the second. He is too close, and once more you long for the calmness of being alone.

“Dance with me, lass, come one!” He is already on his way up from the chair, a firm grip on your upper arm. You hiss, his fingers digging into the bruises he left there two days ago.

It wasn’t even anything important, you argued about something you couldn’t even remember. All you knew was that you had said something, something he didn’t like, and the next thing you knew he had his fingers so hard into your arms you had cried out, and then your back hit the table with such force you almost doubled over.

He hadn’t meant it; you were sure of it. He said so the day afterwards, when he held you close, apologising. He always apologised afterwards; he never actually meant it. He couldn’t help that he was so rough in handling. He lost control quickly; he couldn’t help it sometimes. He was the laughing-storm for a reason, and storms are unpredictable.

He lets you fall back into the chair as you hiss, but he doesn’t look very concerned. No, he is still smiling, but he has eased his grip on you just a tad. He leaned closer again, and you had to close your eyes. Everything was too much, too loud and too warm. You just wanted some peace for a second to collect yourself.

“Sweet wife…”

“I want to retire”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and your hand fly up to cover your mouth. Your eyes fly open to watch his reaction. Seven Above, how could you be so stupid?

You can see the change in his demeanour. The way he tensed up, sat straighter in his chair. His grip on your arms tightened significantly, and you curled into yourself to get away from him.

He might have been the laughing storm, but he was much more frightening like this. Eyes black like coal, the smile wiped away from his face.

“Hu…Husband I didn’t…”

“Shut it”

He leans closer than before, shaking you by the grip on your arm. The swarm of people around you disappear as you stare into his eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

“I do everything for you. I married you despite our difference in status. I hold great feasts in your honour…”

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“There is a fucking joust tomorrow, for you. And you can’t even stay the whole evening for a fucking dance? Can’t even stay to appreciate the guests who are here for you”

Tears are welling up in your eyes, and you desperately try to blink them away. You can’t cry, not here. Not with all these people around, but oh do you want to.

“You are always sorry, aren’t you? Never do anything different, though”

You decide to stay silent this time. It’s just as dangerous as speaking, but at least silence is your own. Its harder to twist into something ugly. Lyonel has no problem twisting things, though.

“Well? What’s it going to be, huh, wife”

Usually his voice is soft, sweet. He is usually so kind when he uses that nickname, something that makes you believe he might love you truly and deeply. Now, he spits it out like a curse, like something awful. You try your best to straighten up, to seem stronger than you might have felt. It’s harder than you thought, with his eyes and blank face borrowing into you.

“I… I’d like to stay and…”

“No”

His voice is hard like stone, and cold like one too. He is on his way back up again, dragging you back up, no longer caring for the way you hiss or flinch as he presses into the bruises.

“I suddenly feel like retiring. You and I should have a discussion in private”

You run cold at his words, the shaking returning. You don’t like the way he says it, and you don’t like what happened the last time you had a “discussion” in private. You had been sore for days.

Still there is nothing much to do, dragging you away from the head table. Lords and ladies giggle as you pass, but neither you nor your husband pays them any mind. He is focused on the path, and you on the destination. On the way to the stillness, you had just earlier longed for so dearly. Maybe you wanted to stay a bit longer at the feast after all.

~~~

The music is loud in the big hall, chiming over the sound of people talking. The feast is still early, and the dancing is in full swing. The large tables about the whole room is filled with food, enough to feed the poor in Flea Bottom for weeks, and yet more is still coming from the kitchen. Everything you had tasted this evening had been marvellous, and you knew that whatever you asked for could most likely be fixed up in a moments notice. It’s truly a fairytale wedding, and you mourn the fact you can’t enjoy it the way you want to.

Your father is seated seats to your right, deep in conversation with your new father-in-law, prince Maekar. You can’t hear them, but if you know your father it is most likely something regarding a seat on the great council, or mayhap a visit from the royal family to your own family home. Ever the opportunist, he couldn’t settle for only wedding you away. Maekar don’t seem all too impressed, but he is talking politely, entertaining your delusional father. At least someone is having a good time.

Another person having a good time is your new husband. Dressed in all white, the Targaryen emblem sits proudly upon his chest. A cloak is attached to his back, mimicking dragon scales, and a thin crown of gold rests upon his brow. It was a gift from his grandfather, something to make him proud. Daeron wore it with happiness, is hair tied back into a braid. You were dressed to match, the wedding dress the most beautiful and expensive piece of clothing you’ve ever worn, draping over you in layers, jewels sewn into the fabric making you shine. A band of gold rest upon your brow, as well. This, a gift from his grandmother. It was so you could match, she said. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you hated the idea.

The ceremony had been one long nightmare, and you were almost convinced that you would throw up at some point. It had been a miracle to had stayed upon your legs as Daeron fastened the cloak over you, and you were sure he could feel your hands shake as the Septon tied your hand and his together. It was another blessing your voice stood strong enough when it came to the vows, the words having been taught to you over and over again. Still, the nauseous feeling you had when the words I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days, left your mouth were hard to ignore.

Daeron had no problem ignoring them. He had been all smiles and laughter throughout the entire day, holding you close every second he could. Apparently, he had almost fought his father to be able to see you before the ceremony, but he had been flatly refused. Only calming down when Maekar threatened to call off the wedding. You wished he had.

Still, Daeron had been positively beaming by the altar as you approached. Nothing could dampen his mood, and as soon as the ceremony was over and you had waved at the crowd of people outside of Baelors sept and were ushered into a carriage to take you to the feast, he had been upon you to show you just how happy he was.

Pressing feverish kisses to your hands, wrists, cheek and finally your lips, talking of how happy and proud he was, how happy he was going to make you and that he couldn’t wait to take you to Summerhall. You barley responded to any of his words, or kisses, too busy trying to keep yourself together to that you could face the people at the reception in a way that let you keep your dignity.

The amount of people flocking around to offer congratulations had been overwhelmingly large, lords and lady you had never meet, and some you had never heard of even. You had almost been grateful for Daeron for accepting so many of them. By now, the feast was in full motion and people were too busy with food or each other to come to you.

Daeron sat beside you, as proud as any husband. He was leaning on the armrest to get closer to you and your chair, one hand firmly holding onto yours. He had been reluctant to let a single moment go by where he wasn’t touching you, holding your hand, one arm wrapped around your waist. Anything, as long as he could stay close. In his other hand he held a glass of Dornish red, a sight that wasn’t uncommon. What was uncommon was the fact he was surprisingly sober.

When Daeron promised he would try to better himself, drink less and be around more, he had been serious, as shocking as it was. He still drank, of course, and sometimes he could still be found passed out in some corner, but he had improved significantly. Something you supposed you should be grateful for.

“Are you alright, my love? You haven’t eaten much”

His voice is soft, and you flinch at his closeness. You turn your head and he is so close you almost kiss. His violet eyes burn brightly, a madman finally in possession of what he wants. Still, he seems genuinely concerned about you, as if he wasn’t the whole reason you were miserable. As if he didn’t have the power to end this horrible affair. He wouldn’t, of course, but he still liked to pretend to be merciful.

“I am not hungry”

The words are short and cold, but it does nothing to stop the burning in his gaze. He isn’t phased by the coldness and angry you have thrown at him, by the insults and begging. He remained steadfast in his decision and simply took everything you threw at him with a smile and promise of bettering.

He shifts his gaze, reaching out to grasp at his fork. He scoops up some of the honeyed pork, before lifting it to your face. He smiles gently, trying to encourage you to let him feed you.

The gall of this man, thinking your some kind of child that needs help. Maybe you are just miserable because he is a pain in the…

He squeezes your hand without warning, the bones cracking underneath the skin. It hurts so much you flinch, eyes widening. The smile on his face is gone, replaced by a cold scowl. The burning in his eyes is still there, as hard and an unyielding as before, but this time its not filled with the same warm love. No, now its filled with a twisted sort of obsession, and you can see he is starting to get annoyed at the fact you won’t play along with his delusions.

With the apparent change in attitude, you feel something cold inside your chest, like a cold fist grasping your heart and pulling it out. Without thinking, you open your mouth. Not wide, not fast, but just enough to he can push the fork between your lips, forcing you to eat.

The food is sweet and sticky in your mouth. You start to chew, but it feels like its growing the more you try and force it down. Its slow and painful all the way down, and it lands heavy in your stomach. You barley have time to swallow before he is back with another forkful, forcing you to eat. The smile is back on his face, but its different now. Fake, somehow.

“You must eat. You have to have strength for the night ahead”

He is cruel. He knows it too, dangling the wedding night right in front of you, as if it wasn’t something you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

You force your face to relax, not openly showing the sneer you want to wear. It would do good to just learn how to pretend, sooner rather than later. You let him feed you a few more bites, not speaking. After a while, he relaxes back into his old self, smiling genuinely and letting your hand rest gently in his. You prefer this version of him.

“Come on, dance with me? It’s our wedding, after all. We can’t sit here all evening”

He phrases it like a question, but he doesn’t wait for an answer before dragging you up. The people around you giggle and laugh, still throwing congratulations your way. Daeron laughs and smiles along, as do you, gracefully accepting everything. Deep inside, though, you hate them all.

Hate them for being here, for being a part of your ruin and pain. Hate them for the fact they refuse to see the truth, that their sweet prince is a dragon, burning everything in his path to get what he wants. If you could you’d burn everything and everyone in this room to ash.

Dancing at least comes easy to you. You’ve been taught to dance all your life, and the steps are engraved into your mind. So when Daeron puts his hands on your waist and starts to spin, you follow him perfectly. You mirror each other, two pieces of perfectly together. That also makes your mouth taste sour.

The dance at least gives you something else to focus on. You count the steps in your head, swaying along to the music. You focus on how the silk dress flows and sparkles in the light. Everything surrounding you helps you ignore Daeron’s wandering hands, how they pull you closer by your waist. You listen so intently to the music you ignore the way he sometimes leans close to say a joke or a compliment, desperate for you to enjoy this as much as he. He fails, of course, but still he tries.

You share two more dances with Daeron, before his cousin Matarys is there asking for your hand. You accept quickly, and Daeron lets you go with a laugh. After Matarys you dance once with Valarr, thrice with your own brother and even once with your new, very inebriated, father-in-law Maekar, to your own surprise.

“Does your father ever shut up? I am tired of hearing his voice, yours is far more pleasant”

You laugh at his words, finding entertainment in the darkness. It was only right your father should fail at being courteous as well, if you are to suffer. Besides, Maekar turns out to be a rather good dancer, and the way your father is sulking at the table only helps bring your mood up. Soon enough though, you are back in your seat beside Daeron, his hands quickly finding your waist and he leans in closer again, reminding you of the actual reason you are here.

The feast drags on long into the night, until some lords are sleeping on the benches. You hated the feats, it was a nightmare, but you don’t want it to end. If it ends, it means you’ll be alone with your new husband, and you dread that more than anything.

So, when he finally stands up, taking your hand and dragging you along, you almost try to protest. Just a few more minutes, maybe a dance? It’s in vain, and it’s impossible to postpone the unavoidable future. You are trapped.

The quiet of the corridor scares you more than the loud feast. Everything suddenly seem so still, the torches flickering along the walls and Daeron’s footsteps beside you the only thing moving the quiet air. The bedchamber, your bedchamber, is approaching far to fast and there is nothing you can do, nothing to stop it. You might have tried to step away if it wasn’t for the hand at the small of your back, forcing you forward to the frightening doom awaiting you.

Daeron doesn’t hesitate as the pushes the door open, pushing you inside before quickly entering behind you. The soft click of the lock forces you to freeze in place in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with the new situation.

The room is absolutely beautiful, you must admit. There are tapestries along the wall, depicting Aegon and his sisters as they conquer the Seven kingdoms. A fire is burning in the fireplace, casting the room in a warm glow. The cold ground is covered in a woven Myrish carpet, warm beneath you, and the bed is large and covered in blankets and pillows. You long for sleep, but you know there will be little of it this night.

Warm hands at the back of your dress has you flinching away like a wounded animal, completely unprepared for the action. Daeron doesn’t seem to mind, hushing you as he follows closer, already letting his hands work with the intricate laces of the corset.

“I know you didn’t want to marry me” his voice is soft, almost apologetic. Almost. “But I promise I’ll try my best. It could have been worse than me, know that. You are a princess now, and I love you. I’ll spend the rest of my days proving that”

His words are meant to be sweet, reassuring, but they only serve to leave a bitter taste in your mouth and let fear grab your heart. He was right in the fact you didn’t want this, and while he tried to pretend to be kind he had still forced you into this all the same. You don’t say that, tough, instead opting to be silent. Daeron doesn’t mind, instead continuing.

“You are so beautiful. The way you shined in the sept today, I was sure The Mother herself had blessed you. The most beautiful women I’ve ever seen”

The last lace of the corset falls of and the dress loosen. You are quick in throwing your hands up, catching the falling dress, trying to preserve some sense of modesty. You can feel the tears prickling your eyes as reality starts to kick in. Daeron reaches his hands around you, grasping at your wrist and slowly forcing your hands away, the silk pooling at your feet and leaving you in only your nightgown. A sob forces its way out of your throat, but Daeron only hushes you, pressing his chest to your back and drawing slow circles on the inside of your wrist.

“You are going to be alright, I’m here”

You are left in only your shift, but it still felt nude. The cold air hit you at once, despite the fire in the hearth, and all you wanted was to crawl underneath the covers and hide away from the world. His grip on your wrists eases up, and he gently turns you around to face him.

The distressed look on your face does not match his. He is smiling, that soft and lovesick smile he always wore. His head gently tilted to the side; he looked at you as if you hung the moon and starts. He lifts your hands up to his face to press soft kisses to the back of them, before he places them right on his chest; gently urging you to let up on his laces. To help him undress in the same way he had undressed you.

Without much else to do, you carefully start to pull at the strings. Its messy and unsure, not at all with the same smoothness which he had used. You get caught up on a bit, but he doesn’t move to help you. No, he just smiles and lets you take it in your own tempo. No matter how slow and unsure you are, soon enough his tunic hits the floor, the cape landing behind it like a dragon sleeping.

Daeron takes a slow step closer, and you attempt to back away. His hands find your waist to force you to stay still, force you to feel the warmth radiating from his chest. He leans in closer, and in a panic, you realise he means to kiss you.

“No!”

With an unexpected strength, you put your hands on his chest and push. He stumbles backwards, clearly not expecting the outburst. You take a step back, chest heaving as you try and collect yourself. Daeron doesn’t even seem mad, and before you can recover fully he is back, crowding your space despite how you keep whispering no.

“Hey, you are okay, I’m here…”

“What if I’m not okay, Daeron? What if I just want to sleep tonight?”

Your voice is thick with tears and desperation, something to fill the void and make him understand you don’t have the strength to play this game tonight. Naturally, he doesn’t listen.

“Husband. You can call me husband now” his voice is awfully happy as he says it. “We must consummate; you know that. We are wedded as one, its natural. Please, let me help you”

Nothing about it feels natural, but you know you won’t be able to change his mind. So, you let him. You let him slowly back you towards the bed, let him lean down and kiss you. You let him pull thin crown of gold out of your hair and place it on the nightstand beside his own. You let him loose all the pins holding your hair up, causing the locks to flow free, before he pushes you down onto the bed on your back. You let him pull the shift over your head, and close your eyes as his start to roam over you.

Just a consummation, then you’ll sleep. Soon it will be over.

*****

The morning light steals into the room with warmth. The fire is long dead, and the early morning has arrived. As carefully as you can, you try to remove Daeron’s arm from around your waist, a task much harder than you thought it would be. Its heavy, and you dread the thought of waking him. When you finally manage to escape, you try to be as quiet as you can as you step over the cold stone floor.

A robe has been placed over a chair in the living space outside the bedroom, one you gratefully put on. The maids are not yet awake, and you are thankful for it. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, ever. Red eyes, hair dishevel, dark bags underneath your eyes. You look a mess and feel one too.

Daeron had takes you more than once, despite your protests. Once had been overwhelming enough, and you ever had quite enough time to recover between. You had wanted to sleep, that’s all you wanted.

You almost hesitate before opening the door. Somehow, it feels wrong. Like you are in prison cell and should wait for permission to go out. You shake the feeling off. It was suffocating inside, and you didn’t want to think.

The corridors outside are also empty. The party must have been long for everyone involved, and you were grateful for it. You were in no state to be seen. You don’t really know where your going, your feet carrying you away from the awful room you now are meant to call yours. The gardens are a thankful sight, and you fall down onto a bench overlooking the Dornish flowers.

You don’t do anything but stare. Stare at the flowers, at the waters surrounding them. Everything hurts, and you don’t want to think. Think of what your life is now.

You are a married woman, a princess. Daeron Targaryen is your husband, and you are to leave everything you know behind to face this new world. A world you dread to even think about. You just want to go home, into your own bed and speak to your own Septas again. Chase your little sister through the garden and hide her away from the truth of being a noble lady. Hide her from the ugly truth of being a girl.

When the thought threatens to take over, when everything just seems like far too much, you start to feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. You swore you wouldn’t cry anymore, but you find it harder and harder the longer you think. A hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality.

You were so deep in thought you didn’t register the sound of footsteps approaching and you jump at the feel. Your eyes fly panicked to the owner of the hand and find your husband staring back. How you didn’t hear him approach is a mystery, but what is even stranger is why he is here at all- how did he find you?

He answers before you can ask.

“I woke up and you weren’t there”

He shrugs as he says it, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to stalk up his wife when she wasn’t there.

“I… I was a bit warm. I just need to be alone for a minute”

You try to blink the tears away, and it takes you a second to realise Daeron hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, hand on your shoulder, a slight concern on his face.

“I… I just need to be alone for…”

He interrupts you before you can finish the thought.

“I’ll stay, don’t worry”

He sits down beside you, close enough that your thighs touch. Immediately you try to scoot away, but he follows until you are pushed to the very end of the bench.

“No, I need to…”

“You don’t have to do this alone” He leans in close, hand still on your shoulder. “I’m here for you, we are one now”

And that’s it, right there. He walks right over you, disregarding and ignoring you, while trying to mask it as care. Trying to force you to see it as love.

You open your mouth to protest again, but it only results in the tears breaking out. You can’t do this, not right now. You are broken down, in pain and afraid and you just want to be alone.

Before you can blink, Daeron’s arms are suddenly around you, pulling you close. He forces your head down on his shoulder, hushing you as if he wasn’t responsible for the tears in the first place. You are feeling trapped, panic in his arms, and yet there is nothing you can do but let him.

“It’s been a long night; you just need something to eat, then you’ll feel better”

You nod into his arms, desperately clinging onto the fabric of his tunic, something to ground yourself to. All you want is some space, and some sort of chance of being alone. Just a few more minutes of silence and being alone would do wonders to you, that’s at least what you want to believe.

“You are right, I think. I’ll go down to the kitchen and…”

“I’ll follow you. You’ll never have to be alone again”

~~~

The death of your husband came as a surprise. He had been young, healthy and active. Every day he would train with his men in the training yard or go for a ride with the horses. He ate healthily and the Maesters always congratulated him on his strength and his body. Still, the Stranger came for everybody, and it seemed your husband’s time had been early.

The sickness had spread throughout the lands, and it took both peasants and noble alike. You had noticed that when you wept beside your lord husband’s bed, praying to the Mother for safety and his strength to return. She had non to give. When he passed into the strangers’ arms, you felt as if he took a piece of you with him.

Your marriage, like so many others between nobles, had been arranged by your father and you had little hope of a happy one. Yet, when you meet Lord Willys Tyrell, the son to the lord of Highgarden, he had smiled at you sweetly and taken your hand to place a kiss on it. You knew then you were a lost cause, and the love both shared grew between you quickly. It had been a happy marriage by all accounts, and the life in Highgarden had suited you so much you almost regretted your decision to leave. Almost.

The depression and sadness that tugged at your heart had been consuming you whole for the better part of the moon, and only a few things had been able to cheer you up. Your father-in-law, as well as your brother-in-law had tried their best, but they too were buried in their grief. You hadn’t been blessed with a child with your husband either, so that left little more to comfort yourself with. So, when the letter arrived from your old friend, an offer for a visit and some comfort, you had jumped at the opportunity for something to cheer you up.

It was an odd friendship; you had to admit. Prince Aerion wasn’t known for his kindness, nor for his big circle of friends. Yet, you had the honour few had of calling yourself his friend. A friendship that started when you were just children, and one that held strong throughout your teenage years, up until your marriage. You can still remember the little child you met in the gardens of the Red Keep, when you too were a child. The prince was a few years older and intimidating already then. Still, it hadn’t stopped either of you.

The fresh air of the countryside was slowly being replaced by the stench of the city as you knew it. The carriage was swaying lightly back and forth, and you rested your back against the cushions, embroidered with roses. The Tyrells had been kind enough to loan you both their own carriage and their guards for the journey, stating that you are still family even if your husband wasn’t still alive. You had been utterly thankful, even more so after they promised you would be welcome back even after the visit.

As you pass through the gates of the city, slowly moving up the dwindling streets of Kings Landing, you suddenly find it hard to sit still. Both because of the constant shaking of the cart that came with the uneven road, but also due to the excitement. You hadn’t seen Aerion since the wedding, and even before that it had been less and less since your betrothal to Willys. You had grown distant the closer you got to your betrothed, something you mourned. So now, with the grief of losing your husband, the happiness of reuniting with an old friend grew bigger.

By the time the carriage had rolled up to the red keep, you were basically jumping in your seat. You could see the giant castle towering ahead, and as the carriage finally rolled to a stop, you could see the familiar figure with white hair and red clothing standing at the top of the stairs. As the door opened, you gratefully took the hand of the knight outside and finally emerged from the cramped space.

After three weeks on the road, it was a blessing to finally arrive at something other than an inn or odd keep. You stretched your legs as you looked around. Nothing has changed since last time, the Red Keep still glistening in the sun, the servants running around, and once more you turn your gaze back towards the stairs and a smile graces your features. After weeks of mourning and waiting, the familiar face of a friend seemed to lift your spirits immensely. Forgetting all about protocol and respect, you take off in a quick walk up the stairs, delighted in the fact Aerion was heading down. You meet halfway and before you can regret it you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him. It is indecent of you, hugging a prince without so much as a bow or word of respect, yet the way he is hugging you back, arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you closer to him, makes you forget everything.

“I have missed you, little bird”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft, a smile on his face hidden away in your neck. For just a brief second his arms tighten around you before he slowly loosens them, leaning back to get a good look at you.

“The road must have exhausted you”

You smile at him, the first genuine smile you had worn for weeks. It felt strange upon your face, as if you had forgotten the motion.

“I have missed you too, my prince. The road did not agree with me, and I already dread the return to Highgarden”

Something in his expression shift when you mention Highgarden. You can’t exactly say what it is, but it is as if he grew colder at the words. Still, it does not last long before he is smiling again, releasing you from the hug to offer you an arm instead.  

“Let’s not speak of journeys now, little bird, you only just arrived. Let’s get you inside, I am sure you are eager to wash the road off you”

You nod thankfully, taking his arm and together you descend the steps upward and into the familiar corridors.

~~~

You were grateful for the bath, truly. The servants had prepared it, so it was still steaming when you got to it, and the tub was large enough for you to lie back and rest. The warm water soothed your muscles, and the soft sound of servants moving around you lulled you into a sense of rest. Though, after a while a strange feeling prickled your neck. You sent the servants away, insisting you wanted to be alone for a few minutes. Yet, as they scurried to leave the chambers and you were all alone, the feeling did not go away. The strange feeling of being watched.

You shift uncomfortably, the warm water somehow losing its comfort the longer this strange feeling persists. Despite how softly you try to move, scrubbing the dirt and sweat of you, you can’t seem to enjoy it anymore. You can swear you hear movement around you, someone’s shallow breathing that isn’t yours. The fatigue from the road and newfound warm safety must be sending you into madness. Mayhap a good night’s sleep will fix it.

As the sun slowly lowers into the sky, you rise from the tub to begin to dress. You had promised Aerion to have dinner with him and tell him of the journey. A smile comes into your face as you think of it.  Yes, everything would be fine.

¨¨¨¨

The Red Keep is certainly different from Highgarden in many aspects. The schedule, the food, the traditions. The people were the biggest difference, you supposed. Aside from Aerion you didn’t know anyone else that well. Sure, you had met his family and knew them, but it is not like you could ask the heir apparent or Maekar to lunch. Besides, you could not for the life of you rid yourself of the feeling of being watched.

Everywhere you went, whenever you were alone or just simply walking around you constantly felt watched, like someone was following you. It was unnerving to say the least. You tried to blame the nerves from being in a new place and the grief still gently lingering causing you to hallucinate. It didn’t help that you felt mostly alone all the time.

The ladies at court whom you had known before your wedding had also mostly been married or moved away. A whole new set of ladies roamed the court, but none of them felt right to spend time with. Lady Kiera had been most sweet with you and invited you several times to dine with her and her ladies, which you had gladly accepted. Yet even then you didn’t know them and they oft spoke of things you had no clue of, and despite how nice it was you felt left out. That only left Aerion to spend time with.

It was nice, of course. He had been most helpful with your grief and to fill your days with entertainment. One day he took you horse-riding, the other he brought you to a market. He spoke to you, danced with you at feasts and even fixed forth a music-teacher when you expressed interest in learning the lute. He was the perfect friend, really.

And yet, you had started to long for Highgarden once more. While you still mourned your sweet husband, the wound had begun to slowly heal, and the constant movement and flimsy of the Red Keep were beginning to garner on your nerves. After almost a full moon away you were ready to return to safety and calmness.

Aerion did not agree.

“What do you mean, go home?”

His voice was genuinely confused as he looked at you, brows furrowed. He took a sip of his wine and didn’t wait further for an explanation.

“Your father is in Dorne on business for the crown and your sisters are married. What do you have to return to apart from an empty keep?”

You shook your head, also taking a sip of the wine. The day was clear and hot, with a gentle breeze brushing your skirts. The part of the garden where you were seated was mostly empty, the people around having left as soon as you arrived. Aerion had explained it was because this part of the garden was private for the royal family, but you had an odd feeling that wasn’t the full truth.

“No, I meant home to Highgarden. I still have my sweet father-in-law and brothers there, and I miss it all”

Aerion froze at your words, his gaze temporarily freezing on his wine. For a second he didn’t move at all, before his gaze snapped to you, and the calm look he had before was gone. It took him a long time to say something; he just looked at you with that gaze you couldn’t place.

“What do you mean, ‘Home’?” His voice was cold, and his brows furrowed. It finally seemed to click in your mind that he was angry, and almost without meaning to you lean backwards in your seat to get away from him. “Highgarden certainly isn’t your home, especially not more than here”

Now it’s your time to be confused, your eyebrows furrowed as you tilt your head to the side. Still, you lean away from him, this change in attitude worrying you. Aerion had always been a difficult person, you knew that, but you had always managed to make him see eye to eye. For some reason, this conversation didn’t seem to head that way.

“What do you mean? Highgarden is my home, it’s where my husband lived and…”

“Your husband is dead.”

As soon as the words left his mouth you freeze, gazed locked onto him. He didn’t seem remorseful in the slightest, he seemed still as annoyed and angry. He put his wine down to lean closer to you, his gaze narrowing as if to challenge you to say something.

“Wha… what did you just say?” Your voice was thick with disbelief, and the closer he leaned the further away you tried to get. “Highgarden is my home! And… and my husband he- how could you say that?”

Tears were kissing your eyes, the glass of wine and nice weather forgotten. Aerion didn’t seem to mind it, his gaze still firmly locked onto you. He even seemed calmer now, his hands intertwining in front of him as he too tilted his head, matching your movement. As if he was mocking you.

“I didn’t say any lie” He stated, as a matter of fact. “Your husband is dead, and so from that fact alone Highgarden isn’t your home anymore”

“My father-in-law has gracefully accepted to keep me housed there! He has even asked that I return so I won’t feel alone!”

“He has accepted your presence back as a guest, same as I have” The calm tone of his voice infuriates you more, and slowly the fear is forgotten in turn for anger. “That means that the red keep, or mayhap even Summerhall is just as much your home as Highgarden”

At that you stand up, fully shocked and done with his words. He had never spoken like this before, and it was starting to bother you more than the loneliness. Sure, you weren’t ignorant to the rumours regarding him. He was known to be a spoiled prince, crude and rude to everyone he meets. It wasn’t unknown that people were reluctant to accept his presence. But he had never been like that with you! Somehow it felt even worse, that someone you trusted were treating you this way.

You turned your back on him, and with hurried steps began to leave the garden. You can hear him stand up behind you, beginning to follow you but you refuse to turn or acknowledge him. Not even as he comes closer or begins to speak.

“Little bird, where are you going?” He is almost laughing now, his anger replaced by humour.  “I didn’t mean to be cruel, but I was…”

You don’t let him finish, instead turning around so fast he almost collides with you.

“Well, you were!” You basically screeched at him, trying your best not to punch him in the face. “You were cruel and I have no intention of staying here when you don’t seem to have my best interest at heart anymore.”

With that, you walk away and don’t bother to try and listen to what he says. You can hear his footsteps, but they slowly fade as you enter the public gardens once more. You walk so fast you almost fall into a sprint, desperate to get to your chambers so you can finally break down.

~~~

You had ordered for the carriage to be prepared for return that very same day. As soon as you returned to your chambers, you had broken down, the grief of everything hitting you at once. It didn’t last long, and at the first pause with tears you called upon the steward to send words. You were told you could leave in two days’ time, and you were thinking it couldn’t be soon enough.

You assumed words had gotten to Aerion was well, because only an hour after you had been given the news, he had showed up and almost banged your door down, yelling and screaming. You had refused. The guards had dragged him away, and he had returned an hour later with apologies and begged to speak. When that didn’t work, he tried something else.

Almost the whole rest of the day had passed like that. He came with apologies, flowers, treats and at one point, you thought you heard him beg. Still, nothing could get you out of your mood. You were truly angry at him, and it was too soon to forgive. Only when night fell and the guards grew tired, that he finally left you alone, albeit reluctantly. You tried to sleep, you really did, but it was hard. The grief had returned 10-fold, and you still felt fucking watched. It took you to the early hours of the morning to finally fall asleep.

When you awoke, it was almost a surprise it wasn’t to the sound of the door being banged down. When you sent the servants to fetch breakfast (determent to have it in your room so you wouldn’t risk facing him again), the sweet girl informed you that he would be away for the better part of the day. His father had some urgent business that needed care, and Aerion was supposed to follow and learn. Joy spread through you at her words, having forgotten about how much he complained about it.

You ate breakfast in peace, read some and even helped the maids pack some of your belongings. Soon, when the room became to suffocating, you decided leaving to go for a stroll in the gardens wouldn’t hurt. After all, Aerion wasn’t here to bother you and you had started to miss the beautiful flowers and trees in Highgarden. Not that the gardens here could compare, but they were a comfort non the least.

The sun was just as warm today as yesterday, heating up your skin and making all the water glitter gently. The kind breeze was missing and leaving it to feel on the verge of suffocating, but you didn’t mind, you never did. For the first time since you came, you felt almost completely at peace, despite being alone. The feeling of being watched had vanished, and due to the heat, you were enjoying a very desert garden. At least, it was desert until a figure suddenly appear from behind a bush, causing you to jump.

“Prince Valarr!”

You quickly fell into a curtesy, bowing your head. You had met the prince on numerous occasions and knew him to be a kind. Still, whenever you had the moment to speak with him, Aerion had always been with you, and Aerion did not like his cousin. You had never been able to have a longer conversation, to your disappointment.

Valarr chuckled as he watched you, shaking his head.

“Please, my lady, there is no need for such formalities. I believe we know each other well enough”

He reached out a hand to help you up; one you graciously accepted. He was wearing his usual Targaryen clothing, the red and black mixed together, his hair perfect. Truly, a proper prince in every aspect.

“I thought I was alone in the garden. The sun seems to be a bit to strong for most today”

You smile at his words, shaking your head.

“I thought the same” you laugh. “I never minded the warmth, and I have been inside for far too long today”

Valarr nods at that, looking around the garden as if he was watching for something.

“Yes, its been a while since I’ve seen you… and its been even longer since I’ve seen you without my cousin”

At the mention of Aerion you frown, looking down. He was right, of course. You yourself couldn’t remember the last time you were without him, and that made you sad. The one friend you had in this place, turned out to be something other than you thought, and now you felt like a jester alone. No one on your side, a joke to others. You couldn’t well say that to the prince, though.

“Yes… yes, Aerion and I- Prince Aerion and I have spent a lot of time together but we… well I guess I started to miss home and he didn’t fully agree with me”

You try to smile at Valarr, but he can see through you without much trying. Still, he nods politely.

“Yes, I hear you had a… disagreement. Would you like to walk with me, My lady? To clear your head, maybe”

You are surprised by the request, but you wouldn’t dare refuse a prince. When you think about it, you don’t want to refuse him. You like the idea of getting to know the other prince for a while, to talk to some who wasn’t rude. Walking side by side, you traverse the gardens, speaking of different things. The flowers, how Lady Kiera is holding up, how much you miss Highgarden. You find your mood deeply improving with his company. When you reach the end of the garden, you are laughing and smiling again.

Valarr turns to you as the garden ends, something troubling finding its way into his previously carefree and calm grace. His eyes flitter around the garden before they settle on you again, his eyebrows furrowing.

“How has Aerion been treating you these days?” He asks, his head gently tilted to the side.

His words confuse you, and you find yourself trying to avoid his gaze, his different coloured eyes borrowing into you. You can’t place his gaze, and that worries you. Is it pity, worry or maybe even indifference?

“I… Well, of course. He is my friend, and he has been greatly cheering me up these last days”

Valarr nods, before he looks around again.

“Of course, I know you two are close… But when I heard of the disagreement, I just wanted to make sure”

“Well, that is very sweet of you” You are beginning to become uncomfortable with his new concerns, not sure how to handle this situation. No one had ever been worried about you like this, and you aren’t sure if Valarr is worried about you, or about Aerion. “But I can assure you, I am perfectly fine. I’m returning to Highgarden tomorrow and while the prince may be wroth with me, I am sure some time apart might heal our wounds”

The son to the Heir Apparent doesn’t seem to agree, his expression still troubled as he looks at you. He seems to be trying to figure out what to say, how to phrase everything right. It makes you nervous, as if there is some great secret you aren’t fully let in on. Finally, he rests his gaze on yours as he decides, a hesitant smile finding its way onto his face.

“Well, I am glad to hear you are okay, My lady. Still… just be careful. Aerion is a Targaryen prince, and while I am sure you are fully aware of the fact, I would still recommend to… just look out for something that might be odd. Would you promise me that?”

His words leave you feeling confused, like someone took your brain and shook it around. His words felt displaced in the warm garden, the fuzzy feeling that had filled you now suddenly gone. It was as if the sun had been clouded, the surroundings changed. Aerion wouldn’t… you don’t know what Valarr is getting at, but still, you force a smile.

“Of course, your grace… I’ll be careful, but I’m sure Aerion hasn’t mean anything by what he did, right?”

Valarr just nods, that hesitant smile still lingering.

“Yes… yes, of course”

~~~

The carriage was leaving early tomorrow. Soon, you would be away, to dream of basking in the beautiful gardens of Highgarden, play games with your brothers in law and have dinner with your father-in-law. Those are the facts that keep repeating to yourself as you dress. Just one more evening of this bloody keep, then you would be home. Just one more evening of pretending.

Aerion had invited you to dinner, and as much as you had wanted to send the poor servant back with an insult, you had forced yourself to calm down. You couldn’t stay mad forever, and he was your friend after all. He had apologised and did seem genuinely remorseful. Everyone makes mistakes, right?

Contrary to what you thought, he had insisted the dinner was served in his chambers instead of the dining hall.

“To make things more comfortable” he had said with a smile as he let you in.

And he was right, you supposed. He had started with another apology, of how he hadn’t meant it like that and despite how you had promised yourself to stay wroth, your heart had softened at his words. He was your friend, and despite everything you forgave him. Dinner had been a pleasant affair, the food good and it felt wonderful to have a proper conversation again. It felt right.

“Oh, by the seven above, it’s not like Aegon is that bad!”

“You are lying to both me and yourself now. Aegon is a demon, sent to torment us…”

“He is a child!”

Aerion simply laughed, taking a sip of wine from his goblet. You had moved from the table to sit by the fire, drinking wine and talking. The fire in the hearth was dying, the embers softly lighting the room. It smelled softly of fire, smoke and something else far more homely. Something that made you fuzzy, and awfully tired.

“I fear I should retire, Aerion. I’m tired, and have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow”

You try to be soft with your words, but Aerion frowns all the same. You can’t help but to do the same, almost melancholy at the thought of already ending the evening, despite your previous disagreement. Still, you had to rest up for the morrow.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for just one more goblet of wine? I do adore your company”

He lifts his goblet in gesture and smiles as if that should convince you. He keeps it frozen in place as you shake your head and place your own goblet on the table.

“I’m sorry, I would love to, really, but it is late and…”

“Of course” He cuts you off, placing his own goblet beside your own upon the table. “You must get your rest”

His voice is distant as his eyes moves about your face, drinking you in. A fact that has you slightly squirming in your seat, the words of Prince Valarr suddenly appearing in your mind, against your will. Just be careful. You felt something prickle up your spine as Aerion’s eyes start to look more and more reptile like. Something like a predator.

You clear your throat, preparing to make your exit when he interrupts you again.

“Do you remember when we first meet?”

You frown in confusion at his question, before you chuckle it away, waving your hand in front of you.

“Yes, of course I do… how could I not?”

Aerion lets out a laugh, leaning back in his chair.

“You were so small, I remember. Wearing that pink dress, not even the colour of your house. How you stood out in that garden, and how you stood out even more when you spoke to me”

You liked this part of him far better, the calm and present one, laughing about old memories. It reminded you of before.

“Well, I wasn’t that small” you muse “You were just slightly older, thus being taller. And you were holding a cat, how could I not speak to you”

“Yes, it was Aegon’s cat, I remember. You got so excited when you saw it, thought of it as so sweet”

“Well, it was sweet! I have always adored cats and thought…”

“I was going to throw it down the well, you know”

…

The silence is so loud, you could hear a pin drop. Everything in the room seemed to still, and you completely forgot what you were going to say. Your face was frozen in that awkward smile you had just before Aerion opened his mouth. He didn’t seem phased, just observing your reaction.

“Wha…” Your voice is lower now, and you find it hard to force out the words. “That is not funny, Aerion. Do not jest so”

He lets out a laugh, short and more like a bark.

“I am not jesting” he says, and with horrible clarity you realise he is telling the truth. “Aegon had done something, I can’t even remember what, and I was going to take his stupid cat and throw it down the well. But then, you showed up. Oh, and how you laughed at the kitten, rushing right at me to practically rip it from my arms”

It is with horrifying pain you realise you do not know the man in front of you. This is the man everyone warned you of, who Valarr spoke of in the garden. A man who is dangerous, a vain and cruel prince. A man who is looking at you with such humour and entertainment.

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes up, and you’re not even sure Aerion cared enough to listen.

“I was going to punish you for the insolence and then throw the cat away… but you opened your mouth and thanked me. You thanked me and giggled in that sweet voice of yours, as if I had hung the stars and the moon for you, for something that wasn’t even for you. The cat wasn’t for you, and yet I found it fit in your arms. That’s when I decided I loved you”

It felt as if someone had dropped a bucket of ice-water all over you. It felt cold and rude, completely unfamiliar and awful. Goosebumps moved across your skin, and it was as if the air had been sucked out. Everything was closing in around you, until only Aerion and his terrible smile remained.

“I… I do not understand of what you speak…”

“I thought you loved me too, you know” He interrupts again, his voice now colder. “Not straight away, of course, we were still children. But as we grew and you still looked at me with such adoration and kindness, I thought we were on the same level. We were meant to be one. And then you had to ruin it all, and wed a fucking Tyrell”

His voice had grown colder the longer he spoke, and the hatred that filled it with his last words had you standing up from your seat, desperately backing away from him. He followed immediately, standing to his full hight, his face now a mask of cold indifference. A look of which he had never given you.

“Aerion, you are scaring me…”

Your voice is a mere whisper, a dreadful plea in the desperation of a prey. A prey pleading to a predator that has no intention of letting go. A rose begging a dragon for mercy.

“That is not my intention” he says, and you know he means it. No, he sees his twisted words as a declaration of love. “But I need you to see what you have so clearly denied. You are mine”

You decide you have heard enough, and in a panic, you turn to run to the door. You barley make is a step before a hand twist in the fabric of your dress, flipping you around to face him. A frightful smile is all over him, and he pulls you closer.

“I tried speaking with your father” he continues to speak, ignoring how your hands fly up to push at his chest, hit his arms, fighting to be free. “To ask to marry you, and he said no. He said you loved this Tyrell and I told him he was full of shit. You loved me, I know you did”

He is so close now you can feel his breath on your lips, and you fear for when he will try to come even closer. Fear for what next will come.

“And he was right. You actually preferred this… man”

If it wasn’t for the fact you were desperately fighting to get out of his grasp, trying to keep from tears, you might have noticed he seemed sad about it. A soft melancholy, like it truly hurt him that you didn’t feel the same. You might have felt bad for him, if it wasn’t for the fact he was holding you so hard you were sure you were going to bruise.

“You were married off and left me alone…and then I thought you were returning after his death to confess your love to me. To tell me how wrong you were and that it was me who you loved all along. Yet you never did…” His voice has grown hard again, a sneer on his face before he continued and it melted away. “…but never mind that now. He is gone, and you are mine”

Something in his eyes sparkled, and it put such an awful thought into your head. An awful, terrible, painful thought, that caused the air to be pulled from your lungs, like a corset being pulled to tightly. You tried to banish it to the furthers corners of your mind, to focus on the equally horrifying situation at hand, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t.

“Did… Did you kill my Willys?”

Aerion’s eyes did not lose their sparkle but instead seemed to burn brighter. Burn with such fierce power you became even more afraid of the answer he was about to give.

“No” he says, at last, but the words that follow does not calm your racing heart. “But I would have, if I had gotten the chance. Afterall, you disappeared so quickly after your wedding, and I would have loved to get to know your husband a bit more. Accidents happen on hunting trips all the time”

Those are the words that finally makes the goblet tip over in your poor mind. Those words, coming from a man whom you only 5 minutes earlier saw as your best friend and confidant. The tears well over, and before you know it you are sobbing and your legs give out underneath you. Aerion is quick to catch you, bringing you closer as he gently, fake and horrible and so softly, hush you, comforts you.

“It’s alright, my love. Its alright, you are exactly where you are meant to be”

 A hand bracing on the back of your neck, forcing you closer. You realise to late what he is planning, and your plea is stuck in your throat as he places his lips over yours in a kiss. Its soft, like a lover’s kiss, and even when you resume your fighting to push at his chest, he remains close, lips moving over yours. It’s only when he tries to part your lips, pushing closer you snap, and bite down. Hard.

He flies back with a hiss, bringing a hand up to his lip to check. Its bleeding, and he stares at his fingers in disbelief before snapping his gaze up to yours again. He doesn’t seem to back off the way you thought and instead he laughs. He seemed amused at your panic. Suddenly, before you can react, his lips are back on yours, this time far harsher and bruising, causing you to let out a yelp. You slap at his chest, scratch at his face, but he only pushes closer. When one of his hands wander a bit to low, you lift your knee up and with a sick sort of satisfaction, you hit him right in the groin. That has him flying back, and you are suddenly free. You waste no time, your feet finding its footing fast and you rush towards the door, towards your freedom.

If you could only get through the door, you could run all the way back to your chambers. You would hide and pretend none of this happened. Tomorrow, you would board the carriage and go home to safety, happiness and family and…

Hands tangle themselves in your hair and pulls you back so hard you scream. It burns at the roots, and you are sure a few strands pop loose as you fly back into Aerion’s chest. As his other hand comes up to circle your waist, you feel his breath on your ear.

“Where are you going? We’ve only just started”

“Aerion please, I can’t…”

“Hush with you now, I’m here, I’ll take care of you”

He pulls you backwards, towards the bed, and no matter how you beg and plead he doesn’t relent. The weight of your failed escape, the fate that awaited you caused you to fight even harder, but that only made him angry. He seems to lose his patience more and more, and finally he grabs your neck so firmly you feel his nails dig into the sides.

“Shut up for once, would you? There is no need to be an ungrateful bitch. I am a prince; this is an honour”

He pushes you down face first onto the soft mattress, and quickly follow with his weight, forcing you down further. You cry out once more, but there is not much you can do to fight here, arms stuck and panic causing your body to shake something terribly. You try to close your legs, but he quickly pushes his knees between yours, forcing you to keep them open.

And that is how he takes you.

Face down on your stomach, a hand on your neck holding you down and his hands sneaking up your skirts. You feel like a whore.

When you feel the tip of him at your dry entrance, you make one last attempt at fighting. You throw you elbow back, felling it hitting him square in the chest. He groans and the hold on your neck loosen so you take the opportunity to throw your head back, hoping to hit him. You miss, and instead you feel his other hand sneaking around your throat.

“Calm the fuck down, would you? I was going to be nice”

With that, he forces your head down again. Hopelessness fills your body as the tears soak the sheets, your hands grabbing the bedding hard in your fists. When he pushes in, it burns like crazy. With one, deep stroke he sheets himself inside you all once, and you can’t help the cry that escapes you.

Its not like you were a virgin. You and your husband had been intimate more times than you could count, but that had been different. That had been loving, slow and sweet. This was anything but that. Aerion pace was fast, his hips slamming into yours from behind. The grip on your neck was tight, and everything burned.

“Now you are mine. Completely and utterly mine, like you should have been from the beginning”

The tears run faster as he speaks in your ear, so close his breath fan over the side of your face. Your knuckles are white from holding on so tight, and you wish everything was over. You wish you never came to dinner, that you were on the carriage back home.

“I am going to fill you up, get you pregnant with my child”

His words cause a whole new wave of terror to wash over you, something cold and terrifying.

“No, no wait- “

“Let’s see your father refuse me then. A widow, pregnant with a prince’s child. No one else will want you, and everything will be as it should have been from the start”

“Aerion, please- “

“I don’t care if someone else had you first. I don’t care how many times he had you. You are mine, and you’ll see it too”

You can feel his hips slowly loose rhythm, and you know he is close. Somehow, you think he enjoys your tears. You are glad you can’t see his face, the betrayal burning hard in your chest as you weep. His hips stutters, before he buries himself as deep as he can get, his hips flush with yours as he finishes.

He collapses on top of you with a deep groan, his weight forcing the last air in your lungs to escape. He is warm, and you feel as if you are burning up.  Everything hurt, and you can feel his seed drip out around his softening cock. Everything is still, his deep and calm breathing contrasting your short sobs in the otherwise quiet room.

Your thoughts slowly return to the morrow; on the carriage you had ordered. On your return home. It is as if Aerion can hear your thought, because he nuzzles closer and kisses your cheek.

“I will speak to them tomorrow. You will not return to Highgarden. You’ll stay here, with me, until we wed. Then I’ll take you to Summerhall”

A whine leaves your throat at the thought of it, at how everything could have gone so wrong and that you were completely blind to everything. You should have listened to Valarr. You know there is no use in fighting, in arguing, but you can’t stop yourself.

“Please” your voice is nothing but a soft whine. “I want to go home, Aerion”

He answers with a mean chuckle, lifting his hand to stroke your cheek.

“Don’t be silly, little bird. You are home. I am your home now”

~~~~

The sun was high in the sky, bearing down with a sweltering heat. Your dress was light and more revealing than you usually wore, but being this unused to the heat meant you had to make some adjustments to your usual wardrobe. Besides, being a princess meant you that access to far more options than you had before.

The garden was beautiful, full of flowers and the sound of water flowing from the fountain nearby was almost helping with cooling you down. A servant had been kind enough to fix forth a makeshift canopy to help with a bit of shadow from the sun. Still, you were getting tired from the heat, but with the children running around, you couldn’t well rest either.

Rhae and Daella was sitting close to your side, one busy attempt to draw you, the other being on the busy trying to fix the dragon she was attempting to embroider. It was coming along well, with her pausing every other stitch to get your help. Aegon on the other hand, you learned, could not possibly sit still. He was wielding a wooden sword, pretending to be a knight. He was casually switching between being the winner of a tourney or being in the midst of a war.

You were content. It was a beautiful afternoon, and you got to spend it with three beautiful children you had the honour of calling your own, despite not being related by blood. You were a princess, and the servants were there to help with any need you could imagine. Surely, your life was beautiful. The only thing missing was your husband, and only the gods knew where he was. When you wedded Maekar, it was arranged, as almost all marriages of nobles are. With the Blackfyre rebellion still raging in some parts, alliances were important, and your family offered that. So, despite you being younger, and Maekar being widowed with six children, you were shipped off to Kings Landing.

When you first meet him, you were worried. He was a stern man, gaze hard and rigid body language. He had greeted you with the excitement of a prisoner being sent to the gallows, and every other meeting afterwards had been the same. Yet, after getting to know him a bit more, your terror melted away. He was never cruel, you realized, and did as was expected of him during courting. So, when you finally wedded in the Sept, you weren’t as sad as you thought you would be, and when the wedding night arrived, you were even further relaxed.

He had told you, with that gruff and harsh voice, he had enough children already and didn’t need any more. While you were expected to share a chamber, he wasn’t interested in more. You had been more than happy with the arrangement, and since then he hadn’t touched you. Each night you slept beside each other, on the far side of the beds, broke your fast together and then you wouldn’t see each other for the rest of the day. He went off to do his duties, and you were left to do whatever you wanted. It would have been a lonely life, if it wasn’t for the children filling the void.

“You must sit still, mother!”

The shrill voice of Rhae had the most opening your eyes and smiling at the little girl. She was studying you carefully, before turning back to her drawing.

“Of course, my sweet. We must be careful if we are to show this painting to your father”

She smiled proudly at your words, puffing out her chest and smiling widely before focusing on the parchment once more. The children, being as young as they are, take quite the pride in showing their father their work, and even more pride in the fact you are as invested as them. They lost their mother young, and you are happy you can bring them some comfort and guidance.

You prepare to answer her when you are cut off by the battle-scream of the boy beside you. He jumps right into your lap, and you barely have time to catch him before he starts swinging the sword around.

“Die, Blackfyre-bastard! I will not let you kidnap my family; I’ll fight for their honour!”

You let out a laugh at his wild fantasies, but neither Daella nor Rhae finds their loss of peace entertaining.

“Aegon, you are ruining the drawing! Move!”

Aegon didn’t seem phased by his sister’s complaint, instead laughing as he continued to cast his sword around. It’s not until Daella lets out a noise of complaint he gets up, only to charge right at his younger sister.

“Come on, you are no fun! Play with me instead, you can’t sit still all day”

You don’t have time to stop him, barely having time to open your mouth when Aegon suddenly snatches the parchment out from under Rhae, only to bold away further into the gardens. No more has his name left your lips in a scolding manner before Rhae is up and chasing after him with a shrill cry. Daella is not long after her, angry and determent to protect her younger sister, her embroidery-work now laying disregarded beside you.

Almost as soon as the scuffle started, you find yourself alone, save for a few guards and the maids. As much as you adore the children, the quiet of the moment doesn’t disturb you, instead allowing you to finally take a sip of the cold lemonade before slowly laying down on your back and closing your eyes. The children wouldn’t get far, and by now you were sure a maid or septa was on their way to capture the little siblings anyways. You could use the moment to rest before they were delivered back to you.

“Princess, are you alright?”

Your eyes open to gaze upon the knight that has moved to your side. Dressed in shining white armor, his helmet secure and his hand ready on the sword handle, he looks every bit of a proper knight in the sun. You smile at him before sitting up, brushing off some invisible dust from your skirts.

“Yes, thank you Ser Robyn. I’m just a bit warm… I didn’t mean to worry” You shake your head, looking away towards where the children had run off to. “They are full of energy, those three. I try to rest when I get the chance”

Ser Robyn lets out a soft laugh at your words, the sun reflecting on him in a manner that makes him shine even brighter. A true knight, indeed.

“Aye, you are right in that, Princess. I know them as quite the rascals”

You answer with a hum as you turn your gaze back to the knight. You hadn’t known him for long, but he was employed in your husband’s service, and as of late he had been guarding you and the children quite oft. You didn’t know if he was assigned to you or one of the young ones, but his sweet smile and calm demeanour was a pleasant addition in your life.

You were happy in your life, but you couldn’t help but sometimes feel lonely. The children helped fill the void, but sometimes a conversation with a friend was just what you needed, and Ser Robyn has always been kind.

“You must be warm in your armour. I can only imagen the sweltering heat you suffer clad in Steel from your heels to the helm. Please, have some lemonade to drink and sit with me”

As you speak you are carefully filling one of the empty glasses with lemonade, holding it out for him to take. He only shakes his head as he lifts a hand in protest, still smiling.

“Oh, no thank you princess. I couldn’t possibly…”

You don’t let him finish, instead just lifting the glass higher towards him as you give him a pointed look.

“I will not have you fainting, Ser Robyn. You don’t have to sit beside me but at least take the glass and drink. That is an order”

You smile at him as you add the last part, the jest still somehow pointed at him. He relents with a soft “thank you” as he takes the glass and step closer to you. He doesn’t sit down, despite how you pat the blanket beside you. In the end, you must content yourself that he at least took the drink.

You talk some more with him about how good the weather is, how much you adore the silks and dresses and how sweet the children are. You help fill his glass once more and you share another drink together. Before long, the children are delivered back to you, Daella and Rhae stomping back to you with anger, and Aegon being carried kicking and complaining under the arm of another knight. Ser Robyn thanks you once more before taking a step back to give you space as the children once more settle down on the blankets.

“Aegon tried to ruin my drawing!” Rhae complains as she cuddles into your side, reaching for a glass of lemonade.

Aegon huffs and opens his mouth, ready to complain but you cut him off before he has the chance.

“Aegon, enough. Let your sister be”

A pointed look makes him close his mouth, crossing his arms. Daella smirks at him, before picking up her embroidery again. You simply shake your head, suppressing a smile at the younglings.

“What would you children say to some lemoncakes, huh?”

That has them all snapping their eyes to you and quickly nodding their heads in agreement. You merely laugh before turning to the maid and asking her to fetch you some and bring some more lemonade. The children had a lot of energy left and the day was far from over.

~~~

The evening breeze was cool against your skin as you sat by the window. The dress from earlier had been changed out to a softer, lighter gown as you were trying to wind down after the day. You shared the Lemon Cakes with the children and spent a better part of the afternoon outside playing with them. Then, you went inside to share supper with them before parting as their Septas came to take them to bed. You had been surprised your husband hadn’t shared Supper with you, but when you asked the servants, they said he had business to attend to.

So, here you were, sitting by the window of your shared chambers trying to fix the last pieces of embroidering Daella didn’t have time to finish. You promised her you would help her fix the last parts so she could present the final piece to her father.

When the door opens, you recognize the sound of Maekars boots against the floor, and the way his breath sounds. You don’t even bother to look up from your work, knowing he is there. That meant you missed the uncharacteristically angry look he wore, and how his jaw was set.

“Hello, Maekar”

You are concentrating on your work and your tone is dismissive, which only serves to annoys him more.

“Wife”

You don’t respond, since you usually don’t. It’s not like you were often sharing a conversation with your husband during the evenings, instead content sitting quietly. Which is why it come as a surprise to you when your husband continues to speak.

“You have been busy today”

You look up, brows furrowing as you finally seem to notice something is off. Maekar stands right by the door, his hands closed to fists by his side as he stares you down. Still, you can’t fully put your finger on what is wrong. Mayhap he had an odd day, hence the work keeping him over supper.

“I don’t think I’ve been busier today than any other. I spent a great deal of time with the children in the garden”

You try to keep your tone light, shrugging in the process. He simply continues to look at you, moving his jaw as if trying to release pressure. He takes a deep breath, slowly taking a step closer to you. For a reason you can’t name, you want to take a step back, putting some distance between you. The only reason you don’t is because you can’t, not while sitting by the window.

“Really? And it was only the children you spent time with?”

Now you are truly confused, the crease between your eyebrows deepening as you try to think. Yes… yes, you broke your fast together with your husband, then spent some time in the library before having lunch (a lunch you were supposed to share with Daeron, but he never showed up), and then you went into the garden with the little ones. You had only spent time with his children all day.

“…Well, yes, only the children, I suppose. Are you wroth with me?”

Your question is timid, genuinely confused and slightly worried about his tone. You had never seen this side of him, only used to the quiet gruff kind of way he spoke to you. He doesn’t seem to share your confusion, though, as he once more takes a step closer to you.

“Yes, Silly girl, I am wroth with you” He all but growls, hands still close to fists. “I have all the right in the seven kingdoms to be upset when my own wife has been drooling over a knight, and then lying to my face about it”

You stand up at the tone of his voice, dropping your work onto the windowsill to push yourself flat against the wall. Your heart is starting to beat faster, like a fist banging against a wall. You have nowhere to go. Your husband is not close yet, but he stands in the way of the only exit. For the first time since your marriage, you find yourself afraid of him.

“What? I haven’t… I don’t know what you are speaking of!”

Your voice has risen in volume without you noticing, your panic starting to grow. It had been one thing if you knew of what he was saying, if you knew how to defend yourself. Yet now you stand utterly confused and scared. Maekar don’t seem to take your fear into consideration, as slowly closing the distance, causing you to press even closer to the wall.

“Really? You are trying to tell me you weren’t practically throwing yourself at Ser Robyn the second the children weren’t close?”

The cogs in your brain finally seem to connect as you realize what he speaks off, but it doesn’t calm you the way you hoped it would. Talking to Ser Robyn had been completely innocent, you had simply shared some words and helped him to a drink, he hadn’t even sat down with you! Yet, with horror you realize your husband hadn’t heard that. No, he had been watching you from somewhere else and had only seen the interaction. Tears begin to kiss your eyes as you stumble over your words trying to explain.

“No! No, we… we were only speaking, the children had… they were fighting and I tried to rest so Ser Robyn just asked if I were fine and… and then he seemed tired so…”

He cuts you off, not entertained at all by the words you babble out.

“And what about that promoted you to insist he have a drink? You were practically throwing yourself at him trying to convince him to sit down with you”

“No!” You stutter out, shaking your head desperately, somehow trying to get through to him. It doesn’t work. “I just thought he seemed warm in his armour, and I didn’t want him to faint! He wouldn’t sit down with me so…”

“You shouldn’t have offered him that in the first place!” The sneer on his face and the tone of his voice only further distress you.

You had never seen this side to him; hell, you had barely spoken to him since the wedding! Since then, the only conversation you shared was regarding the children or how his work was going. Never had he spoken to you like this and never accused you of anything and certainly never been wroth with you either. You didn’t know what to do or say, so you did the only thing you could think of: apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I never meant to insult you!”

You sobbed, shaking your head and trying not to look at him. You really hadn’t mean anything by anything. You had simply wanted some conversation and to ease Ser Robyns day. Had you known how your husband would react, had you known your husband had been watching, you wouldn’t even had sat down in that part of the garden. Had you known this was how he would react, you wouldn’t have married him.

He didn’t seem phased by your tears, but the apology seemed to at least calm his down somewhat. He took one last step, now standing within an arms reach of you. He looked down on you, still with that sneer in his faces.

“Ser Robyn…” he spit out the name as if it was an insult. “… has had a change of post. He will not be in your service anymore and if I find you have spoken to him again, I will have him sent to the wall”

The finality of his words has you taking a deep breath of air, finally allowing yourself to feel some sort of hope again. You would be sad to see Ser Robyn go, you liked Ser Robyn, but if it meant you wouldn’t be attacked like this again it would as worth it. It was over, he had accepted the apology and you wouldn’t do the mistake again. He would leave you be. You nod your head quickly, not wanting to disagree when you finally have him in a better mood.

“Yes, yes of course… I’m sorry, thank you I… I won’t do it again”

Maekar gave a nod, pleased with your agreement. Yet he didn’t step away. He stayed in his spot, close by and studying your face. For almost a full minute, neither of you moved nor said anything, the only sound in the chamber was your laboured breaths and his calm ones. When the tension became too much, you tried to quietly step to the side to go away, to put some sort of distance between you, anything that could mean you would be allowed to breathe again. When you slowly move, you are once more surprised by arm that shoots out to grasp at your wrist. Your lips quiver but you don’t have the courage to let out a sound, despite the pain that shoots out from your wrist harsh grip.

“Do you like my children?”

The question shocks you, and you don’t respond right away. How could you, when the question came out of nowhere?  Out of reflex, you gently try to pry your wrist back, but his grip stays strong and his eyes won’t leave yours.

“I… yes, of course. I adore them”

You aren’t lying. You love the children and find pride in the fact. They are sweet and raised well, and they seem to adore you just as much. You would never replace their mother, but you could at least help them fill they void she left. Maekar seems content with the answer, nodding his head.

“That’s good. They like you too… and do you ever wish you had a child of your own?”

Your fear has ebbed away now that he was calmer, and now fully replaced by confusion again. Truth was, you weren’t sure you wanted a child. You had his three younglings to take care of, and they were a handful as they are. Your husband is old and you know where he stood on the subject, which had only cemented your beliefs further.

“I… No, I have your children. And I know you don’t want another…”

You don’t have the time to finish before he cuts you off.

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind”

You stare blankly at him; not sure you understand what he wants. He sighs as he pulls you closer, raising one hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. A gesture that’s oddly intimate.

“I… I think this is a conversation best had some other time”

Your voice is surprisingly steady, as your brows crease up. You don’t like where this conversation is headed, and you still aren’t fully sure you follow. The adrenaline was still running high from fear, and you felt you needed a few moments to collect yourself before this madness continued. Maekar didn’t seem to agree.

“Why? Its not like my opinion is going to change. I’ve thought about this”

His head is slightly tilted to the side as he regards you. Your wrist is still firmly in his grasp, and absentmindedly he lets his thumb softly draw patterns into your wrist. Its distracting, and you struggle to hear his words.

“I have seen you with the kids. They love you, and you are a natural. You would make a good mother” He pauses for a second before he continues, even more sure. “You will make a good mother”

With that, takes his other hand to grasp at your forearm before twisting you around and harshly dragging you towards the bed.

You stumble over your own feet as he pulls you backwards. Grasping onto his forearms, your fear coming back tenfold. You don’t understand what he means, and you’re not sure you understand what he wants. All you know is that he is suddenly talking about children and dragging you towards the bed. You aren’t stupid, but everything is happening so fast you aren’t sure if you can catch up. Almost without meaning it, you dig your feet into the ground, but that seems to annoy him.

“Quit your fighting, girl, or I’ll just take you against the wall”

He shakes you as he speaks, continuing to move you with more force. When he finally reaches the bed, he practically lifts you from the ground and throw you onto it. You land on your stomach with such force you bounce on it, and you scramble to crawl away to the other side, away from him. The sheets crumble beneath you, and suddenly the bed seemed endlessly bigger than before. You don’t even get far as his hands grabs your ankles with such force you are sure they will bruise, and drags you back across the bed. He flips you over in the process, and he climbs over you quickly, straddling your waist as he struggles to remove his tunic while keeping you still.

He doesn’t say anything, not even when you sob, asking what you did wrongs, what happened. You beg him to wait, slow down, but the only response you get is the fact his tunic hits the floor, and his hands find the neckline of your dress. With a brutal yank, he rips the dress down, exposing your chest. He only grunt in appreciation before he leans over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other starts pulling up your gown to your waist.

You were a maiden, of course you were. You had never consummated your marriage and had certainly never been with anyone before. Everything you knew you had been taught to you by your septa or your mother, and even that had been sheltered. Still, you never thought your first time would be this. A harsh husband, holding you down and speaking of children. When his fingers slither between your legs you let out a gasp, the sensation unknown to you. He isn’t rough, per say, but he also isn’t careful. He is simply… practical.

You are gasping for air, the tears building up faster than you can blink them away. You had never been this afraid of him before. Naively, you had thought that you knew him. You thought that he didn’t like you, that he wouldn’t touch you. He had said so himself, what had changed? What did you do to change it?

When you feel the tip of him at your entrance, your panic comes to a tilt. You take both your hands to desperately grasp at his face, forcing him to look at you. He is so close you can see all his scars, his beard, the way his eyes dart all over your face. With your hands cradling his face, you try to reach him one last time.

“Maekar please, just wait…”

And for a second, he does. He just looks at you, that weird glint in his eyes. Slowly, one of his hands come to grasp at yours, and it’s so large it covers your whole hand. It gives you hope. Hope that he might just slow down, give you a second to breath. Hope that just maybe…

“Quit struggling so much, it’ll hurt less”

With those words, he pushes his face down and let his lips meet yours in a rough kiss. His beard is scratchy against your face, and you realise that this is the first time you’ve kissed your husband since the wedding. This time it was deeper, harsher. His teeth almost clash with yours due to the force, and it knocks your head back. It serves as a distraction when he starts to push into you.

He isn’t gentle, and it burns as he pushes his hips forward. You weep, but there is not much you can do, pressed between him and the sheets. You try to focus on his lips on yours, his harsh grip on your hand, anything but the pain.

When he finally parts his lips from yours, he barley waits a second before moving his face into your neck, breathing hard. He lets you recover for a few second before he starts moving, thrusting in and out of you at a slow pace. You can do nothing but take it, your protests reduced to a soft chorus of “No, please”. Still, they fall on deaf ears as he groans into your ear.

“I’m going to give you a child”

His voice is rough and breathless, and he is so close you can feel his breath landing on the side of your head. He still holds one of your hands in his, and he moves it from his face to force the palm of your hand flat against his chest. You can feel the hard muscles underneath as they work, and you think yourself a fool for ever hoping you could fight him off.

By the time his hips start to lose their pace, and he comes closer to finishing, you have stopped begging. He wouldn’t listen, what was the point? You stare at the canopy above and listen to his quiet whispers of a life together, of the children you were going to have. Children you weren’t even sure you wanted.

He lets out a groan as he finally finishes, pushing his hips as close as he can, trying to stay as deep inside you as he could go. His breath is hot against your temple, but you have nowhere left to turn. You are trapped where you are. Afterward a while, he simply rolls of to the side and to slowly catch his breath. You don’t do move, how could you? You are in shock. Just earlier today you were enjoying the sun, playing with the children.  How could your life have taken such a dramatic turn in just a few hours?

You can feel his seed slowly slip out of you, and somehow that’s what makes you come back to reality. It wasn’t a bad dream, some feverish hallucination from sickness. It was real, and that makes you even more scared. Everything feels like a blur as you slowly clench your fist, almost surprised your hands still work.

Maekar lies still beside you, slowly turning his head when he feels you looking at him. He locks his gaze to yours, and you see no remorse in his eyes. No, this is the closest to happy you’ve ever seen your husband. That somehow terrifies you more, that the man you thought you knew was nothing but an illusion. He was a dragon after all, and you had just been too naïve to see the truth. Now you were trapped within the jaws, unable to crawl your way out.

~~~~~~

The sound of the door slamming shut rudely woke you from the slumber that had begun to claim your body. Your heart began to thump harder in your chest as you desperately tried to keep your eyes closed, feigning sleep. Not that it would deter him in the slightest.

The smell of wine filled the chamber, and you could hear your husband stumbling around, groaning when he hit something. While you could not see, you could hear him pouring something into a cup before gulping it down, letting out a sigh as he put the cup down on what you assumed was the table by the fire. He was rarely this drunk anymore, but some nights he enjoyed indulging himself a bit extra. Maybe one of his friends had something to celebrate, maybe they went into town for a drink at the tavern. Most likely, they just wanted to drink.

As hard as you try to squees your eyes shut, tears collect behind them anyways. When the smell of wine grows stronger, the terror in your stomach grows. You can hear his footsteps getting closer, and you hear the clinking of a belt unbuckling.

“Are you awake, my dear?” his voice is slurred as he talks, his tongue thick with wine. You don’t respond, simply clutching the sheet closer in your hands and pray to the seven he won’t bother you. The rustling of clothes and a thump has you guessing he had removed his tunic, but you can only guess. A part of you is happy you happen to lie on your side, back to him. That way its easier to pretend.

You had been married to Daeron for almost two full moons now, and yet the terror never broke. When you first arrived in Kings landing, he had almost no interest in you more than entertaining his father. He had seemed more interested in getting drunk and avoiding you at all costs, which had not offended you in the slightest. Instead, you had been relieved when you knew you would not have to wed the drunken prince. You had no wish to wed anyone at all for that matter, but to bind yourself to a drunkard of the dragon house? Nothing sounded less appealing.

So, when the prince suddenly seemed to change his ways entirely, suddenly seeking out your attention, asking for your presence at supper and acting the most dutiful courting man ever, you had almost been more shocked than disappointed. Your father on the other hand, seemed delighted at the prospect of marrying his only daughter into the royal house, so when the prince finally asked for your hand, you had been near tears. And when you confronted the prince was when you first started to fear.

“I do not understand, please!” The tears that streamed down your face did not seem to disturb the prince in the slightest, his grip on your shoulders tightening. He was so close, pressing you up against the bookcase. You had tried to hide away in the library to mourn your loss of freedom, but the prince seemed always to find you even when you tried your hardest.

“I did not dream, not when I rested beside you” His voice was soft, laced with desperation and something frighteningly alike adoration. He was pressed up against you, trapping you between the bookcase and himself. He still smelled of wine, and his hair was tussled. He refused to let you go, and his sad attempt at explaining only seemed to fright you further.

“I fell asleep beside you one late evening” he continued, trying to explain. “It was an embarrassing moment I admit, but the feast was long and boring. I feel asleep right beside you, almost on you. It was the first time since forever I can remember when I had a dreamless sleep. You… you made the dreams go quiet” A smile graced his face as he recalled the moment. A moment you had only stored in your mind as a humiliation, a prince falling asleep right beside you as if your company was the biggest punishment he could think of. He did not seem to agree.

 He leaned in closer, his forehead now resting on yours. Your hands braced themselves upon his chest, trying to push him away, to create some sort of distance between you, but he did not relent. He stayed closed.

“I will be a good husband. I’ll try my best, I won’t drink, I won’t visit the brothels” His voice was breathless as he spoke, as if in a hurry. “Please, I must have you as my bride. You must help my head to stay quiet”.

He had leaned in then and forced a kiss on your lips, silencing any protest you might muster. His lips tasted of wine and smoke, and in that moment, you realized he was more dragon than you had thought to presume.

“Dearest?” His voice sounded again in the quiet chamber, much closer this time. If you had to guess, he was right by his own side of the bed. After your marriage he had, of course, insisted that you share a chamber, refusing to provide you with one of your own. He needed to sleep beside you, he said. He wanted to keep you close.

Despite the desperation to feign sleep, you couldn’t stop yourself from the frightened yelp that escaped your throat as he fell down hard on his side of the bed, causing it all to bounce. Before you could react, his hand was at your waist, practically dragging you from your place by the side, into his arms.

He let out a soft chuckle at your yelp, his hand gently caging you in as you could feel his breath on your cheek. His nose softly nuzzling your cheek with affection, either oblivious or non-caring for the tears that stained them. His other hand went underneath you to grasp at your waist, letting his hand spread across your stomach.

“There she is,” he all but whispered into your ear before he let his head fall, lips attaching to your neck. Gently, he started to press kisses into you, ignoring the way you tense up. “I missed you at supper”

“Apologies, my prince. I was tired and decided to retire”

You weren’t actually sorry for your action, only happy to spend more time away from him, but you could not say that out loud. Yet your words seemed to please him as he hummed into your neck and the hand that was resting on your waist slowly started to stroke down your side.

“No need to be sorry, my love. I am with you now, that is all that matters”

Had his words come from anyone else you would have relished in them. Alas they had to come from him, and when his hand didn’t stop at your waist and instead continued their path down, pushing away the covers and let his land glide by your thighs to grasp at the ends of your nightgown, the pit in your stomach grew.

“Please, Daeron. I’m tired, truly…” the rest of the words died in your throat as his hand slithered underneath your gown and searched between your legs.

“Daeron!” you managed to gasp out, trying to pull away from him, grab something to pull you away but the hand that was still around your waist forced you closer into him. His chest was warm against your back, too warm. His lips paused their track of kisses to softly shush you, resting his cheek against your own.

“It’s okay, relax. I- I’m just going to…” his words died in his throat as he gripped your waist harder.

One of your hands comes to grasp at the arm around your waist, trying to pull it free. The other desperately trying to work his other hand away from its placed between your legs. A cry leaves your lips as one of his fingers slowly sink into you. You were dry, but it didn’t seem to deter him in the slightest as he works another finger into you.

“Daeron, please, you are drunk!” You all but cry out, clasping harder at the arm around your waist.

Still, it seems he didn’t hear you, and he lets out a moan. Desperately, you try to turn over onto your stomach, realizing that while you won’t be able to stop the tragedy, you would at least prefer not having to look at him. He has none of it, and he pulls his fingers out to use both of his hands to turn you over to your back. He is quick with it and swiftly gets comfortable between your legs.

It is firstly now you get a good look at your husband. His sandy hair is tussled and unkept, reaching just down to his shoulders. You vaguely remember that he had put his hair up for dinner, but whatever style it had been was now demolished, leaving it to fall onto his face. His eyes are brimmed red, most likely from the alcohol, but he has a certain look in them. Those pathetic puppy eyes that always stare at you, filled with adoration. Filled with something frighteningly alike love. His mouth has formed a soft smile, and his eyes dart around your face as if trying to memorize everything about your own face, content in ignoring the frightened and tear-filled look you give him.

The moment barely lasts as one hand once more moves from your waist to find its place in between your legs, and despite the shaking of your head he just shushes you, letting his head fall slowly to rest his forehead upon yours. His fingers find your core once more and his lips silence your protest.

He is quick to rid himself of the last of his clothes, and he pushes your nightgown up to your hips. You cry out when he pushes himself into you, your nails digging into his arms so hard you almost draw blood. Still, he didn’t seem to mind as he let out a groan before slowly starting to move, thrusting in and out of you.

It hurt. He had tried his best at getting you wet, but when he was this drunk his best simply wasn’t good enough. It burned as he moved, and out of instinct you try to close your legs, but he is in the way. Daeron takes to opportunity to grasp one hand on your thigh to pull them even closer around him, as if he believed you had been wanting to pull him closer instead of shutting him out.

“Please, it hurts! Stop, Daeron, please”

Your nails dig harder into his arms as you sob, trying to appeal to some more sober part of him. Its to no avail, he is too drunk on the feeling of you as well as the alcohol in his veins.

“I’m sorry. You are okay, just… just breath. Hold on to me as much as you want”

He shushes you gently, letting his other hand gently cradle your face, stroking away the tears that fall down your cheeks. He tries to comfort you, but he refuses to stop.

“Just relax, you are safe. You’re okay, I’ve got you”

You aren’t okay, you are scared and in pain. Yet, there is not much left to do but wait him out, trying to fade away and be somewhere else. You just have to cling onto his arms desperately, waiting for him to finish. He laid his entire weight upon you, forcing you as close as he could go and buried his head into your neck, and you let the tears fall. He was too close, too warm and you had nowhere to turn away.

It’s hard keeping track of time, for how long he remains on top of you, moving in and out at a sloppy, deep pace. Somewhere along the way his hands start to move, roaming around your body as if he can’t decide on where to hold them. Your thighs, breasts, neck, arms. In the end he settles for grasping your hands tightly, intwining your fingers with his and forcing them down on either side of his head.

He moans, desperately speeding up, his grip on your hands tightening. His breath is hot as he whimpers and whispers sweet words into your neck, of how he adores you, how sweet you are and how good you are taking him. It only makes the tears spring out faster.

When he finally finishes, he has one hand grasping your face, forcing you to face him as the other hand is still firmly latching onto yours. His eyes are wide, filled with that same adoration and his mouth is slightly agape. With a long groan he spills into you, sloppily fucking himself through his high before he finally collapses on top of you. He is far bigger than you and it’s hard to breathe.

The ceiling is dark, and the embers in the fireplace cast dark shadows in the room. It feels even more suffocating than usual. The thick smell of fire and smoke and wine linger all around, clinging to both you and him. It’s enough to make you feel ill, and you wonder how much more of this you can take before you completely break.

“I love you”

He breathes the words into your mouth, a mere whisper but it sounds like a scream in the quiet room. How many times has he said those words to you? How many times had he forced you down onto the covers, simply hushing you as he forced his body over yours? Always whispering sweet words of nothing afterwards, as if it could undo all the harsh actions.

He gazed at you with such adoration and you knew he waited for an answer. Preferably one you would never be able to give, for you did not love him. So, you simply gazed at him, tears drying on your cheeks as you answered what you always did.

“I know”

He seemed content with that, and slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled himself out of you and laid off to the side. You could feel his spent leak out of you and running the sheets, but you did not move. How could you, when your entire body hurt?

“I’ve started to dream more”

His voice is low, and suddenly he sounds unsure. He seems more sober now, as if fucking you calmed him immensely. You can still smell the wine and smoke coming of him, but now he seems oddly unsure.

Slowly, you let your head fall to the side to look upon him. He locks eyes with you, and suddenly, he seems scared. The thought almost makes you laugh, but you couldn’t bring yourself too. A part of you still pity him and his dreams, the ones he had opened about. He told you of the fire and blood and death he saw, but he tended to speak late during the nights, when you were too busy drying your tears and attempting to forget.

“Of what?”

His gaze wanders over your face as he ponders over your words. Then, he is rolling over to his side, reaching a hand to trail over your collarbone. Terror spreads through your body as you mentally curse yourself for speaking. For a terrifying second, you think he will take you again, but he seems distant, just letting his hand trail over you.

“It’s a knight. I don’t know him, it’s not one of our own bannermen. And there is a dragon. And the dragon is dead”

His voice drops into a whisper, and now he is holding back tears. Gods, it was a shame he was so beautiful, you thought. He was so pretty, and he was touching you so gently. Still, you did not know what to say of his words. You knew his dreams were different, that they came true. Still, a dead dragon in a dream is never a good sign, not when it comes to his family.

“I… I am sorry. I’m sure there is nothing. Even you can’t be completely immune to nightmares, right?”

You try your best to comfort him, to say something to bring him peace, even if you believe he doesn’t deserve it. Still, there isn’t much to say to comfort him. His dreams scare you as much as they scares him, you almost believe.

His eyes move from your chest to lock eyes with you, and slowly a sad smile graces his lips once more. He shuffles closer and gently place his forehead against yours. You grit your teeth, trying your best to not lean away from him.

“Let’s hope it’s true, my sweet. Anyway, I dream less when I’m with you.”

Slowly, he forces his lips against yours in a soft kiss, and once more you fear he will take you again. You don’t think you could bear it once more tonight, not after his confession. When he parts, it even seems as if he is unsure, but in the end, he decided he wouldn’t. He lets his head fall onto your chest, to nuzzle himself into your breasts, letting one of his hands sneak under you to hold you close, and the other to move up to grasp at your shoulder, pulling you closer. He throws one of his legs over yours, so he is practically lying on top of you.

“Hold me”