Aerion is a neglected babe

"So, who’s the lucky guy?" Baelor asks, eyes twinkling with curiosity, just as Maekar leans forward to grab his glass of wine. Larger-than-life, both of them. Always have been. Searingly charismatic. The kind you don’t say no to. The kind you fear, when you’re on the outside. Aerion purses his lips, all amusement gone with the drop of a breath. His eyes travel to the newest of his uncle’s scars, on his hand.

Baelor wishes there was a way to capture the sight so that he could lay eyes on it again and again and again, in five, ten, or twelve years, when he’s old and turned towards his past like children are turned towards the future.

Another convert to the soft!Aerion propaganda

Hope you liked it !

Aerion moves when the night seems to have gorged itself on them both. He doesn’t back away. Stays within arm’s reach, wiping his cheeks with sniffles and huffs, ten years younger, more vulnerable than Maekar had ever seen him.

Second of all, after all that hell going down I need someone to hug/comfort Maekar too. He probably needs it. And some Ibuprofen. A good canditate seems to be Dunk since he apparently has a calming effect on the Targaryens.

Can't wait for the next chapter!! ((:

Dear anon I only just saw this message!

Thank youuuuu

Baelor nods. His hand travels higher, to Dunk’s nape. It squeezes the skin there, warm and calloused. And Dunk understands that a man about to bloody his hands can still give a lover’s touch.

Or: Baelor and Maekar avenge their kid.

The tension dies and maybe his old life does too, in that room reeking of blood and grief, his eyes locked on a dragon egg, a Targaryen kid in his arms.

He doesn’t mourn the old one.

He keeps rocking Aerion. Keeps humming.

A future king stays on his knees. His knight peppers his hair with kisses. Both think of a little dragon rooms away, watched by his father, something legendary on his pillow.