“No flower is so rare nor precious” - ACOK Jon VI 📖🩵
・❥・ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ・❥・
Jon giving Satin a winter rose from the glass gardens of Winterfell 🌹💙
🎨 Thank you so much to the lovely @rainsoup12 / princessrainyx for this beautiful соmmission! 🥹💕
My idea for this was that it’s a dream/fantasy that Jon is having, inspired by that passage in ASOS Jon V where Jon thinks about giving Ygritte a flower from the glass gardens 💐
But it can also be interpreted as an AU where they’re in Winterfell together 🥰
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You guys already know what it’s about… warning for smut at the end!!
Day broke and the air was tense with worry. There wasn’t the usual sound of the markets, people going by in their day to day lives. Instead, it was eerily quiet. The quiet that meant something was wrong. You strode outside after dressing in your rich blue gown. You saw two boys playing in the corner, and you decided to go up to them and ask them what had happened. “They’re having a trial of seven! It’s the first one in 100 years!” The young boy exclaimed in a high pitched voice. A trial of seven? You remembered learning about it with your septa when you were 5, but you thought it was history. “Who between?” You asked the boy, wanting to know more. “It’s between this large hedge knight and the Prince Aerion.” He squeaked. Your jaw dropped. Aerion? Why, you just saw him the night before? Why is he in a trial of seven?
You remembered what your father had said to you and decided not to visit Aerion. You didn’t know what happened, and you were unsure if you wanted to know. You decided to wait until the trial to know.
Dawn broke once again, but this time with a tense air. The trial was going down today. You hadn’t seen Aerion yesterday, instead you decided to keep to your own quarters. No one went out, there were no jousts on. It was as grey and dull as the Vale.
You and your family made your way to the grand stand, getting your seats for this trial. You saw the hedge knight, broad shouldered and battered, an impressively large man. Next rode out Prince Aerion. You caught his eye, and he sent you a flirtatious wink. You just stared at him, still unsure of what went down that previous night.
Suddenly, the horn blowed. The knights rode off in their shining armour, the cling of swords and mail bashing against each other like waves on the shore. The opposing knights fought valiantly, many falling off their horse or being impaled. Suddenly, you saw Aerion in combat. He was furiously swinging his mace at Ser Duncan, battering and bruising him like there was no tomorrow. The hedge knight fought valiantly, but alas, he was no match for the prince. He lay in the ground, still as a mouse. Aerion looked up and gazed at you and all the other spectators, expecting a response. Suddenly, the crowd started chanting for the hedge knight to get up. It erupted across the stadium, joining the nobles and the common folk as one. Suddenly, the knight arose to his feet. You could see the horror in Aerion’s eyes. Suddenly, the Knight took the Prince off of his feet. He beat him bloody until he was pleading on the ground for mercy. The knight held him up to the grand stand. Aerion was defeated, his nose broken, his face bloody, his teeth red. “I YIELD!” Aerion said defeatedly. And just like that, the tourney was over. You could not help but feel emotional over him, he was laying in the ground as fragile as glass.
It had been a few hours since the tourney had ended. You had confined yourself to your room, in shock of what you had just seen.
You made your way over to Ashford Castle.
Lying in the soft cotton bed was Aerion. His face bruised, his hands wrapped, gasping for air with each breath. You stood in the doors frame, barely peeking in.
“Who goes there.” He said in a husky, out of breath tone.
“Apologies, my prince, I-I did not mean to disturb you.” You said as you slowly walked forward. He turned his head towards you.
“Its you. You’ve still come to see me, even after I have been defeated.” He whined. You stood there awkwardly, looking at your feet.
He weakly motioned you to come over to him, barely moving his fingers. You went and crouched beside his bed.
“My father -… he wants me to go to the free cities. Come with me. Be my wife.” He said to you, trying to use what breath he had. He turned his head towards you, with a sad pleading look.
“But- what about my family? What about my life here?”
“Don’t worry about it-… I’ll… take care of it. You’re marrying a… Prince.” He said inbetween breaths, with his quiet and hoarse voice.
You dwelled on the thought, before responding
“Okay. I’ll come with you to the free cities.”
You felt your heart pound. Surely this wasn’t the right choice? What were you thinking? You weren’t supposed to be with him alone? What would your father think, he who hated him so much? Fuck it.
A few years later, in Lys
“My love, I have drawn you a bath, please, come.” Aerion had said as he reached out a hand to you. You were sat by your windowsill on a fine summers afternoon. You were wearing a rich purple silk gown, procured for you from the market by Aerion. The sound of children playing was carried by the wind, the smell of the late summer rain filling your lungs. You took his hand, and he lead you to your bathroom. He placed his head on your shoulder, as he slowly started to kiss you whilst undressing you. You could feel his soft movements of his fingers against your back as he unlaced your small clothes, leaving you as bare as the day you were born. His hands hugged your hips as he guided you towards the bath. You dipped one foot into the steaming hot water, before entering your whole body into it. You relaxed into the tiled tub, being surrounded by the rich oils of the free cities. Aerion pulled your hair back as he started rubbing your shoulders. “My love, please, you don’t have to do this.” You said to him, as this was unusual behaviour for him. “I must take care of you. You are carrying my own seed, our little dragon. We must nurture him.” He said softly. “And what if it’s a girl?” You jested, knowing he wanted it more than anything to be a boy. “Well then my dear, we will just have to keep trying again until we get it right.” He said with a smirk on his face, as you giggled. His hands moved down over your swelling belly into your lower crotch. His fingers filled your silken folds, playing with each side as you shivered. He liked getting a reaction out of you, seeing how your body reacted to his touch. He started to tease you, rubbing circles around your delicate spot. You groaned in pleasure, just the way he liked it. Suddenly, he slipped his two fingers into you. Your head tilted back in pleasure, as he thrusted his fingers into and out of you. He repeatedly edged you until finally, like a pot of water, you boiled over and started convulsing in pleasure. A loud moan escaped your lips as waves of warmth and pleasure spread over you as you reached your climax. He smirked as he slid out of you, tasting his fingers.
He helped you get out of the bath, dressing you in a light crème cloth. Suddenly, a maester came knocking on the door.
“My Prince, I beg your apologies. Word has come from King’s landing. Your father has asked for your return home.”
The red woman had won her, heart and soul, turning her from the gods of the Seven Kingdoms, both old and new, to worship the one they called the Lord of Light.
No smut in this chapter :( you can expect it at chapter 5, might take me a few days.
„I found him quite delightful to dance with.” You stated, not wanting to upset the royal family any further.
“And you truly think you want me to believe that? Please. Only stupid girls like my brother.”
You felt taken aback, not sure if he was insulting you or saying you were better than that.
“My apologies my prince, I did not mean to offend.” You said shyly. “I-I should get going now. My family must be wondering of my whereabouts.” You said, trying to escape this awkward conversation. As you stood up from your chair, his hand grabbed your arm.
“Do not leave. I’m sure your family will understand that you are in the presence of a royal, and it would be rude so leave so soon.” He said with a smirk on his face.”
You paused for a moment, not sure how to respond. “I did not mean to offend my prince, it is merely very loud in here, and it is quite late.” You said, scrambling for ideas in your brain on how to leave.
“Very well. If you are uncomfortable, we shall leave.” He said decidedly, grabbing your arm and pulling you up with him.
He exited the tent, you following closely behind him. He stood outside, staring at the sky, breathing in the air. “This place smells like horse shit and hay. The Red keep is far more refined.” He said whilst looking out to the sky, not looking at you. “Have you ever been?” He turned his head to you.
“N-no my prince, I have not had the honour yet.” You said, looking down at your twiddling thumbs. You felt two soft fingers being placed on your jaw. Aerion pulled your chin upwards until your gaze met his. “Look at me when you’re talking to me. It is impolite.” He said with a certain snicker. You paused for a moment, staring into those piercing violet eyes. His small eyelashes framing his amethyst orbs, fluttering up and down as he inspected every inch of you, undressing you bit by bit with his eyes. His tongue poked out of his soft lips and slowly licked the corner of his mouth. His brows furrowed, not sure if it was in confusion or contemplation. Suddenly, you heard a deep booming voice approaching.
“AERION! WHAT are you doing out so late. I have been searching for you for eons. You know that your brother is already missing, I cannot deal with another!” A tall, broad shouldered man with white hair came striding through in a black robe. Prince Maekar, his father.
Aerion quickly removed his hand from your jaw, stuttering and moving around like a fool, the exact opposite of what you had seen from him. “I-I was merely having a drink with the Lannisters.” He said.
“You impudent little rat you-“ he grabbed Aerion by the collar, but before he did anything he looked at you. He slowly released Aerion from his firm grasp. He sighed in an exhausted attempt.
“My Prince, it is an honour to meet you.” You said shyly, curtsying down. You were in shock, everything was happening so quickly. You felt like you were going to faint. Two kings guard emerged out of the shadows, following Maekar. “You two, take Lady Arryn back to her tent. I will deal with this idiot myself.” Aerion gave you one final desperate look before being dragged off by his collar.
It had been a short walk back to your tent, and your graciously thanked the kings guard for their escort. They grunted and turned away. Your father was standing near the fireplace, turning his head towards you. “And where have you been? Your mother and I have been worried sick.” He said in an upset tone. “My apologies father, it seemed that the time had carried itself away. The Prince Aerion met my acquaintance, and he insisted that I stay with him.” Your father took a double look at you. “Prince Aerion?” He said, furrowing his brow in worry, as he strode over to you. “He did not… do anything to you did he?” He said with a tremble of concern in his voice. You took one step back from him. “Oh, no no not at al father. Prince Aerion was kind to me, and had invited me for a drink. That is all.” You had replied, still processing what had happened to you.
“Daughter, I want you to stay away from him. He is bad trouble.” Your father told you in a reprimanding voice.
“But father, it is harmless. Plus, should it not be good for us to strengthen our relationships to the Targaryens?” You said with a hint of worry in your voice.
He paused for a moment before contemplating. “Hm. Very well. But I want you to be escorted by your brother at all times. I will not have the two of you sneaking off like this again. He is bad luck, do you hear me?”
“Yes, I understand father. Goodnight.” You kissed his cheek before disappearing into the shadows to go to bed.
Notes: I won’t be including the part with Tanselle and aerion and the puppets because I want this to be more focused on them. Write in the comments what direction you want this to take, I have some idea but I’d like to hear suggestions.
context: for this part, it's just fluff and being nice. I'll flag it when it gets nstw. the story revolves around you going to the Ashford tourney and meeting Aerion, and seeing what it develops into.
You were seated in the noble booth, sat next to Gwin Ashford as per her invite. It was the first day of the tourney, and it was for high lords only. The first contender, Ser Hardyng, rode up to the maiden of hour, asking your friend for her honour. She walked up to the edge and threw a floral wreath adorned in orange and gold ribbon onto his jousting pole. Next, rode out Prince Aerion Targaryen, in a suit made of dark metal, adorned with spikes and scales all around. As he rode past, the crowd roared with excitement. He rode up to the royal stand, presuming he would ask the Lady of Baratheon or Lannister.
“Lady Arryn, may I have your blessing and fight for your honour.” His voice boomed as he looked up to you, with that same piercing purple gaze.
Your heart stopped beating for a second. You looked around, wondering if he was asking your sister, but he was staring right at you. Your hands trembled as you picked up your wreath adorned with delicate white flowers you had picked from the garden beforehand with Gwin. “May you fight bravely and true with this honour I bestow upon you, my prince.” You had responded as you delicately placed the wreath upon his pole. He smirked a devious smile before he pulled down his helmet, a frightening face of black and red flames. He rode out, readying himself for the joust.
“Are we ready men? Very well. Let the joust begin!” The game master said, booming. The horn blew loudly, before the fries erupted into an uproar of cheer. Prince Aerion and Ser Hardyng rode out, opposing sides, as you waited in anticipation for the clash.
Not a moment after, you heard the first impact. Prince Aerion had been knocked, but not fallen off. He had scooped himself back up onto his horse. You had joined your voice along with many others, oohing and ahhing at the sight. The second round began, and as you braced for the impact, the bloodcurdling sound of broken wood and a horses cry filled the stadium. You covered your mouth in shock, processing what had just happened. Prince Aerion had impaled Ser Hardyng’s horse in the neck, leaving it on the floor, crying in pain. Prince Aerion had turned around, smirking at you. You felt sick to your stomach, seeing that horse there, writhing in pain.
The rest of the events of the day had been called off due to the unforeseen circumstances for the first one, so you had some free time. Gwin was occupied with suitors and visitors, and your family was busy consulting with other great houses. Music erupted from a red velvet tent, with the sigil of a golden lion adorning the roof. It seemed like House Lannister was holding a party, and you had nothing better to do. Plus, father had always told us that you should socialise more, did he not?
You entered in the tent, seeing a scene of dancing people in the middle, men drinking large pints of Ale to the side, and a familiar face sitting at the head of the table with Lord Lannister. Aerion had noticed you from across the room, and swiftly stood up, raising his glass.
“To Lady Arryn, for without her, I would not have succeeded in victory this fine morning.” He gestured his glass to you, nodding his head with a smirk.
The crowd erupted with slurred words, all toasting to you. Your face blushed as hard as a ripe rhubarb, wanting to hide yourself in the many folds of your dress. Instead, you remained composed, stood straight and remained with a neutral expression on your face. The prince had sat down once again, motioning his fingers, waving you towards him. Unsure of what else to do, you followed his command obediently, walking up to his table.
“My prince.” You said bashfully as you curtsied in front of him.
“It is no lie, I do owe my victory to you. And what a delicately made wreath you had made.” He said, boasting the fact that he had gotten away with cheating.
Your eyes remained fixated on the floor. “Please, my lord, the pleasure was all mine.” You had said quietly.
“My PRINCE. I am not merely a lord. I am your PRINCE.” He slammed his fist on the table in anger.
“Oh, you are right. I am ever so sorry, please forgive me my prince.” You said, feeling your throat close up.
He held a big smirk on his face, amused at your embarrassment.
“Please, sit my lady.” He had motioned to a seat next to him with his hand.
He got up as you walked around the long table, and as you sat onto the cushioned velvet, you had felt him push in your chair. Your heart fluttered at this, but you daren’t admit it.
“Your victory was hard earnt today my prince, my honour was merely a good luck charm.” You said, desperately trying to break the silence.
You knew it wasn’t hard earnt, you know he cheated, you know that that poor knight didn’t deserve that happening to him. Yet you bit your tongue, because you knew better than to anger a Targaryen, but better yet, to defy the crown.
He snickered at this, acting like it was a jape.
“I saw you dance with my brother last night. He is a foolish and uncoordinated man.” He said bitterly, as if the words were poison on his tongue.
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context: for this part, it’s just fluff and being nice. I’ll flag it when it gets nsfw. the story revolves around you going to the Ashford tourney and meeting Aerion, and seeing what it develops into.
(I have added Daeron as a character that’s been there for the start as a plot tool, ignore the inaccuracy.)
It had been a long, cruel journey from the high mountains of the eyrie to the lush meadows of house Ashford. You rode along with your mother and sister in a wagon, whilst your brothers and father rode along ahead, as to scare off any mountain clans lurking about. You had finally arrived at your destination, and you immediately jumped out of the carriage in relief. You stood there, and stretched your legs, letting out a soft groan. Your legs felt like they were being stabbed by a thousand needles. Lord Ashford and his daughter, Gwin, came over to greet your family.
As you had gotten settled into your tent, unpacking your satchel and emptying out your belongings, you heard the sound of a loud horn, announcing the arrival of the royals. Everyone hurried out of there tents to marvel at this spectacle. Riding in front was Prince Baelor Targaryen, the heir to the iron throne. Following him was his brother, Prince Maekar, and his sons. The younger, Aerion, was looking around, until he spotted you in the crowd. He gave you a Quick Look up and down, as if he was examining you. He turned his head and continued scouting out what was around him.
At night, all of the lords of the great houses and their families gathered in Ashford castle for the first meal. Seated at the head of the table was the Prince and Lord Ashford, Prince Maekar, Prince Aerion and Prince Daeron. It was a quiet and dimly lit setting, with candles scattered around, and the smell of smoked meats and burning wood in the air. You noticed the Prince Aerion was looking around in that same inquisitive look as before, taking intermittent sips from his golden chalice. You had engaged in small talk with a few of the other ladies on your table, when music started playing. Couples fled to the dance floor, filling it with the colours of twirling skirts and intertwined hands. You noticed Lord Ashford getting up and dancing with his lady wife, and another figure emerged up from the table.
“Lady Arryn. May I have this dance?” You looked up and saw Prince Daeron gazing down at you, with his hand extended. You put your hand in his, and thanked him with a blushful nod.
You two took your the dancefloor, intertwined hands, spinning yourself dizzy. You both chuckled each time you accidentally stood on one another’s toes. The evening was full of laughter and fun, expect you couldn’t shake the itching feeling that you were being watched. You glanced around the room as you took a break from dancing, only to meet your eyes with Prince Aerion’s.
You quickly averted your glance, not wanting to provoke him. As you returned to you table a short period later, you could feel his eyes watching you, every step taken being closely examined. You resumed your position at the table, and talked the night away with other noblewomen.
As you were walking through the halls of Ashford keep by Gwin Ashford eager to show you her new jewellery she had been gifted by noble lords, you hadn’t looked where you were going, and accidentally bumped into a dark, cloaked figure. You suddenly looked up in embarrassment, about to profusely apologise, when you saw the gaze that met yours.
“Watch where you’re going. It would be ill advised to hurt a prince.” Prince Aerion said to you in an angered voice, staring at you with his piercing violet gaze. “My Prince, I am ever so sorry. Please do forgive me, I am unaware of the layout of this keep, it was entirely my fault.” You blurted out, rambling on quickly whilst curtsying. He saw this weak attempt of an apology and scoffed, walking on.
Context: after the first day at the ashford tourney, you noticed your husband laying in your tent in pain, and you decided to relieve him of some built up stress.
Warning: smut, nsfw, handjob, mentions of cock, vulgar wording
As your husband rested his head upon the soft pillows crowning your temporary bed, he let out a large sigh, wanting to gain your attention. He loved the attention that you gave him, the way you doted on him whenever he was hurt or ill, the way you’d rub him and care for him. It was the night after the first joust, and Aerion was groaning and pleading like an injured puppy. His limbs tired from the weight of lifting up the heavy jousting material, bruises on his soft light skin from the chainmail and armour. You knew what he wanted, and you wanted to give it to him. He sat propped up on the bed, shirtless, with only his rugged dark brown pants on, slightly loosened. He sat there staring at you, not just with adoration, but desire. He thirsted for you, for your touch, your care, your soft finger tips, your soft warm lips, your perky nipples, the way your mouth fitted on his cock. He needed you. He didn’t like to say it out loud, or admit it, but it was you he desired more than anything. You turned around, finishing up preparing the set of oils and herbs you would use to massage him with. You carried it over to your bed on a silver platter, placing it on the rustic wooden bedside. He dropped his head and closed his eyes, prepared for what was to come. You kneeled by his side, and began pouring the hot oil onto his chiseled abs. You felt a hand glide up on your rear, then to the small of your back, then to cupping your breast. “Aerion. Please. Relax your arm.” You commanded him. He dropped his arm, a smirk arising on his face. You worked your way through his body, kneading his soft skin, working your way through the knots in his muscles, massaging his temples. You couldn’t help but notice the soft silver whispers of hair trailing from his knave to your favourite area of all. You noticed that he already had loosened his trousers, so all you had to do was take them off. You were reluctant to, but you remembered how he asked for your honour at the joust, and how he fought for you. You were married, so it was a guarantee anyways, but you felt like rewarding him. Aerion opened one eye once he felt his trousers being slid onto the floor, and he let out a soft chuckle. You payed no attention to him, and went on to remove his small clothes. You could see his length increasing in size, swelling up with blood, pulsing with passion. You reapplied oil to your hands, and started to softly stroke his cock. You started off slow, until you noticed small whimpers escaping from his lips. You remembered how he teased you, and left you on edge for so long. You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. You began stroking it faster, every few seconds increasing in speed. It got to a point where he was yelling out desperate pleads, his eyebrows turned up, gripping the sheets with his strong, calloused hands. As you could feel his pinnacle about to happen, his oiled body shaking, you suddenly released your hand from his member. “No. No you can’t do this. Please. I’m begging you, please help me!” He cried in a plea of desperation. You chuckled, seeing he was the one begging now. You decided to not be as cruel as him, and with one stroke of his cock, his thick seed erupted everywhere. He was gasping for air, exhausted, and relieved. You kissed him on the forehead as you stood up to clean yourself.
(Apologies if this has errors or bad grammar, I wrote this half asleep on a Sunday night)
Summary: Aerion wants to be able to help his wife in any way he can, especially if she is having trouble breastfeeding their newborn son.
The year was 210AC, and it had just been over 3 months after the birth of you and Aerion’s first born son, Maegor. Aerion adored him, seeing him as an extension of his own. “My dragon seed is thick. He will carry the torch for the future of our great house.” Aerion once said.
One sunny afternoon, you were laying in a thin silken white shaft, staring out over the gullet from you and Aerion’s chambers. The maids had just come to collect Maegor, detaching him from your teat as you had just finished feeding him. It was custom for noble women to have a wet nurse to feed their children, but Aerion insisted that the blood of the dragon must only consume milk from you, a Targaryen, and not some low born maid. Your breasts had swollen up to the size of fresh summer grapefruits, much to Aerion’s delight. You noticed as you fed Maegor, you weren’t producing as much milk. You felt a soreness in your breast, like a clogged duct. Aerion had flung open the doors into your chamber, his red velvet cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. “Afternoon, my wife.” He said with a commanding tone, striding through the room, tearing his cape off and commanding one of the nurses to fill up his cup with a flagon of wine. He stood in the corner of the room, one hand on his hip, sipping the gold chalice. “Leave us.” He said, motioning a wave to the maids to get out. He strode his way over to you, staring down at you from his tall stance. “Hello, my love.” You turned up to look at him. He grabbed your jaw, softly grazing it with his thumb. He licked the corner of his mouth, picking up a drop of wine, before releasing his hand from your jaw. He turned away, and went to change into his evening wear. You swiftly stood up. “Aerion, may I ask you for help with something?” You softly asked. He turned his head, looking you up and down. “And what is that, my wife?” He said with a staggering tone. You knew what you were about to say was going to embarrass you dearly. “I-I haven’t been making as much milk for our son as I can. I-I was wondering…” you said nervously, playing with your rings and looking around the room. He strode towards you, towering over you, turning his head in interest. “Is there something the matter?” He said in a hushed and seductive tone. “W-well, I was wondering if you…” you saw his piercing violet eyes staring through your soul. “I was merely wondering if you were able to suck my teats, to release the milk. I want to make sure I can feed Maegor well.” Aerion chuckled at this, his head looking around. “You are asking for me to suckle from you like a little babe?” He said with a mocking tone. You looked down in embarrassment. He took a step closer to you, narrowing his head closer to yours. “Well, you do know how much I love your breasts.” He said seductively, moving his hand upwards, cupping your teats. “Very well then. Undress.” You took his command at once, unfastening the silk shaft that had covered your body. He grabbed you by the waist, and swiftly pulled you over to the bed. He layed you down, climbing over you, positioning himself on top. “Which one is it darling.” He said softly, making your skin grow goosebumps. You held out your left breast for his mouth to latch on. He held it softly in his hands, giving it a teasing lick whilst continuing eye contact with you. “Aerion please. This isn’t the time. I just need some help.” you pleaded to him, not wanting to get romantic. “Whatever you desire my love.” He said, once again in that husky voice of his. He attached his mouth around your nipple, sucking the fluid out of your soft nipple. He stared up at you with his puppy dog eyes as he massaged your breast with a soft force that made you whimper. He traced his long dragon like tongue around your nipple in a circle, making you softly whimper. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, whilst still suckling onto your teat. The sight of him staring up at you made your heart flutter, but you needed to let him help you. His pressure increased, sucking harder on your nipple, until you felt something release. The milk started flowing into his mouth, his eyes fluttering in satisfaction. He opened his mouth, letting the milk drain into his throat, licking the milk from the corners of his mouth. Once it stopped flowing, he swallowed it in one big gulp. “I can see why our son is so obsessed with this now.”
divider by: @cafekitsune
word count: 3k
synopsis: They pitied you for marrying a monster—never realizing you were a dragon in your own right.
a/n: I figured I’d get one positive-ish Aerion fic out of my system before tonight’s episode which will have me inevitably dislike him. Finn Bennett is just unfairly handsome, and I needed to appreciate that at least once.
warnings: MDNI, Smut, Targcest
They pitied you.
You saw it in the way court ladies lowered their voices when you passed, in the sideways glances heavy with false sympathy. Such a sweet girl, they whispered behind jewelled fans. Too gentle for him. As if the gods themselves had been cruel, binding you to a man the realm knew only as fury given flesh.
Aerion Targaryen was legendary for his fiery temper and violent nature—a feral dragon with no leash, some called him.
And to know you—the darling of the realm, the only daughter of Baelor Targaryen—was to mourn what they believed your fate to be. Married to your brute of a cousin, shackled to a monster. They spoke of you in hushed tones, wondering how long it would take before his temper turned fully upon you.
What they did not realize—what no one seemed to remember—was that you had grown up with him.
You knew Aerion’s temper better than most, if not everyone. You had seen it spark in boyhood, had learned the difference between fury born of pride and fury born of pain. You knew how to soothe him, yes—but more importantly, you knew why he burned.
And what they always forgot, in their eagerness to cast you as the lamb, was that you were a Targaryen as well.
Not a meek Tyrell rose to be crushed beneath dragonfire—but blood of the dragon, raised in its heat, fully capable of wielding it yourself.
Yet you played the part of a delicate flower exceedingly well.
Pious. Gentle. The very image of a proper lady. You chose needlework over steel, afternoons in the gardens over the clangour of the training yard with the giggling ladies who chose to admire the men with their bloodied knuckles and sharpened blades. You were content—so it seemed—to sit beneath the sun with pastries and warm tea, fingers weaving flower crowns as birdsong drifted through the air.
After his training, Aerion would often find you beneath the old Weirwood tree, as you rested against its pale bark carved in the grass, flowers gathered in your lap. Armour discarded, skin still warm with exertion, he would wander over and without prompting, he would lower himself beside you before laying his head against your thighs as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Your fingers never faltered.
You would place the finished crown upon his silver head, blossoms resting against pale hair, before threading your hand through the short strands at his nape. The fury that followed him everywhere else eased beneath your touch. His breathing slowed. His temper, soothed into something quiet and dangerous only in potential.
“One day,” you murmured softly, voice meant for him alone, “you will wear the conqueror’s crown.”
His eyes lazily opened to meet yours, before softening. Calloused fingers reached up, gentler than any would have believed possible, brushing your cheek as though committing the feel of you to memory.
“One day,” he said vowed, “you will be my queen.”
It was in moments such as these—when no eyes were there to watch—that Aerion allowed his guard to fall. All dragons required their treasure and you were his.
There would never be another worthy of you.
Any lord who expressed their desire to marry you were dealt with swiftly and brutally, often leaving a bloodied mess.
All the while you said nothing and offered no protest content to let them believe you were fragile as spun glass. A lamb wed, with no choice, to a beast.
At feasts, you were most often seen seated quietly at his side. You listened more than you spoke, offering soft smiles, polite courtesies, and gentle bows of your head when addressed. Your voice was rarely raised above a murmur.
When you and Aerion spoke, it was in low, private tones, words breathed into one another’s ears. Many mistook it for control—for a husband keeping his timid wife close and carefully managed.
They never saw your fingers intertwined beneath the table.
They never noticed the slow stroke of his thumb against your skin, nor the way he leaned ever so slightly toward you, gazing at his most precious treasure with a look few would have believed him capable of—a look of love.
Aerion Targaryen loved you.
For all his many faults, it was the one truth you would never deny. Those who doubted it simply had never seen what happened behind the doors of your chambers.
Tonight, for instance.
Aerion stormed in long after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. His temper was apparent even in his silence, you could see it through his body with how tight his jaw was clenched and how tense his shoulders were.
Through the mirror, you watched him.
Your fingers were steady as you removed the last of your jewelry, placing each piece carefully upon the vanity. Behind you, Aerion said nothing at first. He only tore the gloves from his hands and flung them aside with a force that echoed softly against the chamber walls.
You didn’t even flinch and instead calmly rose from your seat, making your way over to him.
“My love,” you said gently.
His jaw was clenched so tightly you feared his teeth might crack.
“Another lord with too much wine and too little sense,” he snarled at last, the words scraped raw from his throat. “They dance on the line of treason and call it wit.”
His pacing was restless, a predator caged in silk. One hand dragged through his pale hair, fingers flexing as though already imagining a throat beneath them. The firelight caught along his profile, sharpening him into something dangerous and divine all at once.
“They forget themselves,” he continued, voice low and coiled. “They forget who I am.”
You reached him before the fire, your hands warm as they slid over his shoulders. “You needn’t concern yourself with them,” you murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles into the knotted muscle there. “Not when you are blood of the dragon. Leave the sheep to their bleating.”
His breath left him in a slow, heated exhale, tension shifting beneath your touch but not yet gone. “They grow bold,” he muttered. “Too bold. A few cups of wine and they think themselves clever enough to test me.”
Aerion’s hands came to rest at your waist. “Lord Wylde thinks my place is behind my brother,” he said, voice rough with restrained fury. “Spoke of rightful lines and order… as though I am meant to bow my head and be grateful for scraps.”
Your fingers moved from his shoulders to his neck, slow and steady, feeling the frantic pulse beneath warm skin.
“And what did you do?” you asked gently.
A humourless smile touched his mouth. “Nothing… yet.”
He would not—not while his father still watched from the high seat, weighing sons and measuring heirs. Aerion knew the value of restraint in public. A prince must wear composure like armour.
But he never forgot a slight.
“Good,” you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw until his gaze lowered fully to you. “Let him think the matter rests. Let him believe he is safe… for now.”
Aerion studied you for a long moment, something dark and knowing passing through his eyes. “Tomorrow,” he said quietly.
You nodded once. “Tomorrow,” you agreed. “He will be on his knees, repenting for his words.”
And tomorrow, someone would learn what it meant to mistake a dragon’s patience for mercy.
His breath shuddered, just once. No one ever noticed how quickly his anger softened for you—how your voice, your touch, could pull him back from the edge where others only ever saw him burn.
You guided him to sit and slipped his cloak from his shoulders, the heavy fabric pooling soundlessly at his feet. Your fingers moved through his pale hair with quiet reverence, as if he were something precious rather than feared.
“They provoke you because they envy you,” you whispered. “Because they know you are stronger.”
His shoulders finally eased beneath your hands. His eyes closed, dark lashes stark against pale skin.
“You always know what to say,” he muttered.
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “That is what wives are for.”
Your fingers traced gently down his neck, soothing the last of the tension from him. “Come,” you murmured, voice warm and low. “Let the water wash the day from you. You’ve carried enough of their filth already.”
You called for the servants and had the bath drawn, ensuring the water was hot enough that any ordinary person would have recoiled from it—but for the two of you, it was just right.
Steam curled thick in the air, scented with oils and crushed herbs steeping in the water. Firelight shimmered across the surface, golden ripples dancing against stone as waves of heat rolled outward.
You dipped your fingers in to test it, nodding faintly in approval.
“Leave us,” you said when one of the servants reached for a cloth to begin tending to him. Your tone was gentle, but firm. You would care for your husband yourself tonight.
They bowed at once and withdrew, the heavy door closing with a muted thud that left only the crackle of the hearth and the soft lap of water against the bath’s edge.
A small smile curved Aerion’s mouth as he watched you through hooded lids. It was always a rare indulgence when you chose to tend to him yourself.
You stepped back to him, fingers moving to the clasps of his tunic. He did not speak, but his eyes never left your face, the earlier storm in them now banked to embers.
“Sit,” you murmured.
He obeyed without hesitation, lowering himself to the edge of the bath as you knelt before him, hands steady as you helped him out of the last of his clothing. There was no shame between you two— only familiarity and trust.
When at last you guided him into the water, he exhaled deeply, tension easing from him in a way no words ever could. The heat embraced him, steam curling around his shoulders as the day’s strain began to melt from his frame.
You slipped out of your nightdress, letting the fabric fall in a soft whisper to the ground, and stepped into the bath under his quiet, appreciative gaze. The water embraced you at once as you moved behind him, settling so his back rested against you.
Your hands moved to his shoulders, dipping a cloth into the water before drawing it slowly over his skin.
Aerion’s head tipped back slightly, eyes closing as your fingers worked along the tight lines of muscle at his neck. Your lips brushed a feather-light kiss against damp skin, and he hummed low in his throat.
“Careful, wife,” he murmured, voice roughened by heat and the slow unwinding of tension. “You’re making it difficult to remember why I was angry.”
Your smile ghosted against his skin, unseen but felt. “Then let it be forgotten,” you replied softly.
Your hands continued their unhurried path, tending to him with quiet devotion, washing away the day’s dust and the weight of swallowed fury. Aerion’s hand found your thigh beneath the water, his thumb tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin as he relaxed further into your touch.
For a while, there was only the sound of water shifting gently around you and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Then his grip tightened.
In one smooth movement, he turned, drawing you with him, guiding you onto his lap. The water stirred, heat rippling between you as his arms came around your waist.
“My sweet wife,” he murmured, voice low and warm, the earlier storm now long faded. “How gently you care for me.”
You leaned down, your lips finding his.
Where your touch had been gentle, his answer was not. The kiss deepened, hungry and demanding and you only submitted to his need. His hands tightened at your hips as he pressed you down against his length.
Your mouth dropped open as a shuddering breath escaped your lips while he slowly filled you. Hs lips left yours, trailing warmth along your jaw and down the curve of your neck before finding your nipple. His hot mouth closed around the nub, gently suckling, and you let out a whine as your hips shifted, chasing the pleasure that was offered but not yet enough.
Your body jerked as he bit down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Patience, my heart.”
With his grip preventing your hips from moving, you had no choice but to accept what he gave you. Your core clenched down around his cock, fluttering in need of more friction, but he refused, taking his time, alternating between your breasts as he lavished them with attention.
“Please, Aerion,” you pleaded.
He smirked, one hand moving from your hip and trailing closer to your core, the slow tease earning another desperate whine from you. His fingers finally found your clit, and your lashes fluttered as he began drawing slow circles.
“Is this what you needed, my love?” he murmured, voice low and warm against your skin.
You nodded, breath unsteady, fingers tightening, nails digging into his shoulder and leaving bright red lines against his pale skin. “More… please.”
You leaned forward, lips meeting his, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip and earning a sharp hiss from him. You smirked as you felt his grip tighten, his restraint fraying. You clenched down on him again, and he snapped—grabbing you and hauling you off his lap, turning you and before you could react to the sudden emptiness. He pushed your upper body against the lip of the tub before driving into you roughly.
One hand gathered your hair into his fist, sharply pulling your head back and forcing your spine to arch as he continued his relentless pace.
“Is this what you needed?” he crooned. “To be treated as if you were my whore?” he grunted, hips snapping sharply with each word.
You could only whine, mouth open as your fingers braced tightly against the bath’s edge. The cooling water sloshed over the sides, spilling onto the floor in wide puddles, but neither of you paid it any mind.
Pleasure and pain were offered to you in equal measure, a heady combination that left your mind foggy and focused only on your husband.
His fingers strummed against your clit faster, and you felt yourself tighten against him. He groaned, his thrusts growing sloppier as his control slipped away. His fingers pinched down, and you finally unraveled with a scream, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed through you.
Aerion followed moments later, a breathless grunt falling from his lips as he spent himself deep inside you. He gave a few more thrusts, prolonging the sensation, before finally stilling, his forehead dropping briefly against your back as the last of his strength gave way to the aftermath.
For a long moment, neither of you moved—only the sound of shared breathing and the soft crackle of the fire filled the chamber.
“One of these days,” he murmured hoarsely, still catching his breath “your belly will swell with my child.”
You answered with nothing more than a quiet, breathless hum, too content to form words.
After a few lingering moments, Aerion shifted, withdrawing carefully. A small whimper slipped from your lips at the sudden emptiness. He rose from the bath first, then slipped his arms around you, lifting you with effortless strength from the now-cooled water.
Cradled against his chest, you let your head rest against his shoulder as he carried you across the chamber. Water droplets clung faintly to your skin as he laid you gently upon the bed, the furs soft beneath you. He joined you moments later, pulling you close as the firelight flickered over tangled sheets and tired limbs.
You stayed with him until the fire burned low and his breathing evened, his head resting against your shoulder like a great, slumbering beast temporarily tamed. When you were certain sleep had claimed him, you eased yourself free with careful patience, pulling the furs up around his broad frame.
Then you rose, calmly slipping on a robe to cover yourself. The sweetness drained from your expression as swiftly as a candle snuffed between fingers.
Moving soundlessly, you crossed to the door and slipped into the corridor beyond, where a guard in your service stood watch. He straightened at once and dipping his head.
“Princess.”
“Find Lord Wylde,” you said quietly. “The one who insulted my husband tonight. And send word to our friends in the city,” you continued. “I want to know who he owes money to, who his heir beds in secret, and which of his bannermen grumble behind his back. Anything and everything about his dirty little secrets.”
The guard bowed his head again. “At once, Princess.”
With that, you slipped back into your chambers and moved to your desk. Sitting down, you unfolded a fresh piece of parchment. Your hand was steady as you wrote. Unlike your husband, you were not one to raise your voice or rage.
Your ruthlessness did not require noise.
By morning, Lord Wylde would be given a choice: comply quietly, publicly repent his insults, or watch his name unravel piece by piece until nothing remained but ashes and shame.
You glanced back toward the bed, where Aerion slept peacefully, untroubled.
They believed you endured his temper.
The truth was far more dangerous.
Aerion burned the world when provoked—
but you were the one who decided who would be reduced to ash.
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Another gorgeous piece by @princessrainyx originally posted on Twitter for @stanniscent, featuring Melisandre and Cersei, inspired by Wild Fire by everayy on ao3.
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