Sarih

I. AEGON'S CONQUEST (1 BC – 1 AC)

Aegon I Targaryen utilized the Doom of Valyria’s sole surviving dragons to unify the disparate continent of Westeros. Dates are measured in BC (Before Conquest) and AC (After Conquest), formally beginning with his coronation at the Starry Sept in Oldtown.

The Targaryen Vanguard

Aegon the Conqueror: Rode Balerion the Black Dread. Wielded the Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre. Stern, private, and decisive.

Visenya Targaryen (Elder Sister/Wife): Rode Vhagar. Wielded Dark Sister. A harsh, uncompromising warrior with a penchant for dark arts.

Rhaenys Targaryen (Younger Sister/Wife): Rode Meraxes. Playful, patron of the arts, and an avid flyer.

The Subjugation of the Seven Kingdoms

Isles & Rivers (House Hoare): Harren the Black refused to yield. Aegon burned Harrenhal with Balerion. House Hoare extinguished. Edmyn Tully named Lord Paramount of the Trident.

Stormlands (House Durrandon): Argilac the Arrogant was defeated at "The Last Storm." Slain by Aegon's champion and bastard brother, Orys Baratheon, who took Argilac’s daughter, sigil, and seat.

The Reach & The Rock (Houses Gardener & Lannister): King Mern and King Loren combined 55,000 men. Defeated at the Field of Fire by all three dragons. House Gardener was extinguished (replaced by the Tyrells), and Loren knelt.

The North (House Stark): Torrhen Stark marched south but recognized the futility of fighting dragons. Knelt at the Trident without bloodshed, forever remembered as "The King Who Knelt."

The Vale (House Arryn): Visenya landed Vhagar in the Eyrie’s courtyard. The Regent (Queen Shara) surrendered peacefully in exchange for a dragon ride for the boy-king, Ronnel.

Dorne (House Martell): Princess Meria Martell (the "Yellow Toad") refused to yield ("Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken"), initiating protracted guerilla warfare.

II. THE DRAGON'S PEACE & DORNISH WARS (1 AC – 37 AC)

Aegon’s reign was defined by administrative unification and the brutal, ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to conquer Dorne.

The First Dornish War (4 AC – 13 AC)

Tactics: Dorne utilized scorched earth and guerilla tactics, abandoning castles to the dragons and striking supply lines.

Major Losses: Rhaenys Targaryen and Meraxes were shot down by a scorpion bolt at Hellholt (10 AC). Orys Baratheon was captured and mutilated by the Wyl of Wyl.

The Peace: Following the death of Meria Martell, her successor Nymor sent an embassy with a mysterious, undisclosed letter to Aegon. Aegon read it, burned it, and signed a Treaty of Eternal Peace with Dorne.

Administrative Milestones

King's Landing & The Red Keep: Constructed a new capital at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. Commissioned the Iron Throne, forged from the melted swords of his enemies.

The Kingsguard: Established by Visenya, modeled after the Night's Watch, to serve as the King's elite, chaste protectors.

Legal Integration: Aegon respected regional laws and customs (including the Right to the First Night) and exempted the Faith of the Seven from taxation to maintain peace.

III. THE SONS OF THE DRAGON (37 AC – 48 AC)

The immediate successors of Aegon I plunged the realm into chaos, primarily due to conflict with the Faith Militant over the Valyrian custom of incestuous marriage.

King Aenys I (37–42 AC)

Temperament: Weak, eager to please, and indecisive.

Succession: Triggered mass rebellion by wedding his own children (Aegon and Rhaena) to one another.

The Faith Militant: Fled King's Landing to Dragonstone; died of stress and illness while the realm burned.

Legacy: Fathered the eventual legitimate line (Jaehaerys I).

King Maegor I "The Cruel" (42–48 AC)

Temperament: Brutal, martial, and uncompromising.

Succession: Usurped the throne upon Aenys' death with Dowager Queen Visenya's backing.

The Faith Militant: Burned the Sept of Remembrance; waged a ruthless, bloody war against the Warrior's Sons and Poor Fellows.

Legacy: Murdered his nephews (Aegon the Uncrowned, Viserys); took multiple "Black Brides"; murdered the builders of the Red Keep to keep its secrets. Found dead, impaled upon the Iron Throne.

IV. THE CONCILIATOR & THE GOOD QUEEN (48 AC – 103 AC)

King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne engineered Westeros' golden age—a half-century of peace, sweeping legal reform, and massive infrastructure development.

Taming the Faith and the Realm

The Doctrine of Exceptionalism: Engineered by Septon Barth, this doctrine legally and theologically exempted House Targaryen from the Faith's incest prohibitions, arguing they were a different race tied to dragons.

The Widow's Law: Protected the property and household rights of stepmothers and widows.

Abolition of the Right to the First Night: Spearheaded by Queen Alysanne after hearing the testimonies of smallfolk women in the North.

Infrastructure: Construction of the Kingsroad, the Dragonpit, King's Landing's sewer and well systems, and the funding of Deep Lake (The New Gift) for the Night's Watch.

The Tragedy of the Heirs Jaehaerys and Alysanne outlived the vast majority of their 13 children, leading to severe succession crises.

Princess Aerea: Claimed Balerion, vanished, and returned infected with horrific Valyrian parasites that cooked her from the inside out. (This prompted a strict royal ban on travel to Valyria).

Princess Daenerys: Died of the Shivers, proving Targaryens were not entirely immune to disease.

Princess Saera: Exiled for scandalous behavior; fled to Lysene pleasure houses.

Prince Aemon & Prince Baelon: Both exceptional heirs who died prematurely—Aemon by a Myrish crossbow bolt, Baelon of a burst belly.

V. THE SEEDS OF THE DANCE (101 AC – 129 AC)

Following Baelon's death, Jaehaerys convened the Great Council of 101 AC at Harrenhal to prevent civil war. The lords voted 20-to-1 to bypass Princess Rhaenys (and her son Laenor) in favor of Prince Viserys, establishing a precedent favoring male primogeniture.

The Reign of Viserys I (103 AC – 129 AC) Viserys I was an amiable, conflict-avoidant king whose inaction catalyzed the continent's greatest civil war.

The Blacks: Supporters of Rhaenyra Targaryen (Viserys' named heir by his first wife). Backed by Prince Daemon (her uncle/husband) and House Velaryon.

The Greens: Supporters of Aegon II Targaryen (Viserys' firstborn son by his second wife, Alicent Hightower). Backed by Otto Hightower (Hand of the King) and Criston Cole (Lord Commander).

The Strong Bastards: Rhaenyra’s first three sons (Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey) were widely understood to be fathered by Ser Harwin Strong, though officially recognized as Velaryons.

The Catalyst: Viserys I died in 129 AC. The Green Council kept his death secret, imprisoned dissenters (murdering Lord Beesbury), and crowned Aegon II.

VI. THE DANCE OF THE DRAGONS (129 AC – 131 AC)

A devastating war of attrition that nearly extinguished both House Targaryen and the dragons.

Phase 1: Escalation & Bloodshed

Storm's End: Aemond Targaryen (on Vhagar) murders Lucerys Velaryon (on Arrax) over Shipbreaker Bay.

Blood and Cheese: Daemon retaliates ("A son for a son") by hiring assassins to murder Aegon II's firstborn son, Jaehaerys, in front of Queen Helaena, driving her mad.

Battle of Rook's Rest: A trap set by Criston Cole. Rhaenys and Meleys are killed by Aegon II (Sunfyre) and Aemond (Vhagar). Aegon II is severely burned and permanently crippled.

Phase 2: The Red Sowing & Shifting Tides

The Dragonseeds: Facing a dragon deficit, Jacaerys recruits bastards of Valyrian descent to claim riderless dragons (Addam Velaryon, Nettles, Hugh Hammer, Ulf White).

Battle of the Gullet: The Triarchy fleet attacks. Jacaerys and Vermax are killed, and Spicetown is destroyed, though the Velaryon fleet ultimately breaks the Triarchy.

Fall of King's Landing: Rhaenyra and Daemon take the undefended capital bloodlessly. Aemond and Criston Cole are trapped in the Riverlands.

Phase 3: Treason & Mutual Destruction

The Butcher's Ball: Criston Cole is ambushed and slaughtered by the Riverlords and Winter Wolves.

The Treasons of Tumbleton: Dragonseeds Hugh Hammer and Ulf White defect to the Greens, incinerating the town of Tumbleton and crippling the Black army's southern defense.

Battle Above the Gods Eye: Daemon (Caraxes) ambushes Aemond (Vhagar). Daemon leaps from his saddle, driving Dark Sister through Aemond's eye. Both dragons and riders perish in the lake.

The Storming of the Dragonpit: Driven to a frenzy by the Prophet known as the Shepherd, a mob of 20,000 storms the Dragonpit. Four dragons are killed. Joffrey falls to his death trying to ride Syrax, whose body is subsequently torn apart by the mob.

Second Tumbleton: Addam Velaryon (on Seasmoke) executes a surprise night attack to prove his loyalty. Seasmoke, Vermithor, and Tessarion all die. Prince Daeron and the betrayers (Hugh and Ulf) are killed.

Phase 4: Rhaenyra's Fall

Rhaenyra flees King's Landing, selling her crown for passage to Dragonstone. She is betrayed by her own garrison. Aegon II (hidden on the island with a maimed Sunfyre) feeds Rhaenyra to his dragon while her son, Aegon the Younger, is forced to watch.

VII. THE AFTERMATH & THE REGENCY (131 AC – 136 AC)

Despite Rhaenyra's death, the Black armies (the Riverlords and Northmen) continued advancing. Aegon II, refusing to surrender, was poisoned by his own council.

The Hour of the Wolf

Cregan Stark's Justice: The Lord of Winterfell occupied King's Landing, temporarily taking the office of the Hand to execute those who assassinated Aegon II (including Larys Strong).

The Union: Aegon III (Rhaenyra's son) was crowned and wed to Jaehaera (Aegon II's daughter), uniting the fractured bloodlines.

The Broken King's Minority (The Regents) Aegon III's regency was characterized by political maneuvering, plagues, and severe depression.

The Winter Fever: A plague that decimated the realm's leadership. Queen Jaehaera died shortly after, allegedly throwing herself from a window (suspected murder by Hand of the King Unwin Peake).

The Maiden's Day Cattle Show: To thwart Unwin Peake's attempt to marry his own daughter to the King, Aegon III's half-sisters presented the six-year-old Daenaera Velaryon, whom Aegon selected as his new Queen.

The Lysene Spring & The Secret Siege: Aegon's presumed-dead brother, Viserys, returned with his Lysene wife, Larra Rogare. The Rogare banking family briefly dominated Westerosi politics until their sudden financial collapse. In the ensuing political purge, Aegon III locked himself inside Maegor's Holdfast for 18 days, protected by the gladiator Sandoq the Shadow.

Majority: On his 16th nameday, Aegon III abruptly dismissed his regents, cancelled his royal progress, and assumed direct, solitary control of the Iron Throne, beginning his solemn reign as the Dragonbane.

No one talked to you. A few people glanced your way, recognized you as Lana's roommate, and then looked past you. You were invisible unless you were standing next to her. It was a specific, grinding loneliness that had become familiar over the months.

You hated them all. You hated the drunk girl who shrieked every five seconds. You hated the guy in the corner trying to start a keg stand. You hated the way the smoke machine made everything smell like burnt plastic. You hated the way your skin crawled with the weight of a secret you couldn't shake.

It had been two weeks since the apartment. Two weeks since Aerion had left you on the bathroom floor. Two weeks of him showing up at the apartment like nothing had happened, sitting on your couch, drinking from your mug, touching Lana's shoulder with that casual, proprietary ease. Two weeks of watching him watch you, his blue eyes tracking your every move with a knowing, private smirk. Two weeks of lying awake at night, your thighs pressed together, replaying every filthy second.

Nothing had changed. That was the worst part. He was still her boyfriend. You were still the roommate. The dynamic was exactly the same, except now there was a razor wire of shared knowledge strung between you, invisible to everyone else, cutting you both every time you got close.

You needed air.

You pushed through the crowd, muttering "excuse me" and "sorry" until you burst out the front door. The cold hit you like a slap, sharp and clean. The porch was crowded with smokers and couples making out against the railing. You didn't stop. You rounded the side of the house, following a small gap between the building and a overgrown hedge, until you found a spot that was almost private.

It was a small alcove where the exterior wall of the house met a wooden fence. An old, rusted pipe stuck out from the siding. The ground was dirt and dead leaves. The light from the house barely reached here, casting everything in dim, shadowy blue. You could still hear the muffled thump of the music, but it was distant now, bearable.

You leaned back against the cold siding, the rough texture digging into your shoulders through your jacket. You fished a cigarette from your pocket, a habit you'd picked up in the last two weeks, another thing Aerion had infected you with, and brought it to your lips.

You flicked the lighter once. The flame caught, small and orange.

And then he was there.

Like he'd materialized from the shadows themselves. One second, you were alone. The next, his hand was closing over yours, the one holding the lighter, and his thumb pressed down, extinguishing the flame.

"Don't," Aerion said, his voice a low, rough murmur. "You'll ruin your lungs. They're useful."

You didn't startle. You didn't pull away. Some part of you had known he would follow. Had been waiting for it.

"I didn't see you inside," you said, your voice flat.

"I know." He took the cigarette from your lips, tucked it behind his own ear. "I saw you leave. You looked like you were about to chew through the drywall."

He was standing close. Too close. You could smell him...cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and that underlying musk that was just him. He was wearing a dark jacket, unzipped, a white tank underneath. His hair was messier than usual, and his blue eyes had that glazed, hungry look you recognized from the bathroom mirror.

"You followed me out here," you said.

"I did."

"Why?"

He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. "Because I wanted to be alone with you. And because I know you hate parties. And because I've been watching you all night, standing in corners, looking miserable and beautiful, and I wanted to see if you'd crack before I came to find you."

"I haven't cracked."

"Not yet." He stepped closer. His chest almost brushed yours. "But you will."

Your heart was hammering, a traitorous, eager rhythm. The cold air did nothing to cool the heat spreading through your veins. "Lana's inside."

"Lana's inside getting drunk and telling everyone how she's dating me. She's not thinking about you. She's not thinking about me. She's thinking about how good she looks in that dress and how many people are watching her." His voice dropped, became intimate, venomous. "She doesn't see us. She never does."

He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was featherlight, but it burned.

"You've been thinking about it," he said. "My mouth on you. My cock inside you. You've been lying in bed at night, touching yourself, thinking about it."

It wasn't a question. You didn't answer. You didn't have to.

"I've been thinking about it too," he continued, his hand sliding down to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Every time I sat on that couch. Every time I kissed her goodnight. Every time I heard you breathe in the next room. I've been thinking about bending you over the kitchen table and fucking you until you forget your own name."

"You're disgusting," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

"I'm honest." He leaned in, his lips hovering a millimeter from yours. "And you're wet right now. Aren't you?"

You didn't answer. Your breath came faster.

"Don't lie to me," he murmured. "I can smell it on you. I can taste it in the air. You're soaked, and you hate yourself for it, and you want me to do something about it."

His mouth brushed yours, a ghost of a kiss, then pulled away. You almost chased it. You caught yourself, but barely.

"Say it," he said, his voice a low, rough command. "Say you want this. Say you want me to fuck you against this wall where anyone could see."

"Aerion—"

"Say it." His hand tightened on your jaw, not painful, but firm. "I need to hear it. I need to hear you admit that you're just as fucking depraved as I am."

The words stuck in your throat. But they were there, crawling up from some dark, honest place inside you.

"I want it," you breathed. "I want you."

The sound he made was almost animal. A low, rough growl that vibrated through his chest. He crushed his mouth against yours, and this kiss was nothing like the first one. It was hungrier. More desperate. His tongue pushed into your mouth, and he tasted like whiskey and need. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your waist, sliding up under your jacket to grip your ribs through your thin top.

He broke the kiss, gasping. "Turn around."

You did. You pressed your palms flat against the cold siding, your back to him. The rough texture scraped through your shirt. You heard him spit, a wet, lewd sound, and then his hand was on your hip, yanking your jeans down just enough to expose you to the freezing night air.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers sliding between your legs, finding you soaked and ready. "Look at that. You weren't lying. You're dripping. You're fucking dripping for me in your best friend's boyfriend's hand."

He pushed two fingers into you without warning, deep and rough, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The stretch was sharp, perfect. He fucked you with his fingers for a few strokes, cruel and fast, then pulled them out.

"I need to be inside you," he said, his voice strained, the arrogance cracking. "Right now. I can't wait."

You heard his belt unbuckle. The rustle of his jeans. Then his hands were on your hips, positioning you, and the blunt head of his cock was pressing against your entrance.

"Tell me you want it," he said, his voice a ragged plea. "Tell me you want my cock."

"I want it. I want your cock, Aerion. Fuck me."

He pushed in.

The stretch was exquisite, burning. He was thick, and he filled you completely, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against your ass and he was buried to the hilt. He paused there, his forehead dropping to the back of your head, his breath hot and ragged.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel so good. So fucking tight. Like you were made for this. Made for me."

He started to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, each one pressing you harder against the cold wall. The friction was maddening. The risk of it, the open air, the distant music, the possibility of someone rounding the corner, sharpened every sensation to a razor's edge.

"You feel that?" he grunted, his hand coming around to press flat against your lower belly. "You feel me inside you? I'm so deep. I'm so fucking deep in you."

He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against your ass with a wet, obscene rhythm. The sound was loud in the quiet night. Anyone walking by would hear it. Would know.

"Look at you," he hissed. "Taking it. Taking all of it. Bent over for me like a good little slut."

"Don't call me that," you gasped, but your hips pushed back against him, taking him deeper.

"Don't lie to me." He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You love it. You love being my slut. You love that I'm fucking you while she's inside telling everyone about her hot boyfriend. You love that I chose you. That I'm inside you."

His hand slid down, finding your clit, rubbing rough, tight circles. The pleasure spiked, electric and overwhelming.

"Come for me," he commanded. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."

The orgasm built, coiled, and then shattered. You bit down on your own hand to muffle the cry as your body clamped down around him, waves of pleasure pulsing through you. He kept fucking you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's it. Fuck."

He pulled out suddenly, spinning you around. Before you could process, he had you pressed against the wall again, facing him this time. He lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his arm, and pushed back inside you in one smooth motion. The new angle was deeper, and you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders.

He looked into your eyes. That was the detail that undid you. He didn't look away. His blue eyes were locked on yours, pupils blown wide, his face a mask of fierce, raw need. He fucked you like that, staring into your soul, each thrust a confession.

"I want you," he said, his voice breaking. "I want you so fucking much it's killing me. I think about you constantly. I dream about you. I fuck her and I close my eyes and I imagine it's you."

You couldn't speak. You could only hold his gaze, let him see everything...the shame, the want, the terrible, undeniable truth.

"Say it," he said, his pace quickening. "Say you're an animal."

"I'm an animal," you breathed.

"Say you're my animal."

"I'm your animal."

A shudder ran through him. His grip on your thigh tightened. "Again."

"I'm your animal, Aerion. I'm yours."

He kissed you, deep and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours as he fucked you harder. The wall scraped your back. The cold bit at your exposed skin. The risk of discovery hung over you both like a blade. And none of it mattered. There was only him. Only his eyes. Only the feeling of him inside you, claiming you, ruining you.

He broke the kiss, gasping for air. "I'm going to come," he said, his voice strained. "I'm going to come inside you, and you're going to take it."

"Yes," you said. "Yes."

He drove into you, harder, faster, his rhythm losing all control. His eyes never left yours. The connection was brutal, intimate, overwhelming.

And then you heard it.

Footsteps. Voices. Coming around the side of the house.

Your blood turned to ice. You tensed, your hands flying to his chest to push him away. "Aerion—"

He didn't stop. He didn't pull out. Instead, he moved. In one fluid motion, he shifted, his body pressing you harder against the wall, caging you in. His arms braced on either side of your head. His broad shoulders blocked you from view. His body was a shield, hiding you from whoever was approaching.

"Don't move," he breathed against your ear. "Don't make a sound."

He was still inside you. Still hard. Still thrusting, slow and deep, as the voices grew closer and closer. A guy and a girl, their words slurred with alcohol, their footsteps crunching on the dead leaves just on the other side of the hedge.

"—swear I saw Jake puke in the potted plant. The big one by the stairs."

"Fucking classic. He's such a disaster."

They were going to round the corner. Any second. They were going to see you, Aerion's body blocking yours, but not enough. The angle was wrong. If they looked past him , they'd see your bare legs, your jeans around your thighs, the unmistakable position of two bodies pressed together in the dark.

You tried to push him off. Your hands pressed against his chest, shoving. "Aerion, stop, they're going to see—"

He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. His hand clamped over your mouth, firm and unyielding, and he drove into you harder, deeper, his eyes never leaving yours. The thrust was brutal, a deep, grinding push that stole your breath and made your eyes roll back.

"Shh," he breathed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. Let them pass."

His hips kept moving. A slow, relentless rhythm, fucking you in silence as the voices grew nearer. The risk was obscene. The thrill of it, the sheer, depraved danger, sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. You were going to be caught. You were going to be exposed. And a dark, shameful part of you wanted it.

The girl's voice again, closer now. "Did you hear something?"

Your heart stopped.

The guy laughed. "Probably a raccoon. This neighborhood's full of 'em."

Footsteps paused. You could see a shadow shift at the edge of the alcove, the silhouette of someone peering into the darkness. Aerion's hand tightened over your mouth. His hips kept moving, slow and deep, fucking you with a patience that was more cruel than any frantic pace. He was enjoying this. The danger. The control. The way your body trembled against his, caught between terror and arousal.

"Nah, nothing there," the guy said. "Come on, let's go find another beer."

The footsteps receded. The voices faded back into the ambient noise of the party. You were alone again.

Aerion didn't remove his hand from your mouth. He didn't slow his pace. He looked down at you, his blue eyes glittering with a dark, satisfied triumph.

"See?" he murmured, his voice a low, rough purr. "I told you. I'll take care of you."

He pulled his hand away, replacing it with his mouth. The kiss was deep, possessive, tasting of victory. His tongue pushed past your lips as he fucked you, a wet, consuming claim. When he broke away, he was breathing hard, his forehead pressed to yours.

"You liked that," he said. It wasn't a question. "You liked almost getting caught. You liked me hiding you. You liked knowing that anyone could have seen you, seen us, and I still wouldn't have stopped."

"I didn't—"

"Don't." His voice was sharp, cutting. "Don't lie to me. Not now. Not when I'm inside you. I felt it. You clenched around me when you heard their voices. You got tighter. Wetter. You were scared, and you were turned on, and you fucking loved it."

You couldn't deny it. The truth was written in the way your body responded to him, in the fresh pulse of wetness that coated his cock with every thrust.

"Admit it," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Admit you're a dirty little slut who gets off on almost being caught."

"Aerion—"

"Say it." He thrust deeper, harder, punctuating the command. "Say. It."

"I'm a dirty little slut," you gasped, the words torn from you.

"Whose slut?"

"Yours."

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest. "Fuck. Yes. You're mine. You're so fucking mine."

He pulled out suddenly, spinning you around again. He pushed you forward, bending you over a low wooden fence that bordered the property. The wood was rough, splintered, digging into your palms. The position was degrading, completely exposed. Your ass was in the air, your cunt still slick and open from him.

He didn't enter you immediately. Instead, he knelt behind you. You felt his breath, hot and ragged, against your wet folds. Then his mouth was on you, devouring you from behind. His tongue pushed inside you, deep and searching, tasting his own precum mixed with your arousal. He ate you like a man possessed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, his nose pressing against your ass as he buried his face in you.

"Oh, fuck—" you gasped, your fingers scrabbling against the fence.

He didn't let up. He licked and sucked and bit, his tongue fucking you with a filthy, relentless rhythm. The sounds he made, wet, slurping, animalistic, were obscene in the quiet night. He pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, a thick, wet glob, before diving back in, using his own saliva to lubricate his assault.

"You taste so fucking good," he said, his voice muffled against your flesh. "I could eat you for hours. I could fucking drown in you."

He stood up abruptly, his hands replacing his mouth. He spread your folds open with his fingers, exposing you to the cold air, admiring his work.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick with awe and disgust. "Soaked. Open. Used. You're a mess. My mess."

He lined himself up and pushed back inside you in one brutal stroke. The angle was different from before, deeper, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He fucked you with a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against your ass, the sound echoing off the walls of the house.

"You're going to take it all," he said, his voice a low, vicious snarl. "Every drop. Every inch. And when I'm done, you're going to walk back into that party with my come dripping down your thigh, and you're going to smile at her, and you're going to pretend you don't have me inside you."

He reached around, his hand finding your throat. He didn't squeeze, just rested it there, a reminder of his control. His other hand slid down your belly, fingers finding your clit, rubbing harsh, fast circles.

"Come for me again," he commanded. "Come for me while I fuck you from behind like the animal you are."

The orgasm built like a wave, crashing over you with brutal force. You cried out, a broken, keening sound, your body convulsing around him. He didn't stop. He fucked you through it, his pace increasing, his breathing ragged.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's my good little slut. Squeezing my cock like you never want me to leave."

He pulled out again, and before you could register the loss, he was spinning you around, dropping you down to your knees. He took himself in his hand, stroking fast, his eyes locked on yours.

"Open your mouth," he said.

You did.

He came on your face.

Hot, thick ropes of come painted your lips, your chin, your cheek. He aimed deliberately, marking you, his breath hitching with each pulse. When he was done, he looked at you, kneeling before him covered in his release, and his expression was one of pure, dark worship.

"Beautiful," he breathed. "You're so fucking beautiful like this."

He leaned down, his tongue extending, and licked his own come off your lips. The kiss that followed was sloppy, shared, tasting of salt and bitterness. It was the most intimate thing you had ever done.

He stood up, pulling you with him. He used his thumb to wipe a stray drop from your chin, then pressed his thumb into your mouth. You sucked it clean, your eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl," he said, his voice soft and cruel.

He pulled up your jeans, fastening them with a practiced efficiency. He straightened your jacket, smoothed your hair. He was dressing you, cleaning you, preparing you to go back inside like nothing had happened.

"Your turn," he said, gesturing to his own face. "Fix me."

You reached up, your fingers trembling, and wiped a smudge of your lipstick from the corner of his mouth. He caught your hand, pressed a kiss to your palm.

"Tonight," he said, his voice low and urgent. "After she falls asleep. My car. Behind the diner. One in the morning."

"What?"

"You heard me." He released your hand, stepping back. "I'm not done with you. I'm never going to be done with you."

He turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the house. You stood there, alone in the dark, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, his taste still on your tongue.

You waited a full five minutes before walking back inside.

The party was still going. The bass still thumped. Lana was still laughing, a red cup in her hand . She looked up when you approached, her eyes glassy with alcohol.

"Hey! There you are! I was looking for you." She smiled, oblivious. "You okay? You look flushed."

You forced a smile. "Just needed some air."

She nodded, already distracted by someone calling her name. "Okay, well, don't disappear again! I want you to meet some people!"

She turned away. You stood there, in the middle of the noise and the heat, and felt the ghost of him still inside you. His come was drying on your face, hidden under the dim light. His scent was all over your skin.

And you were already counting the hours until one in the morning.

You remembered those years with a clarity that still ached. The hours spent at Valarr's side. The way your heart had leapt when he sought you out, when he smiled at you, when he trusted you with his fears and his uncertainties. You had thought, foolishly, desperately, that proximity would breed something more. That devotion would be rewarded. That he would look at you one day and see what had always been there, waiting.

He had not.

Aerion was wrong about one thing, at least. Valarr had not deflowered you. He had not even come close. There had been only one kiss, years ago, when you had wondered aloud what it felt like and he had offered to show you.

"To satisfy your curiosity," he had said. "And soothe your fears. That is all."

That was all. A single kiss, chaste and brief, and you had spent years afterwards lying awake at night wondering if he had ever wanted to kiss you again. If he had ever thought about it. If it had meant anything at all.

"What a dreadful waste."

Aerion's voice cut through your thoughts, and you realized he had been watching your face.

"All those years," he continued, shaking his head slowly. His tone sharpened with something that might have been disgust, though it was not directed at you. "Wouldn't you rather have fun with me?"

Before you could answer, he dragged his tongue along your parted mouth, an obscene gesture, and then pulled back entirely. The loss of warmth was jarring.

You heard the click of the lock.

He had crossed the room while you were still in a daze, and now he stood by the door with his hand still on the bolt, surveying the chamber with a new expression. Thoughtful. Calculating. The look of a man who had just conceived of something and was already deciding how to execute it.

"Change," he said.

You blinked. "…what?"

He was already moving toward your trunks and flipping them open. He rummaged through the folded gowns with the carelessness of a man who had never had to pack his own belongings in his life, tossing aside silks and velvets until he found what he was looking for.

"Put this on." He straightened, holding up a dress. It was the plainest thing you owned, wool, not silk, a muted grey-brown. Serviceable. Unremarkable. He found a cloak as well, dark and heavy, and thrust it toward you. "Quickly."

"Aerion..."

"I have decided," he said, as though that explained everything, "to show you something you have not seen before."

"What would that be?"

His mouth curved. "A life outside these walls."

You stared at him. "You are mad."

"Possibly." He did not seem troubled by the assessment. "But you are going to put on that dress and that cloak, and you are going to come with me, and for one night you are going to see what it is like to not be a lady in a cage."

"A cage I am only still in because of you," you pointed out.

"Yes," he agreed, entirely unrepentant. "So you may consider this my penance. Now change. Unless you would prefer I stay and watch?"

You snatched the dress from his hands and pointed toward the door. "Turn around."

He turned, though not before you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You changed quickly, pulled the cloak around your shoulders and drew the hood over your hair. The woman who looked back at you from the mirror was not a Baratheon lady. She was not a prince's betrothed. She was simply a woman in a plain dress, indistinguishable from a hundred others in the city below.

Aerion turned back at the sound of your movement, and his eyes swept over you with an approval that made something in your stomach tighten.

"Passable," he said. "Come."

He did not take your hand. He simply opened the door and waited, and after a moment's hesitation, you followed.

The passages he led you through were not the ones you knew. They were narrower, darker, clearly meant for servants or for those who did not wish to be seen. Aerion moved through them with the ease of long familiarity, and you wondered, not for the first time, what sort of prince spent so much time in hidden corridors.

The city beyond the Red Keep was another world entirely.

You had seen it before, of course: from windows, from carriages, from the high walls that separated royalty from rabble, but you had never walked through it. Not like this. Not on foot, with the press of bodies around you and the smell of cooking meat and unwashed skin and something sour that might have been spilled ale.

The market was still alive even at this hour, torches flickering in iron sconces, vendors calling out prices in voices hoarse from use. Aerion guided you through the crowd with a hand at the small of your back, a light pressure that steered you away from the worst of the press without ever seeming to direct you.

"Keep your hood up," he murmured against your hair. "Your face is too memorable."

You did not know whether that was a compliment or a warning.

He bought you food from a stall, fried and greasy dough, wrapped in paper that grew translucent with oil, and laughed when you hesitated to eat it.

"It will not kill you," he said. "Probably."

You ate it. It was, against all expectation, delicious.

He showed you the stall where a woman sold ribbons dyed in colors so vivid they seemed to glow in the torchlight. You saw the corner where a man with no teeth told fortunes for a copper penny, and the alley where a boy no older than ten was teaching a dog to dance on its hind legs. The blacksmith's forge, dark now but still radiating heat, the weaver's shop with its shuttered windows, and the fountain in the small square where the water ran clean and cold.

You stopped when you saw the play.

It was being performed on a makeshift stage at the edge of the market, boards laid across barrels, a painted curtain fluttering behind the players. The actors were not skilled, their voices too loud, their gestures too broad, but there was an energy to the performance that drew you in. You grabbed Aerion's sleeve without thinking and pulled him toward the crowd that had gathered.

He came willingly, standing close behind you as you watched.

The play, as it turned out, was not the sort of thing performed in the Red Keep.

It was vulgar. Obscenely, unapologetically vulgar. The plot, such as it was, seemed to revolve around a milkmaid, a travelling merchant, and a donkey, and the jokes grew progressively filthier with each passing minute. The crowd around you roared with laughter. You scrunched up your face.

You turned sharply, intending to leave, and found Aerion already watching you. He had not been watching the play at all. His grin was half-hidden against your hair, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and when he saw your expression he only laughed harder.

"Not to your taste?" he murmured.

"You knew what this was."

"I had my suspicions." He tugged on your hand, drawing you away from the crowd. "Come. Before the donkey returns for the second act. It does not improve."

You were laughing by the time you reached the Red Keep.

You could not remember when the laughter had started, somewhere between the market and the gates, somewhere between the grease-stained paper crumpled in your hand and the way Aerion had nearly slipped on a pile of something unspeakable in the alley, but it had not stopped. Your sides ached with it. Your cheeks hurt. Aerion was no better, his composure utterly shattered, his hair disheveled from where you had shoved him in retaliation for a joke you refused to repeat.

The laughter died the moment you stepped through the doors.

Maekar Targaryen was waiting.

Beside him stood Baelor Breakspear, his expression troubled but composed, and beside Baelor...Valarr.

Your stomach dropped.

"Where," Maekar said, his voice carrying the particular calm of a man who was restraining himself only with great effort, "have you been?"

Aerion straightened, the last traces of mirth fading from his face. "Sightseeing."

"Sightseeing."

"The city is quite lovely at night, father. You should try it sometime."

"Do not play games with me, boy." Maekar's gaze moved to you, taking in the plain dress, the cloak. "You took your betrothed out into the streets. Alone. At night. Unchaperoned. Without guards. Without so much as a word to anyone."

"We did nothing inappropriate," Aerion said, and there was an edge creeping into his voice now. "We merely walked. I only wished to show her the city, she obliged me."

"She wished..." Maekar cut himself off, visibly struggling for control. "You are a prince. She is a lady of a great house, newly betrothed, and you thought it appropriate to drag her through the filth of the city like a common..."

"Like a what?" Aerion's voice sharpened dangerously.

Baelor raised a hand, stepping between them with the practiced ease of a man who had spent years mediating Targaryen tempers. "Enough. The question is not what was done, but what will be perceived. Aerion, you must understand how this looks. An unchaperoned outing, in secret, at night...it invites speculation. It invites scandal."

"There is no scandal," Aerion said flatly. "There is only a man showing his betrothed the city she will one day help rule."

"And there will be time enough for that after the wedding," Maekar snapped. "When she is your wife, not your..."

He stopped. The word hung unspoken in the air, and you felt your face heat for an entirely different reason.

"She is my betrothed," Aerion said, very quietly. "And I will thank you not to imply otherwise."

Valarr spoke for the first time.

"This is reckless, even for you." His voice was controlled, but there was something simmering beneath it, something that made Aerion's head turn slowly toward him. "She deserves better than to be dragged into your whims."

"Who asked your opinion?" Aerion's hostility flared so suddenly that even Baelor looked taken aback. "Who asked you to weigh in on this, cousin? You, who could not be bothered to notice her when she was right in front of you? You, who..."

"Aerion." Baelor's voice was sharp now. "That is enough."

"Is it? Because I find myself quite interested in why Valarr has suddenly developed such a concern for my betrothed's welfare. A year ago he could not see her beside himself. Now he cannot stop looking."

Valarr's jaw tightened. "I have always cared for her."

"Have you?" Aerion tilted his head, and his smile was not pleasant. "How convenient that you discovered this only after she was no longer available."

"Enough!"

This time it was Lyonel Baratheon who spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a war horn. He had been standing near the back of the hall, silent until now, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes moved between Aerion and Valarr with a calculation that made you nervous.

"You," he said, pointing at Aerion, "will learn to control your tongue and your impulses, or I will teach you myself. I have no objection to a man showing his betrothed the city. I have done worse in my youth, and I will not play the hypocrite. But I do object to a man whose every action threatens to dishonor my niece and my house through sheer carelessness."

Aerion opened his mouth, saw the look in Lyonel's eyes, and closed it again.

"You will not be alone with her without a witness until the wedding," Maekar said, seizing the opening. "That is not a request. It is a command. I will not have this alliance jeopardised by your inability to exercise restraint."

"Father..."

"You are dismissed."

Aerion stood motionless for a long moment. Then he turned, and his eyes met yours. There was frustration, defiance, and something else that you could not quite name, and then he bowed, stiffly, and strode from the hall.

You did not watch him go. You did not look at Valarr, though you could feel his gaze on you like a weight. You simply inclined your head to Maekar, to Baelor, to your uncle, and retreated to your chambers with as much dignity as you could muster.

You barely slept.

The morning came gray and cold, and you rose with the first light, your head aching from too little rest and too much wine the night before. Your maids had not yet arrived. The castle was quiet.

You did not hear him enter.

One moment you were alone, standing before the mirror in your shift, and the next his arms were around you from behind, his mouth pressing hot against the curve of your neck.

"Aerion..." you gasped, trying to twist away. "The command...there must be a witness..."

"There is no one here to witness the lack of witness," he murmured against your skin, "and I will be gone before anyone knows I was here. Turn around."

You turned.

He kissed you.

This time, you kissed him back.

Your hands rose to grip the front of his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Your mouth moved against his with an enthusiasm that surprised you both. The taste of him was familiar now, and you chased it, rising onto your toes to press closer, closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. He looked at you for a long moment.

"Well," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your swollen lower lip. "That is more like it."

Then he was gone, slipping through the door as silently as he had come, leaving you standing alone in the morning light with your heart pounding and your lips still tingling.

part 5: pending...

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sometimes you would wake with a strangled gasp already caught in your throat, fingers twisting in the sheets, your whole body rigid like you had been caught somewhere far away and dragged back all at once. other times you woke trembling without a sound, eyes wide and glossy in the dark, staring at nothing for a moment before the reality of your room would slowly piece itself back together. bobby knew the signs by now. he knew the exact way your breathing changed, the tiny hitch in your chest, the way your hand would start searching beside you before you were fully awake, reaching for him like your body was desperate to make sure he was still there.

and he always was.

most nights the two of you slept tangled together, limbs wrapped around each other like even in your sleep you were afraid to lose the other one.

bobby held you close with one arm thrown around your waist, his face tucked into your hair, one hand resting steady and warm against your back. it made him feel better, keeping you there like that, like he was anchoring you to the world just as much as you anchored him.

but sometimes the terrors hit too hard, and no amount of closeness was enough to stop your body from jerking awake in panic.

this night was one of those nights.

you woke with a sharp inhale, your chest rising too fast, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might split your ribs open. for a second you didn’t know where you were, the room was dark, but the dark wasn’t comforting yet.

you tried to slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend.

careful because you didn’t want to bother him.

careful because you didn’t want to feel needy.

careful because part of you still hated how much the fear could take out of you, how it could leave you shaking and small.

but before your feet even hit the floor, bobby was up.

“hey,” he said softly, voice rough with sleep but instantly awake in the way only people who loved you could be. “babe?”

you froze for a second, hand braced on the mattress.

he was already sitting up, shirtless and half-dazed, the bed sheets falling low around his waist as he blinked at you in the dark. even half asleep, even still waking up, the concern on his face was immediate and real.

“c’mere,” he murmured.

you swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the lingering panic. “i’m okay.”

bobby gave you a look that said he did not believe that for a second. “i know…” he said gently.

bobby swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving toward you without hesitation. the floor creaked softly under his feet, and he came close enough to brush his hand down your arm, warm and steady against your cold skin. then, with the kind of care that made your chest ache, he guided you away from the bed and toward the kitchen.

“come on,” he said, his voice low. “let’s get you out of here for a minute.”

the apartment was quiet around you. bobby kept one hand on the small of your back as he walked beside you, not pushing, not rushing…

in the kitchen, he leaned against the counter and looked at you for a long second, studying your face in the dim light.

“do you want me to make you something?” he asked. “tea….coffee…hot chocolate?”

“no, m’okay thank you, bobby.”

it was such a simple thing, the offer. so ordinary. so painfully normal.

he didn’t treat you like you were broken. he didn’t act like your fear was annoying or inconvenient or something you should just get over.

“or we could watch tv. or i can take us to denny’s if you’re hungry enough for that. whatever you want, baby.”

you rubbed at your face and let out a shaky breath. “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay,” he said right away. “then we don’t have to decide yet.”

he moved to stand in front of you, tilting his head down so he could catch your eyes, his thumb brushing your cheek with such tenderness.

you were quiet for a moment, fighting the urge to apologize for being like this, for waking him, for needing too much, for not being able to just sleep. but bobby was looking at you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he could possibly rather be.

so you leaned into him instead.

his arms came around you instantly. no hesitation. he held you close with one hand at the back of your head and the other around your waist, lowering his chin to rest on top of your head.

“i've got you- i've got you-” he cooed.

your eyes shut. the fear was still there, but his arms made it easier to bear. easier to breathe. easier to remember where you were.

bobby swayed you gently in place, just a little, like he was trying to rock the terror out of your body.

“i'm sorry,” you whispered. the words were barely audible, but bobby heard them.

immediately he pulled back just enough to look at you. his brows pinched together.

“for what?”

you looked away. “for waking you up.”

the expression on his face somehow grew even softer. his thumb brushed beneath your eye.

“i was already up.”

“no you weren’t…”

“you’re up, i’m up, babe.” he leans down to kiss your cheek. “don’t ever have to have sorry-”

he kisses your cheek again.

“not for this.”

another.

“not ever.”

You stared at the screen for a few seconds. You were wide awake, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to start on your own work.

You giggled at your own message before hitting send.

YOU: I sold it oops

The reply came before you could even exit the app.

UNKNOWN: stop fucking around man im not in the mood

YOU: I dont think this is the right number lol

A minute passed with the typing bubbles flickering on and off a couple times.

UNKNOWN: the fuck

YOU: If ur stuck on his class just check the 2022 archive

There was no response after that. You eventually drifted off to sleep, figuring that was the end of a weird interaction.

Four days passed, and you completely forgot about the random text until friday when you received a notification from the same number.

UNKNOWN: it worked

You blinked at the message, trying to remember who it even was.

YOU: Yeah

UNKNOWN: howd you know about that

YOU: I saw his desktop open with that site and took my chances

UNKNOWN: youre actually not michael?

YOU: No im pretty sure im not a guy

You thought the conversation would end there, but about ten minutes later, you got another text.

UNKNOWN: any other shortcuts u know about

YOU: Maybe

Over the next two weeks, the texts became a weird regular thing. It wasn’t a constant back and forth, but it turned into a daily routine.

You’d get a text in the middle of the afternoon about whatever, or you’d send a quick message about random things in your life.

You didn’t know each other. There was no pressure. You didn't have to put on a performance to try to impress whoever it was you were talking to.

UNKNOWN: what were u saying

UNKNOWN: just got to the gym

YOU: Tf didnt you just leave ur room

UNKNOWN: yeah

YOU: Is the gym right next to ur house or smth

UNKNOWN: the gyms downstairs

YOU: Oh you live in an apartment??

UNKNOWN: no

UNKNOWN: i have a gym in my house dumbass

YOU: Oh!!!!!

YOU: Different tax bracket

UNKNOWN: funny

You found yourself looking forward to those short, blunt messages. He was definitely arrogant, but he was always honest and that pulled you in.

By the third week, the conversations started stretching later into the night. You’d be lying in bed, messaging your friends, and a text would pop up at 1 AM.

👻: why the fuck are you awake

YOU: Im readingg

YOU: why are YOU awake

👻: driving

YOU: Ur gonna die

YOU: Get off ur phone

👻: You sound like my dad

👻: He’s the reason im driving

YOU: Shit is he at the hospital??

👻: no im clearing my head

YOU: Oh

YOU: You okay?

👻: family dinner was so fucking annoying

👻: just micromanaging my schedule like im some kid

YOU: I feel that, my parents keep controlling my life its so stupid

👻: exactly its pathetic

👻: honestly its weird talking to you

You: Ok whyd i catch a stray hello

👻: no i mean its off talking to someone who isnt trying to get something out of me

YOU: idek who u are so theres nothing to get

👻: keep it that way

Then during one morning, you walked into the lecture hall for Professor Davis’s class.

The room was already buzzing with students and you took your usual seat next to Tanselle who was busy drawing sketches on her paper.

“Did you finish the reading he gave last week?” Tanselle asked, not looking up from her page.

“Barely,” you muttered, pulling your laptop out of your bag. “I read like two pages.”

Down in the fourth row, right near the aisle, Aerion Targaryen was slouched back in his seat. He had his dark leather jacket slung over the back of his chair and was surrounded by his usual crowd.

One of them said something, and Aerion let out a short laugh. The guy looked around the group with triumph all over his face, proud that he managed to impress Aerion.

Just then, your professor began talking and it didn't take long for you to lose focus.

Bored out of your mind as Professor Davis started droning on about the text you guys were supposed to read, you pulled your phone out under the desk.

YOU: Im bored entertain me

You hit send.

You kept your eyes on your screen, but then out of habit, your gaze drifted back down toward the front of the room.

Down in row four, you watched Aerion reach into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lip.

His jaw set as he read something, and his thumbs immediately typed out a fast response before he shoved the phone face down on his desk.

Your phone vibrated in your palm.

👻: go entertain yourself

Your breath hitched. You stared at the screen, your heart doing a weird thud against your ribs.

No way, you thought. The lecture hall is massive. At least forty people were on their phones. It’s a coincidence.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. You needed to be absolutely sure. You typed out a reply, keeping your eyes glued directly on the back of his silver head.

YOU: Ok unkind

YOU: So ur actually paying attention to class?

The exact moment your text delivered, you watched as Aerion’s head tilted down. He picked his phone back up, scoffing under his breath. His thumbs moved around the screen, typing quickly.

Buzz.

👻: no im looking at my phone because a dumbass is texting me

A cold wave of panic hit you.

Your eyes darted from the screen to the back of his leather jacket. Your mind was short-circuiting, trying to connect the dots.

Aerion Targaryen.

Aerion Targaryen who had a reputation for being, well, himself— was the exact same person who had been texting you until midnight.

You spent the remaining minutes of that lecture staring into the wall. Every time Aerion shifted, your eyes snapped straight to him.

When the bell finally rang, the sudden noise of chairs scraping against the floor made you jump.

“Thank god,” Tanselle muttered, slamming her notebook shut. “You coming to the library?”

“I don’t think so,” you replied after a beat, shoving your things into your bag.

At the front, Aerion was already walking. One of the guys threw an arm over his shoulder and Aerion swatted him off with a grin.

He didn’t look back once. He had absolutely no idea.

For the next three days, every time your phone buzzed, your stomach did a flip. You knew exactly who was on the other side of the screen now, while he remained clueless.

During a late saturday night, you were eating with your friends when your screen lit up.

👻: this movies terrible

👻: why would you recommend this

You stared at the text. Knowing it was Aerion, reading the texts felt completely surreal.

YOU: Ok my bad ill just die

YOU: Its good tho idk what ur on

👻: its not

You: Lol turn it off then

👻: im already an hour in

👻: wouldnt wanna hurt your feelings

YOU: Aww how sweet

YOU: Stubborn bitch…

You bit your lip as you sent the second message. No one would dare to call him that in person, it was thrilling.

👻: lmao

👻: what are you doing anyway

YOU: Eating cheesecake

YOU: Wait have u done the assignment due next week

👻: nah im dreading the partner assignment on monday

👻: if i get paired with one of the idiots im doing it alone

You swallowed hard, grabbing your glass to drink the strain away.

YOU: Maybe youll get someone decent

👻: doubt it

You closed your phone and pressed it onto your chest. He was so different in real life.

When monday came, the room was silenced as Professor Davis tapped his microphone, turning on the massive projector behind him.

“Alright, I’ve randomized the pairings for the research,” he announced. “Check the board, find your partner, and spend the rest of the period discussing with them.”

Your eyes scanned the list, stopping as you found your name near the center column.

Your lungs locked up.

Aerion Targaryen was written right next to it.

“Oh, jeez,” Tanselle said, looking at you with worry. “You got Aerion… Good luck babe.”

Down in row four, Aerion didn’t even bother looking back to find his partner. He simply opened his laptop, ignoring the rest of the room while his friends started moving around. He clearly expected whoever his partner was to come to him.

You took in a deep breath, grabbing your bag.

Walking down the steps felt like walking a plank. As you got closer to his seat, a couple of his friends looked up at you. One of them nudged the guy next to him to clear a seat for you, leaving an empty chair next to Aerion.

You gave them a light smile before sliding into the seat, setting your laptop on the desk. Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne and musk.

“You’re my partner?” he asked, his voice a careless drawl. He still didn’t look at you, opening a blank document.

“Yeah.” You kept your voice as even as possible.

“Type in your email,” he said, turning the laptop just an inch so you could see the screen. “I’ll do the body and everything else. You do the outline and introduction.”

You blinked at him, the contrast hitting you like a physical punch. No jokes, no banter, no casualty.

You were aware he had a reputation for being a ‘womanizer.’ So why was he so cold to you?

“Okay,” you mumbled as you awkwardly reached out to type in your email.

He didn’t say another word to you for the rest of the hour. You sat right next to him, occasionally looking at the side of his sharp profile, realizing this was the same guy who had texted you about the miserable movie you recommended to him just two nights ago.

By 10 PM that same day, you were sitting on your bed, staring at the shared Google Docs. He had already finished his sections before you did.

Your phone buzzed on your blanket.

👻: just wrapped up that history project early so i dont have to deal with it later

You read his message, a sour feeling building up in your chest. You picked it up, your expression hardening.

YOU: Lucky, im still doing mine

You lied.

👻: thats sad

Chewing on your inner cheek, your thumbs moved before you could stop.

YOU: Hows ur partner

The typing bubbles appeared immediately.

👻: its some girl in my section i didnt pay attention

👻: she didnt mess anything up, shes whatever

She’s whatever.

Your eyes fixed on his message until they blurred. You had spent weeks listening to him, laughing at his texts, sharing personal concerns to each other—and yet in real life, you were just a boring, insignificant whatever to him.

The irritation flared up. You tossed your laptop onto your bedside table and sat back against the headboard of your bed.

YOU: Cool

A minute passed without a response.

👻: just cool?

YOU: Yeah

👻: youre acting weird

You left the text on read. Not like it mattered, his read receipts were off. Throwing the phone somewhere in your bed, you didn’t reply.

For the next few days, you struggled returning to how you normally were.

He didn’t text you the next morning but eventually did at night, and you left it unreplied for two hours before sending a short answer.

👻: you alive?

YOU: Yes

👻: ok whats wrong then

YOU: Nothing

👻: ???

YOU: What

👻: fine

It felt petty, but each time you looked at your phone, you remembered him sitting right next to you and not even glancing your way. You felt stupid, but his words hurt too.

If you were just a blank space to him in person, you figured it would be better if you were that way on every platform.

By the end of the week, the silence between your texts was heavy. He didn’t text you back after the last chat, and you definitely weren’t going to break first.

You were sitting in class when Tanselle walked in, settling in the chair beside you.

Professor Davis cleared his throat before speaking. “Alright, before we start today’s lecture, I’ve set up a group thread for the upcoming peer reviews. Click on the link and make sure you’re in it by the end of the day.”

You opened your phone to join the chat, then automatically shoved the phone back into your bag. You had no intention of participating.

The period of the lecture ended with a few minutes remaining and your phone started vibrating nonstop.

You tried to ignore it, but the constant noise was getting frustrating. You reached into your bag and pulled it out, looking to mute the group.

A new message popped up at the bottom of the chat. A classmate tagged your number directly because you hadn’t put your name on the sheet yet.

Too annoyed with the whole class to care, you swiped the app and locked your screen.

Then, your eyes subconsciously drifted toward Aerion. You watched as he pulled his phone out.

He was scrolling through the mass text thread when suddenly, he froze.

His head tilted slightly. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the only text tagging a number. The number he’d been texting every day.

Up front, the classmate who had sent the message lost his patience. He turned around, looking up at where you and Tanselle were sitting.

The guy called out your name, his voice turning multiple heads in the quiet room. “I just tagged your number in the group, you need to upload your topic.”

The sound of your name echoed through the lecture.

Aerion’s head snapped up.

He didn’t look at the guy talking to you. His eyes darted straight up until they locked dead onto you.

The usual expression on his face dropped away. His eyes searched your entire face, his brows drawing in closer.

He saw the phone in your hand before going back to your face.

It clicked.

You stilled under his gaze, the blood rushing loud in your ears.

Beside you, Tanselle nudged your shoulder. “Babe. Babe? He’s talking to you?”

“Yeah,” you managed to choke out. Your fingers felt like wood as you uploaded the topic into the sheet. “Done. It’s in there.”

The classmate muttered a quick thanks and turned back around.

But Aerion didn’t.

He stayed shifted in his seat, his body turned toward your row. One of his friends said something, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder, but Aerion blindly shrugged the guy’s hands off without looking at him. His dark gaze remained on you.

You looked down at your screen, pretending to type, but you could feel the weight of his stare.

A quick glance back down confirmed it. He was staring at you like he was seeing you for the first time, his mind putting the pieces together.

Some girl in my section, she’s whatever. He finally understood why you had iced him.

When the bell rang, you instantly stood up, already packing your bag.

“Why are you in such a rush?” Tanselle asked, shaking her head with confusion.

You gave her a tight smile. “I just need to get back.”

You wanted to wait out the crowd, hoping he’d leave first, but Aerion was already standing by the row exit.

He leaned his back against the desk, ignoring his friends as they stood confused as to why he was still there.

Panic flared in your chest. You didn’t think this through properly.

Without thinking, you threw yourself into the small crowd shuffling through the other exit at the top of the hall.

You basically sprinted across the stone of the parking lot, your keys already clutched in your hand. Unlocking the car, you threw your bag into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

You slumped on the headrest, gripping the steering wheel as you finally let out a breath.

Then, your phone lit up with two notifications.

There were two missed calls and above them another notification popped up. It was a text.

You paused your walk to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, “I know, my love. And I adore them all.”

He smiled at you before deciding that a kiss on the cheek was not enough. Gently clasping your chin with his thumb and index finger, he too planted his own kiss, but on your lips- ensuring that it lingered for as long as possible. When you parted, he traced your lips with his thumb.

“My Prince, I-“

Aerion’s head snapped towards the direction of the high pitched voice.

“Not now boy, I am busy.” Your husband snapped at his young squire, not bothering to properly look at him- more focused on you, as he always was.

You pursed your lips slightly in sympathy as you watched the young boy. He stood there, forcing his body to remain upright, shoulders back. He looked at Aerion expectantly, despite his dismissiveness.

You weren’t sure how old your husband’s new squire was, roughly thirteen or fourteen, perhaps. Aerion had no want for a squire, yet unfortunately Prince Maekar had ordered it. As a consequence, since returning from the tourney, your husband had suffered being followed around by someone whom wished to aid him most of the day. His own personal idea of hell.

“Stop calling him that.” You scolded softly in a hushed voice to ensure that the child could not hear you.

“What is it, Edric?”

Aerion frowned, his eyes stayed glued to the side of your face, waiting for you to look upon him once again. Yet, you did not. Accepting defeat, he too turned towards his squire.

Edric now did not know who to look at, or speak to. He wanted to direct his attentions to the beautiful princess whom had shown him nothing but kindness and care since his arrival. Yet he forced himself to look upon the man he served- the man that terrified him to his core. The young boy felt grateful for your existence, daily, hourly even.

When his own father had told him where he would be going and whom he would be serving, he had cried himself to sleep.

You saw his fear, and had explained it to your husband. Unfortunately, your husband didn’t share the same empathy in which you did.

He stuttered, his body sinking lower to the ground as each moment passed. Almost as if a candle had been lit in his head, he propped himself back up, pushing his shoulders all the way back. You had to stop the giggle that wanted to escape your lips and Aerion just groaned.

“Gods, Edric what is it.” Despite the respect of using his name this time, his words were forced through gritted teeth.

“I erm, I just wanted to erm let you know that you,” the boy peered down at Aerion’s boots, “it appears that you have stepped in horse dung, I will clean them immediately.”

Your hand raised to your mouth with haste in a desperate attempt to keep your laughter at bay. Aerion cursed, and you prayed that he wouldn’t take it out on the child.

You knew your husband better than anyone in the realm, and you could feel the heat rising from his chest. You knew a Brightflame tantrum was about to take place.

“The world shan’t crash and burn over it, love.” Your soft words brought him back down to reality, your soft giggles warming his heart. He didn’t even care that you were laughing at him, he just loved seeing you smile. It was the only thing in this dreadful world that brought him happiness.

Aerion rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, scraping his shoe against a small patch of originally green grass, that now had strokes of brown throughout it.

The young boy grinned at you whilst the Prince dug his boot into the ground.

“Don’t just stand there boy, come and-“

A nearby horse whinnied loudly, causing everyone in the yard to snap their heads towards the commotion.

From where you stood, you couldn’t see much, neither could Aerion. From what you could see, though was a group of men that you barely recognised, laughing so hard that they cried. You wondered why the horse’s noise would cause such delight. You stood on a tiptoe, nearly slipping as you did so in the mud below- Aerion caught your waist and held you as you steadied yourself.

“Oh dear.” You commented, now having gained a better view of the scene.

“What is it, Princess?” Aerion asked, despite not caring much. He inspected the nails on his free hand- dirt stuck inside one of them.

“There is a boy who cannot control that horse! Not one of those men are helping him.” You paused, watching the scene unfold. “Horses can be very dangerous you know, when they are not cared for and handled properly.”

You peered at your husband, who remained digging into his fingernails, his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

“Just like you.” You spoke again, a teasing smile.

Aerion peered up and rolled his eyes playfully at you. You felt a swift hand hit your bottom, and then felt the same hand grip it tightly.

“I would say I am far more dangerous when not cared for properly.”

A voice in the distance called for him, and he begrudgingly followed it. Now, alone, Aerion’s squire stared at you awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself.

Suddenly, a loud rip rang through the air, and you heard the horse squeal once more. This time differed to the last, however, as this time you heard the panicked call of men, rather than laughter.

Your attention was drawn toward the commotion just as the horse veered sharply. It ran faster than you could ever have imagined a beast could move.

Straight towards you.

Aerion moved instantly, the man that he was in conversation with now on the floor due to Aerion’s own panic- he had thrown him.

He sprinted towards you, and as he moved closer a hand shot out for your arm.

But the horse was much faster than he had judged.

For the first time since knowing you, since loving you, Prince Aerion Targaryen realised he would not reach you in time. He would never live with himself if he allowed his sweet lady wife to be caused harm.

You braced, yet the impact did not come.

Instead, the boy lunged his whole body towards you, in front of the horse.

“My Princess!” He squeaked, his voice breaking.

A hard shove struck your shoulder causing you to stumble backwards, yet Aerion caught you before you landed on the cold earth. Harshly, he swiped the loose hair from your face and grabbed your cheeks inspecting your face and then body for any harm.

The huge horse thundered past. There was a sickening impact, and then the boy was on the ground.

You were fine, yet you knew the boy wouldn’t be. A wave of guilt flood through your bones.

Aerion, pleased that you were fine, picked you up and propped you on your feet. He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead and then whipped his body around.

His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened- scanning the area for any of the men. All whom had witnessed the scene stood with their mouths open, knowing what would come next.

The man whom had lost control of the horse- more so whom had never had control of the horse, had been flung off in the process, now lying on the floor cradling his arm with his eyes closed.

“You!” Aerion shouted. His hand found his sword instinctively, forming a solidified grip on the hilt.

As he neared the injured idiot, he withdrew it forcefully from its sheath. He held it to his throat.

“Open your eyes you fucking imbecile.” He ordered.

The man’s eyes tore open, his mouth opening with the intention of speaking yet no words came.

“You nearly killed my wife.” Aerion pressed the sharp blade into his neck ever so slightly, the man let out a small gasp as the ice cold metal nipped his neck.

“Your princess.” He pressed the blade harder, causing a yelp. Crimson began to trickle from the small incision that Aerion had caused. You knew that you should have stopped him, but admittedly, part of you couldn’t have cared less. Despite your usually forgiving nature, you too were annoyed that you were nearly gravely hurt. And you were sure as hell annoyed about the sweet, young boy that now lay unconscious in the cold mud.

Aerion swiftly withdrew his blade, and the man’s hand immediately raised in order to clasp the small slit.

“Speak!” He roared. Even you were slightly taken aback- usually Aerion carried himself calmly when angry or upset, which was one of the reasons that people were so terrified of him. He was not calm now, though- the spit flying from his mouth as he shouted gave that away greatly.

“I didn’t mean too! My friends were taunting the horse and I don’t know how to ride properly and-“

Aerion silenced him with a hard kick to the stomach. While still clasping his neck, the man hurled over in pain.

Aerion’s body swivelled in your direction, “where are you hurt, my love?” His face softened as he saw you hunched over Edric, stroking his hair, ensuring that he was still breathing.

“My ankle hurts,” you gestured to the floor below you, “yet I am more worried about Edric. What will happen?” You didn’t seek an answer to the question- it was more of an inquiry to the gods.

Without a second thought, Aerion swung his sword as hard as he could onto the man’s ankle- chopping it clean off. The man squealed louder than anyone you had ever heard.

He leaned down, and spoke to the man in a quiet voice, “you hurt my princess’ ankle, so I have taken yours. If that boy,” he pointed, “dies, you will also.” His words were simple. Despite his agony, the man mustered a nod.

Aerion ordered his guard to take him away, and to find the other men who had all coincidentally dispersed.

Your husband walked back to you, his eyes as soft as they always were when he looked at you. You attempted to stand, but your ankle gave in as soon as you had put weight on it.

Aerion lunged forward, catching you once more.

“Thank you.” Your words came out shyer and quieter than you had intended.

He tutted at your thanks, still not understanding why, after five whole winters of being completely and utterly obsessed with you, you still felt the need to thank him.

He knew the answer though, it was because you were the kindest person whom he had ever met.

Placing his right arm on your back, and his left under your legs, he smoothed your skirt down first just in case anyone would dare peep at his lady wife. He began to lift you when you protested.

His brows furrowed, and his face scrunched.

“Leave me here and take him first please. Find him the best maester.” Your tone light but your meaning completely serious.

He let out a long sigh and peered down at the boy who still lay unconscious- his chest heaving up and down.

Aerion’s eyes rolled into the back of his head- he knew what he had to do now; carry the both of them. He couldn’t have given less of a fuck about the boy that had been pestering him constantly, always behind him, infuriating him with his very presence.

But what his princess wanted, she got. He knew you cared for him with your pure heart, and that was enough a reason for him.

He placed you back down gently, once again ensuring that your gown stay down, ironically now wishing it did touch the mud now.

He picked you up over his shoulder on the right side of his body, and then clicked at a nearby guard to help him with the boy. He could have commanded the guard to carry him, of course. That wouldn’t impress you as much though. He wanted to show you the true strength of the dragon that you had married.

The guard did as commanded and propped the boy up, aerion dipped his left side downwards slightly, and allowed the boy to claim his other shoulder. Aerion thanked the gods that he was light.

Weeks passed, and Edric lived. Thankfully. You had sat with him daily, he had woken up a night or so after his collision. You had been there when he awoke, as had your husband, unwillingly.

The boy thought he had died; your beautiful face lingering above him and smiling persuaded the boy quickly that he must be dead, or dreaming. Reality crashed down upon him when he moved his head slightly and saw Aerion’s harsh face also staring down at him. He had jumped, you had giggled, and Aerion had scrunched his face in offence.

Aerion found it adorable that you cared so much, but he was conflicted by the fact that he felt so neglected. Usually, you pandered to his every need- you fed him cake, you sat upon his lap, you kissed him tenderly, you stroked his hair- even in times of fume, you were there while he bathed. You did everything together.

Since the boy had been harmed, although you still pandered to every need, there were many times in the day that you instead sat with Edric. Aerion dreaded what it would be like when you conceived a babe. He had spent the entire time pouting, and sulking like a baby. He thought that you hadn't notice. Of course you had, there was no possible way of not noticing. He had been more loving than usual, and he usually poured his entire heart into yours. You quite liked this version of him, though. One morning he even got down on his knees and begged you not to leave the bed. You didn't.

After the third week (which had felt like an eternity), despite you spending less time with the injured child due to his recovery, he still begged for your attention.

While on his way to find you, one evening, Aerion caught wind of what his squire had been vocalising throughout the castle.

Passing through the kitchens one afternoon, he heard a roar of laughter- more so a cackle.

“Seven save us, please! The boy’s at it again.”

Aerion paid it no mind until another voice answered.

“Her smile is more beautiful than all the stars above Ashford.” The woman put on a dramatised voice, causing Aerion to stop in his tracks.

The kitchen erupted into more cackles. A third voice chimed in.

“No, no. My favourite was yesterday,” the woman cleared her voice, “the Maiden herself could not rival her grace, and beauty and gentleness.”

He’s only a boy, Aerion told himself, chewing the inside of his cheek as he internalised the words he had heard.

“Poor lad’s hopeless.”

“Can you blame him? The prince’s lady sat at his bedside every day for three weeks.”

“Still. If Prince Aerion ever hears half of what the boy says…”

The laughter died abruptly as the women noticed who was standing in the doorway.

A heavy thud of silence descended upon the room.

Aerion stared at them, eyebrows raised and his tongue touching his top lip.

The women immediately bowed their heads, a chiming of “My Prince” annoying his ears. He tutted at them, and flicked a finger upwards, signalling them to stand.

“My squire had developed a fondness for my princess?” He asked them.

They nodded.

Much to their surprise, he laughed. Loudly, while clapping his hands together. Without another word, he walked away, leaving the women to stand there, completely and utterly confused.

He was not surprised, though. Of course the pubescent boy had developed a fondness for you- you were the most beautiful girl in all of the seven kingdoms, and he thanked the gods that he barely believed in daily to have you as his own.

He searched for you everywhere, but could not find you anywhere. He even went to the room that the boy had been recovering in, yet it was empty.

The only place in which he hadn’t searched, were yours and his chambers. He walked swiftly, and completely ignored the large man that guarded the room. Pushing open the grand, mahogany doors to your chambers, he was delighted to see you laying there, your nose in a book.

You looked up at him, your eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

“There you are.” You propped yourself up, and laid your book down carefully. “I have been waiting for you.”

He smirked, kicking his boots off and forcefully laying next to you on the warm, fur covered bed. Instinctively, you lay your head on his lap. Also instinctively, Aerion’s fingers attached themselves to your hair, gently raking through it.

“I heard something amusing today.” He said simply. You made a noise in response, silently asking him to continue.

“Edric has been telling anyone that will listen about how much he adores you. I believe he may be in love with you.”

Horror flashed in your mind, Aerion was an extremely jealous and obsessive person, especially when it came to you, even if the subject of the matter was a harmless child.

“Oh dear, bless him.” You said cautiously.

Aerion bent all the way down and planted a lingering kiss to your forehead, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

“I cannot blame the boy, though I do want to kill him.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Though I won’t.”

A sigh of relief escaped you. You sat up, scooting upwards so you lay next to him, allowing one leg to sprawl over his lap comfortably.

“Please do not, he is a child.”

He leant down and kissed you again, on the lips this time.

“I know my darling, and that is why I shan’t kill him.”

He smiled at you, and you smiled back. He raised a finger, as he had a thought.

“Come.” Someone snaps gesturing at you. You nod and walk over to the door. “Stand on the mark.” he points into a bright white room which has nothing inside other than a large floor to ceiling one way window. You do as you’re told and stand on the x on the floor and look at your reflection in the mirror. 

Why did you agree to this. You could have walked away and kept your dignity now you’re stood here knowing there are people on the other side betting on you. Betting on you so they can sleep with you. You’ll never know how much, not until you get paid anyway. A light flicks from red to green and the man at the door calls you back. 

“Virgins always sell quickly.” He sighs as he picks up a room key. “Room 45, knock on the door and wait to be called in. Do not enter the room until you are called.” You nod and turn to head out the waiting room. You catch some of the other women turning their nose up at you and realise you’re the only one in red. 

“Oh and try and have fun.” The man calls, you turn quickly and nod before leaving the room. 

___

You knock on the door and don’t get a reply. 

You’re not sure what to do so you wait a few seconds before knocking again. This time the door is opened by a man, you look up at him. He has the end of a cigar hanging out his mouth, the smell of sweet tobacco fills your nose. 

He steps to the side and you walk into the room, you can feel his eyes looking over you. The room is nice, low orange lights make the place feel cosy and smaller than it actually is. There’s a faux fireplace with a plush sofa, coffee table and a drinks trolley. The man closes the door behind you, he’s dressed smart, black pants and a white shirt. The collar has been loosened just like the tie. Over the sofa arm he’s thrown his jacket and waistcoat. 

“Do you drink?” The man asks, you shake your head. You want to keep your head straight. He hums, goes over to the sofa and sits down. He snuffs out the but of the cigar in an ashtray then picks up a small glass of amber coloured liquid. 

You walk over to stand on the other side of the coffee table. You look over at him, he’s handsome, older than you thought he was going to be. He leans back on the sofa and takes a sip of his drink. You try to remember this is a fantasy, there are cameras somewhere. You think back to the non-disclosure paperwork you signed before being washed, waxed and dressed in a red dress that barely covers anything. 

“Whats your name?” You ask. 

“John.” He replies, swilling the liquid in the glass. He looks tired, like he’s just had a long day. Maybe he works in an office or something. You could be standing in front of a CEO or a bank manager, maybe even a member of the royal family from the whispers you heard. 

“What made you do this?” He asks pulling you out of your head. He doesn’t look as intimidating as you thought, he scratches his beard scanning you with his eyes once again. 

“I-” You hesitate, not sure where to start. “I wanted to try porn, a friend recommended this place. She said the pay was good, especially for virgins.” 

“You’re a virgin but you wanted to do porn?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. You nod feeling heat rush to your cheeks. He chuckles and drains his glass before standing up. He walks over to you, his fingers ghost your skin, he pulls on the dress strap and it falls away. 

He hums from behind you, you can smell the smoke and alcohol on his breath. You’re naked underneath, that's what the instructions were. John walks around to stand in front of you. 

“Are there cameras in here?” You ask looking over at the rather large mirror next to the bed. 

“I pay for them to be turned off.” His hand comes to pull your chin back to him. He looks down at you with greedy eyes, his voice drops low and his gaze flicks to your lips. A second later he’s kissing you, you’ve only ever been kissed a few times so you’re not sure what to do but John is slow and soft. 

You can’t tell if it’s for you or not but he takes his time before he presses his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. He brushes it against yours as his hands come up to cup your face. His thumbs trace your jawline and he tips your head up slightly before kissing you deeper. 

“Christ, you’re gonna be the end of me.” He breathes, breaking from the kiss. He guides you over to the only other piece of furniture in the room, a large silk covered double bed. His hand travels down your back and he cups your arse gently squeezing it. 

“Lay down.” He orders, you nod and lay on the bed not sure what position he wants you in. You feel stiff, not like the other girls you’ve seen around here. They’re all beautiful, could be supermodels if they wanted to be but instead they’re here at a shady private club hoping rich men will pay to fuck them. 

It’s like prostitution with extra steps, and you don’t even get to keep all the money. 

You look down as you hear the clicking of a belt buckle and see John dropping his clothes at the end of the bed. He’s not what you expected, hairy for sure but with defined muscles and strong arms. His cock rests in his hand, he’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen and he looks at you with a cheeky grin on his face. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make you ready.” He says, then grabs your ankles and pulls you down the bed slightly. You swallow hard, suddenly nervous at the prospect of having sex with this hunk of a man. He runs his hands up your legs and thighs until he reaches your waist then pulls you down again, you look to see him kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed. 

“Has anyone ever touched this pussy before?” He asks, you feel heat rushing to your face. 

“No.” You say mustering the courage to talk. 

“What about you?” He asks, throwing your knees over his shoulders, you spread your legs further for him and you can feel his breath on your sensitive skin. “Have you ever played with yourself?”

“Yes.” You admit feeling strangely guilty, he smiles though then presses a kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

“Tell me, where did you touch yourself?” He asks in a low voice, his eyes dropping as he presses a light kiss on your clit. “Here?” 

You hum in response feeling a tingle through your lower body from the simple touch alone. He smiles and one of his fingers presses between your folds and against your entrance. 

“Here?” He asks again. 

You swallow before humming again. He smiles at you, whatever you’re doing he seems to like it. He gently presses a finger inside of you and you moan gripping the silk sheets tight. 

“Did you ever do this? Have you ever made yourself come?” He asks, pressing in another finger. 

“A couple of times.” You say, your voice is slurred and breathless. He hums happily in response and before you get a chance to say anything more he presses his tongue against your clit. It feels like electricity through your whole body, nothing like how it felt when you’ve done this alone. His strokes are in time with his fingers curling up inside you and pressing on a spot you never knew even existed. 

“John.” You warn him as hot pressure builds up in your stomach. Everything feels fast, you clench around his fingers which just makes him go faster. It’s almost like he’s trying to drink you up with each lap of his tongue. “I’m. John I-” 

You come embarrassingly fast. John doesn’t stop though, he pulls his mouth off your throbbing clit as he uses his fingers to work you through the orgasm. A low grumble leaves his throat and he presses another kiss on your clit before standing back up. 

He crawls onto the bed next to you, you’re not sure what to do now. Maybe you’ve come too fast and it’s all going to be over now, if you haven’t put on a good show people can demand your money back. He doesn’t seem disappointed though, he runs his hand up your stomach to one of your breasts. He pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, it feels strange, you’re not sure if you like it but before you can say anything his mouth replaces his fingers. 

This time it feels better, his hot tongue draws little circles around your nipple before flicking it. 

“Have you ever done this?” He asks, pulling his mouth off quickly. 

“No.” You admit, he hums, placing his mouth back. It makes the ache come back to your core. You moan and he moves one of his hands down to your clit, you squeeze your legs closed out of instinct and his mouth comes off you again. 

“No, no. Not tonight, you’re open for me.” He says gently pressing on your thigh and you open your legs for him. You just want him to touch you again and he does. “Watch.” He moves his fingers down to your entrance then presses them inside of you. 

“See that, nice and wet. Fuckin’ perfect.” He says, you watch as he pulls his fingers in and out of you slowly, almost too slow. You want more, you need more, it's almost a pain needing him, wanting him. 

“John.” You breathe. “It feels good.”

“Good.” He says pressing a kiss on your cheek. “I want to open you up some more.” You turn to look at him, his eyes are blue and glossy. “Then you’ll be ready to take my cock.” 

Nervousness jumps inside of you but you fight the urge to close your legs again instead gripping the bedding as you watch John fucking you with his fingers.

“Want you to come again, nice and hard.” He says almost through gritted teeth, his palm slapping your clit with each furious thrust. You’re nodding and reaching the peak way quicker than you expected. You’ve heard about multiple orgasms in stories but you’d never thought it was real until now. 

You call out his name as you come then flop against the bed. 

“Tha- that was my first.” Your words are breathless and you don’t even remember finishing the sentence but John seems to understand. 

“I’m glad I was your first.” He says, pressing another kiss on your cheek. You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him pump his cock a few more times. It makes your mouth water, you want him inside of you. You need him. He chuckles almost like he can hear your thoughts. He moves so he’s straddling over you and his strong arms move you into position so you’re further back on the bed and against the pillows. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, You look up at him. You can see kindness in his eyes, and something else too. Greed. You have to remember this man paid to be here with you. 

You nod. 

“Good girl.” He mumbles, the words make you shiver and he smiles. “Do like that? Being called a good girl?”

“Maybe.” You say as you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. You look up at him apprehensively and he seems to feel it on you too. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll go slow.” He says and as he does he presses into you. There’s a burn and a stretch, way more than his fingers. 

“Breathe.” He reminds you still inside of you. You had no idea you’d stopped breathing. You feel full. “Does it hurt?” 

“No, it feels good.” You say, he smiles and looks down between you both. 

“I’m going to move okay. Let me know if anything hurts.” 

You nod. He’s being way nicer than you thought he was going to be, and he’s right he does take it slow rocking his hips then stilling inside of you letting you get used to him. You’re not sure how long you do this for but when your breathing starts to pick up and you squirm under him he starts to speed up.

You moan for him, throwing your head back into the cushions. 

“Touch yourself.” He says, you move one of your hands down to your clit without even thinking. The contact makes you squeeze around John’s cock and he stills inside of you pressing kisses into your neck. “Don’t stop.”

You nod and speed up your fingers to try and time them with John’s now feverish pace. It feels like everything inside you is expanding with each thrust of his cock. It’s nothing like you thought it was going to be but at the same time it’s amazing and you don’t want it to end. Every time you clench around John he grunts and his pace falters. 

You like that you have this strange power over him but you know you can’t hold it for much longer, your own fingers are struggling to keep up. Everything is so sensitive, each movement sends throbs through your body. It's something you could never experience by yourself, not even with the shitty vibrator you have at home. 

“You feel good.” You say between pants. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say during sex, John chuckles and hooks his arms under your knees pulling you up. “Fuck.” You moan as he hits a whole new spot you didn’t even know was there. Your hand presses hard on your clit, you’re getting close now and you know he can feel it. 

“Oh love, I’m going to fill you up. So fucking full with my come.” He blabbers as he drives into you faster, it feels so good though and your brain can hardly formulate a response. 

“Please, please.” You murmur back, you want whatever he’ll give you. “I want your come, John.”

“Oh yes, and you’re going to get it.” He replies and you clench around him again, he lets out a low guttural groan that sends shivers down your whole body. 

“Yes, please. John!” You cry out his name throwing your head back as he pushes you over the edge. It’s a whole body experience, you’re still crying out for John as he pumps into you a few more times before he stills and you feel his cock throb, filling you up. 

“Christ, fuck.” He grunts, rocking his hips and making you twitch from over stimulation. He pulls out and you look down to see his cock still dripping, he fists it a few times squeezing out the last few drops of cum on his fingers before pressing them inside you. You whine as he curls his fingers hitting that perfect spot again. 

“I know, I know.” He coos. “Don’t want you wasting a drop though.” He pulls his fingers all the way out before pressing them back inside. His other hand finds your clit and his fingers rub tight circles. 

“John. I can’t.” You squirm. 

“Shh, yes you can. C’mon love give me one more.” His voice is low and reassuring. 

“Yes, yes.” You agree mindlessly arching your back as he speeds up his fingers. You can feel his come dripping out of you and the sounds of wet sex fill the air. His fingers on your clit are relentless and it’s not long before you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. 

“John.” 

“Come, love. Come for me.” He orders, you nod and cry out as you come throbbing around his fingers. As he works you through your fourth orgasm your body suddenly feels exhausted. You lay there panting and look at John who bends over to kiss you. It’s long and slow, you can taste yourself on him. When he breaks from the kiss he pulls his fingers out of you and brings them to your lips. 

You can see them slick with white come, you open your mouth and let him press his fingers deep into your mouth. You lick them clean watching as his eyes glaze over. He presses his fingers as deep as he can go and you almost gag but before you do he pulls them out. 

“Good girl.” He says, you smile at the praise, it does something to you, it makes the burn come back in your core. He stands back up and without dressing goes over to the drinks tray. 

“Whats your drink?” He asks. 

“Gin.” You say, he nods and fills the glasses topping yours with tonic. You sit up on the bed not quite sure what happens next. “Come.” he says though going over to the sofa and sitting down. You get up to follow sitting next to him also naked, you pick up your drink as he turns to you and reaches over putting his arm over the back of the sofa. 

“Cheers.” He says, you nod and clink your glass with his before taking a sip. He looks down at you and you’re not sure what to say, you just lean against him resting your head against his shoulder, his free arm wraps around you.

“Thank you.” You say, he chuckles. 

“No problem. You were pretty amazing yourself.” You blush at his words and you look at your discarded dress on the floor. 

“What happens now?” You ask looking up at him, he looks down at you with his deep glossy sapphire eyes. 

“Now we drink, then I’ll teach you how to use that gorgeous mouth of yours.” 

“To do what?” He smiles and presses his thumb over your lips, you part them for him and he sighs. You feel his body relax. 

“Whatever you want. But for now let's start with the basics.” He smiles then presses his lips to yours.

You stopped him before he could rip the IV out, holding his wrists down.

"Stop it." You hissed out, trying to prevent him struggling but he was relentless, body writhing despite the pain that flared at each attempt. "You're going to rip your stitches open."

He let out a noise — half whimper, half groan, all weakness. He looked ashamed that he allowed the noise to escape, cheeks tinging pink as he continued to glare at you. You were unsure if his rouged cheeks were sourced from embarrassment or the suspected fever. He repeated the question, this time the words coming out clearer.

"Fucking shit—" He groaned out, the swears spitting out of his mouth as another wave of pain rippled through his body. "Who are you?"

He had stopped moving now, his fingers curling into the garnet silk as he tried suppressing another wince. He wasn't successful, his face screwing up. Everything just hurted so much — his chest, his ribs, his lungs, everything. Especially his abdomen, the skin prickled there, the pain was deeper, crueler.

You muttered a reply. His mind went blank when he heard it, trying to decipher the meaning behind it until he finally recognised it for what it was. A name. Your name. It was pretty, suited you well, but it meant nothing to him.

"That's not what I asked." He mumbled, the consonants slurring, softening. He continued to glare at you, or at least tried to. You were moving too fast, making him dizzy as you rounded the side of the bed going to something he was unable to see from his laying position.

"Someone your family kidnapped." You responded, not bothering to sugarcoat the truth as you grabbed the stethoscope once more, lifting the neckline of his shirt as you let the chest piece settle where his heart was, counting the beats. It was thrumming steadily, quickening for a moment when the cold metal kissed his hot skin, his body involuntarily shuddering at the sudden contact, but his heart beat settled once more. It was still faster than what it should have been.

He was quiet, unsure if you were lying to him or just making a weird joke, but the deadpan stare you gave him confirmed that you weren't.

You moved it lower, aiming for his lungs this time.

"Slow, deep breaths." You instructed, focusing on the sounds — it sounded mainly normal, except for the slight wheezing sound you could hear each time he inhaled.

You removed the stethoscope, moving to scribble your result onto a new page, ensuring to include a note about the patient being awake.

"You Blackfyre?" He finally asked, voice strained, his mouth feeling strangely dry.

You hummed softly at his question. You had heard that name far too many times in the past day, being mumbled like a curse. And even now when Aerion had said it, it was dripping in vitriol. You vaguely recognised it; you had seen it many times during your late night research, the name seeming to follow House Targaryen like a shadow, lingering on the sidelines. Far enough that you did not truly know much about the Blackfyres, but close enough that you knew there was history there. Hatred, to be exact.

It was deeper than simple animosity, harsher than just business ventures going wrong; there was shared blood, a certain permanence forged through relation. And that hatred seemed to never waver.

Maekar cursed it with anger, Aerion announced it with disgust — it was clear that this was an ancestral loathing that was being passed down generation to generation, and would certainly be inherited by the next.

"You're more stupid than I expected." You answered, keeping your gaze focused on the neat, equally spaced lines of your notebook, the ink swirling in the space between as you continued to write your observations. Clammy skin, looks pale. "Why would I be allowed to care for you if I was?"

You noticed his breathing becoming shallow, as if the very task of breathing was becoming difficult for him. You frowned slightly, shit. Was he getting worse?

He was quiet for a moment, and you could almost see the thoughts rattle in his skull, desperately trying to find a reason as to why you were at fault for being abducted. You suppose you were, in some sick twisted way. You should have never helped.

"Peake, then?" Aerion tried again, brows furrowing as he felt pain ripple through his chest with each breath he took.

"No."

"Then why the fuck would they take you?"

"No idea." You muttered exasperated, grabbing for the oral thermometer in the hopes that it would shut him up. Just for a few minutes at least. "Open your mouth."

He screwed his lips shut, forcing them into a tight line as he watched you with weariness, as if you were holding a dagger rather than a thermometer.

You were going to scream.

You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply, exhaling — repeating the motions once, twice. But still your head ached, and still you felt your anger flare once more. You just had to take care of him, ensure he wouldn't drop dead, and then you could leave. And now this loser wasn't even letting you do what you were abducted for? What you were being forced into doing?

He was pissing you off.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to not swear at him (and to not hit him either, which was becoming an extremely tempting thought).

"You were shot." You stated, your finger curling around the cool plastic of the thermometer as you forced your voice to remain stable. You pulled his shirt up, exposing pale skin and his bandaged abdomen as you poked at the very spot where the injury was. He flinched. "And I dug the bullet out. I cut your middle open to check if your organs had been blasted through. And I then stitched you up. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it then. Open your mouth."

He just watched you, eyes squinting as he tried to judge the weight of your words, to discover whether they held any truth. But thinking just made the room spin more violently, and he already felt sick.

Slowly his lips pried open, his gaze darting away from you as he allowed you to put the thermometer into his mouth, as if by denying you his attention he was not truly accepting defeat. The metal nudged against his tongue as you gently pushed it underneath the pink muscle. You held it there for ten seconds, the time seeming to drag as all you could hear was his shallow breathing.

You already knew the result before you had even seen the small digital screen, the square flashing numbers just confirming what you feared. 39°C. His temperature had jumped since the last time you had checked, and before you could control yourself, the back of your hand was resting gently against his forehead, gauging the temperature as if the thermometer had lied to you.

He moved his head at the contact, trying and failing to escape your hand (but he couldn't move much, and soon gave up).

"What's wrong?" He questioned, voice coming out hoarse.

You didn't answer him, instead turning to Dunk who had been lingering at the entrance the entire time, quietly observing you.

"I need paracetamol." You stated, ripping out a page in your notebook as you began to write the name of the antibiotics you needed, hesitating for a moment as you tried to recall the exact names and dosages. You offered the piece of paper to the tall man. "And, um, these antibiotics."

You had ensured your handwriting was legible, that each inked letter was clear and unable to be misread, but even then Dunk just stared at you blankly, his gaze darting from the piece of paper in his hand, to you, and then back to the paper.

"Ceftriaxone and metronidazole." You recited, your brows furrowing as you watched him repeat it back.

"Paracetamol, ceftriaxone, metronidazole." Dunk muttered to himself over and over, trying not to stumble over the syllables, turning to leave as he folded the piece of paper once, twice, placing it neatly in his blazer pocket. It had been written, so why was he determined to commit it to memory? It made no sense.

You turned to Aerion.

He had already been staring at you.

Observing you with a wary quietness, not truly trusting you. He didn't have to, the sentiment was shared.

"Am I dying?" He mumbled pathetically, and you rolled your eyes at him.

You wanted to reply sarcastically, to be cruel and mock him, but it was hard to be a bitch when he was watching you with genuine fear, his skin all pale and sweaty as he waited for your response with baited breath. It must've felt like he was dying, pain coursing through his body each time he tried to do something as little as breathing.

So you showed him some mercy, unable to find it in you to be mean.

"No. You have a fever."

You didn't explain what a fever could mean, that it hinted at another issue. That you prayed that you hadn't missed something during the surgery. You hadn't, right? You were certain that everything went well, but you could barely remember.

It seemed to have comforted him at least.

"Just a fever?" He repeated, letting you help him sit up, his back hitting the ornate headboard. Despite your gentleness, he still hissed in pain, a stabbing ache throbbing through his full abdomen, the air escaping his lungs. "Don't need meds then. Dragons don't take meds."

You stared.

One second passed, and then another. And you just sighed, choosing to ignore his words. It was the fever talking, it had to be.

(But with three separate dragon heads facing your direction, and numerous other examples of dragon paraphernalia dotted around the room, you weren't entirely sure. Was this dude a furry? You'd rather not know.)

'Mother Above, give me patience.' The silent prayer repeating in your mind as you began to lift his shirt, fingers ghosting his skin as you helped him out of it. The prayer had no value to you, and you felt slightly silly for resorting to muttering words you had not even recited since your father had died. But you were desperate and they helped distract your mind, even if it were only for a moment.

He grunted lowly as he allowed you to pull the cotton over his head, dropping the t-shirt on the end of his bed, the branded label flashing at you slightly as the fabric pooled by his feet. You would have to get him a new shirt, this one having the scent of iron and sweat clinging to the fibres.

You unwound his bandages, gathering the loose material as you disposed of it, your attention returning to Aerion's abdomen.

"Like the view, Angel?"

You frowned at his words, gaze flickering up to meet his only to find him smirking at you, his eyes sharpened with amusement.

"Oh definitely." You replied sarcastically, not even hiding the harsh eye roll you offered him. "The sight of deathly pale skin and blood really gets me going."

His smirk twitched slightly at your response, eyes narrowing. He didn't appreciate your sarcasm. But you didn't care, you weren't going to offer him sincerity, not when you hadn't slept in more than 24 hours, not when you didn't even want to be here. You preferred him when he was unconscious, when his brain was blurred with pain. When he was unable to speak.

He remained quiet as you cleaned his wound once more, your hands gentle as the skin twitched beneath your touch, watching as he tried to restrain his flinches. You noticed his sharp inhales, the way his fingers curled into themselves. You said nothing, but ensured your touch was lighter.

You wrapped his abdomen again, fresh bandages spanning around his waist, flush against the lean muscle, your arms wrapping around him in an awkward half hug each time the bandages circled his person. You were close, too close — he was able to smell the scents of your soap, something floral, something sweet, he was unable to pinpoint the exact notes.

He could only swallow harshly when you were at this distance, half sat upon the edge of his bed as you secured his bandages, ensuring they were tight enough. His gaze traced the contours of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek. Brows pinched in concentration, a small wrinkle forming in the middle of them. The plush of your lips set in a tight line. His gaze lingered there the longest.

But you pulled back all too soon, mind distant as you advanced towards the large mahogany armoire, rifling through it until you had found exactly what you were looking for. It was a strangely difficult task, to find an old shirt that would be baggy on his frame, it seemed like the silver-haired Targaryen dared not repeat his outfits, all clothing items appearing as if they had only even been worn a maximum of three times. You had only wanted to find something that wouldn't cling to him, that would have minimal opportunity to disturb his bandages, yet it felt as though you had searched through his entire closet just to find one that had been bunched up into the corner — the soft cotton now a faded grey, suggesting that it had once been dyed black but age had bleached its fibres.

It was slightly wrinkled, evidence of being neglected and forgotten (yet its very presence suggested the opposite — why would this remain when it simply did not fit the evident pattern of his wardrobe? Why was this not discarded also?) The typography was simple, white peeling vinyl simply stating VSC below the minimalistic image of an anvil.

Aerion did not bother speaking to you after that, his mind going blank as he allowed you to manipulate his limbs, dragging the old shirt over his upper body, your touch ghosting along his skin, causing goosebumps to rise. He was unsure of what to even say, all he knew was that he wanted to speak more yet his mind was not allowing him to do so. And soon he yielded to the temptations of sleep once more, falling into the clutches of slumber, the thought of you drifting across his mind as he began to have hazy dreams of gunpowder and arsenic.

You watched as he slept once more, kicking off the slippers that Dunk had brought you last night, busying yourself with cleaning any scratches that marred your skin, evidence of your failed escape. You wouldn't be able to leave through impulsivity, that was what you had quickly deduced. And you could not appear irrational to the Targaryens either, yet that was easier said than done.

You could argue that you were the most rational individual within the premises, yet they still outnumbered you.

Fucking Targaryens.

You were not entirely sure how you were meant to handle this situation. Your mind wandered, what would Rowan do?

Well, firstly your best friend would never be in such a situation. She would have had the sense to ignore strange noises in the middle of the night. Yet if she were to ever give you advice for this situation (which unfortunately you could not ask, nor would you ever seek for you knew that it would be truly stupid to involve her), she would laugh and remind you that you were surrounded by men.

Men were simple, as she would often say. She would have been able to manipulate them all, with a flutter of her lashes and a pleasing smile, she would have softened Maekar's brutish nature and convinced the otherwise unwavering Baelor to allow her to leave.

But you were not Rowan, and it seemed as though these men did not care for your anger or your tears. Yet you could still try.

It was easier than you believed — it was not in your nature to soften yourself. Yet when you offered Dunk a hesitant smile accompanied with a gentle 'thanks' as he handed you the very antibiotics you had requested (the doses correct, the names matching the very ones you had provided), you watched with gleeful triumph as his eyes widened slightly, cheeks tinged pink as he stumbled over a reply. Yet despite the slight pride that ignited within you, you found yourself not even focusing on the man before you.

Would you be able to have such an effect on Baelor? A small voice in your head whispered that you wouldn't. That even if you fluttered your lashes at him and appeared meek, the brunet Targaryen would most likely quickly deduce your intentions. Your heart fell at the thought; he certainly would not be rendered weak by your attempts.

Dunk lingered near you after that small interaction, watching silently as you began to administer the antibiotics into his IV, his gaze fluttering over you when he believed you would not notice. You did notice, it was hard not to when the half-giant was hovering beside you, his lips parting slightly as he tried to will himself to speak to you, before dissuading himself.

You decided to rescue him from his indecision, forcing him to reply to you as you began talking half-mindedly, your gaze returning to his momentarily as you allowed idle conversation to fill the air while you settled once more into the seat by Aerion's bed.

He would avoid your gaze as he muttered hesitant responses, only allowing himself to look at you when he believed that your attention returned to Aerion, who was blissfully unaware of his surroundings.

"Egg did that?" You giggled, lips stretching into a smile that felt too real (it seemed as if you were manipulating yourself more than him, and you just tried to excuse it with your own exhaustion — surely you would be more clearheaded once you slept), watching as Dunk offered a soft smile as he recounted the story of how he met the young Targaryen.

"The boy's far more clever than me, and I hadn't even realised what had happened." Dunk complained, yet the way his eyes crinkled exposed his fond pride as he recounted how Egg had conned him into believing that he was just another Smallfolk boy. "Just that he needed help, and I gave it."

You hummed softly, tone teasing as you leaned towards him. "Yet you benefited from his scheming in the end."

"I suppose…" He mumbled as you referenced how he got his job as a Kingsguard, blush violently remaining on his face as cracked his knuckles, the room beginning to lull into an even silence once more. He wanted the conversation to continue, yet he was unsure of how to do so. He was never good with his words. He was simply glad that your anger seemed to have dulled.

Your gaze flickered down to his hands, tracing the scars and callouses that were peppered across his skin, accompanied by the very grazes you had scratched into his skin the night before. The skin still appeared raw, angry red lines that had scabbed over slightly, the skin slightly torn. Silence stretched as your gaze remained unwavering from his hands.

"I think…" You began slowly, forcing your gaze to drag from his hands, returning to his blue irises. "I think I need to speak to Baelor again, especially now that…" Your voice trailed off, watching as Dunk began to shake his head, your brows furrowing as he motioned a wordless refusal.

You interrupted your own trail of thought, slightly confused.

"No?" You questioned.

He had the decency to appear sheepish as he confirmed that no, you could not speak to Baelor. "He's returned to King's Landing, along with Maekar."

You nodded gently, steeling your expression as you tried to not react to the word return. They returned to King's Landing, meaning that where you were, where they had taken you, was certainly not still in King's Landing. Where in the Seven Hells were you then?

"Oh, okay." You replied, voice hesitant as thoughts began to whizz through your mind, only furthering the headache that plagued you. "Dunk, could you do me a favour?"

He visibly stilled at those words, his eyes widening slightly as his brain began to malfunction, stumblings of a reply exiting his lips.

"Um—" He stalled, his gaze fluttering away from you as you watches as his focus darted around the room. "Maybe— depends? Why?"

You forced the smile to remain on your lips, hoping that it appeared more fond than strained. "I just need to make a call."

"I don't—"

"Come on." You urged, your gaze chasing his as you leaned towards him. "You do owe me, Dunk. I'll forget about the full thing if you just let me."

You watched his expression with avid curiosity, observing through your lashes as his lips tightened, his gaze unsteady, fluttering to you, then towards a sleeping Aerion, and then towards the flying dragons carved into the bedframe. You watched as indecision wavered on his features, brows tightening as he prepared himself to refuse you once more. You interrupted him before he could utter those dreaded words.

"I'm not stupid, Dunk." You quickly interjected, trying to hide the nervousness that began to seep into your features, keeping your tone teasing as you stood up, grabbing his hand gently. He flinched slightly at your sudden touch, yet still allowed you to grasp his hand, "I'm not going to tell them about what's happened, I just need to make sure my family won't worry about me."

He bit his lip slightly, a small frown dawning on his features. "You're not going to mention any of this?"

"Of course not." You responded, immediately latching onto the semblance of an offer, intertwining your pinky with his. "I promise."

His gaze dipped to where your fingers were linked, and immediately you knew you had won.

This would quickly be evidenced by the fact that within the next second he was fishing his phone out of his pocket, offering it to you with slight hesitancy as your pinkies remained connected by your side as you snatched the phone out of his hands. You weren't able to discern whether Dunk regretted his decision, your attention mainly focused on remembering Rowan's phone number, each digit quickly filling the top half of the screen as you pressed the green call button, the device vibrating slightly as you waited. There was one buzz, and then another, before the familiar melodic tones of Rowan's voice disturbed the silence.

"Hello?"

Your heart soared at the sound of her voice, a part of you almost wishing to just begin sobbing, airing each and every complaint that had festered within you. But you couldn't.

Her voice called out again, the vowels dragging as her questioning tone filled the air once more.

"Helloooo?" She repeated, and you could hear the murmurings of a male voice in the background urging her to hang up. "I don't know, I don't think—"

"Rowan." You interrupted, your voice coming out more breathless than you had anticipated. "Hi, sorry, I just needed to call you."

She uttered your name in that same questioning tone, and you could hear her fumbling with her phone, no doubt checking the number that had called her.

"Babes, what— what's going on? Whose phone are you calling me on?" Her voice was laced with confusion, words stumbling over themselves only for your voice to interrupt her once more.

"Just using a friend's, but that doesn't matter. Just needed to—" You exhaled a sigh, taking a moment to recollect yourself as you tried to not stutter over your words. "Just having a family emergency, you know? Could you take care of the practice for a while? Message Alys to cover my shifts please?"

Your voice came out in a myriad of questions, trying to force your tone to remain even, to not expose any evidence of the nerves that were haunting you.

"Friend? Emergency?" She repeated the words back incredulously and you suppressed the urge to wince. She could tell you weren't telling the entire truth. "Babes, I don't understand, what's going on?"

"Ro, I am so sorry, but I can't talk right now." You avoided her question, instead choosing to feign urgency. "I'll explain the next time I see you, yeah? Love you."

You hung up before she could reciprocate any farewells, the phone emitting a definitive click as you abruptly pressed the red button, watching as the screen returned to Dunk's homescreen, a picture of a sunhat-wearing Egg sat upon his shoulders.

You let go of his hand, letting his pinky fall out of your grasp.

"Thanks." You muttered weakly, offering him his phone and a tight-lipped smile.

"Go to the kitchen." He blurted out, his voice surprising you slightly. "I just mean, you should go eat something, I can watch him."

"I'm not hungry."

"You should still have a break." He insisted. You hesitated for a moment, your gaze drifting over Aerion. Dunk noticed. "I'll call for you if anything happens."

"Maybe just for a bit?"

"Just for a bit." He encouraged, offering you a soft smile as he moved out of your way.

You quickly regretted accepting his offer of a break, immediately feeling disoriented the moment you left the room, feeling almost blinded by the stark marble that shone at you from every direction. You felt dizzy seeing something other than bloody crimson and ornate dragon heads.

The rest of the manor appeared foreign to you in the daylight, unable to discern which direction you were truly heading in. You were almost certain you had not travelled these same corridors the night prior, however, by some miracle, you somehow managed to stumble upon the kitchen.

Which had been filled by the rest of Maekar's brood.

They all stared at you as you entered, watching you wide-eyed as you tried to blend into the walls, pretending as if you had not noticed their obvious attention. You instead directed your focus towards the actual room (how enthralling, you were now being entertained by furniture), unable to ignore how it appeared awfully clinical.

Stainless steel and glimmering marble; it was truly a gorgeous kitchen, yet it appeared so sterile you were certain you could have performed Aerion's surgery here without having concerns of cleanliness or a lack there of. It appeared more industrial rather than familial, like the kitchen of an upscale Reach restaurant rather than a family home.

And like everything within the manor, it appeared unused.

Daeron broke the silence as he watched you inspect the double doored enormous fridge (yet despite the appliance being so large, it's contents were so bare, with only a few random items on each shelf).

"Made you toast." He offered, pushing the plate in your direction as he leaned against the ivory marble island. "Would ask if you want something else, but unfortunately this is where my culinary prowess ends."

You turned slightly, observing the two sad pieces of sourdough bread he offered. Slightly charred at the edges, yet the middle appeared strangely untoasted. Gods, why did you feel kinship with the toast. Just another thing the Targaryens managed to fuck up.

You grabbed the jar of raspberry jam, letting the fridge doors swing shut as you mumbled a soft 'thank you'.

You weren't exactly well-versed on abductee etiquette, instead choosing to abandon any attempt at small talk as you allowed awkward silence to fill the air, the only sound being your stainless steel table knife dragging against your toast, smearing the vivid tart jam across its surface.

And clearly the Anvil's children's were unsure of how to handle such a situation either. But seeing as they were the abductors, or rather related to the abductors, it only made sense for them to take the role of interrogators.

"Are you really a doctor?"

"You're so pretty—"

"—Can you look at Meraxes now—"

"—Are you going to be our new Mummy?"

You choked at the last question, the toast feeling as if it had impaled itself into your pharynx as you struggled to breath, unable to look at the little girl.

Daeron did not help, immediately falling into a fit of giggles at Rhae's question. But the young Targaryen did not see the humour within her question, and instead repeated it with increased urgency.

"Well? Are you?"

"No." You wheezed out, your face feeling as if it were burning. Seven Hells, fuck your fucking life.

"Why not? You're taking care of Aerion, even though he's mean. And you're really nice, and pretty. Do you not like my Daddy?" Rhae interrogated, head tilting as she peered up at you through her pale lashes.

Darling girl, I don't think anyone in their right mind would like your Daddy.

Yet you found yourself wholly and truly dumbfounded, unable to respond. Speechless as you could only just stare at her.

"Think she's a bit young for Dad, Sun-Rhae." Daella interrupted, immediately noting how shocked you appeared as she watched unimpressed, flipping though her magazine (the front page boasted the title 'The Maidenvault' and you quickly recognised the image of Kiera of Tyrosh pictured).

"So? Auntie Dany is younger than Uncle Maron?"

"I just—" You cleared your throat, immediately noticing how strained your voice sounded. "I don't know your dad, and…"

And you couldn't believe that you were even bothering to explain why you would never marry the man who aided in your kidnapping???

"—And she's just here to help Aerion." Daeron finally explained once he stopped laughing, yet that stupid smirk remained on his face. At least someone was enjoying this interaction. You certainly weren't.

And you were so tired that you couldn't find it in you to correct him. Sure, you suppose you were here to help Aerion, despite it being unwilling.

"Okay…" Rhae mumbled, her voice trailing off as she continued to watch you, her soft lilac gaze observing you as she looked unconvinced by the explanations offered.

"Okay." You parroted, voice weak as you tried to focus on finishing the toast before you, yet it felt as if your appetite had suddenly abandoned you. You were going crazy, surely that was what was occurring. Sleep deprivation did that to a person.

"Pleaaasssseeeee, can you look at Meraxes now, pleasepleaseplease—" Egg's voice caused you to jump slightly as you finally noticed that the bald Targaryen had managed to sneak up behind you. You gasped sharply, spinning to face him as his hands grasped at the hem of your shirt, tugging at it slightly.

"Sure! Why not!" You exclaimed, finally relenting to Egg's pleas, more so excited to finally escape the kitchen. You were certain that if you remained there any longer you would truly become insane. "Just bring her to—"

And before you could even finish your sentence, Egg ran off, darting out of the kitchen with such speed that you found your head spinning.

You just took another bite of toast.

Maybe you had already become insane.

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