wrap me in your skin and bones

While his reasoning was sound, and you were relieved to lead your child out of harm’s way, you loathed being separated from your husband. Were your son older, you would have sent him to ward and remain at your husband’s side, but Aenar was barely two years of age, and required your constant presence. 

Still, you felt as though you were failing your husband. “I wish I could stay at your side, as a dutiful wife should,” you told him regretfully, glancing at the carriage that would take you away.

“In those circumstances, your greatest duty as my wife is to keep my son safe, and raise him away from harm,” Aemond assured you, then pressed a kiss to your babe’s forehead before you handed him to the nurse that was to accompany you.

She climbed inside the carriage, getting your son out of the rain, and allowing you privacy to bid your farewells to your husband. His squire was holding a large umbrella over the two of you, and you wanted nothing more than to dismiss him, only to spend another minute in the sole presence of your husband, but there was no time for it. 

The sudden fear that you might never set eyes on Aemond again seized your heart with its icy hand, as though the Stranger himself was after you. “Please be safe, I beseech you,” you murmured, heat prickling behind your eyes.

“I will,” Aemond answered, but the both of you knew he could not make such promises. “We shall prevail before the end of the year, and you shall come back to me.”

The young squire looked aside as Aemond rested his forehead against yours, then dipped his head to press a kiss to your mouth. It was not in his nature to show his affection outside of your chambers, even less in the presence of guards, but neither of you could afford to mind. 

“Do not make me a widow, I beg of you,” you murmured against his lips, and he swallowed the sob you could not contain, forgoing all sense of propriety, letting passion and grief take over for a moment. 

TWO YEARS LATER

Letters had been scarce and further apart as war had raged on. Aemond had been right—he had prevailed, even though all around him had perished. Only his mother and younger brother remained, and the crown had landed on his head, and with it a fractured realm. 

At the head of many houses were now infants with their mothers for regents, and Aemond thought it a good start to his reign. These boys would grow knowing what had to be sacrificed for peace, and what had been lost when a usurper had attempted to seize the throne. Aemond hoped his reign would be strong and long, but no matter what fate had in store, he knew his legacy was safe in his son Aenar.

It had been two years now since he had laid eyes on his child, and on you. War had taken much of his time and at first, he had believed he could bury his longing into military strategy, until eventually your absence became a throbbing bite he could not ignore. It made him disagreeable, cruel perhaps, and he longed to find some softness again, in your arms. He yearned to feel your touch again—he now knew it was not right for a man to be apart from his wife, and all this time he had refused to take a mistress. 

He also longed to see the child that he had last seen as a babe, wondering what his character was now, what remained of the joyful infant he remembered. He had charged his brother to escort you back from Oldtown, and had received the news an hour prior that Tessarion had been sighted over the Roseroad, escorting a small caravan of carriages and soldiers carrying the hightower banners.

Since then he had waited, slowly pacing the courtyard, arms crossed severely at his back. All servants gave him a wide berth, standing at the ready to welcome their queen. Aemond could feel his heart beating wildly in his neck as the carriage passed through the heavy doors and finally stopped in the middle of the yard. A squire rushed with a stepping stool as the door opened. 

For the last hour you had been trembling, unable to contain the frantic beating of your heart—once the Red Keep had come into view, the last two years of agonizing waiting had come back to you, and you were on the verge of tears.

Leaving your son in the carriage with his nurse, you nearly jumped the steps into the gravel. Aemond rushed to you and the two of you collided—his kiss was scorching, far bolder than he had ever dared in public, and you surged up into him, just as passionate. He made a noise you had never heard from him, an anguished groan that shattered your heart and you dug your nails into his back, holding him as tightly as he was holding you, near pain. 

Everything came back to him in that instant—the sweet months of courtship, the passionate nights of your honeymoon, the joyful birth of your son, the strength of your devotion as you stood by his side even in war—all overshadowed by the coldness of your absence, the bed he avoided, the void left with only the memory of your love to sustain him.  

This living hell was now over, and you were safe by his side once more. His queen.

Aemond made a mournful sound when you stepped away, only to gaze up at him in wonder, and give him a low, reverent curtsy. 

There were no prayers fervent enough to testify to your gratefulness—you would serve the Gods as they desired for the rest of your days, you vowed in your mind and in your heart, for they had returned your husband alive, healthy and victorious.

“My king,” you said, your voice cracking with emotion, and to hear his newly acquired title in your mouth set fire to his blood.

However before he could reach for you again, a nurse stepped out of the carriage, holding out her hand for a small figure dressed in green to take it and make its way down. Aemond froze—across from him, his own features were reflected to him on the face of his son.

“Come greet your father, as we’ve rehearsed,” you encouraged, holding out your hand for Aenar to come, and he stepped to your side obediently, looking up at Aemond without any outward emotion.

“Good day to you, father,” he said, words he had obviously learned and repeated many times, but Aemond thought he would weep upon hearing them—from his own child's mouth, had come the most perfect High Valyrian. It was thick in his mouth and lacked the proper accentuation, but it was the most melodic sound he had ever heard. 

“The maester and I have worked hard to make sure he knew his father's language,” you explained with pride, and Aemond had never felt so grateful for you in his life.

Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, kneeling in the gravel for all to see, and put himself at his son’s height. “Good day, my son, ” he said slowly, carefully enunciating the lifted vowels of High Valyrian. “I have missed you greatly.”

At that Aenar’s face contorted in emotion, and after a suspended second, he burst into frantic tears, and Aemond welcomed him into his arms, tucking his head into his neck and soothing his cries. He rose in one swift movement, taking his child with him with one arm under his bottom.

“We shall take him to the nursery. A bath has been drawn and luncheon is waiting,” he told you, holding out his free arm, which you gladly took.

In truth you had missed the Red Keep, not for its bricks or its court, but for the fact that it was your husband’s home. A weight you had gotten used to and couldn’t feel anymore was lifted from your shoulders as you stepped through its doors once more. 

The nursery had not changed since you had last lived here, the curtains and carpets remained enchanged, and all the toys necessary for a boy Aenar’s age were waiting. 

“Mind Prince Aenar for a moment,” Aemond said to the nurse, who started on removing his travelling cloak. 

In the hallway, two guards were standing vigil near the door. “Turn away,” he barked at them, and before you could even wonder why, Aemond’s mouth slanted over yours again, hot and demanding, his hands cradling your face in fervor. 

Passion erupted in you like a dormant volcano and you clung to his waist, but once again his natural restraint won over and he did not allow your shared desire to boil over. 

For nearly an hour you watched with unconcealed joy as Aemond rediscovered his son and heir. Aenar was a bright boy with a curious mind, and it delighted the young king. 

Once bathed and fed, he had soon shown signs of tiredness, and your heart had ached upon seeing your husband cradle him into his arms and lower him into the sheets and blanket of his crib, tucking him in like he hadn’t done for two years. 

The two of you watched as Aenar’s eyes fluttered and fell, slumber taking over little by little until his face went slack and his body grew heavier beneath the embroidered blanket, his breathing deepening. 

“He looks like you, more and more each day, and it was both a torment and a blessing,” you said quietly, tracing your husband’s profile with your eyes—he was bent over the crib, watching the simple wonder of his sleeping child, safe and healthy, and by his side once more. 

“He is beautiful,” Aemond replied with pride, a soft smile on his face the like he never displayed for anyone. “My son and heir.”

He turned to you when you did not say another word, his gaze turning mournful. “You look at me as though you have seen a ghost.”

“All around us is death but we have made it through to the other side. You are alive, and king, and I never imagined such an outcome.”

“There were times I thought I would never lay eyes on him again, or you,” he confessed, a lurking darkness in his tone that chilled you to the bone. 

“I cried every night and prayed twice as much,” you said, emotion rising in you once more, the like you could hardly contain. “A wife should not be parted from her husband. I tried to be strong but I could not—”

Aemond reached for you again, hushing you quietly, pressing his lips to your brow. “Being parted from you was a living hell,” he admitted, then led you out of the nursery. “Let him sleep, the journey has surely exhausted him.”

A stern look towards the nurse and the guards was all that would have been needed, but he spoke nonetheless. “You are guarding the most precious jewel in the realm. The heir to the Iron Throne. Ensure he is safe,” he ordered them, a barely veiled threat to what would the consequence be if they failed.

Aemond led you to the king’s rooms where the table had been set, but you did not think you could swallow a mouthful. “Do you wish to rest instead?” he asked when you refused the cup of wine he handed you, and seemed intent on ignoring the trays of cheese and sweet fruit. 

“No,” you replied, slightly breathless, and that single word ignited him. Aemond seemed calm on the surface, but you could see he was trembling, and his carefully constructed restraint was making you quiver, for you knew what it held.

Without a word he crossed the space between the two of you in quick strides, and as soon as his lips were upon yours, you surged up against him—he kissed your mouth for a few hurried breaths, passionate and nearly furious in his desire, then buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

“I cannot wait any longer,” he confessed, unclasping his own clasps and belt, pulling his doublet off his own shoulders and discarding it—the sound of leather and iron hitting the floor made you clench, a streak of heat running up your core. 

He brought you against him by the hips, more forward and less elegant than he usually was, and you melted into his embrace, a desperate whine falling from your mouth when you felt the hot line of his manhood against your abdomen. “Never again shall we part,” he murmured. “It would be the end of me.”

“Please, husband,” you begged, and you thought he would tear the laces of your gown in his impatience, your own trembling fingers undoing the clasps of his trousers.

He kissed your neck without restraint as he undressed you and you undressed him until he had kicked his boots and trousers aside and he was standing bare in front of you. He was a marvel, smooth marble skin stretched over lean muscle, a few new scars littering his skin. You kissed his chest, your hands wandering across his newly scarred skin, pressed up against him, his cock trapped between your abdomens. 

Aemond melted into your touch, savoring the heat of your mouth and the softness of your hands, his fingers carding through your hair when you slowly fell to your knees at his feet, your mouth slanting over the dip of his hip, his straining cock sliding against your cheek.

He was not above begging, not after so long without your love. “Please, my love,” he rasped, and you complied eagerly, licking the underside of his cock before sucking the head of it into your mouth. 

Aemond hissed behind gritted teeth, widening his stance. The heat and sweet pressure was torture, as was the sight of his wife on her knees for him, but he forced himself to breathe slowly as you started a careful rhythm, taking him into your mouth as far as you could, your eyes fluttering close. 

He could only take a mere minute of it, and soon he was pulling again before lifting you into his arms swiftly, your legs wrapping around his slim waist. He carried you to the sheets and tipped you against them, rocking his hips down into yours gracelessly—he needed to have you now.

The emptiness inside of you ached, a hot pulse that clenched your entire core when he teased the head of his cock between your folds. He looked half mad with desire, as undone as you felt, and you wanted to ask if he had taken a lover or if those two years of separation had been celibate for him as well.

“Why your tears?” he asked, wiping the stray drop that had escaped the corner of your eye.

“I have missed your bed,” you replied, and it was the truth.

“It has been cold without you,” he replied, and sensing your question, continued. “I would never touch another. I could never desire another. Never,” he vowed as he finally pushed inside with a groan.

The stretch was the sweetest agony for the both of you, and the heat around his cock and the look of utter bliss on your face broke his resolve. “Gods,” he gasped, thrusting into you nearly frantically, watching closely for any frown of pain but instead your mouth dropped open and your hips snapped back into his.

While your coupling had never lacked passion, they had always been restrained affairs, careful and slow, but this time was nothing like it. For a moment the two of you were lost to the sharp pleasure of your reunion, burning quick and fierce in your blood. 

Aemond took your hand and held it against his chest, pressed to his heart, and you wanted to weep with relief that he was alive under your palm, beating wildly.

“My queen,” he called, to which you clenched around his cock, lost to the sweet drag of his hard length against your walls.

“My king,” you answered with the same reverence.

Pleasure built and crested at the pit of Aemond’s stomach and he let it, surrendering to it completely. Soon it reached the point of no return and he stilled inside of you, burying his head into your neck as his peak took over his senses and he spilled inside of you. You held him as he shook and hooked your ankles at his lower back, shuddering at his unrestrained groans and gasps. 

Once most of it had passed he sought your mouth again and kissed you, deep and languid, answering the frustrated grinding of your hips and, to your utter relief, started to thrust into you again. “I'm not sated of you,” he said, hissing slightly at the slight ache that came with it, but unwilling to pull away from you after so long without your body under his. “I will not leave you unsatisfied.”

He watched the holy sight you made, unraveling under the steady thrusting of his hips, knowing how to roll them into you so his cock dragged against your sweet spot and his abdomen ground against your core. Pleasure irradiated into your whole body at the dual sensation, all the more so against his heated gaze.

Now that he had found his release once, Aemond found his focus was sharper, attentive to every shiver than ran across your skin, any flicker of frustration or bliss, allowing him to adjust to your own desire. His whole body felt alight, on the verge of unbearable heat, but he relished the sight you made, savoring the lights and shadow of rapture across your face. 

“I love you,” you said, straining your neck towards him and he answered your silent call, bending down to kiss you once more, his tongue prodding yours passionately. 

His second peak was building, slow and sure, pulled like the tide to the moon of your pleasure. As his rhythm picked up again you threw your head back, covering your mouth to silence your cries, but he took it away and laced his fingers with yours atop the sheets.

“I love you,” he whispered into your neck. “I am untethered without you. Half a man, half a king.”

With a cry that sounded like a sob, your peak crashed over you like the wave of a storm against a cliff, nearly brutal in its intensity—your whole body shuddered and shook, your core throbbing as you lost your thoughts to it. Aemond followed you, spilling into your body once more, and the two of you clung to each other, nails digging into skin and leaving half-moons. More words of love and devotion were whispered, promises to never be parted again.

Finally, when your bodies had grown heavier and your breathing had turned slow once more, Aemond rose from the bed and draped a robe over his shoulders before handing you one. Wrapping it around yourself and enjoying his scent that clung to it, you watched as he poured a fresh cup of wine and plucked a small plum from the tray, bringing both to you. 

Aemond smirked, proud and slightly vain, at the way your eyes ran over his skin. He pried the sweet plum open and fed you a half from his own fingers, his thumb caressing your chin as he did. “There will be a supper held in your honor tonight,” he announced with a soft sort of pride, the sort that was only yours. “So the court can properly welcome their queen.”

Humming your agreement, you kissed his palm and took a sip of wine. “I hope the queen's quarters will be agreeable to you,” he continued, to which you shook your head.

“No. I refuse to be parted from you ever again. I shall sleep here every night,” you declared, and to that he looked all the more satisfied. You denied him when he bent down to kiss you, instead handing him back the cup of wine, nodding to the bedside table. “It is still early in the day. Come back to bed.”

Aemond’s smirk grew and his eye crinkled—he complied. “Yes, my queen.”

Dividers by @zaldritzosrose.

Comments are always deeply appreciated ♡

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