dark!husband!aerion x wife!reader
tw:abusive marriage, partial noncon, abuse
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Your face burns red as you shed yourself of your clothing. Your fingers jitter as you untie your dress. It slides down your body faster than you want it to.
You try to remind yourself that you need not be embarrassed. It is just the maester that you are stripping in front of it.
Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher both wait outside the medical tent. You are greatly relieved to be away from the woman’s judgmental gaze.
The maester, the same one that dealt with your husband’s wounds earlier that morning, has come with the royal family from the Targaryen castle. He is well equipped, and well educated, so you try to force your nerves to go away.
“You must stand still,” he tells you. His fingers graze over the burns on your chest first. You wince. He wipes off your makeup to look at the bruising on your nose. You feel so exposed without it.
You try to disassociate as he touches your body, especially as he presses medicine against the whipping marks on your bare ass. He is gentle, but it still causes you pain.
You shut your eyes and pretend to be somewhere else until he is done.
The moment he says you may put your clothes back on, you hurry to do so. It is a full and thorough examination which is done, and you hate every second of it.
The moment he says you may put your clothes back on, you hurry to do so.
“You must apply these oils every morning and every night,” the maester tells you. “Or else your skin will not heal properly.”
As he explains the medicine to you, you picture different ways of killing your husband. A knife to the throat is too kind of a death for that man.
You want him to scream in agony as he is set on fire. You want his skin to peel and his eyes to melt.
You wish a terrible death for Aerion, and Madam Pricher, and that bastardly woman who whipped you.
“You must be careful these next few days,” the maester tells you. “Make sure you are getting lots of rest and staying out of the sun.”
You hope you have scars, terrible ones that turn off Aerion from touching you.
“You are free from infection, as of now,” the maester continues. “Are you still bathing regularly?”
“I have been unable to since we arrived in Ashford,” you say truthfully. You feel disgusting and you hate it.
“I will have a few maids take you to the bathhouse to make sure you are properly taken care of. You must be thorough with your washing, but still gentle.”
A cool bath sounded so pleasant on this goddawful day.
“You are making sure you are cleaning yourself properly everywhere?” His pointed tone made it clear what parts of you he was asking about.
Your face turned a shade redder. “Yes.”
“It is most important after intimacy that you clean yourself after an hour has passed. Any infections harm the chances of pregnancy.”
You have no reason to be embarrassed, but you still are.
You were a very sheltered girl, one who was never spoken to about the body or the marital bed. It still felt so foreign to you.
“I am sure to scrub my skin afterwards,” you tell him. You scrub it so hard sometimes that it becomes red.
The maester pauses. “Your skin?”
You become even more embarrassed. “Wherever I need to.”
He pauses again, before saying, “I see.”
You are dismissed after a few more directions.
A group of maids take you to the bathhouse. You try not to let their wandering eyes bother you as they help you bathe.
You close your eyes in the cool water, and you ignore the way they whisper about what your husband has done to you.
The maids reapply makeup to your without you having to ask. They brush and braid your hair and help you redress.
You feel better. Refreshed.
You feel as if Aerion’s touch has finally been cleaned off of you.
Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher escort you back to your tent once it is all complete.
You sit at the desk, playing with the end of your braid, your mind far away.
“Do you require any wine, Lady (Y/N)?” Ser Thenty offers.
The drink sounded appetizing like never before. “Yes, thank you, that would be nice-”
“No reason for a lady to be drinking at this time of day,” Madam Pricher answers for you. “Especially not while alone.”
“We mustn’t let her overheat.”
“Much care you have for a woman that has such little empathy for others,” Madam Pricher mutters.
You stiffen at her words.
She carried on, “You see the way she plays with her husband, disobeying him even if it means torture for us.”
“Quiet,” Ser Thenty says to her.
“She did not do a thing to help that girl at the theater. What kind of woman sits and watches such a crude play, and then does nothing as a woman is whipped in front of her-”
“I helped that woman,” you say to her. You cannot bear to be silent. “He asked me to whip her and I refused-”
“You did nothing until he involved you.”
“There was nothing I could do-”
“All you must do is be silent, yet you never can. You failed that actress just as you failed the braider from this morning who returned home with a wound on her face.”
You try to deny it. “It was not my fault-”
“And what of the knight Ser Emeret whose name you teased your husband with just this morning? Will you not take accountability for his fate either?”
Your eyes gloss over with pure frustration. “Go away!” you yell at her. “My husband is not here and I have no need for you! Go!”
You feel so small, like a child throwing a tantrum, screaming at their mother to leave them alone.
“A woman who brags to her husband about how many men she has kissed before him is not a woman trusted alone with a knight.”
You want to strike her. No, you want to stab her in the hip like you stabbed Aerion.
“I apologize, Lady (Y/N),” Ser Thenty spoke, “Prince Maekar has made it clear Madam Pricher is to remain in our company.”
You turn to the table, and bury your head in your arms.
You hate Prince Maekar. And you hate your husband. And you hate Madam Pricher.
You hate this cruel world. You hate this cruel family. And you hate your parents for giving you to Aerion.
Tears well in your eyes but you know you must withhold them. You will not let that bitch cause you to cry.
You sit still, and silent, and you hope your husband never returns. It is your most popular prayer.
You are too hot in the tent to sleep. Yet you shut your eyes and let your mind wander.
With a dry throat, you remember the sweet taste of the apple from yesterday.
So much has happened since just yesterday.
You break the silence as another thought crosses your mind. “Is the tourney still happening today?”
“I wish to go. Will you escort me-?”
“You are to stay in this tent until your husband returns,” Madam Pricher tells you.
You ignore him. “Will you escort me, Ser Thenty?”
“I suppose…yes, I can escort you.” Madam Pricher begins to speak, only for Ser Thenty to say, “I was ordered to protect her health, not to confine her in the tent.”
You stand quickly, and you run a hand over your hair to smooth the top of your braid. You are suddenly thankful of the woman who reapplied your makeup after your bath. You would hate to be seen out with the ugly bruise.
You think of Ser Duncan, and whether or no he would be able to see you from the stands. With the idea in mind, you kneel down and open your jewelry chest. You pick a nicer pair of earrings to wear. Then, you catch a reflection of yourself on the mirror inside the cedar chest.
You tuck pull at the sides of your braid to make your hair look more full.
“Who is it you are preparing yourself for?” Madam Pricher questions you.
You ignore her, and drape a brighter colored scarf over your head.
“You may lead me to the tourney, Ser Thenty.”
“Right this way, Lady (Y/N).”
You feel a rush of excitement as he leads you out. You avoid the eyes of Targaryen guards that you pass by. Madam Pricher trails behind you.
Once you hit the busy downtown, your heart pounds harder.
You are excited, you realize.
You ignore everything else that has happened today because you are so excited to watch Ser Duncan win his match. He will have a real victory, because he is not a dirty cheat like your husband.
Up ahead, you hear horses. Then, you hear a bustling, animated crowd. You pick up your pace.
“Where is the list of who rides today?” you ask Ser Thenty.
“It should be posted on the bleachers.”
You spot the paper nailed to the wooden seats. You quickly make your way to it.
Your eyes scour the sheet.
Disappointment falls on you as you realize you do not see Ser Duncan’s name on today’s lists at all.
Your shoulders slouch, and your disappointment is obvious.
“Which man did you come to see?” Madam Pricher asks you, accusation in her tone. You ignore her.
Perhaps Ser Duncan was wrong about riding today.
He did not seem to be the... brightest man. Perhaps he mixed up his days.
You glance at the jousting. The idea of watching the violence has lost all appeal to you.
You flinch as your name is called. You whip around, fearing that your husband is approaching.
Worse, it is your husband’s cousin. Prince Valarr. Three guards trail behind him.
“Have you and Aerion come to watch the tourney today?” he asks you.
Your mind flashes back to all the ways your husband has threatened you against speaking to his cousin. You will not risk your own safety with conversation, especially not conversation with another Targaryen. You turn to Ser Thenty to say, “Inform Prince Valarr that I am returning to my tent.”
From the corner of your eye, you see the prince frown. You turn away from him, and begin to leave.
Ser Duncan is not jousting. You have no interest in watching anyone else.
“Wait a moment,” you hear the prince call. You continue on. “Lady (Y/N).”
You are not foolish enough to be caught speaking to someone your husband is so worried about.
“Lady (Y/N).” Valarr places a hand on your arm. You jolt, shoving him off and stepping further away from him.
“I apologize,” he quickly spews. “But I feel I must speak with you.”
You keep your mouth shut.
“Is my cousin nearby?” Valarr asks you.
You do not answer him. He looks to Ser Thenty for an answer. The knight informs the prince, “I am unsure of Prince Aerion’s location. But he is not with us.”
Valarr’s eyes find you again. “Can we speak for a moment? Privately?”
“It will not take more than a moment-”
“My husband has forbidden it. Step away from me.”
He does not. “I will not tell him that I’ve spoken to you, if that is what you are worried about.”
Your eyes go to Madam Pricher. Valarr notices your gaze. He seems to understand the loud mouth that elder maids have.
“I see,” he says. “Perhaps another time then. When there are no prying eyes.”
“We have nothing to speak about,” you insist to him.
You do not want to talk to Prince Valarr, prying eyes or not. You do not like him.
He shares the same blood as your husband. All men with that blood have evil in them.
Valarr finally relents. He gives a slow nod. “I hope you find rest today, Lady (Y/N).”
You find yourself so paranoid by Targaryens, that you wonder if he says this to mock you.
Valarr leaves. Once he is out of sight, Madam Pricher snaps at you, “That is no way for you to speak to a prince. Where has your respect gone?”
“I no longer wish to watch the tourney,” you tell Ser Thenty.
“Why?” she asks. “Because the man who you wished to see is not here-?”
“Quiet,” you snap at her. “I do not wish to hear you speak again.”
“You have mistaken me for someone who has asked what you wish for.”
Your face turns red with building frustration. superior. “I am your superior. You will not talk to me like this.”
Madam Pricher is unaffected. “I will be sure to tell your husband what you have been up to.”
Your heart drops as you picture it. You picture Madam Pricher telling Aerion how much you fixed yourself to ‘search for a knight at the tourney’. How you ‘stopped to speak with Prince Valaar’. Just the idea makes your skin crawl.
He would do more than whip you if he learned of any of this. He would surely beat you.
“You will do no such thing.” You try to say it as a threat, but it has no power. “You-You are only here to see to my protection-”
“I am ordered by Prince Maekar to watch over you, and see to it that you make proper choices,” she tells you. “I am to report back to him each morning. And I guarantee he will not be impressed with what I have witnessed from you so far.”
You wish for a horse to break free from the joust and trample Madam Pricher to death right here and now.
“You will say nothing that I do not approve of,” you tell her. “It is an order.”
“You have no power to order me to do anything.”
You feel another wave of that unending hopelessness.
“Ser Thenty,” Madam Pricher begins. “I believe it’s time Lady (Y/N) returns to her tent.”
You try to shake your head. “No-”
“Perhaps that is best, my Lady,” the knight cautiously agrees. “It is unsafe for a royal to roam the city streets with only a single guard.”
“I wish to visit the market for fruit.”
“We will have fruit brought to you,” he says.
“No,” you try again. “It is hot in there. I do not like it-”
“We must return,” he tells you.
Your shoulders slouch, and you feel as if you are being ordered around again.
But there is nothing you can do about it.
What was your plan anyhow?
Even if you did run into the knight that had been holding your mind captive, you knew that you would not be able to speak to Ser Duncan with Madam Pricher’s prying eyes. You would only be able to see him. Would seeing him be enough to calm you?
Yes. It would. And you had no idea why.
You were so pathetic. Ser Duncan might not even remember your name. You were a stranger to him.
He might not care about you in the slightest, yet you were already fantasying about just laying eyes on him.
Is that how low you have stooped in life? Daydreaming about the smile of a man who probably forgot you existed while you were gone?
You hate your husband for how pathetic he has made you.
You are silent as Ser Thenty takes you back to your prison cell.
It is dark when Aerion returns.
You have done nothing all day long, and you feel the worst you ever have.
It has been agonizing, just sitting in the hot tent, wondering what your husband would do next to torment you.
Your head is buried in your arms on the desk when Aerion enters the tent. You hear his smile as he says, “You can stop your moping, (Y/N), your handsome husband has returned.”
You wish to slam his face against the desk as hard as you can until his nose is bruised and bloody too.
You bury your face further into your arms. He walks up behind you, and his hands run up and down your back.
“I hope you have not wiped off your face paint,” he tells you. His hand caresses your hair. “I wish to bring you out again tonight. Tell me you did not ruin your beauty.”
You want to shove your elbow into his ribs as hard as you can.
“Lady (Y/N) was taken to the bath house today,” Madam Pricher informs him. “The maids there took care of her decorations.”
You hear his low laugh. “The bathhouse? You should have informed me. I would have enjoyed watching you.” He brushes your hair over your shoulder. He leans down, and you feel a kiss against the back of your neck. “Stand,” he mumbles against your skin. “Let me look at you.”
You do not move. You do not want to. You want to fall asleep and never wake up.
His hand moves up your necks and tangles in your hair. He grips your head and pulls you to sit up. “Stand.”
You do as he says this time. Your husband takes his time looking over you. You stare at the ground as he does so.
When he brushes his thumb over your jawline, you have to force yourself not to slap his hand away.
“Brush your hair,” he tells you. “We will join my family in the dining hall.”
“I have already eaten,” you lie.
Aerion’s eyes glance at Ser Thenty. “And who allowed that?”
“You did not forbid it,” you tell him, in quick defense of the only person that remained kind to you.
“I would like for you to accompany me anyway.”
“Prince Aerion, I...” You think back to words that might work on him. “Husband, I fear word has reached your family about what happened at the theater. Breakfast was difficult because of your cousin this morning. I-I fear he will make dinner difficult as well.”
He seems to consider it. “Then you will join me in town. There is a tavern I am fond of. You will accompany me there for drinks and dancing.”
The idea fills you with disdain.
“Go on. Prepare yourself.”
“…I am sorry,” you whisper.
He frowns at you. “What have you done now?”
“I-I don’t know. But, if I have upset you I’m sorry.”
He grits his teeth together. “You speak as if dancing with your husband is some sort of punishment being given to you. You should be honored and thanking me for doing such activities with you.”
You have no reply for him. It fits him with more anger.
“You are a spoiled girl,” he insults you. “Ungrateful and undeserving of what has been provided for you.”
You remain quiet. Your silence hits to be like knives to him.
“That whore from the theater is better behaved than my own wife,” he spits at you. “At least she is able to obey me.”
You narrow your eyes at him.
Obey him when he has ordered her to whip you?
Your husband compares you to a woman who has whipped you?
Your hands grip your skirts, and you say back to him, “Then go dance with that whore from the theater. Pay her to act like your happy wife, because I am unable to do it anymore-”
You have no time to brace yourself before he slaps you across the face.
It is swift, but painful. Your head jerks to the right. You shut your eyes, and your hands fly up to cup your stinging cheek.
You hear Ser Thenty approaching.
“Stand down,” Aerion spits at him. “I am on my way out.”
That is the last you hear from him. By the time you open your eyes again, he is gone.
Madam Pricher’s crude voice fills the tent, as she says to Ser Thenty, “You cannot say it was not uncalled for.”
“Just leave!” you try to scream at her again. “Leave me alone, you horrid woman!”
She does not even both replying to you, simply muttering to Ser Thenty beneath her breath.
You hear the word ‘hysterical’.
You have never felt such rage in your life.
Ashford has brought you nothing but loneliness and torture.
More hours pass, and you are hungry, and thirsty, but unable to fix any of it.
You dress into your nightclothes, and you take yourself to bed, thankful that your husband is not back to sleep beside you.
Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher still remain with you. You count it as the work of the devil that the old woman remains awake and vigilant after such a long day.
You have no idea how long you are asleep when you are awoken by sounds outside of your tent.
Laughing. High pitched laughing. It is loud, and close by.
You barely begin to open your eyes when the tent entrance is pushed open. It startles you.
He brought a woman with him.
He brought that woman with him.
The actress from the theater, the one that took a whip to you, has come into the tent smiling and laughing with your husband.
The laughter quickly dies, and the smile is wiped off her face, as she spots you in the bed.
You suppose most women of the night do not have the displeasure of laying eyes on the wives whose husbands they fool around with.
Aerion remains smiling, however. In fact, his smile grows as he says to you, “Get up from the bed, (Y/N). We require use of it.” He holds a pitcher of wine in his hand, one that he is drinking straight out of. He hands it to the actress. “Put this down for me.”
Your eyes follow her as she places the pitcher on your desk.
The command brings you relief, because you’d rather be anywhere other than here. You do as he says immediately.
You snatch your cloak off your cedar chest, pull it around yourself, and try to brush past him.
He catches your arm. “I did not tell you to leave.”
Hatred burns in your soul.
He shoves you towards the desk. “Sit down and do not speak.”
You hear mumblings from Madam Pricher.
“Quiet, you old hag,” Aerion says to her.
His attention turns back to the actress, whose eyes dart and forth between the people in the room. “You will ignore them,” he tells her. “Pretend they are not here.”
A smile comes back onto her face. You do not know if it is forced. You cannot tell. She is an actress, after all.
Aerion goes to her, and there is smugness on his face as he ducks his head down and places loud kisses along her neck.
Your body turns hot and hateful. You grab the chair from the desk, and you turn it to the corner, and you sit.
The murmuring of slow, seductive whispers reach your ears. You hear things that no respectable lady should ever have to be exposed to.
And giggling. More giggling from the woman.
“Let me, my prince,” the woman says sweetly. Her words are followed by the sound of a metal belt buckle clanging against itself.
Your skin is on fire as you hear wet kisses, mixed with the pleasured hum of your husband.
You catch another hint of her whispering. “-I wish to ride you like the dragon you are, my prince-”
The words make you cringe in disgust.
Like so many times, you try to picture yourself somewhere else.
You picture your old home. Your real home, the one from your childhood, where you lived before this horrid marriage.
You picture your sisters, and your brothers. You picture your mother, and your father. You picture the servants that were always so kind to you-
Your husband’s voice snaps your memories in half. “I did not tell you to face away.”
You hate him. You hate him. You hate him-
“Turn the chair. Face me now.”
You refuse to do this. If he wants to kill you for disobeying, he can. You will not face him during his adultery.
“If you wish to protect her, Ser Thenty, you will turn her around.”
You feel Ser Thenty grab the chair. “Do not,” you tell him. He does not listen to you.
The chair is turned around against your will.
You are forced to look upon the most horrid scene.
Your husband is laid upon your bed, naked and unashamed as the woman strokes her fist over his hardened, wet cock.
He leans his head back, eyes shut, humming with every pump of her fist. His hips arch into her grip.
“Wrap your lips around me,” Aerion tells her. His voice merges with a moan. “Show my wife why women were given mouths.”
You turn your head before you see something that will scar your mind.
Aerion releases a groan of pleasure. The sounds of her sloppy gags make your skin crawl.
Shutting your eyes, you think of the lake you used to visit with your youngest sister.
You used to fish there very often, even as a young lady, when your mother said it was time for you to grow out of the boyish hobby.
You don’t know how much time passes as you force yourself to pretend you are sitting by the lake fishing.
Images of the sunset in your hometown flash through your eyes-
A sharp moan from the woman snaps you out of your escape again.
You do not understand why this is still going on, nor why your husband has not finished yet. He is usually so much quicker when he lays with you.
“Have you felt the tongue of a dragon?” your husband speaks, and you can hear that smile again. “Felt the fire that comes from it?”
You keep your eyes shut tight.
But...you begin to hear things you do not understand.
The woman’s panting. Her moaning. Unlike anything you’ve heard from whores. It is not fake, or dramatic.
It is a real, deep pleasure she is in, the kind you did not know women could feel while being bedded by a man.
You had heard crude tales in the past of men ‘pleasing women’, but you had always considered it made up. Being fucked by Aerion had always been so painful. You never thought you would get pleasure from it.
But this woman was getting pleasure from it. Pleasure from him. From your husband. And you could not stand not knowing why.
You know it is sinful, and wrong, but you open your eyes.
The moment you gaze upon them, you feel sick. But a new sickness. One you do not understand.
The woman has taken your husband’s spot of being naked and sprawled across the bed. Her legs lay wide open, dangling over the edge.
Your husband, your always so dominant and proud husband, is kneeling on the ground in front of her.
Aerion’s head is between her legs, and his mouth is attached to the sacred area between her legs in a way that should be deemed sacrilegious.
He kisses her-he licks her-in a place you have never seen a man kiss a woman.
You feel stripped of your innocence at what you are seeing. You thought your nativity was gone after your wedding night, but no, your husband continues to force you to witness things you were never supposed to.
The sight of this was pushing you to your breaking point.
The woman’s hands are tangled in your husband’s hair. She pushed herself further against his face. He leaves slow kisses along the bottom of her stomach, before his lips return to her cunt. She moans so loudly you are sure they hear it outside.
Your face is red and hot, and you feel your hands shaking.
You hated her. You hated him. You wished this tent would catch on fire and kill both of them.
“Aerion,” she whines. “Oh, Prince Aerion.”
Hearing your husband’s name moaned from her lips is your breaking point.
You rise to your feet, and before you can stop yourself, your anger takes control of you.
You grab the pitcher of wine, and you throw it at them.
The woman screams, scrambling to sit up, pulling a sheet to her body. Your sheet. You reach forward and rip it away from her. “You will leave here now!”
Your husband is calm as he stands, wiping the spilt wine from his face.
He stands unashamed of his nakedness, and unashamed of his actions. You are ashamed for him.
“This is not a whorehouse, so you will take her elsewhere!” you scream at your husband. “You will not debase me by having this done in front of me!”
“Lady (Y/N),” Madam Pricher snaps at you. “You will sit down.”
He is amused by your shouting. “You sound jealous, (Y/N).”
You were jealous. And it angered you. You did not want to be jealous, but you could not help it.
For your husband to torture you in bed, but give the woman who whipped you this pleasure.
He was on his knees for this woman he did not know, yet most nights he would hardly even wait for your body to ready itself before he would fuck you.
Aerion treated this whore better than he had ever treated you.
Jealousy of another woman struck you for the first time in your life.
“There is no need for envy,” Aerion tells you. His smile grows with wickedness. “We can share her. The bed is big enough.”
You do not care what the repercussions will be, you act as soon as you hear the words.
He has insulted you by being so open with his whoring, he has humiliated you by bringing a woman to your tent, he has degraded you by making you watch, he will not disgrace you with such a suggestion like this ever again.
You reach your hand back, and you slap Aerion across the face as hard as you can.
He does not move at all. He hardly blinks. The only change is that he laughs.
He laughs at you and you want to boil him alive.
Aerion’s hand darts out and snatches you by the back of your neck so quickly you have no time to back up.
“Let go of me!” you scream, fury running through your veins.
He yanks you forward, spins you around, and forces your back to his chest.
“You will stay where you are,” your husband snaps at the knight. “She is unharmed as of now, but will not be if you take a step closer.”
Ser Thenty keeps himself near the wall of the tent, hand on his hilt, his eyes darting between you two.
“Woman,” Aerion calls. “Come.”
The woman slowly stands from the bed. Her hair falls over her chest, but it does little to cover her nakedness.
The sound of Aerion’s smile returns to his voice. “My wife has grown so bitter, hasn’t she? Perhaps a woman’s touch is what she has been needing.”
The actress does not look at you, only your husband. “What would you like me to do, my prince?”
‘My prince’. Your fury deepens.
“Kneel down, push up her skirts, and lay your mouth on her.”
You try to jerk from his hold, but he holds you tighter.
The woman grab the hem of your dress.
“Stop!” You scream. You reach back and claw at your husband. “Stop! Aerion-!”
“She tastes sweet, I promise,” Aerion laughs as he holds you with a tight grip.
Your eyes fly to the others in the room. Madam Pricher, who has turned away, and Ser Thenty, who does not move.
Your skirts are pushed up. Deep humiliation stabs you like knives. You try to twist out of view, but you cannot move.
Your husband keeps you firm against his chest.
“I am sorry!” you cry. You kick out your legs. “Please, Aerion, do not let her touch me-!”
“You criticize me for finding enjoyment in whores,” he taunts you. “Will you still be so posh and morally superior now that one has laid with you as well?” He speaks against your ear. “You call me disgusting for it. So what are you? What are you now that a whore kneels down to suck on your clit while you writhe in my arms-?”
“Ser Thenty!” you beg. “Help me!”
“She is not being hurt,” Aerion loudly declares.
Your lower body is naked and exposed as the woman lifts your skirts to your stomach. The moment you feel her lips brush your tender skin, you flinch.
“Pinch her if she gives you trouble,” Aerion tells the woman, another cruel laugh leaving his lips.
He wraps his hands around your torso, forcing your arms to your side.
She kisses the parts of you that have never been kissed. You feel ill and dirty. You cry out, “Do not touch me!”
Her eyes flash to yours, and for a moment, you wonder if she will sympathize with you.
She reaches her hand up to your inner thigh, and she pinches you. She pinches you so hard you yelp.
“Aerion!” you cry out. “Stop this!”
“Bring her to completion,” Aerion tells her, “And your pay will be tripled.”
You try to force your legs together, but this time she pinches you so hard you bleed.
You try not to feel what she does to you.
Heat blossoms in your core as her tongue brushes your neglected cunt, stroking a thumb along your bud of nerves that your husband has never bothered touching himself.
You feel disgusted with yourself as you feel your body begin to tremble. You jerk in Aerion’s hold; and try not to look at her, or anybody.
Aerion’s hand climbs to your breast, and he fondles it.
It is different from all the times he has touched you before. He is soft, his fingers brushing over your hardened nipples with delicacy. It adds a new shiver down your spine.
Aerion’s breath is heavy, and he pants as he watches what is done to you. You feel his erection pressing against your back.
You turn your head away, and again try to squeeze your legs closed. She scratches you.
“I will hang you!” you screech at her. “You will swing on the gallows the moment day breaks-!”
“She is only trying to please you,” Aerion smiles. “I think you like this.” He places a wet kiss on your neck. “I think you want me to bring more whores to our bed in the future-“
You try to jam your elbow into his ribs. He just laughs again.
Aerion’s lips find your ear. “Do you wish for it to stop?” His amused whispers make your skin crawl.
“Ser Thenty!” you screech.
“It will stop-” he tells you. He reaches back for something off the bed, and before you can process he has let go of you, he places something in your hand. “-when you make it stop.”
It is his belt, you realize. His thick, leather strapped belt, fit with a metal buckle, is now in your hand.
He lets go of you, and takes a step back.
Finally given a second to breathe, it all hits you again what is happening.
Your husband has brought a whore-a whore that whipped you-into your room to fuck in front of you. Your husband ordered this whore to assault you.
Your husband has defiled and degraded every ounce of self respect you had left.
He did all of this in front of Ser Thenty, and Madam Pricher, and when morning comes, the maid will report it to the royal family. Everyone will know of this humiliation, and you will never escape from it.
You are not Targaryen by blood, yet your soul suddenly screams a word of High Valyrian.
You pull back your arm, grab the whore by the hair, yank her off of you, and slap her across the face with the leather belt.
You have hit her as hard as you could, but somehow, on the second try, you still hit harder.
She screams, and it fuels you.
You swing back the leather once more and a harsh ‘snap’ breaks through the air as the belt whips across her skin.
The whore hides her face, so you strike her bare back.
The frustration of your bitter life all comes out as you hit her over and over.
You feel as if you are in a trance that you can not break free of.
Not until you feel the blood.
The sprinkles of blood that splash onto you when you hit her for what felt like the twentieth time. It makes you flinch, and your arm comes to a quick halt.
Your eyes adjust, your anger disappears, and you see the horror of what you have done.
You have broken open the skin on her back. She is bleeding, worse than you were earlier.
She is bleeding from more than one wound. There are open splits all over her back, and it reminds you of the braider that was sliced open just this morning.
This morning. That braider was cut by Aerion this morning.
These hellish days feel like weeks.
You drop the belt, your hands shaking as you take in the weeping woman who is curled up into a ball in front of you. You turn and see Madam Pricher staring at you with horror.
Your mind wipes blank. The belt falls from your hand. You stumble back a step.
The wailing of the woman snaps you back to the pitiful reality.
You speak not a single word as you stumble to your cedar chest. You snatch your coat from it, pull it around yourself, and you rush out of the tent.
You try to go far. If you had your way, you would walk into the ocean and drown.
You are crying and stressed as you pass guard after guard. None of them speak a word to you. They must be used to your moods by now.
“Lady (Y/N)!” you hear Ser Thenty calling for you. “Lady (Y/N)!”
You are barely exiting the Targaryen area when he touches you. You whip around and shove his arm off.
“Where were you?!” you cried. “I was calling for you!”
“You did nothing!” you sobbed. “I called for your help, you did not even move!”
Your chest rises and falls with your loud sobs.
“I am a knight. I am not allowed to strike an innocent woman-”
“She was not innocent!” You feel yourself practically hyperventilating. “She was-She-She-” A sob chokes you. “She was defiling me!”
You want to keep walking, but you find it hard to move at all. Your heavy crying shakes your whole body.
“Madam Pricher will tell everyone,” you sob. “Everyone will know what was done to me. Everyone-Everyone-” You could barely breathe. “Everyone will taunt me for it. The gossips at the castle are so cruel-”
“She is sworn to silence,” Ser Thenty insists. “No one will know.”
“I cannot return.” You turn away, and cover your mouth. “I cannot return to him.”
“Sit, Lady (Y/N),” Ser Thenty tells you. He places a hand on your arm. “Catch your breath-”
“You cannot touch me.” You push him off as another sob racks your throat. “My husband will kill you if you touch me.”
You do as he says anyway. You collapse down onto a nearby haybale, and you cover your face and continue to cry.
Your legs sting from her pinching, and you feel as though her mouth is still attached to your skin.
Her blood is still splattered in your mind, and you know you cannot handle much more of this.
You do not see Aerion again until the next morning.
Ser Thenty returned you to the tent late into the night, and he was gone.
But Madam Pricher was still there.
The explicits she screamed at you would stay in your mind forever. Her piercing gaze physically hurt your soul, as did the cruel insults she bestowed upon you.
The makeup women returned the next morning, without the braider. They were quiet, and did not speak to you as they dressed you and fixed your face.
You did not speak to them either. It was silent, and you cooperated with every order Madam Pricher gave you.
You had never felt so numb, body and soul.
The makeup ladies left swiftly once finished, without even looking at you.
They are disgusted with you, you can te. You are just as disgusted with yourself.
You begin to wonder if they heard what happened.
Did the woman from last night tell everyone? Do they all know what she did to you, and what you did to her? You squirm at the thought.
“You are not to leave the tent,” Madam Pricher informs you, as you begin to stand.
“I have not been told to stay-”
“Prince Baelor will be coming to speak with you. You will sit and you will wait.”
The comment scares you. “...Why is he coming to speak with me-?”
“You shall be quiet and wait. The world has heard enough of your screaming last night.”
You bury your head in your arm, hopelessness eating you away.
Ser Thenty begins, “That is not necessary-”
“Whipping a woman until she is bloody and buried is not necessary either.”
“The same was done to her.”
“No one made Lady (Y/N) do what she did last night. It was no order, only her own wickedness showing through.”
You pull hard on the necklace you wear, wishing you could somehow pull hard enough to slice your head off and kill yourself.
It takes nearly twenty more minutes before Prince Baelor arrives.
You feel faint. He knows everything, you are sure of it. He knows that you beat a woman last night, and he has come to read whatever punishment he deems fit.
You fidget in your seat as he enters. You are not brave enough for eye contact.
“I apologize for intruding before you had the chance to have your morning meal,” Prince Baelor greets kindly. “But I fear this couldn’t wait. An accusation has been made against you.”
You want to throw up. “...What accusation?”
“I will be direct with you. A woman says she was attacked last night. Whipped to the point of needing a maester. She names you as the attacker.”
You want to die. That’s all you want. To just die and be done with it.
“Do you deny this accusation?”
Tears spring in your eyes. You cannot bring yourself to lie to him.
“It-” You start to explain, but realize there is no point. What does it matter what the reason was? You did it. That’s all he will care about. Your face is blotchy and red, and your voice is distraught as you admit, “No.”
“No, you do not deny it?”
“Aerion has denied it,” he informs you. “He says the woman is lying. That he is the one that whipped her, and that he did so because she attacked you earlier in the day, at the theater.”
You think you have misheard him. “What?”
“He says there were at least a dozen witnesses there to verify that this woman took a whip to you. Did that happen?”
“Madam Pricher, Ser Thenty, did that woman take a whip to Lady (Y/N) at the theater?”
Ser Thenty answers, “Yes, Prince Aerion.”
Madam Pricher begins, “She was ordered to do so by-”
Her face hardens. She relents a quick, “Yes.”
“Then it is settled. This woman attacked a member of the royal family, and Aerion treated her with due punishment. It is lawful.”
“Prince Baelor,” Madam Pricher started, “It was not Prince Aerion who struck the woman last night-”
“Yes, it was,” Baelor interrupts her, his voice becoming so stern that you flinch. “Aerion demonstrated lawful justice last night, and whoever might ask you, you will agree, do you understand?”
Madam Pricher is silent, but nods.
“My brother is not to hear of this from any of you,” Baelor tells them. “But if he asks, you will repeat only the story I have given to you. Is that clear?”
They both give audible agreements.
“Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher, you have both been on duty for a full twenty four hours,” he tells them. “You are relieved of duty until evening meal.”
“Thank you, Prince Baelor.”
They both leave. You send one more look to Ser Thenty as he goes. Madam Pricher does not bother glancing in your direction. You’re left alone with the prince.
“Aerion will be jousting again today,” Baelor says to you. “He will be occupied until the time your knight and maid return. You have no need to worry about him until then.”
Stress is lifted from you. “Thank you, Prince Baelor.”
You think that is it, but it is not.
He doesn’t leave, in fact, he risks taking a step closer. His voice drops lower, “The woman from last night also states that Prince Aerion tried to force her to bed you.”
Your face pales at his words.
“Do you require the maester again?”
A slow shake of your head. “No, Prince Baelor.”
You do not answer this question. You are too ashamed to put it into words.
He takes your silence as your answer. “Ser Thenty did not put a stop to it?”
“He...says that he cannot strike a woman.”
He tsks. “And Madam Pricher?”
You only shake your head again.
Prince Baelor’s expression turns to one of actual, honest consolation. “They have failed you, Lady (Y/N). I am sorry. The incidents that took place here, as well as in the theater, should never have been allowed to happen.”
Again, you do not know how to reply to him.
Prince Baelor glances towards the tent entrance, making sure no one else lingers. He moves even closer to you, as if scared of anyone eavesdropping.
“I have another question for you before I go,” he says. “I apologize for having to ask it. It will be uncomfortable for the both of us, but it is important that I get a correct answer from you.”
Your nerves flare up again.
“I had a conversation with the maester early this morning. He told me about a comment you made during your examination yesterday. He asked about your process of…cleanliness after being intimate with your husband.”
Your face turns a brighter shade of red. Your eyes go to the floor.
“I do not ask this to embarrass you,” he insists. “But the answer you gave him has brought concern. I will be blunt. You must be as well. Understand?”
You try to push down your worry. “Yes.”
“When your husband lays with you, where does he spill his seed?”
Your body is struck by a flash of heat and humiliation. You shut your eyes. “I do not understand what is being asked-”
“Does he spill his seed inside you?”
“I-” You roll your shoulders, and once again feel like the stupidest person in the world. “I do not understand. He…Yes, he is inside of me.”
Baelor gives a heavy sigh. “I understand you are still a new bride. Your father was very strict with your innocence, and I know my nephew is not a correct teacher. So I will reword myself. When Aerion reaches completion, does he spill his seed inside of you, or does he spill it onto you?”
You blink back your embarrassment. “I...try not to watch him. He spills it onto me, but it is different each time.”
“But it is not inside you?”
“He-” You run an anxious hand through your hair, fidgeting and not able to stop. “He is inside me while he lays with me. It is only the end that he is not.”
Baelor lets out a heavier sign of irritation. “Thank you, Lady (Y/N). Guards are posted at your door. If you leave today, be sure to have them with you.”
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