I Cover Up My Face
Part six of Seven Hells In You
Banner art and Maegon belong to @vivi-arttt
Futile Devices - Valarr and Maegon
Aerion Targaryen x oc , Valarr Targaryen x oc , oc x oc
Summary: The summer sickness takes lives, and Maegon is left to suffer its consequences.
Warnings: MDNI, SMUT, NSFW, INCEST, 18+, angst, more angst, alot of angst, canon character death, mentioned character death, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), targcest, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, fluff I suppose.
Maegon's fingers traced the gentlest of paths over Valarr's hair, following the silver-gold down into his neck. His skin was cold and slick with sweat, his eyes hollow and his lips chapped.
Maegon squeezed his hand again, and Valarr's fingers twitched as they had before, whenever Maegon gripped him just a little tighter.
He'd been sitting at his bedside for days now, ignoring Haelene and Maekar's visits and glaring whenever Kiera entered the room, already dressed in black.
Everyone acted as if he were dead already, and though his breathing slowed a little more every day, Maegon knew Valarr still lived and would wake eventually.
Haelene came in every evening, wiping a wet cloth over her brother's pale face and brushing the hair from his eyes. She did so with little care and a detached stare, and Maegon imagined Maekar was the one who kept sending her to him.
Clouds hung low in the evening sky when Haelene entered again, dipping her cloth in the warm water and wringing it out before pressing it to her brother's brow.
Maegon's head rested in his arms on the mattress, his green eyes heavy with exhaustion. His wife tugged a spare sheet over his shoulders and tucked his silver curls behind his ear, her touch cold and dismissive before she retreated, shutting the door silently.
The morning came too soon, the bright summer sun forcing Maegon awake. He shook the blanket from his shoulders and turned to Valarr, who lay unchanged in the bed.
Maegon traced his thumb over the back of his hand, squeezing lightly, though the prince's fingers twitched no more. Maegon sat still for what seemed to be hours, listening, waiting for that slow drag of Valarr's chest. But it never came.
He pulled his hand away from Valarr's, the chair falling backwards with the force of which he rose to his feet. And later, when Haelene came in to wash Valarr's face, Maegon was gone, and Valarr had gone cold as stone.
Waves beat gently to shore, moving smoothed stones over wet sand. Maegon watched them roll by, each one reaching just a little further than the last.
The sea was up to his ankles now, seeping through his boots and wetting his breeches and feet. The cold was a relief from the sun, and Maegon could almost forget what had brought him here in the first place.
He breathed in the salty air once more, hands clasped comfortably behind his back. With the gulls swirling overhead and the water lapping at his feet it felt like any other day, but with the shouting knight trudging up behind him he was once again reminded it was not.
He heard little of what the knight said, if he said anything coherent at all. He stood next to him, then in front of him, but Maegon could not see his face, for he looked to the sky instead. He followed the birds paths with his eyes, watching them dive down for fish and come up again to join their flock.
"How did you find me?" He asked, his words slurred slightly and his throat tight, but the knight gave him no answer.
When the guard grabbed him after only a moment of hesitation and mumbled something Maegon couldn't quite understand, he fixed his eyes somewhere else, anywhere but the man's face.
He was taken to his room, alone, and spent perhaps a day or two there. Laying on the bed and staring up at the canopy, slipping in and out of sleep. He couldn't recall dressing himself, only that Maekar dragged him from the bed and to one of the secluded cliffs outside Kingslanding.
Valarr's funeral, he realised at the sight of Haelene and Kiera in black, their faces veiled and heads bowed. Maegon's hands shook as Maekar put him beside his wife, purple eyes glaring at his son's face.
Only a few people were present, Maegon couldn't name them all, he couldn't look at them either. He saw only Valarr's body go up in flames, the fire swallowing him whole.
Haelene watched, too, and it shook Maegon with rage. She'd wished for this, and now she stood sulking at his side. It was likely her prayers that brought Valarr to his end, Maegon thought bitterly, his face tense and his fists clenched at his sides.
The first month, Maegon retreated to Valarr's chambers, everything still exactly as his lover had left it. His books and clothes still in place, his side of the bed neatly made as it was every morning by the servants.
Maegon brushed his fingers over the dust gathering on the desk, over the unopened letter from Dragonstone with his name on it and over the dagger beside his black leather belt.
Making his way toward the bed, Maegon tugged off his boots and peeled away layers of clothing, crawling beneath the warm furs and curling into himself.
He spent his days like this, in Valarr's chambers, touching his empty side of the mattress until he felt so heavy with exhaustion he rolled over and fell asleep. There would be no one but the servants here to see him, no one to talk to and no one to listen.
Maegon fitted Valarr's training tunic on himself, though it sat too tight around his neck and itched at his back. He folded it up again as neatly as he could, the fabric crumpled now. Something Valarr would have scolded him for, no doubt.
He wandered the room again and again, touching his finger to everything that had once belonged to Valarr just to prove to himself that it was real.
He searched the desk, under the bed, the tiny drawers in his closet for a secret letter Valarr might have left him before he fell asleep. But he found only an old hairbrush and a shiny feather he had given him a few years past.
Maegon recalled their many quarrels, their secret making up and the long nights they spent together simply talking. A fight lasted no longer than a week, and Valarr was never mad for long. Though he much preferred direct confrontation, something Maegon had always shied away from or simply avoided.
The good and bad, the stolen kisses at buffets hidden behind a pillar or in a narrow corridor, their sneaking about the Keep that Valarr claimed to hate but always participated in. Maegon thought back on it now, hoping just to feel like he did then, if only for a moment.
He gazed up at the canopy as the sun dragged through the sky and the moon changed through its many shapes, but Maegon lay unchanged.
He wore Valarr's black breeches in the night, drawing his knees up to his face and breathing in the lost scent, shaking with anger and grief alike when he could find no trace of the prince's perfume on the fabric. He cursed a serving maid for it, yelled at her to never wash the clothes again before retreating to the bed once more.
Only when they cleaned out the room and Maekar dragged his son back to his shared apartments with Haelene did Maegon wake up from his daze. It seemed the disappearance of Valarr's belongings had pulled him back to life, of only a little.
It was often now that Haelene came into their shared room to find Maegon dusting off the books on their shelves. Sometimes he would rearrange the wooden carvings in the windowsill, as if they were living things constantly moving.
Two months it had been now, and Maegon kept himself busy with things unbefit for a prince, as Maekar said it.
He barely required servants in the room anymore, seeing as there was nothing left to clean when Maegon was done. He sorted Haelene's dresses by their colour, much to her dismay, and then sorted them back exactly how they were before, which only frustrated her more.
"You should not touch what is not yours," She scolded, straightening the skirts of her dresses. "You've ruined them, Maegon."
Maegon watched quietly from a corner, unsure of what to do, of how to feel. It seemed his silence unsettled her, and she left him be for the remainder of the day.
In the upcoming weeks, Maegon started reading. Every single book on the shelves in their room piled up on the desk, on his nightstand, and on a wooden stool beside the hearth.
Haelene would stumble over them and demand Maegon clean them up, claiming it to be a mess and a waste of his time. Maegon sorted them back onto the shelves, but he read them still.
He read of ancient texts, of dragons who spat fires of blue and green and even black, whose wings could cover a city or a mountain. They flew at level with the sun and could drink up whole oceans in their thirst, Maegon thought it was quite the exaggeration.
Next, he read of horses. Of their breeding genetics, their speed and agility, and the many colours they could come in. He thought the brown and white horses in the stable must be dull compared to all the coats described in these pages.
Lastly, he read of dresses, though it was the dullest book Haelene owned, according to him. He learned various stitches, embroidery, and different fabrics. Airy, warm, tight or loose.
Now, with a clean room and no books to read, he carved a few wooden sculptures, though he bored of it very soon. Haelene pointed to one of the carvings he made and laughed at the misshapen wings, asking if it was supposed to represent a dragon. Maegon burned it later that evening, watching it turn to ashes in the hearth.
It was only the third month that he started truly talking again, though he was still far from the Maegon Haelene had known all her life.
"I hate that everyone pretends he was never here," He expressed one morning, watching Haelene get dressed.
She said nothing, only glanced at him before pinning up her hair. "He's not," She told him before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Maegon fell quiet, and remained so for the rest of the day. It seemed Haelene could not be bothered with his grievances. He believed her silence and dismissal was worse than her snapping at him, somehow it stung deeper.
The following morning, after a nightmare of his brown haired prince had haunted him in sleep, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared out at the wall before him.
Haelene rummaged through her stuff, muttering under her breath that his reorganising had led to half her belongings disappearing.
"You know," Maegon started, and silence followed, "I see him die again and again some nights."
Haelene sighed softly, but Maegon heard it through the quiet in the room.
"Maegon," She said, and his name sounded like a wound the way she spoke it.
"I have my duties," Haelene continued, "I cannot be here for your comfort."
And she left the room again, as she had the day before.
This time, Maegon let her be for a week. Haelene was busy, as she always was.
There was always an open book or an unfinished letter on her desk, ink on her fingers and circles beneath her eyes at the end of every day.
Even more so these days. Maegon pretended not to notice, but he did.
He would burden her no further.
Until another night of restless sleep, where only nightmares found him and the memory of his lover plagued him.
Maegon shot upright on the mattress, the soft howl of the winds against the castle walls drowned out by the thumping of his heart.
He clutched his tunic, which had belonged to Valarr previously and carried only a little bit of the prince's scent in it still.
Sweat formed on his brow, blood draining from his face when he recalled the dream. It danced around his head like a recent memory, and in some ways it was.
Reaching his hand towards Haelene on the opposite side of the bed, he hesitated before nudging her shoulder.
His wife startled but turned her head to face him, her movements sluggish with the remnants of sleep.
"I'm scared to fall asleep, Haelene," Maegon whispered, the slightest tremble in his lips, though he managed to conceal it.
"All I'll see is him."
Haelene shook her head, and for a moment Maegon thought she might turn to comfort him. But she simply dropped her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes, stifling a yawn.
"I can't sleep either if you keep shaking me awake," She mumbled, and fell asleep again.
Maegon tried to sleep as well, but the sheets twisted themselves around his feet when he tossed and turned, and eventually a shove from Haelene sent him over the edge of the bed.
Gathering what little strength remained in him, Maegon grabbed a flickering lantern and stepped out into the quiet halls of the castle.
The cold within them reminded him of Dragonstone, but it lacked the chill and the shivers it sent up his spine.
His footsteps whispered through the corridors, bare feet padding over stone as he made his way to the crypts below.
Before this, he would've made his way to Valarr's room, though it was now occupied by his youngest sister, who had begged Maekar for a room of her own and gladly accepted her late cousin's space.
Down here in the crypts, the air around Maegon felt eerie, and around every corner he could hear whispers and footsteps, yet he never saw another person linger here.
He swore to himself it was only the lack of sleep. His nightmares catching up to him.
At the very end of the long hall stood a grave not yet touched by dust, a seven pointed star engraved into the tomb.
Maegon brushed his hand over the stone, the surface rough beneath his fingers.
"I'm sorry, Val," He whispered, sitting on the ground beside the grave.
He leaned against it, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
The light in his lantern flickered and died out, leaving him in darkness. The whispers seemed to disappear along with the light, as if the spirits that lingered could finally find rest again.
A guard found him the next morning, out of breath from searching and dragging him up to his feet.
Maegon remained half asleep, his eyes closed even though his feet moved beneath him, carrying him back to his rooms.
Haelene was there already, or still. She moved around the space in quiet confidence, gathering up the last of her attire to put on.
"Maegon," She said when he entered, dismissing the guard with a flick of her wrist.
She moved before the door had even shut, linking her arm through Maegon's and tugging him towards the bed.
"No," Maegon protested, roughly pulling himself away from her.
The force of his movement sent Haelene back a step. She stared at him, surprise flickering across her face before it twisted into her signature frown.
"I was only trying to help," She scoffed.
"No,"Maegon repeated, eyes burning with unshed tears.
He hated this, how his body betrayed him and how hard it was to keep his grief concealed.
"No, you're not! You've not helped me once with your dismissal, if you could consider it help at all," He hissed.
Maegon's lip trembled again, but he did not show it to Haelene, turning his back to her instead.
"Go see to your duties," His voice shook as he spoke, his tone dismissive.
Haelene left, shoving past him and out of the room without another word.
In the coming weeks, Maegon tried to ignore her. But it seemed she slithered her way into every space he occupied, whether it was intentional or not.
Haelene became all too loud and her presence all too consuming. Until Maegon could ignore her no longer, until he could not keep his frustration in check.
And he snapped.
It was deliberate at first. Her clothes discarded on his side of the bed. He tossed them off and pointed a finger at them, brows drawn together.
"I do not want them here, clean up after yourself or I'll burn them."
Haelene simply rolled her eyes and gathered the cloth up in her arms, ordering a serving maid to wash them clean and have them brought to her dressing room.
He lashed out frequently, until it almost became routine.
Every evening, something new would tick him off.
Haelene's perfume was too strong, her breathing or the scratch of her quill too loud, her stuff misplaced on his nightstand or desk.
And with every mistake, he grew more violent.
Cups fell, mirrors shattered, tunics ripped.
They fought, with Haelene keeping a safe barrier between them. Each on either side of the bed, shouting insults and curses.
Both of them had forgotten what their quarrel was about, but they were too stubborn to turn back now.
And when night fell, they lay on their far sides of the bed with their backs turned to each other, spiteful as ever.
Maegon's anger subsidised into nothing but sadness in the coming nights. The more dreams he had, the deeper he sank into his grief.
The first night, he woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air and shaking in his movements. Glancing at Haelene beside him, almost gentle in her sleep, he pulled the covers tighter over his shoulders and forced himself back to sleep.
By the fourth night, the dreams had intensified, and Maegon could bear it no longer.
He woke in tears and violent sobs, tremors wrecking through his body. His throat was raw from crying, and Haelene groaned softly beside him.
She turned to him, kicking out her legs to shove him off the mattress and grumbling softly in her half-asleep state.
"Go whine to your father," She mumbled, covering her face with a pillow to tune out his wailing.
Maegon scrambled to his feet, trying to will his tears to stop. But they would not, and he found no comfort in his wife.
So he turned and left their shared apartments, walking his way to Maekar's chambers.
The torches on the walls did little to warm the castle, though they lit the way for him just fine.
To his surprise, Maekar was still awake when Maegon knocked on the door. The fire in the hearth flickered weakly, casting the room in a dim light.
Maekar sat at his desk, looking up only when Maegon entered. His quill stilled mid sentence, all his attention turned to the boy who now stood in front of him, dishevelled and lost.
"Father-" Maegon gasped out. But before he could even finish the word he had fallen to his knees, clutching at his father's clothes as he had when he was just a boy, seeking something his parent could not provide.
Maekar brushed his hand once over Maegon's tangled curls, the gesture stiff and measured. "You should be abed," Was all he said.
Maegon's face buried in his father's lap, shaking his head. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, ugly and weak.
After a moment longer, Maekar fought against Maegon's weight and pushed himself to his feet, pulling his son along with him.
"Do not lose yourself now," He said, though it sounded more like a command rather than a comfort. He gripped Maegon's arms roughly, squeezing tighter still. "I will take you back to bed, and your wife will see to you."
The boy reached for him, leaning into his warmth and whining through the tears. "No, father...." He cried, but Maekar would hear none of it.
He guided Maegon back to his rooms, passing any guard or servant with a glare until they reached Maegon and Haelene's shared chambers. The door was left ajar, warmth seeping out of the quiet room.
Maekar released his iron grip on Maegon's arm at last, pushing him into the room and hushing him with a gentle pat over his head, his hand lingering where it cupped the boy's face.
"Your wife will tend to you," He assured his son, and left the room.
Maegon knew he could expect no such thing from Haelene, so he simply willed the tears to stop and forced himself back under the covers. Haelene stirred slightly when she felt the mattress dip beneath his weight before she turned around and continued sleeping.
He did not sleep again that night, and the night that followed was much the same.
He woke again in tears and a tangle of blankets, and yet again Haelene groaned and covered her ears.
"Go away, Maegon, I can't sleep," She told him, kicking her feet into his side and shoving him off the mattress.
And yet again, Maegon left the door opened halfway on his way out, wrapping his arms around himself as he walked aimlessly around the castle.
He met Maekar somewhere near the library, falling into his father's chest and wailing like a babe.
Maekar could only sigh now as he laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed lightly, not quite a comfort, but not rejection either.
He walked him back to the room again, swiping a thumb over his cheek and clicking the door shut when he left.
Maegon remained staring at the canopy above him, laying like a corpse beside his wife and trying his very best to keep his tears contained.
The nights after that brought no change, except for Haelene's growing frustration.
On the tenth day, Haelene got up out of bed and walked over to Maegon's side. She dragged him from the mattress, out into the hall and left him on the cold stone floors, slamming the door shut.
But she could hear him through the cracks in the wood, and he banged the wooden frames so hard they shook. Until little Daella stomped out of her room across the hall and opened the door again for her brother, kicking him in the shin and putting her finger to her lips.
"Be quiet, Maegon! Some of us have things to do."
Maegon sniffled from his spot on the ground, tears drying on his face. "You sound like my wife," He muttered, to which Daella rolled her eyes.
And his wailing grew louder and uglier by the day, until Haelene could take it no more. She could not send him away, and she could not even begin to ignore his endless sobbing. And she thought she might be just as lost as Maegon was, though at least she could keep quiet about it.
A storm shook Maegon awake, his whole body shaking in his sorrow. Tears ran down his face, staining the pillow under his head.
Beside him, Haelene turned onto her side, facing him. And he thought she'd kick her legs at him, curse at him to be quiet. But instead she reached her hands out and shifted closer on the bed, gathering him up in her arms and sighing into his silver hair.
Maegon barely had time to process and react, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly to hold her there, his face buried in her chest.
They lay there until the sun rose above the sea again, with Haelene's fingers gently combing through his curls. Maegon did not know when exactly, but with her gentle ministrations he found himself drifting off to sleep.
No nightmares found him then, no image of Valarr crossed his mind. He could only recall the slow rise and fall of Haelene chest and the rhythmic beating of her heart beneath his ear.
It became routine, slowly.
Every night, Maegon would wake and sob, and every time now, Haelene would open up her arms to him.
She'd found it easier to offer him her comfort instead of sending him away. Their nights were no longer sleepless, an endless battle between them. They were quiet now, warm.
And for the first time in their marriage, their rooms became a space they truly shared instead of something they occupied at the same time.
Haelene found comfort in his steady weight atop her, in the way his thumb rubbed mindless circles over the small of her back or the curve of her hip. It reminded her of Aerion in some ways, and she found it became easier to sleep soundly with Maegon's arms holding her securely in place.
Soon, they found themselves drifting toward the other before they'd even fallen asleep, their legs tangling with one another and their bodies flush against each other.
Nights were no longer something they dreaded, and dreams became something neither of them really had anymore.
A hot and sticky summer morning, the salt of the sea carrying through the air and drifting into the castle.
Haelene stirred awake at the feeling of something wet and hot at her back while something else constricted around her waist, drawing her in tighter.
She looked behind her, still half asleep and groggy.
Maegon's face lay smushed against her backside, his drool wetting the back of her nightdress. He had his arms around her middle, tightening them subconsciously in his sleep.
"Maegon," Haelene whispered, trying to wring herself free. "This is disgusting! Maegon!"
He woke only after a particularly hard shove to his stomach, blinking his green eyes open and shielding them against the sun.
At once, he released her and retreated to his side of the bed, leaving Haelene to get ready whilst he sulked another day away.
When she had tightened the final laces of her bodice and reached for the hairbrush, she glanced over at her husband on the mattress.
"Come back to court," She said, less a request and more a command. "My voice is not heard without you."
Maegon shook his head slowly. "I've a busy day ahead of me, wife, I can't be bothered with the court."
At her deep sigh, Maegon thought she'd given up. Until he felt a faint tug at his foot, inching him off the bed slowly.
"Come on, Maegon," Haelene pleaded with him, "I will dress you, I will tell you what to say and all you'll have to do is speak it aloud."
And so, Maegon begrudgingly took up his position at court once more with Haelene at his side.
The days were long and tiresome, though with Haelene's help it became bearable. Keeping up appearances was hard when grief was still so fresh, but Maekar seemed happy enough that his son had returned to a little bit of himself.
Night had fallen by the time Maegon and Haelene reached their shared chambers, still reeling from a day spent talking to fat lords and gossiping ladies.
Haelene found herself a cushioned seat to rest in, heavy skirts that seemed far too hot for the summer pooling around her.
Maegon lingered at the desk, pouring himself a cup of sweet wine before he approached her. He plucked at the fabric of her skirt, sitting down and resting his feet on the low table between them. "Quite hot to be wearing that now," He commented, sipping from his cup.
"The servants have not yet washed my summer gowns," Haelene said, irritation sharpening her tone of voice, "They leave me no choice but to step into these suffocating dresses."
Maegon hummed in response, passing her his goblet after a moment's thought. She gladly took it from him, gulping down the rest of the liquid.
They sat comfortably for a while, speaking of Maekar's unusual smile the other day when he sighted the couple together and whatever matters had troubled the court that day.
Haelene offered her suggestions while Maegon poured them cup after cup, until the last drop of wine fell from the bottle and he tossed it to the side, watching it roll over the carpet.
Haelene squirmed, tugging lightly at the laces of her bodice to find release from its restricting warmth.
"Do you think of me as Aerion?" Maegon asked suddenly, and Haelene stilled at once.
Maegon wasn't one to start a conversation about his brother, usually cringing at the mere mention of Aerion.
When Haelene said nothing, Maegon straightened in his seat, clearing his throat. "I heard you whisper his name a few nights past," He continued, "When you held me."
Haelene looked at him, a flush on her cheeks that was more from the wine than from his words. "No," She told him, "You're my husband, I would never mistake you for him."
Some sort of relief washed over Maegon at that, and he nodded.
"I've tried to imagine him," Haelene said, "when I hold you, but you're far too fragile for me to pretend," She added quickly, looking into her empty cup.
"I'm fragile?" Maegon scoffed, crossing his legs.
"You were," Haelene hummed, standing from her seat and making her way towards the bed. "Perhaps we should rest now, it is late."
Maegon nodded again, though he made no attempt to get up and change into his nightly clothes, instead opting to watch Haelene reach behind her and fail to unlace her dress.
"You shouldn't do that drunk," He said, lounging in his chair.
Haelene let out a huff of frustration, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Wise words," She spat, arms falling at her sides.
"Help me out, then."
Maegon stood at last, grinning to himself as he reached for the laces of her bodice, his fingers deft and experienced.
"You know how to do this?" Haelene asked, and she couldn't help the surprise in her voice.
"I've had women before, Haelene," Maegon deadpanned, his hands brushing her shoulders as he tugged the dress loose.
She squirmed at the touch, a strange flush creeping up her neck slowly, warm beneath his skin.
Maegon allowed his touch to linger, long enough for Haelene to notice and turn around, his hands still on her shoulders. She hesitated for a moment before her fingers started working on the clasp of his belt, and Maegon froze, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
"What are you doing?" He asked, though he made no move to stop her.
Haelene tried to shrug it off, but the redness of her face betrayed her. She blamed it on the wine and the heat of summer.
"Returning the favour, of course," She said, her tone laced with a hint of mockery.
And Maegon let her. Perhaps it was the liquor, or perhaps it was his loneliness, he could not say for sure.
His belt was tossed to the floor, her hands starting on his doublet next. And then his tunic, tugging it over his head and dropping it onto a wooden stool nearby.
Haelene's hands touched his torso, fingers splaying over the white hairs growing there. They tickled at her wrists, and she enjoyed the feel of them beneath her fingertips when she ran them down the line of his chest to his navel.
Maegon caught her wrists, taking a small step back until her eyes found his again.
"I don't want you to pretend me to be Aerion when we do this," He admitted, heart hammering in his chest. He was glad she could not feel it now, with her hands held in his.
Haelene paused, blinking up at him and swallowing thickly. "When we do what?" She asked, a failed attempt at humour.
Maegon's expression fell, his brows furrowing and a sigh slipping past his lips. Haelene shook her head quickly, reaching out to him again, but his grip only tightened around her hands.
"I won't," She promised. "I don't think about Aerion, only you."
Maegon nodded then, his eyes leaving her face to briefly flick over her frame before they returned to hers. He released her with one hand, cupping the side of her face instead and bringing her closer to him.
She met him halfway, standing on her toes to reach him with her hands on his chest to steady herself.
At first it was just a brush of their lips against each other, then something more. Maegon lowered his head further, allowing Haelene more access.
She pressed against him insistently, her hands raking over the expanse of his torso. Her fingers brushed through the dusting of silver hair below his navel, and Maegon groaned softly against her mouth.
His hands travelled to the dress still clinging to her frame and began tugging it off, revealing more skin inch by inch.
Haelene stepped back and pulled her arms free from the tightness of her dress sleeves while Maegon pushed the gown down her waist and hips, watching it pool around her feet when it fell.
He moved her gently, pushing lightly at her waist and guiding her to step closer to the bed until the backs of her knees caught the edge of the mattress.
Maegon's lips found hers again in something more desperate this time, fingers squeezing the flesh of her hips as he laid her gently on the bed.
Haelene responded in kind, strangely compliant with his guidance and his touch. She arched into him, her fingers slipping into his silver hair and tugging lightly.
Maegon moaned into her touch, whining softly when she pulled away and started kissing down the line of his jaw and towards his neck.
Her hands left his hair and travelled instead down his stomach and to his breeches, cupping the firmness beneath them.
Maegon tensed and withdrew before he could break, his cheeks coloured a deep red. He shook his head briefly and leaned down again, returning her affections as he took her hands and pinned them down, his lips brushing over her collarbone.
Haelene allowed him to take charge, though she found him move infuriatingly slow in the way he kissed her neck and descended slowly to her chest, nipping softly at her breast.
"Maegon..." She hummed when he continued his path downwards, a hint of frustration seeping through her voice.
Maegon mumbled something against her stomach, releasing her hands to hook her legs over his shoulders.
And for all his sluggishness and slow mindedness, Haelene found him all but disappointing when his mouth found her mound.
She gasped out a surprised moan, her hands tangling in his hair and pulling him into her hard. Maegon groaned in response, his sounds muffled by the wetness between her legs.
Dragging his tongue over her slowly, he felt the involuntarily grind of her hips against his face and hummed softly. He lay a hand on her stomach to hold her down while he brought the other down to join his mouth, pushing a finger into her and curling it upwards, just to watch her squirm and feel her hands tighten in his hair.
Haelene's thighs shook when he pulled his head from between her legs, pushing in a second finger instead and using his thumb to draw tight circles over her most sensitive spot.
Maegon traced his tongue over the curve of her breast, sucking red marks into the skin while Haelene's hand drifted down to his, not to push him away, but instead to keep him there.
Her other hand remained tangled in his hair, drawing him closer as she arched into him, tightening around his fingers.
He watched her for a while, the furrow of her brow and the way she caught her lip between her teeth, careful not to make a noise too loud. Then he withdrew, and the whine Haelene let out sounded akin to a sob, her grip tightening around his wrist.
"Maegon!" She exclaimed in frustration, drawing her legs around his waist. "Why did you stop?"
Maegon's lips quirked up into a grin, his fingers tracing circles over her stomach, gauging her reaction.
He leaned down again, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips to silence her further protests. "I'm sorry," He murmured against her, though his tone was laced with mockery and faux concern, "Forgive me?" He pleaded, pushing his breeches down his legs and discarding them somewhere on the floor, forgotten.
Haelene glared at him, "You are childish," She accused, even though she pulled him closer and her ears flushed red at the sight of him.
"Oh," Maegon said simply, positioning her hips more comfortably on the bed and pushing into her with one slow thrust, both of them groaning at the sensation.
He drew back with a long drag of his hips, stretching the moment until Haelene gave him a frustrated tug on his hair, her nails digging into his scalp.
He kept his pace measured, perhaps a little slow, though it was soon forgotten when Haelene started rolling her hips to meet his thrusts.
His hands travelled her body, squeezing at her hips and breasts while his lips descended upon hers once more.
Haelene followed his movements, glad to not have to take the lead for once and instead lay back and let Maegon use her as he pleased.
She moaned softly into his mouth, the bed creaking beneath them, though they heard little of it over the sounds they produced themselves.
Maegon's lips left hers, and he buried his face in her neck instead, his hand coming up in between their bodies to draw tight circles there.
Haelene's whole body tightened around him, her legs squeezing around his waist, drawing him in deeper with every push of his hips against hers.
"Haelene," Maegon gasped, a pathetic whine tearing from his throat.
Haelene's walls fluttered and pulsed around him as she came, her back arching off the bed and her nails raking over his skin, leaving stripes of red down his back.
Maegon followed suit with a stutter of his hips and an embarrassingly loud moan as he spilled inside her, his chest heaving and his hands still holding tightly to her hips.
"I should hope you are drunk enough to forget this," Maegon said eventually, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he eased them into a more comfortable position.
Haelene sighed heavily in response to his jest, if it ever was one. "Time will tell," She said, her fingers carding through his silver spun hair, smoothing out the tangles she'd created.
Maegon lingered atop her, far too comfortable to move now, with her heart returning to its usual pace and her hands toying with his hair just the way he liked.
The gentle rise and fall of her chest lulled him to sleep, his thumbs tracing slow, absent-minded circles over her skin.
He woke from the pounding of his head the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains blinding him when he blinked his eyes open.
Haelene had disappeared already and left only the lingering scent of her perfume. He hadn't even felt her slip out of the bed, nor heard the door open and close, something that would usually wake him.
He thought little of it as he dressed himself and requested something for his headache, only to leave it standing on his desk when he left the room.
Court was strangely calm, ladies reading quietly in a corner and lords gathered around a table with hushed whispers.
But Haelene was nowhere to be found. Only when he returned to their room late at night, he found her already asleep and curled up on the bed.
Carefully and quietly, he tugged off his clothing to change into his nightwear, slipping under the covers behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her into him.
She did not resist, perhaps too tired to do so, or simply accepting of his touch.
Though the next morning, and the entirety of the coming month, he found himself awaken in an empty bed and left to stroll around aimlessly at court. He trailed behind Haelene whenever he was fortunate enough to find her, sitting with her in the library as she flipped through books of history and law, or sitting at her desk as she scribbled down notes and wrote her letters.
The sky was a cloak of deep blue over Kingslanding, the light of the moon illuminating the room in a faint silver lighting.
Maegon fell onto the bed with a groan, having given up his search for Haelene after a long day.
He'd thought her to be asleep already, though the room was empty when he'd walked in. He'd looked around every corner, seemed embarrassingly hopeful when a maid came through the doors to bring in clean furs for the bed.
Maegon had cursed at her to leave, slamming the door shut behind the shivering girl.
Now the door opened again, and this time his wife came into the room, her steps light. She hurried out of her gown and into her nightshift, not bothering with the laces as she crawled onto the mattress and sat beside Maegon's sulking frame.
"Where were you?" He asked, tugging at a strand of her brown hair.
Haelene swatted his hand away, glaring down at him. "With your father," She said, laying down beside him. "Aerion has sent word of his return."
Maegon stared at the canopy overhead, his heart sinking to his stomach at the mention of his brother. He'd forgotten about Aerion completely this past month, and had hoped Haelene would too.
He startled when he felt her shift closer on the bed, and he curled into her instinctively, even if his gut churned at the mere thought of Haelene and Aerion alone after these long two years.
Maegon's eyes squeezed shut, his hands fisting into the fabric of Haelene's gown.
She smoothed her hand over his hair, as she did every night now. And as he fell into a restless sleep, Maegon thought he was not ready to lose this yet. If he ever would be.
And they lived crappily ever after
