#bottomond

He didn’t think any Targaryen was, because simply they were made by Gods to be different. Made to rule, to bond with dragons and control them. He knew that, and he always tried to make the most of that privilege the Gods gave to him. 

So when his mother required him to marry, he did so without fuss. A lady of a great house, and he did it dutifully. She was a graceful lady, elegant yet with a strong personality. He had seen her scold men at court as if they were mere kids who needed a spanking from their wet nurse. 

And Gods forgive him, but he liked that. It spurs something in him that he didn't acknowledge completely. 

“You’re skinnier” You notice, as you both lay in bed together. He wore only his short breeches, mid-thigh as he was hot from the warm bath he had taken. 

“I’m not”

“Yes, you are” You insist. “I know my husband’s body”

He cannot argue with that, as he looks away a bit caught. He didn’t understand how could you notice something so small like that. 

“Here, you are skinnier” you say, pressing your hands in his waist, your hands a bit more cold against his skin, and he blushes slightly, feeling how you grab his waist. 

“Stop it”

“What?”

He feels your hands, caressing softly the sides of his waist, as if he was some kind of maiden. He had seen it in court, when a knight did so with the lady he was courting. It was borderline lewd, to do so in public and at court. But here, he was in his marital chambers, alone with his wife. 

“You’re tickling me” he murmurs between his teeth. 

“I’m holding you”

It is foreign, the feeling of being held. He doesn’t even remember being held as a kid, less more as an infant. Why would he want to be held as an adult?

“Here you are skinny” You murmur, kissing his cheek as your lips remain close to his face. “Your stomach is flat, doesn’t even look like you’re a prince who can have any food he wants to stuff his belly full. Of dornish wine, or the finest meat” You say, moving your hands to his abdomen. 

“I train with the sword. I ran around the yard of the Keep. I am not letting myself go as did Aegon. I doubt he could lift a sword.” 

“You talk too much” 

He raises one eyebrow as you manage to fit him in your arms, pressing soft kisses on the side of his face. Aemond couldn't understand you sometimes. It was utterly confusing. 

“What about it? Am I lying, you imply?”

“No, but it’s always a complaint. Your mother this, Rhaenyra that, your father this… That Jaehaerys pulled your hair, that Vhagar took a small flight, that Aegon is a whiny cry baby…” You say absentmindedly as you caress his stomach.

“He is” he insists, a bit grumpy now. He doesn't like being called out so accurately.

“So are you” You retaliate to his words, almost pinching his skin to reprimand him as well. 

He grumbles something about being unfair, the least he needs now is to be scolded by you. He wanted to relax, to calm himself with a bath and then be comfortable and lazy for once. 

“What, are you mad?”

Silence.

“Aemond. Are you mad?” The more quiet he is, the more amused you are “Is my love upset?” You say in that tone that it is condescending enough to make him turn around and frown at you, his cheeks red as his embarrassment kicks in. 

“Stop it”

“What?” You ask again, moving your hands to his breeches now. Your tone is the same as the one when you first held his waist. “Let me take care of you… hm?”

He hates his traitorous cock because it eagerly reacts to your touch, as if he was a puppy in need of affection or else he will perish. Even if he remains grumpy, he doesn’t move away from your touch and he doesn't plan to. 

He pulls his breeches down to his thighs as you accommodate to sit, rather than lying in bed. Aemond knows that you’ve taken interest in this. 

“You’re sweet like this” You say, your hand moving to grab his (embarrassingly quick) hardening cock. He grits his teeth as he sighs, enjoying the feeling of being touched. 

He hates to admit it, he is too prideful for that. But he likes when you take initiative, as you toy with him however you want and see fit for the day. When you boss him around, telling him how to behave. 

“Shut up” He murmurs. 

You smile, as his cock feels heavy already, hard, leaking and larger. You’d always admit he has a nice cock, and he was very careful with his appearance, too vain not to trim his pubic hair. It makes you smirk a bit. 

“What?” 

“You’re a brat”

“I’m not”

You don’t fight with him like Aegon does, as they would soon be in a childish fight of ‘yes’ and ‘no’. It frustrates him, because he remains upset and you, as always, so calm. He looks at you, trying to sit up. 

“Gods, can’t you be still?” 

He remains frowning, leaning on his elbows to see exactly how you start caressing his cock. Aemond tries not to whimper as his shoulders seem to shake, and he bites the inside of his mouth as he decides to watch. 

Your hand is slow enough to tease him, you always did everything so slow. From the base, slowly caressing its way to the top, and as soon as it catched his tip, it was already back down. Slow, but not enough to make him enjoy the feeling completely. 

Aemond wasn’t patient, and you knew it too. As you caress his cock, he lets out a little whimper, softly as you start caressing the sensitive head, already red and leaking under your soft touch. He was a slave to your touch, no matter how it came. 

“Did you say anything?” 

“No” he mutters, trying to feign his facade of stubbornness and disinterest. 

“Mhm, Okay…” You say with a smirk, as your other hand comes to cup his balls. 

You were killing him. 

He didn’t know why he had to be so sensitive, as if the mere touch of his balls was enough to get him whimpering and shuddering. He bites his lower lip as he turns to face the ceiling, enjoying how delicious it was to have your hand stroking him and fondling his balls softly. 

He can feel the heat on his groin, all he feels is how the pleasure inside him starts to boil. Turning down to see his cock, he was leaking, coating your hand as the drag of your hand was delicious, and made him raise his hips to follow your motion. 

“Ah, ah…. Fuck” He hisses under his breath, not helping the whimper following. He tries to ignore it, even if he sees how you smirk widens. 

Your hand on his balls was as excruciating, because both hands worked independently to have him a moaning mess like this, and it worked. He was sensitive with his balls, and the small tug would…

“Ah!” 

When you look up to see him, he moves his gaze away, embarrassed. 

“You sound so pretty, love”

“Shush” he says. “Keep going” he says, referring to his balls. He can feel your knees brushing against his right thigh, as you were sitting comfortably, as if you were not torturing him. 

“Pff, those manners? I ain’t doing nothing but a favour to you”

“That’s completely rid-” 

Aemond gets cut mid sentence when he feels your hand lower than his balls. His head immediately turns to see you, his cheeks red. 

“Wha-”

“I’m teasing” you say simply, as he feels your fingers brushing against his rim. 

“Keep your focus here” He practically demands, moving his legs softly. 

“You start to sound like Aegon, you know”

“I don’t” he says, the redness of his face not going away. He tries, again, to sit straighter, extending his elbows to make his presence known. “You’re baffling, and you are… you make me…” 

“Keep being this insufferable and I might bend you on my knee and force it out of you”

He frozens, mid sentence and looks at you with an expression almost as a deer caught in a hunt. You see his thoughts forming behind his eye, as if he tried to understand. 

You only seem amused at how red he is at a mere jest. The tip of his ears were red, from embarrassment, no doubt. His paleness only made it more obvious, plus his platinum hair. 

You’d never done so before. Sure, you sometimes would tease him around, even get him to allow you such delights rarely. Touching anything related to his rear, for example. 

“You’re being…” he starts, almost insulted.

“I don’t wanna hear it”

“You’ll have to”

You roll your eyes exasperated. “You’re making this impossibly difficult”

“Is you the one that…”

The soft slap in his face shuts him up. It was not harsh, at all. It barely even had a sound, no sting at all, it was mostly to move his face and stop him on his tracks. 

He could feel his cock heavy and practically hurting, demanding attention. He would have gotten his orgasm if he knew how to shut up about his secrets when you had your hand on his cock. 

“Stop whining” you repeat. “I am going to stroke your cock however I want, and I’ll do whatever I want until you cum. Understand?”

He feels a bit self conscious, and most small in comparison. A bit ashamed even, but it only creeped like a bit of horniness too.

“Yes.” He murmurs.

“Yes what”

“Yes ma’am” 

He feels like a dog saying it, but feeling your hand back at his cock is worth it.  He wonders why he is so needy, to the point where a single command of yours, or your hand on him could make him a fool, following your every word. As if he was Mushroom, made to entertain your whims.  

Aemond sits up better, leaning on his hands, as your right hand moves to separate his thighs to have better space between his legs. He feels like a maiden, which makes him feel embarrassed but… he doesn’t care now. He lets out a simple sigh as rests his head on your shoulder.

“Y-yes, fuck” he stamers, his nose nuzzling the naked skin of your neck, his breath warm and starting to become quicker by each drag of your hand. 

He sees your hand, moving up and down with such grace and elegance, as if it wasn’t the lewdest of acts. It made his head spin, his eyelids fluttering at the feeling of your hand rubbing his tip in circular motions. He bites his lip, feeling his cheeks pink and his balls heavy with lust. 

“How does that feel,honey?” 

He tries to answer, but he doesn’t trust himself enough now. He opens his mouth, only for a moan to come out. Aemond was so turned on, feeling his cock burning with desire as you caress it. 

“Feels good?”

“Yeah…” He says softly, his hips moving softly to follow your lead. He breathes out, trying to keep calm.

You keep going, moving your hand as he moves his hips to his own rhythm. He was getting needy, you knew, and he was insufferable when needy. 

He presses somewhat reverent kisses on your neck, whimpering and trying to hold himself as he attempts to do everything he wants at once. He’s an overachiever like that. 

“Wanna use my thigh to cum? Hm? Would that be better?” you ask sweetly, and he hates how he immediately nods. 

“Yes, please” He even begs for it, but at the moment he doesn’t think about it much. 

He has to change the position, holding himself better for when he rubs his dick into your thigh. It was crumbs of what he truly needed, but he was thirsty for anything. And most because he knows he’s making a show out of it for you; if he was turned on, so were you. 

He practically ruts himself against your thigh just as he gets the green light, his hand gripping the bedsheet to hold himself as he moves his lips. 

His mouth falls open, he can smell the scent you used for your bath earlier, and everything he can feel around him is you; overwhelming him, guiding him, pleasing him, loving him. It’s all he needed, deep in his soul. 

You can feel his tip smearing precum against your thigh, and you watch how hard he was as his cock rutted against your skin. He moans, he trembles, and it’s all an indicator of his pleasure and how close he was to his peak.

“Good boy” you murmur, to which he whimpers. “You wanna mark my thigh, darling?”

He nods, his expression almost a needy pout, begging for you to say yes. 

“Wanna cum on my thigh?”

He nods once again, and he politely says “Yes, please. Please” He adds the last one out of pure desperation to cum, his balls feel heavy and his spine practically shivers at the impending orgasm that he has been trying to delay. 

You drive him to the edge, which you know he enjoys. At least afterwards, because you know that when he’s not allowed to cum, it is pure and animalistic desperation.

“Very well then, you can cum” you say, your hand moving to his face, cupping his cheek so his eye can see yours, assuring him as always “It’s okay, I got you” you say to him, as he whines, yet you know he’s about to cum. “Go on, cream on my thigh”

Aemond doesn’t need to hear it twice, practically squealing as his orgasm hits him before he can truly process it. He knows he’s making a mess on your thigh, his cock pumping his cum out as if he was milking your pussy. It doesn’t feel the same, of course, but the mere thought has him letting out a groan as he tries to get it out of his system. 

He takes his sweet time, making almost sure his balls are empty before laying by your side, without more energy for anything more. Not for now, at least. He snuggles closer; needing that warm embrace and forehead kisses that, as predicted, you give to him. 

“Hm. I’ll need to have another bath, it seems” 

He doesn’t answer, just humming as his face was pressed against your clothed breast. He sighs dreamily, relaxing as he feels his cock softening. 

“Look at that mess, darling” you say, teasing him. He opens his eye, and sees what you mean,, his cum on your thigh and surely it is a mess. 

“Hmmm… you let me do it” he protests weakly, hiding his face on your chest.

“I did, didn’t I?” you ask softly amused. “You did good, my love. Why don’t we sleep now? Would you like that?”

He hums, nodding, but not really moving. He was practically boneless by now, and he can only say “Yes”, and knowing you will, once again, indulge him. 

  “Which one do you think would suit me better?” She asked, holding two sets of earrings close to her ears. The blue one, matching her gown, and the white ones looked like small snowflakes cascading down almost to her shoulders, a fine match with the season. “Is it too much, these white ones?” She reiterated, turning to the gilded mirror on the wall to see herself with a piece of each set in her ears.

  Aemond sat in the corner of their chambers by the fire, almost fully undressed, a chess set abandoned beside him, he had lost with her, again. The prince stroked his chin, gazing at her and quite uninterested in her question. “I believe both are suitable," He turned his head towards the bed where his own clothes were lying for him to dress, feeling depleted of will and energy to finish such a task in his hands.

  His wife was not satisfied with his answer. She turned slightly, facing away from the mirror, looking directly into him, demanding the attention of her dear husband that she so rightfully deserved. Without any more words from her, he added, “but the blue ones are better on you…I do prefer sapphires."

  “You know how much I hate indifference as an answer, husband, glad you could be helpful, thank you.” She finished placing the jewels in her ears and walked close to Aemond, cupping his face in her hands. She looked at his chest and wrists, still red from the marks she left him with. “Oh dear, I was rough this morning, it’s still a bit red, sweetheart, you have such delicate skin, such a precious lil prince.” Her fingers traced the small marks with a playful expression.

  “Hmm, indeed…But I do love it when you mark me like this. You always know my limits so well, you do take such good care of me after…”

  “Sweetheart…don’t talk like that to me, you’ll make me undress again, and we are already scandalously late.” She kissed him and picked up his clothes from the bed so he could get ready as well. Dowager Queen Alicent was in the mood for having more dinners as a family, with her sons and daughter and her grandchildren, the refined dinners were more of a constant of late and it was expected of them to take part.

The small event was no different from the others. Except for one thing. The one eyed prince gazed with his single eye far away from the small crowd, as if he was not really there. He did not seem into eating or drinking, much less talking, and for once his wife thought he was even quite dizzy.

 When the dinner was over and the couple came back to the chambers, the wife stood looking into her husband as he undressed to his night clothes. She stepped closer to him, placing a palm on his temple. “You don’t look like your usual self ”, his cheeks unusually pinkish. “You seem quite feverish, do you feel ill?” Her expression turned to genuine concern as she sat beside him on the bed with his face between her palms.

  “Nonsense…it’s just the fire, it felt like Vahgar’s fire down there, with how hot it was burning, and it was tremendously boring too” he dismissed her concern, bringing her hands into his chest.

  “And yet you did not take off your coat, my husband..”

 “My wife worries too much. I am well, but if I feel…unwell, I surely will inform you, my lady,” he assured her, pressing her hands to his chest. She took the opportunity to look at his own arms and confirm the marks she left him with were now almost all gone, phantom lines of their last lustful session. 

  The winter night came with small flakes melting by the window, and the young couple embraced each other in bed, her head resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart, which seemed more anxious than usual. Rest did not came for Prince Aemond, and with that, rest did not come for the lady as well. The prince turned and turned, more furs, fewer furs, nothing seemed quite well. Then, coughing, the unease breathing settled in. She turned him over to his right side and cuddled him in a little spoon, planting soft kisses in his hair and scratching his back and chest softly with her nails under the heavy blanket. For a while, the prince did sleep, but by morning break, he could not deny he was feeling very unwell. 

  “My sweet angel…” she said softly to him, “you ARE sick, very sick, I must say.” Without him saying a thing she sends the maid to fetch the Maester.

  “I do not possess the courage to deny that statement, wife.” Even his voice sounded weaker and strained. The prince’s skin, now clammy and feverish, looked like wet marble with the red veins in his eye shining a bit too much from the fever. And as much as he tried to conceal it, the coughing and the shortness of breath were just impossible to hide. “By the Gods..I feel disgusting, this sickness on my skin and lungs, I can’t breathe well, and I just feel…needy.” he added with an embarrassed expression.

“Worry not, I’ll make sure all your needs are met” After sending for the Maester and demanding fresh water and linen to be delivered, she also commanded the servants to bring simple foods for the prince. He tried to avoid it, hunger was not really in his mind right now, but his wife was adamant that he needed to eat and drink something nevertheless. She propped Aemond carefully in bed, placing some feather pillows for him to rest his back and ease his breathing. She did it so delicately and so tenderly as if he were made of fine glass.

  “You’re not so gentle when you tie me up in this bed to ravish me,” he tried to lift the mood with the comment, giving her a slight smirk. 

  “I am not, dear husband, you’re also not sick like this when I do that.” She lifted the blanket from his chest and cleaned it with a cloth, doing the same with his arms and shoulders, giving him a new and clean night chemise to put on. Then she took care of his face, cleaning and refreshing every inch of it. She knew how much her husband despised feeling unclean, especially in bed, covered in his own sweat. “The maester will be here soon, I hope, I'm sure he will give us something to ease your pain, my love.”

 “You must not worry this much, wife…” Aemond held her hand on his own. “Just a simple cold most likely, it’s not a cause for such commotion, there was no need to send for him"

  “Even if it is, in the deep winter, you know colds can turn into difficult situations, and illness…” She immediately recalled Lady Ary, her late friend, who had died months prior from a prolonged respiratory illness. “...is a serious matter, husband. Your health is of the utmost importance to me.” So she could not have a bone, a hair in her body that was not worried about it, better safe than sorry, she thought. 

  The Maester arrived shortly after being called. He started the examination by observing the prince, asking some simple questions about his symptoms, and asking his wife as well. Then he took his wrist, felt his pulse, and looked into his healthy eye. “Could you please remove the chemise, my prince?” The young prince obeyed him reluctantly. When he needed to close his ear to the prince’s chest, to listen to the breathing and heart, his skin crawled in protest. He did not say a word, but his expression did, it felt odd to him to have someone who was not his wife so close to himself.

  After the careful examination, Maester Orwyle gave his verdict, “It seems Prince Aemond is indeed afflicted by illness affecting proper breathing, and he does have a severe fever.”

  “I think that much I could tell…” Aemond responded, waiting for the Maester to actually tell him a miracle solution to his problem. 

  “My prince” Orwyle, always calm, polite, and wise, took notice of his patient impatience. “You must remain in bed rest until you recover properly. It would be unwise to place stress on your lungs and heart when they are fragile. I’ll prepare an infusion and mixture to help with the cleaning of the body. Some steamed water with these herbs could also help to gently ease your breathing. Heavy coughing is expected during the next few days, your body needs to clean off what is causing the illness…But I believe you’ll feel much better after all that comes out. 

 The lady made sure to give the prince every potion and infusion that the Maesters and the healers delivered to their room. And the prince? Behaved like a child while drinking most of them, but felt a sense of pure happiness every time his wife was so attentive and over cautions with all his treatments and symptoms. She also made sure to have a maid present at the door all the time, should an emergency occur. As the Maester said, the coughing was constant, and nothing seemed to ease the prince’s affliction. In one particular bad fit, his wife braced him in her arms until he threw up what he had taken to break the morning fast. The prince looked absolutely defeated, embarrassed, mortified, and so small he could not say a word. With all the ease and grace his wife took care of the situation, cleaning it all and setting him in place once more, cleaning him the best she could. “My love, don’t worry about anything, drink some more water with the infusion, I’ll send the maid again to fetch the Maester to prepare some more sourleaf and willow bark”

 “I’m sorry, love…and thank you for your patience and care,” his healthy eye looked into her like a poor baby animal, desperately thankful for her presence and touch. She did not sleep much during the night, vigilant to her husband’s every detail. The prince did manage to sleep for a while after the Maester induced him with a small sedative. 

  When the morning defrosted the windows, and the first sun ray hit the prince, his wife was already preparing a warm tub of water with herbs. He had sweated profusely during the night, but his fever did break, and the Maester thought it wise to allow a bath not just to clean off the illness but also to lift the spirits of the prince.

  She started unlacing his night chemise after kissing him good morning. His pride was struggling with the situation, but it was not the first time they shared such moments after 3 years of marriage. It still felt alien to him sometimes, to have that feminine presence at all times by hi side.

 The lady told her maid to bring new and soft cotton and furs too to cover him when he got out of the water. With one of them, she started cleaning his shoulders and chest, the soft scent of eucalyptus and bergamot filling the atmosphere, and the warmth and softness of the mist of the water was helping the prince to breathe more easily. However, to be like that, feeling so powerless and naked, made his pride bruised. He craved to be touched like that, yearning for it with his heart and soul, but his instincts dictated otherwise.

  “I’m…I’m not a child.” He added, not unkindly, not rude, just simply stating the fact, struggling with the feeling of desperately wanting her care and feeling ridiculous in needing it. “I can clean myself…” His hand was moving her own into the water again. 

“I know you do, husband, but wouldn’t it feel better to let me take care of you right now? My dear husband, I ask you, do only children deserve care? ”

“I suppose not…It does feel great in a way, but also… I don't know how to say it, but you understand what I mean, wife.”

“I can just stop if you wish me so. But intimacy comes way deeper than just sex. This is intimacy, too, isn't it? I am your wife, illness is part of life and a part where it’s expected to feel vulnerable and depleted” His hands became softer on her, inviting her to continue her ministrations on his body. “ Besides…you know I love spoiling you rotten,” she brings his wet hand to her lips, showering him in kisses and devotion. 

  “You have such kind words…and hands. I cannot resist your ways.”

  “I don't want you to resist,” the warm water soothing the prince's aching body and his breathing, he felt comfortable even in illness, he felt his heart full with the love he received from her. 

Later, at night, Aemond was laying in the feather pillows covered in brown furs, his cheeks slightly pink but less clammy, his eye less feverish. His wife was sitting beside him with a tray of food for him.

“Thank you, for taking care of me,” he said after finishing his dinner and disposing of the tray.

“No need, I’m sure you’d take care of me too with the same diligence.” 

“You can be sure of that, but fortunately by God’s will I won’t need to, I do not wish you ill.” 

All forms of fanworks are welcome and encouraged: fics, threadfics, moodboards, etc. You will be able to post your fics to out AO3 collection, and other forms of fanworks can be posted on Tumblr, Twitter and Bluesky using our hashtag #bottomondRYPE.

How To Play:

Generate Your Prompt:

Roll a six-sided die, or use a rng for each section: Eat, Play, Love

Use those prompts to craft an ideal date night for your ship.

Use your prompts to create a fanwork and share it! Prompts are meant to inspire creativity, not limit it. Interpret them however you'd like.

For example:

With these rolls your prompts would be A Feast (Eat), Dancing (Play), & Make A Choice (Love). You can interpret this combination of prompts however you want to create your fanwork for this event.

She could hear the soft movements of the maids walking around, how they opened the windows, and such. He could hear the voice of the Valet asking Aemond if he will go training today, to prepare his attire. 

Lady Corbray noticed that she was far more lazy when sleeping in Aemond’s bed. She had no issue waking up before, she usually took a bath and had a relaxed day. Not that she had lots to do, not without any kids of her own.

Not that she hated her routine, but perhaps being closer to her husband would be far better. She doesn’t want him to take her for a clingy wife, so she doesn’t push her luck.

“Just any bloody doublet will do” Aemond’s voice is strong and annoyed. 

Lady Corbray stirs from sleep and opens her eyes, yet she doesn’t move her head. With her face half buried in the pillow, she’d able to see the exposed chest of her lord husband. Or at least, his back. 

She knew that he trains by mornings, getting up as soon as the sun rises. If she wakes up after him, she won’t meet him unless he decides to join her to break his fast, or if she invites him beforehand. 

And she has never seen his back bare. He was wearing breeches, but it seems his valet can’t find the proper doublet he refers to. Perhaps he has already trained…? She has no idea what time it is in the morning. 

“The eyepatch, my prince…” The maid says meekly, and Lady Corbray pipes up. She had never — or rather he has never allowed her to see him without it. 

She feels flustered by the sight of him, watching the hardness of his back, how the muscles give it a nice form she had never properly seen in a man. Her back wasn’t like his, hers was soft, almost smooth compared to how his muscles formed his figure. She wonders what the front is like. 

As he turns around, she closes her eyes, a bit scared of him finding out and berating her for staring. She bothers him enough— occupating his chambers as the workers fix hers. 

Lady Corbray hopes he would press a kiss as a goodbye. She had never woken up so early to see him before he parted with his duties. She has read of it in many novels, the tenderness in some subtle acts that it would mean something more. 

Yet still, he simply dismisses the servants as he puts on his eyepatch, grabbing the dagger he carries everywhere without it. 

And with that he leaves, and her day starts.

Myara and Alice were quiet as they dressed her. Lady Corbray was unused to being dressed up so thoroughly, but it was part of her position. 

“Did you like Lady Cheslted?” Her voice is soft, trying to break the ice between them all three. 

Lady Foote, in the middle of searching the right shade of balm for her lips, hums softly, her eyes searching Alice’s as if they shared a secret. 

“Is she not pleasant?”

“Not at all, my lady” Lady Plumm says as if trying to do damage control. “She is simply… unused to court life” 

“Very naïve” Myara says. 

She knew that the three of them were older, and sometimes tried her with caution, as if she was a porcelain doll. Just as her lord husband did. 

“Lady Foote, could you… ask the servants to prepare some pastries? Perhaps we could break our fast in the garden” 

“Very well. We shall”

“I need Lady Plumm to help me fetch my cards, in my chambers” Lady Corbray stops them, and tries to add casually “Can’t go there alone. We’ll bring other things to keep us entertained. Maybe even ask Mushroom to join us”

There it is, another glance between them too that spoke of something they did not share. Lady Corbray was a bit nervous, because she had never had to face someone to tell her the truth. She had eyes, and she could see her ladies not liking Bess. 

She was a tad bit excited? Yes. But she had grown fond of her, in a way, because she saw herself in little Lady Bess Chelsted. Once alone with Alice, walking side to side, they remain in silence. She hates having to start these difficult tasks. 

“Alice… Can I ask you honestly?”

“About Lady Chelsted, my lady?” 

Lady Corbray bites her lower lip and nods softly, as she knows that it was plain and obvious why she wanted to speak alone with her. 

“I just… All I want for the five of us is…to get along.” 

Perhaps it was a childish dream, to want all of them to be close, like friends. She remembers that back in Heart’s Home, she would have a maid or two, since her house wasn’t the richest. Everything was different here in King’s Landing, as it made her uneasy not to know how to act in these situations. 

“I know” 

She feels the same feeling that she gets whenever she speaks with Aemond; trying to find a common ground as they speak, trying to get him to engage, to pay attention, to at least respond. 

It’s hopeless, and it makes her miss her home. 

“Truthfully. You’re the one I trust the most to ask this” she says, trying to imitate that tone that Queen Alicent so often uses with her. It’s something between sweetness and that underlying tone of ‘tell me what i need of you’.

Alice seems a bit tired, sighing as she leaves her brush in the dresser and moves to pull a chair closer. She knows Lady Plumm to be quite honest, she had some problems with Lady Reyne because of it which she had to meekly fix. She had asked Aemond for help, and he simply shrugged and told her to ask Helaena. 

“May I be… honest, my lady?” 

That makes her perk up slightly as Alice sits close to her. She sits a bit straighter, hopeful at the option someone might finally be blunt. 

“Lady Chelsted is… delusional, at best” she says, as if threading carefully towards the topic. 

This surprises Lady Corbray, as she sees Bess as a sweet lady. She was sweet to her at least, but again, people always were fake sweet with her, due to being married to Aemond. 

“She’s still a child.”

“She’s old enough. You.. you should all give her a chance…” Lady Corbray says a bit defensively. 

“My lady, are you…” Alice says, trying to be delicate, rubbing her forehead “Are you not aware what she has… been saying?”

The lack of expression in Lady Corbray’s face gives away the answer. She looks a bit confused, the corners of her mouth still in somewhat a clueless smile, as she shakes her head softly. 

“I didn’t want to be the one…” she sighs, before accommodating in her seat and watching at the door “You asked me to speak freely so will I…” she says watching the window before speaking again. “Some days ago, when we had tea and you left with Queen Alicent to the sept… well, She told us that you and the prince had an unsuccessful and unloving marriage. That prince Aemond was cold and rude to you both, which is no… no surprise why you haven’t… My lady, I cannot keep saying it. It is insulting” 

Lady Corbray remains still for a moment, as she takes in the hurtful words. She had not taken Bess for a gossipy girl, to be honest. She welcomed her in Aemond’s chambers, encouraged her for marriage as she herself would have liked in the moment, and promised to secure her a good match. 

It pains her heart, because she tried to be kind. She knew King’s Landing was foreign to her, as if she had to learn a new language and to walk once again. In her home, at least, everyone was kind to her, even the servants and highborns. 

“She’s a child, my lady.” Alice adds, leaning closer to grab her hand “And we told her to never say such things again. Lady Reyne, well, Rella, told her to not spread meaningful and false words if she likes her tongue” She says, trying to lighten her up. “No one believes such foolishness” 

It brings a small smile to her face, since Rella was much the gossip lady among them all. She would always have the latest gossip, and repeat it, it was her own thing. She thought that maybe she was the one feeding the rumours against her and her marriage with Aemond, since her nature seems close to a frivolous one but she misjudged her severely. 

“You said you were honest”

Lady Alice Plumm seems to hesitate a moment, as her mouth twitches slightly. “I am”

“What do you know about that? My marriage?”

If she speaks with so much disdain about those gossips, perhaps she’ll be discreet.  She thinks, as she considers her the more discreet and less judging. 

“I… I don’t think much of it, my lady. I have been married longer than you, and twice too. I have no offspring with either of my husbands. And it doesn’t mean I don’t do my duty.”

“And what do the rest say about my marriage? Is it really that different from what Lady Bess Chelsted says?” She asks, trying to catch the reaction closely. 

“No, my lady.”

She remembers her wedding night, as Aemond turned her away. She had felt awful, because in the feast he wasn’t the most affectionate with her either. She had seen men with the women they fancy, like her brother Leowyn with his mistress, or Corwyn and his late wife. They certainly did not care for appearances as a prince would do, but it was still evident their feelings… maybe not love, but lust.

“How do you do it?” Lady Corbray asks “Your duty?”

“My lady?” Alice says confused. 

“How do you… get your husband to…” she tries to explain. “Do your duty”

Alice frowns slightly, and says “I do not have to ask him for it.”

“Why not?”

“It comes in the moment”

At the moment? She thinks, as nothing ever comes in the moment. She always thought ahead, and it went wrong. Except, maybe, when they kissed. The only time they did. And it was Aemond’s choice.

She remembers being all lovey dovey, giggling as she tried to read the book in the library. Aemond was not so much, he was stoic as always, checking the books as if he was alone. And when she tried to take his hand, he pulled away. Nothing came at that moment for them.

She seems puzzled, and Lady Alice sighs softly. 

“You… You know what… consuming the marriage is, my lady?”

Her brothers had explained, yet she didn't fully understand. She knew that she had to follow Aemond’s lead, and make sure his seed was in her womb to get pregnant. She knew too that he had to insert himself and, in words of her septa, it would hurt. Yet only one time was enough to get pregnant. 

“I do know”  she says, almost in a whiny tone, because everyone overlooked her.

“And you… My lady,  I do not wish to be impertinent, but do you do it frequently?”

“Once is necessary,” she shrugs. 

“Yes, but not always it’s… fruitful. And besides, you might… enjoy it. Some people do”  

“Have you?”

“Yes” she shrugs. Alice wasn't like Lady Foote, who even speaking of her marriage would put her in a bad mood— she didn’t know if it was because of prudeness or because her husband wasn’t as caring. 

“… how?” 

Perhaps it is pity in the look on Alice Plumm’s face. She was older, and knew better of life than her. But Lady Corbray was a bit desperate, for she did not understand the ways of marriage. 

She had hoped that at least, by now, it would grow into fondness. She was not a bad wife; she did not gossip about him, she did not spend much money on dresses or jewelry, she spent time with his family, and she prayed in the sept most evenings. She did not push him; even if she wanted to hug him or press a kiss on his cheek. 

She knew that men were mostly creatures of base desires, like her brothers. Her septa told her she was lucky to escape the cruelness of bedding, but it didn’t feel like a mercy.

“Let me think of it a bit, how to help you” Lady Plumm says softly, as she nods a bit.  

The rest of the day, she bites her index finger thinking about it. When she’s reunited with her ladies in waiting, she can only think about it instead of playing cards properly.  

She was kneeling in the Sept that very same afternoon. Lady Myara Foote by her side, praying more fervously than her, the seven pointed star in her hands as she seemed deep in prayer.

She lightens another candle, unsure what she will pray about. Usually, it clears her mind about decisions, about what she has to do. It gives her a sense of purpose, and she feels fulfilled. She had prayer for almost everything, and she felt comforted in her faith. 

Lady Corbray was naïve, but not stupid. She thinks for a while how to order her prayer. 

«O Mother above…Look with kindness upon me and soften my husband’s heart. Bless the union as you did before, for our bond might be fruitful and loving.

Maiden, forgive my unseemly thoughts and desires, for my vain attempts of trying to lewdly convince my husband to consummate.  

Crone, lend me wisely counsel in my duty as a lady married to a prince

Warrior, shield me from the carrions crows of King’s landing court, whisper and slander, guard me from the vice in the tongue of the rest.

Father, may you help me weigh good and ill, to walk through righteousness…»

She sighs, softly, her heart soft as she finishes her prayer as she tends to do more these days, asking for protection for her husband’s people, which was now hers too. Before, it was the village in Heart’s home, but now, all the seven Kingdoms. 

She doesn’t mind waiting for Lady Foote to finish, as before her brothers would wait a lot more for her, to the point where she ended up going either alone or with a lady in waiting. 

That night, Aemond hadn’t arrived yet after her last food of the day. She never thought of him going to brothels, because she didn’t think of him as a lustful man. He hadn’t even consummated the marriage, as even if he disliked her, if he was lustful, he would have. 

Maybe, and perhaps he was devoted to another lady… but she doubts it. Men weren’t subtle about it, at least her brother Leowyn wasn’t. 

“May you seek my husband?” She asks a maid, who finished warming up her side of the bed. 

Lady Corbray likes linen nightgowns, and she brushes her own hair, preparing herself for bed. She doesn’t like getting in bed before Aemond, mostly because it is his bed, and she was convinced that he wouldn’t like the sight. 

She hasn't seen the small envelope in the writing table, and she takes it after she leaves her brush there. It was her family’s sigil, and so she knew it was directed to her. 

More than often, she would send letters. To her brothers, to her nieces. She had sent Aemond lots of letters too, when they were betrothed, but she doubts he had read them all, if he ever took the time in the first place.

«Dear sister… Hoping that this letter finds you well…» Blah blah blah «Everything is fine here..» Blah blah blah… «I have heard your marriage has problems, of coldness and unpleasanties.» Blah blah blah…

She knows Corwyn means well, probably. He was more like her, a bit more romantic and loveful. He was the one who sang with his lute to her and her friends, making them all giggle and ask for more. He was the one who brought her love books, of courtly love between maidens and knights. 

That, along with her brother, was in the past now. In Heart’s home, back with her illusions and hopes in a world she was not prepared for. 

She bites her index finger as she reads of how her brother, far in the Vale, knows about her problems with Aemond. It was rather humiliating than pleasant, to have everyone know across the seven kingdoms.  

Perhaps she must take Lady Plumm’s word, and learn how to please her husband. And letting himself be pleased. While she had no idea how to do so, she could barely imagine how a male member was. She had seen it, but by far, and with his baby nephew. But other than that… never. 

She could barely understand her own anatomy, and she wonders if Aemond was faced by the same difficulties. What if he was?  She thinks, holding the paper in her hands. He can’t be. He’s older and men are not known for holding back on carnal pleasures.

She bites her index softly, trying to come up with a solution. She can only pray and ask for lightening in the situation, and hope she can do something. 

Aemond hasn’t seen his wife since a day ago. She fell asleep before he arrived, and she woke up after he was gone. 

Not that he particularly was looking forward to being with her. Nothing against her, but he couldn’t entertain her now. He just needed quiet, after feeling so stressed that he had no time to indulge her. 

He was not used to having a wife. It had always been him in the world. His mother fussed over Aegon and Helaena, but he and Daeron were more forgotten. He tried to use all his energy on his duties, so he doesn't give his mother a reason to worry. Aemond did it so well, that now she has been fussing over his marriage. 

It drove him mad. And it made his feelings for his wife more complicated. 

Aemond spends the morning in the training yard, engaged in a fierce sparring match with one of his guards. He hated having guards following him around, as if he was helpless like a maiden. Yet he likes sparring with them, it varies a bit from Ser Criston.. even if he is right there watching too. 

As the guard lunges at him, Aemond sidesteps effortlessly, countering with a quick strike. Ser Criston helped him by being able to spar fiercely despite his blind spots, and his mother had nearly fainted when he trained after his accident.

“Very good” Aemond says as he feels sweaty. Some of the hairs in his braid are loose, and it sticks onto his damp forehead. 

“You have an audience, my prince” Ser Criston says as he takes Aemond’s sword. 

Aemond looks up to where the castle his lady wife was, with one of her friends. She locked eyes with him, and clapped softly with a faint smile on her face. 

To that, he awkwardly waved back to her, cringing almost immediately at that. He must look like a lovestruck fool, he thinks. 

Even when he sparred with Ser Criston, Aemond cannot stop thinking about her. Not even when he notices that she leaves. 

She was busy, the maids told him when he entered his chambers after eating. That his wife was with his ladies in waiting, per usual. Sometimes it bugs him how perfect she manages the court. Entertaining his ladies in waiting, where they all would adore her because she was so perfect. 

He lets all the maids leave, his jaw is set tight as he thinks about his wife. He knew he had been avoiding her, but again… what if she truly leaves? If she doesn’t like him? If the letter from her brother was truly a way out?

“You know if my wife will arrive soon?” He asks her handmaid before she leaves.

“The lady goes to the sept at this hour, my prince.” 

He serves himself a bit of Mead. He knows his wife also likes the taste of it, so he tries to drink it more, so he can enjoy the same things. 

Aemond rarely drank anything other than wine, especially more than one cup of anything else. All because he would start thinking, and reflecting about things… before it was okay, but now? All he thinks about is his wife. 

And after a while, his thoughts would trail to the same thing he suppresses; his carnal need for his Lady Corbray. He hates how it makes his cock throb on his pants, and how he has to accommodate on the chair to spread his legs slightly. 

A hand runs over his face, as he undoes his braid. He needs to get a grip over his feelings, he was not an animal to let his lust dominate his actions over his rational thinking. 

He stands up to undo his breeches, just to calm the fat bulge on it. Even as he does so, he knows he’s lying to himself. He knows his intentions are up to no good. 

“Gods forgive me…” he murmurs as his hand finds his already hard dick, which only grows harder and harder at the contact. 

Aemond sighs, he was like a barely contained beast when it came to his wife. He is scared of what he will do if he is alone in the same room with her for more than ten minutes. And worst of all, perhaps she will be willing to. And that terrifies him. 

He knows she’s eager to consummate, but Aemond knows that the naive sweet Lady Corbray doesn’t understand what that entails. Especially with him and his wicked cravings. 

His grip is firm, stroking his already hard cock as he places his other hand on the edge of the dresser (‘). He can feel his cheeks already getting flushed, and he strokes from base to the tip. 

“Yesss…” He hisses softly as he applies more pressure to his dick “Just like that…” he says lowly. 

Aemond wishes he could say those things to his wife, when they were intimate. He’d praise her, he figured, when they do it, he would make sure she knows how appreciated she is. He must tell her, because most of the time, his urges were anything but kind. 

It made him feel dirty and depraved, but he craved to see his wife kneeled on the ground, placing his cock on her mouth and pleasuring him eagerly. Most of the time, he thinks of how she would take him, and how he would pleasure her the best he could. Other times, he would simply think of how he would take her until she cries of pleasure, making her cum again and again until he decides it is enough. 

He’ll pray for forgiveness later. 

Now, at least, he can feel his balls tightening as he continues stroking his cock, his eye closed and his grip strong on the edge of the dresser, whereas his hips hesitate as he rocks his hand softly. He needed this so badly…

He can hear the soft lewd sound of his hand against his cock, and how his own hand is sticky from the precum on his tip. He tries not to groan too loudly, a bit embarrassed and ashamed if anyone found out, even the guards outside. 

Aemond only thinks of his wife, the few times he would catch a glimpse of her body. And when she came to his chambers, baring herself in front of him and demanding to be bred…

“Fuck, fuck” he moans loudly at the memory, pumping his cock as he feels coming closer to his own release. Not yet, he thinks, he likes to savour the pleasure boiling in his belly, as his strokes become more aggressive. 

He was about to let out another curse out of his mouth, when he hears the doors swinging open and his whole body becomes rigid and the pleasure dissipates.

“Oh, Gods” 

Aemond turns his head before he can hide himself, seeing both his lady wife and Lady Foote standing horrified in the door frame. He can hear how the lady-in-waiting muses a horrified apology, turning around and escaping. 

But he worries more about seeing his wife’s face. He cannot decipher what she thinks, she seems stunned, as he covers himself, ashamed and horrified from it all.

Aemond doesn’t dare to look at her face as he tries to compose himself, turning away from her and tucking his now soft cock in his breeches. He had never gotten so flaccid so quickly, but again, this was probably the most horrifying moment in his life. 

“Husband, I…”

He doesn’t dare to look at her face, he simply grabs the sword hilt that he had placed against the cushions. Aemond feels his face still burning red, he feels like a maid that had been caught stealing. 

He escapes, like a craven. He simply walks past his wife and her horrified lady in waiting, practically running away from that. 

Aemond feels himself shaking, knowing damn well his marriage is definitely over. He had frightened her, and now she would find him disgusting. She would ask for their marriage to dissolve on the grounds of depravity, and she would be away, back in her tower in Heart’s Home. And her brothers would demand a duel for her honour if anyone else knew. 

He curses himself, not knowing what to do. For the first time in his life, he has no idea what to do. Aemond wishes for anything but to lose his marriage, and he knows he has only himself to blame.