note: Aerion’s part is longer than I expectrd because… well I got carried away! I really have to rewatch daemyra’s scene sooo I can put it rightin my imagination and I also used rhae’s clothing that scene to use here in the fic too.

Being the youngest daughter of Maekar Targaryen means living in the shadow of a father whose heart turned to stone the moment Dyanna Dayne took her last breath. Your own mother was a political marriage to satisfy the both parties, and she birthed you with silver hair and lilac eyes that you inherited from your father, but she also gave you other features she passed down, like your skin. You might look the part of being a Targaryen, but you’re a ghost in your own home, and your father stares at you as if he’s searching for a face he’ll never see again. He looks for a resemblance to Dyanna that you don't have, while your other sisters carry her memory in their faces. You’re just a reminder of a necessity, and it left a void that no amount of power could ever truly fill.

The rest of your siblings are just a mess of broken pieces, and you’re always watching them from the shadows of the big halls. Daeron is the oldest, but he’s usually lost in the drink in his goblet while he tries to escape from his own dreams. Aerion is a brother who hates you because you don’t share his whole blood, and he treats you like an outsider every chance he gets. Aemon stays away from the family, and your sisters are busy with their own lives, while your beloved Egg is always sneaking off to escape Aerion, too. You’ve learned to do things in the way only a princess like you can, and that means testing the patience of the one man who actually looks at you.

Baelor Targaryen is the Hand and the heir to the throne, but to you, he’s just the uncle who holds your leash too tight. He doesn't have a daughter of his own, so he has taken you under his wing, and he tries to keep you shielded from the world while your own father forgets you exist. He treats you like a doll that might break while he ensures you remain untouched because he wants to save your hand for a high lord you deserve, and he treats your name as if it’s his own to defend. You feel trapped by his kindness, and his constant worry makes the whole place feel like a cage that gets smaller as time passes. Your beloved brother knows about the complicated relationship you have with your uncle, and Aerion loves to mess with your head because of it.

He whispers that Baelor is just another man trying to own you, and he pushes you to break the Prince’s heart just to see what freedom feels like. He always loved to toy with you, even when you were younger, because you and he don’t share the same mother. So it was nothing that he spent weeks filling your ears with stories about common folk beyond the Red Keep, because that was the easiest way to build an image for you, and he promised to show you things Baelor would never allow. He talks about walking through the realm without a single knight at your back, and he tells you the people in the streets have more life in them than anyone in this cold place.

That promise of freedom is what leads you to the small scrap of parchment paper hidden under your pillow, and you read his handwriting by the light of the fire. The note tells you exactly where the hidden door is and gives you instructions on how to get out without anyone knowing. You wait until the halls are quiet and the knight in charge thinks you’re already out for the day. The only sound you can hear is the wind passing by while you walk toward the corner of your chambers. The chair in front of the exit is heavy, but you manage to shove it aside, and the wood scrapes quietly against the floor as you clear the way to the wall. You press your hand against the stone, and it swings open to reveal a dark pathway.

There’s an unpleasant smell and wet stone, while you can see a small bundle of fabric sitting on the floor of the passage. You lean through the opening while your hands grip the edge of the stone frame, and you peer into the hallway to check if the coast is clear. Once you’re on the other side, you reach for the bundle, and you start to strip your heavy clothes. It lands on the floor, and you leave it right where Aerion’s gift had been waiting as if you're swapping one identity for another. You put on the brown tunic, then tie the laces at the front before slipping into the sturdy breeches and the dark grey doublet. The fabric is rough against your skin, but it has more life than anything you’ve worn in years.

You sit on the cold ground to pull on the boots, and you tug the laces tight until they’re secure enough for a long walk. You finish the look by tucking your silver hair under a cap, and you finally look like just another smallfolk in the city. Sevens, you even look like a boy in such a state. You stand up, and you shove the stone back toward the way it was, but you make sure to leave a tiny gap. You don't close it all the way because you need to be able to get back inside before the sun comes up and people come looking for you. You begin to walk down the narrow stone stairs once you're sure everything is good, and the air gets colder the further you go. The walls are damp, and the only light comes from the small torches flickering in the distance as you follow the path deeper.

You keep your steps quiet as you watch the uneven way beneath your feet while moving through the hallways and along the silent tunnels. The path eventually leads deep under the Red Keep, where the altar of the massive skull of Balerion is sitting. You take a moment to look at its enormous size before walking past it, then follow the hallway as it leads toward more steps. You finally feel the cold air of a chilly night after you reach the bottom, and you see a figure leaning against the wall. Aerion looks up as you approach, and he gives you a crooked smile. “Took you long enough.” Aerion doesn't wait for an answer before he reaches out to grab your hand with a firm grip.

He tugs you forward, and you follow him as he leads the way out of the keep and toward the city. Both of you hurried to reach the bottom of the stairs, and the silence of the Red Keep is replaced by the distant noise of King's Landing at night. Aerion keeps a fast pace while he guides you through the streets. “Stay close and do not let go of my hand,” he says as he looks over his shoulder to check on you. He turns a corner where the street is filled with brothels, and you realize he’s taking you toward the Street of Silk. You keep your head down while you clutch his hand tightly when you step into this kind of crowd for the first time.

“Is this it?” you ask while you try to process what you see and the strange faces. “It is,” Aerion laughs, and he leads you deeper into the noise. “Baelor would be mad if he could see you now.” You follow him inside a crowded building, where you can’t describe very well what the scent is that you smell. Someone snatches the doublet right off your shoulders as you push through the people, and it disappears into the crowd, but Aerion doesn't even try to stop them. He just yanks his own hood back to reveal his silver hair, and he stands tall as he leads you further into the room. “Let them have it,” he says while he looks back at you. “You do not need it here,” he adds.

You look around the room, and you see why he isn't worried about you missing your clothes. People are showing all of their skin everywhere you look, and you see women with exposed breasts while men walk around with their cocks hanging between their legs. In every corner, there are people fucking without any shame while the rest of the crowd just watches or drinks. You see bodies entwined together, and the sight makes your face hot, but Aerion just keeps moving as if this is the most natural thing in the world. It’s almost like he’s always here and used to it. Aerion leads you into a massive room where the room is filled with gasping breaths and sounds of pleasure.

You see people fucking on every surface, and some are sprawled across the cushions, while others are pinned against the walls or just doing it without shame on the floor. The sight of so many men and women thrusting or bouncing out in the open makes your heart race. He guides you toward the side of the room, and he doesn't stop until your back is pressed against a cold wall. Aerion looks down at you with a grin, and his fingers reach for the laces of your tunic. “You are shaking,” he whispers while he starts to undo the knots with slow movements. “Is the little princess scared of a few naked bodies, or is it just that you have never seen how people live?”

He loosens the fabric until it hangs open, and he shoves his hand inside to grope your breast. His calloused palm squeezes your flesh, and he watches your face for any sign of pleasure. “Look at them,” he orders while he yanks on the laces to open the shirt even further. “Do not turn away like a coward. You wanted to see behind the walls of the Keep, so you might as well see all of it.” His other hand drops to the waistband of your breeches, and he starts fumbling with it. You try to look away from the people nearby, looking at the two of you, but he grips your chin, and he forces you to keep your eyes on the room. He yanks the breeches down past your hips with a sudden movement, and they fall to your ankles.

“Much better,” he murmurs as he looks at you from your head to your toes while you stand there and have never felt more exposed than before. “Now you look like you actually belong here.” Aerion doesn't waste another second before he silences your protest with his mouth, and he crushes his lips against yours in a harsh kiss. You feel the warmth of his body as he pins you harder against the cold wall while his hand slides down between your legs. His fingers find your pearl, and he starts to grind his palm against your center with a harsh pressure that makes your knees weak. You try to gasp, but the sound is trapped in your throat as he slides his tongue into your mouth, and he rubs his thumb over the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming while he toys with what’s between your folds, and you let out a muffled whine into the kiss because of the way he teases you.

He smirks against your lips when he hears the high-pitched moan you make, and he only increases the speed of his hand to make sure you can’t think of anything but him. “Good,” he murmurs while he breaks the kiss just enough to look at your expression. “Make those pretty sounds for me while everyone watches.” Aerion shifts his weight while he watches your face for any sign that you’re close to finishing, and he shoves two fingers deep into your cunt without any warning. The sudden fullness of your cunt makes you arch against the stone as the pain from the stretch of his fingers affects you while you try to clench around him. "Hngh-! ” You let out a choked gasp, and your fingers sink into the skin of his shoulders while you try to find your breath.

He doesn't slow down or give you a moment to adjust, but instead, he thrusts his fingers deeper until they’re knuckle deep. He smirks at the way tears start to pool in your eyes before he leans in close, and you can feel his breath against your skin. “Mmph... Ah! Enough... Aerion- nnngh,” you whimper while you squirm against his hand, but he only takes it to push his fingers deeper inside you. “Enough?” he mocks you before he starts to move his fingers at a rough pace. “If the High Lords of the realm could see their little Princess now... legs wide and sobbing in a brothel, do you think a single one of them would still want to marry you? You are tainted now,” he sneers while he increases the speed of his hand. “No one wants a girl who has been opened by her brother while commoners watch her make those sounds.”

“Hah... P-please," you whimper while the pain mixes with the pleasure, and your head lolls back against the wall as he shoves his fingers deep into you. He just watches you while your tears start to flow out because it’s all becoming too much. “You want more?” Aerion murmurs against your skin, and he suddenly drops to his knees while your breeches stay bunched at your ankles. You let out a broken gasp as he forces your knees apart with his other hand until the fabric of your breeches tugs against your skin and your wet pearl pulses from the feeling of the cold air. He keeps his fingers buried deep inside you while his tongue swipes across your folds at the same time.

“A-Ae-! Gods,” you cry out, and your fingers find his hair while he buries his face between your thighs to taste you out. The feeling of his mouth makes you grind against him as he sucks on your bud while his hand pumps inside. His other hand grips your hip to keep you pinned against the wall while you heave and sob his name. The way he licks and moves his fingers inside you is something you have never felt before, and you attempt to keep your legs from shaking too hard, but always fail. “Look at me,” he growls against your skin while he looks up at you with hunger, and he continues to flick his tongue against you until you’re sobbing from how he does it.

Aerion buries his face even deeper between your thighs while his tongue licks the line of your folds, and he uses the tip of his tongue to flick at your swollen pearl. You let out a loud moan that echoes through the place because you don’t even care if the other people here see your brother between your legs. The shame doesn’t matter if he uses his mouth to suck on your cunt that way, and you only think about the way he shoves his fingers deeper into you. You don’t care about the people watching or the fact that he’s your brother because the way he moves his tongue makes you forget it. You only want to feel more of him as you watch his dark hair move against your skin while he gulps down the slick around it.

You strive to open your legs further, even though the breeches at your ankles stop you, while you lean your head back against the stone, and you let your cries fill the air. “Emā se sȳrje orvorta eman mirre ēdas,” (You have the best cunt I have ever had) he mumbles against your skin while he swipes his tongue over you again, and his fingers pump deeper inside you until you feel something you can’t even describe. You grind your cunt against his mouth while you seek more relief, but he suddenly yanks his face away. You let out a frustrated whine that almost sounds like you’re complaining, which makes him slap your clit with his other hand in response, and he shoves his fingers deeper.

The way he uses his mouth and the thrust of his fingers make you moan loudly because you need his mouth back against your cunt. Aerion doesn’t put his face back between your legs yet, and it almost feels like he doesn’t want to, especially the way he stays there while he continues to use his hand. He watches your reaction while his fingers move fast around you, and the way his eyes stare at you is too much, as if you can even feel it touch you. “L-lēkia- A-Aerion… P-please- kostilus dīnagon aōha relgos arlī va nyke,” (Brother, put your mouth back on me) you cry out as you look down at him.

He smiles at you from below while he finally moves his face back against your center to start working his mouth again. He flicks his tongue up and down your folds with a greed that makes you sob while he sucks at you as if he is starving. You feel his fingers continue to pump, and his mouth focuses on the pearl until your entire body shakes from the pressure. He devours you while he ignores the sounds of the brothel around you because he only cares about the way you taste. Aerion gives you a few more hard thrusts before he yanks his fingers out where he leaves you gaping and empty. He stands up fast, and you immediately feel the cold air of the brothel on your skin when the warmth of his body against you disappears.

He doesn’t say a word when he turns his back on you, and he starts walking fast toward the exit as if he doesn’t want you to catch him. You are left heaving against the wall with your breeches pooled at your ankles and your shirt hanging open that reveals your exposed breasts to the entire room. “Aerion-! N-nngh- hah... wait!” you gasp while you strive to find your balance. You clutch at your open tunic to hide your chest, but you can't even move to follow him because your legs are still shaking from his touch. You watch his silver hair disappear into the group of naked bodies, and you realize he’s actually leaving you here. “Lēkia! Sevens- Aerion!” you call out again, but the sounds of people moaning nearby drown your voice.

You feel the pulsing feeling between your legs, and you hurried to tug your breeches back up before anyone else decides to take advantage of you. “Damn him,” you hiss while you angrily fix your beeches with clumsy fingers. You put your breasts back into the tunic, and you yank the ties shut as fast as you can while your heart beats fast against your ribs. You look around the room with a panicked expression and notice a few men staring at you with hungry eyes. The sight makes you finish tucking in your shirt quickly, and you run toward the exit to try to find him before you're truly lost around the city. You stumble out of the brothel, and the cold air touches your skin like it’s a slap in your title that you’re walking out like this.

You don’t even realize the cap that hid your silver hair is gone, and you just keep walking as the wind blows those strands away. Your clothes are messy, and the way you tuck your tunic is not even proper, but you don’t care because you just want to get away from that place. A few drunkards hanging around in the alley stop to stare as you pass over them. “Is that... silver?” one of them mutters while he squints his eyes through the dark as if he’s trying to confirm if it’s one of the Targaryen bastards because who could even have silver hair but in such a state like you have right now? No highborn will wear that filthy fabric. “Cannot be,” another responds, and he leans against a wooden post. “What would a dragon be doing coming out of a hole like this?”

“Look at the way she walks,” the first one whispers while he watches your shaky legs. “Someone definitely had their way with her there.” You really tried to keep your head down and not fight with them because you would just get yourself caught. You pick up your pace while your heart thumps against your ribs like you are wishing no one would ever recognize you. Every person you’re walking by feels like a hand reaching for you, and every muffled laugh from a nearby window sounds like a mockery of your shame. You reach the side entrance of the Red Keep, and you slip through the door while the silence of the castle swallows you whole. Thanks to the Sevens that the knight on duty was distracted by another night, so they didn’t even blink an eye in your direction.

The halls are empty except for the rats lingering around and the fire from the torches. Everyone is asleep, and the only sound you can hear is the scuff of your boots against the floor. You feel small in the big corridor while you hug your arms around your chest as a poor attempt to feel fully covered, despite the fact that you’re even clothed, and because you can’t stop trembling from the cold. You walk past the closed doors and along the walls as your messy hair falls over your face while you keep your eyes on the floor to avoid being seen. You can feel the air on your swollen lips as you realize how exposed you feel without your doublet because you are only wearing a tunic.

A few of the laces are still untied at the top, but you don’t even bother to fix them. You just want to be in your chamber and hide, so you pick up your pace, which makes your boots thud louder against the floor. You reach the hallway, turn at the end of it, and you almost start running until a tall figure steps out from the shadows and blocks your path. You nearly crash into his chest, and you stumble back while you struggle to keep your balance. You saw the dark hair and stern expression of Baelor when the dim torchlight fell on his face. He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest while he looks down at your messy hair and your untied tunic with a look of pure disgust.

“Where have you been?” he asks, and his voice sounds like he’s mad. You try to walk past him by taking a step to the side, but he moves to block you again, and he stays put. “I asked you a question,” he says before he steps closer, and he forces you back toward the stone wall. You just shake your head, and you try to look away from his gaze because you can’t bear the way he’s judging you. It’s almost like he sees a different person right now, and it’s not the lovely niece he knows. “Did you hear me?” Baelor asks again while his voice rises a little, but not enough to wake people, and he looms over you. “I want to know which brothel you crawled out of and which whorehouse allowed you in.”

His words stirred emotions deep inside you, and what he said is probably worse than a slap. You look up at him and try to stand tall, like you are gathering your confidence to talk back to him. “It is no concern of yours where I spend my time,” you said while you met his eyes. “You are neither my father nor my King, and I do not owe you an account of my activities!” you said with annoyance before you tried to push past him again, but Baelor reaches out, and he catches your wrist. He yanks you back toward him, and he holds you so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“It became my concern the moment you brought shame to this house,” he hisses while he stares at your messy hair and tunic. “Was it Aerion? Did you let that boy drag you into the mud?” You let out a bitter laugh before you twist your arm, but he doesn’t let go, and his eyes are now eyeing you angrily at your swollen lips. “Aerion knows how to spend his time,” you spit out, and you lean in toward his face while your eyebrows knit together. “But you are so occupied with the King’s business and the duties of the Hand that you likely have not laid hands on a woman in years.” Baelor’s jaw tightens, and his grip on your wrist gets even tighter until it hurts. He doesn’t say anything for a second, but you can see the rage behind his eyes as he stares at your swollen lips and your slightly opened tunic that will surely reveal your chest if he pulls the tie more.

“Is that what you believe?” he asks, and his voice is strained as he yanks you closer to his chest. “That I have lost my way?” He doesn’t drag you away, but instead he shoves you back against the cold stone of the corridor wall with a sudden force that knocks the whine out of you. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, and he uses his other hand to grip your throat. It’s not enough to knock you out, but it's enough to catch you off guard. The hallway is empty, and the dim torchlight makes his shadow loom over you as you can feel the warmth of his body. “You think I am too old and too tired for the likes of you,” he whispers after he leans down and his breath touches your ear. “But look at you. You walk back here in this state, and you expect me to ignore how you ruin yourself for a night with Aerion.”

You look up at him, and a taunting smile spreads across your face because you can see how much you’re getting under his skin. You almost look like you enjoy the way he’s towering over you, and you only smiled for a moment before it disappeared. You widen your eyes, and your eyes start to water while you stare at him with a frightened look. Luckily for you, you have a talent for faking your emotions. “You are hurting me,” you whisper, and your voice sounds small in the empty hallway. His hand is still tight against your neck, and you can feel the heat from his palm against your skin. You’re not actually in pain, but you watch his expression for any sign of hesitation. You lean your head back against the wall, and you let a single tear roll down your cheek while you keep your eyes looking at him.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you let your voice tremble just enough. “Are you truly going to hurt your only girl because of Aerion? I thought I meant more to you than a reason to lose your temper.” Baelor’s grip doesn’t loosen, but you see a flicker of something in his eyes when you call yourself his girl. He looks down at your swollen lips and then back at your watering eyes while his chest heaves against yours. He leans in closer until his nose brushes against yours, and you can feel his anger. He can easily see through the act, and his eyes darken when he realizes you are trying to play him. “You are not a girl,” he says roughly. “You are a woman who does not know her place, and you think you can play these games with me because I have been kind to you in the past?”

He tightens his grip around your throat, but it’s not in a way that will choke you out of air; instead, he wants you to feel the pressure while he looms over you. He lets go of your wrists, and they drop to your sides, but you’re pinned too firmly against the wall to move. “Do not play the victim with me when you were just in the arms of a prince who cares nothing for your safety,” he growls, and his face is inches from yours. He slides his free hand down your chest, and he slips it under the hem of your tunic. His palm is hot against your skin as he moves upward, and he finds your breast under his palm. He squeezes your flesh firmly, and his thumb brushes over your nipples while he watches your tears dry up.

“Nnngh... H-hah n..." you moan breathily as you arch your back against the wall. The sound makes his jaw clench, and he moves the hand that is already at your neck to slide his fingers up until they touch your lips. He shoves them into your mouth to make you choke on them while his palm is firm against your chin to hold your head from looking away. He forces your jaw open with two fingers he placed over your tongue to keep you quiet. He pressed his weight into you so you could feel the hardness of his cock under his clothes, and he kept his other hand busy under your shirt. “Keep your mouth shut,” he commands, and his voice is gritty. “You will wake the people in this wing.”

You let out a muffled moan against his hand, and you look up at him with wide eyes while your heart thuds against your ribs. He let out a deep groan from his throat, and he started to grope your flesh with pressure that makes your legs feel weak. You try to say something back to him, but you can only make a whine around his fingers while he stares at your face. You look up at him through your lashes, and you reach down with your free hand to find the heavy shape of his cock through his breeches. You wrap your fingers around the length of him, and you feel him throb under your touch when you squeeze him. Baelor lets out a deep grunt, and he closes his eyes for a second as he reacts to your hand.

He doesn’t pull away, and instead, he uses his hand on your face to control your mouth. He shoves his index and middle fingers deeper into your throat while he uses his thumb and his remaining fingers to grip your jaw tightly. He forces your mouth open wider, and he curls his fingers over your tongue to keep you from speaking or biting down. “Mmmph... Hngh! ”You gasp, and your eyes water for real this time when you feel his fingers reach close to your throat. “Seven hells,” Baelor curses, and his voice is hoarse as he leans his forehead against yours. “You are a bold little whore, and you think you can handle a man like me just because you have been playing with Aerion.”

He keeps his fingers buried in your mouth, and he moves his other hand from your breast down to your waist. He fumbles with the ties of your breeches, and he yanks them open with a harsh tug. He doesn’t stop there, and he slides his hand inside to find your wet cunt while your hand keeps working on his cock through the fabric. He finds your bud, and he rubs his thumb against it with a force that makes your knees buckle. "Nngh-! Mmmf!” you cry out against his fingers, and your cunt gets wetter as he pleases you with his thumb. “You want to be used?” he whispers, and he stares into your eyes while he works his fingers inside your mouth with his hand inside your cheeks. “I will give you exactly what you deserve.”

Baelor pulls his hand away from your cunt and mouth before he turns you around with a surprising movement that leaves you breathless. He pushes your face against the cold wall, and he yanks your breeches down to your knees. He holds your ass, and he feels the softness of them for a moment before he leans closer and grinds his clothed cock against you. He wraps one arm around your body, and he slides his hand underneath your tunic so that it rests firmly on your breast while he stays close against your back. “Iksan vaoreznuni,” (I am sorry) he starts apologizing in Valyrian against your ear, and his voice is laced with a guilt that wasn’t there before. “I did not mean to be so harsh with you, my little dove.”

He keeps grinding against you while his hand kneads your chest, and he nuzzles the side of your neck as if he wants to be even closer to you. His anger turns into a desperate affection as he holds you tightly against the wall while his breath hitches. “You just do not understand what it does to me when I think of you in those places,” he murmurs gently, and he closes his eyes as he feels the warmth of your body. You move your hips back against him, and you feel him through his breeches. You grind your arse against his front, and he lets out a heavy groan. You lean your head back against his shoulder before you smile.

“Are you jealous?” you ask softly. “Does it bother you that I was there with my legs open while other men watched? Does it eat at you to think that any one of them could have taken me on the floor and used me until I could not walk?” You feel his heart thudding against your back, and his grip on your breast gets tighter because of what you’re saying. You chuckle, and you move your arse against him again to make sure he feels you against him. “Aerion is young, and he has the fire for it, but you are just an old man who thinks an apology will make me forget how you just had your fingers down my throat,” you whisper, and you shove your arse back into his pelvis.

You feel his breath against your ear while you move your hips to feel his thick cock against your soft flesh. He makes a rough sound, and his fingers sink into your skin. You don’t stop, and you close your eyes while you mock him with your movements. “You are slowing down… Maybe you are just scared that you do not have enough blood left in you, actually, to handle a woman like me,” you murmur, and your hair brushes his face when you lean your head more to his shoulder. He let out a snarl, and he yanked his breeches down past his hips with a single motion. He doesn’t give you a second to prepare before he grabs your waist with both hands, and he positions himself at your entrance.

He pushes into you with a sudden thrust that buries his cock inside you in an instant, and the force of it makes you cry out. You have no choice but to place your palms against the wall to keep your body from falling while he pins you there with the weight of his body. He moves his hands, so they’re both holding onto your hips before he begins to work you against him with a hard force. He isn’t just thrusting into you, but instead he is yanking your hips back to meet every ram of his cock, and the impact makes your face uncomfortably rub against the wall. “You want to talk about Aerion?” he growls in your ear, and his voice is filled with ugly rage. “You think that boy has the fire for this when he could not even keep you for a whole night? He left you in the dirt like a used whore because he is a coward who only knows how to play instead of being a man.”

He pounds into you even harder, and his fingers on your skin are enough to start bruising with how he puts pressure on it while he uses your hips to control the depth of every plunge. “I was going to be kind to you… I was going to take you back to your chambers to- " He cuts himself off while he buries himself inside you to the hilt. “To give you the gentle touch you deserve,” he taunts as he yanks your hips back to meet every ram of his cock, and the impact makes your forehead bang against the wall. “But, no, you just had to keep your tongue wagging,” he hisses while he pounds into you without any plan to stop this any sooner. “Look at you now,” he grunts when you clench around him. “You’re being used in a hallway by the old man you look down on.”

He keeps a tight grip on your waist while he pistons into you. “You’re taking every inch of me while your precious brother is probably with another whore’s cunt." Baelor lets out a moan against your neck, and he moves one of his hands from your hip to your arse. He grips the soft flesh painfully before he pulls back just enough to hit one of your arses with a loud slap that can be heard through the corridor. He doesn’t even care if someone hears the sound or if your father, Maekar, happens to walk around the corner and find his youngest daughter being used by his dear brother. He doesn’t want to hide anymore, and instead, he looks like he wants the whole castle to know exactly who is fucking you like a hound.

“Go on then,” he growls, and he pushes his hips into you with a thrust that makes your toes curl against the floor. “Do not hold back your voice for my sake.” He buries his entire length inside you, and he stays there for a heartbeat to let you feel the fullness of it. “I want you to moan so loudly that every guard and every servant in the Red Keep knows what you are.” He lets his cock throb inside you, and his thickness makes your breath hitch. “Let them all hear how the future king handles a slut like you.” A slap to your arse makes you arch your back with a loud moan to hear from it. His hips start to hammer into you again with a relentless pace and don’t stop for breath. He keeps yanking your hips back to meet him so that you take every bit of him.

His eyes focus on the side of your face, and you can only gasp for air while he seems possessed by the need to have you. “I want them to know,” he murmurs while he kneads your skin. “I want Maekar to hear his youngest daughter making these sounds for me while Aerion sleeps alone in his bed.” You keep your palms pressed against the cold stone, and your arse is arched high to meet him while he works behind you. Baelor doesn’t just thrust anymore, but instead he digs his fingers into your waist so he can force your arse to slide over his cock, and he makes you take every inch of him with each drag. He decides how the pace will go by yanking you back against him while he drags your ass forward to force a moan out of you, and he doesn't let you move an inch unless he’s the one guiding you.

The sounds of both of your skin contacting are loud in the empty hall, and he groans when he feels you clench around him with every slide of his cock. He isn’t gentle at all, and he seems surprised by the way your body welcomes him like that. “You are so tight,” he grunts in your ear, and his voice is strained while he tries to keep his pace. “How can you be this tight after a night with that boy? Did he even touch you at all, or are you just built to take a man this way?”

You let out a broken moan while your back arches even more, and you feel the weight of him filling you completely. You turn your head just enough to look at him, and you let a small smile show on your face even as he hammers into you.

“Do you like it, Uncle?” you gasp, and you shove your arse back to meet him while your heart thumps. “Nngh- do you like how t-tight I am for you? Mmn- tell me.” Baelor lets out a sound that is almost a growl, and he nods while he buries his face in your hair. “Sīkudi nopāzmi" (seven hells), he mutters, and he leans closer into your back while his cock pulses inside you. “Damn you… You know I do- " You let out a laugh, and you wiggle against him, taking him more deeply as you purposely clench around him. “Aerion never put his cock in me,” you whisper while you feel him slow down from his movements behind you. “He only used his fingers and tongue. You are the only one who has been inside me tonight.” Baelor stops for a split second after he hears you, and then he pounds into you, which almost knocks your palms off the wall.

He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath, and he just pounds himself against your arse while he grips your waist so hard that his knuckles turn white. He sounds like he’s losing his mind, and he shoves his face into your neck while he keeps the same pace without any mercy. “Tonight?” he spat out, and his voice was laced with surprise. “You say I am the only one who has been inside you tonight, but what of the nights before this one?” He yanks you back against him to shove himself deeper inside you, and he holds you there while you feel him twitch. “How many men have used you?” He moves your hips in a slow circle to make his cock rub against your womb, and he watches the way your back arches. “How many times have you given yourself away while I was not looking?”

You gasp as his palm smacks your arse again, and your back arches until your spine feels like it might snap. You feel him filling you, and you shake your head while you try to keep your palms on the wall. “N-no one, uncle- " you cry out, and you shove your arse back to meet his pelvis. “I am a maiden, and no man has ever had me. I have never done this with anyone but you.” The words make him groan while he guides your hips back to meet his thrust. He isn’t even holding back now, and he slaps your arse again while he fucks into you. He looks like a man possessed after hearing that you were a maiden, and he keeps his eyes on the back of your head while he claims you in the middle of the hallway. “A maiden,” he repeats, and he sounds almost disgusted with himself even as he keeps ramming into you. “You are a daughter of the Prince, and you have a name to uphold, yet you let Aerion drag you into that filth?”

He leans his chest against your back to crush you into the stone while he shoves his cock deeper into you to show his anger. “Did you not even think about what would happen to you if someone else had found you first?” He doesn’t even seem to realize the irony of his words while he’s having his way with you here in the open. “You are lucky I am the one who caught you because any other man would have just taken what he wanted and left you ruined in the street.” You clench around him because of what he said, and the pleasure is so good that you finish right there against the stone. You squeeze him tightly, and you feel yourself getting soaked while you let out a loud cry. Baelor lets out a groan when he feels how much you got soaked compared to a few seconds ago, and he realizes you just spilled around his cock while he’s still moving.

You let out a whine, and you turn your head over your shoulder to look at him. “No one else will take me now anyway- " you whisper while you feel him throbbing inside you. “After all, you have already taken my maidenhood in a hallway.” You feel his breath on your neck, and you lean your forehead against the wall to catch your breath while his cock pulses inside you. “Who would want me after the Hand of the King has had his way with me?” You say those words to hurt him, and you feel your knees wobble. The reminder of what he has done makes him snap, and the way he shoves his cock into you almost knocks the wind out of you. He doesn’t stop, and instead, he uses your hips to drive himself even deeper while his face is twisted with rage.

He’s breathing raggedly, and he looks at you with a look that shows he’s done playing games. “Then you will learn to lie like the rest of them,” he growls, and he pounds into you so fast that your head hits against the wall again. “Many a lady has fooled her husband before, and you will simply do the same. If you wanted to stay pure, then you should not have gone out with Aerion.” He slaps your arse just to let out what he’s feeling, but he also likes how it bounces, and the sound it makes is loud. Baelor pounds into you even harder while he’s starting to feel that he’s close to his own release. He moves his hands away from your arse, and he wraps one arm around your neck to hold you steady while his other hand slams over your mouth. He’s trying to silence you because the way he’s fucking you made you let out a loud scream that will wake the other.

It’s ironic because he was just telling you to be loud not so long ago, but now he’s panicked that someone might actually come looking for the source of the noise. Your chest is still pressed against the wall, and you can only make muffled sounds against his palm while he moves on your back. “Mmmph! Nnngh-! ” you cry out behind his fingers, and your eyes open widely while you feel him hit the spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. Your back is arched, and your hips are tilted up to take every inch of him while he can’t control his temper. “Quiet,” he grunts in your ear, and he pants while he’s working to catch the feeling of release. “Bloody- you are too tight, and you are going to get us caught with those sounds.”

He keeps his hand clamped over your face while he shoves his cock into you with a heavy pounding that hits the back of your womb. He’s not thinking about anything but how you feel, so he’s just trying to get as deep as he can before he can’t control himself to pull away. You feel his fingers dig into your cheek, and you can only moan into his palm when his cock throbs inside you. “Hngh... haah...” he lets out a heavy sound, and his body goes rigid while he finally cums inside you. He keeps you pinned to the wall, and he doesn’t let go of your mouth until he’s sure you won’t scream again. Baelor pulls out just as he’s about to lose it, and he spills white seed right against your arse instead of inside you.

He lets out a sound that is almost like a whine while he coats your skin because he wasn’t planning on leaving a babe in your belly just yet. He’s breathing hard, and he immediately shoves back into your cunt after pouring all of the drops on your arse. You can feel that he’s still throbbing, and he’s trying to push his seed inside you, even though he’s already spent it all on the outside. He keeps his hand clamped over your mouth while he forces himself back in. "Mmmf-! ”You moan against his palm, and your arse grinds into him while you feel full again. You can feel his seed clinging to your skin while the remnants drop down to your thighs. “Look at the mess you made me do,” he says while he tries to recover, and he keeps his hand over your face to stifle your moans.

He’s acting on pure instinct now, and he grinds his cock against your walls to shove the slickness from your arse back inside you. You can only let out muffled gasps while he holds you, and he doesn’t pull away until he’s satisfied with it. Baelor finally pulls away before he looks down at your arse to see how his seed covered it, and the sight makes him let out a groan. He’s clearly affected by the mess he made, and he moves his hand away from your mouth before he lets go of your neck. He turns you around to make you face him, and he takes a look at your messy state while you try to catch your breath. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes move to where your breeches are yanked down to the ground. He reaches down, and he pulls them up first because he wants to make you look presentable before he even thinks about fixing his own clothes.

doesn’t say a word while he tugs the fabric into place, and his hands are a little shaky as he tries to hide away the evidence of what just happened. “Look at me,” he commands, and he hooks a finger under your chin to lift your head while he’s finishing with your clothes. “We cannot have anyone seeing you in this state.” You lean your weight against him because you can’t feel your legs, and you look up at his face while he tries to fix your hair. “Your chambers are closer than mine,” you whisper, and you watch his jaw tighten at the suggestion. “You cannot exactly let me walk looking like this.” He clearly doesn’t want to bring you there and risk people seeing him carry his niece into his room, or, even worse, someone seeing you leave in the morrow.

He knows the gossip would be hell if anyone caught a glimpse of you slipping out of his door in the morning, but he looks at the state of your clothes, and he knows you’re right. He lets out a frustrated huff, and he suddenly leans down to scoop you up into his arms while he ignores that he didn’t properly put his breeches on. He carries you down the hall with hurried steps as if he’s running in a race, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches his door. He brings you straight to his bed, and he tosses you onto it while he finally turns to lock the door. Baelor stands by the door for a moment while he tries to catch his breath, and he finally turns to look at you, where you’re sprawled on his bed.

He looks at your tunic, and he sees how dirty it is, which makes him let out a frustrated sigh because he knows those clothes have already touched the mattress. You aren't making it easy for him, though, and you start to roll across the fine sheets while knowing it’s a filthy thing. “Stop that,” he said before walking towards you, and he lunges forward to catch your waist before you can ruin the entire bed. “You are going to dirty it, and I will not sleep in a bed that smells like shit.” He ignores your stubborn look, and he begins to help you out of the fabric. He pulls the tunic out of your body before he yanks the breeches down, while his fingers brush against your skin, and he doesn’t say a word until your clothes are tossed onto the floor.

He reaches into a chest at the end of his bed, and he pulls out one of his own nightclothes before he offers it to you. “Put this on,” he mutters, and his voice is still hoarse while he looks at your state. You look at the fabric, and then you look at him while you bat your eyelashes as you slowly push the garment away. You make it very clear that you have no intention of wearing his clothes, and you lie back against the pillows while you don’t wear a thing. Baelor stares at you for a long moment, and he feels his resolve slipping while he takes in the sight of his niece in his bed. “Fine,” he grunts, and he turns his back to you so he can finally strip out of his layers, too.

“If you wish to be difficult, then you can sleep… like that, but do not complain if you get cold.” He starts to change his own things, but then he feels your gaze on him, and it makes him pause halfway through. He looks over his shoulder, and he sees the way you're watching him, and he decides to abandon his own night clothes as well. He climbs into the bed while he's showing skin as you do, and he pulls the heavy covers up to hide both of you. He stays on his side of the bed, and he stares at the ceiling while attempting to ignore the fact that you’re lying there completely naked right next to him. You aren't about to let him keep that distance, though, and you slide across the distance until your skin brushes against his.

You wrap your arms around his chest so you can cling to him while you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, and you can feel the way his heart beats against his chest. “Still so tense, Uncle?”You," you murmur, and you breathe against his throat. He doesn't try to push you away, but his hand moves up to rest on your hip with a firm grip. “You should be asleep,” he mutters. “Tomorrow is going to be… You aren't helping.” You let out a small laugh, and you nuzzle deeper into his body while you enjoy how he feels against you. “You're being a sour old man just because you finally got what you wanted,” you tease, and you tilt your head up to look at his defined jawline.

“Though for all your stern looks and your seriousness... You still fuck like a man on his deathbed.” Baelor finally looks at you like he will drink you in with the way you’re batting your eyelashes and your grin. “Is that so?” he asks before he rolls onto his side to face you properly. “Perhaps the old man has more endurance than you can handle if you keep testing his patience in his own bed.” Baelor pulls you closer, if that’s even possible, until there’s no space between your bodies, and he doesn’t say another word. He just closes his eyes, and he accepts that his life as he knew it ended the moment he tasted you because now he would rather burn the Seven Kingdoms to the ground than let you belong to anyone else.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

tonight you’d noticed his careful movements on the log that he leaned his back against, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs out to rest them. the weight of the day clung to him like sticky sap, as it does most other times.

the tranquility of nature was disrupted as you heard his voice rasp next to you, “you really ought to sleep. we ride early in the morrow.”

your hand caressed a small flower beside you as you hummed in acknowledgment. the ground was cold, uncomfortable, and still a little moist even through the blanket you’d folded for comfort. with a small sigh at your own reluctance, you shifted closer to the fire to get just a little more warmth, and rubbed your hands together.

duncan noticed as he always did when it came to you. quietly watching, keeping an eye on you.

his look lingered, softening in hidden admiration. he knew if egg caught wind of that, he’d never live it down.

but that’d be an annoying risk he’d have to take.

after a moment’s pause, he shifted slightly and uncrossed his legs. “here,” he spoke, tapping his fingers on his thigh, almost to soothe himself from the shyness running throughout his body, “if you, uh, if you want. might be warmer for you.”

you looked over at him, then at the offering, and back to his eyes. the heat from the fire had already tinged you cheeks red, or else he’d see the fluster coloring your face.

“you don’t mind?”

the tips of his ears, covered by his hair, turned pink instantly. “no. i mean, no i don’t.. i don’t mind. truly, i don’t.”

you smiled slightly at him, and scooted over. laying down on your side first, you slowly rested your head against his thigh. the fabric of his pants were warm from his skin but made even more so by the flames of the fire.

feeling at ease, a sigh escaped you— a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. and for how long, at that.

you sensed his slight tension, his body locking in as if he were afraid that the slightest movement would push you away.

“you comfortable?”

“mhm,” you murmured, nestling your head against him a bit more, “feels well. safe.”

his heart skipped a beat; it’s what he wants for you. to be safe, to be well, and to be protected.

moments pass, the sparking of the flames seemingly louder than before, echoing your heart beating inside your chest. duncan’s head tilted back to look at the starry sky as if they were giving him encouragement to make a move, and he sighed ever-so-slightly, returning his gaze to you.

hesitantly, slowly, he moved a hand to rest on your upper arm, just below your shoulder. it wasn’t fully placed on you, a perfect balance between hovering and holding. when you didn’t shrug him off or tense up, and instead nestled yet again like a comfortable kitten against his thigh, he brushed your sleeve with his fingertips. it was tentative, fitting for a man who wasn’t used to gentleness or to having this closeness with someone.

“you know,” he speaks up, not necessarily speaking to you but more-so to himself and the stars, “i ain’t much good at this sort of thing.. never really had anyone i wanted to be like this with.”

you hummed, compressing a smile of contentment. your eyes fluttered shut, the brushing of his fingers leaving to move hair from your face. “you’re doing,” a yawn escapes mid-reply, “just fine, dunk.”

you were asleep in minutes, breaths evening out. the tension you held in your body had let itself go.

duncan shifted slightly to grab a good amount of fabric from his cloak and lay it around your shoulders. he moved carefully to tuck the frayed ends underneath you, keeping the warmth around you the best he could.

content with his work, he rested his hand again on your arm, this time more confident.

he stayed awake a while longer; long enough for the fire to dim into almost nothingness. he watched as you slept, the most peaceful you’d looked in the time he’d known you and travelled along with you.

duncan knew that he wanted to protect you as if he was your knight, sworn to defend and honor you. it felt right to him. he wouldn’t admit it to you now, or hell, he might not ever tell you, but he felt that he’d sworn a vow he hadn’t yet spoken.

sleep befell him as he tilted his head back once more to look at the sky above. through the night his hand never left your arm, and even in the morning when the sun rose against the hills, you stayed in his presence.

one day he’d confess all of his emotions to you. maybe not today or anytime soon, but one day. he cared for you in a way that he’d never quite felt and never knew how to name, but it felt real, and it felt promising.

Every once in a while, the gods smiled upon the miserable, doomed souls. Just to remind people of how little they had, and how cruel the cunts could be. Today was one of these days, a day where Sandor had it all: as much wine as he could drink, all the food he could eat, a big fat bag of gold.

The best part? He got it all by fighting his brother. And winning. Technically.

The feast and the wine and the food were meant for the king to celebrate a tournament made for nothing other than spilling blood just for the sake of it, but if king Robert raised his goblet and cheered for him, than everybody else joined, even if they were all holding their breath over Sandor and Gregor’s fight. Or The Hound and The Mountain’s fight, and all the history behind it. Sandor knew the whispers and the twisted stories people liked to tell.

None of it mattered now that he was so drunk he barely stood up on his own feet. Sandor had stayed on the feast just long enough for people to stop coming to congratulate him, just long enough for the king to get drunk enough to forget about him, which was conveniently long enough for him to get drunk himself. Pushing the servant boy aside, Sandor got a wineskin full of the good wine they were serving and exited the room. He half remembered someone putting a flower crown on him, or trying to. Were he in his right mind, he would’ve growled at them, but his head was so drowned in alcohol he just slapped the crown away. He might have stumbled on a wall or two before pushing open the door to his chambers, only to find you, a maid, inside it. 

You were the same one from every other day, the one who swept his floor and cleaned the hearth. The one with the tight apron and the tits he wanted to suck on. Again. 

Sandor closed the door by leaning on it, then took yet another large sip of wine. His body felt too light for his many pounds, and he lacked all the discipline a warrior ought to have. To hell with it, he had just faced his brother, and won. Technically.

“You’re early.”you said, not even turning to see him. You recognized his heavy steps. “Was the feast not to your liking?”

He grunted, letting his weight down on a chair. “Fucking feast…” He muttered, not even himself understanding half the words leaving his mouth or why he was saying them. The sound of the gold bag being put on the table did not startle you who kept on changing his bedsheets, bending down, your ass drawing all of his attention.

“What?” You smoothed the sheets with your hands, then turned around to face him, your eyes getting every detail of it: his dirty armor, the bag of gold, his heavy eyelids, the petals clinging to his neck. “You won? I thought you were not even fighting today.”

“I’m a rich fucker now.” He sighed, sounding almost sober, almost resentful of his own words. No matter how many gold dragons he had, it was implicitly clear that coin, when possessed by people like him, was only meant for spending with whores, ale, maybe a good piece of fabric or shoes. His money did not mean much.

“Yeah? And what are you doing with it?” You went on cleaning, too used to him. It was no news to see the Hound drunk or covered in someone else’s blood. “You could buy anything. Maybe hire another maid? This here is too much work for a woman alone.”

“I’ll buy you a gag… noisy wench.” He rested his head on his hand, enjoying the silence and the darkness when he closed his heavy eyelids, then he turned his head just a bit, opened his good eye, looked you up and down as you went on cleaning. 

You chuckled, as if the Hound was telling you a joke. You knew the noises of the tourney and the feast were probably still ringing in his ears, so you let that pass. “You scowl harder when you’re drunk.” With a wet rag, you started cleaning the crumbs and dust out of the table, forcing Sandor to sit up straight to stay out of the way. 

“So, who did you fight?”

“My big brotha’.” Sandor scratched his beard, took another sip of wine, another look at your ass, then scratched his balls over his pants, which was not near enough. “He was going to kill the Tyrell boy.” 

“So you played the hero, mn?” You stopped, a hand on your hip, leaning against the table. “You’re a real knight, Clegane.” He narrowed his eyes at the small smile you dared give him, the simple allusion of him being a knight  making him disgusted enough to be repulsed by his dirty armor. 

“Piss off, woman.” He cussed you out as he started fumbling with the straps of his chestplate, paying no attention to what he was doing because his eyes were still on your mouth. Then on your figure, your hips, your tits again. “You should giv’ me yer favor.” 

“Favors are for knights… from ladies. And it should happen before the tourney, should it not?” You left the wet cloth over the table to come help Sandor with his steel. He just let you, shoulders slumped. 

Another sip of wine, another droop of his eyelids, another look at your hips, another throb of his cock, another grumble, another cuss, though he was not sure if he was grumbling and cussing out loud or on his mind.

“(...) shouldn’t have changed the sheets until you've had a bath first.” You sighed, one strap untied, a few left to go. “You’ll have to get up.” He did. You tell a dog to sit, he’ll sit. And he’ll wait for a treat, which in this case meant his hands went straight to your hips. He saw you looking up at him, smirked, squeezed your hips, brought you closer, so closer you could barely reach the straps of his armor. 

“What would you want as a token or favor, anyway? You should ask from ladies who have stuff to give away.”

That seemed to get him out of his drunken bliss. 

“I’d get your apron.” He steadied himself, his grip turning a bit rougher. You laughed, pushed him back a bit, getting some room. Sandor pulled you right back in. He wanted to hump your leg like a dog, lick you all over like a dog, sleep for fifteen hours like a dog, fuck you like a dog. “Tie you with it. Gag you with it.”

“You’re drunk out of your mind, Clegane.” You pulled away, hung a piece of his armor, came back to pull out his gauntlets. “So drunk you would probably pass out and crush me to death.”

He grumbled about not being drunk, and even though he did not remember closing his eyes, when they opened, he was sitting on his bed and you were kneeling in front of him. Your apron was still on, but his boots were coming off. He reached for your face, held your chin, pressed his thumb over your lips. He really just wanted his balls as empty as his mind was.

Eyes closed again. Just for a second. This time, he remained conscious as he said “Won’t crush you. I’ll fuck you against the wall.”

“You can barely stand up.” But he did, just to prove you wrong. “Well, you still stink.” You mirrored him, helping him out of his sweat-smelling shirt. “And you’re such a bad flirt.”

Sandor really needed some sleep. He wanted a warm bath first, and another sip of his wine, and the feel of you on top of him, and every time you worked another button of his shirt, he imagined your hands around his cock. Gods, he wanted to fuck you. 

“‘M not flirting.” He only registered what he was saying seconds after he already did. But the moment he got a handful of your ass, he felt it then and there. He felt himself lean in, closer, he felt your smell, he felt your lips on his, he felt you pulling back and he cursed. Maybe out loud, maybe in his head again.

“Sit down, Clegane.” He obeyed, hoping to get a treat this time. Eyes closed, open again, and you were having a sip of his wine. “Lay down. Close your eyes.” He did, grumbling about wanting to smell your cunt on his beard.

Sandor let out a big, deep sigh. When he felt you kiss him, he lifted his hand to pull you closer. Or maybe he just thought of it, imagined it. Or dreamed of it. When he woke up the next day, his room was clean, his armor hung on a corner, bag of gold safely tucked away on his chest, shirt hanging on the chair, boots by the bed… Everything in place, and you were not there.

He chose to have more wine as his remedy.

-------------------------------------------

"Would you be in the royal box?" he asked.

"Do I have any other choice?"

The Young Prince smiled amusedly, leaving the helmet on the table and dismissing the footman from the tent.

Lady Ysilla was reclining on one of the divans in the tent. She looked bored, even irritated. Careful not to burn herself, the young woman held her hands close to one of the torches, trying to warm herself.

Although the weather in the capital was always hot, the truth was that on nights in the Reach, thicker fabrics were appreciated. That, it seemed, had been overlooked by the Lady of Dragonstone.

Extravagant, she had heard some women at the court in King's Landing call her. Or shameless, or too bold, or even brazen. Ysilla didn't care; she loved her dresses and clothes imported from the east, her fine, lightweight fabrics that did not restrict her breathing. But right now, she wished she had chosen a dress with at least sleeves.

‘I'll never understand your people's urge to beat each other with sticks,’ said the girl, her Myrish accent dancing softly over her words.

‘They're called jousts, my love.’

‘Whatever you say.’

The girl rose gracefully and walked towards her husband. The train of her silk dress dragged slightly across the tent floor until she reached Valarr and placed her delicate arms around his shoulders. Without wasting any time, he wrapped his arms around his wife.

‘Must you participate?’ asked the girl, playing with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

‘Indeed, I must,’ he said fondly.

Ysilla pursed her lips. Moments like these reminded Valarr of his little cousins, Daella and Rhae, capriciously demanding things from their uncles or grandfather.

Almost a decade in the Seven Kingdoms, and Ysilla still couldn't get used to some of their customs. Sure, she had mastered the rites of the Seven (well, some of them) and court matters. The help of the Targaryen women and her own tenacity had helped her become a proper Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. Even so, cultural differences always surfaced in the details.

Such as forms of entertainment, for example, the tournaments.

‘Wouldn't you prefer, Your Highness,’ said the young woman, pronouncing the royal title with an exaggerated pompous accent, ‘to stay with me inside the castle, in the warmth, without sticks or horses?’ asked Ysilla.

Tentatively, she kissed the corner of the prince's lips, then his left cheek, then his right cheek, then the junction of his neck and jaw.

‘Ysilla...’ he breathed. On another occasion, at a dinner or an audience with a Dragonstone fisherman, the prince would have succumbed immediately. However, they were not in Dragonstone now.

With great difficulty, Valarr pulled his wife away by the waist. Her large, crystal-clear eyes did not help the cause, but the prince stood firm. Seeing her plan thwarted, Ysilla let out a growl of frustration and pulled away from her husband. She crossed her arms and moved closer to the fire to warm herself, muttering something in Myrish.

‘Would you prefer a fight pit, my love?’ said the young man, turning to put on the rest of his armour.

Ysilla twisted her neck to look at him, a sarcastic grimace on her face.

‘The men who fight in arenas are slaves, my love,’ the girl emphasised. ‘They fight to the death for their freedom. You already have freedom. You only play for the sake of playing,’ she complained.

She turned completely to face him. Except for the helmet resting on the table, he was covered in his armour, his black metal suit.

What was it about Westerosi men that made them love to beat each other with sticks for no reason? Ysilla had travelled to many places in her childhood, before her marriage. She was no stranger to exotic customs or violence, but there was always a reason. Fighting for freedom, for money, for beliefs. She understood that. But tourneys between men who already had freedom, money, and whose beliefs were well safeguarded, who climbed onto horses and threw themselves off them, risking breaking their necks, for... fun? That she did not understand.

Ysilla looked at the fire again, a shiver running through her. The trumpets and shouts outside the tent grew louder. Squires, footmen, and knights grew impatient as the rest of the crowd arrived. As if his wife's thoughts were a scroll before him, Valarr approached and embraced her from behind, resting his head on hers.

Without a word, Valarr took one of Ysilla's jewelled hands in his and randomly picked the ring from her thumb. A thick gold band with intricate engravings and an encrusted ruby. Ysilla looked at him with a frown, while he simply put the ring on his finger and kissed her on the cheek.

‘I'll give it back to you when I win,’ he said calmly.

How she sometimes detested him, so gallant and confident, as if he were not about to fight in a joust. Only a few centimetres from his face, Ysilla could only respond with a kiss. A seal of her love and his promise, signed attentively with their lips.

A boy, probably a squire, burst into the tent. Somewhat flustered and carrying a black lance in his arms, the boy stopped himself when he realised he was witnessing an intimate moment. The couple separated at the intrusion, Ysilla also somewhat flushed (she doesn't know if it was from the kiss or from being face to face with the fire).

‘Your Highness, they are waiting for you...’

‘I'll be right out, Tommen.’ Valarr, still with one hand on Ysilla's waist, took out a velvet bag and threw it to the boy. ‘Find Ser Donnel and have him accompany my lady to the royal box.’

‘Right away, Your Highness.’

As they were alone in the tent again, Valarr took his wife's face in his black-gloved hands and kissed her on the forehead.

‘If you get upset, go to our chambers and I'll come and get you as soon as I'm done,’ he said.

‘Then who will cheer for you?’ she asked with a smile.

Valarr pretended to think, exaggerating a grimace with his mouth.

‘I'm sure Lady Ashford is willi... ouch, that's it! I'm sorry!’ he said when Ysilla hit him on the forehead with her fingers.

‘How funny,’ she said, finally letting go of her husband.

Valarr handed her one of his cloaks, black and scarlet with the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens, just as they caught sight of Ser Donnel's white cloak waiting at the entrance to the tent. Both left and were greeted by the white cape.

‘My prince, my lady.’ Ser Donnel bowed his head quietly and offered his forearm to Lady Ysilla to take. ‘The rest of the family and guests are already in the box, they will begin shortly.’

‘Have they found Daeron and Egg yet?’ Ysilla asked with some concern.

Prince Maekar had sent his two sons to Ashford ahead of the rest of the royal entourage. In the process, it seemed that both the older and younger boys had gotten lost before reaching Ashford Meadow. Ysilla was somewhat concerned, to tell the truth, more so about little Aegon, for whom she had always had a certain fondness.

‘Not that I know of, my lady,’ replied Ser Donnel. ‘For now, there is only Lord Ashford and his daughter, the Hand of the King, Prince Maekar, and Prince Aerion.’

The mention of the latter caused Ysilla to roll her eyes at the humour of her husband and the Kingsguard.

‘Let's get this over with, at last’

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

my boy on my screen, who else cheered for his 5 seconds of screentime????

SCENE TO CELEBRATE!!!