#westeros

When you gave Aerion his first son, he tried to be indifferent.

He took the boy from you, awkwardly, and just…looked.

When saw his son’s tiny hands, his little delicate feet, how he cooed so softly, Aerion couldn’t fight the smile that happened upon him.

You think it was the only time you’ve seen him smile, outside of fucking and fighting. It could’ve just been the exhaustion of childbearing and the sweat in your eyes making you see things, though.

Aerion’s hand lightly stroked the few silver streaks on his son’s head—who he had already named Maegor. He had a streak of your hair. Faint, but at the front of his head.

Maegor’s eyes were a dark, grayish purple. Your own eye color washing out the bright violet any Valyrian should have.

A few freckled dotted Maegor’s face. Placed irregularly, and obviously inherited from you. One on his chin. One above his brow. Another by his ear.

Somehow, Aerion found those…discrepancies endearing.

“The Maester said he is small,” you breathed, still sitting and exhausted, “But, he is healthy.”

Aerion looked to you—sweat covering the freckle that marked the skin above your eyebrow—and said nothing. Only a firm, stiff nod of approval.

Instead he spoke to the wet nurses, “Get my wife a bath. She has done good work, and must recover to give me another.”

When the second son came, Aerion didn’t even try to mask his feelings.

Even though the babe had your hair and little to no Valyrian features, it was still his.

“He favors you, my Y/N,” he whispered quietly.

“Does that displease you?” you asked, weakly and croaking.

“Strangely, it does not.”

This birth was particularly hard on you, had the boy not come out when he did, Aerion thought it would end with your death.

He couldn’t have it. Never. You were the bearer of life. Of rebirth. Of fire made flesh. Aerion only planted the seed in you. The thought made him feel strange. It mad him feel like he did when Ser Duncan slammed his shield on his face.

Fear.

He still felt it, in the weeks to follow.

Noticing how your face was sullen, walks in the garden growing shorter, attitude becoming more reclusive and despairing.

He also noticed how you gazed towards his brother and his wife—and their daughter.

Aerion thought he may not mind a daughter. But, only if she looked like you. Actually, no.

No. She couldn’t look like you. You had bewitched him already, he couldn’t bear to look into the same eyes on another person. It would kill him, he thought.

He also thought getting you with child now would hurt you. It could kill you. You must get better, you must. The dragon has three heads.

Surely, if your mood improved your next pregnancy would go better.

So, begrudgingly, Aerion became kind. Well—as kind as he could be.

Helping you down the steps. Hand brushing the small of your back whist walking. Appointing you a sworn protector. Yelling and screaming at servants and maids to run your baths as you liked. Kissing softly.

He hated every moment. At first. He hated being kind. To be perceived as weak. Dragons are not weak. Love is weakness.

Tragically, however, Aerion eventually found himself enjoying treating you nicely. He felt like the knights in old stories, protecting you. Through taking care of you post-partum, and tending to your shared small children, Aerion learned to be gentle.

Gentleness was foreign to him. So was patience.

Being patient was much harder than being gentle. He had been so used to every one of needs met then and there, he never expected the days where Maegor wouldn’t do as told or you took too long getting out of bed.

Aerion learned to close his eyes, imagine giving the beating they deserved, opening them again—and sulking over to help.

Patience paid off, however.

Aerion never had to make his desires known to you. You came to him.

“Y/N?” he asked, early in the morning, “Fuck are you doing?”

His cock hardened under your touch, hidden by the covers.

“Waking you up,” you smiled, “I wish for the dragon to claim me on this morning.”

He hummed, “Since you look so pretty…”

That was the morning Aerion found out gentle sex could be just as good as his* normal sex.

He took his time with you, each touch on the edge of roughness, but still sweet enough to stay there. His cock entered slowly, and his thrusts were slower. Aerion shamelessly took more pleasure in watching your face twist in ecstasy than he did physically fucking you.

The dragon’s seed was strong. You had become with child again. This time, a girl. This time, no complications.

The girl looked more like him than she did you. Thank the Gods.

The gentleness did not stay in its entirety. His words went back to being sharp, his jests became cruel once more, and his cock never fucked you slow again.

But.

A hand still guided you down the stairs. Servants were screamed at—harsher than before—to run you a bath, and his touch was tender more often. His gaze softened when he saw you, and even more so when he saw your children playing.

He spoiled them rotten.

A cat. A new gown. A Valyrian Steel sword. Baked goods. Desserts. A new bracelet. Anything they wanted, they had it. Aerion would conquer all of Westeros for his children if they asked.

For you? He’d never conquer all of Westeros for you.

He’d conquer the entirety of the Known World. He’d sail west of Westeros. Go farther North than any man had before. Swim until the sea ended. Climb mountains so high, the peak ascended the clouds.

All you had to do was ask.

“Aerion…?”

“Yes?”

“May I have a kiss?”

“Just hold on a moment, I’m sharpening my blade.”

Aerion set it down a moment later. His lips were on yours before you could blink.