@hcrctics queried: “ take your clothes off… slowly. ” for aymeric, obviously from orlaith. Though frey likely says it in a mocking tone also.
——HE’D BEEN HERE before with her, though under very different circumstances. it was in the nature of ser aymeric xandros to flirt his way through any situation that didn’t call for a fight. he’d flirt with his own reflection if it meant he’d get something out of it. loyal to the kingdom of wheldrake to a fault, he bore many scars in the name of service —each of them a white line across almost permanently sun-kissed flesh ( somehow, for how foggy the kingdom always seemed to be ). he could recall the first time she’d given him this request: shortly after her wedding to his king, when her life had been jeopardized by assassins from another country and an arrow had made its home in the otherwise flawless flesh of her shoulder. if aymeric ever had a chance to live a pampered life ( not that he would want one, and it had been offered to him many times since his service had carried him thus far ) he supposed he could understand queen orlaith’s reservations to bearing a scar of her own.
so he’d done as he was instructed in the gardens of the castle and stripped away his leathers, untied his cotton undershirt and let it fall open to bear to her what she’d wished to see. BUT THAT WAS A VERY DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCE. she was a very different woman then; barely aware of her own body and desire, never mind being tuned into higher wants and demands. she’d named him her consort since then, taken him to bed and shared many a heavy breath from the feather down of her mattress ( and the command table, and the throne room, and the stables, and the— ). ser aymeric xandros was no stranger to being bossed about, no stranger to taking orders. no stranger to this specific scenario.
there was always the shadow of a knowing grin painted against the growth of his beard, but it was SOMETHING ELSE whenever she summoned him as the sun went down. the queensguard outside of her door never said a word, merely gazed at him ( and the shadow knights were a boastful few in wheldrake, it was small wonder he outranked the man before him who swore an oath to die for the woman waiting just beyond ) in the same way he always did: impassive. perhaps he’d turned his ears off already to the sounds he was too familiar with, by now. no sooner had he crossed the threshold of her room than did her order come, and aymeric stopped in his tracks, listened to the heavy click of the steel inlay sealing him in, and turned dark gaze to her.
—
it had taken a while, a few cycles of the moon in fact for her to be able to say she was able to move out of mourning. it wasn’t something she felt she needed, more what was advised. She’d only been married a few weeks or so before her husband disappeared, along with others, and their return was something that as time progressed, the elders held little chance of their return. her new kingdom was plunged into mourning, more darkness and shadow covered it, but she couldn’t force sadness to fill her, at least not completely.
her wedding had been a whirlwind, one that ended in death and destruction, one that almost took her life, but it was never meant to be regardless. orlaith was a woman who thought love followed a good marriage, and if two souls were meant to be bound, then love surely followed. That wasn’t the case for her, and the princess came to rest on the fact that her husband and king would never see her as anything more than a way to progress his political standing. she was given his time when he had it free, little portions of time scattered over the days leading up to their wedding and those that followed after. he didn’t love her, he never would.
perhaps she already knew that her and halius were anything but compatible; her wedding night was one of pain and the consummation of their marriage was done quickly. but in the weeks following she had tried being a good wife, tried doing everything as advised by a soul who seemed to take the pain out of the situation. aymeric had turned into something more than wise council. he was a light that illuminated aspects of life the queen hadn’t yet known of. taking him as her consort wasn’t something orlaith would let free of her grasp. a woman who constantly knew what she wanted and took it, she couldn’t let him go.
the mourning stage was over, and out of respect for her (presumed dead) king, the queen hadn’t asked the knight to her chambers for several days. she missed him, which was something she wasn’t too sure was wise. there was clearly something in her that begged for his presence, whether it was intimate or otherwise, and she’d missed the closeness of his form in recent days. she’d found herself laying in her own bed, thinking about him and letting memories of his own touch be played out in a delicate ballet of her own fingers. but it wasn’t the same, nothing was. she thought of him throughout her time with her husband, every moment of passion she had was with the thought of him at the forefront of her actions, and bless the gods that she never let his name pass her teeth in those moments. her head would be else where otherwise, she was sure.
she watched him from the edge of her bed, letting her eyes drift over him ever so slowly, satisfied with his movements. the soft lace of her gown falling from her shoulder as she moves the thick fur pelt from her lap, crossing one long leg over the other. “the mourning period is over.” she hummed, a deep breath leaving her after offering him a small smile. “I have deeply missed your company. tell me... have you missed mine?” her words left plump lips as if they were made of honey, dripping over her skin as she carefully and slowly peeled away the fabric on her form. “come. reacquaint your lips with my form.”
“When I was putting them to bed tonight, I told them that their dad was out there taking care of us. I said that whatever he wanted he was gonna get and that there was no man… No man would ever stand in his way”.
A cheery woman’s voice chimes from above. "Game over! Please restart and try again." The old woman holds a baby in her arms and makes to pass it to you. Will you take it?
You protect the only way you know how. You are a safe place, a lantern in the dark, the one who is a home to everyone you love. Your anger is big but quiet. The kind of white-hot rage that does the most damage when someone you love is at risk. You bend but do not break. In this way, no one is stronger than you are.
you are so lonely. you are miserable in your solitude. you hate that you cannot bring yourself to reach out, to ask for help. you will be forgotten by all who never knew you. your biggest fear is that you will die alone, and you know this fear will be seen to fruition. you refuse to extend yourself beyond the box that others put you in. and it is a box that no one dare come near. you are lonely because you are afraid of yourself.
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