Pairings: Aerion Targaryen x Targ reader
Warnings: Smut, swearing, incest
You wake to the familiar heat of Aerion’s body pressing into yours, his faint heartbeat beating against your side. His arm rests across your chest tightly, as if he’s silently daring you to try and slip out of his grasp. You know better. You’ve learned by now that disturbing the prince’s sleep unless completely necessary is a mistake. His temper is short at the best of times, but right after he’s awoken is always the worst.
Long strands of silver hair fall in front of his eyes; the sunlight begins to shine into the room and lands on his face, making his skin look flawless. Aerion was truly beautiful.
Your fingers twitch along the edge of his pale skin, tracing the tension in his forearm. He stirs, murmurs something you can’t quite make out, a half warning in the form of a grunt not to move. The illuminating light that is now beaming a lot brighter spills into the bedchamber, adding a much-needed softness to it. Aerion’s room was decorated a lot darker than your own, with many black and red banners of your family’s house hanging on the walls along with stone carvings of dragons.
For some time you lay still, doing nothing but listening to the life in the castle slowly rising. The sounds of faint voices and footsteps echo in the halls. The servants would most likely be starting to serve breakfast to each private quarter soon, but like most mornings, they would check Aerion’s room first to see if the serving was for one or two people.
Meaning whatever poor soul opens the door would suffer Aerion’s irritable state if he hasn’t woken up beforehand. Letting out a deep exhale, you gaze down at the spoilt prince to admire his appearance. Underneath his closed eyelids were the most piercing violet eyes you have ever seen, and even in his sleep Aerion’s lips were in a pout. He has a lovely smile, although he never shows it much.
Without opening his eyes, he suddenly asks, “why are you staring?”
“I was just thinking how I hope the babe looks like you.”
Satisfied with that answer, he lowers his hand to gently cradle your bump before pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin of your stomach. Smiling, you start to run your fingers through his hair; these moments were the only time you got to see his softer side. Aerion was a terrible brother and husband for the most part, but you didn’t doubt being a father would bring out the best in him.
Spotting strands of hair sitting over his forehead and stopping just below his eyes, you gently tug it. “Your hair is getting long.”
Tilting his head up to stare at you, a flash of irritation flickers across his features, “what, do I now resemble a fucking commoner instead of the blood of the dragon?”
The sharpness in his tone causes words to catch in your throat. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Do you think I let anyone touch it?” He snaps, sitting upright, “the last barber should have been hanged for the mess he made.”
Regretting even mentioning it, you hum and brush the fallen hair out of his face. After all these years you have become unfazed by his harsh tone. “I could cut it; father lets me, and Daeron has let me tidy his mess of hair before.”
His glare softens ever so slightly. “I suppose father’s hair isn’t awful. Just see that you don’t spoil it.”
The smell of freshly trimmed bushes and roses in bloom feels almost overwhelming as you stand by the window in the large chamber that faces the gardens of Summerhall. You weren’t entirely clear, but either the heat or nerves kicked in, but something was causing trickles of sweat to fall down the back of your neck as Aerion sits on the chair in front of you, then leans back, giving you easier access to his head. His hand moves upwards to brush your arm as if you were a pet being praised by its owner.
“Hold still,” you murmur, brushing a stray lock from his forehead. “It’s making me nervous that you keep moving when I’m holding scissors.”
Rolling his eyes, he lets his arm flop to his side and scoffs, “you are very dramatic, wife.”
For a short beat of time he does as you ask and stays still and silent, letting you trim the edges, but you stop when his jaw tightens. He leans forward suddenly, his narrow gaze locked on Daeron and Aegon, who have both been observing the unusual scene from the safe distance of the archway leading outside.
“What are those whining little rats looking at?”
“Maybe they are in shock from you being so quiet,” you shrug. “Or perhaps they think I’ve bewitched you into silence.”
Aerion’s lips press into a thin line.
Knowing they have spotted both your eldest and youngest brothers approach. From the look on his face it was clear Daeron found this amusing, while egg stood behind him cautiously.
“Morning sister, is today the day you finally rid our family of the plague that haunts us?”
Taking the bait, Aerion hisses, “careful you drunken sot.”
While continuing to cut Aerion’s hair, your nose starts to twitch; the scent of stale drink was stronger the closer Daeron got. Eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed, hair falling loose from its tie. One glance at the prince, and it was clear he had overindulged the night prior. “Do you wish for me to cut your hair? I can do it before you leave for the tourney.”
Daeron mutters to himself quietly, then shakes his head, “thank you but maybe another time.” Clearing his throat, he nudges your younger brother, who seems unnerved, and gives him a reassuring nod. “Father says you are now joining us in a couple of days.”
“Hmm,” using your free hand, you gently rub your stomach. “After speaking to the maester, I decided it would be better to spend as little time in Ashford as possible. If all goes to plan, we should be arriving the night before Aerion joins the lists.”
The soft movements of your hand cause the baby to stir, and their movements become visible underneath the fabric of your dress. It wasn’t common for you to wear silk dresses since they are rather thin material, but since growing a little dragon, you had become accustomed to feeling uncomfortably warm. Noticing Aegon watching your stomach, his eyes widen as he tries to figure out the movements.”
“Tis your niece or nephew getting comfortable,” you stop cutting Aerion’s hair and motion for the young boy to come closer. “Do you want to feel?”
Aegon’s face lights up, “can I really?”
Aerion's head snaps towards you, but before he can protest, you take hold of egg’s hand and place it over the part the baby’s feet are hitting.
Grinning, he turns to face the eldest, who looks indifferent. “Daeron the baby’s kicking me! It feels so strange.”
“Seven hell’s women, I’m presuming you have finished with me then?”
Tutting at his childish tone, you eye Aerion’s hair carefully. “yes, and—“
“Good.” Abruptly Aerion stands up, causing egg to jump back and quickly move to hide behind you. Aerion glares at him but brings his own hand to your bump and smiles when he feels the movement for himself. “Such a strong kick; he will do well during a tourney himself one day.”
A few seconds later Aerion removes his hand and then leaves without saying anything. It was near impossible to figure out what he was thinking. When he’s out of sight, you turn back to face Daeron, who’s giving you a disapproving look. “What?”
Letting out an exhausted sigh, he straightens up, making him look much taller than his usual slouched-over stance. “I…just…” his voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think it’s wise to go on such a journey in your current condition?”
“I am pregnant, not ill.”
“It wasn’t a jest before,” he gestures to your hand. “There is a plague in our family. And jealous men make poor spectators.”
“Daeron,” you stiffen. “Father has already warned him; he’s going to behave at Ashford.”
“Do not be foolish and forget how he’s treated you in the past. He’s never going to change.” He pauses for a moment. “I worry for you. Dragons can choke on their own fire, and I don’t want you getting hurt when he does.”
Struggling to think of a response, you stare at him blankly.
Aegon, who has been watching and silent, steps forward, his eyes wide and serious. “Do you… do you think you could… cut all of my hair off?”
As the carriage rocks gently over the stony roads, you stare out and watch the different scenery blur into one. It helped you not focus on the tense stillness of the air that was growing more uncomfortable in each passing moment. You couldn’t meet your father’s eye; he looked ready to explode.
Aerion was rigid beside you, one hand gripping tightly to the edge of the seat and the other stretched over the swell of your belly possessively. Through gritted teeth he says, “Those fools, how could they bloody get lost when they are being escorted?"
“Don’t start, Aerion; something could have happened to them.”
A flash of irritation crosses his features, but one stern look from your father and he remains quiet. It has been reported back that neither Aegon nor Daeron has arrived at the tourney despite leaving days ahead.
Your father’s gaze snaps to you, “what happened to your hand? Daeron said you needed the maester to tend to it while I was away.”
You swallow, heart thudding in your ribs, and force a small smile. “It was silly; I got distracted and caught my hand on the needle while working on the babe’s blanket.”
Aerion glances at you; his expression is normal aside from the guilt in his eyes. Which you suspected didn’t go unnoticed by your father.
The large door swings open before you, and your Uncle Baelor is there, a warm smile lighting his face. “Princess, you are looking beautiful as always,” he says, voice gentle, eyes on your belly. “It shouldn’t be long until the newest member of our house arrives, I imagine.”
A faint curl of pride appears on Aerion’s lips but quickly disappears when Valarr steps forward with effortless grace to greet you both. He takes your hand and softly kisses the back of it, “cousin, it’s good to see you again. Congratulations, motherhood becomes you. Your good husband is truly blessed.”
“Yes, she carries my blood well.”
You and Valarr lock eyes; embarrassed, heat rushes to your cheek, causing your cousin to give you a sympathetic look. Aerion’s smugness quickly turns to annoyance when your father clips him on the back of the head, “enough. It’s been a long journey, and I think the lack of sleep has gone to my son's head. Has there been any word yet?”
“Not yet, brother,” Baelor says softly. “But I have sent my best men out to look for them. Myself and Valarr are going out to join the search.”
“I can join,” Aerion says in a half-hearted offer. “How far is the nearest tavern?”
You give your father a pleading look. If Aegon saw Aerion coming, he would most definitely hide. It was plausible that Daeron was off somewhere getting drunk, but if Aerion found him first, it would just make things worse.
“Perhaps the princess would feel more comfortable with you remaining here by her side?” Baelor suggests it in a way that makes the idea not seem his own.
“I would rather you stayed with me,” you answer truthfully. You didn’t want to be left alone in a strange place, plus it meant Aerion was less likely to get himself into trouble if he was stuck by your side.
You didn’t like Ashford castle, it had an eeriness that caused your spine to tingle, and Aerion’s unusual quietness as you were guided to the quarters didn’t help. The only sound you could hear was footsteps echoing and your own thudding heart.
You smile at the handmaiden as she closes the door once you have both entered the room. Now alone, you spin quickly to face Aerion, “that was utterly humiliating—“
He cuts you off with a searing kiss, his large hands cupping your face. When he finally pulls back, you catch the glint in his eyes; it wasn’t lust or love. It was possessive. Anger.
Bringing his mouth to your neck, he nips and kisses over the sensitive spots, “pregnancy has softened you; your body, your temper, but only I get to reap the rewards.” Aerion presses his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your core. “Only I get to see how your body changes with my dragon growing inside. It’s only my seed you will take.”
“Get on the bed.” He guides you backwards till your legs hit the side of the bed, “show me how ready you are to take my cock.”
Leaning back on the bed, you scrunch up your skirts while Aerion uses something cold and sharp to remove your small cloth. Probably the same blade he used… you push the memory down. Parting your thighs wider, Aerion kneels between them and stares intensely between your legs, “always so slick for me.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks.
Aerion licks one of his fingers, then slides it inside you effortlessly. He moves his hand painfully slowly, enjoying the sight of you becoming desperate for more. Flicking his tongue out, he teasingly touches your clit.
“Please, please don’t make me beg. Not tonight, please.”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers still when he decides what to do. Showing mercy, Aerion suddenly starts to devour you; he sucks and licks at your clit harshly while adding another finger. Using his free hand, he gropes at your breasts. It doesn’t take you long to come apart. You hear a muffled chuckle when your thighs start to shake and close around his head.
To stop yourself from screaming, you bite down on your bottom lip so hard it draws blood.
Aerion gives you a few seconds to recover, then stands up, his mouth smeared with the wetness of your arousal. Licking his lips, he smirks and starts to undo his leather belt. “Next time you become flustered from a fucking kiss on the hand, remember I am the only one who gets to touch you like that, wife.”
Struggling with all your strength, you scratch and hit the hand covering your face, depriving you of oxygen—
Jolting forward, you gasp for breath, hand pressed to your chest as it takes you a beat to pull yourself together. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Warm tears fall from the corner of your eyes and threaten to turn into a full sob but the sound of movements catches your attention.
Once your vision has cleared you recognise the person slouched in a chair placed in front of the fire. “Daeron, everyone has been looking for you.”
He says nothing, but you could tell something was wrong.
“Daeron?” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Where’s Aegon?”
He clicks his tongue, “not Aerion?”
The space in the bed next to you is noticeably empty. When purple eyes meet yours, you look down ashamed. Aerion was probably in the nearest brothel causing havoc. But that was nothing new.
“I didn’t want to compete, so I paid the knights escorting us off and went to a tavern. Egg was mad at first, but the owner was happy for him to play stable boy for the other guests… but then I lost him.”
“Lost him? How could you lose our little brother, you were supposed to be protecting him!”
Turning his body to face you, he sighs and quietly says, “I’m supposed to protect you too, sister, all of you; it’s my responsibility as the oldest, but tell me how it’s possible when the thing my siblings fear most is another brother?”
“Aegon ran. He’s scared… of him.”
A heaviness falls over you both; since announcing your pregnancy, Aerion has been different, kinder, but that was most likely because the babe made him believe his dreams were coming true. It was merely a distraction. But still, you wished to see the best in him, “he’s changed.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Daeron says softly. Coming closer, he crouches by the side of the bed so he’s almost eye level with it. “He treated you no better than a common whore until he got you pregnant. Egg comes to my room at night because he’s scared Aerion will hurt him. I’ve heard you cry yourself to sleep for years. The glad child we once knew is gone.”
A lone tear falls down your cheek, “that’s not true.”
“You fear him as much as I do.”
You don’t argue. The room starts to feel much smaller, your breath catching in your throat. The time of silence was stretching out while you thought over his words. If the prophecy Aerion spoke of was real and the three heads of the dragon would return in living form, you believe he was two of the heads himself. One of them being his old version, the one who enjoyed learning the histories of different houses, fishing, the version that once doted on you as a girl. And the other head represents who he was now, the version that terrified you most of the time.
Daeron takes your hand and turns it over, running the pad of his thumb over the nearly healed wound on the palm of it. “You are with child, and yet he still hurts you.”
“No?” He lets out a heavy breath, the scent of ale reeking from it. “I saw something awful happen to our family at Ashford. It’s the only reason I came back, to make sure it doesn’t happen to you or egg.”
“It was his dream. Aerion looked… enchanted. I tried to wake him up, but he didn’t stop until after I screamed.”
Your hand slips from his grasp as you bring it to rest on your bump. His expression shifts to one of hurt, and even in the darkness the threat of tears spilling from his eyes is unmistakable. “Voices whispered to him in a dream that the only way to check the babe was truly his was by checking my blood. Black blood would symbolise betrayal.”
“He thought the child wasn’t his?”
“He knows it is now, and that it is the truth of it.”
Daeron staggers slightly while switching from crouching to kneeling; his voice remains low, “my handmaidens tell me you spend nearly every night in his chambers. I don’t understand when his mind is near breaking.”
“Aren’t all of our minds fragile? I know why you drink so heavily, brother, and I… My own dreams don’t haunt me when Aerion is near. Perhaps he somehow shields me from them and bears the burden for both of us.” Your voice starts to break, “nothing he says or does scares me more than my dreams, and if I forgive him for his cruel acts and remain devoted, then the gods may forgive me for my own sins.”
“Actions have consequences,” he says weakly. “We both know this to be true.”
The words hang in the darkness of the room, settling deep into your chest. He studies you for a long moment, the evidence of intoxication becoming more evident when light slowly starts to creep into the room. Daeron’s bloodshot eyes glisten as he offers you a sad smile.
You know what he is thinking.
