tagged by @washedupswammer ! this is deeply embarrassing lmao.
beautiful treasures (both regular & funeral) are vestiges from writing beautiful treasures fic. purity ring songs are from writing martone/barkey/bump fic.
tristan because her new album came out! badlands just because I like the song. rosalía is currently on repeat a lot for [redacted] porter fic. cage of bones has been showing up because it’s in another playlist for [redacted] barkey fic.
no pressure! tagging @tfc-hockey @allthespoons @spaceshipkat @puck-luck @swifty-fox
Excuse the poor cropping but really I've just been listening to Noah Kahan's new album (Headed North so jdtz but my fav rn is A Few Of Your Own (subject to change tmrw I swear I have a new fav every day))
GET OVER YOU by verygently has one of the best choruses in a song I've heard in forever just so catchy
Elegy by Theo Kandel HUGE crescendo in the tail end I'm obsessed with it
And one song that's missing from this list that I CANNOT recommend MORE is The Curse by Josh Ritter my god what a beauty
Thank u @whirlpool-blogs for the tag and I would loooooooooooove to see this same thing from @sidfrogsby @captainlexaproloathr @yauchfilms @stormsies
oooo okay you know I love sharing what I’ve been listening to lately 😛
I have also been listening to the new Noah Kahan album over and over and over again ahaha. mentally preparing to see him in concert this July!! fav from the album SO FAR has been Willing and Able it makes me very emotional
Recently discovered Florence Road and im reallllyyy liking their sound so far! I also recommend Hanging Out to Dry
Everyone listen to Lost Kitten now!!! Everyone get into Metric now!!!
Two different songs here are from two different hockey shows lmao
thank you dearest @puck-luck for the tag ehehe! no pressure 🏷️ @oscmints @star2fishmeg @urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter @jarvyparty
Aerion Targaryen a few months into his Lysene exile ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
Mycenaean suns because I found out Lys is partly based off of Greece, and I think Aerion would love them with his whole dragon agenda. Really proud of this one <3
✧.* 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: female reader/description, canon divergent, use of y/n, dayne!reader, aerion targaryen, mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of brothels, canonical use of incest, sex pollen, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, coitus
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: prince aerion is sent to lys for his sins, much to the sadness of his dear cousin. he returns a different man, endowed with new gifts.
✧.* 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5,330
blog masterlist | aerion targaryen masterlist
A/N: Ending/smut bit is so ass I'm so sorry
AERION HAD NOT ALWAYS BEEN CRUEL. He used to be like any other child, possessing a mind brimming with curiosity, and wide eyes ready to consume the unknown. That's why he befriended Lady Y/n. She was certain if they'd began their relationship as he was now, she'd no chance of getting close to him at all. He'd locked the gates to his heart early in age.
She was his cousin, really. A Dayne of his mother's lineage. She remained in Dorne for the most part, but he and his brother were sent down south during the first Blackfyre rebellion, keeping safe from the fighting. That was the first they met, and they'd resonated well. They'd chase the fishes in the royal ponds, feet bare, curls flying. They'd attempt to read the long and difficult tomes in the libraries, to prove early progression of their minds and superiority to their peers. But they would commonly find themselves slumped against the shelves, deep in sleep. Those were her warmest memories.
Naturally, Aerion returned to King's Landing when the war was done, but his visits back were frequent. Prince Maekar adored his lady wife, and returned to Dorne upon any of her wishes. So, the two were almost raised in unison. Despite this, everything shifted in the passage of childhood to adulthood.
Aerion grew up to be as handsome as the men of his house were renowned. Pale, silver-gold hair and eyes like amethysts, with a jaw seemingly cut from marble. He was not particularly tall, but he was willowy enough to appear so. Still, he managed to coat himself with defined muscle, honed from diligent training. But his body was not the only thing that changed. She felt it, a darkness stir in his soul. His gaze was no longer like it used to be. It held glimmers of light, like fragments of the guiding star of their forefathers. The light did remain now, yet she saw nothing of the adornments of the night sky, rather... burning wildfire.
When his cruelty made itself known a few years later, she couldn’t say she didn’t expect it. Unfortunately, she still felt so compelled by him and couldn't see him any differently. That was her dear Aerion, the boy of her youth, and possibly nothing in the world could ever change that. Anyways, he was not cruel to her and as selfish as it was, that was all that mattered.
Y/n had wished terribly to join her cousins at the tourney of Ashford Meadow. She wanted to sit at the royal box, cheer for the knights, and toss Aerion her favour. Maybe he would've named her his Queen of Love and Beauty if he'd won. But her parents declined, insisting the castle had no more rooms to host them and that they would visit King's Landing later on instead, much to her dismay.
Her insides fluttered as the carriage approached the coral bricks of the Red Keep. This was the longest she’d gone without seeing Aerion, and she wanted to know everything about the joust. She was sure he’d won, unless his cousin Valarr had joined the lists. She knew he was a fair fighter, and she could admit (to everyone except for her cousin) that he could possibly beat him.
She ignored the outstretched hand that was offered to her when the carriage door was open, choosing to jump down and rush forward to the entrance. Prince Maekar stood there, along with a hunched Daeron and his daughters, Rhae and Daella. She smiled at them, and all returned it, except of course for Daeron. He could only struggle to lift his head and nod in acknowledgement.
"It is good to see you, Y/n," Maekar greeted.
"Thank you, my prince," she bowed her head momentarily.
She made sure to greet everyone properly, curtseys and cheek kisses. After breaking away from an embrace with Daella, she turned back to Prince Maekar, biting her lip to stifle her erupting grin. "Where is Aerion?"
She knew what he thought of proper welcomes. He saw them tedious and unnecessary. He was a Targaryen, and any visitor should come to him, even his favourite cousin. She'd smacked him across the back of his head for it.
"...Preparing in his room," Maekar replied, almost hesitantly.
She frowned. "Preparing for what?"
"He's going to Lys, Y/n."
"Lys?" she repeated loudly. "Whatever for?"
"It is his exile."
"What?"
"I've tolerated him for the last time," said Maekar firmly.
"I do not understand..."
"Find him and let him explain it himself."
Prince Maker obviously did not want to talk, for whatever reason it was. Aerion must have maimed this time, rather than wounded. She provided the elder man a final look of confusion and upset, lifting her orchid-coloured skirts to walk up the short steps to the door.
Her steps were quick and frantic. She sprinted through halls and ran up stairs. She did not knock when she reached Aerions' door, shoving it forcefully and entering loudly. Her chest rose and fell with her hard breaths.
Aerion looked back at her. He was stood in front of his bed, a large open satchel in the midst of strewn clothes and trinkets. His hair was cropped shorter than the last she'd seen him, but his roguish face remained the same.
"I take it you heard the news?"
"What happened, Aerion?" she stepped forward, brows remaining knitted. "What have you done now?"
"I was defending my family, if you must know," he explained casually, folding a red doublet into the satchel whilst tossing a black one aside. "I saw disrespect to the Targaryen name, and I brought apt retribution. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with it."
"You know I hate when you speak in riddles."
His tongue curled over his upper lip. He sighed. "I saw this puppet girl. And she'd killed a puppet dragon in her ridiculous little show. I saw it fit to break her fingers, but this stupid excuse of a knight attacked me for it. Naturally, he was to be punished, but I wanted to host a Trial of the Seven, like King Maegor."
"And?" she urged.
"We fought. I lost. And now Prince Baelor is dead."
"Prince Baelor is dead?"
"Yes," Aerion swallowed. "Volunteered for the oaf but got his skull smacked by my father's mace when he was trying to save me."
"No..."
"It was an accident, of course," Aerion said. He picked up a small figurine of a golden dragon, rotating it with his nimble fingers for examination. He placed it in the satchel.
"And now you are leaving?"
"Indeed. My ship leaves within the hour, actually. It appears Father cannot bear to stand my presence any moment longer than necessary."
"Within the hour?" she gasped. She approached him closely, twining her hands together if only to stop herself from taking his. "And when shall you return?"
"I do not know," he shrugged. "In a year. Or five."
She scoffed, ignoring the nausea blooming in her chest at the prospect of five years with him so far away. "You seem to care so little. Of leaving your home, your family."
Of leaving me.
"You know I am one to mask my feelings," his violet irises darted to her form. "Besides, do you think wailing and blubbering shall earn me my father's forgiveness? Should you think I shall appear as if I have changed? Everybody would think it is a farce of mine. It does not matter anyway. They all hate me. They're all glad of me gone, and Lys is a city of pleasure. I will enjoy this."
"I am not," she claimed desperately, completely disregarding his musings of Lys. Her hands broke free of her will, flying to latch onto his forearm. "I do not hate you."
Aerion turned to her wholly now. She saw him swallow again. A nervous habit of his that nobody else seemed to discern. He could always keep strength in his expression, a talent which she envied. Her face revealed everything and all.
He took her chin between her fingers, and her heart raced. Every ugly desire wormed its way out from the core of her being, ones she'd stuffed into coffins and thrown into the abyss, for fear it would break whatever precarious dance she'd spun with him. His coldness was volatile. She knew him better than anyone, but she could not read minds. She was always scared, always tiptoeing on eggshells. One step too forward and what if his treatment of her shifted to his treatment of the rest of his family?
"Of course you do," he said, and she could not descry if he was making a mockery of her.
"I will miss you," she whispered, the first stings of tears pricking at her eyes.
"I know."
He relinquished his touch from her, deciding to take a ruby ring from his side table, and slipped it into his bag. "I should go."
"Aerio-"
"Don't make this difficult."
He slung the satchel over his shoulder and licked his lips when he'd looked upon his rooms for what would likely be the final time in a long time. His gaze never met her again.
"Goodbye."
FIVE YEARS. She spent five years without Aerion. She joined less and less to her family’s travels. What was the point of going if he was not there for her to meet? She liked the rest of her cousins enough, but they were not him. She had not forged anything as substantial with anyone else in the world. And now he was gone, with unclear prospects of his return. Would he ever return? Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to Lys. It was a life of freedom, she could tell. Endless days of carnal pleasures with beautiful women resembling the old Valyrians. She knew he’d relish them, with his obsession with the blood of the dragon. The place was a stark comparison to the stiffness of Westeros. Except for Dorne. Could he not live in Dorne instead? They were similar enough to be sure. He could live with her, and she would offer him far more happiness than any Lyseni whore ever could.
She hadn’t been allowed to even entertain the idea of going to Lys. Her parents shut her down immediately. Prince Maekar would be more than upset if he knew, and the last thing they wanted to do was disrespect the cherished lover of their dear Dyanna, much more disrespect a member of House Targaryen. She was only rendered to utter misery from it. She’d meant what she’d said. She missed Aerion terribly, and she would often visit the harbour to gaze longingly at the ships going to, or from the Free Cities. The temptation scorched.
"We are going to King’s Landing soon," said her mother one bright morning at breakfast.
She'd been having a good day thus far. The flatbread the cooks had made today was warm and fluffy, and the olives had been picked and pressed at just the right time, making their oil especially delectable. Although bright, it was not overtly warm, with breezes swooping gently between the pillars of their outdoor dining hall.
"I do not wish to go."
"You never go anymore."
"Why should I?" she huffed, spearing her fork into a rather thick slab of ham. "Without Aerion it is dull."
"I cannot believe you remain stubborn about this," her father retorted, taking a long sip from his goblet of wine. "It has been five years. How have you not yet accustomed yourself?"
She did not reply. She despised to admit her father was right. She should have accustomed herself four years past, but she hadn’t. She cursed her unwaveringly loyal heart, wishing it would taint with dishonour or hatred.
"I love him, Father," she mumbled. "I suppose that is all there is to it."
Her father exuded a sigh. His eyes were closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you think he reciprocates? That he longingly awaits for you in Lys, of all places?"
"Love is not only romantic, Father," she closed her eyes, humiliation blooming warm on her cheeks. "As a cousin, I am certain he does."
"I'd wager he's all but remembered his life in Westeros," her father continued. He could not hold his wine as he did before, with age, and his words of inebriation were always sharp as thorns. "Lys offers more pleasures than even Dorne. I honestly do not know what Prince Maekar thought he was doing by exiling him there. He is so soft on the boy."
"Prince Maekar's children are the last reminder he has of Auntie Dyanna," she defended. She'd released her utensils, and they shrilly interrupted the otherwise peaceful atmosphere with their noisy clattering upon the porcelain. "Or at the very least, he sees who Aerion used to be and still believes he can change."
"A fruitless pursuit that'd be if it were true," mused her father. "Lys. The very idea..."
She resorted back to eating. She saw her siblings staring upon her, half sympathetic and half brimming with judgement. Her mother was looking elsewhere.
"It is decided then. You are coming this time."
"Father-"
"It is decided."
TRIED AS SHE DID, Y/n could not sway her father. He was utterly impossible, and threatened to lock her in her rooms since that was what she appeared to desire most.
She often roused herself to sleep during her times in the carriage, bringing along a tea to do so. In her dreams, she would often find Aerion. Oh, if she could retreat to slumber the whole of this miserable visit.
She accepted the hand to help her down the carriage. Prince Maekar and his family were presenting as usual, and she greeted them like she'd always done.
"Wonder why you decided to come this time," murmured Maekar, a hint of cheek present in his voice.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're always a little behind it seems," Maekar chuckled.
Her face set in a slight scowl. Always riddles with the dragon. Not care for anything at the moment, she chose to go straight to her typical guest rooms and open the book she'd been reading on the road, when her tea lost its effects.
She still remained to be slightly sluggish however, her footsteps a little misguided and her head low. She only looked down upon the stone floors, the world at her periphery mere smudges and blurs.
"Ah-" she hissed, when a harsh shoulder collided with her own.
"You know, if you looked where you were going-"
"Aerion?"
She knew his voice. She would always know his voice, even now if it were tinged with a hint of Lyseni tone. It was smooth like a small river cascading upon tiny rocks, with the bite of a summer wind. And her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up and her eyes met with amethysts.
She saw him swallow, prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His irises raked up and down before settling. His feet shifted. He was uncomfortable.
"I did not think you would be coming."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am... in my home?"
"I meant, you are already back from Lys?" she rolled her eyes. "Did you send a raven? Or perhaps you have just come back and the raven arrived in Dorne when we were already on our way here-"
"I did not send a raven. Nor did my father, or anyone, for that matter. I know you will ask."
She smiled. "So you know me still."
Then it faded. "Why haven't you sent a letter?"
"I thought it unnecessary," he said pointedly.
"Why?"
"I am only returning home. It is not something to make a fuss of."
"It's been five years, Aerion," she exhaled. "You were my dearest friend. I would want to know."
"I was truly your dearest friend?"
"Oh don't do that, Aerion. You know that I was yours too."
"Apologies, then."
"You don't seem the least bit remorseful!"
"You know me enough to know I hardly feel remorse."
"Even for me?"
He pursed his lips. "Even for you."
Tears began to claw behind her eyes, sharp nails sinking and shaking to release. And for the first time, she was not exempt from the cruelty of Aerion Brightflame. "I see."
"I'm glad."
Shame burned her cheeks warm. She could not look upon him any longer. "Very well."
IT WAS TORTURE. It was utter torture, to see him each day and choose to ignore him. She doubted he even cared, considering his indifference for her now, and she didn't know how he could. Five years. And each night before she slept, she would think it another day closer to forcing his awkward arms to hold her again, ones that were unfamiliar towards affection since the passing of his dear mother.
King Aerys had hosted some frivolous garden party the following week, which seemed completely out of the norm for the studious successor. Y/n suspected he was only trying to leech gossip from the gaggles of noble ladies, so that he may use the knowledge to control his subjects.
But, she liked parties, in truth. She wore a pale lavender for the occasion, and chose her favourite golden accessories, the ones that resembled vines and flowers. The sky shone a clear blue that day, and the sun was more forgiving with its glowing rays. She felt a soft breeze kiss against her collarbone, and took a sip from her chilled glass of Arbor Gold.
Not even Aerion could ruin this lovely day.
Or so she thought.
She spied him conversing with young lady, pale of skin with chestnut toned hair. She was wearing a sage green. He was leaning in as she spoke, offering nods and a rare smile.
She looked away, and her sight was met with a young lordling.
"Good day, my lord," she bowed her head.
"Good day, my lady," the lord replied.
He was handsome enough, a well-cut chin and sapphire eyes. He had on a doublet the same shade as the latter, and his hair was a brown that leaned slightly light. But nothing could compare to Aerion's sharp Valyrian beauty.
"Lord Cressey," he grinned politely, waiting for her hand to place a kiss upon the back of it.
"Lord Cressey," she repeated. "'Tis an honour."
The lord barked out short but raucous laughter. "You already flatter too much, my lady. What is a Cressey compared to a Dayne of Starfall? Many do not even know where we rule."
"Nonsense," she chuckled. "We are all of the same rank."
"You are too kind," Lord Cressey's grin widened. "Enchanting as they say, in beauty and in countenance."
"Pardon?"
"My apologies if I am too forward, my lady," he said. "But there are many who sing praises of your House, and I cannot help but acknowledge such praises are true."
He took a pause, staring deeply at her. "Your eyes are... truly remarkable."
Her eyes were not completely violet like her father's, nor like Aerion's, matter of fact. It did not mean she hated them at all, in fact she was quite fond of them, a rich shade of indigo settled between deep blue and vibrant purple. Like the night sky in the summer.
Whilst the compliment was charming to hear, the dazed look he grew in his own expression sent a slight wave of concern roll throughout her.
"Forgive me, my lady," he looked downwards. "I cannot help it. My uncle used to tell me I was always so forward, even since childhood. But my aunt says that some ladies seem to like that sort of thing, and that someone as forward as I should find someone I am akin to. I heard you did not even want to return to King's Landing, my lady?"
"That is correct," she replied.
She could not fault someone for the traits they'd developed in their youth. She relaxed herself, letting herself fall into this ordeal with Lord Cressey. Anything to put Aerion out from her mind.
"Defiance and forwardness ought to be the same thing," said Cressey. "Do you think so, my lady?"
"I suppose," she pressed her lips together.
"Do you suppose we are like-minded then, my lady?"
"I suppose," she said once more.
"Then perhaps... you would not be averse to my courting of you?"
"Excuse me?"
Lord Cressey laughed lightly. "Courting, my lady. I wish to court you."
"I mean not to offend, my lord, but we have only just met," she cleared her throat.
"Hardly," dismissed Cressey. "We used to play here, as children. And I have often admired you since, but you grew too busy with Aerion. I see now that his attentions lay elsewhere at the moment, so I cannot pass up this chance."
As children. She wanted to giggle. She was sure Aerion would have. She had no memory of this man.
"That would be difficult, my lord," she replied. "I reside in Dorne for the most part."
"My lands are small and my brother is capable."
"You would... go to Dorne?"
"Until I have won you over, yes."
"I see."
"I certainly hope you do," he smirked.
Y/n wanted to recoil. To push this lordling out and find better company. A few times they would come together as children and now he thought he could bear this aura of certainty? She hadn't even thought of marriage at all. Dornish customs were loose, and her father had only mentioned it perhaps twice in the past year.
"Allow me to think on it, my lord?"
"Anything you desire, my lady."
She curtseyed shallowly before turning her heel and exiting the gardens. She suddenly felt ill at this prospect, and wished for nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and lock the door twice over.
She stepped down the empty hallways. The servants were much focused upon the soiree, and within the castle walls it was empty and silent. Until she heard footsteps other than her own.
The noise was more of a thump than a clack, so she could inference it were the boots of a man rather than the slippers of a woman, though this man's footsteps sounded... rather lithe.
"Cressey say something stupid again?"
Aerion.
And as much as she could hold her will up unto her father or her siblings or even Maekar Targaryen... it dropped.
"He wishes to court me," she spoke quietly, as if anything louder would shatter the moment.
"Have you been together before today?"
He'd caught up to her, walking now at her side. She didn't know what he was thinking, for she refused to glance at his face. She could only hear a lilting curiosity in his tone.
"Apparently, we played together as children."
"Is that so?"
"Apparently."
"Did you accept?"
"I told him I would think on it," she informed him. "I don't know how to reject him."
"And yet you've done a splendid job of rejecting me."
At that, her head whipped around to pierce him with a glare. "Excuse me? You were the one who decided I wasn't worth your time anymore."
His stupidly handsome face looked ridiculously pleased.
She set herself back forward and took a breath, releasing the air out of her nose. "Just... leave me be."
"No."
She huffed. "Aerion, please."
"Y/n, please."
She scoffed. "And why not?"
"Because..." she heard him swallow. "Because it appears I have missed your company."
Her fingers dropped to her skirts, gathering the fabrics between them and clenching them tightly. "You are utter unbelievable."
"I am..."
She glanced back to him again. "You are what?"
"I am..."
His eyebrows were hung low, and his mouth remained in a strange curved line. He looked comically unsettled.
"I am sorry."
She halted their walking.
In all the years she'd known Aerion Targaryen, he'd only ever apologised to her once. He'd orchestrated nasty pranks on everybody in the Red Keep when he discovered the festival celebrated by the commoners on the first day of the fourth moon, when the two of them were about eight years old. She'd ended up in one of the old fountains, which was to be demolished and rebuilt. It was a horrid thing, crumbling stone, muddy waters which mosquitoes had laid their eggs upon. The water lilies had rot, exuding terrible smells, and she swore she'd seen a floating frog carcass. She'd fallen in wearing her brand new dress, and cried so profusely Aerion was for once at a loss of words. After she'd ran off and refused to speak with him throughout dinner, he'd come to her chambers and apologised with a flower from the newly planted bushes.
"Why would you do that?" she questioned softly. "Push me away immediately upon your return. I missed you."
"I did not know if you would still care for me," he answered. "Perhaps you were married already with a child, or you simply could not care after such a long time."
"I find that hard to believe, Aerion. You do not care about things like that."
He sighed.
"My Father sent me to Lys to reform me. Why he chose that cavern of sin, I do not know. But I was, and remain adamant in convincing him that he cannot change who I am. And I fear that if I allowed myself to attach to you once more, I could not keep it up."
"Oh Aerion," she rolled her eyes. "Nothing can change you. Even me. I would hate if I did. You are not meant to be a demure little princeling. You are a dragon."
"I have my fears," he conceded.
"Shockingly," she laughed.
"It pains me to admit it but they there," he confessed begrudgingly.
She smiled anyway, and looped her arm in his.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Let us stroll. And talk."
"I have a better idea."
He pulled on her arm, beginning a hurried pace, down the hall, up the stairs, until they reached none other than his chamber door.
"Your chambers...?"
He grinned, dragonlike as always, pushing the door open and leading her inside.
"I did not learn reform in Lys, but I have learnt many other things," he stated, encouraging her to enter whilst shutting the door.
He spun her around, tugging her close and leaning down. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest.
"My words are hardly kind and will not suffice for you," he whispered. "So let me make it up a different way."
He kissed her.
It was not gradual, an immediate clash of teeth and tongue that had her stumbling back and clutching onto his elbows for dear life. But it was everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of with him since she'd turned four and ten.
Of course she'd kissed men before. She was Dornish, it was only natural. She had always yearned for Aerion, but she did not deprive herself. However, the instance of kissing was rare and only one long ago had ever pleased her.
This kiss was pure bliss.
His hands slid around her waist, expertise evident in how quickly he'd loosened the ties of her dress. She helped him pull it down and grinned when she herself began to make work at his doublet. A pang emerged between her legs at the sight of his carved torso.
"Nevermind me," Aerion tutted.
He pulled down the remainder of her dress, leaving her in her smallclothes. She was not embarrassed, no, but the exhilaration of it all left her breathless.
"You are not a maiden, I presume?"
She rolled her eyes, a practice quite common in his presence. "No."
"Scandalous," he mocked monotonously. "Sit down."
She made her way to the edge of his bed, placing her hands behind her and shifting her weight upon them. Her expression dared to challenge him.
"The Lyseni have talented scientists," he explained. He'd gone over to his desk and presented her with a small wooden pot, filled with an auburn powder. "They discovered the pollen of one of one of their native flowers can heighten the sensation of physical pleasure when inhaled. Here."
She took a tentative sniff, and immediately, the pulsing between her legs blossomed largely.
"Wonderful, is it not?" he took a deep sniff of his own.
He kissed her with a sense of finality, nipping at her bottom lip mischievously, before sinking to his knees. He took the tip of her undergarment and dragged it down her legs torturously.
Aerion kissed along her inner thigh, sometimes stopping to inhale at her skin, eyes shut and fluttering when he did so, as if she were a narcotic of some sort. Her cunt clenched as he got nearer to her core, having to press her lips together to stifle her impatience and the growing sensations from the powder.
After his relentless teasing, Aerion finally granted her reprieve, letting his tongue lick straight up her cunt. She exhaled loudly, her hands latching onto his short silvery-gold waves. He grunted in response, moving fast toward languid and savouring mouthfuls, heightening the feeling by hiking her legs over his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt this way before.
Thank the gods for Lys, she thought, as she leaned back.
Two of his fingers slipped within her promptly, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm. Paired with the suckling of her pearl, she could feel her release approaching faster and faster. It was almost too quick.
"Ah-"
Aerion added a third finger.
"Gods- Stop!" she nearly shrieked.
"What is it?"
She urged him to get up, and he did so dutifully. When Aerion was stood before her, she quickly rid him of the rest of his clothes and pushed him down on the bed.
His cock, long and impressive, stood at full height. It was pale as he, though rather pink at the tip. She licked her lips in delight.
"Let me ride the dragon."
At this, he perked up. Aerion's pupils had rounded wider and darker than ever. His jaw was drawn tight and she caught a tremble on his lips. She knew what he liked. He thought himself a dragon in mortal flesh, and whilst she had her own ideas upon that very notion, she knew he could not resist.
She placed her knees on either side of him, grabbing the base of his cock. Aerion groaned, watching in anticipation. With an inhale, she positioned him towards her and sunk down.
"Aerion-" she moaned. Her hips rose and fell upon his length hurriedly.
Aerion was not a man of many sounds in bed, as she could've guessed before, but the tautness of all his muscles and how hungrily he viewed her... it was gratifying enough.
She was constantly full of him. Every time she rose he would thrust up into her, working in tandem, almost mechanically—but their raw energy and the effects of the powder did not let it stray to a realm of boredom.
"That's it," he gritted out. "Ride the dragon."
She heard nothing else but his voice, and the obnoxious wet claps of their joining. He was reaching the very depths of her, and she could not help but wail in pleasure at finally having him all to herself.
He began to rub her pearl when she'd hurried her rhythm desperately, steady circular motions of his thumb. In no time, she'd produced a loud shriek, riding out her release as Aerion thrusted furiously to reach his own. His seed was warm.
She collapsed beside him, legs messily strewn across one another. Aerion kissed her forehead.
Knock knock.
"I shall get it," he told her.
Aerion took the decorative red blanket that had been mixed amongst his sheets, wrapping it around his waist to hide his nakedness so he could answer the door.
"Cressey?"
"My prince. I wished to speak with you."
"Why?"
"Well, it regards-"
"Who is that, Aerion?" she called out.
Cressey's face fell.
Tag List: @kimm4710 @crazyhpwritter @zaptapbam @key1730 @tanzierina
✧.* 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: female reader/description, canon divergent, use of y/n, dayne!reader, aerion targaryen, mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of brothels, canonical use of incest, sex pollen, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, coitus
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: prince aerion is sent to lys for his sins, much to the sadness of his dear cousin. he returns a different man, endowed with new gifts.
✧.* 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5,330
blog masterlist | aerion targaryen masterlist
A/N: Ending/smut bit is so ass I'm so sorry
AERION HAD NOT ALWAYS BEEN CRUEL. He used to be like any other child, possessing a mind brimming with curiosity, and wide eyes ready to consume the unknown. That's why he befriended Lady Y/n. She was certain if they'd began their relationship as he was now, she'd no chance of getting close to him at all. He'd locked the gates to his heart early in age.
She was his cousin, really. A Dayne of his mother's lineage. She remained in Dorne for the most part, but he and his brother were sent down south during the first Blackfyre rebellion, keeping safe from the fighting. That was the first they met, and they'd resonated well. They'd chase the fishes in the royal ponds, feet bare, curls flying. They'd attempt to read the long and difficult tomes in the libraries, to prove early progression of their minds and superiority to their peers. But they would commonly find themselves slumped against the shelves, deep in sleep. Those were her warmest memories.
Naturally, Aerion returned to King's Landing when the war was done, but his visits back were frequent. Prince Maekar adored his lady wife, and returned to Dorne upon any of her wishes. So, the two were almost raised in unison. Despite this, everything shifted in the passage of childhood to adulthood.
Aerion grew up to be as handsome as the men of his house were renowned. Pale, silver-gold hair and eyes like amethysts, with a jaw seemingly cut from marble. He was not particularly tall, but he was willowy enough to appear so. Still, he managed to coat himself with defined muscle, honed from diligent training. But his body was not the only thing that changed. She felt it, a darkness stir in his soul. His gaze was no longer like it used to be. It held glimmers of light, like fragments of the guiding star of their forefathers. The light did remain now, yet she saw nothing of the adornments of the night sky, rather... burning wildfire.
When his cruelty made itself known a few years later, she couldn’t say she didn’t expect it. Unfortunately, she still felt so compelled by him and couldn't see him any differently. That was her dear Aerion, the boy of her youth, and possibly nothing in the world could ever change that. Anyways, he was not cruel to her and as selfish as it was, that was all that mattered.
Y/n had wished terribly to join her cousins at the tourney of Ashford Meadow. She wanted to sit at the royal box, cheer for the knights, and toss Aerion her favour. Maybe he would've named her his Queen of Love and Beauty if he'd won. But her parents declined, insisting the castle had no more rooms to host them and that they would visit King's Landing later on instead, much to her dismay.
Her insides fluttered as the carriage approached the coral bricks of the Red Keep. This was the longest she’d gone without seeing Aerion, and she wanted to know everything about the joust. She was sure he’d won, unless his cousin Valarr had joined the lists. She knew he was a fair fighter, and she could admit (to everyone except for her cousin) that he could possibly beat him.
She ignored the outstretched hand that was offered to her when the carriage door was open, choosing to jump down and rush forward to the entrance. Prince Maekar stood there, along with a hunched Daeron and his daughters, Rhae and Daella. She smiled at them, and all returned it, except of course for Daeron. He could only struggle to lift his head and nod in acknowledgement.
"It is good to see you, Y/n," Maekar greeted.
"Thank you, my prince," she bowed her head momentarily.
She made sure to greet everyone properly, curtseys and cheek kisses. After breaking away from an embrace with Daella, she turned back to Prince Maekar, biting her lip to stifle her erupting grin. "Where is Aerion?"
She knew what he thought of proper welcomes. He saw them tedious and unnecessary. He was a Targaryen, and any visitor should come to him, even his favourite cousin. She'd smacked him across the back of his head for it.
"...Preparing in his room," Maekar replied, almost hesitantly.
She frowned. "Preparing for what?"
"He's going to Lys, Y/n."
"Lys?" she repeated loudly. "Whatever for?"
"It is his exile."
"What?"
"I've tolerated him for the last time," said Maekar firmly.
"I do not understand..."
"Find him and let him explain it himself."
Prince Maker obviously did not want to talk, for whatever reason it was. Aerion must have maimed this time, rather than wounded. She provided the elder man a final look of confusion and upset, lifting her orchid-coloured skirts to walk up the short steps to the door.
Her steps were quick and frantic. She sprinted through halls and ran up stairs. She did not knock when she reached Aerions' door, shoving it forcefully and entering loudly. Her chest rose and fell with her hard breaths.
Aerion looked back at her. He was stood in front of his bed, a large open satchel in the midst of strewn clothes and trinkets. His hair was cropped shorter than the last she'd seen him, but his roguish face remained the same.
"I take it you heard the news?"
"What happened, Aerion?" she stepped forward, brows remaining knitted. "What have you done now?"
"I was defending my family, if you must know," he explained casually, folding a red doublet into the satchel whilst tossing a black one aside. "I saw disrespect to the Targaryen name, and I brought apt retribution. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with it."
"You know I hate when you speak in riddles."
His tongue curled over his upper lip. He sighed. "I saw this puppet girl. And she'd killed a puppet dragon in her ridiculous little show. I saw it fit to break her fingers, but this stupid excuse of a knight attacked me for it. Naturally, he was to be punished, but I wanted to host a Trial of the Seven, like King Maegor."
"And?" she urged.
"We fought. I lost. And now Prince Baelor is dead."
"Prince Baelor is dead?"
"Yes," Aerion swallowed. "Volunteered for the oaf but got his skull smacked by my father's mace when he was trying to save me."
"No..."
"It was an accident, of course," Aerion said. He picked up a small figurine of a golden dragon, rotating it with his nimble fingers for examination. He placed it in the satchel.
"And now you are leaving?"
"Indeed. My ship leaves within the hour, actually. It appears Father cannot bear to stand my presence any moment longer than necessary."
"Within the hour?" she gasped. She approached him closely, twining her hands together if only to stop herself from taking his. "And when shall you return?"
"I do not know," he shrugged. "In a year. Or five."
She scoffed, ignoring the nausea blooming in her chest at the prospect of five years with him so far away. "You seem to care so little. Of leaving your home, your family."
Of leaving me.
"You know I am one to mask my feelings," his violet irises darted to her form. "Besides, do you think wailing and blubbering shall earn me my father's forgiveness? Should you think I shall appear as if I have changed? Everybody would think it is a farce of mine. It does not matter anyway. They all hate me. They're all glad of me gone, and Lys is a city of pleasure. I will enjoy this."
"I am not," she claimed desperately, completely disregarding his musings of Lys. Her hands broke free of her will, flying to latch onto his forearm. "I do not hate you."
Aerion turned to her wholly now. She saw him swallow again. A nervous habit of his that nobody else seemed to discern. He could always keep strength in his expression, a talent which she envied. Her face revealed everything and all.
He took her chin between her fingers, and her heart raced. Every ugly desire wormed its way out from the core of her being, ones she'd stuffed into coffins and thrown into the abyss, for fear it would break whatever precarious dance she'd spun with him. His coldness was volatile. She knew him better than anyone, but she could not read minds. She was always scared, always tiptoeing on eggshells. One step too forward and what if his treatment of her shifted to his treatment of the rest of his family?
"Of course you do," he said, and she could not descry if he was making a mockery of her.
"I will miss you," she whispered, the first stings of tears pricking at her eyes.
"I know."
He relinquished his touch from her, deciding to take a ruby ring from his side table, and slipped it into his bag. "I should go."
"Aerio-"
"Don't make this difficult."
He slung the satchel over his shoulder and licked his lips when he'd looked upon his rooms for what would likely be the final time in a long time. His gaze never met her again.
"Goodbye."
FIVE YEARS. She spent five years without Aerion. She joined less and less to her family’s travels. What was the point of going if he was not there for her to meet? She liked the rest of her cousins enough, but they were not him. She had not forged anything as substantial with anyone else in the world. And now he was gone, with unclear prospects of his return. Would he ever return? Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to Lys. It was a life of freedom, she could tell. Endless days of carnal pleasures with beautiful women resembling the old Valyrians. She knew he’d relish them, with his obsession with the blood of the dragon. The place was a stark comparison to the stiffness of Westeros. Except for Dorne. Could he not live in Dorne instead? They were similar enough to be sure. He could live with her, and she would offer him far more happiness than any Lyseni whore ever could.
She hadn’t been allowed to even entertain the idea of going to Lys. Her parents shut her down immediately. Prince Maekar would be more than upset if he knew, and the last thing they wanted to do was disrespect the cherished lover of their dear Dyanna, much more disrespect a member of House Targaryen. She was only rendered to utter misery from it. She’d meant what she’d said. She missed Aerion terribly, and she would often visit the harbour to gaze longingly at the ships going to, or from the Free Cities. The temptation scorched.
"We are going to King’s Landing soon," said her mother one bright morning at breakfast.
She'd been having a good day thus far. The flatbread the cooks had made today was warm and fluffy, and the olives had been picked and pressed at just the right time, making their oil especially delectable. Although bright, it was not overtly warm, with breezes swooping gently between the pillars of their outdoor dining hall.
"I do not wish to go."
"You never go anymore."
"Why should I?" she huffed, spearing her fork into a rather thick slab of ham. "Without Aerion it is dull."
"I cannot believe you remain stubborn about this," her father retorted, taking a long sip from his goblet of wine. "It has been five years. How have you not yet accustomed yourself?"
She did not reply. She despised to admit her father was right. She should have accustomed herself four years past, but she hadn’t. She cursed her unwaveringly loyal heart, wishing it would taint with dishonour or hatred.
"I love him, Father," she mumbled. "I suppose that is all there is to it."
Her father exuded a sigh. His eyes were closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you think he reciprocates? That he longingly awaits for you in Lys, of all places?"
"Love is not only romantic, Father," she closed her eyes, humiliation blooming warm on her cheeks. "As a cousin, I am certain he does."
"I'd wager he's all but remembered his life in Westeros," her father continued. He could not hold his wine as he did before, with age, and his words of inebriation were always sharp as thorns. "Lys offers more pleasures than even Dorne. I honestly do not know what Prince Maekar thought he was doing by exiling him there. He is so soft on the boy."
"Prince Maekar's children are the last reminder he has of Auntie Dyanna," she defended. She'd released her utensils, and they shrilly interrupted the otherwise peaceful atmosphere with their noisy clattering upon the porcelain. "Or at the very least, he sees who Aerion used to be and still believes he can change."
"A fruitless pursuit that'd be if it were true," mused her father. "Lys. The very idea..."
She resorted back to eating. She saw her siblings staring upon her, half sympathetic and half brimming with judgement. Her mother was looking elsewhere.
"It is decided then. You are coming this time."
"Father-"
"It is decided."
TRIED AS SHE DID, Y/n could not sway her father. He was utterly impossible, and threatened to lock her in her rooms since that was what she appeared to desire most.
She often roused herself to sleep during her times in the carriage, bringing along a tea to do so. In her dreams, she would often find Aerion. Oh, if she could retreat to slumber the whole of this miserable visit.
She accepted the hand to help her down the carriage. Prince Maekar and his family were presenting as usual, and she greeted them like she'd always done.
"Wonder why you decided to come this time," murmured Maekar, a hint of cheek present in his voice.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're always a little behind it seems," Maekar chuckled.
Her face set in a slight scowl. Always riddles with the dragon. Not care for anything at the moment, she chose to go straight to her typical guest rooms and open the book she'd been reading on the road, when her tea lost its effects.
She still remained to be slightly sluggish however, her footsteps a little misguided and her head low. She only looked down upon the stone floors, the world at her periphery mere smudges and blurs.
"Ah-" she hissed, when a harsh shoulder collided with her own.
"You know, if you looked where you were going-"
"Aerion?"
She knew his voice. She would always know his voice, even now if it were tinged with a hint of Lyseni tone. It was smooth like a small river cascading upon tiny rocks, with the bite of a summer wind. And her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up and her eyes met with amethysts.
She saw him swallow, prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His irises raked up and down before settling. His feet shifted. He was uncomfortable.
"I did not think you would be coming."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am... in my home?"
"I meant, you are already back from Lys?" she rolled her eyes. "Did you send a raven? Or perhaps you have just come back and the raven arrived in Dorne when we were already on our way here-"
"I did not send a raven. Nor did my father, or anyone, for that matter. I know you will ask."
She smiled. "So you know me still."
Then it faded. "Why haven't you sent a letter?"
"I thought it unnecessary," he said pointedly.
"Why?"
"I am only returning home. It is not something to make a fuss of."
"It's been five years, Aerion," she exhaled. "You were my dearest friend. I would want to know."
"I was truly your dearest friend?"
"Oh don't do that, Aerion. You know that I was yours too."
"Apologies, then."
"You don't seem the least bit remorseful!"
"You know me enough to know I hardly feel remorse."
"Even for me?"
He pursed his lips. "Even for you."
Tears began to claw behind her eyes, sharp nails sinking and shaking to release. And for the first time, she was not exempt from the cruelty of Aerion Brightflame. "I see."
"I'm glad."
Shame burned her cheeks warm. She could not look upon him any longer. "Very well."
IT WAS TORTURE. It was utter torture, to see him each day and choose to ignore him. She doubted he even cared, considering his indifference for her now, and she didn't know how he could. Five years. And each night before she slept, she would think it another day closer to forcing his awkward arms to hold her again, ones that were unfamiliar towards affection since the passing of his dear mother.
King Aerys had hosted some frivolous garden party the following week, which seemed completely out of the norm for the studious successor. Y/n suspected he was only trying to leech gossip from the gaggles of noble ladies, so that he may use the knowledge to control his subjects.
But, she liked parties, in truth. She wore a pale lavender for the occasion, and chose her favourite golden accessories, the ones that resembled vines and flowers. The sky shone a clear blue that day, and the sun was more forgiving with its glowing rays. She felt a soft breeze kiss against her collarbone, and took a sip from her chilled glass of Arbor Gold.
Not even Aerion could ruin this lovely day.
Or so she thought.
She spied him conversing with young lady, pale of skin with chestnut toned hair. She was wearing a sage green. He was leaning in as she spoke, offering nods and a rare smile.
She looked away, and her sight was met with a young lordling.
"Good day, my lord," she bowed her head.
"Good day, my lady," the lord replied.
He was handsome enough, a well-cut chin and sapphire eyes. He had on a doublet the same shade as the latter, and his hair was a brown that leaned slightly light. But nothing could compare to Aerion's sharp Valyrian beauty.
"Lord Cressey," he grinned politely, waiting for her hand to place a kiss upon the back of it.
"Lord Cressey," she repeated. "'Tis an honour."
The lord barked out short but raucous laughter. "You already flatter too much, my lady. What is a Cressey compared to a Dayne of Starfall? Many do not even know where we rule."
"Nonsense," she chuckled. "We are all of the same rank."
"You are too kind," Lord Cressey's grin widened. "Enchanting as they say, in beauty and in countenance."
"Pardon?"
"My apologies if I am too forward, my lady," he said. "But there are many who sing praises of your House, and I cannot help but acknowledge such praises are true."
He took a pause, staring deeply at her. "Your eyes are... truly remarkable."
Her eyes were not completely violet like her father's, nor like Aerion's, matter of fact. It did not mean she hated them at all, in fact she was quite fond of them, a rich shade of indigo settled between deep blue and vibrant purple. Like the night sky in the summer.
Whilst the compliment was charming to hear, the dazed look he grew in his own expression sent a slight wave of concern roll throughout her.
"Forgive me, my lady," he looked downwards. "I cannot help it. My uncle used to tell me I was always so forward, even since childhood. But my aunt says that some ladies seem to like that sort of thing, and that someone as forward as I should find someone I am akin to. I heard you did not even want to return to King's Landing, my lady?"
"That is correct," she replied.
She could not fault someone for the traits they'd developed in their youth. She relaxed herself, letting herself fall into this ordeal with Lord Cressey. Anything to put Aerion out from her mind.
"Defiance and forwardness ought to be the same thing," said Cressey. "Do you think so, my lady?"
"I suppose," she pressed her lips together.
"Do you suppose we are like-minded then, my lady?"
"I suppose," she said once more.
"Then perhaps... you would not be averse to my courting of you?"
"Excuse me?"
Lord Cressey laughed lightly. "Courting, my lady. I wish to court you."
"I mean not to offend, my lord, but we have only just met," she cleared her throat.
"Hardly," dismissed Cressey. "We used to play here, as children. And I have often admired you since, but you grew too busy with Aerion. I see now that his attentions lay elsewhere at the moment, so I cannot pass up this chance."
As children. She wanted to giggle. She was sure Aerion would have. She had no memory of this man.
"That would be difficult, my lord," she replied. "I reside in Dorne for the most part."
"My lands are small and my brother is capable."
"You would... go to Dorne?"
"Until I have won you over, yes."
"I see."
"I certainly hope you do," he smirked.
Y/n wanted to recoil. To push this lordling out and find better company. A few times they would come together as children and now he thought he could bear this aura of certainty? She hadn't even thought of marriage at all. Dornish customs were loose, and her father had only mentioned it perhaps twice in the past year.
"Allow me to think on it, my lord?"
"Anything you desire, my lady."
She curtseyed shallowly before turning her heel and exiting the gardens. She suddenly felt ill at this prospect, and wished for nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and lock the door twice over.
She stepped down the empty hallways. The servants were much focused upon the soiree, and within the castle walls it was empty and silent. Until she heard footsteps other than her own.
The noise was more of a thump than a clack, so she could inference it were the boots of a man rather than the slippers of a woman, though this man's footsteps sounded... rather lithe.
"Cressey say something stupid again?"
Aerion.
And as much as she could hold her will up unto her father or her siblings or even Maekar Targaryen... it dropped.
"He wishes to court me," she spoke quietly, as if anything louder would shatter the moment.
"Have you been together before today?"
He'd caught up to her, walking now at her side. She didn't know what he was thinking, for she refused to glance at his face. She could only hear a lilting curiosity in his tone.
"Apparently, we played together as children."
"Is that so?"
"Apparently."
"Did you accept?"
"I told him I would think on it," she informed him. "I don't know how to reject him."
"And yet you've done a splendid job of rejecting me."
At that, her head whipped around to pierce him with a glare. "Excuse me? You were the one who decided I wasn't worth your time anymore."
His stupidly handsome face looked ridiculously pleased.
She set herself back forward and took a breath, releasing the air out of her nose. "Just... leave me be."
"No."
She huffed. "Aerion, please."
"Y/n, please."
She scoffed. "And why not?"
"Because..." she heard him swallow. "Because it appears I have missed your company."
Her fingers dropped to her skirts, gathering the fabrics between them and clenching them tightly. "You are utter unbelievable."
"I am..."
She glanced back to him again. "You are what?"
"I am..."
His eyebrows were hung low, and his mouth remained in a strange curved line. He looked comically unsettled.
"I am sorry."
She halted their walking.
In all the years she'd known Aerion Targaryen, he'd only ever apologised to her once. He'd orchestrated nasty pranks on everybody in the Red Keep when he discovered the festival celebrated by the commoners on the first day of the fourth moon, when the two of them were about eight years old. She'd ended up in one of the old fountains, which was to be demolished and rebuilt. It was a horrid thing, crumbling stone, muddy waters which mosquitoes had laid their eggs upon. The water lilies had rot, exuding terrible smells, and she swore she'd seen a floating frog carcass. She'd fallen in wearing her brand new dress, and cried so profusely Aerion was for once at a loss of words. After she'd ran off and refused to speak with him throughout dinner, he'd come to her chambers and apologised with a flower from the newly planted bushes.
"Why would you do that?" she questioned softly. "Push me away immediately upon your return. I missed you."
"I did not know if you would still care for me," he answered. "Perhaps you were married already with a child, or you simply could not care after such a long time."
"I find that hard to believe, Aerion. You do not care about things like that."
He sighed.
"My Father sent me to Lys to reform me. Why he chose that cavern of sin, I do not know. But I was, and remain adamant in convincing him that he cannot change who I am. And I fear that if I allowed myself to attach to you once more, I could not keep it up."
"Oh Aerion," she rolled her eyes. "Nothing can change you. Even me. I would hate if I did. You are not meant to be a demure little princeling. You are a dragon."
"I have my fears," he conceded.
"Shockingly," she laughed.
"It pains me to admit it but they there," he confessed begrudgingly.
She smiled anyway, and looped her arm in his.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Let us stroll. And talk."
"I have a better idea."
He pulled on her arm, beginning a hurried pace, down the hall, up the stairs, until they reached none other than his chamber door.
"Your chambers...?"
He grinned, dragonlike as always, pushing the door open and leading her inside.
"I did not learn reform in Lys, but I have learnt many other things," he stated, encouraging her to enter whilst shutting the door.
He spun her around, tugging her close and leaning down. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest.
"My words are hardly kind and will not suffice for you," he whispered. "So let me make it up a different way."
He kissed her.
It was not gradual, an immediate clash of teeth and tongue that had her stumbling back and clutching onto his elbows for dear life. But it was everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of with him since she'd turned four and ten.
Of course she'd kissed men before. She was Dornish, it was only natural. She had always yearned for Aerion, but she did not deprive herself. However, the instance of kissing was rare and only one long ago had ever pleased her.
This kiss was pure bliss.
His hands slid around her waist, expertise evident in how quickly he'd loosened the ties of her dress. She helped him pull it down and grinned when she herself began to make work at his doublet. A pang emerged between her legs at the sight of his carved torso.
"Nevermind me," Aerion tutted.
He pulled down the remainder of her dress, leaving her in her smallclothes. She was not embarrassed, no, but the exhilaration of it all left her breathless.
"You are not a maiden, I presume?"
She rolled her eyes, a practice quite common in his presence. "No."
"Scandalous," he mocked monotonously. "Sit down."
She made her way to the edge of his bed, placing her hands behind her and shifting her weight upon them. Her expression dared to challenge him.
"The Lyseni have talented scientists," he explained. He'd gone over to his desk and presented her with a small wooden pot, filled with an auburn powder. "They discovered the pollen of one of one of their native flowers can heighten the sensation of physical pleasure when inhaled. Here."
She took a tentative sniff, and immediately, the pulsing between her legs blossomed largely.
"Wonderful, is it not?" he took a deep sniff of his own.
He kissed her with a sense of finality, nipping at her bottom lip mischievously, before sinking to his knees. He took the tip of her undergarment and dragged it down her legs torturously.
Aerion kissed along her inner thigh, sometimes stopping to inhale at her skin, eyes shut and fluttering when he did so, as if she were a narcotic of some sort. Her cunt clenched as he got nearer to her core, having to press her lips together to stifle her impatience and the growing sensations from the powder.
After his relentless teasing, Aerion finally granted her reprieve, letting his tongue lick straight up her cunt. She exhaled loudly, her hands latching onto his short silvery-gold waves. He grunted in response, moving fast toward languid and savouring mouthfuls, heightening the feeling by hiking her legs over his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt this way before.
Thank the gods for Lys, she thought, as she leaned back.
Two of his fingers slipped within her promptly, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm. Paired with the suckling of her pearl, she could feel her release approaching faster and faster. It was almost too quick.
"Ah-"
Aerion added a third finger.
"Gods- Stop!" she nearly shrieked.
"What is it?"
She urged him to get up, and he did so dutifully. When Aerion was stood before her, she quickly rid him of the rest of his clothes and pushed him down on the bed.
His cock, long and impressive, stood at full height. It was pale as he, though rather pink at the tip. She licked her lips in delight.
"Let me ride the dragon."
At this, he perked up. Aerion's pupils had rounded wider and darker than ever. His jaw was drawn tight and she caught a tremble on his lips. She knew what he liked. He thought himself a dragon in mortal flesh, and whilst she had her own ideas upon that very notion, she knew he could not resist.
She placed her knees on either side of him, grabbing the base of his cock. Aerion groaned, watching in anticipation. With an inhale, she positioned him towards her and sunk down.
"Aerion-" she moaned. Her hips rose and fell upon his length hurriedly.
Aerion was not a man of many sounds in bed, as she could've guessed before, but the tautness of all his muscles and how hungrily he viewed her... it was gratifying enough.
She was constantly full of him. Every time she rose he would thrust up into her, working in tandem, almost mechanically—but their raw energy and the effects of the powder did not let it stray to a realm of boredom.
"That's it," he gritted out. "Ride the dragon."
She heard nothing else but his voice, and the obnoxious wet claps of their joining. He was reaching the very depths of her, and she could not help but wail in pleasure at finally having him all to herself.
He began to rub her pearl when she'd hurried her rhythm desperately, steady circular motions of his thumb. In no time, she'd produced a loud shriek, riding out her release as Aerion thrusted furiously to reach his own. His seed was warm.
She collapsed beside him, legs messily strewn across one another. Aerion kissed her forehead.
Knock knock.
"I shall get it," he told her.
Aerion took the decorative red blanket that had been mixed amongst his sheets, wrapping it around his waist to hide his nakedness so he could answer the door.
"Cressey?"
"My prince. I wished to speak with you."
"Why?"
"Well, it regards-"
"Who is that, Aerion?" she called out.
Cressey's face fell.
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✧.* 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: female reader/description, canon divergent, use of y/n, dayne!reader, aerion targaryen, mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of brothels, canonical use of incest, sex pollen, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, coitus
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: prince aerion is sent to lys for his sins, much to the sadness of his dear cousin. he returns a different man, endowed with new gifts.
✧.* 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5,330
blog masterlist | aerion targaryen masterlist
A/N: Ending/smut bit is so ass I'm so sorry
AERION HAD NOT ALWAYS BEEN CRUEL. He used to be like any other child, possessing a mind brimming with curiosity, and wide eyes ready to consume the unknown. That's why he befriended Lady Y/n. She was certain if they'd began their relationship as he was now, she'd no chance of getting close to him at all. He'd locked the gates to his heart early in age.
She was his cousin, really. A Dayne of his mother's lineage. She remained in Dorne for the most part, but he and his brother were sent down south during the first Blackfyre rebellion, keeping safe from the fighting. That was the first they met, and they'd resonated well. They'd chase the fishes in the royal ponds, feet bare, curls flying. They'd attempt to read the long and difficult tomes in the libraries, to prove early progression of their minds and superiority to their peers. But they would commonly find themselves slumped against the shelves, deep in sleep. Those were her warmest memories.
Naturally, Aerion returned to King's Landing when the war was done, but his visits back were frequent. Prince Maekar adored his lady wife, and returned to Dorne upon any of her wishes. So, the two were almost raised in unison. Despite this, everything shifted in the passage of childhood to adulthood.
Aerion grew up to be as handsome as the men of his house were renowned. Pale, silver-gold hair and eyes like amethysts, with a jaw seemingly cut from marble. He was not particularly tall, but he was willowy enough to appear so. Still, he managed to coat himself with defined muscle, honed from diligent training. But his body was not the only thing that changed. She felt it, a darkness stir in his soul. His gaze was no longer like it used to be. It held glimmers of light, like fragments of the guiding star of their forefathers. The light did remain now, yet she saw nothing of the adornments of the night sky, rather... burning wildfire.
When his cruelty made itself known a few years later, she couldn’t say she didn’t expect it. Unfortunately, she still felt so compelled by him and couldn't see him any differently. That was her dear Aerion, the boy of her youth, and possibly nothing in the world could ever change that. Anyways, he was not cruel to her and as selfish as it was, that was all that mattered.
Y/n had wished terribly to join her cousins at the tourney of Ashford Meadow. She wanted to sit at the royal box, cheer for the knights, and toss Aerion her favour. Maybe he would've named her his Queen of Love and Beauty if he'd won. But her parents declined, insisting the castle had no more rooms to host them and that they would visit King's Landing later on instead, much to her dismay.
Her insides fluttered as the carriage approached the coral bricks of the Red Keep. This was the longest she’d gone without seeing Aerion, and she wanted to know everything about the joust. She was sure he’d won, unless his cousin Valarr had joined the lists. She knew he was a fair fighter, and she could admit (to everyone except for her cousin) that he could possibly beat him.
She ignored the outstretched hand that was offered to her when the carriage door was open, choosing to jump down and rush forward to the entrance. Prince Maekar stood there, along with a hunched Daeron and his daughters, Rhae and Daella. She smiled at them, and all returned it, except of course for Daeron. He could only struggle to lift his head and nod in acknowledgement.
"It is good to see you, Y/n," Maekar greeted.
"Thank you, my prince," she bowed her head momentarily.
She made sure to greet everyone properly, curtseys and cheek kisses. After breaking away from an embrace with Daella, she turned back to Prince Maekar, biting her lip to stifle her erupting grin. "Where is Aerion?"
She knew what he thought of proper welcomes. He saw them tedious and unnecessary. He was a Targaryen, and any visitor should come to him, even his favourite cousin. She'd smacked him across the back of his head for it.
"...Preparing in his room," Maekar replied, almost hesitantly.
She frowned. "Preparing for what?"
"He's going to Lys, Y/n."
"Lys?" she repeated loudly. "Whatever for?"
"It is his exile."
"What?"
"I've tolerated him for the last time," said Maekar firmly.
"I do not understand..."
"Find him and let him explain it himself."
Prince Maker obviously did not want to talk, for whatever reason it was. Aerion must have maimed this time, rather than wounded. She provided the elder man a final look of confusion and upset, lifting her orchid-coloured skirts to walk up the short steps to the door.
Her steps were quick and frantic. She sprinted through halls and ran up stairs. She did not knock when she reached Aerions' door, shoving it forcefully and entering loudly. Her chest rose and fell with her hard breaths.
Aerion looked back at her. He was stood in front of his bed, a large open satchel in the midst of strewn clothes and trinkets. His hair was cropped shorter than the last she'd seen him, but his roguish face remained the same.
"I take it you heard the news?"
"What happened, Aerion?" she stepped forward, brows remaining knitted. "What have you done now?"
"I was defending my family, if you must know," he explained casually, folding a red doublet into the satchel whilst tossing a black one aside. "I saw disrespect to the Targaryen name, and I brought apt retribution. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with it."
"You know I hate when you speak in riddles."
His tongue curled over his upper lip. He sighed. "I saw this puppet girl. And she'd killed a puppet dragon in her ridiculous little show. I saw it fit to break her fingers, but this stupid excuse of a knight attacked me for it. Naturally, he was to be punished, but I wanted to host a Trial of the Seven, like King Maegor."
"And?" she urged.
"We fought. I lost. And now Prince Baelor is dead."
"Prince Baelor is dead?"
"Yes," Aerion swallowed. "Volunteered for the oaf but got his skull smacked by my father's mace when he was trying to save me."
"No..."
"It was an accident, of course," Aerion said. He picked up a small figurine of a golden dragon, rotating it with his nimble fingers for examination. He placed it in the satchel.
"And now you are leaving?"
"Indeed. My ship leaves within the hour, actually. It appears Father cannot bear to stand my presence any moment longer than necessary."
"Within the hour?" she gasped. She approached him closely, twining her hands together if only to stop herself from taking his. "And when shall you return?"
"I do not know," he shrugged. "In a year. Or five."
She scoffed, ignoring the nausea blooming in her chest at the prospect of five years with him so far away. "You seem to care so little. Of leaving your home, your family."
Of leaving me.
"You know I am one to mask my feelings," his violet irises darted to her form. "Besides, do you think wailing and blubbering shall earn me my father's forgiveness? Should you think I shall appear as if I have changed? Everybody would think it is a farce of mine. It does not matter anyway. They all hate me. They're all glad of me gone, and Lys is a city of pleasure. I will enjoy this."
"I am not," she claimed desperately, completely disregarding his musings of Lys. Her hands broke free of her will, flying to latch onto his forearm. "I do not hate you."
Aerion turned to her wholly now. She saw him swallow again. A nervous habit of his that nobody else seemed to discern. He could always keep strength in his expression, a talent which she envied. Her face revealed everything and all.
He took her chin between her fingers, and her heart raced. Every ugly desire wormed its way out from the core of her being, ones she'd stuffed into coffins and thrown into the abyss, for fear it would break whatever precarious dance she'd spun with him. His coldness was volatile. She knew him better than anyone, but she could not read minds. She was always scared, always tiptoeing on eggshells. One step too forward and what if his treatment of her shifted to his treatment of the rest of his family?
"Of course you do," he said, and she could not descry if he was making a mockery of her.
"I will miss you," she whispered, the first stings of tears pricking at her eyes.
"I know."
He relinquished his touch from her, deciding to take a ruby ring from his side table, and slipped it into his bag. "I should go."
"Aerio-"
"Don't make this difficult."
He slung the satchel over his shoulder and licked his lips when he'd looked upon his rooms for what would likely be the final time in a long time. His gaze never met her again.
"Goodbye."
FIVE YEARS. She spent five years without Aerion. She joined less and less to her family’s travels. What was the point of going if he was not there for her to meet? She liked the rest of her cousins enough, but they were not him. She had not forged anything as substantial with anyone else in the world. And now he was gone, with unclear prospects of his return. Would he ever return? Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to Lys. It was a life of freedom, she could tell. Endless days of carnal pleasures with beautiful women resembling the old Valyrians. She knew he’d relish them, with his obsession with the blood of the dragon. The place was a stark comparison to the stiffness of Westeros. Except for Dorne. Could he not live in Dorne instead? They were similar enough to be sure. He could live with her, and she would offer him far more happiness than any Lyseni whore ever could.
She hadn’t been allowed to even entertain the idea of going to Lys. Her parents shut her down immediately. Prince Maekar would be more than upset if he knew, and the last thing they wanted to do was disrespect the cherished lover of their dear Dyanna, much more disrespect a member of House Targaryen. She was only rendered to utter misery from it. She’d meant what she’d said. She missed Aerion terribly, and she would often visit the harbour to gaze longingly at the ships going to, or from the Free Cities. The temptation scorched.
"We are going to King’s Landing soon," said her mother one bright morning at breakfast.
She'd been having a good day thus far. The flatbread the cooks had made today was warm and fluffy, and the olives had been picked and pressed at just the right time, making their oil especially delectable. Although bright, it was not overtly warm, with breezes swooping gently between the pillars of their outdoor dining hall.
"I do not wish to go."
"You never go anymore."
"Why should I?" she huffed, spearing her fork into a rather thick slab of ham. "Without Aerion it is dull."
"I cannot believe you remain stubborn about this," her father retorted, taking a long sip from his goblet of wine. "It has been five years. How have you not yet accustomed yourself?"
She did not reply. She despised to admit her father was right. She should have accustomed herself four years past, but she hadn’t. She cursed her unwaveringly loyal heart, wishing it would taint with dishonour or hatred.
"I love him, Father," she mumbled. "I suppose that is all there is to it."
Her father exuded a sigh. His eyes were closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you think he reciprocates? That he longingly awaits for you in Lys, of all places?"
"Love is not only romantic, Father," she closed her eyes, humiliation blooming warm on her cheeks. "As a cousin, I am certain he does."
"I'd wager he's all but remembered his life in Westeros," her father continued. He could not hold his wine as he did before, with age, and his words of inebriation were always sharp as thorns. "Lys offers more pleasures than even Dorne. I honestly do not know what Prince Maekar thought he was doing by exiling him there. He is so soft on the boy."
"Prince Maekar's children are the last reminder he has of Auntie Dyanna," she defended. She'd released her utensils, and they shrilly interrupted the otherwise peaceful atmosphere with their noisy clattering upon the porcelain. "Or at the very least, he sees who Aerion used to be and still believes he can change."
"A fruitless pursuit that'd be if it were true," mused her father. "Lys. The very idea..."
She resorted back to eating. She saw her siblings staring upon her, half sympathetic and half brimming with judgement. Her mother was looking elsewhere.
"It is decided then. You are coming this time."
"Father-"
"It is decided."
TRIED AS SHE DID, Y/n could not sway her father. He was utterly impossible, and threatened to lock her in her rooms since that was what she appeared to desire most.
She often roused herself to sleep during her times in the carriage, bringing along a tea to do so. In her dreams, she would often find Aerion. Oh, if she could retreat to slumber the whole of this miserable visit.
She accepted the hand to help her down the carriage. Prince Maekar and his family were presenting as usual, and she greeted them like she'd always done.
"Wonder why you decided to come this time," murmured Maekar, a hint of cheek present in his voice.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're always a little behind it seems," Maekar chuckled.
Her face set in a slight scowl. Always riddles with the dragon. Not care for anything at the moment, she chose to go straight to her typical guest rooms and open the book she'd been reading on the road, when her tea lost its effects.
She still remained to be slightly sluggish however, her footsteps a little misguided and her head low. She only looked down upon the stone floors, the world at her periphery mere smudges and blurs.
"Ah-" she hissed, when a harsh shoulder collided with her own.
"You know, if you looked where you were going-"
"Aerion?"
She knew his voice. She would always know his voice, even now if it were tinged with a hint of Lyseni tone. It was smooth like a small river cascading upon tiny rocks, with the bite of a summer wind. And her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up and her eyes met with amethysts.
She saw him swallow, prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His irises raked up and down before settling. His feet shifted. He was uncomfortable.
"I did not think you would be coming."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am... in my home?"
"I meant, you are already back from Lys?" she rolled her eyes. "Did you send a raven? Or perhaps you have just come back and the raven arrived in Dorne when we were already on our way here-"
"I did not send a raven. Nor did my father, or anyone, for that matter. I know you will ask."
She smiled. "So you know me still."
Then it faded. "Why haven't you sent a letter?"
"I thought it unnecessary," he said pointedly.
"Why?"
"I am only returning home. It is not something to make a fuss of."
"It's been five years, Aerion," she exhaled. "You were my dearest friend. I would want to know."
"I was truly your dearest friend?"
"Oh don't do that, Aerion. You know that I was yours too."
"Apologies, then."
"You don't seem the least bit remorseful!"
"You know me enough to know I hardly feel remorse."
"Even for me?"
He pursed his lips. "Even for you."
Tears began to claw behind her eyes, sharp nails sinking and shaking to release. And for the first time, she was not exempt from the cruelty of Aerion Brightflame. "I see."
"I'm glad."
Shame burned her cheeks warm. She could not look upon him any longer. "Very well."
IT WAS TORTURE. It was utter torture, to see him each day and choose to ignore him. She doubted he even cared, considering his indifference for her now, and she didn't know how he could. Five years. And each night before she slept, she would think it another day closer to forcing his awkward arms to hold her again, ones that were unfamiliar towards affection since the passing of his dear mother.
King Aerys had hosted some frivolous garden party the following week, which seemed completely out of the norm for the studious successor. Y/n suspected he was only trying to leech gossip from the gaggles of noble ladies, so that he may use the knowledge to control his subjects.
But, she liked parties, in truth. She wore a pale lavender for the occasion, and chose her favourite golden accessories, the ones that resembled vines and flowers. The sky shone a clear blue that day, and the sun was more forgiving with its glowing rays. She felt a soft breeze kiss against her collarbone, and took a sip from her chilled glass of Arbor Gold.
Not even Aerion could ruin this lovely day.
Or so she thought.
She spied him conversing with young lady, pale of skin with chestnut toned hair. She was wearing a sage green. He was leaning in as she spoke, offering nods and a rare smile.
She looked away, and her sight was met with a young lordling.
"Good day, my lord," she bowed her head.
"Good day, my lady," the lord replied.
He was handsome enough, a well-cut chin and sapphire eyes. He had on a doublet the same shade as the latter, and his hair was a brown that leaned slightly light. But nothing could compare to Aerion's sharp Valyrian beauty.
"Lord Cressey," he grinned politely, waiting for her hand to place a kiss upon the back of it.
"Lord Cressey," she repeated. "'Tis an honour."
The lord barked out short but raucous laughter. "You already flatter too much, my lady. What is a Cressey compared to a Dayne of Starfall? Many do not even know where we rule."
"Nonsense," she chuckled. "We are all of the same rank."
"You are too kind," Lord Cressey's grin widened. "Enchanting as they say, in beauty and in countenance."
"Pardon?"
"My apologies if I am too forward, my lady," he said. "But there are many who sing praises of your House, and I cannot help but acknowledge such praises are true."
He took a pause, staring deeply at her. "Your eyes are... truly remarkable."
Her eyes were not completely violet like her father's, nor like Aerion's, matter of fact. It did not mean she hated them at all, in fact she was quite fond of them, a rich shade of indigo settled between deep blue and vibrant purple. Like the night sky in the summer.
Whilst the compliment was charming to hear, the dazed look he grew in his own expression sent a slight wave of concern roll throughout her.
"Forgive me, my lady," he looked downwards. "I cannot help it. My uncle used to tell me I was always so forward, even since childhood. But my aunt says that some ladies seem to like that sort of thing, and that someone as forward as I should find someone I am akin to. I heard you did not even want to return to King's Landing, my lady?"
"That is correct," she replied.
She could not fault someone for the traits they'd developed in their youth. She relaxed herself, letting herself fall into this ordeal with Lord Cressey. Anything to put Aerion out from her mind.
"Defiance and forwardness ought to be the same thing," said Cressey. "Do you think so, my lady?"
"I suppose," she pressed her lips together.
"Do you suppose we are like-minded then, my lady?"
"I suppose," she said once more.
"Then perhaps... you would not be averse to my courting of you?"
"Excuse me?"
Lord Cressey laughed lightly. "Courting, my lady. I wish to court you."
"I mean not to offend, my lord, but we have only just met," she cleared her throat.
"Hardly," dismissed Cressey. "We used to play here, as children. And I have often admired you since, but you grew too busy with Aerion. I see now that his attentions lay elsewhere at the moment, so I cannot pass up this chance."
As children. She wanted to giggle. She was sure Aerion would have. She had no memory of this man.
"That would be difficult, my lord," she replied. "I reside in Dorne for the most part."
"My lands are small and my brother is capable."
"You would... go to Dorne?"
"Until I have won you over, yes."
"I see."
"I certainly hope you do," he smirked.
Y/n wanted to recoil. To push this lordling out and find better company. A few times they would come together as children and now he thought he could bear this aura of certainty? She hadn't even thought of marriage at all. Dornish customs were loose, and her father had only mentioned it perhaps twice in the past year.
"Allow me to think on it, my lord?"
"Anything you desire, my lady."
She curtseyed shallowly before turning her heel and exiting the gardens. She suddenly felt ill at this prospect, and wished for nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and lock the door twice over.
She stepped down the empty hallways. The servants were much focused upon the soiree, and within the castle walls it was empty and silent. Until she heard footsteps other than her own.
The noise was more of a thump than a clack, so she could inference it were the boots of a man rather than the slippers of a woman, though this man's footsteps sounded... rather lithe.
"Cressey say something stupid again?"
Aerion.
And as much as she could hold her will up unto her father or her siblings or even Maekar Targaryen... it dropped.
"He wishes to court me," she spoke quietly, as if anything louder would shatter the moment.
"Have you been together before today?"
He'd caught up to her, walking now at her side. She didn't know what he was thinking, for she refused to glance at his face. She could only hear a lilting curiosity in his tone.
"Apparently, we played together as children."
"Is that so?"
"Apparently."
"Did you accept?"
"I told him I would think on it," she informed him. "I don't know how to reject him."
"And yet you've done a splendid job of rejecting me."
At that, her head whipped around to pierce him with a glare. "Excuse me? You were the one who decided I wasn't worth your time anymore."
His stupidly handsome face looked ridiculously pleased.
She set herself back forward and took a breath, releasing the air out of her nose. "Just... leave me be."
"No."
She huffed. "Aerion, please."
"Y/n, please."
She scoffed. "And why not?"
"Because..." she heard him swallow. "Because it appears I have missed your company."
Her fingers dropped to her skirts, gathering the fabrics between them and clenching them tightly. "You are utter unbelievable."
"I am..."
She glanced back to him again. "You are what?"
"I am..."
His eyebrows were hung low, and his mouth remained in a strange curved line. He looked comically unsettled.
"I am sorry."
She halted their walking.
In all the years she'd known Aerion Targaryen, he'd only ever apologised to her once. He'd orchestrated nasty pranks on everybody in the Red Keep when he discovered the festival celebrated by the commoners on the first day of the fourth moon, when the two of them were about eight years old. She'd ended up in one of the old fountains, which was to be demolished and rebuilt. It was a horrid thing, crumbling stone, muddy waters which mosquitoes had laid their eggs upon. The water lilies had rot, exuding terrible smells, and she swore she'd seen a floating frog carcass. She'd fallen in wearing her brand new dress, and cried so profusely Aerion was for once at a loss of words. After she'd ran off and refused to speak with him throughout dinner, he'd come to her chambers and apologised with a flower from the newly planted bushes.
"Why would you do that?" she questioned softly. "Push me away immediately upon your return. I missed you."
"I did not know if you would still care for me," he answered. "Perhaps you were married already with a child, or you simply could not care after such a long time."
"I find that hard to believe, Aerion. You do not care about things like that."
He sighed.
"My Father sent me to Lys to reform me. Why he chose that cavern of sin, I do not know. But I was, and remain adamant in convincing him that he cannot change who I am. And I fear that if I allowed myself to attach to you once more, I could not keep it up."
"Oh Aerion," she rolled her eyes. "Nothing can change you. Even me. I would hate if I did. You are not meant to be a demure little princeling. You are a dragon."
"I have my fears," he conceded.
"Shockingly," she laughed.
"It pains me to admit it but they there," he confessed begrudgingly.
She smiled anyway, and looped her arm in his.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Let us stroll. And talk."
"I have a better idea."
He pulled on her arm, beginning a hurried pace, down the hall, up the stairs, until they reached none other than his chamber door.
"Your chambers...?"
He grinned, dragonlike as always, pushing the door open and leading her inside.
"I did not learn reform in Lys, but I have learnt many other things," he stated, encouraging her to enter whilst shutting the door.
He spun her around, tugging her close and leaning down. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest.
"My words are hardly kind and will not suffice for you," he whispered. "So let me make it up a different way."
He kissed her.
It was not gradual, an immediate clash of teeth and tongue that had her stumbling back and clutching onto his elbows for dear life. But it was everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of with him since she'd turned four and ten.
Of course she'd kissed men before. She was Dornish, it was only natural. She had always yearned for Aerion, but she did not deprive herself. However, the instance of kissing was rare and only one long ago had ever pleased her.
This kiss was pure bliss.
His hands slid around her waist, expertise evident in how quickly he'd loosened the ties of her dress. She helped him pull it down and grinned when she herself began to make work at his doublet. A pang emerged between her legs at the sight of his carved torso.
"Nevermind me," Aerion tutted.
He pulled down the remainder of her dress, leaving her in her smallclothes. She was not embarrassed, no, but the exhilaration of it all left her breathless.
"You are not a maiden, I presume?"
She rolled her eyes, a practice quite common in his presence. "No."
"Scandalous," he mocked monotonously. "Sit down."
She made her way to the edge of his bed, placing her hands behind her and shifting her weight upon them. Her expression dared to challenge him.
"The Lyseni have talented scientists," he explained. He'd gone over to his desk and presented her with a small wooden pot, filled with an auburn powder. "They discovered the pollen of one of one of their native flowers can heighten the sensation of physical pleasure when inhaled. Here."
She took a tentative sniff, and immediately, the pulsing between her legs blossomed largely.
"Wonderful, is it not?" he took a deep sniff of his own.
He kissed her with a sense of finality, nipping at her bottom lip mischievously, before sinking to his knees. He took the tip of her undergarment and dragged it down her legs torturously.
Aerion kissed along her inner thigh, sometimes stopping to inhale at her skin, eyes shut and fluttering when he did so, as if she were a narcotic of some sort. Her cunt clenched as he got nearer to her core, having to press her lips together to stifle her impatience and the growing sensations from the powder.
After his relentless teasing, Aerion finally granted her reprieve, letting his tongue lick straight up her cunt. She exhaled loudly, her hands latching onto his short silvery-gold waves. He grunted in response, moving fast toward languid and savouring mouthfuls, heightening the feeling by hiking her legs over his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt this way before.
Thank the gods for Lys, she thought, as she leaned back.
Two of his fingers slipped within her promptly, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm. Paired with the suckling of her pearl, she could feel her release approaching faster and faster. It was almost too quick.
"Ah-"
Aerion added a third finger.
"Gods- Stop!" she nearly shrieked.
"What is it?"
She urged him to get up, and he did so dutifully. When Aerion was stood before her, she quickly rid him of the rest of his clothes and pushed him down on the bed.
His cock, long and impressive, stood at full height. It was pale as he, though rather pink at the tip. She licked her lips in delight.
"Let me ride the dragon."
At this, he perked up. Aerion's pupils had rounded wider and darker than ever. His jaw was drawn tight and she caught a tremble on his lips. She knew what he liked. He thought himself a dragon in mortal flesh, and whilst she had her own ideas upon that very notion, she knew he could not resist.
She placed her knees on either side of him, grabbing the base of his cock. Aerion groaned, watching in anticipation. With an inhale, she positioned him towards her and sunk down.
"Aerion-" she moaned. Her hips rose and fell upon his length hurriedly.
Aerion was not a man of many sounds in bed, as she could've guessed before, but the tautness of all his muscles and how hungrily he viewed her... it was gratifying enough.
She was constantly full of him. Every time she rose he would thrust up into her, working in tandem, almost mechanically—but their raw energy and the effects of the powder did not let it stray to a realm of boredom.
"That's it," he gritted out. "Ride the dragon."
She heard nothing else but his voice, and the obnoxious wet claps of their joining. He was reaching the very depths of her, and she could not help but wail in pleasure at finally having him all to herself.
He began to rub her pearl when she'd hurried her rhythm desperately, steady circular motions of his thumb. In no time, she'd produced a loud shriek, riding out her release as Aerion thrusted furiously to reach his own. His seed was warm.
She collapsed beside him, legs messily strewn across one another. Aerion kissed her forehead.
Knock knock.
"I shall get it," he told her.
Aerion took the decorative red blanket that had been mixed amongst his sheets, wrapping it around his waist to hide his nakedness so he could answer the door.
"Cressey?"
"My prince. I wished to speak with you."
"Why?"
"Well, it regards-"
"Who is that, Aerion?" she called out.
Cressey's face fell.
Tag List: @kimm4710 @crazyhpwritter @zaptapbam @key1730 @tanzierina
✧.* 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: female reader/description, canon divergent, use of y/n, dayne!reader, aerion targaryen, mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of brothels, canonical use of incest, sex pollen, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, coitus
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: prince aerion is sent to lys for his sins, much to the sadness of his dear cousin. he returns a different man, endowed with the gifts of lys.
✧.* 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5,330
blog masterlist | aerion targaryen masterlist
A/N: Ending/smut bit is so ass I'm so sorry
AERION HAD NOT ALWAYS BEEN CRUEL. He used to be like any other child, possessing a mind brimming with curiosity, and wide eyes ready to consume the unknown. That's why he befriended Lady Y/n. She was certain if they'd began their relationship as he was now, she'd no chance of getting close to him at all. He'd locked the gates to his heart
She was his cousin, really. A Dayne of his mother's lineage. She remained in Dorne for the most part, but he and his brother were sent down south during the first Blackfyre rebellion, to keep safe from the fighting. That was the first they met, and they resonated well. They'd chase the fishes in the royal ponds, feet bare, curls flying. They'd attempt to read the long and difficult tomes in the libraries, to prove early progression of their minds and superiority to their peers. But they would commonly find themselves slumped against the shelves, deep in sleep. Those were her warmest memories.
Naturally, Aerion returned to King's Landing when the war was done, but his visits back were frequent. Prince Maekar adored his lady wife, and returned to Dorne upon any of her wishes. So, the two were almost raised in unison. Despite this, everything shifted in the passage of childhood to adulthood.
Aerion grew up to be as handsome as the men of his house were renowned. Pale, silver-gold hair and eyes like amethysts, with a jaw seemingly cut from marble. He was not particularly tall, but he was willowy enough to appear so. Still, he managed to coat himself with defined muscle, honed from diligent training. But his body was not the only thing that changed. She felt it, a darkness stir in his soul. His gaze was no longer like it used to be. It held glimmers of light, like fragments of the guiding star of his mother's forefathers. The light did remain now, yet she saw nothing of the adornments of the night sky, rather... burning wildfire.
When his cruelty made itself known a few years later, she couldn’t say she didn’t expect it. Unfortunately, she still felt so compelled by him and couldn't see him any differently. That was her dear Aerion, the boy of her youth, and possibly nothing in the world could ever change that. Anyways, he was not cruel to her and as selfish as it was, that was all that mattered.
Y/n had wished terribly to join her cousins at the tourney of Ashford Meadow. She wanted to sit at the royal box, cheer for the knights, and toss Aerion her favour. Maybe he would've named her his Queen of Love and Beauty if he'd won. But her parents declined, insisting the castle had no more rooms to host them and that they would visit King's Landing later on instead, much to her dismay.
Her insides fluttered as the carriage approached the coral bricks of the Red Keep. This was the longest she’d gone without seeing Aerion, and she wanted to know everything about the joust. She was sure he’d won, unless his cousin Valarr had joined the lists. She knew he was a fair fighter, and she could admit (to everyone except for her cousin) that he could possibly beat him.
She ignored the outstretched hand that was offered to her when the carriage door was open, choosing to jump down and rush forward to the entrance. Prince Maekar stood there, along with a hunched Daeron and his daughters, Rhae and Daella. She smiled at them, and all returned it, except of course for Daeron. He could only struggle to lift his head and nod in acknowledgement.
"It is good to see you, Y/n," Maekar greeted.
"Thank you, my prince," she bowed her head momentarily.
She made sure to greet everyone properly, curtseys and cheek kisses. After breaking away from an embrace with Daella, she turned back to Prince Maekar, biting her lip to stifle her erupting grin. "Where is Aerion?"
She knew what he thought of proper welcomes. He saw them tedious and unnecessary. He was a Targaryen, and any visitor should come to him, even his favourite cousin. She'd smacked him across the back of his head for it.
"...Preparing in his room," Maekar replied, almost hesitantly.
She frowned. "Preparing for what?"
"He's going to Lys, Y/n."
"Lys?" she repeated loudly. "Whatever for?"
"It is his exile."
"What?"
"I've tolerated him for the last time," said Maekar firmly.
"I do not understand..."
"Find him and let him explain it himself."
Prince Maker obviously did not want to talk, for whatever reason it was. Aerion must have maimed this time, rather than wounded. She provided the elder man a final look of confusion and upset, lifting her orchid-coloured skirts to walk up the short steps to the door.
Her steps were quick and frantic. She sprinted through halls and ran up stairs. She did not knock when she reached Aerions' door, shoving it forcefully and entering loudly. Her chest rose and fell with her hard breaths.
Aerion looked back at her. He was stood in front of his bed, a large open satchel in the midst of strewn clothes and trinkets. His hair was cropped shorter than the last she'd seen him, but his roguish face remained the same.
"I take it you heard the news?"
"What happened, Aerion?" she stepped forward, brows remaining knitted. "What have you done now?"
"I was defending my family, if you must know," he explained casually, folding a red doublet into the satchel whilst tossing a black one aside. "I saw disrespect to the Targaryen name, and I brought apt retribution. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with it."
"You know I hate when you speak in riddles."
His tongue curled over his upper lip. He sighed. "I saw this puppet girl. And she'd killed a puppet dragon in her ridiculous little show. I saw it fit to break her fingers, but this stupid excuse of a knight attacked me for it. Naturally, he was to be punished, but I wanted to host a Trial of the Seven, like King Maegor."
"And?" she urged.
"We fought. I lost. And now Prince Baelor is dead."
"Prince Baelor is dead?"
"Yes," Aerion swallowed. "Volunteered for the oaf but got his skull smacked by my father's mace when he was trying to save me."
"No..."
"It was an accident, of course," Aerion said. He picked up a small figurine of a golden dragon, rotating it with his nimble fingers for examination. He placed it in the satchel.
"And now you are leaving?"
"Indeed. My ship leaves within the hour, actually. It appears Father cannot bear to stand my presence any moment longer than necessary."
"Within the hour?" she gasped. She approached him closely, twining her hands together if only to stop herself from taking his. "And when shall you return?"
"I do not know," he shrugged. "In a year. Or five."
She scoffed, ignoring the nausea blooming in her chest at the prospect of five years with him so far away. "You seem to care so little. Of leaving your home, your family."
Of leaving me.
"You know I am one to mask my feelings," his violet irises darted to her form. "Besides, do you think wailing and blubbering shall earn me my father's forgiveness? Should you think I shall appear as if I have changed? Everybody would think it is a farce of mine. It does not matter anyway. They all hate me. They're all glad of me gone, and Lys is a city of pleasure. I will enjoy this."
"I am not," she claimed desperately, completely disregarding his musings of Lys. Her hands broke free of her will, flying to latch onto his forearm. "I do not hate you."
Aerion turned to her wholly now. She saw him swallow again. A nervous habit of his that nobody else seemed to discern. He could always keep strength in his expression, a talent which she envied. Her face revealed everything and all.
He took her chin between her fingers, and her heart raced. Every ugly desire wormed its way out from the core of her being, ones she'd stuffed into coffins and thrown into the abyss, for fear it would break whatever precarious dance she'd spun with him. His coldness was volatile. She knew him better than anyone, but she could not read minds. She was always scared, always tiptoeing on eggshells. One step too forward and what if his treatment of her shifted to his treatment of the rest of his family?
"Of course you do," he said, and she could not descry if he was making a mockery of her.
"I will miss you," she whispered, the first stings of tears pricking at her eyes.
"I know."
He relinquished his touch from her, deciding to take a ruby ring from his side table, and slipped it into his bag. "I should go."
"Aerio-"
"Don't make this difficult."
He slung the satchel over his shoulder and licked his lips when he'd looked upon his rooms for what would likely be the final time in a long time. His gaze never met her again.
"Goodbye."
FIVE YEARS. She spent five years without Aerion. She joined less and less to her family’s travels. What was the point of going if he was not there for her to meet? She liked the rest of her cousins enough, but they were not him. She had not forged anything as substantial with anyone else in the world. And now he was gone, with unclear prospects of his return. Would he ever return? Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to Lys. It was a life of freedom, she could tell. Endless days of carnal pleasures with beautiful women resembling the old Valyrians. She knew he’d relish them, with his obsession with the blood of the dragon. The place was a stark comparison to the stiffness of Westeros. Except for Dorne. Could he not live in Dorne instead? They were similar enough to be sure. He could live with her, and she would offer him far more happiness than any Lyseni whore ever could.
She hadn’t been allowed to even entertain the idea of going to Lys. Her parents shut her down immediately. Prince Maekar would be more than upset if he knew, and the last thing they wanted to do was disrespect the cherished lover of their dear Dyanna, much more disrespect a member of House Targaryen. She was only rendered to utter misery from it. She’d meant what she’d said. She missed Aerion terribly, and she would often visit the harbour to gaze longingly at the ships going to, or from the Free Cities. The temptation scorched.
"We are going to King’s Landing soon," said her mother one bright morning at breakfast.
She'd been having a good day thus far. The flatbread the cooks had made today was warm and fluffy, and the olives had been picked and pressed at just the right time, making their oil especially delectable. Although bright, it was not overtly warm, with breezes swooping gently between the pillars of their outdoor dining hall.
"I do not wish to go."
"You never go anymore."
"Why should I?" she huffed, spearing her fork into a rather thick slab of ham. "Without Aerion it is dull."
"I cannot believe you remain stubborn about this," her father retorted, taking a long sip from his goblet of wine. "It has been five years. How have you not yet accustomed yourself?"
She did not reply. She despised to admit her father was right. She should have accustomed herself four years past, but she hadn’t. She cursed her unwaveringly loyal heart, wishing it would taint with dishonour or hatred.
"I love him, Father," she mumbled. "I suppose that is all there is to it."
Her father exuded a sigh. His eyes were closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you think he reciprocates? That he longingly awaits for you in Lys, of all places?"
"Love is not only romantic, Father," she closed her eyes, humiliation blooming warm on her cheeks. "As a cousin, I am certain he does."
"I'd wager he's all but remembered his life in Westeros," her father continued. He could not hold his wine as he did before, with age, and his words of inebriation were always sharp as thorns. "Lys offers more pleasures than even Dorne. I honestly do not know what Prince Maekar thought he was doing by exiling him there. He is so soft on the boy."
"Prince Maekar's children are the last reminder he has of Auntie Dyanna," she defended. She'd released her utensils, and they shrilly interrupted the otherwise peaceful atmosphere with their noisy clattering upon the porcelain. "Or at the very least, he sees who Aerion used to be and still believes he can change."
"A fruitless pursuit that'd be if it were true," mused her father. "Lys. The very idea..."
She resorted back to eating. She saw her siblings staring upon her, half sympathetic and half brimming with judgement. Her mother was looking elsewhere.
"It is decided then. You are coming this time."
"Father-"
"It is decided."
TRIED AS SHE DID, Y/n could not sway her father. He was utterly impossible, and threatened to lock her in her rooms since that was what she appeared to desire most.
She often roused herself to sleep during her times in the carriage, bringing along a tea to do so. In her dreams, she would often find Aerion. Oh, if she could retreat to slumber the whole of this miserable visit.
She accepted the hand to help her down the carriage. Prince Maekar and his family were presenting as usual, and she greeted them like she'd always done.
"Wonder why you decided to come this time," murmured Maekar, a hint of cheek present in his voice.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're always a little behind it seems," Maekar chuckled.
Her face set in a slight scowl. Always riddles with the dragon. Not care for anything at the moment, she chose to go straight to her typical guest rooms and open the book she'd been reading on the road, when her tea lost its effects.
She still remained to be slightly sluggish however, her footsteps a little misguided and her head low. She only looked down upon the stone floors, the world at her periphery mere smudges and blurs.
"Ah-" she hissed, when a harsh shoulder collided with her own.
"You know, if you looked where you were going-"
"Aerion?"
She knew his voice. She would always know his voice, even now if it were tinged with a hint of Lyseni tone. It was smooth like a small river cascading upon tiny rocks, with the bite of a summer wind. And her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up and her eyes met with amethysts.
She saw him swallow, prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His irises raked up and down before settling. His feet shifted. He was uncomfortable.
"I did not think you would be coming."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am... in my home?"
"I meant, you are already back from Lys?" she rolled her eyes. "Did you send a raven? Or perhaps you have just come back and the raven arrived in Dorne when we were already on our way here-"
"I did not send a raven. Nor did my father, or anyone, for that matter. I know you will ask."
She smiled. "So you know me still."
Then it faded. "Why haven't you sent a letter?"
"I thought it unnecessary," he said pointedly.
"Why?"
"I am only returning home. It is not something to make a fuss of."
"It's been five years, Aerion," she exhaled. "You were my dearest friend. I would want to know."
"I was truly your dearest friend?"
"Oh don't do that, Aerion. You know that I was yours too."
"Apologies, then."
"You don't seem the least bit remorseful!"
"You know me enough to know I hardly feel remorse."
"Even for me?"
He pursed his lips. "Even for you."
Tears began to claw behind her eyes, sharp nails sinking and shaking to release. And for the first time, she was not exempt from the cruelty of Aerion Brightflame. "I see."
"I'm glad."
Shame burned her cheeks warm. She could not look upon him any longer. "Very well."
IT WAS TORTURE. It was utter torture, to see him each day and choose to ignore him. She doubted he even cared, considering his indifference for her now, and she didn't know how he could. Five years. And each night before she slept, she would think it another day closer to forcing his awkward arms to hold her again, ones that were unfamiliar towards affection since the passing of his dear mother.
King Aerys had hosted some frivolous garden party the following week, which seemed completely out of the norm for the studious successor. Y/n suspected he was only trying to leech gossip from the gaggles of noble ladies, so that he may use the knowledge to control his subjects.
But, she liked parties, in truth. She wore a pale lavender for the occasion, and chose her favourite golden accessories, the ones that resembled vines and flowers. The sky shone a clear blue that day, and the sun was more forgiving with its glowing rays. She felt a soft breeze kiss against her collarbone, and took a sip from her chilled glass of Arbor Gold.
Not even Aerion could ruin this lovely day.
Or so she thought.
She spied him conversing with young lady, pale of skin with chestnut toned hair. She was wearing a sage green. He was leaning in as she spoke, offering nods and a rare smile.
She looked away, and her sight was met with a young lordling.
"Good day, my lord," she bowed her head.
"Good day, my lady," the lord replied.
He was handsome enough, a well-cut chin and sapphire eyes. He had on a doublet the same shade as the latter, and his hair was a brown that leaned slightly light. But nothing could compare to Aerion's sharp Valyrian beauty.
"Lord Cressey," he grinned politely, waiting for her hand to place a kiss upon the back of it.
"Lord Cressey," she repeated. "'Tis an honour."
The lord barked out short but raucous laughter. "You already flatter too much, my lady. What is a Cressey compared to a Dayne of Starfall? Many do not even know where we rule."
"Nonsense," she chuckled. "We are all of the same rank."
"You are too kind," Lord Cressey's grin widened. "Enchanting as they say, in beauty and in countenance."
"Pardon?"
"My apologies if I am too forward, my lady," he said. "But there are many who sing praises of your House, and I cannot help but acknowledge such praises are true."
He took a pause, staring deeply at her. "Your eyes are... truly remarkable."
Her eyes were not completely violet like her father's, nor like Aerion's, matter of fact. It did not mean she hated them at all, in fact she was quite fond of them, a rich shade of indigo settled between deep blue and vibrant purple. Like the night sky in the summer.
Whilst the compliment was charming to hear, the dazed look he grew in his own expression sent a slight wave of concern roll throughout her.
"Forgive me, my lady," he looked downwards. "I cannot help it. My uncle used to tell me I was always so forward, even since childhood. But my aunt says that some ladies seem to like that sort of thing, and that someone as forward as I should find someone I am akin to. I heard you did not even want to return to King's Landing, my lady?"
"That is correct," she replied.
She could not fault someone for the traits they'd developed in their youth. She relaxed herself, letting herself fall into this ordeal with Lord Cressey. Anything to put Aerion out from her mind.
"Defiance and forwardness ought to be the same thing," said Cressey. "Do you think so, my lady?"
"I suppose," she pressed her lips together.
"Do you suppose we are like-minded then, my lady?"
"I suppose," she said once more.
"Then perhaps... you would not be averse to my courting of you?"
"Excuse me?"
Lord Cressey laughed lightly. "Courting, my lady. I wish to court you."
"I mean not to offend, my lord, but we have only just met," she cleared her throat.
"Hardly," dismissed Cressey. "We used to play here, as children. And I have often admired you since, but you grew too busy with Aerion. I see now that his attentions lay elsewhere at the moment, so I cannot pass up this chance."
As children. She wanted to giggle. She was sure Aerion would have. She had no memory of this man.
"That would be difficult, my lord," she replied. "I reside in Dorne for the most part."
"My lands are small and my brother is capable."
"You would... go to Dorne?"
"Until I have won you over, yes."
"I see."
"I certainly hope you do," he smirked.
Y/n wanted to recoil. To push this lordling out and find better company. A few times they would come together as children and now he thought he could bear this aura of certainty? She hadn't even thought of marriage at all. Dornish customs were loose, and her father had only mentioned it perhaps twice in the past year.
"Allow me to think on it, my lord?"
"Anything you desire, my lady."
She curtseyed shallowly before turning her heel and exiting the gardens. She suddenly felt ill at this prospect, and wished for nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and lock the door twice over.
She stepped down the empty hallways. The servants were much focused upon the soiree, and within the castle walls it was empty and silent. Until she heard footsteps other than her own.
The noise was more of a thump than a clack, so she could inference it were the boots of a man rather than the slippers of a woman, though this man's footsteps sounded... rather lithe.
"Cressey say something stupid again?"
Aerion.
And as much as she could hold her will up unto her father or her siblings or even Maekar Targaryen... it dropped.
"He wishes to court me," she spoke quietly, as if anything louder would shatter the moment.
"Have you been together before today?"
He'd caught up to her, walking now at her side. She didn't know what he was thinking, for she refused to glance at his face. She could only hear a lilting curiosity in his tone.
"Apparently, we played together as children."
"Is that so?"
"Apparently."
"Did you accept?"
"I told him I would think on it," she informed him. "I don't know how to reject him."
"And yet you've done a splendid job of rejecting me."
At that, her head whipped around to pierce him with a glare. "Excuse me? You were the one who decided I wasn't worth your time anymore."
His stupidly handsome face looked ridiculously pleased.
She set herself back forward and took a breath, releasing the air out of her nose. "Just... leave me be."
"No."
She huffed. "Aerion, please."
"Y/n, please."
She scoffed. "And why not?"
"Because..." she heard him swallow. "Because it appears I have missed your company."
Her fingers dropped to her skirts, gathering the fabrics between them and clenching them tightly. "You are utter unbelievable."
"I am..."
She glanced back to him again. "You are what?"
"I am..."
His eyebrows were hung low, and his mouth remained in a strange curved line. He looked comically unsettled.
"I am sorry."
She halted their walking.
In all the years she'd known Aerion Targaryen, he'd only ever apologised to her once. He'd orchestrated nasty pranks on everybody in the Red Keep when he discovered the festival celebrated by the commoners on the first day of the fourth moon, when the two of them were about eight years old. She'd ended up in one of the old fountains, which was to be demolished and rebuilt. It was a horrid thing, crumbling stone, muddy waters which mosquitoes had laid their eggs upon. The water lilies had rot, exuding terrible smells, and she swore she'd seen a floating frog carcass. She'd fallen in wearing her brand new dress, and cried so profusely Aerion was for once at a loss of words. After she'd ran off and refused to speak with him throughout dinner, he'd come to her chambers and apologised with a flower from the newly planted bushes.
"Why would you do that?" she questioned softly. "Push me away immediately upon your return. I missed you."
"I did not know if you would still care for me," he answered. "Perhaps you were married already with a child, or you simply could not care after such a long time."
"I find that hard to believe, Aerion. You do not care about things like that."
He sighed.
"My Father sent me to Lys to reform me. Why he chose that cavern of sin, I do not know. But I was, and remain adamant in convincing him that he cannot change who I am. And I fear that if I allowed myself to attach to you once more, I could not keep it up."
"Oh Aerion," she rolled her eyes. "Nothing can change you. Even me. I would hate if I did. You are not meant to be a demure little princeling. You are a dragon."
"I have my fears," he conceded.
"Shockingly," she laughed.
"It pains me to admit it but they there," he confessed begrudgingly.
She smiled anyway, and looped her arm in his.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Let us stroll. And talk."
"I have a better idea."
He pulled on her arm, beginning a hurried pace, down the hall, up the stairs, until they reached none other than his chamber door.
"Your chambers...?"
He grinned, dragonlike as always, pushing the door open and leading her inside.
"I did not learn reform in Lys, but I have learnt many other things," he stated, encouraging her to enter whilst shutting the door.
He spun her around, tugging her close and leaning down. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest.
"My words are hardly kind and will not suffice for you," he whispered. "So let me make it up a different way."
He kissed her.
It was not gradual, an immediate clash of teeth and tongue that had her stumbling back and clutching onto his elbows for dear life. But it was everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of with him since she'd turned four and ten.
Of course she'd kissed men before. She was Dornish, it was only natural. She had always yearned for Aerion, but she did not deprive herself. However, the instance of kissing was rare and only one long ago had ever pleased her.
This kiss was pure bliss.
His hands slid around her waist, expertise evident in how quickly he'd loosened the ties of her dress. She helped him pull it down and grinned when she herself began to make work at his doublet. A pang emerged between her legs at the sight of his carved torso.
"Nevermind me," Aerion tutted.
He pulled down the remainder of her dress, leaving her in her smallclothes. She was not embarrassed, no, but the exhilaration of it all left her breathless.
"You are not a maiden, I presume?"
She rolled her eyes, a practice quite common in his presence. "No."
"Scandalous," he mocked monotonously. "Sit down."
She made her way to the edge of his bed, placing her hands behind her and shifting her weight upon them. Her expression dared to challenge him.
"The Lyseni have talented scientists," he explained. He'd gone over to his desk and presented her with a small wooden pot, filled with an auburn powder. "They discovered the pollen of one of one of their native flowers can heighten the sensation of physical pleasure when inhaled. Here."
She took a tentative sniff, and immediately, the pulsing between her legs blossomed largely.
"Wonderful, is it not?" he took a deep sniff of his own.
He kissed her with a sense of finality, nipping at her bottom lip mischievously, before sinking to his knees. He took the tip of her undergarment and dragged it down her legs torturously.
Aerion kissed along her inner thigh, sometimes stopping to inhale at her skin, eyes shut and fluttering when he did so, as if she were a narcotic of some sort. Her cunt clenched as he got nearer to her core, having to press her lips together to stifle her impatience and the growing sensations from the powder.
After his relentless teasing, Aerion finally granted her reprieve, letting his tongue lick straight up her cunt. She exhaled loudly, her hands latching onto his short silvery-gold waves. He grunted in response, moving fast toward languid and savouring mouthfuls, heightening the feeling by hiking her legs over his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt this way before.
Thank the gods for Lys, she thought, as she leaned back.
Two of his fingers slipped within her promptly, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm. Paired with the suckling of her pearl, she could feel her release approaching faster and faster. It was almost too quick.
"Ah-"
Aerion added a third finger.
"Gods- Stop!" she nearly shrieked.
"What is it?"
She urged him to get up, and he did so dutifully. When Aerion was stood before her, she quickly rid him of the rest of his clothes and pushed him down on the bed.
His cock, long and impressive, stood at full height. It was pale as he, though rather pink at the tip. She licked her lips in delight.
"Let me ride the dragon."
At this, he perked up. Aerion's pupils had rounded wider and darker than ever. His jaw was drawn tight and she caught a tremble on his lips. She knew what he liked. He thought himself a dragon in mortal flesh, and whilst she had her own ideas upon that very notion, she knew he could not resist.
She placed her knees on either side of him, grabbing the base of his cock. Aerion groaned, watching in anticipation. With an inhale, she positioned him towards her and sunk down.
"Aerion-" she moaned. Her hips rose and fell upon his length hurriedly.
Aerion was not a man of many sounds in bed, as she could've guessed before, but the tautness of all his muscles and how hungrily he viewed her... it was gratifying enough.
She was constantly full of him. Every time she rose he would thrust up into her, working in tandem, almost mechanically—but their raw energy and the effects of the powder did not let it stray to a realm of boredom.
"That's it," he gritted out. "Ride the dragon."
She heard nothing else but his voice, and the obnoxious wet claps of their joining. He was reaching the very depths of her, and she could not help but wail in pleasure at finally having him all to herself.
He began to rub her pearl when she'd hurried her rhythm desperately, steady circular motions of his thumb. In no time, she'd produced a loud shriek, riding out her release as Aerion thrusted furiously to reach his own. His seed was warm.
She collapsed beside him, legs messily strewn across one another. Aerion kissed her forehead.
Knock knock.
"I shall get it," he told her.
Aerion took the decorative red blanket that had been mixed amongst his sheets, wrapping it around his waist to hide his nakedness so he could answer the door.
"Cressey?"
"My prince. I wished to talk with you."
"Why?"
"Well, it regards-"
"Who is that, Aerion?" she called out.
Cressey's face fell.
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