it is embarrassment that curls up his throat. he had never been good at talking to women, that was for certain. even his ser had poked fun at him while they were on the road together — how a prince should be able to charm a lady with just his smile. but even then, aemon had known that there was no charming bone within his body. he knew even more, that he did not wish to render a lady speechless that was not his soon-to-be wife. he was promised, even from a young age and as ridiculous as he had sounded telling his ser that, the idea of taking another woman's hand within his own to place a light kiss upon it with intentions that were far from friendly, made something sickening twist in his gut. perhaps that is why he does not know how to speak to his own wife, never having the practice to charm someone. "i—" he stumbles over his words again, swallowing, "it is just that you needn't have to do that — the colors of your home are beautiful on you, but—" he cannot say what he thinks. that seeing her within his own colors sends a bolt of lightning up his spine. "i am awed to see you in mine. a beauty i will see when i close my eyes each time."
an understatement, but aemon did not wish to come off too strong. not when she had just arrived back home — not home, he has to remind himself —, back to king's landing. he did not wish to scare her away again. "then every lord within westeros is a fool." he says it so casually, a burning within him to prove to his bride that she was the most beautiful person he had ever come across. he was lucky for that, but even if she was not — the thought repulses him to even cross his mind — she would still be the most captivating to him. something he could not explain and he was sure he did not wish to delve into further. they were married. there was surely to be some affection he could not escape. learning her through letters had never been enough though.
aemon's eyes dart about their chambers as he thinks of them. thinks of the lonely nights he had spent waiting for her to come back to their bed, even if they had never moved close enough to touch. even if the only time they had managed to have sex, it was awkward and he spent most of it fumbling, he had wished she was still there. dust had settled upon the decor of it, he could see it even if the place had been cleaned before her arrival. the staleness of the scent an indicator that they were clearly only a pair by law and nothing more. he wished it was not like that, wishes it even more every time she makes it back to king's landing for a short time. but who was he to force her to stay if she did not wish to? he would never forgive himself for doing so, not when her being attached to him was against her will. there was surely someone better for her out there even if he had selfishly hoped that maybe it would have been him.
the thought makes his chest constrict, the muscles of his legs tightening. he bites back a wince, not wishing to trouble her more than he already has. but it is too late because one moment she is sat beside him and the next she is on her knees before him, her palms pressing against his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world for her. aemon cannot help the whimper that leaves his lips, his pupils dilating as he looks down at her. curls cascading over her shoulders, the slope of her nose, and the plush of her lips. (if he had dreamed of those lips one night and woken up in a sweat, no one needed to know but him.) the pressure upon his legs, the way her hands fit around him. it was intoxicating. he wishes to say something, to reach for her, to pull her up to him, and— and do what? he does not know if he can say it out loud, let alone think it. her hands pressing a warmth through the fabric of his breeches that he is not used to. his wife's hands are upon him and it soothes him, yet sets him alight like no other.
he means to say something, anything, but his mouth opens and closes without so much as a word. she had taken the breath from his lungs and he was unsure if he even wanted it back. not when she looked to beautiful before him, caring for him. he longed to reach out and touch her, a hand beginning to lift off of his leg to do so as their eyes meet — courage coursing through him from the moment green locks onto violet-blue. perhaps if he could place a hand on her cheek, pull her towards him... yet, she is pulling away only moments later. her back turning to him and he feels like he had just gotten kicked in the head by a horse. the coldness that her presence left between his legs almost makes him shiver. he wanted her back, he wanted her before him, and the thought made him feel lightheaded. even more so when he looks at her back turned to him, sees the way her shoulders draw in and it makes aemon's body lock up.
so foolish of him to believe for a moment that she had wished to be where she was. she was doing it because it was a duty she had as a wife — to ease his pain — and it made him sick to think about. "i—" it is the first time he speaks in a moment, his voice hoarse in his throat as the urge to stand up and flee gets stronger as each second ticks by. he should leave her be. she was just being polite in inviting him to sit with her and he should not overstay his welcome. (they were his chambers too, but perhaps it was best they remain hers while he continues to sleep in his own.) "i am sorry, my lady, if i have made you uncomfortable." he does not know what exactly he is apologizing for. everything perhaps? for being who he was. that she had to get down upon her knees to ease an ache in his muscles like she was some servant and not his wife.
the silence that settles over them makes aemon wish to crawl out of his own skin. his fingers dig into the fabric of his breeches, nails that would surely cut into skin if they were against his bare leg. it would do no good for his already aching muscles, but he could feel the tensions rise within him — the quickening of his heartbeat, the thrum inside of his head, the tightening of his muscles beneath his fingertips. his head hangs, not enough to show defeat because how pathetic would that have been? but enough to keep his eyes off of her. maybe that is why she never looked at him. every time she saw him she saw the shame that he was as a husband, that each time she did she wished to escape to her home once more because he could never be that for her. he wanted it. aemon thinks of that now as he zones out, that he had wanted him to be her home, but how could he be when he was made of fire? and she was made of ice? he would only melt her in the process, like he did with everyone else.
her words shock him, but they feel like a dream. perhaps he is going mad like the maesters had predicted at his birth. he did not wish to call her a liar, but aemon had spent his whole life being exactly what she was saying and surely, a lady as strong as a stark would believe the same. "it is... kind of you to say such things, lady stark, but i would not fault you for believing them. that is no fault of your own, it is merely what i have grown up with." an honesty that burns coming out, still without the courage to look up at her. she would probably not even be looking back, would she? "it is unfair that you had to be promised to a prince, that this union has hindered you and taken you from the place you desire most. it might not be an escape, but it is your home, more than i—" he does not know if he can say it. "might ever be."
it aches to say out loud. to remind himself that the fairy tale he had dreamed of as a child — to have a beautiful wife at his side, to push his seed into her and watch her grow round with a child, to carry that child against his chest and ride them through the sky with his dragon, for them to be happy — might never be. "except i—" there's emotion lodged in his throat, not quite courage, but an ache to turn his head to her as he speaks, "i wish to be your home." a confession that rattles him from deep within, "i would like you to find comfort at my side, to be happy to call me your husband as i am to call you my wife. i wish to—" and the most vulnerable crashes out of him as his fingers dig deeper into the fabric of his breeches, "i wish to give you children, i wish for a family with you. little ones who look like you and me, though more like you... their beautiful mother." through the haze, a gentle smile manages to curl up his lips slightly at the image. "i have only hoped you would want that as well." aemon shakes his head, "but i would never push you. it is why i have told you to go back home... because i cannot bear to see you unhappy and knowing that the targaryen name is part of that." that i am the reason why, is left unsaid, but aemon is sure it does not need to be to understand.
"there is nothing to forgive, you have done nothing wrong, raya." he says finally, an ache to call her sweetly is tearing at his gums. "i must apologize that you felt the need to." if his father were to hear of this, he would surely get scolded to the seven hells and back. he had been given the speech about what this alliance had meant — sacrifice, duty, unity — but he did not wish to see his marriage as such a thing even if he had prepared for it his whole life. aemon finally gets the courage to look at her, even if he knew she would not be looking back, "do you wish for me to go? i did not mean to sully what was meant to be such a nice reunion, i have truly missed you, but i can call the maids to come with a bath in my absence and let you relax."
