Parings: Baelor Targaryen x Reader
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Warnings: Swearing | Smut
Dawn had barely broken over King’s landing when you returned. You weren’t used to seeing the courtyard and halls so quiet; it gave the castle an eerie feeling.
Sunlight breaking through the cloudy skies spills weakly through the narrow windows overlooking Blackwater Bay. The halls were empty aside from the knight who had accompanied you back from Summerhall walking alongside you and the servants who were already working hard, carrying fresh linens and various different trays.
You hadn’t planned on leaving Summerhall so soon since you valued the time with your siblings, but your patience was being continually tested by Aerion, so you decided it was best to leave before something unfortunate happened.
Your father disliked this, of course, but could no longer demand that you stay.
Walking up the staircase that leads to the royal quarters, you briefly pause while trying to decide which room to return to. The fair thing would be for you to return to your own bedchamber so not to disturb Baelor, but you were exhausted and craved the familiarity he offered.
When you reach your husband’s quarters, you bid the knight goodbye and do your best to open the door quietly. Stepping inside, you’re momentarily confused when you notice Baelor’s large bed is empty and neatly made, then the faint sound of water splashing catches your attention.
Stepping around the carved screen, your gaze lands upon your husband resting in a large copper bath, steam curling around his body. One arm rests lazily along the edge of the tub, while the other brushes his dark hair out of his face.
“Surly, I am not so loud I awoke you from the courtyards.”
Cocking his head to the side, he smiles, watching as you sit on the closest chair to him and kick your shoes off before starting to remove your stockings. “Well, when one hears their wife has returned promptly, it may be a reason to bathe.”
“I’ve had men across kings landing waiting to inform me as soon as your carriage was spotted from the moment I heard you left Summerhall.”
“You don’t seem overjoyed to have me return so soon.”
"Oh, I’m beyond joyful,” he chuckles. Baelor’s eyes linger over your face for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “I must admit, I’m not thrilled you left in the middle of the night without sending word to me first; I would have sent my own men to escort you. And I’ve lost count of how many ravens your father has sent demanding to know if you have arrived yet.”
“The guards at Summerhall are more afraid of my father than the king's guard are here.”
It usually takes over a week to travel between Summerhall and kings landing, however you insisted your return was urgent, therefore it only took five days for you to return.
“What caused you to leave so suddenly?”
Not wanting to speak about the argument between you, Daeron and Aerion, you change the subject. Picking up one of the cloths that smells strongly of lavender, you take his hand that’s lax over the tub and start to scrub at his nails; noticing the dirt underneath them, you frown. “I take it you have been horse riding with Valarr and Matarys in my absence?”
“Yes, and your presence was dearly missed.”
Hearing hints of sarcasm seeping into his voice makes you smile. His gentle nature was something you really did admire. “I’m sure it was; two moons is a long time. However, I see things have fallen apart without me.”
You motion for his other hand, “without me here the heir to the throne looks filthy.”
“My prince, your nails have dirt wedged underneath them, and your hair is overgrown.”
Baelor is amused by your exaggeration. He was known for being so well groomed, even after battle, or so you have heard. You could only imagine how many ladies used to sway at his feet when he was a younger man, although you’d wager now is his prime.
Your mind starts to drift back to the argument in Summerhall…
“Hmm.” Baelon gives you a knowing look. “I am glad you are here with me; otherwise, the people of the city would be frightened by your scowling.”
“You inherited it from your father as surely as Aerion inherited his temper.”
Dipping your finger into the water, you try to think of anything else that could distract your thoughts from your brother. “It’s been a long few days; I should probably bathe and rest before joining you in attending duties at court.”
Baelor raises his brows, “shall I have a bath prepared in your quarters?"
“I presume my ladies will be awfully busy at this time.” With a mischievous smile pulling on your lips, you stand up and immediately start to remove your clothing. “To spare them the hassle, I’ll just need to share with you.”
Once you have removed the last of your clothing, Baelor takes your hand and helps you step into the bath.
Clutching the soft bedsheet with one hand, the nails on your free hand scrape over Baelor’s scalp lightly as he brings you closer to what feels like combusting. After you finished bathing, you found yourself bare and spread out on his bed, with his head buried between your legs. With rapid flicks of his tongue over your clit, he savours every bit of you.
Tears spill from the corner of your eye when you finally break. His name is almost unrecognisable as it falls from your mouth shaken and broken.
Baelor doesn’t give you much time to recover as he quickly starts to kiss up your body, starting from your stomach to your breasts until his lips finally meet yours again. “Two moons without you has been torture."
You whimper, feeling the tip of his cock pressing into you. “Please, please, please.”
Baelor's hands suddenly grip into the side of your calves as he bends your legs back. He slides his cock in slowly at first, but when his lips meet yours, he starts to move at a punishing pace.
You let out a surprised squeal when you feel a sharp bite on your bottom lip. Perhaps he really did miss you or was just ‘cunt starved', as your brother crudely put it.
Letting go of your leg and bringing a pressing, thick finger to your clit, Baelor makes you lose all control. You pant and scream his name, clawing at his back like a feral beast while his thrusts grow lazy until he completely stills inside you.
"Gods", you gasp, trying to catch your breath. When you feel Baelor starting to move, you wrap your legs around his waist before he can completely withdraw. “Can we stay like this for a little long, please?”
A fleeting look of concern fills his eyes, but he nods and then rests his forehead against yours.
Hearing a soft knock, Sara, your lady-in-waiting stops unlacing the corset of your dress. Glancing over your shoulder, you stare at the door. “Enter.”
All traces of sunlight were now gone, and it was fairly unusual for anyone to visit so late unless it was your husband, but if it was him, the knight posted outside would have allowed him to come into your chambers straight away.
The door opens and a young steward comes into the room, his eyes glued to the floor. “Forgive the interruption, your grace. A gift has just arrived for you.”
“Thank you, just leave it on the table by the door.”
Redness creeps across his cheeks as he leaves the room. Once he’s gone, you and Sara look at each other and begin to giggle.
“The poor boy was mortified.”
Curious, you go over to the table and unclasp the box at the sides. Close up, you could make out the symbol of your house was burnt into the wood. Whatever was inside was wrapped in deep-shaded purple velvet cloths. It must be fragile. When you finish unravelling it, you momentarily freeze until your fingers start to tremble.
“Is it a hair brush, your Grace?”
The feeling of being slapped hard across the face and kicked in the gut hits you all at once. The ivory brush looks freshly polished, and engraved on the back was a slender sword of deep violet and a single falling star in gold. The design was unmistakably inspired by House Dayne.
“This… it belonged to my mother.”
Sara struggles for words as you snatch the scroll from the box and read the message from Aerion. You hated him. He was nothing but a loathsome cockroach. The sudden look of unease in your lady's eyes makes you feel guilty, but it wasn’t enough to temper the anger building inside.
“Please just go. Retire for the night.”
She hesitates for a moment, her mouth shaped to say something comforting as you walk towards your bed, trying to hold your head up high, but when the first sob passes your lips, Sara leaves.
Throwing yourself onto the bed, you bury your face into a pillow to try and muffle the sound of cries. Dragons don’t cry. It took a lot for another person's words to get under your skin and cut deep, but the heart of the argument had struck a nerve because there was truth in it. And now, added on top, all you could think of was your mother, whom you missed every day.
You’re unsure of how much time has passed when the tears start to stain your cheeks and the bedroom door opens again.
Feeling a dip in the bed beside you, murmur into the soft cushion, “it’s late. You should be abed.”
“So should you," he rests a warm hand on your back gently. “Yet here we are. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you this upset.”
The corner of your mouth twitches as you try to think of a convincing lie. “I am merely tired.”
“You have never been a convincing liar. Does this have anything to do with your reason for leaving Summerhall so soon?”
“The gods gave Aerion a crown of cruelty and little else.”
Stroking your hair, Baelor lets out a tired exhale. “I don’t recognise the venom in your voice when you speak of your brother, not when you speak of others with such love and compassion.”
For a moment you consider telling him how you really feel but reconsider, knowing how disgusted the Prince would be if he knew how much you despised your own kin. Lifting your head from the pillow, you stare at him through bloodshot eyes, “that’s because you raised two perfect sons; you’ve no idea what a horror my brother is. And how much he’s been allowed to get away with over the years.”
“You’re right, I do not. But perhaps if you tell me what is upsetting—“
“I don’t wish to burden you.”
“You are my wife; anything that burdens you is my concern.” Using his free hand, he sweeps hair that is stuck to your sweaty forehead back. When you look up at him again, his mismatched eyes are moving over the hairbrush. “I remember Dyanna receiving that as a gift; she truly did soften my brother’s heart.”
“After my mother’s death Aerion hid anything of hers that he could. Me and Daeron spent years trying to find anything of hers we could so we could even have a small part of her. But it was just a game to him.” Using the sleeve of your dress, you wipe at your nose, “he said I was nothing more than a barren broodmare. A fruitless wife.”
Finally understanding your hurt, anger flickered across his face, but Baelor, ever the master of masking his emotions, facial features quickly returned to neutral.
"Childbearing is my only duty as your wife,” your sobs turn into a small hiccup. “Perhaps the gods simply decided I’m not fit to be a mother.”
“Do not mistake his malicious intent for the truth.”
Giving in to the feeling of hopelessness, you curl up beside him and rest your head on his chest. “We have never chased to fill a nursery, but after all these years something should have taken root; we both know it to be true.”
Perhaps it was different for him, since Valarr was a man grown and married, and Matarys was nearing his twenties. With two heirs already, the idea of a third son or daughter never seemed appealing.
Baelor kisses the crown of your hair, “we have spent more nights apart than together, but if having a child would make you happy, then it’s something we can change.”
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