dark!husband!aerion x wife!reader
(partial duncan the tall x reader)
summary: another argument with your husband leaves you wondering how much more of this you can take
tw: abusive marriage, VIOLENCE, partial noncon
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You will die if you are caught, you warn yourself.
If Aerion catches you, or if he even suspects you have left the tent against his wishes, you are sure that he will strangle you himself.
But you cannot stand the heat of this tent any longer. Nor can you handle the hunger you feel, or the dryness of your throat.
The gods have given you a way to escape, and you cannot let it go to waste.
There is a crack of light coming through beneath the bed. A small part of the tent fabric that has not been properly nailed into the ground.
Part of you wondered if your husband was the one to pull the bottom fabric loose, since he pawed at the tent wall when he bedded you the night prior. But you realize you don’t care what caused it, you are just happy the error exists.
You have to gather your strength after the torturous incident with Aerion. You washed your face, and cleaned the mud off your lips, but had no water to fully wash your mouth out, so you could still taste dirt.
Rage burns inside you as you stare down at your dirt stained dress.
His wife, and a noble lady, and he held your neck like a dog and shoveled mud into your mouth.
You wished your husband was dead.
No-Not just dead. You wished that somehow, someway, someone bigger and stronger than him would come around, and hurt him in the ways he has hurt you. And then Aerion would be the one feeling small and broken.
Until then, you were at your husband’s mercy. And when at your husband’s mercy, you had to do whatever you could to survive.
You finally gather your strength again, and you cautiously crawl beneath the bed. You find the small slot of the tent fabric that is loose. Carefully, you lift it up.
There are no guards in your sight.
You wait patiently to watch. You see one guard pass. Ten minutes later, he passes again. Then again. Then again. You count in your head the time intervals it takes for the guard to make his rotation.
Once more, you wonder if you should actually do this. You convince yourself that you have no choice. You couldn’t spend the rest of the day waiting for your devil of a husband to come back and torment you further.
So you wait for the guard to pass by one last time. Then, when the coast is clear, you crawl out of the tent, and you run.
You run until you find a brick wall to hide behind. You cover your mouth so your pants do not give away your location.
Then, you wait. You wait and you watch as they go all the way around the tent again, as if nothing had happened. You release the breath you had been holding.
You take note that these guards are not as careful as the ones at the castle. You’d never be able to sneak past the ones at home.
They thought you were too scared of Aerion to attempt anything like this, that must be why they didn’t watch your tent so carefully. You will use this to your advantage for as long as you can.
You take hold of the scarf you brought with you, and you place it over your head, letting it cover you. You’re sure to bring it close to your face to hide your appearance.
Briefly, you wonder if your clothes will cause you to stick out. But your clothes are dirty, and your scarf is long, and all Targaryen symbols are covered. You hope it is enough to hide your identity.
Ashford is crowded for the tourney. It takes you only a few moments to find a crowd to get lost in. Your eyes continue to dash around each time you spot a guard.
No one outside of your husband and his father are aware of the bruises on your face, so you hope it will help hide you.
Men argue along the streets. Briefly, you catch one saying, “-none of those bloody Targaryens ought to be here. Acting high and mighty as if they have not enslaved our people for generations-”
You move quicker to get away from them.
In the corner of your eye, you spot the city exit. The guards are searching those leaving, tearing off scarves and ripping open bags. You quickly realize you would never be able to escape out that way, at least not without help.
So you set your mind on getting food and returning to the tent before anyone notices that you are gone.
Too scared to enter a restaurant or tavern, you search for a market place, or even just a booth with food for sale. Anything.
“-Aerion Targaryen is the one who thinks himself a dragon in human form.” Your head whips around as women nearby speak of your husband. “If only he perished when the rest of the beasts did. Thank the gods it is Prince Valarr that is closer in the line to the throne.”
“Prince Valarr has no voice to him,” another girl complained. “Prince Baelor should work on having another son.”
“I’ve heard rumors that Prince Aerion will attempt to poison Prince Valarr so that he can further his way up the line.”
“I’ve heard he’s poisoned his own wife already. Or at least that he plans to.”
You slow down to hear them.
“Supposedly she is here in Ashford, but no one has seen her. Yet a woman’s screams sound from the Targaryen tents at night.”
“Maybe her dragon husband is eating her.” A laugh. “Maybe in a more enjoyable way. Cruel as he may be, he sure is easy on the eyes. Perhaps they are screams of pleasure.”
Your face burns with embarrassment at such things being spoken about you. As if your husband has ever even given a thought to your pleasure in that way.
And the truth was, you never had time to even admire the prince so many people called handsome. You were too busy trying to avoid him.
Continuing on, you finally spot a market place. There is a fountain near it. Others are dipping cups into it.
Uncaring of how shameful it is, you rush over to it, kneel in front of the fountain, and drink the water from your hands. It causes the pain in your throat to finally go away.
“I say the missing princes are dead,” speaks a man at the fountain. “Prince Aerion has killed them to be closer to kingship.”
“His Lady wife is missing too, I’ve heard. Maybe she’s run off to marry his brother.”
Did these townspeople have nothing to talk about besides your husband?
“Aerion the Monstrous. I would not be surprised to learn he murdered his brothers and his wife all in the same spit of rage. He probably drove a knife through their throats just as he did the horse.”
“Away from the fountain!” someone snaps from behind you.
You jump to your feet. A man from the marketplace had come and began slapping a rolled up scroll against the faces of those drinking from his well.
You pick yourself up and rush away from it. You notice your dress has gotten muddier from kneeling. You do not care.
Your thirst has died down, but the hunger remains. In the market, you catch sight of a barrel of apples. You take quick strides over.
You have no money, and you haven’t had any for months. But you have earrings. You pray someone will want them.
“Ma’am,” you hurry out as you spot the vendor. “May-May I trade you something for a few apples?”
“I have no coins,” you try to explain. You have not touched one since you’ve been married. “But I have earrings. Will you take earrings?”
“They are not beads,” you tell her. “They’re gold.”
“Here-” You remove them from your ears. “You may take them. Just-Three apples. That is all I want. Please.”
She eyes the earrings, then you. She tsked. “I ain’t a fool. I know these ain’t real gold. But they’re pretty enough so I’ll take ‘em.”
You grab an apple, taking a bite right away. The sweetness calms you, and you quickly pick two more.
Taking another bite, you scan the marketplace again, to make sure there are no lingering eyes, or lingering guardsmen.
Your eyes meet with a tall man in the crowd.
The tall knight you had come across when you first arrived in Ashford, the one who had tried to help you off your horse.
He was already staring at you, and when you met his gaze, it seemed to have finally clicked to him exactly where he’d seen you before.
Your heart drops, and your face drains of color.
His eyes widen the smallest amount, and he begins walking over to you.
You panic. He knows Aerion. If he faces him in the tournament, and makes any mention of seeing you, it could end with a rope around your neck.
You quickly take your fruit and turn to rush back the way you came.
“Lady,” you hear a voice call. The tall man’s voice. You go faster.
But his long legs catch up to you with only a few quick strides.
A hand touches your shoulder, and your body tells you it’s Aerion, so you flinch. The three apples fall to the ground.
You try to kneel to grab them, but someone is already ahead of you. The knight has knelt to the ground and picks up your belongings.
“Lady, I-Forgive my manners, I am sorry,” he sputters. “I meant not to scare you.”
He gathers the apples for you, and tries to offer a hand to help you up. But the large hand nearing your face once again brings memories of your husband. You yank yourself back.
The tall man takes a step away from you, as if you are scaring him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I was only…Well, I wondered if you needed any help.”
You bring yourself to your feet, and slowly hold out your hands. “Please allow me the apples back.”
He looked like he forgot he had them. “Of course,” he quickly obliges, dropping them back into her hold.
The half eaten one is dirty now. You are so hungry that you don’t even care. You will eat around it.
“Thank you,” you breath. You attempt to flee again, scared that he will force you to identify yourself.
He steps in front of you, blocking you from leaving.
You fear that he will hurt you. You think that perhaps he knows you are not where you’re supposed to be. Maybe he is about to use your misbehavior against you, and threaten to tell your husband if you don’t give him what he wants.
He starts, “Might I ask-”
“I have no jewelry,” you quickly say. “I-I had only earrings, and I already gave them to the merchants.”
He blinks. “I have no jewelry either.”
“I have nothing you want. Let me pass.”
“What?” As if suddenly remembering his size, he tries to hunch down and make himself smaller. “I-I am not trying to rob you, my lady, and I do not mean to frighten you, I only noticed-” He stops himself.
You risk taking another step away.
His shoulders slouch as he realizes he has scared you. “Forgive me,” he tells you, his voice quieter. “I should know better than to approach a Lady so carelessly.”
He steps aside for you. You keep your eyes on him as you step away, as if worried he’d pounce on you the moment your sight was off him.
Before you are all the way gone starts again, “I only wanted to ask if…you were alright.”
His voice is so kind, it makes you pause.
He clears his throat. “And to see if you needed any aid. You look injured. And you were not the last time I saw you.”
You pity him for pitying you. He is not from the Targaryen homeland. He is not used to Targaryen violence.
You glance around again, to ensure there are no prying eyes. “It is only bruising,” you eventually say to him.
Your heart aches. “...Yes.”
“It needs no investigation.”
He leans back, as if you are still frightening him. You regret your tone of voice. You are unused to anyone being intimidated by you. Even your maids at home ignore your requests on days you are too tired to insist on things.
“I am a knight,” he says to you. “So if any man has placed harm upon you, I will see to it that you receive justice.”
It sounded so kind, you suddenly wondered if this was all...fake.
Was this all some act he was putting on? Seeking out justice for harmed woman? You did not think any men would care for such a task anymore.
Your eyes land on a tent painted with puppets. You wonder if he is part of some play being put on. “Are you truly a knight?”
He looks like he’s about to laugh, but knows it is not the situation to do so, so he quickly forces his face serious. “No. I was asked to help with a play when I was a boy, but I was unable to memorize any lines.”
You look over him again. He does not dress as a regular knight. Yet, his heart seems more true to the cause then any other. “No knight I’ve met has ever spoken like you.”
“How do I-” You notice the insecurity creep into his voice. “How do I speak?”
“Different,” is all you manage to say. “Like you have morality.”
Maybe they do here. It is a nice thought, that some people are still good.
The knights at home, even Ser Emeret, all answered to Aerion. And anyone who was loyal to Aerion could not be good.
You glance around, and wonder how much longer you might have out here. You make eye contact with someone else, and quickly turn away.
Someone would see you eventually. They’d recognize you.
But your hunger was too great to wait until you returned to the tent to eat.
“Might I...ask a favor of you then?” you slowly say.
He stands tall again. “Yes.”
You take a step towards the side of a merchant’s tent. “Will you stand here?”
He does so immediately. His large body blocks your view of the crowd, therefore the crowd is blocked from seeing you.
“Would it bother you if I…hid behind you? While I ate these apples?”
His face brightens, as if elated to finally be given a true, honest task. “Of course not, My Lady. Enjoy your meal, and I will stand guard. I will not allow anybody to pass.”
You step closer to the tall man, finally feeling safely hidden. You eat the three apples quickly, your hunger pains finally ending, your dry throat satisfied with the heavy juices of the fruit.
You are glad he is not watching you. You have never eaten so sloppily in your life.
You have not acted as a Lady should at all in his presence, yet he still treats you like one.
“Am I allowed to leave apple pits on the ground?” you ask. You realize you haven’t eaten outside in a long time.
“Aye, My Lady. The birds will feed on them.”
You would never be allowed to do this in the castle back home, so you feel scandalous as you throw the scraps to the dirt.
You wipe your face, and clear your throat. “I am finished. Thank you.”
He turns back in your direction. “Do you need an escort back to your tent-?”
“No,” you quickly say. “You must not tell anyone you saw me.”
“I swear it to the gods,” he repeats obediently. “I will mention it to no one.”
You feel yourself relaxing again.
“You-” He pauses. He does so a lot, you realize. “You have said that you have a husband?”
Your shoulders slouch at the reminder. “I do.”
“Does your husband know that you have been attacked?”
Your chest aches again. “…Yes. He does.”
“I am sure he can take care of those who have done this to you. I assume he is a knight as well?”
No, he was not a knight. He was a prince. You thought he knew that, seeing as he had the displeasure of meeting him yesterday.
You begin to remind him, “He-”
You stop, because it dawns on you that this knight does not know that Aerion is your husband.
You don’t understand how he could not know this, except for the fact that Aerion did not speak to you as a husband should speak to his wife. In fact, he spoke to you as if you were nothing to him.
Could a person truly be that kind hearted? To see a man verbally accosting a woman, and automatically assume they could not be married? Because husband and wife are supposed to love each other, and there was no love that he saw in that courtyard.
“Yes,” you decide to say. “He is a knight.”
That is why this tall man speaks to you with kindness, because he does not know Aerion is your husband. It must be why he does not shun you like most people at home do, those who fear Aerion and his temper.
“What is his name?” he asks.
“Why do you need his name?”
“If I face him in the tourney, I will try my hardest to injure him.”
Your heart drops. Does evilness exist in this man after all-
“Not,” he quickly sputters. “I-I will try my hardest to not injure him. So that you will not be inconvenienced with caregiving.”
You relax again. You say the first name of a knight that you think of. “Ser Emeret.”
You feel like that was the wrong decision, one that might come back to haunt you.
“I am Ser Dunk-or, Duncan. Ser Duncan The Tall, they call me.”
You nod to him. “I wish you luck for the tourney, Ser Duncan the Tall.”
His voice is shy as he asks, “Might I ask your name?”
He already knows your face. You feel it will not be more trouble to know your name. “Lady (Y/N).”
He smiles. “Lady (Y/N).” He speaks your name like poetry. “Do you think it possible that I could...ride with your favor when it is time for my match?”
It is something you had never been asked before.
And you realize, Duncan is the first man to care for your favor at all.
“Yes,” you tell him. “You will have my favor, and I will pray to the seven for your victory.”
His smile grows bashful. “Thank you.”
“I must return to my tent,” you tell him.
You are feeling much, much better from your outing.
Better than you have felt in months.
“You deserve more than to walk alone,” he tells you.
“But I must.” You step away, and fix your scarf over your hair. “Do you know which day you will be riding?”
“I will try my hardest to go see you,” you tell him.
“Hopefully, it will be so. But that is only if the arena is fixed from today’s accident.”
“Accident?” Your husband did not mention any accident. “What has happened?”
“Have you not heard? Prince Aerion killed a horse. It fell on its rider and crushed his leg. The crowd rushed the arena calling him a cheat.”
The color drains from your face.
“My squire thinks he did it on purpose,” he continued. “But I feel the boy is too young. He does not understand that no Prince would dishonor himself for a mere win in a tourney.”
Aerion killed a horse, and then he came to you and tried to make you congratulate him with your body.
“I must go,” you tell him.
“Thank you for your favor, Lady (Y/N).”
You walk quickly, pushing past others. You are careful as you find your tent.
You glance around, waiting to make sure no guards are watching the area. You kneel down to the ground, and begin to pull up the fabric you had escaped out of-
A throat clears behind you.
You whip around, rushing to your feet.
Baelor Targaryen stands before you. Your skin prickles.
You’ve been caught, and you can already feel the violence your husband will inflict on you when he is told of your disobedience.
“Have you dropped something on the ground?” he asks you.
“No,” you muster, “I-” You stop, remembering how insistent Aerion was of you making no conversation. You can not risk making this any worse for yourself. You repeat a simple, “No.”
“Have I caught you sneaking out or sneaking back in?”
You blink, over and over, panic causing your eyes to sting. “…Back in.”
The man lets out a heavy sigh. “Very well. Be on your way then.”
He turns and leaves, as if he never even saw you.
Your heart is pounding in your chest. You try to ignore the fear that he might tell Aerion, and instead focus on the task at hand. You crawl into the tent, struggling to pull yourself out from under the bed.
Your husband is not here yet. Your outing was successful.
The night becomes pitch black, and Aerion has still not returned.
You pray to the gods that he has found a brothel to sleep in, and that you will be alone the rest of the night.
Things are peaceful when you go to sleep, and you find tranquility in your brief solitude.
As you lay your head on the pillow, letting out a breath of relief that your husband will not be sleeping beside you, you begin to think of your mother.
Your dear mother, the one who cried when your marriage was announced. Your mother, who once told you that she was not able to sleep until your father joined her in bed, and that it was only in his arms that she found rest.
What must that be like, you wonder, to stay up hoping for your husband to return. To have a husband you love, and cherish, and could rest on when tired.
A husband that protects you, and shields you.
A husband that...escorts you home, and...lets you hide behind him as you throw apple cores to the dirt.
A husband like Ser Duncan. You imagine any woman would be honored to be the wife of Ser Duncan the Tall.
You shut your eyes tighter as your face begins to heat up, a blush forming here in an empty tent at the mere thought of being a wife to that man.
You criticize yourself for daydreaming about him.
If he was kind to you, a stranger, that means he is kind to every stranger. You were not special to the knight, merely a woman he knew had an important title.
He was a handsome man, large and broad. You wonder how many other women spend their nights imagining this very same thing. To spend each night beside a man whose chest you can lay your head on.
To be bedded by such a man.
Your cheeks feel hotter, and you hide your face in the blankets, despite being alone.
For such a tall, handsome man to put hands on your body, to allow him to kiss you, without fear of any harm. For such a large man to lay with you.
You imagine that nervous voice he has, and if he would be just as nervous if you laid him upon a bed-
You hear the flap of the tent open. You pull the blankets up higher, and go completely still, praying your husband will think you are asleep.
Aerion is not quiet as he enters. He stumbles in, lost in the dark.
Your eyes are closed, yet you can tell the room becomes brighter. He is lighting the candles that hang around the tent.
You hear something metal clatter onto the table.
“(Y/N),” your husband calls. “Wake up.”
You hear heavy footsteps. Then, without warning, he plops down into the bed.
He falls on your leg by accident. The sharp pain makes you sit up, ripping your leg back.
When you place your eyes on your husband, you see that he is smiling at you.
Aerion brings a hand to your hair, letting his fingers fall down to the ends. “Rise and get dressed,” he says to you. “I wish to explore the town. You will come with me.”
His breath reeks of alcohol, and the lull in his voice makes it even more clear that he is intoxicated.
You have never spent time with a drunk Aerion before. Only brief encounters where he would sloppily fuck you before returning to his own chambers to sleep.
His actions in this state were new to you, and you worried he would be even quicker to violence.
You did not want to go wandering the town with a drunk, violent man. He would most likely beat you the first time he saw his own shadow.
You try to be cautious with your refusal. “I am...unwell still, Prince Aerion. I do not think I can handle the cold-”
“I made sure your chambermaid packed a wool cloak for you. Come. Dress. This night is for celebrating.” A smugger smile comes onto his face. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, “Do not worry, your dragon will keep you warm.”
You try to say, “It is not right for a Lady to be out at this time of night-”
“I am not asking. I am telling. Stand.” You hesitate. “Stand.”
You slowly move the blankets off of you. You stand to your feet.
“Do not look so solemn. We are to have fun tonight. Come.”
He is still smiling as he crosses the room, grabbing a glass vile off the desk. “I have brought this for you. Take a few sips of it, it will warm you up quickly.”
It is a bottle of more alcohol. He pops the cork off. It is loud, making you flinch once again. You are glad he does not notice it.
The liquor is so heavy you smell it from where you are. He takes a swing of it, before holding it out to you.
You understand this is a dangerous situation you have been placed in. It will be even more dangerous if you drink.
You have to be as aware and vigilant as possible when around Aerion.
You try again to be cautious. “I…do not want it-”
He shoves it near your face. You turn your head.
“You begged for a drink earlier. So I have brought you some now. Share this with me.”
Still, you keep your head turned the opposite way.
You wince when the harsh glass spout is shoved against your lips. You yank your head back, “I do not want it.”
“I did not ask,” he snaps at you. “I wish to have a drink with my wife, so you will have a drink.”
He shoved it against your lips again, tilting it up and causing the alcohol to pour into your mouth and down your chin. The taste of it seeps onto your tongue and makes you gag.
It burns you, so instinctively, you fling your hand out and slap it away.
The bottle hits the ground and you hear the quiet, yet deafening crack as the glass breaks on the hard floor.
Your heart drops, and you register that you have made a terrible mistake.
Every bit of confidence you had crumbles as you watch the evil creep back into his eyes.
“I-” You suddenly remember pain, and all that he could inflict on you. You fall to your knees. “I will clean it.”
You begin grabbing the glass with your bare hands.
“I am s-” Your voice cracks. “-sorry. I will clean it for you.”
You notice the bottom of the bottle contains a small amount of the liquid still, a few swallows that haven’t seeped out. You look up at him, and quickly say, “There is still some left.” You drop what’s in your hands, and you bring the top of the broken bottle to your mouth. “I will drink it. Look, I-” You take a swallow of the bitter liquid. “I shared it with you.”
He does not speak. He merely watches you.
You stand to your feet, though you stumble, and have to use the desk for help.
“I am sorry,” you hurriedly whisper. “I will get dressed. We can go get more.”
He tilts his head as he looks you up and down.
His silence scares you more than his screaming ever has.
You swallow. “Where-Where would you like to go-”
“Why can you not be good?”
You blink, fast, your fear making your heart pound.
“Every moment with you is like this,” he says to you. “Why can you not simply be good?”
Your mouth is dry. “I-I don’t know-”
“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“I was so excited to see you,” he mumbled. “Yet-Yet you’ve ruined it again. As you always ruin things between us. All you ever do is bitch, and complain, and flinch. You do not treat your husband as you should. You-”
There was a pause, and for a few moments, his voice sounded so unfamiliar.
“You do not even kiss me.”
His words cause you to pause.
Did you kiss Aerion? Your mind whirls back your memories.
You kissed him at your wedding. On your wedding night. The second time he bedded you.
No. You hardly ever kissed your own husband, you realized.
But that was not your fault. His cruelty killed any romance you could ever feel for him.
“What kind of wife are you?” he criticized coldly.
You wanted to scream that it was his violence that brought this damage to your marriage. But you couldn’t-because his eyes were so cold, and you were so scared. Again, you don’t know what to say besides, “I am sorry-”
“Last night was the first night we ever slept beside each other,” he continues, his drunken voice lowering as he spoke. “And you crept to the furthest corner of the bed and would not even face me.”
Was that true? It only takes a moment for you to realize, yes, it was the first night spent beside him.
Perhaps you would have noticed, if you were not in such pain.
“You take my patience for granted,” he tells you. “I have given you too much freedom, and you abuse it. And-” The alcohol slurs his words. “And I must correct your behavior, or it will never change.”
It is the clearest threat you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest ache.
He takes quick steps towards you. “Which hand did you slap away the bottle with?”
A shiver runs down your spine. “It will never happen again-”
“No. It will not. Which hand was it?”
You begin to tremble. “I am sorry, Prince Aerion-”
“You are right handed. I will assume it was that one.” He grabs your arm, and tugs you to the desk. “Place your hand down flat.”
“I am sorry,” you cry, panic seizing your bones. “Please, forgive me.”
He grabs your arm in an iron grip, and slams it down. He forces your hand flat, holding it by the wrist. “Do not move, or else I may damage you more than I mean to.”
Aerion rips the dagger from his belt.
You felt as if you’d faint, your breaths fast and uncontrolled. “Please, Prince Aerion, I am sorry!”
He touched each of your fingers, before he taps the edge of his dagger against the smallest. “This one.”
He raises the dagger higher.
The sight causes your adrenaline to finally kick in.
With all the strength you have left, you yank yourself away. You fling yourself so hard that you fall onto the ground, and crawl backwards as fast as you can.
Aerion swings around to come after you.
He is drunk, and now you understand that it is a blessing for you. He is not as fast, or as agile in this state.
He swipes at you, but you kick him. Pulling back your leg, you shove it against his stomach as hard as you’re able. He shouts in pain, and you kick him again in the knee, this time he falls.
You rush to your feet, tripping once, but picking yourself back up. You have no idea where you plan to escape to, but you know your only chance of getting out of this is to run. You attempt to rush to the entryway.
Aerion catches you by the hair before you even make it past him. He yanks your hair as if he’s trying to pull your head off.
“You rowdy cunt,” he spits at you. “I would have only taken one finger, but now I will break them all.”
The breath leaves your body as he flings you across the tent, and you topple over, your back landing against the desk.
He advances on you, and the fear in your body tells you that you will die right here and now if you do not fight back.
You spot one of the candles hanging in the tent.
You grab it, and when Aerion reaches you, you shove it against his face.
He lets out a scream. You have burned him. You hear it in his voice as he makes another pained shout.
“You bitch!” he screams, trying to paw the wax off his face as the candle drops to the floor. “You stupid-” He grabs you. “-fucking-” He flings you back down. “-bitch!”
Your knees hit the ground so hard that you cannot pull yourself back up.
Quickly, your eyes devour anything that could be used to defend yourself. You spot the glass shards that still litter the floor. You try crawling to them.
Aerion snags another candle off the hanger. The room is darker, and it feels like hell is emerging.
“You want to fight fire with a dragon?” Aerion spits you. “Let us see who’s burn is more painful.”
You almost reach the glass when he grabs your leg, flipping you over.
You scream as he straddles you. Your hand flies out to slap him. You slap, and scratch, and kick, but it seems to have no effect on him at all.
You feel Aerion’s hands gripping the neckline of your nightgown. He rips it violently, tearing it open all the way down to your stomach. Your breasts are bare and naked to him.
Your husband slaps a hand onto your shoulder, keeping you pinned down.
Then, he holds up the large burning candle, tilts it forward, and pours hot wax onto your chest.
You scream. You couldn’t stop screaming if you wanted to.
Your hand claws at his face. “Stop!” You beg. “Stop! Stop! Please! Stop!”
He does not. He pours the wax over your chest, and over your breasts, until there is none left.
The candle extinguishes itself. Shadows fill the room.
The wax remains hot on your body. You feel as if your own skin is burning off.
“Do you feel as if you are on fire, wife?” Aerion mocks you. A smile has arisen on his face. “Has your dragon finally scorched you?”
You imagine he will do it again, that he will grab the last candle, and continue torturing you until there is no fire left. You writhe beneath him.
Aerion pulls himself closer to you. His next actions catch you by surprise, though you suppose they shouldn’t have.
He ducks his head down, and runs his tongue over the valley of skin between your breasts.
The wax pooled there is still hot, and it hurts him. You can tell because he winces as his tongue touches the liquid. But he does not stop.
His mouth trails to your breast, and he latches his lips around your hardened and abused nipple.
He hisses in pain once more as it burns his mouth, but the sound mixes with his groan of pleasure.
His hands snake beneath your back, and he pulls you upward and presses your chest harder against his face.
A louder groan left his throat, so loud you feel the vibration against your skin.
Aerion begins to rock his lower body against yours. You feel his arousal pressing against your thigh.
“You’ve done this on purpose, haven’t you?” You can hear Aerion’s smile against your skin. His voice is muffled and moaning. “You’ve forced my hand because you know I love correcting you.” His body rocks harder against you. A louder groan. “Could you tell how much your husband has been dying to fuck you on the floor like an animal?”
His lips move to your throat, sucking on the area hard enough to make you wince, but it was still nowhere near as painful as the wax that continued burning your skin.
“Are you a good wife after all?” he asks, his voice nothing but lustful aching. “You want it just as bad as me, you’re just too goddamn proud to admit it.”
His hand forcefully rips your nightgown down further.
You scream at him again, this time with hatred. You brought your hand to his neck and scratched him deeper. It brought nothing but a sound of pleasure.
“I have fucked so many whores during our marriage,” Aerion whispers against your neck. “But none of them feel like you. None of them scream like you, not even the ones I dress up in your clothes.”
You feel his hand go to his britches, and you can tell he is trying to unlace them.
“I am going to fuck you until your cunt is as red and wet as your tear stained face,” he taunts. “Treat you as whore, just as you deserve.”
His words refuel your fire.
That’s what he thinks you deserve?
A knight you hardly know thinks you deserve more than to walk alone, yet your husband thinks you deserve to be abused on the floor like some whore?
You continue to flail beneath him.
Your hand feels around the dirt. You cringe as your hand slides against something sharp.
The glass. You’ve reached it.
You take hold of a large shard.
“I can’t decide between fucking you dry or drenching your cunt with hot wax,” he grunts. “I want you to feel my fire inside you-”
You stab the shard of glass into your husband’s hip. He jerks so violently that he lets go of you.
You stab him a second time, then a third, before he shoves himself off of you. You crawl out from under him, and struggle to catch your breath as you force yourself away.
He puts himself in front of the entryway, so you run to the opposite side.
You will not be able to escape from under the bed. He would catch you before you made it. So shove the desk away from the tent wall, and you stand behind it. It feels like your only safety.
Your husband pulls himself to his feet. He looks down at the small glass shard dug into his skin, and he rips it out of his body.
“Do you really wish to add weapons to this fight?” he asks you.
He seems amused by what you have done.
“So be it.” He tosses the glass on the table in front of you. “Go on. Pick it up. That is your weapon.” You watch as he pulls the dagger from his belt. “This is mine.”
You feel as if you have been battling for hours. Your body begs for rest.
“Come on, wife. You have challenged me. Come forward. Let us see who is the better fighter.”
You rack your mind for a way out of this. You think of only one.
“I yield,” you sputter quickly.
“I do not accept your yield.”
He steps forward. You flinch back. “Aerion, I-I am sorry. Let me end this now. I yield to you.”
“A proper warrior does not accept a yield, because it is not a true victory.”
If he gets any closer, you will be cut with that dagger. Sliced with it, or stabbed with it.
And he calls himself a true warrior?
A man who has his trembling wife cornered with merely a shard of glass while he has a knife?
He is an embarrassment to every warrior in the realm.
Your throat burns with hatred as you spit, “You are no proper warrior.”
Your hatred builds. “A proper warrior does not kill horses because he is scared of real competition.”
Your husband’s face falls blank.
He is quiet once more. But this time, you can tell that it is different.
There is no more humor in his pause.
You swallowed your nerves, and tried to force your shoulders tall. “A proper warrior...can win a joust...without cheating-”
“I did not cheat,” he spits at you. “A dragon has no rules.”
“A tourney does. You broke them. You are no winner.”
“Who spoke these lies to you?”
“You have been secluded all day. Who spoke to you?”
You say the one thing that you know will hurt him, a strike to that godawful ego of his.
“No one had to speak to me. I could hear the townspeople screaming ‘cheater’ all the way from the arena.”
His confidence was cracking. You could see it in his eyes.
To embarrass Aerion, to actually hurt him, after all the wicked things he’d put you through.
A surge of satisfaction makes you push further. “I heard them calling you a coward. I heard them say you were too scared to lose that you killed an animal. They call you ‘Aerion the First Cowardly Dragon’-”
Or-no, he doesn’t hit you.
He grabbed the chair, and threw it at you.
Had he not been drunk, he might have killed you with that chair, split your head open on the thick wood. But in his intoxication, he only hits the side of your arm. Shots of pain fly up your body.
The next thing you feel is his hand wrapping itself back into your hair, and he physically yanks you over the desk.
You hit the ground so hard you think a bone in your body has to be broken. He continues to pull you by the hair.
He drags you across the dirt floor. You feel a slice of the broken glass scrape your arm as you are roughly pulled to the entrance of the tent.
Aerion drags you all the way outside. You are humiliated as the breeze hits your bare body, your torn nightgown covering next to nothing.
You try to cover yourself with your hands.
The three guards that are positioned at the entry are visibly taken aback, as are the rest of the soldiers that stand to guard the Targaryen tents.
You muffle a cry of humiliation as you try to find modesty with what is left of your torn clothes. At least fifteen soldiers stare straight at you.
“Which one of them spoke to you?” Aerion yanks your head up to look at the men. “Tell me now.”
You try to pry his hands off your hair. “Stop this,” you cry. “It was no one-”
“Tell me now!” He forces your chin up higher. “Tell me, or I will hang all of them for speaking blasphemy!”
“I did not speak to any of them!” you cry out, not able to bear more death on your hands
“Speak the truth, you lying whore!”
A spiteful voice comes from the left, “Aerion. What the fuck do you think you are doing?”
The hold on your hair is not released, but it loosens.
“This is no business of yours, uncle.”
Prince Baelor has come from nowhere. He looks tired, and upset, and he must have been awoken by two.
“It is every bit my business when you attempt to wake up the entire town with your screaming and threats of death,” the older man spits at his nephew. “Unhand your wife before anyone else wakes and sees your stupidity.”
Aerion releases your hair, but yanks you up and keeps hold of you.
You try to pull your hair in front of you, to keep your dignity as you feel the mens’ eyes on you.
“Treason has been committed,” your husband announces. “One of the guards snuck into my tent and spoke lies of me to my wife.”
“What lies were said of you?”
Aerion hesitates a moment.
Then, you see it in his eyes again. Embarrassment. He is embarrassed to tell his uncle what has been said to you.
Because he knows. Aerion knows what he’s about to say is not a lie.
“They have told my wife that I cheated in my match. They say that I won dishonorably.”
“Our guards are loyal, they have said no such thing.”
“She has not left our tent all day, she would not know of this unless she was spoken to by one of them.”
Your heart clenches in your chest, and you fear for the worst now.
Baelor Targaryen did not know you, and there was no reason he would put his men’s lives on the line for you. Surely, he would expose you now. He’d tell Aerion that you snuck out of the tent, and Aerion would surely torture you for it. Perhaps he’d cut off one of your fingers after all. Or maybe he’d cut off a foot, so that you’d be incapable of walking off again.
Aerion continues, “I intent to find out which one of them it was-”
Your eyes widen at Baelor’s words.
Aerion’s body grows stiff. “When?”
“Midday. I thought your wife should be updated on your efforts in the tourney.”
Your husband’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy, angered breaths. “She is not permitted to speak with you. Do not approach her again.”
“Then take her back inside your tent. Now. Before you wake anyone else.”
You meet Baelor’s eyes, and you pray that he can see your gratefulness.
Aerion’s hold on you slowly loosens. You wrap your arms over your chest.
“Get back inside,” he speaks to you. “I must have a conversation with my uncle.”
You do not have to be told twice. Rushing inside, you feel your body breaking down. You cover your mouth as a sob leaves your throat.
Your fingers brush over the burns on your chest. You wince. They continue to sting badly.
You are slow as your shaking hands remove your nightgown, and you pull on one that had not been torn to pieces by your husband.
Climbing back into bed, you whisper more prayers to the gods that your husband will somehow never return to you.
And you pray for reward to find Baelor for how he has saved you.
You will repay him for his kindness if it’s the last thing you do.
