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Mar 12

⠀ ㅤ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ my fire ⌗ m. bannerman .ᐟ

summary. your husband is a man of many qualities, sadly, desire is not one of them… but your cousin —once your betrothed— is ready to give you what your king cannot. pairing. g!p velaryon! manon x fem targaryen! reader. contains. virgin! r, switch! reader & manon, high valyrian language, breeding kink, power imbalance. house of the dragon! au, incest (brother-sister by arranged marriage, then cousins w/ manon), use of y/n many times, cheating, forced marriage. word acc. 5.9k

they said the targaryens were closer to the gods than men.

they said that every time a targaryen was born the gods flipped a coin.

but the targaryens were from the old valyria, and from the same valyria, had come the velaryons.

their skin was darker and their eyes were brown, they had the same silver locks and the same temperament. manon, anyway, had been born different from the rest of her family, different from what most considered normal.

she had the beauty of a maiden, with the strength and virility of a warrior, she was, indeed, a god among others, and you had the luck to be promised to her when you reached fifteen years old.

manon was seventeen at that time, but according to rumors, she already had a few little bastards of hers running through the halls and valleys of king’s landing. the maidens and the whores in the whole flea bottom would be delighted to birth a child lucky enough to have such blood running through its veins. just as all the others did.

or that was just what the singers liked to chant about, between the small folk, never in front of her, never in front of royalty, they knew better than that, they liked their heads better on their necks, not on a spike.

still, according to the infamous singers, manon cared about the bastards she had left barefoot and crying in the dark alleys of king’s landing as much as she cared about their mothers — very little.

but she cared about you. she cared so much.

her beautiful young princess, wide lilac eyes so carefully looking for her in every crowd, not because you wanted to find her, but because it was natural, once you knew she was meant to be your spouse, you had a natural pull to her, you never stayed alone with your cousin for long, you never talked to her for too long even though encouraged by your father, but yes, the sound of her laughter from across the chamber warmed your heart in a way, and the teasing of your older brother, aemon, over your stupid infatuation for the lady always made you push him playfully.

aemon was a boy too, a year older than you and still so immature, he had the same features as the rest of your family, lilac wide eyes, soft silver hair, but not the strong grip of your father, as the king reminded him so many times, one day aemon would be the king, and he would have to grow up and be the man and king the kingdom expected from him, for you, however, he would always be your stupid older brother, way too soft and sweet, way too kind and sensitive and for that, you were grateful.

grateful as well for never having to become his wife, you loved aemon way too much to have him see you as a baby machine.

“the velaryon will treat you well enough, sister.” aemon said to you in a cold morning, grabbing a piece of bread from the long table. “if not, she’ll meet the fire of the dragon.”

“you sound silly, she has a dragon too, stupid.” you chuckled at him.

but you knew aemon was serious and you loved him for it.

sadly, the fraternal nature of your love was seen by your father as a sign that the tradition must be followed, and that your brother deserved to be your husband. aemon tried to argue, but the king’s decision was final. a place on the small council was given to manon as an apology for breaking the promise of marriage, even though manon cared little about politics, at least as long as it didn’t affect her lifestyle, her brothels, her finest silks for the most beautiful gowns, and the good, rich wine from the southern lands, she barely went to the small council’s meetings by her father’s side, preferring to stay in driftmark most of the time.

or that was what you thought, anyway.

you were given to aemon in a beautiful ceremony, a celebration that lasted two days and that felt like your very funeral. aemon wasn’t much happier than yourself, he held your hand like a brother, he kissed your forehead like a brother and when the blade of the sword cut your palm open to share with him your blood, his eyes were dark with revolt. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. his heart belonged to another, and you belonged as his sister. if you were to be his wife, he should have known from the beginning. not that it would change anything, aemon was different from other men, still, he preferred to see it that way.

manon watched from afar among the crowd; when your eyes locked on hers, she gave you a gentle, sad smile.

when the night came and you entered your now shared chambers with him, aemon didn’t look at you twice, he couldn’t touch you, his wife, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. therefore you were his sister; therefore he loved another. on the very same night, manon took the smallest way through the dark alleys of king’s landing to her lover. her lover, perhaps; her friend, for sure. sophia was a woman of many talents who was brought from the free lands many years ago. a local merchant found her and gave her home and food in exchange for her work. her work, however, manon found so extremely satisfying and valuable that she kept her just for herself; for a good coin every month, the man kept sophia safe and sound in his house of pleasures but couldn’t sell her off like the others. she was special and belonged to the valyrian girl.

sophia’s skin was lighter than manon’s and she had no other name, nor other information; manon never knew her age or her true name, but she knew every centimeter of her soft body as much as she knew the palm of her own hand. the night was long; sophia had all her tricks and ways, but manon’s mind was far away, in the castle, with her pretty princess who had become a queen, with the one woman supposed to be hers and hers only, now laid in another’s arms, being maculated by another’s touch. how could she find peace in a whore when she could have a princess?

“what disturbs you, my love?” sophia’s voice always had a sultry edge with a thick accent; even after hours of sex, she still carried such elegance that made manon want to ruin her again. but the velaryon just rolled her eyes, naked and sweaty, and sat down by the window with a glass in hand, sipping the bitter liquid as if it were water. sophia’s steps were quiet and slow, like a cat.

“i could do better than this.” manon answered, she didn’t look at sophia when the girl sat down on her lap.

“better than me?”

“that, too…” manon wasn’t unusual to lies, but she hardly ever hid the truth from her sophia, just as she cared little for her feelings. “but i mean about my marriage; i was to wed a princess, now i have nothing. my father doesn’t know to whom i’m to be wedded.” she sipped the wine one more time, acknowledging the woman on her, passing an arm over sophia’s slim waist.

sophia’s pretty, dark eyes were full of something quite similar to understanding; even though sophia could never understand what burdens an heir of a powerful house would have, she always tried her best to understand manon, or she just pretended very, very well. sophia’s skills were way more than just for the bed, and manon left the other day with a much easier mind and a smile on her face, along with a sore, exhausted body.

while you, in the keep, remained untouched by your husband, which you did not worry about, aemon would come to his senses and see that you were no longer his little sister, but his wife, for him to love, care for, and have heirs with. that was your purpose, as it was his. the targaryen name shall continue, your father said, more than a thousand times, and on his very deathbed, that’s what he told you last.

“it’s your duty, you don’t have many, you must honor this.” he said. he kissed your forehead with trembling lips and called you his favorite child before closing his eyes. aemon never got to be called that, yet, he was crowned king the very next week; you were his queen consort, his sister-wife, and the whole of king’s landing bent the knee before their new king and queen.

weeks passed, and aemon couldn’t bear to sleep in the same bed as you. one night, you went to his chambers, the ones where he sneaked after dinner, in secret, when the lords couldn’t see the king refusing to bed his wife and delaying the dynasty's continuation. your steps were quiet as you walked to his bed; you could smell the faint scent of alcohol from his mouth—he had been drinking again—but even then, his sleep was light as you sat down beside him on the bed.

he looked at you with slightly confused, drunk eyes. in an act of courage and desperation, you leaned down without another word. you kissed his lips.

it lasted a second before he pushed back, eyes blinking, hurt, he couldn’t, he looked in your eyes and you knew it.

“they’re starting to ask, aemon.” your voice was a plea, barely a breath, but aemon heard you just fine, his face became merciful. “they’re wondering why i’m not with child yet.”

you watched aemon let his head fall on the pillow, he sighed, the scent of wine making you flinch slightly but when he finished pondering and leaned over to kiss your lips again, you let him. his lips were soft, yet unwanted, the kiss slow, just a brush of lips, your hand found his chest and he touched your face, for a minute, it seemed like it could work, perhaps, just perhaps, you were making your way towards your destiny, your purpose, the very reason you were born to. continue your lineage.

but aemon broke the kiss. his eyes were hazy, disgusted with himself.

“i can’t.” he whispered.

you nodded. you understood.

your head then rests above his chest, and you fall asleep in a few minutes; aemon took an hour. it wasn’t supposed to be this way, none of it.

in a matter of days, he found some matters to attend to in the north of dorne, far, far away from you, from the throne, from everything that suffocated him, he left his hand in command and drowned himself in matters of the crown, perhaps in big jars of wine too, as you have heard from the gossiping court.

he left you alone.

alone to walk around the cold corridors of the red keep, listening to the whispers and being questioned about children that it seemed like you would never have, you had none of your kind, you become standoffish for most, a spoiled young queen who has been left alone in the solitude of your keep, the stories of the old nan didn’t entertain you any longer, the hollow demonstrations of talent from the court jester hardly made you laugh, the private dinners turned boring and the words “your grace” became your personal hell.

until the day she came.

manon came from driftmark in a small ship, enough just for a few servants and her natural crew, your cousin, usually in company of many friends and beautiful, shameless women, came alone, leaving the carriage after the small travel from the port to the keep, she bowed her head softly with her characteristic side smile.

“my queen.” she said. “i've come for a visit, i trust your grace could use some company while our king is away.” it sounded like an excuse for matters you could not understand at the moment, but manon was a beautiful, comforting face, she represented family, and that you needed. your father was dead, your brother was gone and you would hardly push away your own kind.

you didn’t question her reasons any further, only welcomed her in your keep, your table, and as the weeks went by, in your heart.

manon was easy, kind, she knew what cheeky comment to make, she knew how to make you laugh, and the memory of the life you could have been by her side was too fresh, too uncomplicated to have when she was there all of the time. once, during a walk in the gardens, when the sun was burning hot and she had her beautiful, long mane in pretty braids, questioning you if the weather was way too warm for your grace, you could no longer hold your tongue.

“y/n.” you corrected, her brown eyes widened slightly as she stopped walking. “i haven’t heard my name in many weeks; only my father called me by my name, then my bro- husband.” you missed the way she smiled when you almost mispronounced the words. “we are family, cousin; therefore, you shall call me by my name.”

“you honor me, your grace.” her voice was sweet as silk in your ears.

“i will have your tongue cut off if you call me that again, manon.” you chuckled; she wasn’t offended or scared; she laughed along with you.

call the queen by her first name was an interesting type of intimacy, a type that perhaps only your husband should have, since it made your stomach feel like a thousand butterflies were floating around. she said it so casually, at dinner, asking if the duck was to your taste; in the morning, asking you if the gardens of the keep had grown overnight or if you just liked to see the same thing over and over; in the evenings, when you both went to have a fly on your dragons, moondancer and moonfyre dancing all across the sky, having the children of the servants crowding the courtyard with their heads turned upwards and their mouths open as they watched like a show; or perhaps at night, when she had only her nightgown covering her tanned body, her white hair loose on her shoulders as she read you a book by the fireplace.

“you make it sound interesting," you commented, she looked up at you, sat there, thin silk covering your body, eyes on the burning fire, body relaxed on the chaise.

“do you think it’s boring?” she asks, never judgemental.

“not many things have entertained me later, cousin.” you were honest.

perhaps, being the queen really did get into your head, and you allowed yourself to speak your true mind from time to time… at least with manon.

“you must miss the king. he will come back soon, i trust.” her words of comfort did little to ease the situation.

“my husband would rather be in a desert, circled by savages, than be with his wife.”

“our young king is known for his kind heart, not yet for his wisdom," she said with a sweet voice, so casually offending her own king. “he will see reason soon.”

you looked at her, the comfort she provided, the soft strength in her words, the way she was nothing like the tales you heard, seducing women like trophies, careless, heartless, inconsequential… she was just free, unapologetic about it, beautiful, and sweet.

“see what?”

“what a beautiful queen he has.” she finished.

after years since the blossom of your teenage years, you should no longer feel your cheeks blush at being called beautiful, yet you couldn’t help it as a small, shy smile emerged on your face.

the silence was comfortable, even comforting; there was no need for further words and explications, which you found enjoyable enough. manon wasn’t like the others; she was your kin, your family, she called you by your name, and she knew you by your mind, not by a title. perhaps if you had wedded her, things would be better; perhaps you wouldn’t find yourself alone and waiting for something that it seems like would never come; perhaps she would make your days safe and filled with joy, your bed warm, and your house full with children to call your own… perhaps that’s all you kept thinking about on the last days.

“you ever wondered how it would be?” it slipped past your lips before you could stop yourself. “if you had wedded me instead of aemon. if I had never become queen...” the sentence sounded so foreign in your tongue, your voice just a whisper in the chamber, nothing but the sound of the burning fire echoing, like a confession you shouldn’t speak.

“everyday.” she said, shamelessly. you looked at her careful, yet peaceful, brown eyes staring back at you.

“manon…”

“i think i could treat you so much better; you would want for nothing. i would be loyal, kind, loving.” her body leaned forward, just a bit, like a secret dripping from her lips, you were hypnotized by the soft, raspy sound of her whisper. “i would be very passionate, too.”

you shouldn’t indulge this. no, you should stop those fantasies from taking root in your mind and your heart more than they already have… but her words clouded your judgment. how could you stop her when she looked at you with those big, mischievous dark eyes? when her curly locks fell so perfectly on her shoulders, when her instinct was to know your soul?

“passionate?” you breathed.

“yes.” she leaned closer, close enough for you to feel her breath on your cheek; she had chewed mint earlier, and it felt cool. “very much, your grace, you would want for nothing. absolutely nothing.”

it happened before you could tell.

at some point, the promises of another life had mixed with this very reality, your desire to be seen by who you were, to be wanted and not rejected, and to be touched and not denied, manon looked at you like a jewel, not because of her personal interests, not because of the power you held, but just because of the small, fragile, and wavering made-up memory of what could’ve been.

you kissed her.

she kissed you back.

not like aemon did, with trembling drunk lips and guilty eyes… she kissed you like you were her very oxygen; her tongue invaded your mouth, and her hands grabbed your waist. while you were shy and learning, she seemed like your teacher; she pushed you closer, and suddenly you were straddling her thighs, one of her hands ran up your back, undoing the ropes of your beautiful gown, not that you noticed, so focused on kissing her.

it felt so good to be wanted, desired, craved, even, to have your lower lip bitten and the very air being taken from your lungs. until manon pulled back, tilting her head back just out of your reach, you leaned forward, addicted already, craving more; she pulled back again, and you opened your eyes.

“iksā gevie"—you're so beautiful. she breathed, a whisper in a language long forgotten in westeros, used only by your kind, a secret only both of you could share. “ñuha perzys…” my fire.

you’re her fire… you were supposed to be.

she gently guided you to stand up; you did, unsure, your gown was slightly mussed and your cheeks red, your eyes curious as she kneeled in front of you.

“my queen.” she whispered, the sound of the fire crackling before you mixing with the sound of her ragged breath as she let her hands travel up your body, from your calf until your soft thighs, yanking the silk up your legs until your thighs were bare for her; your breath seemed to come in small pants now, your cheeks were flushed, your skin warm… a feast for manon. then you become tense for a second, too self-aware. you weren’t used to being seen like this, not by anyone but your maids who bathed you before bed and by morning, not by your husband, long forgotten by you at this moment, not by anyone but yourself, let alone be touched.

“it’s just a kiss.” she whispered, hot breath fanning over the skin of your thigh, calming your nerves. “just a kiss, just a kiss…”

she leaned in closer; she gently guided one of your legs to her shoulder, still repeating the words like a mantra before her tongue found you, through the fabric still, just a small taste for her intense hunger.

your eyes closed immediately, a broken moan escaping through your lips… it was like you'd been waiting for this feeling for your whole life; you could feel the warm wetness of her tongue through the fabric, yet the friction against your sensitive clit had your excitement pouring from your pussy, your hand found her beautiful locks in a mane of white curls so beautifully falling down her shoulders, but you would make quick work to muss her beautiful hair as your hips started to roll over her face. unconsciously, you had no longer complete control of your body… she had.

her hands gripped your thighs harder, not before her fingers made quick work to push your panties to the side, and the second her tongue touched your pussy directly, your back arched. this was so wrong, let yourself be touched by another one than your husband, but not even the thought of the burning heat in the deepest part of the seven hells was enough to stop you now, not when her tongue explored you with a hunger fit for her reputation.

slow, like a kiss, she let her tongue run freely through your folds; the soft pressure against your clit had your eyes almost rolling back, her name falling from your parted lips like a prayer, her nails scratched your burning skin, just a little harder when your fingers gripped tighter between her locks; you felt it when she groaned against you.

and then it was over; you whined as she pulled back, her adoring eyes looking at the mess she had made herself, you could feel the wetness dripping down your thighs at this moment, her own saliva and your own pleasure.

“you… manon…” your voice came in a mere whine, a pathetic sound for her ears only, so lost in desire to be anything more than a pleading little thing.

but she looked at you as if you were a goddess above her, finally standing on her feet again, chin still covered by your juices. she didn’t say a word; she didn’t ask for permission, she was sure and firm as she kissed your lips again, and you melted into her hands as if you were made to be in her arms.

her fingers started to lose the ropes of your gown once more; they did quick work to bare you this time, and soon the fabric slipped down your body, revealing it to her. you could feel shy; you would feel shy with anyone, but manon looked at you like the very maiden made flesh, a blessing for her to witness and touch.

“ao ñuha perzys as, zȳha daor.” you’re my fire, not his.

she laid you down on the floor; the rug was soft and comfortable against your back, she treated your body as if made of glass, part of you wanted to tell her she could treat you like one of the girls she'd been with in those houses of pleasures during the hottest nights in king’s landing, how you'd had thought about this more times than you could count, how you’ve thought about being one of her girls… but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything when you felt her.

she lay on top of you, between your thighs, still dressed, your warm bare skin against the silks of her body; she kissed your lips again as she started to yank her gown up her body… and then you felt it. its presence was enough for you to break the kiss and look down; she was all over you, you could no longer be too nervous or tense, not when all you could feel was her body against yours. her lips kissed your cheek as she guided herself to your center; her blunt tip brushed against your sensitive cunt.

“you want me?” you heard her breathing against your face, your body called for her as if it were instinct, as it belonged to her since the very day you were promised to be her wife.

“yes, please.” you barely recognized your own voice now, but it sounded like you, begging to be taken by her.

manon didn’t deny you; how could she ever deny her queen? she forced her tip inside, just enough for your untrained walls to accommodate the first inch; it was too much, like you were being filled beyond your limits, it burned and stretched, she was so thick, but she held you still as your body squirmed with a mind of its own, even if you still wanted her so much.

“it’s so good; you’re going to take me so well, my queen.” she pushed another inch inside, and you felt the pressure bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. it poured from them; your cheeks were now wet as more tears ran freely on your face, she stayed still; she held your trembling thigh open, she pulled back just enough to watch your face, contoured by the pain but taken by desire, the casting light of the fireplace reflecting on her face, her features looking ethereal, her tanned skin glistening with sweat.

“just a little more… just a little more.” she whispered, eyes tender, you nodded, feeling the words die in your throat, replaced by a sweet moan as she pushed another thick inch inside. “ao ñuhoso as vēttan.” you’re only for me.

she kept murmuring praises, sweet words under her own pleasured sounds as she forced herself inside, it was painful, but you wanted her so bad, before you could tell, she was thrusting, slowly, just a roll of hips, letting you get used to her sheer size, you could feel the weight of it inside you; it felt like she could break you in half if she went hard enough. luckily for you, she didn’t, after a few slow, controlled thrusts, you finally felt yourself starting to accommodate her; it wasn’t so painful anymore, the pressure became a strange, newfound pleasure, almost a tentative feeling.

“so perfect.” she said, feeling your body relax under her; she couldn't hold back any longer, she put both hands beside your head and started to move her hips, she went deeper, faster, you whined out her name and gripped the fabric of her gown with such force that it turned your knuckles white. “so good, just a little more, my heart.”

she wasn’t lying; she didn’t need to. you’ve been taking the pain like a good girl, and she knew you would keep taking it. a few more moves and she was all the way in; you didn’t even notice through the overwhelming sensation, she didn’t mind telling you; she just kept going, your body would surrender to the building rapture, she knew it, you could sense her technique when she hilted inside, your nails buried themselves into the flesh of her back, and she kissed your tears away.

she brought a hand down to your throbbing clit, two fingers finding your point of pleasure, she started to rub it along her thrusts, her cock hitting a spot inside you that just made a switch flip.

she’s been trying hard to maintain her rhythm, maintain her thrusts controlled and still, careful with your virgin, untrained body; she wanted to give you pleasure, to make you hers—that was her goal—but when you started to actually move your hips up, moan carelessly, and nod with your head, lips swollen, eyes begging, thighs trembling… she lost it. it was too much; it was too good to be true.

it was supposed to be like this every night since you came of age; she should be having you, not aemon, not her weak cousin who couldn’t handle a crown on top of his head, and neither a woman like you on his bed, she hammered her hips faster, now chasing her own bliss, looking into your glossy eyes.

you were writhing underneath her, calling her name like a prayer, now even the pain felt like it was heaven, the burning stretch, the overwhelming way she filled you, hitting that spot you didn’t even know it existed, you never thought it could be that good, that incomparable. you’ve grown a princess, circled by delights, by luxury, by riches, and yet, not a single pleasure you’ve had in your life had come closer to what you were feeling.

and then… something changed.

“it’s too good… too good… i can’t – gods –”

she pulled out.

she was shaking now, trembling, groans leaving her mouth freely, you felt a thick, hot liquid painting your skin, your pussy, your inner thighs, and even a few jets over your tummy. you couldn’t care less.

“no– no– don’t stop… manon–” you cried out, your waist undulating under her, trying to find her, have her again inside you.

“i came… i can’t– what–” she cut herself when she felt your hand, quick and clever, guiding her semi-hard cock back inside you, lowering your body to take her in again, it was even better; she was completely soaked in your juices, in her own cum, and you both moaned, she was still so sensitive, her head tilted back, and you wrapped both legs over her waist, giving her no other choice but to stay inside you.

“don’t stop.”

“my heart…” she whined, so sensitive.

“don’t disobey your queen," you said slowly.

she chuckled softly with her eyes closed, but she didn’t dare disobey, going back to her previous rhythm, eyes unfocused and glossy as she lost herself in the overwhelming pleasure, lowering down a hand to rub your clit again.

“you want more, your grace?” she whispered between her harsh pants. “i will give it to you, everything.”

your eyes rolled back now; you listened to the wet sounds every time she hilted inside, you were drenching her cock in your pleasure, you looked at her, a few silver curly strands glued to her forehead, her still fabric-covered breasts jiggling as she pounded you, she was so beautiful, like the light of hope she has been in your boring life.

“you want a child, don’t you?” her whisper was slow, low, like she was confessing a sin, a sin that you welcomed like your own, tightening your legs around her hips.

“yes, my love, like it should have been, please.”

this only made her go harder, mustering up enough energy to fuck you like her very life depended on it, tearing you apart from the inside. no more of her gentle, controlled thrusts; she filled you now like you were one of her girls, one of her whores at the brothels, like you were no queen, no royalty, no targaryen with pure blood and a dragon to ride, no, she defiled you, making your eyes tear up and whorish moans and sobs leave your mouth; you were finally one of her girls.

then she passed both arms through your legs, yanking them up to her shoulders, you gasped loud; you were so open for her now, completely at her mercy, she hammered into you with such force and pressure; you were folded underneath her, and gods, it felt good, she was just as good as the singers had chanted about, and if that's how it felt to be her girl, then you would never want to stop; you would rather be that than the queen.

“you want me to breed you? give you the child you’ve been needing? your grace wants me to give her a bastard?”

the words were more than sinful; they were ungodly, a crime against decency, against the seven themselves, you should argue with her; you should stop this at once; you should kick her away and beg the gods for benevolence and forgiveness, hoping they would be gentle enough to even consider you worthy of pleading. instead, you nodded again.

“yes, please, please, i beg you.”

that was her undoing; she was way too sensitive, way too deep inside you, too gone, but not enough to leave you by yourself one more time, she started to rub your clit at the very same rhythm as her harsh, unforgiving thrusts, it was rough, dirty; you loved every second of it, every vein and ridge of her hard cock every time she hilted again inside you.

you felt an unfamiliar, building pleasure in your lower belly; it was like nothing you’ve felt before, you just knew you had to have more; you had to finish whatever this was. you clenched around her, and her nails buried themselves in your thighs. you came, and a long moan that your sworn sword at your door definitely could hear left your mouth, your back arching, your eyes crossing in your head, and your body shaking and shuddering as you felt it, and with a high-pitched moan, you gushed all over her pistoning cock, barely having any time to digest it before you feel her filling you up and unloading inside you, a few jets of cum that reach even deeper than her cock did, though you find it impossible to happen.

your body is still trembling with aftershocks as she lets her body fall on top of yours, letting go of your legs so you can let them rest on each side of her still-trembling body. she kisses your cheeks, your chin, your neck… soft lips pressing against your skin as if soothing the heat of your body. her cock is still inside you, soft this time. when she pulls out, you both hiss at the same time. you know you will be aching for days to come, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to regret a single moment, a single touch, a single kiss.

“ñuha perzys…” my fire.

you could get used to this, to the sweet whispers in high valyrian, with the upcoming soreness of your entire body, with the usual feeling of guilt churning your insides, with the weight of the sin. if the sin meant that, you would always be destined to this gentle sin.

manon fell asleep within seconds, too tired and overstimulated to even clean her mess, you stayed awake for a little longer, watching her beautiful, peaceful face. the face of the woman who should be yours before destiny—or your father—had decided you were unworthy of such delight.

perhaps you were now with her child, and once aemon came back, he would put your head on a spike and guarantee her a slow and painful death; perhaps he would punish just her, perhaps tomorrow, you both could take your dragons and fly away to beyond the seas; the free cities, essos, even the dothraki sea or the slave’s bay could sound good by manon’s side.

but at the moment, before the sleep took over your senses and your eyes became heavy, you kissed the top of her head and murmured what now seemed like a prayer to the gods.

“ñuha perzys.” my fire.

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