an irritation part 8
ship: otto hightower/original female character (aella targaryen)
chapter warnings: rough oral sex (male receiving), religious idolatry, prayer
Next: Part Nine, Epilogue
Oldtown was like one large sept.
Seven-pointed stars and statues of the seven seemed to be everywhere she looked. When Lord Hobert Hightower, Otto's elder brother (who looked so similar to a weasel that it had actually made her lover look astoundingly handsome in comparison) had escorted them within the high tower itself, Aella couldn't help the wry look she shot to the Lord Hand as they passed the many carved idols to the Seven that decorated its walls. The entire place was alight with thousands of candles too, similar to the Sept in Kings Landing, their thousands of flames flickering from the floors and window ledges, the wax dripping onto the stone floor and over the rivers of existing wax that none had bothered to clean up.
The candles, she actually rather liked. The way the fires glowed against the diamond patterned windows and cast high shadows on the ceilings was mesmerizing, and the heat that came from them within these cool walls felt soothing as Aella danced her fingertips across them.
"Supper will be at dusk," Lord Hobert then said informatively, after his long-winded talk that he'd begun after their grand entrance at the bottom of the Tower. She of course, hadn't really been listening. Nor had the rest of her family, it seemed. The Lord of the High Tower appeared to have realized this, though his mouth was much thinner now. "Your chambers are prepared, and our servants have already brought your things up for you - unless," he paused, making quick eye contact with Otto, so obvious though she could tell he hadn't meant to be. "We are to be expecting another?"
In this, Viserys spoke, somewhat beleaguered. "I have sent men out to summon my brother from wherever he may be within your city, Lord Hightower. Not to worry. He knows not to cause such mischief outside of the streets of Kings Landing."
Lies. But they were lies Lord Hobert ate without protest before they were all escorted to chambers.
Daemon was going to cause some drama, as he always did.
What worried her now was what kind of drama.
Aella had never worried about what chaos Daemon would cause - so often, she was in the middle of it as well, his mirror and shadow, assisting in some, spearheading others. It was what had gained the two of them the notoriety and disdain of Otto Hightower for so very long.
It was unsettling now to not know - to not understand what he had planned.
A bath was waiting for her in the chambers when she finally stepped inside them - the maids, dressed all like some sort of Septa, each bowed to her as they finished their work.
"The Lord Hand said you would wish to wash before supper, Princess." The oldest one explained with a short nod of her head as the last of the hot pails of water filled the large copper tub. It was steaming with fragrance, like spiced ginger, cinnamon, jasmines and wild vanilla, while of the steaming water was floating with dried rose buds.
Aella dipped her fingertips in the water. Almost scalding. It made her fingertips go pink just from touching it for a few seconds.
"Would you be needing assistance with your hair, my lady?"
"No." She said shortly, reaching for the ties of her riding clothes without delay. "You may go."
The maids finished their work and left without dally, leaving her free to rid herself of her clothing and sink into the hot bath without delay.
The water was so hot that it relaxed her like a cup of mulled wine as soon as she sank inside of it. And it was there, leaning her head against the rim of her bathtub, drawing light designs on the top of her thigh with a warm contentment, that Aella thought it didn't matter what Daemon had planned for that evening. Let Daemon do as he wishes, she thought as she rose her wrist slowly out of the water, keeping a rosebud floating on the back of her hand, the feeling of it like the most gallant of kisses. As long as I am able to continue as I am. And if he irritates me horribly, then I will be chaining myself to Otto's bed.
/~/
Supper in the High Tower's great Hall was a return to childhood.
It had been many years since his House had housed a visiting King, and his brother Hobert had seemed to pull out every piece of elegant finery they had access to within the Tower.
Gold candlesticks from Queen Alysanne's time, finely embroidered tablecloths with silk threads from Yi Ti, and one of the greatest bounties of fresh spring fruits and vegetables from all over the Reach. Strings of blown glass balls with lit oils within them glowed over their table, while ropes of ivory wisteria on dark green vines drooped down to kiss at the cornucopia of grapes and spring cherries. Musicians and singers had been stationed in the corner to fill their dinner with noise, their harps and lyres sending their notes dancing through the hall.
Though, Otto thought as his gaze became far more trained on the entrance of his princess, each display of finery his brother had brought to impress had all paled in comparison to Aella Targaryen as she entered into the dining hall - ten minutes late, as she usually was.
Her hair was worn in loose waves, intimate and smelling of jasmine and ginger. Her lilac eyes were subdued and calm, and her presence was as it should be - confident, pleased and mischievous. The ivory silks she wore danced around her ankles as she stepped to Viserys where he sat at the head of the table, taking a moment to kiss him on his freshly shaved cheek before taking her seat.
Otto had re-arranged the seating before his brother could complain. He'd switched his princess' seat with his brother's wife, Lynesse's, so that Aella would instead be seated directly across from him. None had appeared to notice that this was changed - none, that is, except for Queen Aemma, who'd looked at him from the corner of her eye when the princess had lowered herself into the walnut chair.
"As you've all arrived at a later hour, we've prepared a days long feast for you all tomorrow, after morning prayers. That is when dear Gwayne will be arriving from the Citadel." Lynesse explained as the lights were lowered and she clasped her hands together over her empty plate, signalling the desire to bless the meal.
Aella looked at him over the glowing candles. Her lilac eyes were half lowered and mocking, the corner of her lips were curled in a smirk and her ivory skin kissed by the flickering candlelight made any image of the maiden pale in comparison. How could any worship a piece of stone as a goddess when the one in front of him, crafted from fire and a rider of an ancient beast tied to her by blood, was sat in front of him? And... with her foot traveling up to rub against his calf, no less? There was no prince, prophet nor priest as blessed as he was, to be the object of her desire.
Even if it was at such a damnably horrid time of her to choose.
Otto clasped his hands in front of him and pointedly shut his eyes for prayer, attempting to ignore the small, wandering stocking covered foot that was currently exploring the inside of his thigh.
Devilish thing. Even now, during the lengthy prayer to each of the Seven, seated with their families within his ancestral home, Aella could not help herself - he didn't know why her lack of respect surprised him. Perhaps it was simply because she was always so keen on surprising him regardless.
" - and blessed be the Stranger, who upon our final sleep, should carry us peacefully from our beds, and bring our new beginnings." Lynesse finished, finally breaking the trance and beginning the dinner properly.
To his relief (and disappointment) his lovers foot retreated just as supper was placed on the table, though Otto knew better than to believe her mischief was done with.
Supper was served. Through the soup course, a thin, green soup full of herbs, Aella hummed.
She was not a very musical girl and currently her humming was of a higher tone than her usual register.
Otto mistrusted it immediately.
When the salad course was laid out, with frilly lettuce, cuts of white cherries and crumbled with goat cheese, the princess sighed with satisfaction, in a way he'd heard most frequently when he was deep inside of her. He was convinced every person at that table could hear it as keenly as he could, until he'd darted his eyes at the other dinner guests.
But none of them were paying any attention - only he was as focused on Aella enough that every little noise she made drew his gaze.
The wine, she savored.
The piecrust, she sucked the crumbs off her fingers.
It was to his relief that Aella was finally drawn into conversation with the King, so that he could finally begin tasting the food he'd been silently eating. He'd relaxed, marginally, to sip from his wine goblet. He'd barely managed to taste the hint of raspberry in the Highgarden blush before the sensation of a foot pressed between his thighs, sending the wine splashing into his mashed potatoes.
And the look she gave him. Openly instigating, openly daring and deadly. What man could survive her? What man could resist her? From the long curls of her lowered lashes over such otherworldly pale purple eyes, and the risen smirk on her coy lips. It was a look that said so clearly, 'Too much heat, my Lord?' All the while her foot ran up and down his leg.
If he were a weaker man, he would've stood from that very table, grabbed her by her loose hair and thrown her over the table and mounted her for the whole table to see.
"Am I to understand that I'll be calling you niece sometime soon, Princess?" Hobert's voice broke through his increasingly more dangerous thoughts, drawing attention to himself as he addressed Aella. The question made Otto itch, and he wiped his hands clean of the wine that he'd spilled to distract himself.
The princess looked unperturbed at the question, despite it all. Her narrow shoulders shrugged, and with an elegant hand, she reached up and pushed back her silky white blonde hair as she responded coolly, "I'm sorry to inform you that you're rather off-base my Lord. I've made no such acceptance to any man's proposal for me now. Nor will I."
"What do you mean, aunt?" Rhaenyra questioned from across the table, a look of intrigue in her eyes.
This was Otto's own instruction - to deny any proposal from his son. But to any man? This was new, this was not discussed. But Viserys was not scolding her, not instructing her otherwise. The Hand looked between King and Princess, and was shocked to find calm acceptance in the Lord of all Seven Kingdoms.
Viserys had agreed to allow her to be unmarried? No - an unmarried woman, a Targaryen, a dragonrider, was a person so valuable that letting her live unmarried would've been a waste. And yet somehow, it was the truth that her brother agreed to.
"Hatchling, have you not heard yet?" Aella asked, glancing back to Viserys, who did not look surprised but also did not seem like he wished her to speak on it. To his own surprise however, she obeyed the silent command of her brother. "The next Targaryen wedding shall be yours, my love. You'll just need to pick from the noble houses, then we'll have them duel, and then - "
The little princess took a roll of bread from her plate and threw it across the table at Aella, which missed her, instead knocking over a pitcher of water.
"No throwing food, girls!" Viserys said, though it was hardly a proper order, as he was still grinning as he scolded them.
They each didn't seem all that bothered by the scolding either - even Alicent, urged on by both Targaryen princesses, giggled into her hands at their silliness, which pleased his princess as she immediately began encouraging his daughter to join in ruining supper.
Otto hadn't seen Alicent smile so much since Alerie's passing.
She would make a fine mother.
When dinner was finished, tail-ended by a fine blood orange cake with a thick layer of icing sugar, his lover spoke up again, as innocent and soft as a maiden.
"Lady Hightower," Aella began. "Might you tell me how to enter the Sept from here? I'd like to make a few prayers before I rest for the night."
Lynesse had beamed with smug satisfaction, as if it was from her blessing over dinner that had turned the dragon princesses' foreign and strange ways, and immediately done so, explaining the exact directions on how to find the Sept below them. From the gilded window of the Warrior, turn left. At the right of the basin of blessed oils, enter the double doors.
They were fine directions - and Otto followed them some twenty minutes after they all disbanded, a future for himself, lovelier than any he had ever once hoped for, on his mind.
/~/
Aella never prayed, but the act of getting on her knees before the pillars of the Seven was arousing enough to keep her in place, lighting the little fires of the many candles.
The Sept here was different than Kings Landing's. There, a large circle of stone stood in the center of the room, where all of the statues looked on. Here, there was a large marble slab in front of the chosen facet, with it's own prayer candles. She chose the Father, a man with a neater beard and who held in his hands not a sword as the Warrior did, but a set of measuring scales. The inscription on his pillar read, 'The Father, he who divines justice and beholds his protection over all of his children.'
She knelt before it, placing her knees down on the marble below - only to pause. Aella reached her hand beneath her skirts, rubbing her fingers against the stone floor, feeling it. It was like someone had scattered rice there, embedded in the rock. Made purposely rough so that whoever sat to kneel did not do so without punishment. Hightowers.
It took a lot to not to allow her hand to wander up to her aching core between her legs at the rough sensation below her knees. She'd wait, she though with heady impatience, instead reaching forward and plucking a long piece of yew from the altar. She lit the end with one of the candles, and set a new wick aflame. It's hiss was the only sound in the whole of the Sept.
Until the sound of boots stepped over the marble.
Aella clasped her hands tighter in front of her, shutting her eyes as she listened to the steps come closer. Step, step, step. Closer every time.
Still, she 'prayed.'
Until the steps ceased, inches from her kneeling body.
"Why the Father?" Otto asked her, low.
"I like his beard." Aella said simply.
She could feel then the sensation of his leather boots against her silken skirts. He'd stepped over her kneeling form, his legs on either side of hers. The Hand's neat fingers then touched the back of her neck, drawing along the slope of her throat and then down to her narrow shoulders.
"Do you even know your prayers, princess?" His words were heady.
"Not even one."
At her rather pleased proclamation, Otto pinched the back of her neck hard, as if she was a kitten rather than a dragon. The pain was sharp and exciting, forcing a gasp from her lips as the Lord held nothing back as he punished her for her cheek.
"I know a better prayer than to the Seven, Otto," Aella said then, resisting the urge to put her hand beneath her skirts. Her cunt was hot and weeping, pushing her to touch herself - but she couldn't yet, she wanted this first.
The Hand's hand grasped at the front of her neck, his thumb stroking her softly. His hand was warm and just tight enough that if she swallowed, he could feel the muscles in her throat move. If he tightened his grip, he could steal her breath away.
"And what prayer is this?" He asked darkly.
The princess twisted away from the statue of one Father to another, casting her lilac eyes up at him slowly, hungrily, devouring all she saw.
The Lord Hand was somehow more delicious looking after this trip through the countryside and to the castle where he was sired. He was tall, so much taller than she was, towering over her even when she stood on her highest of tiptoes. His legs were long and sturdy, his waist narrow and his shoulders were broad and stronger than someone could expect of a politicking Hightower. And, she thought as she leaned herself forward to rest her chin on the top of his thigh, after a whole evening spent being forced to look his chinless brother in the face, he was looking all the more good-looking to her.
His beard was now neat and now far more nicely tidied by his barber. His hair was longer and formed loose curls that he'd swept back out of his face. Once, Otto had looked so plain to her. With a boring nose, boring eyes, boring face, which only served to become interesting when she successfully pushed him into outrage. Now, his dark oak-colored eyes were intense and sweltering, his features even and distinguished.
Aella lowered her eyes, soft as a sweet kitten, and reached for the laces on his breeches, pulling the ties loose in a purposely sloppy manner.
The Hand's breath hitched as he watched her pet his cock through the fabric, his dark eyes becoming touched with desire and something softer. The same look he'd given her when she'd woken in his arms in Cider Hall. The same he'd given her when she'd woven poppies in his little daughter's hair.
The dragon princess pulled his cock from the breeches, it's long, familiar heat welcoming in her palm.
"This is no prayer." Otto breathed to her, yet not stopping her. His hands ghosted over her hair, only the tips of his fingers moving along her loose white-blonde waves, as if by touching her it would break some spell between them. Some magicks, from her blood or his fire, existed in their air, between the connection of lilac and oak brown. Magicks that would dissipate the moment another looked upon them, as delicate as spun glass.
"Not to you," Aella countered, stroking him until the dark pink tip of his cock was weeping. "I have a more intimate relationship with prayer than you do." It was tempting like this, long and thick and as smooth as the silks she was draped in. She didn't typically enjoy a cock in her mouth - it was usually too much work and she was far too impatient to have to focus on not choking while sucking and bobbing her head all the while receiving no pleasure of her own.
But here, in a Sept, with his seven carved marble gods watching them?
She couldn't help herself.
"Fuck..." Otto groaned when she finally drew the tip of his cock into her mouth. The pale bead there was salty and unpleasant, but she liked the sound of him, so she rocked herself up further onto her knees, gripping his leg as leverage so she could take more of him in her throat. This served to cause an deep moan to emit from the Hand, who already looked overwhelmed and oh so hungry.
How could she not keep going when he was looking like this?
Aella swallowed back when her lips wrapped around the base of his cock, the heaviness of his cock in her throat making her want to wince. She began bobbing her head, her hair falling in the way of her face as she began rocking herself up and down on her knees, the coarse sensation of the pebbled marble beneath her causing a whimper to escape from her.
Finally, Otto touched her at the sound - his neat hands darted to her loose hair, gathering up her ivory curls until it was all in his fists, out of the way of her face, clearly misunderstanding the noise.
She gripped at his legs tighter, grunting as she began moving faster. Her legs were starting to tire from the way she was moving and tears were beginning to bead up in her eyes.
It was no use though, he didn't taste like he was close to coming. But Aella couldn't wait that long, she was too wet and aching to wait. She delved her hand from his leg to her cunt, shoving her silks out of the way so she could swipe desperately at her soaking folds. Pleasure twisted at her, need demanding more and more, but her hand wouldn't be enough at this rate.
And then suddenly the hands in her hair became as punishing as steel - before she began getting fucked.
All bobbing of her head and sucking of his cock was ceased immediately as her lover took her every action from her. His grip was tight on her hair, and his other hand reached for the side of her face, so she couldn't back away while he began thrusting himself hard and fast down her throat. Otto took no care for her comfort, her squirming. He just fucked her, letting her go limp, just weakly hold herself to his long legs as he drove himself harder and harder into her face. Past him, she could see the stained glass of the Sept, glowing from the thousand low-burning candles at each of the seven altars in the room. Over Otto's shoulder was the Mother, big with child and with a welcome, forgiving expression carved into her lovely features.
And a daze entered her mind, airy and dreamy and wanting.
Aella smashed her hand against the back of Otto's thigh, just when she knew he was getting so close to finishing down her throat, his hips stuttering. He stopped and cursed at the strike, but he had no time to protest or punish her before she'd pushed him down onto the floor of the Sept, desperately moving over him.
"Finish inside me!" She demanded hurriedly, scrambling onto his lap with an urgency that transcended out into the room. If the moths or ants that lived in the Sept were watching, they were surely as transfixed as Otto's Andal gods were around them. "Finish inside me, Otto, if you don't - "
The Hand grabbed onto her waist and thrust hard inside of her, his face strained as he attempted to fuck her properly. But he couldn't last long, not when he'd been so thoroughly debauching her throat the way he had been. He filled her quickly, his fingers digging into her hips as he drove up into her, his own cum dripping out of her and back onto his pelvis as he tried to make her peak with him, but to no avail.
"Let me," he said hoarsely, pulling at her skirts and twisting her until she was on her back. The stone was warm beneath her body. Welcoming. Like the stone of a sacrificial altar, where she was the one awaiting judgement.
On her back, she was now able to see the stone face of the Father over Otto, while the Mother looked down upon them from behind herself.
Fingers probed her full cunt, beginning to fuck her back to the precipice she'd been toying and dancing with for the entirety of her womanhood.
She kissed him as she peaked, soaking over his neat hands, ruining her skirts and soaking into the sacrificial slab of marble that sat underneath their entangled bodies. His seed had soaked it with her. The ivory silk, as light and fine as a maidens cloak, was sullied forever. Filthy.
And Aella Targaryen wouldn't have allowed it any other way.
