Dreams, Dragons, and Deceit || Aemond & Aegon Targaryen

Pillowtalk

"Get out, Visaera. If you enter my chambers without invitation, you will find yourself back in the black cells, do you understand me?" There was no bluff in Aegon's eyes and the princess backed away, nodding. Out in the corridor, Visaera walked blindly, guilt weighing heavy on her heart. Every time she found herself alone in the Red Keep, she felt like she had as a child, weak, lonely, melancholy; this time was no different.

Ser Arryk followed her all the way out to the Godswood, where she knelt in front of the tree, recalling a time when her visions were the worst thing about her life. Now, she was worrying about which one of her family members were going to die next, all over an iron chair and seven kingdoms that couldn't care less about who ruled them, so long as their own interests were seen to.

Her arm was beginning to bother her, but she remained kneeling, staring up at the crimson leaves of the Weirwood tree and wondering how the gods, were they real, could ever be so cruel. Eventually, the pain in her arm became too much to bear and she returned to her rooms, feeling weary.

"Where were you?" Aemond demanded, rising from his chair the moment she stepped into the room. He took one look at her teary-eyed expression and sighed. "Aegon?" Visaera merely nodded, kicking her slippers off and turning so he could release the clasp of her dress.

The moment the dress slipped from her shoulders, Aemond inhaled sharply and traced a finger down her spine.

"Aemond, don't..." she breathed, shaking her head. Her mind and body were in no condition to be intimate with anyone.

"Vis," he murmured, pressing his chest to her back; looping his hands around her waist and kissing the side of her neck. "It's been so long..." She shivered at his touch. "Marry me, Visaera," he whispered in her ear. Whipping around, Visaera gaped at him.

"How can you even ask that after everything that's happened?"

"I think it's the best idea we have, now more than ever," Aemond replied. "Once you're my wife, Mother and Grandfather won't dare to touch you. Your family will have to come back into the fold."

"Or," she offered, "You can convince Aegon to abdicate and my family will come back into the fold, regardless. The throne belongs to my mother, Aemond. That fact has not changed. Eventually, my family will come for me."

"I will speak to the King," he answered softly, pushing her hair back off her shoulder. "I promised to keep you safe, I intend to keep that promise. Until my last breath, remember?" He held up his palm and Visaera grimaced.

"I don't think mine matches anymore..." she said, holding up her bandaged hand. Aemond chuckled.

"You're a Targaryen, a dragonrider, Visaera. I think it would be strange if you didn't bear a few scars." Visaera stared up at him and ran her fingers over the scar on his face.

"Yes, I suppose we all have some now, don't we?" she asked, thinking about how Baela, Aegon and Helaena all carried wounds from the war. Visaera was still standing naked in front of him and, when his eye wandered downward her breath hitched in her throat.

"I don't care about who you've killed or what you've done, Visaera. I want you; I've always wanted you." Aemond closed the short distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, enjoying the way she sighed into his mouth. Scooping her up around her thighs, Aemond carried her back to the bed and deposited her gently on the mattress.

"Marry me, Vis," he asked again, unbuttoning his tunic and tossing it onto the floor. Watching Aemond undress, his eye trained heatedly on her, made Visaera's pulse quicken.

"Perhaps," she finally relented, "when the war is over..." When Aemond had removed his boots, he crawled into bed with her, pulling the sheets up and handing her another vial of milk of the poppy.