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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Eighteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: All my love and many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend for being my cheerleader, for taking my face in her hands and telling me that I word good, and that the story I'm telling is one that's valid. We all need a cheerleader like her.

EXPLICIT CONTENT

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - She'll Still Be Mine

Aegon distracts himself from his woes with some physical healing, weird talks with both his dads, and a night out with his best friend.

Emotions were a tempest inside Aegon Targaryen as riotous as the churning waters of Blackwater Bay. He slammed the heavy bedroom door behind him, the fury of it shaking the candles in their holders on the small table inside the door. Sunfyre was a growling, heated presence inside the cage of his ribs, pulsing in time with each beat of his heart. How he craved for fang and claw so all would feel his fury.

Too hot. His skin felt too hot, too tight, too much.

Aegon tore at the buckles of his doublet, peeling off the rich, green brocade and tossing it aside. It did little to assuage his feelings. Sick curled in his gut; an impotence he could do nothing about. He yanked at the ties at the throat of his linen shirt and his eyes landed upon the bottles on the table, where they’d been residing for the past few weeks.

‘Mother wishes you to dry out’, his siblings had said the night after him and Aemond had been dragged back to the keep, the betrothal announcement and his brother’s words swirling around his head. No more wine, no ale, no beer. Only ciders, or the watered wine they’d break their fasts with.

What good did that do him now, when nothing was at the ready to distract him anymore? Besides, it would be a shame for all these nameday gifts to go to waste.

Aegon cocked his head as he approached, swiping up the first bottle. He ran his thumb along the waxed cork, the familiar Arbor seal pressed on top. Thunder rumbled outside as Aegon worked his dagger along the seal with practiced ease, bits of wax falling to the floor like petals as he leaned against the window pane. The cool air that accompanied the end of the harvest season felt good on his heated skin, the spray of rain just outside a balm even if it was not quite what he needed.

What kind of man was he who could not protect who he loved the most? Over a moon had passed since his nameday, since Abby’s horrible scream ripped through the night. All Larys Strong had found in his investigation was that the bastard had worked in the kitchens for the past year. No family, a “quiet fellow”, with a few dalliances with the serving maids.

Nothing.

What cold comfort it was to his hunītsos, who could not sleep alone and had taken to his sister’s bed or pulled Wylla into her own. Few nights she’d even crept into his bed, mouth wet against his throat as he distracted her from her nightmares and fear, to replace everything with the thought of him and only him. How he could lose himself in her, the scent of the heady, dark rose and currant soap that clung to her skin, to forget about his lacking when she mewled his name, rutting against his cock separated only by her small clothes, his teeth worrying at the bite he’d left on her shoulder back in the tent, refusing to let it fade. How easy it was to be there, with her, than some stinking brothel with bought comfort.

Aegon gasped for air as the red dribbled over his mouth and down his chin, staining his shirt. Without thinking, he’d taken several pulls from the bottle. It was perfectly dry as it snaked down his throat, a familiar feeling of relief, and the taste of plum and cherry far more enticing than the ciders he’d been restricted to. He watched from behind the silver hair that fell into his eyes as lightning illuminated King’s Landing before a crack of thunder boomed, loud enough to startle him even though he’d been prepared for it.

Dragging the back of his sleeve over his mouth, he leaned against the ledge and shut his eyes, letting the storm mist across his face - the wind blowing north and thus, his room had avoided getting soaked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Theraxis' great, gray bulk come slinking out from behind the wardrobe, watching him with large yellow eyes as he promptly flopped over onto his side and turned, looking at him upside down.

“The lords tell me should I need anything, I have only to call upon them,” he told the cat, putting to voice what he’d held inside him these weeks. “So ready they are to give me my sister’s birthright, I do not even have to ask them for it.” He shook his head, another pull to ease the rumbling ache. “What kind of man do they take me for?” Theraxis had the courtesy to blink at him, pawing at the air and he snorted softly.

“They take you for potential.” Aegon startled at the unexpected voice. Theraxis let out a pleased meow and scampered up, prancing on deceptively light paws towards his mistress. She was lovely in the firelight, the glow of it catching along the edges of her hair, her long braid slung over one shoulder. Gone were the light silks and fluttering linen of the warm months. She was clad in a dressing gown of cream, embroidered with vines and flowers, the sleeves slashed from her elbows, the lavender lining reminding him of the flowers she had in her room the other day. “Oh, hello my darling,” she cooed, dropping to her knees to greet her cat - the animal the size of a hunting hound, seemingly larger as he tried to crawl into her lap while she laughed. The gown she wore was a deep v at her neck, and he could see the ties and lace of her nightdress beneath.

Her delicate fingers scratched around Theraxis’ ears as he pressed his cheek against hers and finally, her eyes met his. “We haven’t talked about it. Is that why you were so upset just now?”

Aegon took another pull from the bottle and went to the table to grab one of the goblets resting there. “Your brother has no more news,” he said, not hiding the truth from her, but guilt spurred him to take another drink. Abby’s lack of response indicated she had either already been told or was not surprised. Or a dozen other things involving how she didn’t indulge in her far more unpleasant emotions.

She pressed several kisses to the top of the cat’s head before he padded to the door and she followed to let him out, shutting and locking it behind her. He said nothing, giving her time as she rested her head against the wood to gather herself and splashed wine into a goblet like a good betrothed. It was easier to make sure he didn’t drink all of it without letting her share, and surely some wine would loosen her anxieties, if not her tongue.

There were times he wondered if she would ever trust him with all the things she left unsaid - if she would ever trust anyone with them.

Aegon approached, boots thumping softly on the rich rug. She turned at the sound of his approach, watching him as he took a sip from the goblet before holding it up to her lips for her to have a taste, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “He has no news. Cole and the whole fucking Kingsguard and the City Watch captain have found nothing.” Abby’s hand wrapped around the goblet to take another sip, and she looked so fragile, half in shadow with her back against the door, that he wanted to scream, to throw the bottle and demand the heads of the watch who were meant to be guarding the camp.

He took another swig from the bottle instead, drifting further into the room so she could not see his anger. Futile, he knew, but he’d not have her fear him, not when he was like this. Not when he feared himself.

“You wondered what kind of man the lords took you for,” she finally said and he knew a subject change when he heard it. Aegon scoffed and Abby tutted. “I said they see potential for someone to curry favor with. Your sister may be your father’s heir, Jeyne Arryn rules over the Eyrie, but your sister’s rule puts in doubt their own holdings. Should their sisters and their sister’s children then come before them, or the eldest daughter who married the heir to another keep? Not to mention a woman? Sitting the Iron Throne? Ruling over them when they would not even let their own wives do so?”

“It’s an ugly fucking chair,” Aegon complained.

“So you would not mind your wife ruling you?” was her teasing reply. Warmth spread through his belly - whether from Abby’s words of ruling him and the images that conjured to mind, or the reassurance she was not going to press him to ‘at least think about it’.

“I would not mind, for my wife is far cleverer than I.” The words were easy, calling her wife, that it nearly caught him off guard. Abby paused, teeth scraping over the pout of her lower lip, stained dark with the wine. He took the goblet from her to take another drink. “I do mind that they think me willing to steal my sister’s birthright - something made abundantly fucking clear that is not, and never will, be mine as long as our father lives. If her marrying Daemon did not cause it among-” He caught himself and shook his head. “Nothing will knock her from that pedestal. I mislike them thinking me such a monster.” It did not matter if he and Rhaenyra were close. They were far from it, and the war of jealousy, of anger and frustration towards her, did not mean he would take the throne from her in retribution, first born son or not.

Setting the bottle down on the low table before the fire, he lifted his arms, pushing up on his toes until his spine and shoulders popped deliciously. He groaned, tucking his hand beneath his shirt to scratch his belly and growled as he felt a cool hand join his, nails slightly sharper scratching against his skin and the fine hairs running along his skin, vanishing beneath his waistband.

“Decided to pet me instead?” he groaned happily, nuzzling his nose against the crown of her head and inhaling the bright scent of her hair. The distraction she provided was a good one and he let out a snort of laughter when she pushed him back onto the couch.

“You are most certainly not a monster, nor as awful as they try to paint you with such ambitions,” she said fiercely, immediately, and he held onto her defensive words and reassurance, let them be a balm to his wounded soul and the space where Sunfyre purred, content with the sweet and fierce words.

Aegon let his head fall back on the back of the couch and enjoyed the way she looked above him. Her face was slightly flushed from the wine, mouth stained red as a rosebud, small and plump and begging to be kissed. She was covered up in her dressing gown, no erotic enticement that he was used to seeing and yet she stirred his blood and his arousal all the same. ‘Lovely’, he thought, reaching a hand up to tug on the end of her copper braid, demanding her closer.

“I would devour you,” he murmured, licking his own wine stained lips. He’d tasted her off his fingers, but had yet to truly indulge the way he wanted. To escape into her was all he wanted, better than the wine that coursed through his veins. This was the vice he wished to indulge in, to lose himself in, and all the better with his Abrogail, his love.

Abby raised her eyebrows at him and pressed her hand to his knees to make room before lowering herself before him. His mouth immediately went dry, his lilac eyes widening as he took in her adorably focused look. First, she went for one boot, tossing it away, then the other followed and he settled in to be taken care of. Fingers, delicate with a needle, needy and demanding when in his hair, perfect when tangled with his own, began to work on the lacing of his trousers. His cock twitched, half hard already from her touch, and the groan Aegon made when she touched him had his toes curling against the rug.

Her giggle was sweet, as everything about her was. It was by no means the first time she’d taken his cock in hand, fingers struggling to wrap around his girth in a way that made him see stars, that begged to see her stretched around him, whimpering and whining to take him. This was no different. She drew him out, moisture already gathering around the head and her thumb immediately swiped to spread it around, a gentle squeeze following.

“Missed you,” he murmured, wrapping her braid around his hand once and tugged her closer. Abby’s pupils were blown wide and the flush of her cheeks was deeper, and he knew she liked the gentle pulling of her hair. Aegon had been delighted to discover how much she liked it when he handled her in such a way. “Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Abby smiled, a shy look of a blushing maiden, before she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of him his mouth jealous with need of her. He jerked at her braid in surprise and she yelped, shock rather than pain and an apology fell from him. Her eyes narrowed at him, assessing.

“Did you like that?”

No longer soft. No longer guileless. No longer his little rabbit; this was his kēlītsos, the little lion batting about its prey. Her thumb was idly stroking the underside of his cock in the way that sent him to shivering, balls aching, and he nodded. He lifted his free hand to cradle the soft curve of her jaw, thumb pressing against her lower lip. His heart was thudding. He’d wanted this for so long, had dreamt of it, but hadn’t asked, unwilling when she was so new to all of this.

Her mouth opened more, and he looked at the sweet pink inside, and Aegon released a long, shuddering breath.

“Please,” he whispered.

Abby’s teeth nipped at his thumb and he let her go, shifting around to give her more room. His fingers danced over the little buttons holding her dressing gown closed, tugging idly at one. Aegon wanted to tug at her collar, take a peek at her breasts, but the angle denied what sight was his. Another snort of laughter escaped him when she reached up to his chest to push him back. He watched, enraptured, as she opened her mouth once more, resting the salty, warm tip of his cock on the pillow of her tongue and wrapped her pretty lips around him.

“Jaw soft,” he told her through his groan. “Do not force yourself to take more.” She wouldn’t be able to, and he did not want her to hurt herself or him. Just as her sweet words soothed his woes, her mouth soothed him as well.

Aegon let himself fall into the warm tingle of wine and arousal pumping through his veins, gaze heavy lidded as his Abrogail pleasured him. The vision she was to him had him aching and it took everything not to force himself further into her mouth the longer she continued, to use his grip on her braid to guide her down. He would be good for her. A good teacher. He felt her sigh and moan around him, and praise fell from his lips.

“That’s a good lass… you’re doing so well,” he reassured her, delight settling into the heated knot in his belly with each happy wiggle she made. Even as the pacing of her mouth left something to be desired, or the moment where he felt the tease of her teeth before she adjusted and left him wanting more of that sharpness that had his breath catching, he still could not imagine a more intense experience. What she lacked in experience and technique, she more than made up for in exuberance and the simple fact it was her on her knees for him. Cassandra Baratheon might have had a mouth that could take him down, but his precious girl wanted him.

He desired nothing more than to be truly wanted.

Her mouth popped off, strings of spittle clinging from his cock to her lips as she gasped for air, eyes wet with the tears that came from taking him, and he hushed her, reaching up to stroke her cheek and smiling as she nuzzled into his hand. His thumb stroked over her mouth, spreading spit and his own essence until her lips shone with it, glossy and inviting. “Easy now, you can use your hand for a bit.” She was good at that. Abby nodded, eager, and tugged at the waistband of his trousers.

“Up,” she ordered hoarsely, and he complied, helping her work them down and off so there was no barrier. Aegon reached behind his head to tug off his shirt and lifted a foot to rest on the table behind her, lazy and languid, balls tight and aching. A whine stuck in Abby’s throat, those depthless eyes looking up at him as she leaned down, tracing her tongue along his balls, her hand sliding down to cup them the way he’d taught her. Long licks, kisses, each different affection, had Aegon feeling as if he’d spill all over her and ruin her pretty gown. “You are being so good for me,” she told him when she lifted her head from him to smile up at him.

“I want to be good for you,” he swore with a frantic nod. “I will be, I promise. Please don’t stop.”

Abby had the gall to giggle at him. It was then that Aegon noticed that one of her hands disappeared and he realized that it had slid beneath the gap of her dressing down, her nightgown beneath bunched up. A fresh wave of heat washed through him at the idea of her own arousal so demanding from this that she needed to find relief.

Oh, his poor kēlītsos.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered, and he could hear the catch in her voice, just there when he knew her arousal was growing. Abby’s hand worked him, slick and perfect with that slight twist of her grip and he nodded.

“Please,” he begged again. “Clever girl, you’ve learned so fast, you can do it. I know you can.” He tugged on her braid again, hard enough for her to feel it, and it drew a moan from her, the arm that was tucked beneath her gown moving a little faster. “Open up, you’re almost there.” His words were catching with his anticipation as he fed her his cock once more and Abby took him with an eager whine that vibrated up from the base of his spine. His hips jerked towards her, unable to help himself, and she choked as more of himself forced inside but she didn’t stop, taking him with greedy, needy sounds. Then, her other hand joined and the sensation of her wet fingers stroking against his balls and the soft skin just behind had him seeing stars.

It was over nearly as soon as it had started and he was falling into his end like he was still a green boy, the pressure at the base of his spine imploding, pulling him farther and farther down until he was pushing her away, attempting and failing to warn her of what came next. Abby's eyes were wide, wet and blue and endless, as he came, her name choking off in an almost pathetic cry. She was not deterred, the first of his spend catching along her cheek before she was taking him in hand, continuing to stroke him as he caught along her chin and mouth, over her pretty dressing gown that he got to ruin after all.

Aegon did not care, his vision blurry, everything focused on the feel of her hand, the pleasure of his release, the way the milky white spend decorated her. There was a strange sense of waste in the back of his mind that he did not give more thought to but knew where it came from. That time would come soon enough.

He fell back against the couch, limbs soft and tingling, his own mouth wet, his skin heated in that satisfying, post-peak flush even more the better for it was Abby that brought it on, because she loved him. Gods, he loved her. He loved her so much he could not find all the words for it.

“I love you,” he panted, head lolling over to his shoulder as he gazed at her, fondness, affection, everything he could not put into words heavy in his tone.

“I love you too,” she returned, voice rough and weighted and just as sincere, meeting him in the place between them. Affection surged through him and Aegon tugged at her braid again before dropping it, hands reaching for her arms to draw her up his body, his eyes dark and heavy as her tongue swiped against the silkiness of him against her mouth. In a daze, he reached up to push more of it off her chin and into her mouth, and she noisily sucked the taste of him off his fingers.

Eager and adventurous, Abby was not some soft maiden, frightened of a romantic touch. Nay, Abby was an eager lover, excited to be with him, wanting to be with him. How many years had he spent chasing a peak that he could not name, throwing money at women, men sometimes, trying to find the piece that he craved. He was far more experienced than she would ever be, and how he desperately wanted to take her, to bury himself in the home of her body.

How easy it would be, and yet it was the knowledge that it was expected of him to 'ruin' her before their wedding that stopped him. To get her fat with his child, to take some kind of advantage of her, to only sate his own desire. The way the bitter bitch of a septa had grown horrified at their needy kisses in the gallery, to Aemond's angered remarks in the library, to Mother's hawk-sharp stare every time Aegon drew close, the reminders to Abby about 'virtue' in his mother's solar in the evenings. The idea that he was seen as some insatiable, lust filled creature who could not be trusted to control himself, raked hot against his insides. The way he was judged, and the way he knew she would be judged, left him feeling just as strange and raw as the assumptions that he coveted his sister's birthright.

To deny himself the full pleasures of his body allowed him to shake away his own past; to discover in the slow build up of all that brought her pleasure was a new experience and one that he would draw out - to deny himself the pleasure just as he denied her the full experience of him - to build up the anticipation was too enticing.

He kissed her then, the taste of wine, of her and him, making his belly burst into excited moths like the ones pinned to his sister’s collection boards. Abby was shivering and filled with tension as her own peak had not yet been realized, but she came into him eagerly, a needy thing in heat, and he would sate her as she had so kindly and sweetly done for him.

“You are a mess,” he chuckled, and Abby’s flushed skin burned deeper once more. He pondered for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and rising from the couch.

She squealed, a delighted sound, and clung to him as he took her to the bed and deposited her amidst the soft blankets. He braced his arms on either side of her, capturing her mouth for another kiss before he pulled away to get a clean cloth to wipe the rest of her face with. The water in the basin was cool, and he took his lady firmly by the chin to work on wiping her face. Even as Abby’s giggles filled the room, she remained pliant and well-behaved, teeth worrying on her lip as he cleaned her up.

“Ticklish, are we?” he teased her, fingers fiddling with the buttons on her dressing gown. There were only five of them. Five annoying little bastards kept him from her perfect breasts.

“How dare you tease me when I performed so well,” Abby replied with her nose tilted in the air haughtily, which bared her throat to him and the slick shine of spend clinging to her skin. He dove in, licking it up with the flat of his tongue, pushing her back onto the bed as he hovered over her, devouring her neck with exaggerated sounds as if he were Sunfyre feasting upon a carcass. She shrieked, giddy and squirming, his captured prey, and he growled and hummed against her throat and lost himself in the sound, in the scent of her. “Oh no! The dragon is going to eat me!” she cried, pushing at his shoulders as fiercely as she clung to him. He groaned, grinding his hips against her as he felt the bite of her nails in his skin, the edge of pain soothing amidst the pleasure.

The dragon was, indeed, about to feast.

He would be as good of a boy as she had called him and not tear the dressing gown. Aegon took his time to undo each of the fastenings, easing her out of the pretty fabric before tossing it blindly behind him.The nightgown beneath was simple - cream colored linen with pink ribbon laced through the neck, little ruffles along the ends of her sleeves. Nowhere near the near sheer gown he was used to seeing her in. There was something sweet in this, something that called to the dark thing in him that demanded he ruin, and he nuzzled between her breasts, tugging at the pink ribbon with his teeth to hear her laughter again. How much better to have wine in his blood and the sound of her in his ears to chase away all the dark thoughts that haunted the corners of his mind, chasing endlessly, predator to prey. Aegon’s teeth snatched at a nipple, peaked beneath the nightgown, the damp of his mouth soaking into the material.

Abby’s fingers dove into his hair, her other hand grasping desperately at his shoulder as she arched into him. There had been no sweeter experience than discovering all the ways she found pleasure, and Abby was deeply responsive. Not in the way the others had been - responding only to what he sought regardless of the pleasure, only for what he paid them for. Abby was a taut string, full of ticklish spots and places that made her whimper and writhe. Aegon wondered if he could make her peak from toying with her breasts alone - he’d heard for some that was possible, and he was curious if it would be the case for his love.

He kept her clothed, the need inside him thrashing against the restraint, wanting to devour her, to take her and make her his without question. Aegon’s mouth continued to focus on the ripe swell of her breasts while his hand reached down to tug her gown up over her thighs, reaching beneath the fabric to tug her smallclothes away, fingers working at the tie. She was a clever girl, reaching down and helping him remove them until he could touch her freely. Aegon sighed, long and low, vibrating at the feel of her silky and warm against his fingers. A final nip at her breast and he slid down the bed between her thighs. Aegon laughed as they spasmed, and Abby tried to close them around his head.

“Let me,” he coaxed her and she squealed, softly, wriggling against the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice hushed, and he pressed her thighs apart, Abby letting them fall as he hooked a trembling thigh over his shoulder.

“Kissing you.” Aegon stroked her thigh soothingly and nipped along the soft skin of her thigh. She jerked beneath him with a needy whimper and her fingers found themselves in his hair once more. With a content sigh, Aegon leaned forward to stroke the flat of his tongue softly along the seam of her, the taste of salty and sweet bursting on his tongue. Abby gave a choked cry before it turned muffled and he lifted his head to see her shoving her nightgown over her mouth to muffle the sound. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the warmth of her, humming so she could feel it and how she squirmed and wriggled at the sensation. Aegon wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t muffle her sounds - he desperately wanted to hear her, every sound, every sigh, to hear his Abrogail whimper and beg for him.

Though he knew how loud Abby could be and the last thing he needed was his mother finding out about this.

Aegon kissed his way back down, avoiding the place where she ached the most and tending to the rest of her. Spreading her with his fingers that knew her so intimately, and allowing his tongue to do the work, kissing her here as well as he kissed her ripe mouth. Seven help him, all he wanted to do was feast upon her with abandon, to hold her down as he brought wave after wave of pleasure over her. Not now though, not yet when he’d never touched her like this, and there were so many new things to learn about her, and what brought her the pleasure she so deserved.

It was so simple to fall into it, the enjoyment in the tasting of her, his hands stroking along her thighs, along the tender flesh behind her knees, reaching up to stroke her belly and feel her desperate hand grab his, clinging to him as she rolled her hips into his touch with a growing insistence. When he wrapped his mouth around the tender bud, another sound ripped through her, back arching, sound muffled behind her attempts at quiet. Her fingers pulled in his hair and he felt it shoot straight through his cock, feeling the stirrings of his arousal come back. He growled softly, nipping along her thigh near the crease, the little mole there a hidden thing only for him. Teeth nipped harder, curiously, and Abby cried out again, fingers pulling at his hair and something dark and molten stirred in his chest. The need to bite her, to break her tender skin, leave a scar of his teeth there for him to admire, for her to touch when she needed him, coursed through him, the needy, feral thing inside of him demanding it. It could match the mark he’d been deepening along her shoulder, that filled him with a heated possessiveness every time he touched or saw the evidence of his claim.

Not yet. He couldn’t yet, not here, not now. But he could leave a bruise, mouth worrying at the soft skin of her left thigh as he left numerous marks along her collarbones, places she could hide and cover. When they were free at Harrenhal, he would not let her hide them. Let them see how much he loved her, how much he craved her.

How Abrogail belonged to him.

Aegon picked up his pace as her hips grew insistent, her fingers tugging harder on his hair, wordless mumbles and whimpers peppered with her gasping, “Please,” and “Aegon,” and even something whispered in her mother tongue, the words giving her a twist and lilt to her tone, “Mo realta geal.” It took only two swipes of his tongue over her clit to have her crying out, slick gathering along her folds, her body trembling at the newness of the sensations, and the familiarity of the peak he gave her. He moved back to press kisses along her thighs and up to press more of them along the clenching muscles of her belly.

“I’m not done yet,” he told her, watching in delight as she managed to prop herself onto her elbows, face flushed and her beautiful eyes heavy lidded. Before she could say anything, his tongue swiped at the fresh rush of arousal once more, insistent this time, the pressure increasing from his more exploratory efforts earlier.

He let the need take over, the touch of his teeth nipping at her skin, the way the tip of his tongue danced Valyrian letters over her to find which motions drew her desperate and frantic. After her second peak, Aegon pressed two fingers inside of her, giving her the sensation that he knew she instinctually craved by the way her moan was full of relief, and the shocked cry as he carefully pressed a third inside of her. His mouth and chin shone with the evidence of her, his other arm banding over her stomach to keep her frantic hips steady as he feasted on her, his thank you for her eager display at pleasuring him from earlier. After the third wave crested, Aegon withdrew to press his wet mouth against her belly, working his way up to settle further between her thighs, cock aching as his arousal returned. When he brushed against her, he whimpered, and beneath him, Abby’s hips rolled up trying to catch him. He knew that motion, the way she angled her hips, the way her eyes, blue and wet and blown black, gazed up at him.

“Aegon-”

He cradled her jaw with damp fingers, his eyes focused on hers, the little freckles sprinkled along her nose and cheeks. A harsh swallow, his throat bobbing, and he let her rock her hips up against his, feeling the slick warmth of her body against him, knowing that after her peaks, she’d be ready for him. It would take little to settle himself and bury his cock inside her sweet cunt.

Their breaths came out in tandem. Heavy gasping filled the air as he lowered his head to press his forehead to hers, noses touching, breathing in each other’s exhales. While he cradled her jaw, Abby reached down between them to wrap her fingers around him, guiding the tip of him along her folds.

“Careful,” he warned her, thumb pressing lightly against the pretty, fluttering pulse in her throat.

“I will,” Abby whispered, voice little and delicate, a mewl as her eyes fluttered, his cock rubbing along the seam of her, bumping along the apex of her. “I need you… I hate waiting…”

He kissed her softly, the arm he was propped up on shaking. “I know, hunītsos… soon. We won’t leave our bed for days, I swear,” Aegon promised her. “I’ll tie you to it, have my way with you. Hells, you can tie me down and have your way, darling.”

“And I’ll say thank you,” she gasped and he could feel the clenching over her body, the fluttering of her cunt against his cock as she peaked again, a little ripple compared to the waves from before but all the same. “As I thank everything I ride.”

It wasn’t more than a moment before he spilled over her for the second time, his spend dripping across her cunt and slipping across the back of her hand. Their moans were soft, muffled as she swiped her tongue in his mouth, and he gave himself over to her, settling into the softness of her body.

Soon.

Soon she would be his, forever.

The double doors to the king’s apartments had intimidated Aegon since he was a boy.

That was their purpose, after all - to be intimidating and guard the sanctum of the monarch. Aegon wondered if his namesake had wanted such doors, or if this was from the menace that Maegor had sought to employ. Were they modeled on the lord’s chambers on Dragonstone? He’d only been to the island a handful of times and had never made it towards those sacred apartments that his elder sister now kept. The ironwood imported from the North was dark and gleaming, the intricate carvings of snarling dragons flying through the knots and whorls of the deeply polished wood. The handles themselves were cast iron, the sinewy body reminding him of Sunfyre’s sleek frame, wings splayed out to press against the door.

Sers Lorent Marbrand and Steffon Darklyn flanked the entrance, the elder Ser Lorent looking at him with his hand raised to open the doors for him but had paused at whatever look was on Aegon’s face. The man was not much older than Ser Criston, his auburn hair gleaming a shade of molten gold in the shaft of afternoon light.

If his father was dead behind that door, would the men standing here bend the knee to him, swear fealty to the king’s first born son? Or would they flee to Dragonstone to throw themselves at Rhaenyra’s feet? Would the blood of he and his brothers still coat their blade?

‘You are the challenge, Aegon. Should Rhaenyra take the throne, your life may be forfeit.’

Would it really? If he didn’t matter to this man?

‘But you do matter,’ a little voice stroked at his thoughts. ‘Near a full moon’s turn, this castle was filled with the expectation that you would be named heir. Finally acknowledged. The rights as first born son finally, finally extended to you. Finally, Sire would have to acknowledge that he beget you, could no longer ignore and wish you were a dead child born to a dead woman.’

The people had cheered for him. They had called for him.

Would being king make that worth it?

Aegon tugged at his left cuff, tucking his fingers inside where the favor was wrapped comfortingly around his wrist over where she had scratched him all those weeks ago. Warmth flooded through his veins, and the knots in his chest eased, and the scent of her rose and currant perfume oil danced through his memory.

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered; the king did not matter, not anymore. For once, Aegon found himself relieved to greet the day, one step closer to escaping this city and leaving the machinations and the ghosts behind. The future was no longer a dim, necrotic thing, a looming noose waiting for him to climb the gallows. His mother and the Tower’s ambitions, once smothering and all consuming, now felt like something he could finally escape. He had dreamed for years of fleeing across the Narrow Sea to the pleasure houses of Lys, or the once secret city of Braavos, and to know that the Riverlands held such an escape for him, away from the legacy of his forebears and into the life of a country lord, allowed him to finally breathe.

Ser Lorent opened the door and announced his presence. “Prince Aegon, Your Grace.”

It took everything in him to not wrinkle his nose at the medicinal scent that clung to the cloying drifts of incense as he stepped into the room, the great door shutting behind him with enough of a thud that he fought not to flinch. It reverberated through his bones, and Aegon had the mad thought that it was the stone door of a tomb, trapping him inside with the shambling corpse of his sire.

Whatever new concoction Maester Orwyle had been giving him appeared to have staved off the rapid decline he’d been experiencing beneath Mellos’ care. The rot had eased somewhat, and the king’s mind was clearer. He sat beside his table, a great book before him making notes about a new expansion, no doubt. Aegon approached quietly as his father did not acknowledge him right away, and for the first time in some years, he took stock of the Freehold.

The scent of stone dust in the air struck another memory. This was one where he was smaller, mother preoccupied with Daeron’s first steps. He’d slipped in behind Lord Lyonel to lay on the cool stone beneath the table. His father had found him later, surprised, before Aegon had explained that he was too hot and the ailing king got down on the floor and lay beside him. He’d been so surprised that his sire had joined him that he froze, uncertain as to what to say. The king had filled the silence, speaking of how dragon’s blood runs hot in their veins through the bond they have with their mounts. He’d spoken of the theories of the magic that created the dragons, that made them, the Valyrians, different from mortal men so they might ride in the skies.

His breath caught in his throat as his sire patted his hand.

“You’re a good boy, Aegon.”

“Thank you, father.”

The Freehold had expanded further, nearly pressed up against the balcony doors if not for the slight gap behind it for one to get through to open the doors. His father’s quill scratched across the paper, fully occupied with whatever thought he was absorbed in. Aegon’s eyes rove over the buildings, and settled on the great dragon carving perched upon a platform on one of the buildings. The wings were broad things, beginning to spread open, its thick neck arched, its head a rough shape that reminded him of Vhagar. If only it were painted, decorated the way the frescos and murals of the Holdfast were.

Aemond would surely know more about what Aegon was looking at, what this district was meant to be, but Aegon knew that even his brother’s voracious appetite did not hold a candle to their father’s obsession. Aegon doubted even Gaemon and Daenys the Dreamer could recreate the Freehold in such detail. Had the warlord Aenar thought of teaching his grandchildren of Valyria? Or had the coming of the Doom and losing everything they’d ever known, the people and places that were once home, been too painful of a thing?

“I am not sure if that dragon will speak to you no matter how hard you look at it.”

The chuckle that followed was raspy and Aegon jerked as if caught doing something he shouldn’t, backing away from the table before he broke anything just by being too close. He looked up, his sire’s dark lilac eyes so like his own, cloudy with his illness that had prematurely aged him.

Aegon’s hands shifted, wiping his palms on his legs to keep from crossing his arms protectively over himself. He did not know how to speak to the man before him, and all thoughts and preparations he’d made that morning, going over what he’d say to him in his head had all vanished.

“Sunfyre is a good listener, but I don’t think dragons make the best conversationalists, stone or otherwise,” he said, his voice higher than he’d intended.

Another chuckle and a shake of his head. “No, they do lack that needed ability to carry on the other end of a conversation.” He hummed in the way that Aemond had. “The lords of the realm had nothing but good things to say of you, my boy. An impressive feat of might in the tourney. Lord Edmund came to beg for reparations for his injury. I told him he had fought well, but let us not mewl over being bested by someone better, hm?” A shake of his head and the king set his quill down, his full attention on Aegon in a way he had not experienced in some time.

A heated sensation coursed through Aegon and he couldn’t figure out where it had started. He felt it spread in his chest, along the back of his neck and into his cheeks, not quite embarrassment, not quite pride either, but something that felt in-between, as if being seen was both a good thing and an embarrassing thing.

“Everyone knows.”

“I imagine the man is sore knowing not only has he lost to me in front of the realm in combat, but the hand of my Lady as well,” Aegon said, fingers twitching along his wrist for the reassurance he needed once more. It was easier to speak of things not quite himself, than to figure out how to respond to his king’s approval. Even his grandfather had little complaint at how he conducted himself during the festivities. There’d even been approval as to the attacker in the camp as well.

Thinking about it still caused Aegon’s blood to boil, the ache in his hands to raise that bastard from the dead and tear him apart himself.

“You will do well, I think,” the king continued “in your own country house. I envy you the escape, in truth, and it will be good for you. Get out on your own.”

As if Aegon was being sent to a hunting lodge in a little village, and not the largest castle in the realm, beneath the eye of Lord Tully and half the banners displeased at Aegon’s presence, and the others who spent time vying for favor. Still, the king’s platitudes strangely bolstered Aegon and he straightened his shoulders, coming around the table slowly, lingering along the edges of what looked like a market.

“Thank you, father.” Aegon was pleased that his voice did not falter on the word. “I’m looking forward to it. Sunfyre will enjoy the freedom, and I know Abby is looking forward to creating a household.” Aegon was still trying to learn their names outside of the twins who had remained in King’s Landing with both Abby and Helaena, as well as the bubbling and babbling Ryger, who was helping Abby practice the River tongue, and in turn, she was practicing with him. Warmth spread through his chest and he finally met his father’s gaze. “I came to ask about the family jewels.”

“Oh?” The king settled in his chair, a curious tilt to his head as he waited for more.

Aegon swallowed. “Yes. Abrogail is to be my wife, a princess of House Targaryen. It is only fitting that she have her own pieces from the treasury, and I’d like to pick some for her.” He took a breath, forging on before he could lose his nerve. “I would also like to make some custom pieces, that would be hers to… heirlooms. I saw how pleased she was to receive some of her mother’s things. I’d like for her to have that for our own children.”

He imagined Abby’s belly, round with child, his child, their family. Abby, dripping in jewels that he’d chosen for her, that brought out the sparkle of her eyes, the red of her mouth, to glimmer around her throat and in her curls. Aegon’s fingers twitched beside him as if he could reach into his mind for her, to draw the vision in reality.

“Mmm…” That hum, again so like Aemond’s and yet so very not, broke through Aegon’s thoughts and he watched his sire nod, reaching for a piece of parchment. “True enough. Let it not be said that House Targaryen does not care for their own. Women do love jewels.” A dry chuckle. “You should be careful how frequently you give them to her. She’ll come to expect a piece for every minor inconvenience. What one must do to keep the peace.” There was a scratching across the parchment, a pause before it resumed. “One of the crowns, of course. And jewels for… two pieces. I think that is more than enough to supplement whatever House Strong holds in their own treasury.”

He held the parchment out and Aegon closed the distance, as close as he dared, to take it from him. “Take this to Lord Beesbury’s office. He holds the keys to the treasury.”

“They’re not held by your own office?” Aegon asked curiously, glancing down at the scratch of his sire’s hand. A tiara and jewels for two pieces. Aegon wanted to cry that it was not enough, that it would never be enough, but it was more than he had truly expected. To be given this so willingly had left him feeling lightheaded; he’d been prepared to defend his request and to not have to was a strange feeling.

It was not something he thought he should get used to.

“No, the treasury holds the taxes, which in turn goes back to the people. Wars, tourneys, the maintenance of the King’s Road. The servants here and at Dragonstone, the upkeep of the Red Keep. The allowance for you and your siblings to fund all that drinking and merrymaking that I know you like. Your mother’s ladies, the Kingsguard, the Dragonpit… Feeding dragons is not cheap.” The king laughed again and Aegon prickled at it, uncertain how to handle the man before him talking with him so normally, as if they were truly father and son. He ran his tongue over his teeth behind his lips as his sire settled back in his chair and the heavy, dusty book in front of him. “No need to pay double the guard to simply store our things somewhere else. Take that to Lord Beesbury, and do give him my regards, boy.”

Boy. At least it was better than Baelon.

Aegon looked at the paper in hand, permission so unexpectedly granted, before his feet moved and he knocked on the door for it to open. The heavy thing swung open, Ser Lorent giving Aegon a slight nod and…

“Ser Criston,” Aegon said, not quite hiding his surprise to see his mother’s man standing there. Lilac eyes searched the Dornishman’s face as Ser Lorent closed the king’s door behind them. If Aegon didn’t know any better, he’d think that before the man’s features smoothed out, he might have looked worried. Ser Criston? Worried? The thought didn’t seem to register with him. He’d seen Ser Criston look concerned when one of them took a particularly nasty blow in the training yard and blood was involved. He’d seen concern when Helaena was having one of her struggling moments where she needed to get away from everyone.

“Your Grace.” The knight’s voice was low as he fell in step beside Aegon, a half step behind as he did with his lady mother. Unlike the last time, all those weeks ago after the knight had tried to give him advice, there was no air of judgment radiating off the man. “Prince Daeron expressed his wishes for the pair of you to go flying.”

“Did he? Well, I’ll find him after this.” A smile stretched along Aegon’s face. Daeron had been incandescent with the prospect of going flying with his siblings now that Tessarion was big enough to take a rider, and Aegon knew Helaena had gone out with him already. Aegon tried not to feel guilty for it, since there would be plenty of time for the pair of them to ride together without Mother fretting all the while.

"Your Grace."

Aegon paused and turned to look at the knight, uncertainty raising the hairs on the back of his neck. 'This is it', he thought. This was when the lecture would start, when Ser Criston Cole, his mother's sworn shield and protector, the man who first taught him how to hold a sword, who had been there when he was frightened and afraid after Daeron's birth, when Mother was bedridden, when the maesters feared she would not make it, would take another piece from him, and Aegon wondered if it would be that one piece that would send him toppling into shambles.

Nothing he'd done would matter. Nothing would be good enough.

"I have not had the time to tell you how well you've done," came the words that Aegon struggled to register. "I must admit, I was uncertain how things would turn out given your long time away from training, but..." Cole shook his head, a smile crossing his handsome face. "That was an inspired fight, my prince. You took what I've taught you and what you've learned on your own and used it well."

A flush of heat rushed through Aegon, that sudden nervous flush that usually came from shame, but in this moment felt strangely optimistic. "Thank you, Ser Criston," he said, voice stilted, mouth dry.

"You've handled yourself admirably these past weeks, my prince," Cole continued. "I am proud of you, and the man you've shown yourself to be, and I have made that known to your mother." His dark eyes shifted away as his fingers drummed against the pommel of his sheathed sword. Praise was hard earned from Ser Criston, and something Aegon had thought he himself had long given up chasing, as Aemond received it so easily. "She worries for you, of course."

"Of course," Aegon said faintly, eyes burning and he cleared his throat. He was, much like in his sire's room, a boy once more, small in many different ways. The weight of expectation was looming and all he wanted to do was run from it, and how unforgiving the failure could be. Yet he yearned for it. "Thank you for your kind words, Ser Criston." Stilted. Unsure. Aegon felt foolish. He felt like something else was looming and it wasn't coming.

"Should you wish to continue training, I would be glad of it," the elder continued, peering back at him. "With your uncle, Ser Gwayne, coming with you to Harrenhal, you would also be in good hands."

"I will consider it, Ser Criston," Aegon said quickly, desperate to escape the strangeness of receiving praise. "Is this why you came looking for me?"

Cole was quiet, watching him for a moment before shaking his head. "I heard you had gone to see the king." There was more to the statement but Cole did not finish it, and Aegon was not certain how to take it. Had Cole been worried for him? "Your mother did express hope you would join her in the Sept after supper for evening prayers, but I did not think she would ask you outright. That task might be left to the Lady Abrogail.”

Aegon grimaced at the idea of it. He had accompanied his mother to her prayers over the years, had found his own sense of comfort not in the gods, but in the quiet time with her. The way Mother’s face would relax in the candle light, the whispered prayers, even stories of his grandmother who had died a handful of years before he’d been born. The moments were precious to him, were moments where the gulf between them did not feel more than a trickling creek, where Mother’s hand rested warmly between his shoulder blades or stroked her fingers along the nape of his neck as she did when he was small.

“I’ll attend with her tonight,” he said softly. “Thank you, Ser Criston. Please send my mother my wishes.”

“A round!” Aegon declared, hopping up onto the bench, his hand gripping Alyn’s shoulder. “For Alyn Hull! The best fucking man I know!” He giggled, pleased with himself even as Alyn smacked him in embarrassment, ignoring his protestations and dropping back down in his seat.

The Shallows was a tavern they had only recently become more acquainted with as Aegon drew further from the Street of Silk, and Alyn’s aunt and uncle ran the place at the top of the street from the main docks. It had become a comfortable place, all considered, and Aegon had found excitement in the stream of sailors and bards that frequented the place, often only in the city for a night or two, with tales from the Stepstones and the fighting, of far off Myr with their new inventions, Braavos and their clever fighting men.

“You’re ridiculous,” Alyn shook his head, shoving at his shoulder once more as stabbed a hunk of meat out of the stew.

“He’s not,” came the clipped tone, a northern burr tempered by the southern accent. Fresh tankards of the house ale were set on the table as Bri shook her head. The deep green of her kirtle looked nearly black in the low light of the tavern, her skirt tucked up in her wide black belt. “It’s what you deserve.” It was Alyn’s turn to receive a hit as she shoved at his shoulder, before Alyn grabbed her hand and pulled her into him to kiss her cheek.

“You just can’t wait to get rid of me,” he complained. “You’re so happy the prince is dragging me all the way to Harrenhal so you can finally run away with Beric Storm.”

Aegon reached for his tankard and quickly occupied himself while the pair fell into their bickering, and he was quite certain Alyn’s hand had made it to the wench’s backside. He rolled his eyes and turned to look out at the rest of the room from their vantage point at the back of the tavern. Below, the crush of small folk were cheering as the drinks were dispersed, shouts of ‘Hail Prince Aegon!’ in thanks and calls and well wishes for Alyn.

“I’d have no one else by my side, Hull,” Aegon said after Bri returned to her duties, grasping his friend by the shoulder.

“Who else would keep you alive?” countered Alyn with a snort. “I consider it a fine payment for my bodyguard services to you over the years.” Aegon prickled at how transactional Alyn made it sound, a frown crossing his face before Alyn’s hand gripped his shoulder in return, drawing his attention back to him. “We have had fun here, in the city, have we not?” he asked, a smile instead of his usual playful smirk crossing his face. “TIme for us to have a new adventure. How robust do you think the city life of Harren Town actually is?”

“Fuck if I know,” Aegon said shortly, still prickling but trying to shake it away. “You can bring your girl with you.”

“Nay,” Alyn murmured, taking a swallow from the fresh tankard. “Bri promised to stay with my mother until Addam’s back from the Stepstones.” Alyn’s elder brother was serving in the Velaryon fleet, fighting down south in Lord Colrys’ war. “She won’t leave until he’s safe and returned to us.” Aegon nodded, understanding. The Hulls were a close family, Alyn’s aunt and uncle having opened the tavern when Alyn was a babe, not long before Aegon himself had been born. His mother was one of many who wove fishing nets - a trade that could be easily found north in Harrenhal. However, Aegon had offered to put his mother up as well, set up and comfortable how he knew Alyn hoped for her.

“Word from your brother?”

A shrug. “Lord Velaryon won another battle - according to those merchants from Qohor that came in this week. Rumor is the Triarchy might be enlisting the Bright Banners.”

Aegon drummed his fingers against the tankard. “He’ll be fine. And when he comes back, we’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” Another drink to cloak it in the casualness rather than the seriousness of his words, uncertain how Alyn would take it.

“First you make me your steward, now you offer to make my brother another part of your new house?” There was a teasing quality in Alyn’s voice, but Aegon knew better, just as his friend knew his own tones masked his own truth. They had been through much together, things that neither of them would ever speak of, but knotted them together like the nets Marilda Hull wove with such care.

He snorted and shook his head, tearing off a hunk of the fresh bread Bri had brought, soaking it in his own stew. “Addam can do what he likes, and whatever I can make happen, I will. It’s not charity,” Aegon quickly added, because Alyn would rankle at times about charity until he learned not to complain about it. “He served the realm. Should he want to be a Gold Cloak, should he want to set up a tavern in Harren Town, hells, send him to Oldtown and become a Maester-”

“Aeg,” Alyn cut in, fingers gripping his shoulder and Aegon fell silent, eyes focused on the food before him. “I want to come with you to Harrenhal. I want to make a better life, I don’t want to raise my children in this stinking cesspool of a city, I want my mother to have the garden she’s always dreamed of.”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Aegon said, voice low, the frown pulling at his mouth once more. “I’d still let you have it for-”

“Aegon,” Alyn said. “As your steward, all I ask is for your respect.”

“And as your liege, all I ask is you tell me when I go wrong,” Aegon replied, finally meeting his friend’s eyes. They were bright green, like his aunt’s, and his mother’s. The silver hair was the only thing that hinted at his origins. His true origins. ‘As your-’ Aegon could not finish the thought and instead he hooked an arm around Alyn’s shoulder, pulling him in to smack a kiss to his silver head. “Here, steward. Give that bard a dragon and let’s get something good playing.”

Thank you for being here! I hope you've been enjoying yourself! It's been a hot minute since we had a chonky Aegon POV chapter and with everything having gone on, I thought it was a great time to revisit. Not to mention, I've been sitting on this Viserys interaction since Chapter 9. I've really wanted to dive into certain personality traits of his that often get understandably overshadowed by less than stellar qualities since he's on a different trajectory here. I understand that maybe that's not what some of you are expecting, and that's okay! But I really do love diving into his head and unwrapping him and shaking him in my snow globe, so those of you that enjoy that, again, many thanks for being here. Also I'm so glad to bring Alyn back! We touch a little on that parentage mystery as well <3 I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories! Let me know what you loved about the chapter! What are you looking forward to? Next chapter we have Alicent and Jace and then OFF TO HARRENHAL! OMG are you so excited? I'm so excited! Also omg who was behind the attack?? I hope justice is served one day :prayeremoji: Hope everyone is having a great weekend!!

#icymi

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