Warning for this chapter: Aemond's 13th nameday...I think we all know what I mean. Also a few very uncomfortable sexual scenes featuring teenagers that are canon typical for this world but might upset people. Unfortunately, doing the maths, yes, these characters really were that young during those events but if you're reading this fic than hopefully you're aware of that.

An eye for a dragon - for Vhagar - is a fair trade… and yet he still mourns the loss of his eye.

It is hard not to feel some resentment and anger; the entire left side of his face hurts as the wound heals, keeping him awake at night and making him want to cry out for his mother - but he does not. He refuses to go to her because he is no longer a child, not now that he finally has a dragon, and he does not want to be seen as weak. Instead he suffers in the confines of his chambers, gritting his teeth against the burn and itch that comes with healing; it heals slowly and painfully, even more so when the maesters prod or dab at it, and he intentionally avoids all mirrors in the time that follows.

It's still not fully healed when he returns to his lessons, and the tutors all blanch at the sight of his wound; even though they already know what happened, it is still an ugly thing to see. Learning to read with just one eye is a struggle but he pushes himself, determined not to fall behind his idiot brother or be seen as weak in any area because of it. His mother is still not keen on letting him resume sword training, gently asking if perhaps he might prefer to spend time with her or with his sister - but he grits his teeth and storms outside whenever she says this, ignoring her worries.

For a while, Aegon says nothing and stays quiet when they see each other - whether it's out of pity or fear, he's not sure, but it's a blessing either way. Eventually the shock of what happened on Driftmark wears off on all of them, however, and soon his brother is back to taunting him mercilessly; the missing eye is just another fuel for the fire, another thing he uses to attempt to hurt him, as is the eventual scar that forms. At the very least, his bastard cousins are not around to mock or terrorise him anymore, and he knows Aegon is an idiot anyway so he finds it so much easier to ignore, even if it does hurt just a little.

The scar is, frankly, ugly. It stretches from the top of his brow to down low over his cheek, and the skin heals in such a way that it is rough to touch; in some places it protrudes, like bumps in a path, and in others it makes dips in the flesh. His mother refuses to look at his face when she sees him, as do most of the people living at the keep, and soon he cannot bear the sight of himself in any mirrors. Before too long, he takes to wearing a patch to cover the hole where his eye should be; it does not cover the entirety of his scar, but at least people are able to look at him while he wears it without being disgusted.

And then there's his sister.

Helaena is the only one not scared of his scar; Aemond worries that she will be afraid of him and his missing eye, but she is not. She still smiles warmly at him in the exact same way she always has, even as the ladies brought to the castle to keep her company shudder and blanch at the sight of him, even as they giggle behind their hands and whisper about that ghastly eye. Her face still lights up at the sight of him whenever she sees him, and she eagerly invites him to sit with her as she always has, always accepting his offers of dancing at dinner. They both hear the whispers when they dance, the murmurs, but they both ignore them and are the happier for it. Because of her betrothal, they don't get to spend nearly as much time together as they once did, but it's enough for them both.

The only other one that is unperturbed by his injury is his new dragon; he has heard before that the bond between rider and dragon is a sacred one, but until now he has not truly understood - now that he has a dragon, it's almost painfully clear.

His mother is not able to keep him away from Vhagar despite her best efforts, and soon he is spending every day that he can with his she-dragon; Vhagar is too large to stay confined to the Dragonpit, living instead in a cave just outside of the city, and flying circles around the city does little in the way of exercising her or stretching her wings, so they begin to fly higher and higher, further and further, with each flight they take. At first he still fears her somewhat, despite having claimed her - she is, after all, gargantuan and could easily swallow him in one snap of her enormous jaws; but she is old, more than a hundred years old, and he is not her first rider. He does not doubt how hot her fire burns, nor her skills in battle, but there is a certain calmness to her that only he gets to see; the way she almost purrs whenever he rubs against her huge scales with his hand, how her muscles relax beneath him when they are in the air together, and he finds that she is so much more than a mere dragon, much more than a mount to ride or a birthright - she is a part of his soul.

When they are not in the air together, Aemond dreams of when they next will be; he understands every noise she makes, be it a rumble or a snarl, knows where she wishes to fly and when she wants him to turn back. To his delight, the bond seems to be a mutual one; on some days she does not even need to hear his commands to know where he wants her to fly them to or when he is in need of a short respite. She seems to know what he needs somehow, as if she can sense when her rider is especially upset or frustrated, and the low rumble of her seems a constant reminder that he is not alone, not truly.

They are not so different, he thinks sometimes: just as members of the court and city seem horrified by his missing eye, by the scar, many are petrified of Vhagar - because she is almost too big, a battle-scarred warrior in her own right, capable of burning entire castles and fortresses to the ground should she wish. People seem to fear both of them for one reason or the other, and nothing will change that now. Strangely, Aemond doesn't care; it is hard to care about what the smallfolk think when he is with Vhagar, whether they are flying or merely sitting together with his back against her giant flank.

Though he doesn't say it out loud to anyone, and he pushes the thought away every time it enters his mind, he loves her - just as dearly as his sister loves Dreamfyre, if not more so.

The day of the wedding is set, and it's all she can do not to scream.

The young ladies at court whisper about how handsome Prince Aegon is, how lucky Helaena is to be betrothed to him - but she does not feel lucky. She loves him, she supposes, as he is her kin and she is supposed to care for him - her mother has said that they need to stand together as a family. But she does not look forward to the day she will be forced to marry him; he calls her stupid, hisses under his breath that he would rather fuck a pig than lie with her, and more often than not he is drunk, groping at female servants and sneaking out to brothels. Jaehaerys and Alysanne were brother and sister, she is told, and they were happily wedded indeed with thirteen children to prove it - the thought of having any of Aegon's children fills her with nausea, let alone so many.

Her mother is with her throughout all of the fittings for the dress that she will wear, smiling tightly as she pets her daughter's pale blonde hair and murmurs about how pretty a bride she will be; Helaena wants to scream at the contact, at the words, at the feel of the uncomfortable fabric against her skin, at the unfairness of the entire situation. She wonders if her brother feels the same, if he is also dreading their rapidly approaching marriage as much as she is, but she doesn't bother asking - she knows he will only laugh and sneer to her face, to anyone who asks such a question. She can't imagine that he is terribly excited for it though, especially if his taunts are any indication of how he feels.

She also finds that she's not allowed to spend as much time with Aemond anymore; by this time his thirteenth nameday is approaching, and he is quickly growing from boy to man. He is already taller than her, and he will soon be taller than their older brother if he continues to grow, and years of training and riding means that his body is lean and quick - she has seen how gracefully he moves while fencing for herself, like one of the cats around the castle slinks to and from the shadows. To add, with her about to be married, it is deemed inappropriate for them to spend too much time together; the thought makes her laugh - it seems silly that they would think her capable to doing such a thing, think them capable of it, but she supposes her grandfather and mother just want to be sure before they marry her to the king's oldest living male heir.

It's merely a whisper now, something no one dares to say aloud, but she knows that they are not planning to let her half-sister inherit the throne - meaning that if they succeed then she will be the queen to Aegon's king, and because of that she must be of impeachable chastity.

Sometimes she allows herself to wonder - it is only when she is alone in the darkness of her chambers, when the entire keep sleeps unaware of her insomnia - how things might have been different: sometimes she thinks about if she had been betrothed to Jacaerys instead, or if Aegon was kinder, less drunk, less cruel. Mostly, however, she wonders if she might have been happier being betrothed and married off to Aemond instead; he is growing into a handsome man, despite his scar, as well as intelligent and accomplished in both fighting and dragon riding. He has always been ever so kind to her, far kinder than their older brother ever has been, and he is everything a prince should be - everything the firstborn prince should be, in fact. She doesn't know if it's treasonous to even entertain the idea, but she can't help but think that life would have been far easier for all of them if Aemond had been born first; he would have been a future king, she could have married him instead, and Aegon wouldn't have been miserable in a position he doesn't want.

But it is not to be; the path has already been laid, threads pulling and weaving - and soon the dragons will dance, and they will all be powerless to stop it.

Aemond cares for his brother in a sense, but he resents him even more; his brother has everything, things he's not worthy of, things he doesn't even want - he even has Helaena. He hates the way his brother talks about their sister, calling her all manner of cruel names, and he hates the way Aegon is so crude about nearly all women in general - in fact, the only woman he is not crude to or about is their mother. Even worse, he is not allowed to say anything on most evenings when they are in public, to speak in her defence, because it is viewed as undermining his brother, as inappropriate - he cannot even protect or shield her.

What he hates the most, however, is what Aegon does on his thirteenth nameday.

At first he is happy when his brother sneaks him away from his own nameday feast, both of them cloaked and hooded as they slip through a secret passageway from the castle and onto the streets of King's Landing; he doesn't tell him where they are going at first, and so he assumes that they are going to the Dragonpit - perhaps they are to fly together, fly somewhere special, and for a moment Aemond is excited to spend time with his older brother - that maybe now that they're both men, he will treat him with respect. But his older brother steers him down a strange unknown street, and suddenly Aemond finds himself on the Street of Silk; it is not a place he has ever gone before, of course, but he has overheard enough conversations and been forced to hear too many of his brother's lude comments, and so he knows where he is and what is happening.

"Wait-"

His brother's hands are heavy on his shoulders, pushing him down the cobbled paths now. "Now, now, little brother - don't be shy. You're thirteen - it's time you became a man."

He doesn't want to do this; his palms feel sweaty, heart racing, and he considers his chances of elbowing his brother so that he'll let go, of running back up to the castle before he can be stopped. Aegon is only slightly taller, and he's arguably a less accomplished fighter, but he is also bulkier and stouter where Aemond is lanky and lean - besides, the last thing either of them want is to draw attention to themselves, especially here in the city where there are no doubt little spies watching their every move.

"Time to get it wet, little brother," Aegon smirks, pushing him inside an open brothel. "We'll even find a woman who can bear the sight of your hideous eye."

Aemond cannot hate the woman who is paid to lie with him: she is just doing her job, and she is kind enough, he supposes. At his request, she doesn't touch the eyepatch that covers his missing eye, and she tastes of cheap wine, reeking of strange perfume that burns his nostrils; it feels as though he's not in his own body any longer but watching from afar, that it's not happening to him but to someone else.

No, he doesn't hate the prostitute, not really - what he truly hates is the way Aegon jeers him on, shouting awful instructions even through the closed door, things bordering on cruelty and depravity. He wants to run his brother through with his sword, wants to cut his cock off and feed it to Vhagar in front of him, wants more than anything to make him stop. It's humiliating to be sat in a dirty and dimly-lit room with a prostitute while his older brother is yelling instructions through the door while he gets ridiculously drunk.

Aegon is particularly deep in his cups when he shouts the one that burns the most, the one that haunts Aemond for years to come.

"Pretend her hair is silver - then you can imagine you're fucking our dear retarded sister instead."

He's not sure what angers him the most, the cruel word used to describe her - or the fact that for a moment, just one moment, he allows the image to flash in his mind.

After it is all over, he leaves the rented room and looks for his brother so that they can go back to the keep - he wants nothing more than to take a hot soak in boiling water, to scrub his skin raw until it is pink and the touch of the woman is gone from him. He asks one of the serving girls where he is, and she merely smirks knowingly as she gestures with her thumb towards another room that is separated by a mere partition; when he approaches, fully intending to grab his brother by the neck and drag him if he has to, he stops short.

It shouldn't shock him that Aegon is being pleasured by a whore - this is a brothel, after all - and he's long suspected that his brother is not loyal to their sister… and yet seeing it still makes rage burn inside of him, hot and nasty, hands curling into tight fists and itching to kill him. The sight of his brother moaning, hands guiding the head of a rather young girl who has his member in her mouth, makes him feel sick to his stomach; he is not being gentle, pulling her hair too tight, and her eyes are watering - she does not seem comfortable at all.

That only seems to arouse Aegon more.

Suddenly his brother is pushing the girl away and urging her up; before she can say anything, he has pushed her down onto the nearest surface - a table - and is ripping at her skirts without permission. She cries out when he suddenly rams into her, rutting like an animal and gripping her hips in a way that looks far too tight, far too painful, sure to leave bruises. She lets out a weak cry, but he huffs and moves one of his hands to smack her face so that she will be quiet; there are tears in her eyes as he fucks her raw, and her entire face is glistening with tears.

Is this what awaits you, Helaena?

Aemond turns and leaves the brothel as fast as he can, though instead of home he makes for the direction of the caves near the sea; he can't stand the thought of seeing his sister's face right now, having to look her in the eye while knowing what their brother - her betrothed - is doing while she waits obediently for their wedding ceremony. He cannot bear having to face his mother, his grandfather, anyone else - they all know what his brother is like, and yet they do nothing because he will be king someday, because it is what men are known to do and have done for generations. There's only one thing that will make him feel better, one thing that will clear his head, and only one living creature that he wishes to see.

Vhagar is alert and ready when he arrives, as if she has sensed his inner turmoil and felt it herself, and she gives a low rumble that almost sounds concerned; he murmurs that he is okay to her in Valyrian, pressing his face into her flank for a moment - she is hot and rough, a welcomed change from the cool air outside and the soft skin of the woman who bedded him. She patiently waits as he climbs up into his saddle, and it is only when he shouts his command to her that she straightens herself and takes off into the sky.

With the cold wind rushing against his face, so harsh that he can barely breathe, and Vhagar soaring with him, he does his best to forget everything - nothing else matters, he thinks, nothing more than he and his dragon, their bond, their flights together. Up here in the air, he is not the ignored second son, not the brother of a drunken lecherous future king, but a Targaryen Prince by his own right; he is the rider of Vhagar, not only the largest dragon in the world but also the last living creature of Aegon's Conquest and of Old Valyria. He is an accomplished swordsman already, well-read, has learned the history of his ancestors - he is everything his brother should be but isn't, the one who should rule.

Who knows? Aemond thinks bitterly. Maybe we'll all have to kneel and kiss the old whore's cunt after all instead of see Aegon as king.

He can't decide which idea he despises the most: a crude and leering drunk who is king or a whore for a queen.

The wedding takes place on a bright and clear day - an irony, Helaena thinks, given how miserable she and her older brother both are as they stand in the sept.

Unusually, their father sits on a chair as he watches the ceremony - he is very sick, rotting from the inside out, and his right eye is starting to grow infected. He had managed to walk her down the aisle, at least, but he had been unsteady and slow, needing to rest immediately after. Their mother stands with her father, head held high and a tight smile on her face as she looks at her son and daughter; it's difficult to tell what their grandfather is thinking, but he seems somewhat appeased when he nods at them both in what is most likely approval. It feels good to have her family's approval, but she still feels sick to her stomach as she repeats the lines the septon gives her to recite, because it feels wrong - she has a feeling something bad will happen in the future, but she doesn't know what exactly. Aegon looks uncomfortable as he drapes a cloak over her shoulders; it has the black and red of House Targaryen, of course, but she doesn't miss the fact that it also has the green of their mother's house too - something she's sure all of those attending will take note of.

She and her brother-groom are not the only ones unhappy on what is supposedly the most wonderful of days; their younger brother is standing with their grandsire and mother, jaw clenched tightly and his single eye filled with something cold and sad. He looks handsome, she thinks, standing in his brand new emerald and black jerkin, some of his long pale hair swept back off his face and tied behind his head; if not for the eyepatch and scar, he would surely be the dream of every maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. Oh, he will marry of course - it is his duty, after all, and he is dutiful to a fault, but she knows that many girls and women find his missing eye to be off-putting, the scar ugly and difficult to look at.

Helaena has never thought it so - he is still beautiful, still kind to her, still Aemond.

Their youngest brother is also present, attending with Lord Ormund, their mother's cousin who he squires for; she hasn't seen Daeron in years, and he seems a stranger to her now - he has grown taller, lost some of his baby chub (though some still remains), and he has a look more serious than a boy of nine perhaps should. She wonders how her mother could bear to part with one of her children, her youngest children, at such a young age, and it makes her wonder if she too will have to do the same with children she may have in the future. The idea seems strange to her - she does not want to bear children, not for her older brother at least, but if she must then she would not want to be parted with them.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love."

Her brother's lips are cold as they brush against the corner of her mouth; it lasts barely a second before he pulls away, standing as stiff as a board and looking as unhappy as she feels. It dawns on her that this is her first kiss, and disappointment courses through her at the thought - she had imagined her first kiss being somewhat more exciting, more passionate, with someone who wanted to kiss her. She will most likely never receive such a kiss now that she is married, and she has to carefully conceal the misery that fills her at the realisation.

The septon announces that they are husband and wife, and the crowd gathered applauds; the noise is too loud, echoing off of the walls around her, and she flinches before she can stop herself. Beside her, she sees Aegon roll his eyes and huff, but he doesn't dare make a taunt now, not in front of all of these people and with the septon so nearby, which is perhaps one of the kindest things he's done for her in her lifetime. It annoys him when she flinches, she knows, and so she will have to learn to stop doing it when she is around him - she is his wife now, after all, and it is her duty to serve him, to please him in whatever way she can.

Someone takes her hand, and she is shocked when she sees that it is Aegon; he is surprisingly tender as he holds her small hand in his own larger one, holding not too tight and not yanking her but guiding her so that they can make their exit. Perhaps things will be different, Helaena finds herself hoping, because they are both miserable but it is easier to be miserable together than separately - maybe their shared reluctance and distaste for their marriage will, in a twist of irony, be what brings them closer together.

Even lost in her thoughts, it does not escape her notice that Aemond is the only one not applauding, his jaw clenched tightly as he watches his brother lead his sister from the hall.

The wedding celebrations seem to fly by in a whirl of colour and noise; the new bride and groom dance just once, awkward and stiff as they move, and then retreat to their seats for the rest of the festivities. Helaena finds herself watching the guests dance, all of them cheerful and happy, and she wishes that her brother-husband will ask her to dance again - but Aegon merely drinks cup after cup of wine, eyes trailing the female servers with undisguised lust, and ignores her.

Halfway through the celebrations, Aemond approaches the table and asks her to dance; she's reminded of all of the times he asked her when they were children, when he was the only one who would dance with her, and her heart aches because so much has changed. Her sweet little brother is no longer so little, taller than every other member of her family, and he is no longer so sweet except when he is around her and no one else; he stands proud and tall now in his finest clothes, his tone almost too polite, as if he is talking to a stranger and not his own sister. She hesitates for a moment, casting a quick look to Aegon; he is paying them no mind, clearly caring not one ounce what they do, and so she nods as she takes Aemond's hand.

Surely one dance will not harm anyone.

His hand is so much bigger than hers now, she thinks, his fingers long but warm clasped in her own; when he puts a hand on her waist, she feels the heat of his touch through her dress, and it makes her relax into him. Unlike with her new husband, she has always felt easy with Aemond, like she can truly be herself and not worry about the consequences when she's around him; a part of her feels guilty for thinking that things really would be far better and more bearable if she had married him instead, but it doesn't stop her from thinking it anyway. The way he looks at her as they dance together also makes her feel warm - he looks at her like he looks at no one else, like he wants no one else with him, and it is a way that Aegon has never looked at anyone before, let alone her. For the first time in her life, she thinks that she understands what it is to feel wanted - not wanted like how her family has wanted her to marry her brother to produce royal heirs, but really truly wanted for being herself. His eye is filled with reverence, with respect, with affection, with love even, and she feels something pleasantly hot start to course her veins, making her feel light-headed but in a good way, and it accompanies the sudden urge to know whether or not his lips are as soft as they look.

With a start, Helaena realises that maybe - just maybe - a part of her wants Aemond just as he wants her.

It is not long after they dance that someone announces it's time for the bedding; thankfully, mercifully, there are to be no witnesses to this in the room, but the tradition of escorting the bride and groom to the room is still present. She wants to scream as men put their hands on her, their eyes hungry and full of lust as they try to touch her - but then her dear sweet younger brother appears, glaring at them with his remaining eye and commanding that they step away. She can only feel relief when the men, drunk though they are, listen and her brother steps forwards to gently take her arm; he quietly assures her that he will be the only one to accompany her tonight, that he will make sure no other men touch her.

"And Aegon?" She says softly. "Can you stop him too?"

His jaw clenches again at her question, but he cannot say anything: no matter what anyone says or does, it will not change the fact that Aegon and Helaena are married - what goes on in their marriage bed is naught to do with him, something he has no right to halt or interrupt in any way. She knows this, but she still feels saddened as he leads her to their brother's chambers dutifully.

There are handmaids waiting for them when they arrive, and they immediately begin to help her from her dress; Aemond watches from afar, the sharp angles of his face remaining clenched and emotionless - but his single eye gives him away, the heat and anger and lust that swirls inside of him at the sight of her being prepared for her marriage bed. She does not ask him to turn away, even as the dress falls away and leaves her in a slip made of Myrish lace, and when her eyes catch his one, she feels something hot coil inside of her, a strange but not unpleasant feeling between her legs. For a moment, she imagines that it is he who is about to bed her, that he is the one who will lie with her and give her children, the one who will caress her face as he moves inside of her.

The chamber door bursts open, and the moment is gone; Aegon strides in, dressed in a simple white shirt and breeches, and she's reminded of the reality of the situation. His speech is slurred as he claps his younger brother on the shoulder, smirking as he sends him and the handmaids away, and the stench of ale reeks off of him; she is not shocked that he is drunk, not only because she saw him drink goblet after goblet, but also because that's his usual way now - he's inebriated more often than not these days, and the fact he is so at their wedding is only to be expected.

The ladies curtsy and scurry away, something she envies them for, but Aemond lingers for a few seconds longer; he meets her eyes a final time, his fist clenching by his side and lips pressed firmly together, and for a moment she wonders if he is about to cross the room and take her by the arm, drag her away from this - but then he swiftly turns on his heel and stalks out too, the door slamming behind him.

In the silence that follows, she looks at her new husband and tries to keep her head held high - he hates when she looks at her feet, she knows, and the last thing she wants is to anger him on tonight of all nights. Perhaps, she thinks, they can make the best of this situation and with time - much time - grow to like and support each other. To her surprise, after a few seconds have passed, he stops staggering and looks at her; he is not as drunk as she thought, as drunk as he led them all to believe, and she's uncertain as to why he would pretend to act so - it's not like him to care if some handmaids or their younger brother think he's completely sloshed.

"I don't want to do this," Aegon says suddenly, but his voice is oddly quiet and - to her surprise - somewhat anxious. "I don't want to."

Helaena isn't sure whether to feel hurt or not by his proclamation, because she too does not wish to do this but it still stings to not be wanted. "Perhaps we don't need to," She offers, taking a step closer to him. "No one would know."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't be stupid, Hel, of course they'll know: there's guards outside the fucking door, and the maids will check the sheets to be sure."

"O-Oh."

It is your duty, her mother had explained gently to her that very morning, to give him sons. That is how we women serve the kingdom best, by giving heirs.

It echoes in her mind as she takes a deep breath and forces herself to be brave. "Let's just do it then, get it out of the way."

He seems surprised by her words, and even more so as she moves to sit and lie back on the bed; it takes him a moment to do the same, all but crawling over the sheets so that he can hover over her. Neither of them move at first, simply staring at each other, and so she allows herself to truly look at her now-husband, as if it will help her to see him differently. Aegon is not unattractive, she admits, for he is of the blood of the dragon after all and so he is of course handsome; his hair is shorter than when they were young, his decision to slice it above his shoulders something that their mother berated him over for weeks, but she likes it - it makes him look different to so many of their ancestors, she thinks, and she wonders if this is his way of rebelling against the role and system that he has been forced into since birth, small though it is.

He is eyeing her too, and it's hard to read his face; Helaena can't tell if he likes what he sees or not. She shifts uncomfortably beneath him, part of her wishing he'd just get it over and done with while another part wants him to take his time, to try and treat her as a husband should their wife. After a moment, he clears his throat, and she can smell the honeyed ale on his breath. "Hel-"

"I know," She says softly, hoping that she won't cry in front of him. "You think I'm stupid, ugly, and you'd rather do this with a pig than me… you've told me before."

He frowns, but his face is still difficult to read. "No, that's not what I… I was going to… Forget it. Let's just get it over with."

Aegon does not kiss her, instead immediately unlacing his trousers and pulling his cock out; she doesn't get a chance to even see it before he is pulling her legs apart and lifting the skirt of her shift. She tries her best not to cringe as his fingers suddenly prod and touch her most intimate area, but a pained whimper comes out nonetheless; the fire that had been in her belly when Aemond looked at her is long gone, replaced with a hollow coldness that makes her feel unwell.

Her husband huffs as he touches her, somewhat annoyed. "You're dryer than a Dornish desert - how am I supposed to put it in?"

"I'm sorry," She whispers before she can stop herself, and the tears are suddenly blurring her vision before she can force them away.

He halts, fingers stilling, and opens his mouth before closing it; he repeats this action a few times, clearly uncertain of what he wants to say. When he finally finds his voice, he somehow sounds both irritated and guilty. "Gods sake, don't cry, Hel."

"Sorry," She says again, quickly wiping her eyes.

The hand on his cock starts to make a strange movement, like he is stroking it, and she wonders briefly if perhaps this is supposed to be her job - to touch him as he has touched her, to make him feel good like a wife should. His eyes pinch closed as he keeps touching himself, but he is still frowning deeply; finally, he lets out a growl of exasperation and stops, opening his eyes and glaring down at her. "I can't even get it hard now."

"Can… Can I do anything to help?" She asks weakly, wanting this to be over so that she can go to sleep and escape this.

He looks down at her in thought before sitting back. "Yes. Take your shift off and touch yourself."

Her face floods with heat, cheeks burning at the request. "I don't think I-"

"Just do it!" He snaps, and she doesn't argue; she feels humiliated as she lifts the material over her head and puts it aside, left bare in front of him and his dark eyes, and she wants nothing more than to curl up like one of her bugs to hide her body from him. "Good. Now play with yourself - I trust you know how to do that at least."

She swallows and nods once; she has done it a few times, but she does not know how to make herself feel good, not like she's heard some women can. Her hands shake as she touches her breasts, closing her eyes to try and imagine herself somewhere - anywhere - but here and now with him; she tries to think about some of the handsome knights she has seen in the training yard, glistening with sweat, tries to imagine herself in bed with any of them, but it achieves nothing and leaves her cold. She supposes it's because she knows that they would never want her like this, because she's all too aware that they think her too strange and odd to be truly attractive - it would never happen, if she tries to imagine it.

Suddenly she remembers the heat that had filled her when she danced with her other brother that evening, when he watched her being undressed - and she allows herself to entertain the idea, just for a moment.

Helaena imagines that it is Aemond touching her, his long fingers dancing over her skin and pinching her nipples - not so hard as to hurt, but enough to feel it and make it send sparks through her; she imagines his eye watching her with the same fire and hunger that he had when seeing the maids help her undress, his mouth whispering her name and other sweet things to make her feel good, just as he always has ever since they were young. As one hand continues to play with her breasts and the other trails down between her legs, she can almost hear the way he would groan as he presses against her, the feeling of something hard against her thigh-

She lets out a whimper just as her husband groans, the sound deep and desperate; suddenly Aegon is pushing her down again, slotting himself between her legs and positioning himself. He doesn't look at her, instead burying his face into her shoulder, and his hips suddenly jolt forwards.

The sudden sharp sting makes her gasp, and she's glad that her brother is not looking at her face because her vision blurs with tears all over again. He doesn't stop to check on her, doesn't wait for her body to adjust to the stretch and burn that has accompanied him being inside of her, instead thrusting at a steady and unforgiving pace that makes her want to scream out. She thinks, somehow, that she can hear her dragon's call in the distance, like Dreamfyre is crying out in her stead, but she's not sure if she's simply imagining things to take away from the pain.

Aemond wouldn't do this, she forces herself to think, latching onto anything and everything that occurs to her to help her get through this, he would stop if he knew I was hurting, would not continue just to chase his own pleasure - he would want me to feel good too.

She tries to imagine that it is Aemond fucking her instead, and it is almost easy; he and Aegon have the same pale hair, the same complexion, and when she is not looking at her husband's face, it is possible to pretend. Granted, her younger brother is more lithe where Aegon is stockier, he is taller and their voices are different - but she closes her eyes and pretends nonetheless, convinces herself just for now that things are different.

Mercifully, her brother-husband does not last long - within a few minutes, he swears and grunts and stills his movements; she feels his release inside of her, hot and sticky, and does her best not to grimace at the sensation. She wants nothing more than to push him off of her so that she can go and bathe, to wash it and him from all parts of her as soon as possible - but she cannot, she cannot get rid of his seed because that is the reason they've been forced to marry in the first place. He still does not look at her when he pulls out, and if he sees her wince at the sudden loss then he doesn't comment on it; instead he flops down next to her with a heavy exhale, still attempting to catch his breath from his exertions. He says nothing as she reaches for her shift and quickly pulls it back over her head, merely watching as his breathing calms, and she thinks that it's best if she leave him now - he will not want to share his bed with her all night, not now that their duty for the evening is done.

As she moves to stand from the bed, however, she hears him clear his throat. "Hel, wait." She pauses, surprised as she turns to him; he is pushing himself up on his arm, and for a moment she thinks that he appears almost pleading, like a small child. "Don't… Don't go. Please."

Her surprise overwhelms her - she's never heard him say 'please' before, not once, nor has he ever thanked anyone; he only takes because it is his right as a prince, his right as future king. Hearing him say it to her of all people makes her wonder if she's dreaming, or even if she's suffered a head injury to make her hallucinate all of this - or maybe he's suffered a head injury that is making him act so strangely.

"Stay, Hel," He says quietly. "I want you to stay."

Helaena says nothing as she climbs back into his bed, feeling somewhat shy all of a sudden as she moves closer to him; he does not hold her, does not touch her, as she settles beside him, but she can see the relief in his eyes, that he's truly glad she's not leaving. She suddenly feels guilty that during their coupling she thought of Aemond, that she didn't enjoy it like she perhaps should have; for all of his faults, Aegon is her husband, not Aemond, and he hasn't really been cruel to her like she thought he would on this night. He could have taken her maidenhead while she was dry, she thinks, could have just shoved himself inside and been done with it - but he hadn't, he had instead told her to arouse herself so that it would be easier for them both.

She is not the only victim in this marriage, she thinks to herself - Aegon is just as trapped as she is. The least they can do is make it easier for each other to get through.

Fun fact: "Is Aegon king? Or must we kneel and kiss the old whore's cunny?" is a quote Aemond said in F&B after Viserys died, and apparently "have to kiss the old whore's cunt" was supposed to be a line in the script but was cut.

I fully intended to write Aegon as an unlikeable, irredeemable asshole... but somehow I ended up writing him as sad and lonely, I can't explain it. I'm going to blame it on Ty's performance being fucking hilarious and brilliant to watch (Ty is cute ngl) as well as TGC just looking sad on-screen as Aegon, I don't know :')

Thank you to everyone for the kudos and comments so far, I really appreciate it! :)