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On the morrow, though softer than the pain shooting through her forehead, the morning sun spilled over her chambers as Cellese stirred underneath the sheets. She loathed Summerhall, because it's reeked of warm stone the only relief was the summer roses. But on that morning even the sweetness of the gardens couldn't soothe Cellese's head.

"Fuck, I'm never drinking again." She groaned as she turned on her stomach. She shifted as suddenly she felt herself too aware of every muscle reminding her of what her body had been through the night before.

As usual, the night was filled by drunken laughter that had been thrown each time her cup weighed heavier. Though judging by her husbands annoyance, Cellese believed one can hardly blame her.

Many memories of nights shared with her husband was hazy, wrapped in a comfortable blur. There was never a morning Cellese Lannister wasn't ashamed of bedding him. She hated how the wine created a warmth that lingered underneath her chest every night she saw him.

Cellese swung one arm over her brows as she tried to force herself up. Her throat was dry, her head felt heavy and the back of her tongue tasted sour. Outside she could hear the stirs of servants as the day had just begun.

She breathed in deep, letting the the turns in her stomach twist. She hated the tenderness of the mornings, when the world seemed gentler and her memories clung to her skin. None the less, she willed herself out of her bed as her gold curls hung loosely down her back.

She crossed the room as she stood before her mirror. A horror, she saw.

She stood there humiliated by her appearance the morning after. She looked dreadful. Her shift pooling down her body as she examined her bare self. The nights events clear as ever on her skin. Faint bruising along her neck, dark shadows of a bite marks from her knees, to her thighs and near her womanhood. Naturally, the unmistakable imprint of her husbands hands on her waist.

All evidence for how carried away he'd gotten, again. Cellese's lips pressed into a think line. She appearance was so unbecoming for a lady, she told herself. Reckless. She ought to feel insulted by how Aerion marked her body, and yet. Her gaze lingered over her reflection, refusing to admit the sudden heat in her cheeks.

Perhaps she was the pathetic. Cellese could still hear the low laughters she gave him when biting down on his lip until she tasted his blood. The prickling sensation as he kissed down her neck, and the dizzying closeness when he pressed her deeper into the mattress. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of her memory.

"Fucking idiot." she murmured under her breath. She had seconds to herself before she heard faint knocking on the door. "Enter."

The door opened as her small procession of servants entered. Their arms carried lines, brushes and silk. They moved across her chambers in a rehearsed fashion, one she had learned to ignore over time. Cellese straightened her back, unashamed of her body as the servants who dressed her knew the state the prince and his wife's bodies were on the morrow.

Cellese can still remember the servants who gabbled gossips about her claws digging and scratching into Aerion's back the night of their wedding. How like a lion, she scarred him for life as she valiantly rode him until the headboards echoed down the passages of the castle.

Cellese's caught something that only worsened her mood.

There, in the arms of another was a gown Aerion had chosen for her. A rich black silk, threaded in crimson around the neckline with a silver decorated chain meant for her waist. Typical of Aerion, he wanted her dressed in a manner that favored house Targaryen.

But it was what rested in anothers hand, in a black box lined with red silk that soured her face. Rested on delicate silk was a silver pendant that curved mid coil, to dragons meeting each other in the middle.

Cellese's lip twitched. There was no bounds to her frustration on how predictable her husband could be. For a man with a rarity of Valyrian features, a man who looked foreign amongst even the richest of lords, Aerion Targaryen lacked creativity. To Cellese, it all looked too bold, too heavy with symbolism that it treaded on overcompensating.

The necklace made her stomach turn because it lacked subtlety. Even as a married woman, she didn't believe herself to be a Targaryen. She was far from the silver haired women that came from his blood. Unlike them, she didn't possess the fear and hesitation to challenge her husband.

She'd suffer enough during her first two marriages to allow Aerion to make of her a sad and drunken tale of another Targaryen woman who met her fate during the labors of childbirth.

She was a Lannister, and she would die a Lannister.

As Cellese looked at the ugly accessory, she let out a humorless breath. "Set it all aside please." she ordered.

There were very few favors to living so far from home for Cellese. One of them being the gardens of Summerhall. They were so bright during late afternoons when the sun kissed her skin. The beds of roses and pale lavenders a sight she welcomed, mostly because they reminded her so much of home.

Her real home.

Not the fortress she found herself in after her marriage to her husband. As time would go on, she realized what a fool she was to think it'd be a loving marriage. Like a child, she fantasized finding a release and freedom in marrying a Targaryen prince, more than her previous marriages.

She dreamed of a fantasy. Despite the legends and gossips, the Targaryens were still considered the closest Westeros will ever have to gods.

But like otherworldly possessions, it came with a burden, and none was a heavier one than Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen. Every fantasy and desire she ever had about him was swallowed up in smoke and ash. Despite her fathers warnings, she believed she there was more to him than the eyerolls of council men that served her house.

"He will drive you mad, just as he is." Her father warned. "You will become another failed bride of the House Targaryen because of your insolence to listen to me."

Failed bride. Though the Targaryens are legend, it was difficult for Cellese not to look at the history of the Targaryen women. Once fierce dragonriders and warriors, as their dynasty grew and eventually falter it was impossible to ignore the amount of strong willed women who'd died during child labors.

For a house that wouldn't exist without the liked of Daenys Targaryen, Visenya and Rhaena Targaryen it was a shame Targaryen brides were reduced to push out heirs.

For the first few months of their union, she was somewhat relieved to not be abused and bed bound by Aerion. Her first husband, a great lord and figure in Braavos was a man her fathers age. Some nights she can still vividly remember waking up with her body aching, her thighs a bloodbath as Cellese could still feel his grip on her throat. She swore she'd never give up a fight with her next husband.

But Aerion was unlike him. In fact, for some time she believed her husband to not care for her. After all, their marriage was nothing more than a formality. Their first meeting, he hardly showed interest in knowing her name.

She could still remember the scowl on his face when presented to them. "She's far from a true Valyrian beauty, but none the less she is far from ugly."

Cellese wanted nothing more but to dig her nails into his eyes as she forced a smile. Diplomacy and regency, that was the standard for a Lannister lady. She forced a pleasant smile as she nodded to him "My prince, it's an honor to meet you."

Aerion scoffed "What makes it so honorable for you?"

Nothing he did was easy for Cellese. It took an infuriatingly long time to study and measure her husbands behaviors and moods. If Cellese could summarize her husband, it was one word was obsessive.

Nothing Aerion did was ever measured in small amounts. He talk obscenely about dragons, about his bloodline and about the Targaryen legacy. For a week, Cellese considered it fine enough until she realized her husbands mind was a box that was not meant to tamper with.

And despite his arrogance, there was a side to him Cellese loathed. Not because it damaged, harmed or abused her. In fact because there was a part of him that she cared for. He'd cut out her tongue if she ever admit to it, but he was more fragile than he believed himself to be. He veiled his sensitivity in condescension, but none the less it persisted.

His fathers poison that dripped through to him. His need for approval, respect and admiration. For so long Cellese listened, she comforted and cared in the furthest corners of their chambers as the shadows of the night swallowed them whole.

She held him on days when his mind broke into pieces beyond repair and let him kiss her when he couldn't force his humiliation, shame and hesitation away.

Aerion refused to admit it, especially to her but he lived for the way Cellese reaction, emotion even thoughts belonged to him.

It was never gentle, never simple and never tranquil. With her it was a fire that wanted to ruin him. A careless remark and her eyes would lit. A teasing smile and she'd force herself not to blush.

There was an edge to their marriage, they both much prefer than the tedious songs drunkards sang of unions that rendered them of lust and jealousy.

Cellese was a spark that couldn't be contained. She led a trail of blood everywhere she walked. She was a bloodied bride, and he enjoyed his ownership of it. She was unruly with him, and he made it a mission to test her patience and composure every day.

Aerion's passing touches on the small of her back always stiffened her back. A murmur comment lingering over her ear, she'd whirl around with flushed cheeks as she'd grab his throat her nails dug in his throat. The was more than a thrill, Cellese Lannister was his obsession.

Most of all Aerion savored her anger. The way her hands would fuss when she couldn't help herself. The sharpness in her voice would soften in poor attempt to contain itself. No matter her resistance, she cared. Whether it was fiercely, reluctantly or quietly there was a part to both Cellese and Aerion that truly devoted themselves to the other.

Cellese rolled her eyes when Aerion besotted their love as wildfire. Too hot, reckless and bound to scorch. And yet, she could see the ruins of it as their marriage persisted.

Though still, she looked at him with an unwilling devotion. Aerion couldn't help the small and satisfied smile that tugged at the corners of his lips when he took note of this.

Cellese was a poison, a toxicity he'd gladly suffocate on.

It was a late afternoon as the sunset poured over the stones of Summerhall. Cellese walked with a measured pace alongside her lady in waiting Anya Baratheon. The terraces setting into a warm glow as Anya hooked her arm into Cellese.

Cellese and Anya shared a kind of closeness that never needed grand gestures and limericks to be understood. The girls childhood friends with Cellese's first memory being Anya trailing in her shadow. It was rare that Cellese ever opened herself to anyone, but Anya had proved herself in ways her closest family never had.

It was the way Anya cared for her in small fractions, always near but never suffocating her. It was how Cellese's gaze would seek her out and feel at ease in a crowded room. How Cellese's silence was never empty but comfortable in Anya's presence.

When Anya become one of her lady in waiting after becoming a Targaryen, she did not flatter like most. She didn't rush to sing Cellese's praises to impress her. Ultimately it worked in her favor as Cellese much more appreciated the steadiness Anya offered. Over time, Cellese found herself grounded by Anya, a stark contrast to her relationship with Aerion.

It was rare that Cellese could feel at ease in Summerhall, and she gladly took it around Anya Baratheon. She shared more laughter's with Anya than she ever could with anyone else.

The two stood by the terrace of the castle overlooking the courtyard as Anya settled her arms on the railings looking back at Cellese "So, tell me again" Anya started, her dark eyes carried with a glint of mischief "You want me to take your word that you won't be drinking your organs away at the Ashford Tourney? You, Cellese Targaryen?"

"Don't sound so surprised." Cellese smiled faintly "The maesters give me no choice. Everywhere I turn, they hope to receive confirmation that I am with child. If it were up to me I'd pour a child out of my cup."

"That's an understatement." Anya laughed "If I cut you now, you'd bleed ale. Now, I won't go as far to say you are a drunk..."

"But?" Cellese laughed as she turned her back the courtyard as she leaned against a carved pillar "Well, if you were married into this family you would not be so quick to judge. My husband being what he is on bad days, which seems to be every day." Cellese's gaze drifted to the ends of her dress "I suppose I can only put off child labors for so long..."

"Mhm, I heard this morning." Anya said softly "Some of the servants were discussing it in the kitchens. Apparently the maesters are not as discreet as they believe themselves to be." Her mouth twisted as she watched Cellese walk slow turns around the pillar "They all say that you drink to avert it. And it's expected of you to be trying soon."

"Rather than measuring my cups, they should make the effort to dress less ghastly for my sights." Cellese rolled her eyes "I think I more than anyone has had enough of my body being audited from men sworn not to fuck."

"Intrusive, aren't they?" Anya replied

"Why does it even surprise me." Cellese breathed in deeply, her breath now edged with frustration "Recently, it's become tedious. I rarely have a moment to myself without someone examining the swell of my stomach. I swear they hover like crows over me. I am no hurry to give them the satisfaction of being right."

"And what does Aerion think of this matter?" Anya asked "Given how his temprement is." She studied Cellese, her brows furrowed at the mention of the prince.

Cellese gave a short and humorless laugh "An irony in fact. Aerion will rant about his legacy and producing heirs worthy of his name, true dragons he calls them. But he's never openly expressed wanting one with me. He speaks of the fantasy of having an heir."

"And this is a good thing?" Anya questioned straightening her back, as she could see a waver of relief across Cellese's face

"Yes." Cellese sighed "For all of it, he's never forced his will onto me. Not once given me no choice in the matter." She said, a genuine disbelief in her tone "No rush, no timeline. Nothing more than grand speeches."

"Ah, I see." Anya titled her head "So the realm is in a rush, but the two people involved are not. I wonder why that is?"

"Most likely courtly processions." Cellese shrugged "But then again what Aerion and I are, is far from being deemed as courtly."

"Yes, I vividly remember the night of your wedding. The maesters said the consummation of your marriage so lustful and enamored in sin that it would bankrupt whorehouses in Kings Landing. What was it he..." Anya muttered softly "Ah, one said your cries echoed through out the castle walls as it sounded like your husband was testing the strength and limitations of your headboard."

"See" Cellese's eyes lit up "Why bring a child into the picture when I've barely enjoyed my marriage. I deserve at least five new beds before I am forced to become a lump on the sheets."

"Cellese!" Anya gasped, which only received a boastful laugh from the princess. Anya shook her head in defeat of the princess's crude tongue. Anya reached out, brushing her hand on her shoulder "For what it is worth, you'll find no hesitation from me should you ever try and flee again. The men in this castle make it unbearable to even breath."

Cellese gaze softened "I'll hold you to that." Her eyes shifted onto the small figure near the stairs. The young boy, pale haired and cladded in black and red watched the spectacle from the courtyard below. He leaned against the rails, his eyes filled with a wander too familiar to Cellese.

"He's doing it again." Anya murmured "Should he not be studying at this hour?"

"Leave Aegon be." Cellese's expression softened at the young boy "There's only so many lessons one could take from the Septons before falling asleep." she teased as they approached him quietly.

Aegon's eyes followed the clean exchanges between the knights sparring. Shields turned, arrows snapping through the air. He breathed out a faint, awed laugh watching the knights. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he jumped. Quickly turning to see his good sister, Cellese and her lady in waiting Anya Baratheon.

"For a prince, you ought to be aware of your surroundings."

The young prince's cheeks flush as he looks between them "I didn't hear you. In any case, you shouldn't sneak up on me."

"I'd hardly call it sneaking." Cellese smiled "You're too enamored with what they're doing to even notice us coming."

"You looked ready to leap down and join them yourself, my prince." Anya added.

Aegon glanced back to the yard, bright eyed adjoined with a sheepish smile "They make it look like a dance. Knowing where the other man will be before he is. I like seeing how quickly they change their skill when they find themselves outmatched."

Cellese placed her hands lightly on the rail, following his gaze "That is one way of looking at it. All I see is men swinging sticks and grunting."

"It's more than that Celly. A battle is more than just the rowing action. It's the quiet parts as well, the careful planning and thinking." Just below them a knight swung his sword as it rang sharply against the helm of another. Aegon winced while Cellese looked back to him,

"By all mean, don't let us distract you." Cellese's lips curved into an amused smile "You've really taken an interest to this, haven't you? Becoming a squire." she said lightly

Aegon hesitated, but then nodded "Yes, and I wouldn't want exception simply because I'm a prince. I'd learn the skill, not just watch."

"And what does your father say of this, my prince?" Anya asked. Both Cellese and Anya having taken a protective care over Aegon and his sisters.

Aegon's mouth tightened, his eyes back to them "He says he'll only permit it under the condition one of my brothers take me. Blood teaches blood, strengthen my bond with them."

Cellese's brows lifted, a dry laugh escaped her mouth. "Well, that hardly narrows it down, doesn't it?" she sarcastically noted "It it meant to be a reward or punishment?"

Aegon let out a small, defeated laugh with his good sister.

"Between Aerion, who chances are you probably fling from a balcony than me, and Daeron who's rarely sober enough to stand, one might argue it's a hopeless arrangement."

Aegon stared down at the dusty yard, his shoulders dipped "Sometimes I think father hopes I'll lose interest before it comes to that."

Cellese ruffled his silver locks, her expression gentler than usual "Who knows, perhaps in Ashford a miracle will happen and you'll find a noble knight who will take you as his squire."

In the council chambers, the afternoon light did little to soften the tension amongst the room. The air felt colder despite the season as the light from the long, pale windows were consumed by the shadows of the room. Scrolls displayed over the table as two robed maesters stood near the end, their voices careful and rehearsed. Too rehearsed for Aerions liking.

At the head of the table stood Maekar, his posture rigid, and his hands clasped over the pommel of the dagger by his belt. His own patience had run thin from the meeting

"My prince" One of the maester began, his tone calm and steady "We only mean to ensure the health of both the prince and his lady wife. We can make a arrangement of tonus, that may help the princess..."

"Mind your tongue." Aerion warned "Or else I'll have it and gift to my wife." Aerion eyes bright with danger, his jaw tight enough to show the strain from his collar "You speak as though we are brood mares. An insult to suggest the blood of the dragon take your mixtures and concoctions, in hopes of what?"

The maester looked back at Aerion, clearly unimpressed and unaffected by the threat "It is in the interest of the realm that heirs be produced. The union between the Lannister and Targaryens was bound to come to this. Addition heirs can..."

"Can satisfy your ledgers." Aerion spat "Your neatly organized colums of tedious lessons." He let out a sharp laugh "You count months as though blood can answer your parchments."

Maekar's gaze flickered towards him, stern but far from unkind. "Aerion." he warned his son "This is not a personal attack. The succession must be secured."

"It is." Aerion fired back "Or have you already decided that my line will fail you?" Silence filled the room. The maesters sharing careful glances to one another.

"We doubt not your vigor, your grace. Only that results have not yet followed." he said

Aerion's hand curled at his sides, his knuckles whitening. The accusation, the implication hung heavy in the room. "You will not speak of my marriage as though it were a faulty breeding program."

Maekar's expression hardened at his sons insolence. Aerion could see his fathers disappointment at his penance for objectivity. It only further fueled the fire in his chest. "My marriage." Aerion said with deliberate intent on violence "is no matter for public dissection. Nor is my wife. What is expected of both of you, is to remember your place, never forget how replaceable you are to us."

Maekar exhaled slowly "Enough." his voice commanded the room. The maesters bowed their heads, collecting their scrolls as they hurried out of the council room. Aerion's gaze now fixed on his father. His throat burning with anger.

Maekar's jaw tightened, betraying his restraint as he looked back at Aerion. He stood up, broad shoulders squared as he leaned against the table looking down on his son "You've humiliated them again. The maesters are far from the courtiers to be crowded for sport." he eyes narrowed "They serve the realm."

"They pried into my marriage like common fishwives entailed by gossip." Aerion's lips curled faintly "I merely reminded them that I am under no obligation to endure them. They should be grateful for my reluctance to exception, otherwise I'd gift their heads to Cellese."

"Discipline is not a weakness." Maekar corrected his son, stepping closer as Aerion feels the familiar weight of his fathers disappointment over him "You have gained the talent in your behaviors being unruly for a prince. You believe fear to strike respect and admiration into the subject? Because if so, you will find yourself greatly mistaken."

"Some subjects need correcting." he replied "They've forgotten what the blood of the dragon is. Has it never occurred to you how exceedingly bold and arrogant they've become in their judgement towards us father?"

"And you think your arrogance helps control them?" Maekar snapped. His fist slammed against the wooden table. Defeated in Aerion's strong willed and ignorant reasoning.

"By speaking to those you consider beneath you, their judgment only endures. Every threat, every slight further fueling them to make enemies of you." he sighed as he leaned against the table "You will never win their loyalty and respect through intimidation Aerion."

"Loyalty is for fools." Aerion pushed off the table, standing across his father as Maekar is forced to see the very fire of himself in his sons eyes. Only now, it had grown into a volatile state of anger. A fire that could not be bliss

"Fear is the only reliable source we have. Fear is what forces true obedience amongst the people, despite what you believe."

"Fear is a brittle standing to build your legacy off of." Maekar fired back, his tone lowered with the threat of his word and authority over the young prince

"It breaks the moment strength falters. Respect is what endures. You would know this, if you had taken the time to listen instead of lashing out to show your strength."

A bitter laugh escaped Aerions mouth "They whisper of me regardless. Have you any idea the rumors that spread like wildfire in this castle about my marriage. They've already written their fables about my union to the Lannister, long before we swore our vows. Typical, that when I defend myself against their gossip. I am marked out to be an immature prince. You expect me to head to their slander?"

"No one of our stature is immune to criticism." Maekar's gaze softened for a brief moment. More than a prince, but as a father. A hardening that softened when he looked at his sons and what they've become "You mistake scrutiny for insult. A ruler can not take every act of discomfort as a personal attack."

"Of course that is your standing." Aerion scoffed "Instead of defending my word, you join the chorus. Perhaps I am more the fool for expecting you to take my side."

His word landed heavy on Maekar. He could not speak. The hurt riddled him speechless and behind his sternness and pride, it slipped away at the accusation that he cared so little for his son. His shoulders weighed heavier as the lines around his mouth deepened.

Aerion's words cut him in a way no armor or blade could.

"You dare think I do not care?" he questioned, his voice riddled with exhaustion and pain "That I would stand and let the realm tear you apart?"

"By resisting my standing, you've already chosen them."

Maekar exhaled "I stood by duty. By what is good for this realm as our house's strength dwindles with each line of succession. But do not dare to mistake it for indifference."

Aerion's jaw clenched. His fathers admission hung between them, raw and retched. Maekar stepped forward, stopping in short distance from him

"The only reason you view it as such as because you've deluded yourself into isolation. It is not the scandal and whispers of others that force be to take sides. It is concern." Maekar stated

"Concern that your anger will the very thing that takes you from this family. That your reckless impulse will be why I return you to the flames. "

"You think me to be so reckless?"

It is Maekar's silence that was the final cut through the skin. A silence that stretched too long between them. Not his refusal, but the weight of his fathers failed attempt to even attempt at lying to his face. That was enough "Of course you do." Aerion remarked. His face flashed with something raw as though the pride had been taken from under his skin.

Maekar stepped forward, regret already rising as he could see the hurt in his boy's eyes. Though Aerion did not wait before pulling back. He turned his back to his father as he crossed the room, the heavy door opened with a hard pull. He was gone before he could even hear his father calling him back.

The halls felt narrow to the prince as he felt his chest thundering. Servants pressed themselves to the walls, their eyes shot to their feet when he passed. His stride, a violent storm as he felt a sharpness pierce through his head to the back of his neck.

Aerion was furious. Enraged by the maester, the rumors, the way every move he made was already circled as disappointment and failure, and so publicly at that. But underneath his hander, lingered a far more dangerous emotion.

Hurt.

It pressed hard against his ribs, though he refused to acknowledge it's existence. Because naming it would feel like admission to a burdened truth. That his father's judgement cut him deep. That for a fleeting moment, all he wanted was reassurance that he was not part of the reason the Targaryen name was becoming a weakened symbol.

Weakness, Aerion told himself. He refused to submit himself to weakness. And yet, it stuck under his skin. He knew the man he was, an arrogant, selfish, self absorbed and violent man. Anger was his armor, and he carried it with unwavering confidence.

But despite it all, hurt laid underneath it. Unspoken and unwelcomed, but still even a prince grown he still could not outrun.

Night had settled over Summerhall hours ago. The castle engulfed in a deep and soothing quiet that came after the last torches had been dimmed and the corridors empty and hallow of bustling footsteps. That was the hour Aerion decided to return to his chambers.

After his exchange with his father he needed to retreat to his own private studies. He poured himself over letters, study, maps and readings of the Old Valyria to distract his mind.

Though it failed to serve its purpose, as he could still feel the echo of his father's silence to his question.

When he opened the door, like the rest of the castle he expected silence. But instead found his chambers lit. Cellese sat on their bed, her shift gathered and pooled out against the red satin sheets. A book in her lap as the light caught the calmness of her face.

"You waited?" He paused in his steps approaching their bed. Surprised to not only see her awake at the hour, but sober.

"Why wouldn't I?" Cellese frowned, her brows furrowed.

"You didn't need to wait." He replied, his voice quieter than Cellese had anticipated. She could see it in his eyes, pure exhaustion and defeat. "Besides, I have no energy to bed you tonight."

"Is that the only reason you think I would wait for you?" Cellese scoffed "I know I don't have to wait for you, but I wanted to. Is that so hard to believe Aerion?"

Her words settled between them, as Aerion could feel himself succumb to her unassuming care. "If you knew what the maesters theorized about wifely duties, you'd understand my surprise." Aerion countered, waving a hand dismissively "None the less, I have energy to fight with you. Not now, at least."

Cellese settled her book to her side, as she slide off the bed. Her shift reached past her feet as it pooled against the cool floors. Her gaze lingered over him, carefully and attentive. Too hesitant to pry "Aerion, what's wrong?" she asked as she crossed the room.

Cellese stood across from him, gently reached for him as her hands lifted to Aerions face. Her palms rested along his jaw, with her thumbs tracing against his cheeks. The tension unmistakable to Aerion, her kindness a rarity he wanted to hold onto.

Aerion let out a steady breath. "Nothing of concern to you." Aerion sighed. A fight drained from him as he welcomed Cellese's touch. He leaned forward, his forehead brushed against her temple before it settled into the crook of her neck.

"You should cast aside the questions that make the lines that age your face." he murmured, his voice low and edged with a dry humor only she would take light offense to "I have no intention of giving you the answers you want tonight."

Cellese's fingers carefully moved through his hair, curling his locks between her fingers as he cradled his face against her skin. She could feel ghostly traces of Aerions lips against her neck "I know." she said softly "Besides you're no fun to fight with when you're this tired. I'll make a note to annoy you on the morrow instead." she teased.

Aerions face pulled back as his forehead was back against her temple. The button of his nose nestled against his as he felt her hold trace against his face. She didn't expect answers because there was no question to his mood. And for that, he supposed he should be grateful.

Aerion pulled her closer, his hands rested on her waist as she bit the inside of her cheeks to feel the warmth of his palm against her cool skin. His hold firm and grounded. "Do you want my help?"

For a moment, Aerion only looked back at her. His stubbornness every present, but dulled. He gave a small nod that was enough for Cellese. Her hands moved with an unhurried care as she helped loosen his fastenings. The fabric slid from his shoulders.

He watched Cellese as she worked with care. In many ways, he hated how easily he succumbed to her touch. How there a constant tightness in his chest when he felt her eyes fixed on him. A quietness that laid underneath her fiery eyes.

Those were the quiet moments that ghosted him many night. It settled somewhere deep beneath his pride, desperate to reach his heart. As Cellese finished undressing him, her hands paused gently at his chest. Her mouth opened and closed, hesitant to speak.

He could see a question forming, and refused to let her speak. Instead he reached for her, puller her in closer as he kissed her. Fiercely as he wanted to drown the days' turmoil in her lips. Aerion felt the tension in his body ease as she kissed him back. His hands over the curve of her waist to the small of her back until he felt Cellese quietly guide them backwards.

Slow and meassured steps towards their bed as he felt the room around them narrow into a wamrth and closeness shared between them. Aerion felt his body lowed over her as Cellese guided him. Her hand on his shoulder, her lips brushed against his temple as he felt her nails faintly down his lower back.

When Cellese's back reached their pillows, she held him close and anchored to her chest. Aerion allowed himself to close his eyes, as his ear rested against her chest taking in the sound of her heartbeat. He listened to her even breathing as it was the only remedy he needed to fall asleep that night.

AUTHORS NOTE:

aerion when the maesters talk shit about the wife he always complains about:

https://youtu.be/Z-rQdK5pRbc

DAMN, 5.7 K words for me is a lottt. But I have negltected this book because this week has just been a lot and decided to spoil anyone who's currently reading this chapter (I hope)

So Anya Baratheon, she is the baby sister to the Baratheons, and will be the main love interest for my Valarr Targaryen book (depending if anyone is interested). As I was writing her and cellese, I kid yall not I was heavily inspired by Laena and Rhaenyra's bond IN THE BOOKS, bc i can't even get into how dirty hotd treated my girls.

But thats a topic for another day. One thing that I really want to emphasize is that though Cellese is a very difficult person, once she opens up her heart it is open and she fully trusts the person who holds it. Its just so much fun writing guarded characters who have that one person they trust more than anything.

Also Cellese getting along with Aegon bc damn I feel very protective over that bald child. And trustttt it causes a lot of tension between her and Aerion. I also rewatched episdoe 5, and maekars MY BOY!!! literally is on a loop in my head. There's so much to see about how complex Maekar and Aerion are, despite how we joke about he dislikes his kids and trust me its funny, I do really love the depth and devotion he has for his sons. But from a childs perspective I imagine it is a hardship having a parent love you, but not necassarily liking you and therefor it creates almost like a disdain, insecurty and resentment in you. So if I wrote Aerion very out of character I should apologize, it's just the writing of the show really had me interested in exploring that dynamic.

Also I have to very heavily state this again, that Aerion and Cellese should not be romaticized. There's so many layers to toxcity that stems from narcissism, possession and ignorance that make their relationship incredibly dangerous and toxic. But with that, like any doomed relationship there is this hesitation to leave or emotionally detach because there are these moments of weakness, where despite it all as difficult as it is to admit to yourself, a part of you still loves this person. And i don't think it's more evident in Cellese and Aerion. They loath the state of their marriage, and yet both are fiercely protective and possesive over the other. They truly see each other as extensions of themselves in both strength and weakness, which further heightens the push and pull dynamic they have.

final note, please let me know to whoever ends up reading this if i should post a valarr fanfic. and alos please dont forget to either vote or comment, i would really appreciate it