our little mistakes

maudlin nights

The light that splayed itself harshly across Verena's face woke her slowly. Soft hands reached for the warm body that was beside her, that surrounded her, and attempted to pull it even closer to her body. When it moved against her hands and a slow, a deep groan filled the room, she was suddenly much more awake. She jolted into a sitting position, the warm body against her protesting against her jarring movements. Two large hands grabbed at her waist, hauling her back against it. It took all of her strength to free herself.

When she looked to the source of the warmth, she found Aemond. Sprawled out atop the sheets and blankets, his white-blonde hair unkempt around him. He was sound asleep, though still reached for her, letting another agitated groan loose. A look to the windows beside his bed told her that it was late in the morning, much to her dismay.

"Aemond," she whispered in a rough tone. When he didn't so much as budge in the slightest, she pushed at his body with harsh hands.

The groan that filled his room was much louder and less restrained this time, though his eye fluttered open.

"Come back," he muttered out in a gravelly voice, his muscled arms reaching for her once again.

"Aemond–it's morning light. We fell asleep–by the Gods–" she muttered, slinging her legs over the edge of his bed and standing on wobbly knees. "My servants are probably looking for me–Gods–what am I supposed to tell them?"

As if finally grasping the situation, Aemond sat up, rubbing at his eye as he looked at her.

Thankfully, he was still fully dressed.

After Verena had pressed soft kisses along his scar the night before, she'd promptly pulled herself away from him. Away from his heated gaze and wondering hands. She knew what trauma looked like–knew that the act of showing her the sapphire stone that glimmered underneath his leathered eye patch had been a vulnerable one. It didn't feel right to turn such a moment into a grab for physicality; not even when her heart rate had increased and her thighs had become slick under his stare.

Another time, she'd told him when something akin to hurt had flashed through his eyes.

Instead of engaging in such activities, the two of them had simply talked. They'd told each other stories from their childhoods, humorous tales of their trainings, and, of course, about their dragons. The two had barely registered when the darkness of the night sky shifted over into the hues of early morning. At some point, it seemed, they had both drifted to sleep.

"Are you asking me what to do?" he questioned, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

She scoffed at him. "Only you would turn a situation like this into a power grab."

"Everything I do is a power grab," he said with a grin, finally making the movements to slide out of bed as well. "Because I'm a terrible person, right?"

"The worst," she confirmed.

"Do you make a hobby out of going around and kissing all the terrible men's scars like you did mine?"

"Yes. It's my favorite way of passing the time."

He hummed at her, standing only inches away now as he studied her.

"If I am seen leaving your rooms at this hour, there will be talk of it," she said, more to herself than Aemond.

"Oh, I am counting on it."

Verena turned her eyes to him with an irked glare. She looked for something to criticize him for. As her eyes flew about the room, they landed on a leathered book, though it looked more like a journal, of some sorts. On top of it laid a quill and a jar of black liquid; ink.