selcouth | aegon targaryen (ii)

chapter four

Aegon Targaryen sometimes felt nothing and other times he felt everything, such is the nature of a Targaryen. He decided he preferred to feel absolutely nothing, for it hurt much less. However, sometimes he could not help but feel too much.

Usually he fought it by drinking or fucking into oblivion. Sometimes it didn't work. And as he grew older, he became more and more restless. His distractions were no longer new to him and most of the time it wasn't enough to make him forget and feel nothing once again. When he was younger, his activities were surely enough. With time, he seemed to be sinking lower and lower until he could no longer see the surface.

Maybe he was helpless and there was nothing to be done, but despite his habits no longer being useful, he still acted the same way. It was rare the day that he didn't drink or fuck. And he couldn't imagine a time where he wouldn't have to do it.

That particular evening, while he sat with his family at the dinner table, he couldn't help but hope it would end soon enough. Was he wrong to wish it? After all, they were his family. His mother, his brother, his sister, his grandfather and his cousin. They were the people to whom he should feel the closest to. But he felt unwelcome, he felt their eyes judging him as he lifted the cup to his lips again and again and again.

"How is the King?" Hyacinth asked his mother, who was probably the only one who cared enough to visit his father every day.

"Not good, sweet girl," she answered, "The Kings grows worse and worse every day."

Sweet girl. The name his mother always used to speak to his younger cousin. A name she didn't use with her sons or even Helaena. He never remembered a time when she referred to Aegon as sweet, but when it came to Hyacinth, his mother never failed to remind everyone of how sweet her niece was. Aegon thought it was unfair and cruel for his mother to treat her niece so kindly when she did nothing to deserve it.

But she loved her, loved her more than her own children. And why? Simply because she was the spitting image of her dear aunt, the Queen Alicent. He didn't care he was staring at her, because she didn't care either. Hyacinth Hightower was a whore for attention, just like his grandfather and even his mother. They wanted prestige and recognition - they fought for it. A Targaryen didn't need to fight for attention and maybe that was another reason to why his mother was so close to her niece.

Hyacinth Hightower. So proper, so respectful, so sweet. She ate like the most proper lady and sat with her back straight. Her hands were resting on the table so meticulously still that she seemed like a doll, a pretty little doll.

She was pretty, he could not deny it. And maybe even beautiful. But was she attractive enough to be scandalous? Was she attractive enough to make men lust after her? No, that she wasn't.

Her hair was long enough to reach past her mid-waist and she always wore it down, maybe to make her look even more pious and innocent. However, unlike his own mother, her hair was as straight as it could possibly be, not a single hair out of place. And, again, unlike Alicent, her eyes weren't brown, but green, a deep green that showed just how jealous she was of the attention her cousins had. But the rest of her made it look like she was the one coming out of his mother's cunt. Her bone structure, her cheeks, her lips curled in disgust when someone did something she frowned upon.

Of course, he wasn't able to look at her body, as much as he tried, for her dresses were always heavy and showed as little cleavage as possible. This night, however, what made him stare so much at her was how different she looked. Her dress wasn't revealing, but it was a light blue silk that allowed him to see the shape of her small breasts.

She was the kind of woman men wanted to marry just to have something nice. And she was raised for it, raised for being the perfect wife and perfect mother.