His Love |Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Nineteen

Author's Note: I felt this story severely lacks dragon content. I want to make up for that. I hope you enjoy the little spice I've sprinkled in there toward the end. ;) Thank you so much for your support!!

Chapter Warnings: Implied cannibalism, dubcon.

Translation Guide: Zaldrītsos ipradagon: little dragon eater. Pālēs: turn. Kelītīs: halt. Lykirī: calm. Dohaerās: serve. (I tried my best to use proper grammar. Please don't call the High Valryian police.)

"Why did you dress our pleasure up as greed?
While you're limiting our love, taking sunlight from the seed?
Why did you give us hearts we don't understand, like an apple in our hand that you'll never let us have?" - AURORA, The Devil is Human.

It was midday before you decided to venture from your cotton sheets, letting you and the servants rest as much as possible before ringing the bell that signaled them to your room. Your ladies did not commence the morning ritual you had come to despise. They, too, must have also participated in a celebration last night and were nursing the same headache as you.

You stretched and yawned as you basked in the yellow afternoon sun that peeked through the emerald curtains, relaxing your achy muscles. The balcony appeared relatively comfortable in the daylight, and you decided to venture out, sitting on a cushioned bench. A cold breeze passed through King's Landing, picking up the withered plants across the ground and billowing your night dress around your bare ankles.

Winter was only weeks away. The once viridian foliage was now barren, revealing the wooden bones of each plant. The grass was a burnt orange from the lack of nutrients the soil provided, and no more earthy-smelling flowers were sprouting within the cracks of the flagstones. Death and decay surrounded you, bringing comfort despite how desolate everything appeared.

You hoped that snow would fall in the coming months. It would be the closest thing to home again.

You could reminisce fondly about your first wintertide at Dragonstone, the thick flurry of snowflakes blanketing the sandy beaches and rocks that covered the island, but never upon the castle itself. You remembered staring out of one of the many black stone towers and observing the steam rising from a carved basilisk as the slush melted. It was as if the haunting creature had the heat of a living being. It disturbed you immensely, plaguing you with endless nightmares alone in your apartments.

For the small folk, winter in King's Landing was always strife. Sickness and starvation were rampant throughout Flea Bottom that time of year, inflicting everyone no matter how plentiful the harvest was. It agonized you to no end each season you spent at Dragonstone, your stomach in knots if Madam or the other residents had enough to eat and if they managed to survive whatever illness spread.

The wintertime of your sixth year was the most gruesome. The growing season was met with drought, and when it came time to harvest, the merchant carts were bare. Ma tried to conceal the difficulty that year brought by distracting you with oral lessons in history and math, but no matter how much a parent attempted to protect their child, it was never enough.

You remembered the taste of the stale loaf of bread the whores shared throughout the week, the texture of jerky meat, and the ache it gave your jaw when chewing.

The atrocities you witnessed your fellow neighbors commit left you feeling hollow, memories of people burying the emaciated bodies of their kin only to dig them up. You were uncertain why they would do such a thing at the time. It was a sin against the Seven to desecrate the bodies of the deceased, and you had questioned Ma why they would do it. She hadn't given you an answer then, but you didn't need one. You already knew. Even in your youth, you could comprehend the atrocities of man.