His Love |Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-One

Author's Note: This will be a heavy one, besties. We're getting into the story's darker and potentially triggering side, so I've given more detail than I usually do about warnings. Also, the song Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain heavily inspired this chapter, and I recommend listening to it to connect with the reader. Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter Warnings: graphic depictions of dissociation, seizures, sexual assault, misogyny, incontinence, attempted rape, power imbalances, and murder. You have been warned.

Red Butterflies

Meanings: courage, passion, the life-death cycle, fire, and survival.

"Even the iron still fears the rot
Hiding from something I cannot stop
Walking on shadows, I can't lead him back, 
Buckled on the floor when night comes along..."

- Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain

Arryk's head spun when he finally reached White Sword Tower, his armor bearing the weight of his emotions as he yanked the knots that held them together, discarding it haphazardly across his chamber. The more he thought of what he witnessed, the more his head pounded, the pain building inside until he could no longer stand it, and vomit spewed into his chamber pot.

He was an imbecile, a fool, no better than the court jester who embarrassed themselves for others' entertainment.

Arryk knew that you and Prince Aegon were close. You spent most of your days with him or Helaena as any kin would, but he should have learned, paid closer attention, and protected you from the Prince's ensnarement.

Sometimes, the knight would notice the Prince too close, a hand resting in an unusual spot or a stare lingering far longer than what was proper, but he thought nothing of it. You were a capable woman. You were far better at standing your ground than any other noblewoman regarding a male's advances. He saw for himself with the Lord Reaper of Pyke.

Perhaps that was a lie. Maybe you were not the strong woman he believed. Maybe you rejected advances because your sights were set on someone else, your heart on someone else, not because you held your honor to a high degree. You made your own choices–made your bed. You could save your own against the vices of the opposite sex yet make the choices of a hoydenish woman, and that was what Arryk sinkingly realized.

It was your choice.

***

Your chest felt hollow as you stared out a paned window in Aegon's chambers as he laced the back of your dress. The hours after Arryk's intrusion were spent inside the Prince's rooms listening to his apologies. His pleas and snivels were disregarded as you stared at the vast expanse of King's Landing.

"I'm so sorry," he cried, rubbing his tear-stained cheeks into the crook of your neck. "I am a fool. I should never have done such a thing. I-I should have protected your honor," he stuttered, swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth. "Please, speak to me. Yell at me, strike me, please just anything."

Your emotions had switched off like the flicker of a candle flame, tears long dried and left to crack on your skin. "What is there to say that you have not?"

Aegon sobbed further into you in admission, the weight of his actions lowering him to the floor as he crumbled at your feet, shoving his face into your thick skirts. He reminded you of his son who screamed and wailed if you ignored him, the same soft, wavy blonde hair below you, begging to be touched.