wine red, tears gold - aegon II targaryen

chapter 4.

Being close with another person can be such a precarious thing. Not just in emotional closeness, but physical as well.

Lyanna never much liked being touched, not even as a child. She would shy away from courtiers pinching her cheeks, from her mother's outstretched arms, from her father's heavy hand upon her shoulder. Being touched felt like a burden of sorts, as if someone expected reciprocity from putting their hands on another.

She never wished to give it in return.

Since moving to the Red Keep, she has changed— in more ways than one, of course. She quite liked being touched now by her good mother, Alicent's touches were soft and warm. Mayhaps it was because the queen mother was there to hold Lyanna at her lowest, and she found some comfort in her arms that she never derived from her own mother.

Then there was Aegon. His touches were... confusing. He seemed much at war with himself, like a stray dog wishing for affection, a scratch on the cheek or pat of the head, but didn't know how to ask, how to convey he wanted it. His proposal to Lyanna of exchange of pleasure for nurture was a strange one, to be sure.

It must've been the wine, that would be why she had said yes, wouldn't it?

Certainly not the fact that her husband seemed... jealous. Jealous of a Dornish prince putting his hands on her and making her laugh. Aegon, being the same one who had said she wasn't a beauty that men go to war for. Aegon, who couldn't even flow in the same atmosphere as Lyanna for weeks. Aegon, who fucked a whore the morning after their wedding and many days besides.

That Aegon— was jealous?

The notion of it seemed humorous to Lyanna, as if she held some great power over him, reducing him to his knees before her.

All for a touch.

In truth, it was more than just a touch. He had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, snoozing softly. Lyanna wriggled down, trying to get comfortable. As much as she detested Aegon, at least she thought she did, she didn't want to wake him. Not when he seemed so at peace with his pathetic prize.

He was a heavy sleeper. She managed to lay on her back comfortably and adjust his position to where he was strewn across her stomach and chest. Lyanna watched him for... who knows how long, being lulled into some sense of relaxation by his weight and warmth on her, coupled with his rhythmic breathing. He was like a living heavy blanket.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing small circles upon his scalp absentmindedly, as she fell asleep herself.

When she awoke, he was still there— albeit, shifted slightly. He clung to her like a second skin, his leg thrown over hers, his arms draped over her chest haphazardly, still deeply asleep. Lyanna's breaths fanned over his hair, his head resting under her chin. Whatever spell she had been under the night before had (almost) worn off, the novelty faded.

Gently, more gentle than he truly deserved, she roused him. "Aegon," she murmured, "Aegon, it's morning— I must get ready soon."

"Morning..." he hummed drowsily, lips pressed to her neck unknowingly. "No... I will sleep more."

Lyanna rolled her eyes; it was like dealing with a child rather than a King. "Laze around if you must, husband," she began to pry him off of her. "But I have duties to attend to."

"Duties can wait, wife," he blinked, supplanting his chin upon her chest and looking up at her in a way that made her heart wrench. He looked Gods awful pathetic, like an abandoned puppy. "Stay longer, please."

"... I have things to see to, Aegon. I don't wish for your mother to be cross if I'm late to break our fast together."

He let out a huff, rolling off of her. "May I at least stay until you leave?"