The Maiden and the Drowning Boy

Chapter 5 -Pain In My Heart

The maester's hands were cold and uncomfortable as they examined him, searching for sores and whatever the fuck else he rattled on about as he came entirely too close to his person. Aegon's fists clenched at his sides, his head tilted back so he had no chance of catching sight of the grizzled head below him, bobbing around his cock. It would certainly ruin any pleasure that he would ever experience again.

It was too damn early for this. The sun was still creeping over the walls of the Keep, not even past the early morning. Dreadful.

"No unsightly marks, your Grace," the man affirmed. "Ensure that any pleasure house you visit keeps clean quarters, and you should be safe from giving illness to your Lady wife."

His Lady wife. He saw the smile that graced her features, the spray of freckles along her nose and cheeks. Her bright eyes were blue as the sky he found escape in, and her cascade of sunset curls were his. Every bit of her would belong to him in a few moons. Cool hands that tempered his fevered skin would touch him without a barrier. The soft pout of her heart-shaped mouth pressed open by his thumb-

"I don't need guidance on spreading illness to my wife when I visit her bed. I'm more concerned about avoiding having my cock fall off," he snapped defensively, yanking his trousers up as soon as the maester pulled away, not wanting the stirring from where his thoughts had been wandering to manifest in front of his current company. Ser Criston was on the other side of the low partition and Aegon did not need to meet his gaze to know that he was being examined and judged and found wanting.

Aegon could barely resist mouthing the words that followed, for they were as familiar as his mother's prayers. "Every woman is an image of the Mother and should be treated with respect," Cole reminded him with a level voice. Aegon knew it, as intimately as his mother's judgment, that the man was disappointed; disappointed in his inability to be better in the training yard, and his inability to keep his cock in check.

For as long as Aegon could remember, Ser Criston Cole had been by his mother's side and by extension, that of him and his siblings. While Viserys (he could never think of the rotting king as his father, only Sire, for all that the word entailed) had noticed him in Aegon's earliest memories, telling him how he would tame a dragon one day, and regaling his young self with stories of the Black Dread, it was Criston who came to his mind when one asked or spoke about father. Just as he desired to keep and then win back his mother's affection, lost to time as it had been, he felt the same with the man who was currently judging him like the Father and Warrior themselves. Once, Cole had seemed heartened by Aegon's natural talent with a blade and his hunger to prove himself in the training yard, especially in the face of Rhaenyra's growing brood of dark haired brats. It hadn't hurt as much then, the lessons. The weight had not come upon him all at once. It was a slow build. Stone by stone, they pressed down on his shoulders, with each turn of the moon until he struggled beneath the weight of the expectation.

His mother's growing paranoia and panic with each new son born to his sister, and what Aegon suspected was pressure from outside sources, left his cheeks mottled pink and red from her hands and the bite of her nails on his shoulders. It left him sensitive to raised voices and sudden movements. It left him pretending to be more in his cups than he was, if only to keep watch of what went on around him, what people said, what someone might do to him. Then came the times when he was beyond caring of his fate and hoping some percent oblivion might be found beyond the next bottle.

Cole's growing shift in praise to Aemond and his increasing barbs for Aegon to pay attention and how a warrior and a prince did not prowl after the ladies and the serving maids poured salt on the growing wounds his mother gouged.