The King's Whore - Aegon/Aemond

Chapter 30

It had been a long day. Aemond wondered if he was the only person in King's Landing with any sense. He couldn't trust his mother, that much was clear, and his brother's small council was... Inadequate to say the least.
When his grandfather returned, perhaps the situation would improve. For now, all the burden of having a brain had fallen upon him.
Nevertheless, he supposed he was their ruler now. He couldn't expect much from men so clearly far beneath him. And he would carry the load with dignity, unlike Aegon. That's what he was born to do.
He opened the doors to his chambers, striding in with purposeful steps and stopping in his tracks immediately.
Soft golden hair, silken skin...
Fern sat on his bed, a sheet draped over her.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to mask the way his pulse thrummed in his veins.
By the Gods she was beautiful. Beautiful and perfect and pure. Not like the spiders at court, the venomous women that surrounded him like locusts. Not like his mother and her two faces.
She was as pure and sweet as Helaena but without any of his sister's weakness. And he knew. He knew she cared for him. It wasn't a lie with Fern.
"I came to see you." She said gently.
He bit the inside of his cheek, fingers flexing unconsciously.
Gods be good.
"Put your clothes on, Fern." He said quietly.
Her brows furrowed in confusion.
His beautiful Fern... All anyone had ever cared about was her body. Aegon used her like a damn rutting post.
She had no idea. She was the damn Maiden herself and she didn't know.
He looked away, striding over to pour himself a drink.
"I don't understand." She whispered quietly.
Gods... That sweet voice.
"If I wanted an empty headed whore to fuck I could have a hundred women from the street of silk." He said, voice low and cold. "I have no use for a woman who can only open her legs."
He poured himself a glass of wine and took a long sip.
He wanted her. Gods he wanted her.
But he would not be like Aegon.
When he turned around, she had her back to him as she laced up her nightgown.
His gaze softened just a fraction. He wondered what it would be like to wake up next to her. To rest his head on her chest and hold her. To feel her fingers in his hair, her lips against the top of his head.
His jaw tightened and he walked around the bed to stand in front of her.
"Did you think this was what I wanted from you?" He asked coolly.
She bit her lip. "It never bothered you before."
He scoffed.
Then her big blue eyes looked up at him and he felt his composure falter.
Fern. Perfect little Fern. He'd ached for her since he was just a boy.
First he had wanted a dragon with every fibre of his being.
Then the throne.
Then her.
Three things he'd longed for all his life. He had Vhagar. He had the throne.
Now he just needed to prove to her that he was better than Aegon could ever be.
He touched her cheek.
"Ñuha byka rūklon..." He whispered, thumb gliding over the soft skin of her face. "Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā."
"What does that mean?" She whispered.
The corners of his lips turned up. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "What do you want, Fern?"
"I just... Missed you. I didn't want to be alone." She said gently.
She just missed him. He closed his eye, savouring the words. "You missed me, hm?"
She nodded.
"You're afraid for your position." He surmised, looking down at her. She said nothing. "Are you afraid of me?"
Fern paused. He wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. He wanted her to be afraid. He wanted everyone to be afraid. But Gods... He wanted her to be the one person who saw him and wasn't afraid too. He wanted her to love him.
"Should I be afraid of you?" She asked carefully.
He bit the inside of his cheek.
Yes. He wanted to say yes. She should be afraid. She should bend the knee and know her place.
"No." He said quietly.
She gave the smallest of smiles and turned her head to kiss his palm. His eye closed again. He almost made a sound.
"May I stay with you, Aemond?" She whispered.
His eye shot open again. "Stay?"
"The night..."
Yes. Of course she could stay the night. He wanted nothing more in the world. He thought about being held by her. He thought about touching that soft skin. About listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. About waking up in her arms.
"Mm." Was all he answered, pulling away again.
She watched him toss his coat aside, the daggers on belt glinting in the candlelight. Aegon's dagger, she thought. The one he'd so proudly shown her as proof that his father really did believe in him in the end. Now Aemond had it.
She bit her lip.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
"Sending for some food." He said casually. He paused in his steps, glancing back at her over his shoulder as if only just remembering she was there. "Are you hungry?"
She gave the smallest hint of a smile and nodded.
Aemond hummed gruffly again before stepping out into the corridor.
He returned inside, sitting by the fireplace like he was an autopilot. A practiced routine, she realised. He wasn't used to having company.
The idea made her feel oddly charmed.
Dear Aemond probably came home each night, tired from training, and read. He had his quiet routines. His solitude. Not like the chaos of Aegon, the parties and the other women.
She climbed out of his bed, moving over to the fireplace.
She'd been the king's whore. That had been her armour, her protection. Now she was vulnerable. As much as she yearned to watch the rise and fall of Aegon's chest until he was alright, she knew he may well never be alright. He may well not even survive. And she needed a new protector. A new armour.
She sat beside Aemond, touching his hand gently.
"I'm sorry if you didn't want me here." She said gently. "I've... Been a little lost recently."
It didn't surprise him that she'd been lost. Women were delicate creatures, they needed men to guide them. He glanced at her, holding her hand.
"Thank you for being patient with me." She said, fluttering her eyelashes.
Aemond hummed, touching her cheek. "Have you decided then?"
She bit her lip. "Decided?"
"Are you mine?" He clarified.
She gulped, thinking for a long moment. She had to play her cards well.
She knew how Aemond saw her – delicate, fragile, innocent, sincere... That's who she would be.
The truth was, the nobles and royals had their game of thrones... But Fern Waters had her own game. A game of survival at all costs. And that was far more dangerous.
"I've always been yours, Aemond." She whispered sweetly, the honeyed words making his eye close as he leaned into her. "I love you."
He brushed her hair from her face, nodding, looking up at her with a vulnerability he rarely showed anyone.
She smiled softly.
The door opened and a servant entered, placing down a tray of food. Aegmond didn't bother to pull back, his gaze fixed on her.
As the door closed again, she glanced at the tray. There was a selection of meats and bread and... Berries, a pomegranate beside them.
She thought about all those afternoons she'd sat in Aegon's room eating berries and asking the servants if they had any pomegranates at all.
"Pomegranate..." She smiled softly.
Aemond looked away, reaching for his wine. "Yes."
"That's my favourite."
He huffed. "I know."
She reached for the fruit, preparing herself to try and tear it open like she'd always done as a girl. Cedra would come in to find her covered in juice and seeds like a murder had occured. Aemond took it from her hands silently, taking the Valyrian steel blade from his belt and slicing into it with precision, passing her each segment.
She thanked him, popping out a few seeds and dropping them into her mouth. She sighed, savouring the taste.
Aemond watched her, his breath catching at the look of genuine bliss on her face. A look he'd given to her.
He itched to wipe the juice that'd dribbled down her chin. But he didn't move. Just kept watching.
Kept enjoying the sight of her smile.
His Fern.
She was finally his.

Fern woke to mid morning sunlight the next day. She lay in Aemond's bed, her hair messy from sleep, a small yawn escaping her.
The spot beside her was cold, unsurprisingly. He must've been up for hours.
She bit her lip, thinking of the night before. It must've been the first time she'd been in bed with a man and he'd not fucked her.
There was something oddly pleasant about it... But something uncomfortably unusual too.
She glanced over at the bedside table where the remainder of her pomegranate sat. Her gaze caught on the dagger beside it... And her mind wandered back to Aegon.
Poor Aegon.
It felt like a betrayal.
So many years she'd been his. So many years she'd been by his side. And now here she was. Getting into bed with Aemond.
She hoped he'd understand if he knew. It wasn't personal. But she refused to be caught in the crossfire of royalty, carried beneath the wheels of their gilded carriages as they charged towards greatness. She couldn't be sent back to the brothel. She couldn't die here either.
So Fern would play the game of thrones. And she would play by her own rules.