Enigmas | Aemond Targaryen

SIXTEEN

WARNING:THIS CHAP CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT.  DETAILED SMUT. READ OR SKIP AT YOUR DISCRETION.

A huge log fell into a bed of red-hot embers, instigating a shower of yellowish sparks to suddenly flicker only to die as quickly, leaving naught but ashes and an aromatic scent of cedar wood that enriched the air. It was warm and comfortable, on the silk sheets and fine linens that covered the large feather bed, yet hugging my knees together, I still shivered like the silver string of a harper lately struck. A hand rested upon the nape of my neck, stroking the skin lovingly and slowly. I suddenly felt the soft warmth and weight of Aemond's body pressed against my back, his nose lightly touching my hair, taking in the perfume with deep indrawn breaths. He asked softly. "What's the matter, Visenya? I scarcely see you in such a state before. Are you afraid that I might hurt you? If you are not ready, I need not claim your innocence tonight. We can wait till—"

"No." I turned my head backwards, my quivery lips caught his in a kiss. "No. I want you to take me, in as many ways as you want, and as many times as you like." Aemond answered my kiss with ardour, one hand raking through my hair, the tips of his nails scraping at my scalp, closing the space between us until our bodies molded together as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"But you should know," I confessed between the kiss, more than a little breathless. "that I am not as perfect as you might think I am. I never was. I have war scars on my body, ghastly, hideous ones."

"Even the statue of the Maiden has crevices. So?" Aemond burst out laughing a little, pulling the leather patch from his sapphire eye and setting it upon the nightstand. "I am rather insulted that you think a sprinkling of marks can possibly turn me off, when I myself have my fair share of it. You never flinch or shrink away. Why would I?"

"It's not the same." I sighed, worshipping his long ploughed scar with my gentle lips. The red reflection of the firelight glinted in his blue sapphire eye a strange dark purple. I caressed the smooth, cool surface of the gem briefly and sighed deeply again. "Your scars are the evidence of your fortitude and tenacity, of how you walked through all the injustice you've suffered and triumphed over it. Mine are but attestations to the crimes I've committed, to the lives I took. There's nothing valorous in them, only bloodguilt."

"Nonsense." Aemond kissed me again, deeper and longer this time, sending tremors all over my body. "You are guilty of no wrong, and I will not have you suffer from not forgiving yourself over some suppositious misdeeds." He adjusted his posture, sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard of carved rosewood, then he pulled me into his lap, making me straddle him with our thighs firmly pressed together. "Strip yourself. Slowly. Like you did on the Bay that day." He lifted my chin with one index finger. "Do it, Visenya. This is my first command to you as your husband."

Reddened with embarrassment, I veiled my eyes with lowered lashes. Tentatively, I untied the laces of my garments, letting them drop piece by piece to the floor with the slightest rustling sounds. My fumbling fingers almost failed to loosen the pins on my final white gauze undergarment. When I finally did and shrugged it off, I couldn't help but feel acutely uncomfortable about my complete nakedness. Without thinking, I hugged myself timidly, covering my exposed breasts with one arm and a most conspicuous, pink network of battle scars across my upper abdomen with the other. "I don't want you to look. It's ugly—"

"Do not hide from me." Aemond grabbed my wrists and pulled them away, his intense gaze burning at my bared body, setting my own blood afire. "You do not understand how impossibly sublime you are. Too sublime for a mortal birth. It infuriated me that someone dares to tarnish a highest artistry of the gods such as you, when even the softest touch seems to bruise your skin and it's unforgivable." He breathed hoarsely, nestling his face into where my neck became the collarbone and trailing feather-like kisses down my chest, caressing the scarred skin tenderly. "You ought to be treated with most delicate care and worshipped like the living goddess you are."