It's Strange What Desire Will Make Foolish People Do.
He catches a droplet of wine running from her lips to her chin with his thumb, his hand remains on her face as he cups her cheek with it he leans on his side so he's almost looming over her when...
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Every day Anne wakes up thinks this and sighs.
"What will you do tonight?" Annerys asks her husband as she plays with the rings adorning his fingers. She's worn out after a long day and a good fuck. Her husband remains nude as he lies beside her in her bed whilst she has put her nightgown back on.
"Not sure." Aegon replies. "Would you like to come?" Aegon asks as he leaves her bed and begins to dress himself.
Anne rolls her eyes at the suggestion; with her entering her eighth moon of pregnancy. "I'm going to sleep."
"My indolent little wife." Aegon says as he leans down and presses a short but open mouthed kiss against Anne's lips.
Anne offers him a simpering smile and says "which is entirely your fault."
"Is that right?"
"My child and their father have thoroughly exhausted me." Anne tells him as she rubs her hand over her swollen bump.
Aegon moves over to her bedside and sits beside her, he takes her hand from her stomach and kisses the back of it. "Are you well?"
"Quite." Anne eases his concerns, "the maesters say it's normal for a woman to experience a great deal of tiredness at this point as did my mother and yours." Anne says as she runs a thumb over the knuckles of his hand that's holding hers. Before she smirks at him and says "and I suppose you know exactly what it is that you did."
Looking rather smug Aegon stands from the bed, leans over Anne and kisses her lips once more.
As he straightens up Anne groans in discomfort. Anne answers Aegon's worried look by saying "they're kicking." Annerys looks up at her husband and smiles at him. Before she takes a hold of his hand and presses it against the little and incessant kicks.
"Strange isn't it?" Anne says. Her hand is placed against Aegon's holding him against the linen of her nightgown that separates her skin from his.
Aegon falls to his knees and presses his forehead against her belly.
He's half responsible for the life growing in her belly. Something real. Something that actually exists and matters. Something that he knows Anne will love without any bounds. He supposes this is what people mean when they speak of legacy. The child is proof of his existence: his mark in the world. Proof that he's done something well.
And where he knows he will fail this child; he knows Anne will succeed. All he has to do is leave the poor thing well enough alone.
Anne can feel his tears dampening her nightgown and she threads her fingers through his hair.
"Are you alright?" Anne whispers as though she's speaking to a skittish horse. Aegon stands and clears his throat.
Perhaps she is, she realises as Aegon ignores her question, picks up his doublet from her table and leaves her chambers.
