Chapter Text
Left shoe Baelor/Right canon Baelor
King’s Landing, third moon of the year 206 AC
The wedding feast stretched long into the night, and though the candles burned lower and the musicians’ hands began to tire, the celebration in the Great Hall of the Red Keep showed little sign of slowing.
For Viserra, the evening had passed in a glittering blur of laughter, music, and endless movement. Her cheeks ached from smiling. Her feet throbbed within her jeweled slippers. Yet she had never felt happier in all her life. The first hours of the feast had been spent dancing.
So much dancing that the musicians scarcely had time to pause between songs before another lord approached to request the bride’s hand.
Viserra had begun the evening with her youngest brother, the lively and bright-eyed Egg. Egg had taken the responsibility of the dance with great seriousness despite barely reaching her chest.
He had bowed so deeply before her that several nearby ladies giggled, and when the music began, he attempted the steps with fierce concentration, his small boots moving with determined precision. Viserra laughed delightedly when he nearly tripped over his own feet during a turn.
“You are an excellent dancer, my little dragon egg,” she told him kindly.
Egg puffed up with pride. “I practiced, sister,” he declared.
Their dance ended in cheerful applause from those nearby, and the boy bowed again with exaggerated grace before rushing off toward the tables where sweets awaited him.
Next came her thoughtful and quiet brother, Aemon. Where Egg had danced with energetic enthusiasm, Aemon moved with surprising elegance for a boy his age. He said very little during the dance, though he did congratulate her and once he mentioned the traditions of Valyrian weddings, he would not stop talking.
She also danced with Valarr and Matarys who were equally kind and chivalrous, just like their father. She looked at Baelor from time to time and saw him watching her with a small smile.
She danced with her uncle Aerys and Rhaegel, and even the enigmatic Bloodraven, who simply looked amused and complimented her for her savviness, for this marriage saved House Targaryen. His words left her confused. How would he know if her marriage would save their house or not?
Yet not every dance passed so comfortably. At one point the music shifted and another partner approached her. Aerion extended his hand with a charming smile that did not reach his purple eyes. Viserra felt a chill crawl down her spine and she quickly looked at her husband who was sipping his wine at the high table, his eyes no longer holding the warmth they did before.
But custom demanded she accept. She placed her hand lightly in his and allowed him to guide her onto the floor. Aerion pulled her closer than necessary.
“You look like a goddess, sister. Your lord husband must be so happy, though we both know the truth of it. You needed a true dragon and father settled for something else, tsk, what a pity.”
His fingers pressed too firmly against her waist. His breath brushed near her ear.
“Enjoy having his withered cock break your maidenhead,” he murmured.
Viserra forced a polite smile, though her stomach twisted uneasily. She glanced back at the high table but she couldn't see Baelor and her stomach dropped. Where is he? Is he dancing with someone else? she thought, her eyes darting everywhere to find him.
Before Aerion could say anything further, a tall figure stepped smoothly between them. Her husband’s voice remained courteous and calm.
“Nephew,” Baelor said politely, “I must ask you to forgive the interruption. I believe I have not yet had a second dance with my lady wife.” It was a lie, for they had danced most of the evening but who was to say no to the heir of the Iron Throne? No one.
Aerion’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course, uncle,” he released Viserra’s hand.
Baelor immediately guided her away, as they began dancing, his brown eyes searching her face. Viserra felt the tension drain from her shoulders the moment distance separated her from Aerion.
Baelor’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back as they moved into the dance. He did not ask questions but the thoughtful look in his dark eyes told her that he had noticed something.
Perhaps he had sensed the strain between her and Aerion. Perhaps he merely acted on instinct. Either way, Viserra found the gesture deeply comforting.
There was something profoundly attractive about Baelor’s attentiveness. He observed, he understood. And when needed, he intervened, without fuss, without spectacle. Simply… protecting her. The realization made warmth bloom pleasantly in her chest.
After that dance she was claimed again and again.
Her grandsire, King Daeron, insisted upon a turn around the floor, smiling broadly as he guided her through the steps.
“You have made this old king very happy tonight,” he told her. “You'll make a fine Queen one day. And I haven't seen Baelor smiling so much in… decades. Thank you, sweet pea.”
She kissed his jeweled hand in respect, her eyes dancing with tears. Then came her father. Maekar danced with stiff dignity, clearly uncomfortable amid the celebration, though when Viserra laughed during one misstep, he muttered something about blasted slippery floors that made her smile.
After him came a parade of powerful lords. Lyonel Baratheon whirled her around the floor with booming laughter. Damon Lannister bowed with golden courtesy and pageantry before their dance began, while his heir Tybolt Lannister followed later with leonine charm. Leo Tyrell danced with graceful confidence. So too did the Lords of House Tully and House Arryn. Even the heir to House Stark claimed a turn, solemn and respectful.
By the time the music paused again, the names and faces blurred together in Viserra’s mind.
At last, the moment arrived for the final presentation of gifts. Earlier in the evening many lesser lords had offered treasures, silks, jeweled combs, books, tapestries, and goblets of hammered gold. But now the most important gifts were brought forth.
Those from the great houses of the realm. Servants carried them carefully to the table where Baelor and Viserra sat together.
Each lord stepped forward with respectful bows and words of courtesy and congratulations, and she swore she saw approval in their eyes, in some relief.
The final gift came from the royal couple of Dorne. Prince Maron Martell stepped forward beside his wife, Princess Daenerys Targaryen. The Targaryen Princess, at her four and thirty namedays, had ditched her usual sadness for a look of pure mischief.
Maron bowed, an elegant and soft man with a belly at his nine and fifty years of age. His accent rolled thick and warm.
“Your Graces. Prince, Princess,” he said with a large smile, “please receive these gifts from Sunspear and from all of Dorne.”
He gestured toward a large pile of gifts, seemingly as many as extravagant.
“And one I know will please you the most, even in its simplicity,” said Princess Daenerys as she looked at her older brother, King Daeron, then at Viserra and Baelor. A servant came forward and brought a modest pine box, setting it right before them.
“For we are now bound to the Iron Throne,” Maron continued, clearly pleased that his wife was happy, “as we should have been decades past. And we will continue to be so, decades from now.”
Daenerys smiled mischievously. “Princess Viserra,” she said lightly, “this gift will serve you both… though I suspect it may serve Prince Baelor even more.”
Viserra frowned slightly. The box seemed rather ordinary for such a grand declaration; still, she lifted the lid. Inside lay a folded cloth which she removed carefully. Beneath the cloth rested a velvet pouch. Curious, Viserra untied the laces and peeked inside. A shriek escaped her before she could stop herself. She dropped the pouch instantly as if it had burned her.
The hall fell silent, probably all her attention on her. Her heart hammered violently. Everyone at the table perked up.
“What is it, Vis?” asked Egg with a mouthful.
Maekar smacked him behind the head. “Manners, boy.”
Next to her, Baelor leaned closer, placing a hand on her thigh. She did not know if she felt nervous because he was touching her or because of what was inside the pouch.
“Is something the matter?” he asked quietly.
Even King Daeron watched now with sharp interest. The Kingsguard shifted, and she chuckled.
“No, there is naught amiss. I am just… surprised.”
Viserra swallowed hard. She glanced at Baelor. Then at the pouch. Then back at Baelor again. Slowly she lifted the bag once more. This time she reached inside. When her hand emerged, it held a crown. A ripple of astonishment swept across the royal table, the lords and ladies closer to their table, and Maron’s eyes doubled in size, while Daenerys continued smiling. The few Martell cousins and kin that were behind Maron also looked dumbfounded and a tad scared.
Even young Aemon gasped softly. The crown was unmistakable. Valyrian steel iron circlet, with square-cut rubies set like flames. Heavy and legendary.
The lost crown of Aegon I Targaryen.
Viserra’s mind raced. The crown had been lost in Dorne decades earlier during the death of Daeron I Targaryen. And yet… Here it was.
Maekar spoke bluntly from across the table. “Is that the bloody crown of Aegon the Conqueror?”
Baelor rose slowly. With reverent care he took the crown from Viserra’s trembling hands, turning it in the candlelight as he examined every detail. At last he nodded.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “This is the Conqueror’s crown.”
King Daeron stood as well and accepted it from Baelor, studying it thoughtfully. His gaze lifted toward his sister. Daenerys smiled serenely. She patted Maron’s arm.
“What better gift,” she said, “than the crown of the Conqueror himself?”
Maron looked somewhat overwhelmed by the moment, sweat glistening faintly on his brow.
“Yes… yes,” he agreed hurriedly. “With this gift, Dorne proves its loyalty.”
Daeron’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on his sister before he nodded slowly. “A kindness, sister, Prince Maron, for finding the crown and giving it back. The House Targaryen thanks you.”
Viserra turned to Baelor. His expression remained composed, though she had noticed the earlier flicker of concern when he first examined the crown. Still, he inclined his head politely toward the Martells.
“As do I,” Baelor added. “Your loyalty is most appreciated, Prince Maron.”
Viserra followed his lead. “Your gesture is most heartwarming and impressive,” she said graciously. “I thank you both, for your kindness in retrieving the crown and giving it back to House Targaryen.”
Did the Martells have it all along and chose to give it back now? But why? And why did Maron seemed as surprised as we did when we saw the crown? The only one that wasn’t surprised was my grand-aunt Daenerys, she looked pleased. Was this a scheme of yours? Viserra mused as she also thanked her grand-aunt.
The presentation concluded but the silence did not last long, even if everyone in the hall was murmuring. From somewhere among the gathered nobles, a loud voice shouted: “Bedding ceremony!”
Viserra could have sworn the booming tone belonged to Lyonel Baratheon. Her cheeks flushed instantly. Beside her, Baelor leaned closer.
“Do not fret,” he said gently. “We will meet in your chamber.”
She nodded nervously. Maekar groaned loudly.
“If they think they can touch you,” he growled, “they are sorely mistaken.” He rose halfway from his seat. “Fuck off,” he barked toward the approaching young lords. “Or I’ll fetch my mace and we’ll settle this now.”
The younger men scattered quickly but tradition could not be denied entirely. Several noble lords still stepped forward to escort the bride toward Maegor's Holdfast. Among them walked a loudly laughing Lyonel Baratheon. Her father grabbed her by the arm, glaring at anyone who dared touch his precious daughter.
“Let’s get the dragoness ready for her dragon!” he shouted cheerfully, hands around his mouth so his voice could carry on. “He’ll wish to continue feasting tonight, but he will feast on DRAGON FLESH at last!”
“Fuck off, Baratheon,” Maekar snapped.
Viserra blushed furiously as the group began moving through the castle corridors. Behind them footsteps followed. Aerion had joined the group.
Maekar noticed immediately.
“The fuck are you doing?” he demanded. “Go back to the table.”
Aerion smiled calmly. “No. It is custom-”
“It is custom,” Maekar interrupted, voice deadly quiet, “for me to shove my boot up the arse of anyone who tests me, so don’t test me, boy.”
Aerion held his gaze for a moment. Then he bowed slightly. “As you wish, sire,” with that he turned and walked back toward the feast.
Viserra released a quiet breath of relief as the procession continued toward her chamber, with Lyonel shouting debauched things. By the time they reached the corridor of her chamber within Maegor's Holdfast, the laughter and noise from the feast had softened into distant echoes.
When they stopped before her chamber door, her sire wasted no time. He placed a firm hand against his daughter’s shoulder and gently but decisively pushed her toward the door.
“Get inside,” he muttered gruffly. His voice lowered slightly as he added, “I’ll summon your ladies. They’ll be here quickly. I saw Shiera and Darla walking behind us.”
Then he pointed sharply toward a nearby servant. “You,” he barked. “Fetch the ladies!” The boy nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to obey.
Before Viserra could say anything more, the booming laughter of Lyonel Baratheon echoed through the corridor. Maekar’s mouth twisted in irritation.
“Go inside, little dragon,” Lyonel called cheerfully. “Before the big bad dragon comes and tears you right in front of us!” A few of the gathered lords snickered. “I pity that dress of yours,” Lyonel continued with obvious delight, his smile broad as he gestured to her. “It will be in pieces by the morn!”
More laughter followed. Maekar’s patience snapped.
“I see your teeth are keeping your mouth too warm,” he growled darkly. “Allow me to rid you of them, Baratheon.” Then he shoved the door open for Viserra. “Inside.”
She slipped through quickly and closed the door behind her. Yet even through the thick wood she still heard Lyonel’s voice echoing down the corridor.
“Ah, but no one will be warmer than the princess tonight-”
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by Maekar’s angry reply. Viserra leaned back against the door and sighed. A laugh escaped her despite herself. Lyonel truly possessed a mouth as large as the rest of him. The men of House Baratheon were known for their size, and Lyonel embodied the reputation perfectly. Even towering figures such as Baelor Targaryen seemed merely tall beside the Laughing Storm.
Viserra pushed away from the door and stepped into her chamber. The antechamber felt strangely quiet after the chaos of the feast. Her nerves, which had remained steady throughout the evening, suddenly returned with a vengeance. She began removing her jewelry with hurried, restless motions.
First the bracelets, then the rings, the heavy necklace, finally the tiara. She yanked it from her hair with more force than necessary and winced when several strands caught painfully in the metal. A few silver-gold hairs came loose with it.
“Oh, bother,” she muttered.
Her skin felt too tight, her gown too heavy. Everything about the moment suddenly seemed overwhelming. The door opened behind her. Shiera swept into the antechamber like a mischievous torrent of dragonfire, followed by her aunt Daniela and cousin Darla.
“To the bedchamber with you,” she announced briskly. Viserra turned to glare at her.
Shiera only smiled wickedly. “Now, now,” she continued, steering Viserra toward the inner chamber. “We must get you out of all of that if Baelor is to sire a son upon you tonight.”
Viserra rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be guided forward. The chamber beyond held a modest four-poster bed draped in dark red silks. A folding screen stood nearby, concealing the copper bathing tub and the small cabinet where the chamberpot rested.
Between the three of them, they made quick work of her elaborate gown, unlacing, lifting, and folding the heavy fabric aside. Freed from the stiff layers at last, Viserra felt lighter though no less nervous. They brushed her hair until it fell in long pale waves down her back. A warm cloth was used to gently wash her arms, shoulders, and skin, removing the sweat of the long celebration. At last she was dressed in a sheer nightgown of soft pale silk that brushed lightly against her legs.
Shiera began dabbing perfume along her skin. Behind her ears, between her breasts, at the backs of her knees. Then, without warning, Shiera lifted the hem of the gown slightly and dabbed some on her mound.
Viserra hissed in surprise. “Why did you put some there too?”
Darla burst into quiet laughter. Shiera withdrew her hand with a smug grin. “For Baelor,” she replied. “Why else?”
Viserra sighed dramatically. “For heaven’s sake, you could speak in our tongue.”
“I could, but I don’t want to.”
Before she could reply, footsteps sounded in the outer chamber. Darla glanced toward the door. “The prince is here.”
Viserra jumped so violently she nearly stumbled. “Already?” she exclaimed far too loudly, she knew Baelor heard her as he moved about the chamber.
Shiera clicked her tongue. “Do you think he would wait longer? He waited six moons already.” Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You would do well to remember that even the most honorable man may possess dishonorable thoughts,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop it!” Viserra protested.
Shiera laughed and kissed her cheek. “Do not fret,” she said more kindly. “He has more restraint than most men in Westeros,” her eyes sparkled mischievously again. “But you are a dragon, cousin. You will fit together perfectly.”
She gave Viserra a gentle nudge toward the bedchamber. “And let your fiery blood guide you.” Then she clapped her hands. “Come, ladies. If we linger, she will never be with child by the end of the night!” Her laughter echoed as she swept from the chamber.
Viserra shook her head helplessly as she heard Shiera urged Baelor to hammer Viserra properly tonight. Then she stepped around the screen. Her uncle indeed was very much there. His boots sat neatly beside the foot of the bed. He wore only a long white tunic that reached to his knees. He’d probably been divested by the time he reached the bedchamber.
The simple garment did little to hide the broad strength of his shoulders and chest as he was sitting quietly upon the edge of the bed, his warm brown eyes watching her curiously.
Viserra felt her cheeks grow warm immediately. “Did you hear everything?”
Baelor smiled softly. “Enough to know that Shiera has brought you to the end of your wits.”
Viserra rolled her eyes. “She has filled my head with nonsense,” she complained, stepping closer, forgetting that they were now husband and wife. “And she dared speak loudly enough for you to hear it,” she sat beside him. “She has no decorum whatsoever.”
Only then did she realize how little clothing either of them wore. Her blush deepened dramatically. Baelor seemed amused.
“Would you like some wine?” he asked gently. “With honey?”
Viserra nodded immediately, too flustered to trust her voice. He remembered, of course, he remembered. She watched as he rose and crossed to the side table where a jug and goblets waited. He poured carefully, his tall frame moving with relaxed confidence as though the chamber belonged entirely to him.
Viserra tried very hard not to stare. Especially not at the outline of his body beneath the thin white fabric. Her cheeks grew so warm she feared they might burst into flame. When he returned and handed her the goblet, seeing the tent in front of his midsection, which he carefully concealed by holding a hand in front of him, before taking his seat next to her, she blurted the first thought that came to mind.
“You seem more eager than I.”
Baelor chuckled softly. “For a man,” he said calmly, “it is easier to point out such eagerness, I’m afraid. Though I suspect you are not entirely unaffected either,” his eyes glimmered with gentle humor.
Viserra promptly choked on her wine. She did feel squirmy, though she did not know if that was good or bad. Shiera told her it was a good thing if she was squirmy in her lord husband’s presence. Baelor reached out quickly, patting her back.
“Easy there,” he murmured patiently. His eyes seemed to be unable to stray away from her frame, though she appreciated his gaze. This was her husband, he was allowed to stare as much as he pleased. Warmth pooled in her lower belly.
“My cousin told me that the wedding night isn’t as scary as the septa described it to me. Septa Ruella indeed painted quite the picture, with you, according to her tales, rutting into me like some boar and I supposedly having to endure as if I’ve committed sins by doing my duty as a lady wife.”
“Septas have a special way of explaining the wedding night, though I assure you, it will not be unpleasant, at least not for long.”
Viserra whined. “Oh, Shiera did tell me it will hurt when you break my maidenhead. What a pity, but she did say it feels good after, so I am truly keen on finding that out. What? Why are you laughing?”
Baelor’s shoulders shook as he passed a hand over his face. “I’ve never thought a maiden would speak so freely about such a topic.”
Viserra huffed. “Well, you are to break my maidenhead, why not speak about it? Why are you laughing?”
Baelor tried to suppress his smile. “I am joyous that you speak so freely, and I want you to, my joy. A few moments ago, you were nervous, now you speak about our duty as if it were merely trade.”
Viserra blushed crimson, hearing the endearment pass over his lips. She suddenly did remember what it meant to break her maidenhead.
“Ah, there it is,” the Prince of Dragonstone teased and Viserra slapped his thigh. Gods, he must be made of marble, she thought as she felt the muscle of his thigh.
He moved closer to her and praised her, kissing her covered shoulder, one hand moving her silver-gold hair as his fingers found the back of her neck, massaging there as his lips touched her bare shoulder, his other hand having pulled the material slowly. Viserra moaned and the goblet dropped from her hands at her feet.
“For fucks sake, not my precious Myrish carpet,” she cursed as she bent over to take the goblet and set it on the floor, groaning as she looked at the stain.
Baelor let out an amused breath. “You have your sire’s tongue, my joy.”
“Well, you would curse too, were you in my shoes. This is a beautiful Myrish carpet.”
“Allow me to make it better,” he pulled her closer once again, loving that he was so open with his caresses, his hands moving to her cheek and waist. “I’ll buy you ten carpets if your heart desires it.”
“Is that so?” she grinned, turning to press a chaste kiss to his lips that he deepened, his lips moving expertly over hers as she made small sounds, enjoying his body so close to hers.
Viserra’s eyes were closed. The smell of cloves, ink, parchment paper and him, invaded her nostrils. It felt like fire pooled into her veins, and for a vague moment, she remembered Shiera’s words.
It will hurt but then it will hurt so good, she was confused by the cryptic words. Let your fiery blood guide you.
That she did as her hands moved to the back of her husband's head, threading her fingers together as she kept herself glued to him, her tongue gently peeking out to meet his. He groaned in her mouth, and Viserra let out a strangled moan, her core throbbing as their tongues danced. Baelor gently tugged on her hair, and they parted.
“Let us lay on the bed, you will be more comfortable,” his voice was husky, like never before.
“Shall I take it off?” she asked eagerly as she grabbed the fabric of her nightgown.
“If you wish, I-” he had no time to respond as she pushed the fabric past her shoulders, suddenly the chamber turning too hot. The fabric pooled at her feet, she stepped out of it and climbed on the bed, walking on her hands and knees before plopping on her back, her head on her pillows.
Viserra watched his amused grin, how he slowly rose and walked around the bed, coming to her side and kneeling on it, laying next to her. He said nothing as she pulled him to her with her hands by the back of his neck, kissing him with her tongue. It felt otherworldly, being kissed, feeling the proof of his eagerness on her hip. The heir shifted, hooking his leg over her as he moved above the princess, holding himself up on his elbows, his legs bracketing hers.
“You were made for me,” he murmured on her lips before starting to press kisses along her jaw, her throat, her collarbones. One hand grabbed her breast and he groaned, making her whimper as he rubbed her rosy bud with his thumb, turning it sensitive.
She barely had time to register his words as his mouth captured the assaulted rosy bud, his tongue slowly swirling around it until her eyes screw shut, her hands clawing at his back. His other hand moved to the other neglected breast, flicking the rosy bud to his leisure.
“Oh, Baelor,” she whined, bucking her hips in need of… something. She had previously found out, once she came to court, that humping a pillow felt good and that if she did it long enough, she would feel so good by the end of it, something snapping in her private places that led to a moment of shock, her body spasming as she felt unadulterated pleasure.
Her husband moved back up, whispering in her ear, “I did not wish to impose on you, make you take the nightgown off, but you, my joy, are full of surprises. Open your legs for me, sweet girl.”
Viserra nodded breathlessly as he moved between her legs properly. He grabbed her thigh and spread it to his leisure, raising his head to look into her eyes.
“Do you feel good?”
“I feel like I will die if you don’t touch me,” her voice was pitiful.
A slow smile touched his lips and he bent his head to rub the tip of his twice-broken nose on hers. “You’re perfect, have I told you that, my joy?”
“Many a times,” her breath hitched as the hand on her thigh moved to her cunny, his thumb brushing the top part of it, over her downy silver hair, where her slit started, making her jump.
“Easy, easy, breathe, my joy,” he murmured in her ear. “Jaehossas sȳris sātās, you’re so wet. My poor wife, I shall make this better, hm?”
Viserra was close to tears, nodding, his thumb rubbing up and down but she did not need him to rub her, she needed him to do something else. His voice was rich and smooth, making her thighs lock on his hips. He still wore his tunic, but he was hitching it up, and she felt his hot tan skin.
Viserra shuddered as she felt something hard on her cunny, making her gulp and tremble. She clutched his shoulders harder, her nails digging into the taut clothed muscle, half afraid and half anticipating his next move.
“Grid on me, my joy,” he raised his head and looked her in the eyes as he bucked his hips, breathing slowly, making his shaft glide deliciously over that spot that made her eyes roll at the back of her head.
“Oh fuck, Baelor,” she gasped as her legs tightened again and on his hips. And so they moved like this for some time until Viserra couldn’t take it anymore, his length grinding on her sensitive lady parts, and she yelled as she came apart, her thighs shaking around his hips. Her eyes were screwn shut.
“There you go, breathe, my joy, breathe,” he whispered above her, breathing heavily, and she opened her eyes. The soft light of the candles and hearth painted him in shadows, the black of his eyes blotted out the brown. Viserra kissed him clumsily, grasping the sides of his face, their teeth clinking as he massaged her right hip. “Breathe for me,” he whispered on her lips as his hand moved between them.
Only this time, it wasn’t to touch her, but to guide himself inside of her. Her breath was loud and heavy, perspiration on her brow as he pushed inside and all of a sudden, deliciousness turned into a grave pressure. She frowned, and he kissed her forehead.
“Breathe in and out for me,” he murmured. “A deep breath, if you will,” he was so kind even in a moment that she felt too overwhelmed. Allowing herself to be guided, Viserra nodded and took in a deep breath, her hands still on his face, and as she released it, he pushed it.
“That’s it, you’re doing so well, my joy,” he groaned, brow furrowed as his hips pushed forward.
Everything clashed inside of her, the unfamiliar sensation, the weight of his body atop hers, her sensitive nipples grazed by his tunic. It was too much and he was everywhere. She needed to get away, so she squiremed.
“Shh, don’t move, breathe, my joy.”
“Fuck you and your breathing,” she sobbed, smacking her hand multiple times against his shoulder. “No, no, I don’t want to give you children, you have two heirs, don’t you?” she whined and tried to get away, but he changed angles, his head in the crook of her neck, his arms going under her to keep her still, fingers digging into the flesh of her globes.
“My perfect wife, shh. Almost there, you’re doing so well.”
“Stop,” she grunted but he kept pushing in, until he bottomed out inside of her, their hips flush and suddenly the pressure wasn’t that grave anymore. His head dropped in the crook of her neck.
Viserra felt his chest rising and falling atop her, his breath on her skin. Moments turned into minutes as they simply waited. Viserra felt his manhood inside of her but didn’t know what to do next. Should I move? She chewed her bottom lip.
“Baelor?”
“Yes, my joy? Does it hurt still?”
Tears swarmed her vision. “Not anymore. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I wish to give you heirs, as many as the Gods will it,” she sniffed, suddenly feeling foolish.
“Shh, my love, do not shed tears for me, no, no,” he brought his hands to her face, bracketing her as his large palms cupped her wet cheeks. Visera looked into his kind brown eyes and felt her chin tremble. His thumbs brushed under her eyes. “No, my joy, don’t apologize. This is the order of things, and you’ve done well,” he pecked the tip of her nose.
“Even if I cursed you?” she chuckled, smiling.
He hummed. “Even then. You’re so endearing, cursing me as if I were some stableboy, My beloved lady wife.”
Her husband was teasing her, she knew. “I am mine sire’s daughter, am I not? Cursing comes as easily to me as fish to water. As dragonfire to dragon,” her hands moved down his clothed back, then up again, then down again. “Please, can you-”
“Move?” he breathed out, shifting his hips so he could grind on her. She nodded, biting her bottom lip. Baelor dipped his head and caught the assaulted lip between his, sucking it in his mouth. She moaned as his hips moved again, and again, and again.
Viserra found it fascinating how so little movement could feel so good. Shiera was right, the pain was delicious. She wanted more pain, more pleasure. But she did not know how to tell him that, so she just did as he bade her, breathing in and out.
Above her, her husband searched her eyes, sweat forming on his forehead that she wiped with her own palm, his breath heavy. And they kissed, the decadent touch of lips made her walls tighten around him and the coil in her private parts was somehow more complicated.
She was desperate. He rested his forehead against her, the tip of his twice-broken nose touching her cheek. The bed creaked under his controlled ministrations and her tummy quivered.
“Oh, Baelor,” she whined, moving her hips in tandem with his, her thighs shaking from the exertion. She dug her heels in the back of his thighs for purchase and she came apart again, screaming his name loud enough that the entirety of the Red Keep heard her. Her mouth fell open, no sound coming out as wave after wave of pleasure traveled her from head to toes.
The push and pull of his cock was her undoing, for it never felt so good when the coil snapped in her private parts. She screamed his name again as the tide of pleasure dissipated, leaving her a mess of sweat, hair and heavy breaths. Hearing her husband’s breathing was spurring her on, pleasure ebbing still beneath the surface as it blended with the pain.
“Kirimvose-” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth, his nose, his clean-shaven cheek.
“A little more, my joy,” he breathed out, his frame rocking hers in a sweet dance, back and forth, back and forth, until he stilled above her. He grunted out her name, the grip on her hips bruising as he shallowly thrusted inside of her, still grinding his hips.
She felt something inside of her, the spilling she guessed, and she clamped down on her husband, crying out his name as she bit his shoulder. Her scream was now muffled, but she shook all the same, tears streaming down her face as he moved still. Again?
“Baelor!” she yelled, head falling on her pillow, back arching. “Gods,” she huffed, her chest rising in quick breaths, her eyes staring at the canopy of her head. He held himself above her, stopping any movement, and she felt him relax too, the weight of his body was welcomed as her insides were also warm.
Viserra chuckled, her frame moving as she laughed. “I was so loud,” she wheezed and he started laughing quietly.
“No one can contest that we did not consummate,” he whispered in her ear, kissing the tender skin behind it.
“No, it tickles,” she giggled delightedly.
He kissed her jaw and withdrew himself, making he wince as she felt him slide out, along with some liquid that fell down the crack of her backside. She scrunched her nose.
Baelor lay beside his wife, his long white tunic had ridden up and now lay bunched carelessly around his hips. Viserra stared upward at the dark canopy above them. Her heart still beat fast in her chest, though the rush of the evening had begun to soften into a pleasant warmth that spread through her limbs.
After a long moment she spoke softly.
“I believe we made a babe.”
Baelor let out a quiet breath that held the ghost of a laugh. His voice sounded tired, but content. “I think so too.”
The simple certainty of his tone made something flutter warmly inside her. The long day, the wedding, the dancing, the feast, the nervous anticipation, everything had left her utterly exhausted. Sleep crept over her almost without warning. Before she realized it, her eyes had closed.
She woke some time later to the faint sensation of movement. Strong hands carefully lifting her. Her eyes opened slowly. Baelor stood beside the bed, guiding her gently toward the other side of the mattress as if she weighed nothing at all.
He noticed her waking and offered a soft smile.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured. His voice held the same steady calm that always soothed her. “I have cleaned you, and I will take the sheet as proof of our union.”
Viserra blinked sleepily. Her mind struggled to gather itself.
“Tomorrow morn,” he continued gently, “I will come to accompany you to break our fast in the king’s dining chamber,” he tucked the blankets more securely around her shoulders. “Sleep now, my joy.”
Viserra nodded faintly. Her eyes drifted closed again. Through the haze of drowsiness she felt the sheet beneath her being carefully drawn away. The rustle of fabric followed. Then quiet footsteps moving across the chamber. She forced her eyes open once more. Baelor moved about the room methodically, extinguishing the candles one by one. The hearth came next. He bent to smother the last glowing embers.
Only a single candle remained. The one beside her bed. He reached for it.
Viserra sat upright suddenly. “Daor!” she squeaked, panicked.
Baelor paused, his fingers hovering just above the flame. He looked at her in mild surprise.
Viserra scrambled for words. “I-I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes to read,” she said quickly. “So I let it burn.”
Baelor frowned slightly. “It is dangerous to leave it burning unattended.”
Viserra swallowed. She opened her mouth to explain further but found nothing sensible to say. Her mind raced helplessly. Her husband studied her face for a moment. Then the concern softened.
“I will command your maidservant to check on it through the night,” he said calmly.
Viserra nodded quickly. “Yes. She always does that.”
He watched her for another quiet moment. She could not quite read the thoughts behind his dark eyes. At last, he bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Good night.”
Then he turned and left the chamber. The door closed softly behind him. Viserra exhaled slowly. Only then did she allow her shoulders to relax. The candle flickered quietly beside her bed. She stared at it. The reason she kept it burning had nothing to do with reading.
She should have said she disliked waking in the darkness when she needed the chamberpot during the night. Now he likely believed she had lied to him, over something so simple. The thought twisted uncomfortably inside her chest.
Moments ago, she had felt warm and safe. Now that warmth tasted strangely like ash. Viserra pulled the blanket closer around herself. Her thoughts wandered toward someone she missed more keenly than ever. Her mother. Tonight, Viserra longed desperately for her guidance. For a mother’s quiet reassurance. There was no one to ask.
No one to explain whether such awkwardness was normal for a new wife. Tears welled unexpectedly in her eyes. Soon she began to cry softly into the pillow.
Morning arrived far too quickly. When the Targaryen Princess finally rose, her body felt unfamiliar. She moved carefully, aware of soreness she had never experienced before. Embarrassing memories from the night before returned in scattered flashes.
She was dressed slowly, her maidservants assisting in silence. By the time the door opened again she had nearly convinced herself she could face the day without blushing. Then her husband entered. He looked… renewed. Dressed in a finely tailored doublet of black and red, the colors of House Targaryen, he appeared every bit the heir to the Iron Throne. Black breeches completed the elegant attire. Viserra felt her composure immediately falter. She managed a shy smile.
“Lord husband,” she dipped into a curtsy.
Baelor bowed and approached, gently lifting her gloved hand. He pressed a respectful kiss to it.
“Lady wife,” his eyes crinkled faintly with warmth. “I hope I have not tarried too long.”
Viserra shook her head quickly. Words refused to form. He extended his arm and she placed her hand in the crook of it. Together they began the walk toward the apartments of the king.
Baelor glanced down at her with quiet amusement.“Have I rendered you speechless?”
Her blush deepened immediately. “Daor,” she said softly. “I just… last night…” She hesitated. “Do not think ill of me.”
Baelor’s expression softened with gentle warmth.
“I could never,” he said simply. “You are my sun and my joy. And such things grow easier with time.”
Viserra nodded. She still could not bring herself to meet his gaze fully. A lingering fear remained that he might now consider her foolish after all her awkwardness the previous night. They reached the king’s dining chamber. He loves me still by the look in his eyes, so I should not fret, she mused.
Inside, King Daeron immediately spotted them. The king clapped his hands together in delight.
“Ah If it isn’t the newlyweds!” he beckoned enthusiastically. “Come, come. You must be famished.”
Across the table, Maekar looked at his father in open horror. The entire family sat at the table, including Daenerys and her husband Maron and their children. Baelor guided Viserra gently to her seat before sitting beside her. Without hesitation, he began serving food onto her plate himself. He spoke quietly with her as they ate, ensuring she had everything she needed.
King Daeron watched the interaction with visible satisfaction. At last, the king leaned back in his chair with a pleased smile. “I expect an heir by the end of the year.”
Across the table Maekar nearly choked on his boiled egg. “Father!”