Chapter Text
As the year 120 AC began, the worst of the Red Spring was still to come. Only days after the New Year, Laena Velaryon succumbed to a violent stillbirth that left her husband, the Rogue Prince Daemon, bereft and spiritless. A black cloud hung heavy over the Red Keep of King’s Landing, and the sense of anxiety was communal throughout the castle. Normally a frequent host of lavish balls and tourneys, King Viserys kept the capital calm and steady during this extended period of grief. It was a mood felt from the Blackwater to the Sunset Sea, from the red sands of Dorne to the snowy hills of Winterfell. The country was in a months-long stasis of nervous tension.
Daemon Targaryen soothed his broken heart on strongwine and seclusion. He spent most mornings and nights with Caraxes, flying nowhere slowly, always circling back to Driftmark in the afternoon to let his dragon rest. Corlys Velaryon had given his now-former son-by-marriage freedom of the castle High Tide, but the Rogue Prince kept only to his chamber. He saw no one but Caraxes. Not his twin daughters who needed their father, nor his brother the King who wouldn’t even know where to begin. One late afternoon, two days after the funeral, a soft knock came to his door.
“Uncle?”
The voice was warm and familiar. Its sound waves seeped beneath Daemon’s skin and latched onto his heart. Rhaenyra’s low, ambient presence immediately calmed Daemon’s sprinting pulse, and he admitted her to the room. She entered slowly, her black dress trailing behind like a single lagging wave of fabric, sweeping the salty floorboards of High Tide like a midnight’s ocean wave.
“Talk to me, at least,” Rhaenyra pleaded softly as Daemon shut the door behind them. She placed her hand across her uncle’s shoulder, and her touch froze him. Then, Daemon shrugged away and sat back down on the edge of his bed.
“Good of you come,” he struggled at last. His speech was hitched by dry tears, his nose stuffy and the skin around his eyes dark amber. He looked down at the floor, counting each gemstone adorned to the bottom of his niece’s gown.
“Good of me to come?” she echoed, shaking her head. “Daemon, look at me.” Rhaenyra’s hand moved from his back to his neck, her fingers tightening to force his head to turn. As soon as Daemon met her eyes, his tears came once more, spilling from those haunting violet irises. He is more angry than sad, Rhaenyra realized.
They sat together in bed for over an hour, and neither said a word. Between them was an invisible barrier that had been erected through years of absence. But this barrier was made of glass, not stone. As they held each other, the glass shattered, and their familiarity resumed as if nothing had ever come between them in the first place. Rhaenyra sat firm as a statue, cradling Daemon’s head and stroking his unkempt silver curls.
As she touched him, Rhaenyra recalled the early years of her adolescence. She remembered that feeling of ultimate lust mixed with danger. Her uncle was the most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms (perhaps in the entire world), and it was a treasonous folly to chase him. But Daemon wanted me, Rhaenyra always knew. The nights he’d take her out into the city to drink with his bawdy friends, or to attend deviant sex plays when she was only just learning what it meant to be a woman… He preyed on me because he wanted me. And he wants me still.
Though some still called Princess Rhaenyra “The Realm’s Delight,” her youth was well behind her. She’d birthed three sons in four years, and now spent her days caring for them as closely as her own mother had cared for her, allowing the handmaidens and servants only very small roles in her children’s upbringing. Sorry as Rhaenyra was for the somber occasion, Laena’s funeral was her first opportunity to dress fancily in years, and she was feeling confident the way she used to… when she was five years younger and fifteen pounds lighter.
As moon replaced sun in the evening sky, Rhaenyra made to leave Daemon’s chamber. Before doing so, she planted a wet kiss on his forehead, and then another on the top of his hair. She walked toward the door slowly, hoping her uncle was looking at her the way he used to: brow furrowed, eyes like a preying lion’s, a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth. But Daemon wasn’t looking at her at all. He turned away to fetch his sable cloak and followed her out of the room, and then out of the castle to find Caraxes for their nighttime flight.
***
At the supper table, Rhaenyra’s mind was absent from her family’s banal conversation. Queen Alicent may have been righteously droning about some peasant conflict in the Marches, or perhaps the King himself had a story for the children, something light and mostly untrue about a Valyrian dragonlord or the Old King. Whatever it was, Rhaenyra didn’t hear. Her fingers tapped anxiously against the great driftwood table, and her eyes were fixed upon a relic displayed on Lord Corlys’s mantle. No doubt a prize from his battles in the Stepstones, Rhaenyra thought. Those years Daemon had spent at war, away from her, Rhaenyra had learned what it meant to yearn.
Though at that time their relationship was mostly innocent, Rhaenyra spent each and every night wishing her uncle was in bed beside her, or wishing that she was sleeping beside him in whatever tower or fortress he’d just conquered. When the second course of lamprey pie was being served, Rhaenyra recalled how she touched herself for the very first time a few nights after Daemon had left to war.
She had done it just the way he told her to, when he had gotten drunk with her several months before his departure. He’d told her to take off those white silk pajamas, and to begin rubbing herself from the nape of her neck all the way down to her womanhood. He’d said that her chest would become flushed (and it did) and that her thighs would become slick in the middle (and they were). She pressed one finger, and then two, inside herself just like he told her to, and rubbed her clit slowly in a circle because it felt good to roam there.
For many nights afterward, Rhaenyra had kept experimenting. She masturbated in the complete dark beneath her blankets, and she masturbated by candlelight in the open air. She learned to pinch and squeeze her own nipples, and she discovered how intense it felt to put a pillow between her thighs. Nearly every night Rhaenyra would do this until her uncle returned to King’s Landing.
By that time, she was no longer a very little girl, and tried her best to regain Daemon’s attention. Soon enough, they began sneaking out into the city together, and sometimes they’d even fly away to a ruined castle the First Men had built, which Daemon had discovered in his own youth. Sometimes, Daemon would tell his brother that Rhaenyra needed more learning about the ways of their ancestors, so Viserys let him take her to Dragonstone. They would read old books and scrolls, wander through the dark and cavernous Dragonmont, and practice spells that had gone dormant in the Doom.
It was there on Dragonstone that the Rogue Prince took Rhaenyra’s virginity. They walked barefoot on the beach at dusk, the twisting, fused black stone monstrosity that was their familial castle on their left. Daemon stopped, kissed Rhaenyra on her lips, and pointed to a distant light way up high near the apex of Dragonstone. “In that little room,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ve ordered a bath be drawn for you. I’ve ordered a bed be brought up, and wine for us as well.” Rhaenyra could still feel the heat of his breath, and the excited gooseflesh that arose on her skin when he spoke. “In that little room I will take you as the Conqueror took his sisters. You are ready, if you want it.”
Little Rhaenyra went on her sandy tiptoes and wrapped her arms around her uncle’s neck. “Please, Uncle. Yes, I want it.”
She was six-and-ten, and he was two-and-thirty. She was his niece, the Heir to the Iron Throne, and he was her uncle, the Rogue Prince. Together, they were one body.
A flagon of wine went down loudly onto the table in front of Rhaenyra, snapping her from this memory. Joffrey pulled at her dress. Helaena laughed at something Aemond was saying. Otto spoke quietly in Viserys’s ear, and Alicent pretended not to listen. Jace and Luke made polite conversation with Baela and Rhaena.
Aegon sat quietly, directly across Rhaenyra. If he’d said a word the entire dinner, she hadn’t heard it. Aegon sipped his wine and picked at his meat. He looked miserable, but that wasn’t strange. Rhaenyra took pity on her slight, brooding little brother.
“Do you enjoy it here?” she asked him between bites of lamb. “On Driftmark, I mean.”
“Oh, it’s… just fine,” Aegon shrugged, taking another sip. He didn’t even look her in the eyes, and Rhaenyra knew she had to make an effort.
“Years ago, when I came here with father to arrange my marriage to Laenor – you were too young to join us, I suppose – he sat at supper exactly where you are now.” She paused and took some wine. “After everyone had left the table, it was just the two of us, and told me that some nights on the beach, whenever the sea is calm enough and there’s no rain, you can hear the screeches of the wild dragons across the Blackwater.”
Aegon finally glanced from his cup to his sister’s eyes. His were sleep-deprived, surrounded by dark bags always. “It that true?”
Rhaenyra smiled. “I don’t know. Probably just a tale. It was too windy that night to hear them.” Aegon nodded, not entirely disinterested, and took another bite of his cold bread.
“It’s nice weather out,” Rhaenyra continued. “We could… – Joffrey, enough! – we could walk the beach and listen for ourselves.” She took Joffrey’s little hand off her dress, and fed him a long sip of her wine. “What do you say?”
Aegon shrugged and nodded.
***
For the first few minutes of their walk, neither sibling spoke a word. Aegon was awkward and they both knew too little of each other to be comfortable. When at last they reached the end of the long winding steps from High Tide castle to the beach, Rhaenyra took Aegon’s hand and led him through the narrow gate onto the sand.
His palm was a little sweaty, but Aegon put up no resistance to being touched. They walked against a light breeze that blew back his shoulder-length silver hair, while Rhaenyra kept hers in a tight braid. Having left their boots by the gate, Rhaenyra and Aegon felt the damp sand sift between their toes. Every step was cushioned, and soothed their nervous skin.
“Maybe it’s too windy to hear them,” Rhaenyra said. Her voice sounded wistful, and her words were carried away by the breeze.
“Hmm?” Aegon squinted, looked at her for a second, and then back down to his feet. He picked at his fingernails like a farmer shovels dirt, scraping his skin until it gently bled. He had nothing to say to his big sister. Not because he hated her, but because he didn’t know her. His whole life, people expected Aegon to be jealous of Rhaenyra, and to be angry with her. But in truth, Aegon didn’t force himself to care.
“Is father still angry with you?” Rhaenyra asked a little louder. The wind picked up, and the end of her black dress began to whip around her ankles.
“Oh, no,” Aegon mumbled, “I don’t think he cared, really.” Several weeks prior, Aegon had been caught by some nosy informant in Flea Bottom; he was drunk off Arbor Gold sleeping in a room filled with naked men and women. The scene was not befitting a Prince of the realm, Queen Alicent had said.
“It was just my mother getting him to be angry, is all.”
Rhaenyra nodded, and decided to touch his shoulder. She meant it reassuringly, but Aegon squirmed a little to the side. “Alicent is a good woman.” She left it at that.
“When we were girls, she wasn’t so innocent, you know.” Rhaenyra knew that would get his attention. Aegon looked up at her and winced.
“What do you mean? I forgot the two of you were friends.”
“Best friends,” Rhaenyra corrected him, “until we were about your age, I suppose. I was angry at her for marrying father.” She became sad all of a sudden. “I wanted him all to myself, but their marriage ruined it. I had no one, truly. Even Uncle Daemon was hardly ever home.”
“Oh,” Aegon said kindly. That was his best way of saying, ‘That must’ve been difficult for you. Sometimes I feel the same way.’
“But before that, Alicent and I spent nearly every day and night together. Every feast and party we’d dance with all the boys, and then late at night, in her room, we’d compare which lordlings danced the best and which ones were ugly.” She laughed at her own childishness. “During tourneys, we’d compete to see who could name each knight’s House first. And then, when they took their helmets off, we’d argue about which ones we wanted to marry. Alicent hated all the old ones.”
Aegon tried his best to pay attention, but the tiny shells in the sand were distracting him. “And then what?”
“Well, one night we got into some trouble. There were some boys in from the Vale, a bunch of squires and little brothers of lords – don’t tell your mother I’m telling you this. Promise?”
“Okay, I won’t,” Aegon replied. He straightened up and kept pace with Rhaenyra, trying to actively listen.
“Well… one boy, I think he was Lord Corbray’s squire – no, maybe he was one of Grafton’s – knew how to get some wine. And his friend, who was a little older and was even already betrothed, knew a girl on the Street of Silk. That night, we snuck a whole party into the castle, singers and dancers and whores and all.”
Aegon’s mouth was half-open. “I can’t even imagine mother at that kind of party.”
“Neither could she! Alicent hated it, at first. After some wine, and some dancing, I found her necking with that squire in the corner.” Just then, Rhaenyra realized how different it was to gossip with Aegon. These stories were not appropriate for Alicent’s son to hear, which made her want to continue even more.
“What then?” Aegon urged her. Rhaenyra felt her competitive urge with Alicent, and she knew she was winning.
“You really want to know?”
Aegon nodded. It wasn’t lost on either of them that this was the first time in their lives speaking to each other this way – the way siblings do. It had always been formal, curt greetings for public appearances, and that was it.
“By the end of the night–” Rhaenyra almost whispered, even though there was no one to hear them, “– Alicent had laid with that squire and two of his friends. Her dress was practically torn in half, so she had to cover herself up with a blanket when the guards finally found us.”
Aegon couldn’t believe it. He looked at his sister incredulously, almost smiling, even. Aegon didn’t care about his mother’s impropriety since he hardly help her up as some paragon of virtue in the first place – he didn’t care about virtue. He was just happy to hear something exciting, for once.
“Of course, father never found out,” Rhaenyra went on. “Ser Otto fired the guards who found us, made the boys disappear, and Alicent wed father a few months later. A year after that, you were born.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Aegon repeated himself. By now, sky was a clear pitch black. Stars were sprinkled above them, and the half moon shone brightly unto the sand and sea.
“I’m sure you’re no stranger to those kinds of parties, a prince your age,” Rhaenyra allowed. “But it was not acceptable behavior for girls.”
“Oh, I’ve never done that,” Aegon said. “I drink a lot, which I know I’m not meant to. But I’ve never been to one of those parties.”
“Surely you’ve had some girls’ attention? You’re what, five-and-ten now?” Aegon shook his head. “You mean… never?
His shyness returned. “No, I’ve never lain with a girl, if that’s what you mean.”
Rhaenyra looked at her little brother curiously. They walked quietly for a time, no sounds except the murmuring sea and the wispy breeze. Finally, she said, “That’s all right, you know. Probably how it should be, even. And you’ll be married soon enough.”
“Married?” Aegon looked half-disgusted. “To who? You know, Leon Estermont is a year younger than me, and his father’s already betrothed him.” Aegon spoke bitterly, and kicked some sand in the air. “I think my future is about the furthest thing from father’s mind.”
“No, you fool,” Rhaenyra chided him. “You’ll be married to Helaena.”
Helaena, Aegon thought. Oh. He never even considered that.
“I didn’t know that,” he said. Rhaenyra could sense his unease.
“I know it might feel strange,” she assured him, “but it’s the right thing. For our family, I mean.”
Our family. The words sounded strange out of Rhaenyra’s mouth. Neither had considered the other to be much family at all.
“No, it’s… that’s all right,” Aegon said.
“My mother had two stillborn sons before me, you know. And three miscarriages besides. If one of my brothers had lived, he’d be the heir, and I’d be married to him.”
“I didn’t know that,” Aegon said quietly. “I suppose that’s true. And I wouldn’t be born.”
“No,” Rhaenyra laughed, “I suppose not. I might have even married you, if your grandfather had his way.”
“Really?” Aegon was shocked.
“When father was trying to find me a husband, Otto Hightower said it should be you. You were all of two years old, of course, but we could’ve waited.” She laughed again. “Our wedding preparations would just be happening now, if that were the case.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“Would you have liked that, do you think?”
“Well… sure. I’m not sure. You’re a… good sister, and all…”
“I’m teasing you, Aegon.” Rhaenyra smiled, and put her arm around his shoulder. “Although if we had gotten married, you could’ve been king. Wouldn’t you have liked that?”
“I don’t think so,” Aegon mumbled. He thought for a moment, and said, “Everyone tells me I should hate you for being the heir. They make fun of me. The first eldest boy to get tossed aside for his big sister. But I don’t care, honestly. I don’t know what I want – at least, that’s what Aemond always says.”
“Well, your mother still wants you to be king.” Rhaenyra said the words like they were venom she had to spit out.
“My mother wants a lot of things,” Aegon said. “She won’t get them.”
Rhaenyra felt sorry for her brother. It was perhaps the first time in her life that she considered things from his point of view. She could remember, as a very young girl, wanting what Daemon had had. To be styled Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne. Now that she had it, she would never give it up. How could Aegon simply not care?
“Aegon,” Rhaenyra said in her soothing, wistful tone. She stopped them both, and turned Aegon to face her. She took his hand, no longer sweaty. “If you could do anything right now, what would be?”
“Anything?” Aegon thought hard.
“Anything.”
After nearly a minute of silence, he said, “To leave, I suppose. At least for a little while. To go somewhere else.”
Rhaenyra smiled, and said, “Follow me.”
They ran back to the gate and put their boots back on. Then, Rhaenyra led him around the side of the castle where the dragons slept in the open grass of Driftmark. Syrax immediately raised her sleepy head, and greeted Rhaenyra with a gentle coo. Sunfyre was nearly hidden behind Vhagar, but at Aegon’s approach he spread his pink wings and shook the sleep from his golden scales.
“Stay close,” Rhaenyra told him. She lifted Syrax off the ground and turned her east, and Sunfyre followed their lead. The flight to Dragonstone was quick. Sunfyre had hardly gotten his young wings stretched out by the time they arrived. Rhaenyra flew up close and yelled, “Up here!”
She led Aegon to the very top of the castle, where the fused black rock was still strong enough to support the weight of dragons. They landed atop the jagged crenellation, and Rhaenyra took a key from a sealed pouch within Syrax’s saddle. It unlocked a door at the very top of Dragonstone, which she and Aegon now entered.
***
“Is anyone here?” Aegon whispered as he followed Rhaenyra down the spiral staircase.
“Why are you whispering? It’s my castle.”
They reached a dim hallway lined with black sconces carved in the shape of a dragon’s tail. The rug was red and dirty, the tapestries wrinkled and heavy with dust. The whole way, Rhaenyra held her little brother’s hand in her own, leading him through rooms and down corridors he didn’t know existed.
They snuck passed the old maester’s chamber, who doubtless had already gone to sleep. Rhaenyra would’ve been shocked if Gerardys had awoken earlier than midday since her last stay. It was a quiet, gloomy castle when Rhaenyra wasn’t there.
Finally, Rhaenyra led Aegon into the Chamber of the Painted Table. She told him the story of its creation, and of Aegon the Conqueror’s tour of Westeros with his sisters before the Conquest. For some reason, she doubted how much history he knew.
Rhaenyra even let him sit on Dragonstone’s throne, and wear one of the old Valyrian steel crowns studded with all different sorts of eastern gemstones, which the old Lords of Dragonstone had worn.
“You look like a king,” she told him, straightening the circlet atop his brow.
“King Aegon of Dragonstone,” he laughed. Aegon removed the crown, placed it on the seat of the throne, and walked back to the Painted Table. “We own it all,” he said, almost as if it were question. “I never thought about it before.”
“From the Marches to the Wall,” Rhaenyra answered. “We do call ourselves King of the Rhoynar, but Dorne eludes us.”
“I remember the story. Rhaenys was killed in the air on her dragon, so Aegon and Visenya burned every castle in Dorne.”
“The Dragon’s Wroth, it was called. Years of fire and blood and revenge, and by the end, they were no closer to conquering Dorne than when they began.” Rhaenyra ran her fingers across the wooden table, from Sunspear to Starfall.
Aegon shook his head. “Maybe they proved they didn’t need us. Our dragons couldn’t convince them.”
“Maybe,” Rhaenyra smiled. “Or maybe we should fly south tonight. Do ourselves what the Conquerors could not.”
Aegon laughed and wandered out of the room, Rhaenyra trailing a few steps behind. He enjoyed exploring Dragonstone, this ancient citadel where his ancestors had lived for generations. They walked past old swords hanging on the walls, half-torn suits of armor on display, beaten whips with tips of dragonsteel. “I love it here,” Aegon said at last, coming to a stop in front of a Valyrian mural. “Thank you for bringing me.”
Rhaenyra came up behind him as he admired the great mural, threads spun red, black, and silver from the floor to the ceiling. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him from behind. “No need to thank me.” She didn’t mean to, but her words came out in a half-whisper. Just then, Rhaenyra realized her heart was racing and her legs were shaking. A sudden passion overwhelmed her.
Rhaenyra kissed Aegon on the back of his head, squeezing him against her chest. When she let him go, Aegon turned around and hugged her again. She stumbled back against the wall, surprised by his advance. “It’s all right,” Rhaenyra assured him, stroking Aegon’s hair as he buried his face in her neck. Minutes went by, and still they held each other. “This is how it should have always been with us.”
Aegon pulled back to say, “I know now what I want.” He looked right into her big violet eyes, searching to see if he should say what he felt. Her warmth felt so right. As they embraced, he felt secure and calm, like no matter what happened he would always have this. It was a stark moment of clarity and longing.
“Tell me what you want,” Rhaenyra whispered, cupping his face in her hands. Their lips were inches apart from each other.
“I should hate you,” Aegon muttered. “But I think I might love you.”
He shocked himself with the honesty in his voice. Aegon never considered love before. He never imagined falling in love, or being loved by his parents, or loving a child of his own. But this was something he didn’t need to imagine. It was real. It was right in front of him, holding him in its arms.
“Oh, Aegon,” Rhaenyra began, “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“For the first time in my life, I think.” “Your life is young, brother. I’m an old crone.” She never let go of him.
“It doesn’t need to be anything more than love. I’ll marry Helaena, if you say so. Maybe I’ll love her too. But I know I love you.” Aegon stared into his big sister’s eyes, unflinching and unblinking. He meant every foolish word he said.
“How could you love me, you silly boy? We hardly know each other. The fault lies with me…”
Aegon considered for a moment. Finally, he shrugged, shook his head, and smiled. “I can’t explain it. But all of a sudden, I ache for you, Rhaenyra. Maybe I always have, but I didn’t know until now. I want you the way the Conqueror wanted his own sisters, where we’re standing now.”
Of course, Rhaenyra realized. He’s never felt this before. I felt the same way at his age. For Daemon… It was a youthful first leap into matters of the heart. Like most teenagers, Aegon acted rashly and impatiently – that’s how it went with a first love. So Rhaenyra decided to indulge her little brother, the way she so similarly ached for Daemon to indulge her.
“All right, brother. Have it your way.” Rhaenyra took his hand and led him back up that spiral staircase. Up, and up, and further up they climbed until they reached the quietest hall on the entire island. Through the final door on the left was that little room Daemon had taken Rhaenyra to all those years ago.
“I’ve not been in this room for years,” Rhaenyra said as she opened the creaky door. Looking around this little four walled Eden, it seemed to Rhaenyra as though no one had been there in the years since. Cobwebs clung to each corner of the ceiling and draped directly in front of the doorway. Thick layers of dust had settled atop every surface: the mantle, the two wooden chairs, the empty bookcase, the bed frame.
Aegon wandered around the small room hesitantly, brushing a line of dust off the window sill. “Is it all right to spend the whole night here?” he asked, nervously avoiding eye contact. “I mean, do you have to go back to Driftmark? To the kids?”
“Laenor is with them,” Rhaenyra replied, shutting the door behind her. She took a step forward and nearly tripped on the torn-up, uneven rug. She collapsed onto the narrow, hard bed, the same bed Daemon had fucked her on that first time. “Come lay with me.”
Her brother did as he was told. Aegon sat on the other side of the bed and removed his boots, tossing them towards the chairs. “Sister,” he began, “I do not wish to complicate things for you. You have your husband and… well, I know you grieve for Ser Harwin Strong…”
Rhaenyra was surprised he knew. Everyone knew, but she was surprised he did. “It’s all right, Aegon. You’re my little brother, nearly a man grown, and it’s fallen on me to ensure you reach your manhood.”
He understood what she meant. His pants grew tight around his crotch, as blood rapidly entered his eager cock. Laying there so close to Rhaenyra, their heads nearly touching on the pillow they shared, Aegon’s erection threatened to burst right through the fabric beneath which it was contained. Rhaenyra noticed the tent in his pants – how could she not? – so she wrapped her arm around Aegon and cuddled him against her warm, thick, motherly body. Then, she let her hand begin to explore.
She traced the outline of Aegon’s cock with her fingers, and felt it twitch madly at her touch. She rubbed his tip through the fabric, which elicited short gasps of breath from his mouth. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, and pulled his pants down down around his ankles. “I’ll show you.”
Rhaenyra took him into her palm and kissed his lips while she stroked him. His young dick throbbed in her hand. It was small and skinny, as pale as the rest of him, with a single thin vein wrapped half around his circumference. On each pump downward, the head of Aegon’s penis barely peeked above Rhaenyra’s hand. She liked having control, and she began stroking him at different speeds. Fast until it felt too good, and then sporadic quick pumps at varying intervals.
Aegon’s thighs heaved upwards with nearly every tick of pleasure, so Rhaenyra held him down with her spare hand. “How’s this?” she asked him, knowing full well how good it felt.
“I want more,” Aegon said between clinched teeth. “I want to feel you.”
Hearing him say it made Rhaenyra pump him even faster. “Is that right? Is that all you want?” He winced and nodded. “And why should I let you fuck me?”
Aegon’s breath quickened and he began to groan. His legs braced themselves and his toes began to quiver. Just then, right before she was about to bring him to climax, Rhaenyra stopped.
She removed her hand and stood up off the bed, smirking at the sight of Aegon’s pulsing little erection. “All right, brother.” Rhaenyra unlaced the back of her black gown, a practiced motion. All at once, it cascaded down her figure until it bundled around her wide hips. She pulled it down past her black stockings, and then removed those as well. Rhaenyra stood fully naked in front of the bed, allowing Aegon to gather the full picture of her.
“Have you seen a naked girl before?” Rhaenyra smiled deviously, and bit on her thumb, swaying gently. Aegon shook his head.
“Not really. Not since we were little, I mean. Sometimes Helaena and I would bathe together. It was the only way she’d get into the tub.”
Rhaenyra laughed and stepped closer. “Feel,” she told him. So Aegon reached up and felt her large, soft breasts. They had nursed three children but looked no less perky than when she was a maiden. All the ladies at court remarked how jealous they were of her resilient figure. Of course, Queen Alicent had been quick to notice the extra fat around her belly and thighs.
“So soft,” Aegon muttered, “and warm.” Rhaenyra let him put his hands wherever he wanted. He’s a curious boy, and he wants to learn. Aegon squeezed the curvature of her ass, and smothered each cheek in his hands. He trickled his fingers down the back of her thighs and knees, and he pressed his thumb into the plush surface of her stomach.
“Now lay back, my wicked little brother.” Rhaenyra’s voice sent a burning current of passion down his spine. His mind awakened in a way it had never experienced before. His muscles tensed up and then relaxed, unsure how to respond to this influx of adrenaline.
Rhaenyra wrapped one leg over Aegon’s torso and straddled his slight midsection. His penis rested beneath her ass, trying its best to perk up inside her, but losing the battle. She admired his slender frame. Aegon was all of five feet and five inches, no more than a hundred and twenty pounds. His chest and arms were lean but bony. A hint of bicep muscle could be seen if he flexed, and wispy little silver hairs grew from his belly button down to his shaft.
“Such a gorgeous little creature,” Rhaenyra admired. Aegon was only the fourth man she’d ever lain with, and the tiniest by far. Daemon was hulking with his dangerous muscles and tight grasp. Laenor was tall, lean, and graceful, the few times they tried to make love. Harwin was Daemon but thrice as large, and thrice as fierce; Breakbones could have crushed every dainty bone in Rhaenyra’s body, and she loved it. But this was the first time she found herself in charge.
Beneath her, Aegon was breathing heavily. He longed to know her in the way a man knows his wife, even if Rhaenyra could never be his wife. This was what adults did, and Aegon was ready to join them.
“Grab my tits,” Rhaenyra said in her raspy, sexy voice. When he grabbed them, she lifted her waist, reached between her thighs, and pointed Aegon’s erection directly into her pussy. She slid down what length he had, and kept him fully inside her until he gained his breath.
It was the single greatest feeling Aegon ever had. His sister was warm and wet. She squeezed him inside her and kept him safe. At once, he felt totally calm, shutting his eyes and savoring this moment he’d imagined for years – except, he never imagined it would be her. Rhaenyra slowly began to sway her hips back and forth, side to side, never removing so much as an inch of Aegon’s cock from her pussy.
“Ohh,” Aegon groaned. Rhaenyra rubbed her soft hands across his hairless chest, felt his smooth, young skin slowly beginning to glisten with sweat. His Adam’s apple bulged each time he gulped, and he gulped often. She felt that too, placing both hands gently around his neck without any force, and running the tips of her thumbs across his bulging Adam’s apple. His mouth was wet like a wild dog that just spotted a slab of meat; saliva went down his throat and pooled in the corners of his mouth.
“Squeeze me,” Aegon grunted. “Make me choke.”
So Rhaenyra tightened her grip on his neck, smiling above him. Still she kept his piercing cock firmly in place inside her vagina, letting it accustom itself to the warm, sticky walls of her pleasure. “You’re being such a good little boy,” Rhaenyra whispered, clenching his throat more tightly. Aegon’s breath became labored, and he let out short little gasps. Rhaenyra’s thighs locked his torso into place, and squeezed his ribs like she squeezed his neck. He was completely, utterly under her control.
“Does it feel good,” Rhaenyra asked, “To finally be a man?” She loosened her grip so he could answer, but he only nodded, never breaking eye contact from the dominatrix kneeling on top of him. Rhaenyra inched her hands further up his face, and dipped her thumb between his lips. The finger was wetted immediately, and Aegon’s tongue dashed towards it instinctively. He slowly began to suck Rhaenyra’s thumb, and she slowly began to thrust up and down his cock.
Rhaenyra arched herself backwards, turning her face to the ceiling, and resting her hands on Aegon’s bony knees. Her chest heaved upwards as she continued grinding on his dick faster and faster. Rhaenyra’s skin had more color than Aegon’s, but from her breasts up to her neck, she was almost translucent. Beneath her soft, milky outer layer, the candlelight revealed long systems of green and blue veins interweaving across her upper body. Little beads of sweat began to drip from her hairline; one droplet fell off her hardened nipple down into Aegon’s mouth.
“By all the gods I should hate you!” Aegon groaned. “But I love you, Rhaenyra. I love you.” He leaned forward and buried his face between her breasts; simultaneously, he wrapped his arms around his sister’s back and squeezed her close and tight. His sudden outburst startled Rhaenyra, but she gave in to his desire for closeness. He needs me more than anything in the world, Rhaenyra realized. The thought made her smile, and she returned his hug as she kept riding him. She put her hand behind his head and took a handful of his oily silver curls, and held him in place against her bosom. When Aegon breathed through his nose, Rhaenyra was all he could smell.
For a boy whose entire childhood was spent without a loving mother who could nurture him, and without an elder sister who could relate to him and guide him, it was no wonder Aegon so fiercely clung to Rhaenyra now. His big sister had become his mother and his lover all at once, giving him a feeling of security and excitement for life that he’d never had before, and providing him a mountain of physical pleasure that, to him, seemed extraterrestrial.
“Give yourself to me,” Rhaenyra said into his ear.
Aegon parted his slippery lips and smothered Rhaenyra’s breasts with his tongue. He licked them up and down until settling around her left nipple. As he suckled, Rhaenyra thrusted her hips at the same pace but with more force. Seconds later, she had Aegon cumming.
He exhaled and grunted at the same time, eliciting a wispy sort of wail as his young, thin cock spurted inside his sister. Aegon couldn’t help but bite down around Rhaenyra’s nipple. His teeth left red marks on her plush tits, and his hands left indents into the small of her back. “That’s it,” Rhaenyra cooed. “That’s my good boy.”
By the end of his climax, streams of thick white cum drooled out of Rhaenyra’s pussy. It clung to her inner thighs and dribbled down Aegon’s shaft. When she finally removed him, his cock buffered in the air, beating slowly as it lost its blood and went soft against his leg.
Rhaenyra fell down beside him in an exhausted heap. They both tried desperately to catch their breaths. Her stomach bounced up and down with each inhale and exhale, the stretch marks ballooning and then capsizing with each beat. As Aegon breathed, his skinny ribcage was fully outlined beneath his tought skin. His tight body loosely trembled, since he had no fat, muscle, nor hair to keep his naked bones warm.
“I want this every day,” Aegon smiled. “Every day.”
Rhaenyra laughed, and laid her arm across his chest. “It never does get boring, in my experience.”
“I like your experience,” he said. “I love your body.”
She smiled and cupped his cheek in her hand, planted a kiss on his sweaty forehead. “Soon you’ll marry Helaena. And you’ll love her, and the two of you can give yourselves to each other as we have.”
“Helaena doesn’t like me,” Aegon complained. “Aemond, she loves. They go around together all day long. Maybe they should be married.”
“You will marry Helaena because you’re the eldest son, and she’s your eldest – well, second eldest – sister,” Rhaenyra explained. Her tone was firm, but not condescending. “That is the order of things.”
“Would that I could change the order, then.” He rubbed the tiredness from his dark eyes and yawned. He turned to face Rhaenyra and said, “Let’s stay here all night. All week. Let’s not go back to that stinking city.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she chided. She’d forgotten how immature he still was – emotionally, at least. He was a year away from his majority, and sounded it. “That stinking city is your home. You are their prince, and they love you. This ancient little island is my home… but you can stay the night, at least.”
The siblings inched closer towards each other so that their noses were nearly touching. Their feet rubbed each other’s, and Rhaenyra ran her warm toes along his hairless shin. The conversation ended there, and Aegon contented himself with what little time he was allowed with his big sister. It was the greatest night of his life, and he was determined it wouldn’t be their last fling.
When he finally fell asleep, naked in Rhaenyra’s comforting arms, Aegon dreamed he was a pirate. He dreamed it over and over, for many nights afterward. Instead of a ship, he flew Sunfyre, and instead of a crew, only Rhaenyra flew with him. They went from city to city, intimidating the smallfolk and the triarchs and the merchant princes – anyone who walked beneath them. They lay together in manses beside the Jade Sea, and they fucked under the stars in great pavilions. Nothing and no one could stand in the way of their love, because any who tried got themselves burned.