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i would.
we might meet at the gates, perhaps? or the front door.
i will wear my necklace.

I will wear your braid. I will see you soon, at the gates, and bring something to warm us both.

[ For all that she said she might be fine in the snow, Lauralae does dress warm.

Her long gloves are in place, as they always are, but she is wrapped in a coat lined with fur and silver bows in her hair - some of the Christmas gifts that had come to her and left her feeling special, and chosen. As promised, his ring rests along her neck, cool against the skin of her chest, adjacent to a small vial of blood.

It is likely a normal thing, for her, strange for anyone else, to carry blood so casually.

Pale skin flushed with the bite of cold, her attention lifts immediately as she hears his approach, stepping forward with a fond smile, settled and warm on her features. ]

Aemond.

[ aemond is dressed as though he's facing a great blizzard. he's never experienced the cold of winter all his young life, given how weather progresses in westeros - years could go between winters, and summer could last for decades on. as it is so, aemond is bundled up and tucked into thick wool and cotton. his nose barely peeks out of the scarf he's wrapped around his shoulders.

despite the weather and the shorn length of his hair, however, the green and black of lauralae's given braid is clearly worn on his lefthand side, where it might brush against his scar.

it's the little things that say the most, sometimes, as his whole being warms at the sight of his dragoness standing before him. ]

Lauralae. Zaldrizives, my little dragon. [ he reaches out to her to adjust the chain from where his ring hangs. he cannot see the ring, but he imagines it against her skin; his cheeks flush in colour at the thought. ] How fares my lady?

Edited 2025-01-08 22:34 (UTC)

[ There is a sweetness to him, she thinks, to see him wrapped up so, covered to hide from the winter chill. Winter had been a harsher season in the forests, far less food to hunt and more need for the dried meats and the scant food she might grow herself, but it had been tolerable. She had slept as a wolf, she had been able to curl up and find respite, in spite of it all.

She wonders how it would be, to be a dragon and experience the winter. To feel the chill of snow on scales, rather than fur, or to fly above the clouds and see the sleet settle on the earth below. She had not thought of it often, but it settles in her mind now, something warm and fond in her as she focuses on Aemond.

His dragon, he calls her, and it warms her more than any coat might. His lady, he says, and the term has never suited her so well. ]

I am content. I do not mind the chill in the air, though it seems to have captured you.

[ One hand lifts, the edge of her knuckle brushing against the skin bared under his scarf, glove silk on his cooler skin, her smile warming all the more for their closeness, the way he touches the ring around her neck. ]

Do you need a fire to warm you?

Not yet, no. But the little wolf might, when we find him or his litter.

[ tucked under one arm is a small wrap of butcher paper, within it some raw cuts of meats. mostly it's salted pork, boneless slices of saltwater fish, some rinds of beef fat, some chicken kidneys and skin. it's a decent assortment of meats that might do a wolfling some good, but aemond worries the cold will have frozen it by now. it'll need some thawing by the fire, and while he's decent at keeping a fire going in fair weather — well, this is fair as a picture, but colder than a septa's gaze.

he draws close to lae, leaning to her touch for warmth, and he dares: a light kiss pressed to her brow, a more sanguine one to her cheek. ]

Is it strange that I should say I've missed your company, when you're ever a brief walk away from me? [ and it's true that he feels her absence; not as a keen ache, but a constantly murmuring brook running undercurrent his pulse. ] Were it that it's warm enough for us both, and the sky a brighter blue.

Then a fire shall be made for him.

[ A keen nose can scent the meat he carries, and it warms her still - that he would provide. There's a feral, animalistic part of her that appreciates that, the knowledge of providing food even in the depth of winter, of being able to care for young. The part of Lauralae that had been wolf for too long, lending herself to the more canine parts of herself, seems to thrum with it, a little pulse of her heart. It is attractive, in a way she thinks not to spend too much time dwelling upon.

Those thoughts seem to fade upon the press of something as simple as a kiss upon her, dark eyes flickering up to him, devouring the hisses of skin through the fabrics he is layered in. There is an urge, a brief flash, to press their lips together and be more daring, but she pauses.

Their time will come, and she finds something tender in their sweetness, in the gentleness they share with each other. ]

Time passes swiftly here, with so much to do. I do not think it strange. [ Even so close, there are libraries, training grounds, people to meet and spend the hours away with. Lauralae folds herself into the woods often enough that she might disappear for hours on end, unfindable. ] It is a pleasure to know that we might message one another whenever we wish.

[ Reaching out, her fingers stroke along his, in askance. ]

Will you show me the wolves, danthe gra'kul?

[ the convenience of the hand devices do help, aemond concedes. it's become something he relied on, being able to reach family with a simple missive. he could speak to his mother easily if he likes, or hail aegon, or any of the acquaintances he's made here.

there are names at the top of his phonebook. lae's name sits among them. ]

I saw the wolf here, [ he starts, taking lae's hand in his own to lead her further into the copse. the snow crunches softly underfoot; aemond treads carefully , so as not to step into anything that he might slip on or stumble.

nothing happens right away once they've reached the clearing. but after a few moments, a wolf pup shows its head from ahead of them, yipping quietly and trotting back and forth. aemond crouches and calls to the little thing, beckoning it with an open hand. ]

Come over, zoklitsos. Come to us? Please?

[ The convenience is not often the best encouragement for Lauralae, not when she is so reticent to use them, often forgets that she ought to use it, to stay connected to the people that she has begun to care for. It is hard to remember that she can, that she is not isolated, that she is not living alone - a strangeness she is adjusting to.

She will make an effort. She has to.

There is no hesitation as she follows after Aemond, her fingers curling around his. Her nose twitches a little as they get closer, and when she catches the scent, her gaze flickers. It's cute, so small, and it possesses her immediately; lowering herself down to her knees, she breathes out, something low coming from her throat.

Not quite the same as a growl she might muster if she were truly a wolf, but not a poor imitation. ]

Sweet thing. You are safe.

[ Her fingers flex, just so, as the wolf twitches, as if trying to make a decision. ]

[ she coos to the little thing and aemond watches her with a gentle affection rising in him. lauralae, his dangerous lady, his woman, his dragoness. that she holds such gentleness in her even with the fire she holds in her hands is a wonder, and aemond wishes to keep her so for as long as she allows.

they will have their kingdom.

aemond slips the wrapped meats to the packed snow and unwraps it carefully, making sure to keep the paper spread out and wide. the meats are stuck together from the fat and oils having frozen together, but perhaps a quick fire will soften them enough to slip apart, be fed piecemeal.

he turns to lae with a questioning look, hesitant to break her picturesque way of cradling the little wolf.

(perhaps... their own dragonlings? one day?) ]

Should I...?

[ There is something that comes from being around animals that is soothing to her, softening some of the edges of her. There is a darkness to her, there is a violence to her, something she does not hide in the wake of the game of the Hallows, but this inspires the side of her that might have been long forgotten. The wolf cub comes to her, curls into her, presses its face against her gloved wrist, and she seems to melt.

Is it for being a cub, or for being a wolf? It is hard to tell.

Drawn out of her thoughts, away from the idyllic joy of being around nature, she looks over at Aemond and tilts her head. ]

You might offer him some, if you like. I can warm them enough to separate.

[ The wolf, scenting the meat, makes a little noise, between a yip and a growl, and begins to wiggle towards Aemond, nosing at his leg. ]

He seems fond enough of you.

He is a babe, and like as not learned to fear man just yet.

[ there is no heat to aemond's saying of it, even as he holds still to not spook the wolf pup. slowly the wolfling makes its way to aemond's hand that holds out the meat, first licking at the offered meal before teasing at biting it. then, bravery — it sinks its milkteeth into the meat, pulls it clean from aemond's hand to eat on the snow. for a brief second he wonders if the babe finds the cooled meat appealing, but he supposes hunger can make even the coldest plate seem delightful.

something is better than nothing, after all. he brushes light snow off the pup's face with the back of his gloved fingers, and the pup ducks for a moment before butting his head against aemond's knuckles, trilling lightly for more food.

aemond looks over to lauralae with a gentled smile on his mouth. ]

Would you like to feed him this time? The little one hungers.

There is no pack to guide him. That is a sad thing indeed, to be so alone.

[ The words come from a place of pained understanding. Lauralae had been alone for decades, no pack, no family, no one to care for her or find her food. She has survived it fuelled only by her need for vengeance and her desire to reclaim what was lost, growing in skill and power in isolation. Her grief had taken decades to ease, but here, surrounded by others who care for her and warm her?

She feels stronger than ever.

Shifting closer to Aemond, she takes a piece of the meat and offers it to the cub, even as she finds her voice, a little shy and hoarse in her throat. ]

I would. But I also...

[ A glance to him, cheeks flushed from more than the cold. ]

If we are to say what I would like, then I would like to kiss you.

[ oh.

he doesn't expect it, the way he feels himself flush with warmth, and he thinks his cheeks must be full of colour suddenly, visible from where they peek out from his scarf. ]

I would like that, also.

[ aemond waits until she's done feeding the little wolf, its pleased noises calling others out from their hiding places and drawing closer to the pile of meats. he endeavours to move it off the snow, to place it on top of a log or a stone or anywhere else where it might not freeze immediately. but aemond does not understand the cold; lauralae helps him fix the little pile, their gloved fingers brushing as they arrange their little paper spread.

in the lull of such moments, aemond looks up to peer at his lady. she is beautiful, darkly beautiful even in winter's brightness; he could look at her for hours and not tire of her loveliness. without thinking deeply about it he lets himself cup her cheek to draw her in, and kisses her.

months later, he finally dares. ]

[ It seems too strange, to admit to such a soft and simple thing in a place like this, where their interactions with other people would be of a deeper and more intense intimacy than a single kiss. To ask for it feels bold, when their relationship has been so formal, so noble in the way it has shaped itself - it feels as if she has returned to a home she once knew, but in a way that is pleasant rather than cruel.

She does not feel as if she is some possession to be bought and sold. She feels as if she is cherished, wanted, and it is a novelty she imagined far foreign to her. It is especially strange to think it would come from someone who she regards as highly as she does Aemond, warring with her belief of deserving his affections.

It means that when he kisses her she does not hesitate, for not even a moment; she had expressed her want for it, and he had offered it to her so sweetly. The wolves around them take of their meats, and she can let them slip from her mind as she permits herself the joy of sinking into him.

Never has a first kiss felt as if it had so much weight, felt so special to her. Lauralae returns it, her fingers rising to grasp at him, as if to hold him in place, tilting her head to kiss him with all the sweetness and need that she posseses. ]

[ they've danced around this kiss for months. months on end of courtship, and though aemond has not been intentionally precious with his affections for lauralae, he can admit to wanting their first kiss to mean something more than a simple fancy. she is a friend first before she became his lady, their shared afternoons reading side by side having made up the bulk of their initial encounters.

how long has it been? from books shared in the gardens, to books shared over sweets and tea in their rooms, to shared warmth under the sheets to sleep the cold away. and only to sleep — aemond had not impugned on her virtue, even when he kisses her shoulder in the half-waking moments of the night. his wolf. his dragon. his lady.

he makes a small noise against her mouth that perhaps sounds pained, but it is not pain that courses through him now but warmth. desire, a slow-burning desire for her as he mirrors her grasp upon him. aemond pulls her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist to draw her up and close to him. when they part their breaths warm each other, and aemond chases after the steam, nosing along the shape of her cheeks.

seven help him, he's so deeply fond of her it aches. he wants her, and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a terrible one for either of them. ]

Lauralae— [ he tries, sounding completely at the mercy of his desire. he tries again, and he's only a little steadier— ] Lae, my dragoness, may I touch you?

[ It is the kind of courtship that a younger version of herself might have dreamed of, might have longed for in this quiet nights of isolation and sadness trapped in a home she hated. She thought she’d had it once, with a man who so easily betrayed her, but this - this is different. The warmth she feels with Aemond, her desire to please him, to cherish him, to protect him… That feels like so much more than what she had shared before.

Lauralae wants to take care of him, to curl up with him more, to braid his hair and read to him, to whisper the sweet things in his ear and mean them. With his grief, with his heartache, with his joys and his anger - she would be at his side for it all, if he would permit it. How much she wishes to do, this feeling of warmth and sweetness bubbling inside her, growing stronger each and every day.

Aemond encourages sweetness in her, and that is so foreign a concept, even here. He makes her happy, and what a notion that is.

Breathless, she laughs against his lips, fond and soft, a shy sound as her hand raises to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the shape of his bone, expression sweet.

She adores him. What a strange thing to admit, that her heart is racing with a giddiness rather than because of grief or fear, longtime playmates becoming more and more foreign.

Stealing another brief kiss, she nods. ]

Please. Touch me as you desire and it will please me wholly.

[ in truth aemond has never considered himself given to such courtships. his marriage will be arranged for him, same as his betrothal would have been if not for the war; it is the way of things, the way of his life as a prince of the realm. princes rare marry for love, after all. even viserys, who found a great love with his ever-sainted aemma arryn, was betrothed to her first at a sturdy sturdy nine-and-ten to her three-and-ten. rhaenyra followed quickly, and so beloved thanks to their mutual affection for one another.

aemond thought he might resent such a love. but with lae in his arms like this, warm and real against him, he thinks he might change his might about asking for marriage as a love match. so what of her darker colours? she is blood of the dragon, she is a dragon herself, more than his baratheon woman could ever dream.

he leans into her gloved hand, then leans into her, kissined her again and again (and again) until his breath catches thin in his throat. his hands cannot stop their wandering along lae's waist and up her back, winding and combing fingers through her hair. ]

My lady. My beautiful dragoness, [ he sighs against her lips. ] May I touch your skin?

[ It burns with pleasure inside her, to be called his, to belong to someone, to be claimed, even if it is only so gently and wish soft words. It sings to the primal, feral side of her that is more wolf than girl, less human than she might have been a century ago, but she does not fear it. She does not feel as if it is a bad thing, to be so herself with Aemond, to let him kiss her and kiss her and know her for what she is and could become.

Another kiss, and another, their mouths press together, and she seeks out more of it. He tastes pleasant, he tastes perfect, and she has a pained urge to sink her fangs into his lip and devour him, to leave her mark on him so that others might see. Painful and possessive, she has to force herself back, to breathe in gently before her eyes flicker up to look upon him once more.

Her dragon, her husband, the man she had formed such an attachment to she had begged Alia for advice, for some knowledge of how best to earn his favour, to have his eye turn to her. The success in that astounds her.

Breathless, she nods her head, their noses brushing. ]

I can ask the pups to give us a little time. [ Another kiss stolen, as swift as the fluttering of eyelashes. ] And create a warm space for us.

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