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LAURALAE

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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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