He did not wish to marry. At least not someone who didn’t have Valyrian blood. Aerion believed himself a dragon. He was a dragon — even if in his mind only. And dragons needed only each other.

Unfortunately others did not see it like that. Targaryen dynasty crumbled after the Dance. Dragons were gone and now what was left of them needed it’s subjects.

Many beautiful ladies were brought to the court for him to chose one of them as his lady wife. And his parents were getting more and more impatient with every lady he send away.

Betrothal to Lady Arryn came to the Prince’s big displeasure. You were not a Valyrian blood — not a sister or a cousin of his that would be worthy becoming his wife.

You spoke your vows in the Sept of the Seven. You could see the clear sign of annoyance on his face as he took you as his wife. And even though you heard of your husband’s cruelty, you became a victim of his cold silence, the unmistakable dissatisfaction and quiet anger.

With time things hardly changed. He only occasionally visited your marital bed, appearing with you in court only when he had to, yet acting like a proper man in eyes of the people on every event or tournament that had been arranged.

The celebrations dragged long into the night before you could finally rest after the long day. You were almost sure you fell asleep as soon as your head fell on the pillow.

When he woke up in the morning the sun was slowly sneaking its way into the chambers of the Red Keep. His limbs were tangled in the sheets before he turned to look at you. Your face was framed by your hair, he didn’t miss the gentle rise and fall of your chest with every breath you took.

And when his hand reached to trail over your features — the soft curve of your nose, the rose of your cheeks and the bow of your lips… he had to admit he was quite mesmerized.

An untamable dragon and an enchanting nymph laying in bed together in the silence of a morning.