Challenge 14: October Table of Doom
Title: A Dream of Spring
Photo Used: one, thirteen
Word Count: 599
Rating: T
Original/Fandom: ASOIAF
Pairings (if any): Aegon/Sansa
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): implied underage sex
Summary: She can never have him: not as Alayne and not as Sansa.
Winter’s chill had firmly grasped the Vale. Snow drifts filled the yard of the keep and slick spots of ice covered the stone yard. Some of them were cracked, and Alayne idly wondered if anyone had fallen and hurt themselves on the ice. Surely, someone would have told her if anyone had been hurt, but here at the Gates of the Moon, she was once again just the bastard daughter of the Lord Protector of the Vale, not the closest thing to a lady a desolate keep had. She had no right to expect to be treated like a proper lady even if Randa Royce had taken a liking to her, and she was the only one Sweetrobin truly liked.
“What are you doing over here?” a voice murmured in her ear as his hands slid across her stomach.
She leapt slightly at his sudden touch and shivered as his breath across her ear made her skin prickle with more goose bumps than the cold air had. “Your grace,” she exhaled, leaning back into his warm embrace. Aegon always ran hot. She blamed it on his dragon’s blood.
“I’ve told you not to call me that when we’re alone.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s just habit.” Few would take well to a bastard girl calling the true king of Westeros by his given name rather. It simply seemed better to call him ‘his grace’ at all times than get into the habit of calling him Aegon and do so in front of those who disliked their affair. Many felt that it was improper for the king to lie with a simple bastard, and even though Randa was her friend, sometimes Alayne thought she was a bit jealous. And Father…
Alayne wrapped her hands around Aegon’s. Father didn’t matter.
“I suppose I can forgive you this once,” Aegon said, “if you tell me why you were over here instead of in bed.”
“I was just looking at the world. Thinking. Just that.”
“Well, I think that there are better things that you can be doing than that,” Aegon said and spun her around and pushed her towards the bed.
Giggling, she fell upon it, and Aegon fell upon her, his mouth at her neck and his fingers pulling her dress apart. She wished that she could stay with him like this forever.
But Alayne could never do that, and neither could Sansa Stark.
Sansa yanked herself away from memories of a bastard girl and her short lived royal affair and turned away from the window over the still frozen yard of Winterfell. She had a million things to do and none of them had to do with ill-fated romances. Sometimes, when she felt like she was drowning under the weight of the work she had submitted herself to, it was easy to fall back into the mindset of Alayne, but she couldn’t.
There would be no dragon-king to save her. Alayne was a bastard, never suitable for a king, and Sansa’s family needed her far more than she needed a royal marriage. That didn’t stop her from dreaming of Aegon flying north on Rhaegal and grabbing her hand and carrying her away to make her his queen.
But she knew better now. There was no place in the world for dreams. She could never go back to Aegon. Her place was here, in this sham Winterfell, where she did know everything because there was no one else to turn to when things went wrong.
Until winter ended, Sansa’s place was with her family, and she doubted spring would ever come.
Photo Used: one, thirteen
Word Count: 599
Rating: T
Original/Fandom: ASOIAF
Pairings (if any): Aegon/Sansa
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): implied underage sex
Summary: She can never have him: not as Alayne and not as Sansa.
Winter’s chill had firmly grasped the Vale. Snow drifts filled the yard of the keep and slick spots of ice covered the stone yard. Some of them were cracked, and Alayne idly wondered if anyone had fallen and hurt themselves on the ice. Surely, someone would have told her if anyone had been hurt, but here at the Gates of the Moon, she was once again just the bastard daughter of the Lord Protector of the Vale, not the closest thing to a lady a desolate keep had. She had no right to expect to be treated like a proper lady even if Randa Royce had taken a liking to her, and she was the only one Sweetrobin truly liked.
“What are you doing over here?” a voice murmured in her ear as his hands slid across her stomach.
She leapt slightly at his sudden touch and shivered as his breath across her ear made her skin prickle with more goose bumps than the cold air had. “Your grace,” she exhaled, leaning back into his warm embrace. Aegon always ran hot. She blamed it on his dragon’s blood.
“I’ve told you not to call me that when we’re alone.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s just habit.” Few would take well to a bastard girl calling the true king of Westeros by his given name rather. It simply seemed better to call him ‘his grace’ at all times than get into the habit of calling him Aegon and do so in front of those who disliked their affair. Many felt that it was improper for the king to lie with a simple bastard, and even though Randa was her friend, sometimes Alayne thought she was a bit jealous. And Father…
Alayne wrapped her hands around Aegon’s. Father didn’t matter.
“I suppose I can forgive you this once,” Aegon said, “if you tell me why you were over here instead of in bed.”
“I was just looking at the world. Thinking. Just that.”
“Well, I think that there are better things that you can be doing than that,” Aegon said and spun her around and pushed her towards the bed.
Giggling, she fell upon it, and Aegon fell upon her, his mouth at her neck and his fingers pulling her dress apart. She wished that she could stay with him like this forever.
But Alayne could never do that, and neither could Sansa Stark.
Sansa yanked herself away from memories of a bastard girl and her short lived royal affair and turned away from the window over the still frozen yard of Winterfell. She had a million things to do and none of them had to do with ill-fated romances. Sometimes, when she felt like she was drowning under the weight of the work she had submitted herself to, it was easy to fall back into the mindset of Alayne, but she couldn’t.
There would be no dragon-king to save her. Alayne was a bastard, never suitable for a king, and Sansa’s family needed her far more than she needed a royal marriage. That didn’t stop her from dreaming of Aegon flying north on Rhaegal and grabbing her hand and carrying her away to make her his queen.
But she knew better now. There was no place in the world for dreams. She could never go back to Aegon. Her place was here, in this sham Winterfell, where she did know everything because there was no one else to turn to when things went wrong.
Until winter ended, Sansa’s place was with her family, and she doubted spring would ever come.