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anarchy-n-glitter · 4 months

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Blood of the Dragon

Summary: After the events from the night before, Aelora gets another surprise visit from Grima, which attracts the negative attention of her creator Viseryon. With the bratty lord onto them, they must keep their blossoming affair a secret. (PART 1 HERE) WARNINGS: smut, physical abuse, emotional incest, attempted murder, suicide ideation, SA, and Viseryon in general cause most of these are about him :)

Chapter 2

Lady Aelora Dressed in Black

Viseryon had been like a father to her. For as long as she could remember he was there for her, caring for her. He taught her how to dress herself, how to walk, how to read and write. He taught her everything she needed to know in order to live, and he provided for her. He tried to protect her - or so he claimed - from those who would have wanted to hurt her for what she is. She remembered the very first lie he ever told about her…

“Ah, meet my baby cousin Aelora! She’s been left in my care.” The halls of the citadel were loud, and while Aelora didn’t have many memories of Minas Tirith, she couldn’t deny she missed the celebrations held at the citadel. Viseryon had to shout over the laughing voices nearby, catching the attention of a fair lady dressed in green. The woman was much taller than Aelora - with the dragon blood being only two years of age - with warm brown eyes and a breathtaking smile. Her chestnut colored hair was half done up in a braided bun, with the rest of her hair cascading down her back. She bent down in front of the child and looked her in the eye. Aelora toddled forward, smiling widely. It was the most lively reaction the girl had ever given anyone.

“I think she likes you Aemma!” Viseryon chuckled, feeling safe enough to let go of Aelora’s hand. They were surrounded by other highly born members of the King’s court, partying their troubles away and celebrating the upcoming year and the end of the current one. It was crowded, but Viseryon knew Aemma wouldn’t lose sight of Aelora.

Ah, Lady Aemma. She was the daughter of Lord Orion, and she was coveted by many in Gondor. When Aelora met the Lady she was of marrying age, and rumor then was that she was to be married to Lord Ulf. She remembered Viseryon disliking that greatly. Aemma would swoon over Aelora until the day it became apparent she was a dragon blood. Aelora remembered the way Aemma cried to Viseryon, asking him in a begging voice why he created Aelora despite already knowing his twisted reasons. Lady Aemma had held her hand that day and sobbed, and since that day Aelora wondered if Aemma wanted to take her away from Viseryon. Even at the age of eleven, she understood why Lady Aemma cried.

“Oh she’s adorable, Lord Viseryon! Such pretty eyes!” Aemma exclaimed, making a gesture as if she were pinching Aelora’s cheeks. The toddler giggled and shrunk away like a shy violet. Fear struck through Viseryon’s core and he brought the girl closer to him, hoping Aelora’s red eyes weren’t too apparent. Aemma looked up at him. “If I may ask, how did she end up in your care?”

The silver haired lord smiled bashfully. “Oh, it’s quite sad really. My uncle Rhaego and his wife perished in a fire. It spread quickly within their home, and one of the servants managed to escape with my dear Aelora. We’re the last of our line.” Aemma’s chocolate colored eyes were wide and brimming with tears. That was another thing Aelora always loved about Aemma, she was incredibly empathetic and understanding.

“Oh, I’m sorry Viseryon.” Aemma stated, placing a gentle hand upon the lord’s shoulder. He glanced down at her, and he reveled in her touch. Viseryon brought his hand up to hers.

A flash of discomfort came over Aemma’s fair features and she retracted her hand. He couldn’t help but notice how she uncomfortably shifted, avoiding his gaze suddenly, and Viseryon’s heart dropped.

He longed for Aemma’s touch, longed to run his hands through her chestnut colored hair, longed to feel her rose colored lips upon his. He always imagined they would be soft and unsure. He longed for Aemma, and the idea of someone else having her - someone else taking her away from him - made his blood boil.

And yet, Aemma seemed to be repulsed by his touch.

She had taken another step back, running her hands along her long green skirt as if to rid every last trace of Viseryon from her skin. His gaze darkened.

“Well,” she began, her voice light, “I’m sorry for your loss and I wish you both well.” Her words were polite and concise, as if rehearsed. Her uncomfortable expression melted away when she looked at Aelora, that breathtaking smile coming over her features once more and brightening the world a bit more as she waved to the little girl.

Aemma may have left them for the rest of the night at the celebration, but she became a powerful influence in Aelora’s life. She found herself grateful for having Aemma around as long as she did, and she was heartbroken when she had to move away from her - and from the rest of Gondor. She hated when she had to move away from everyone.

The cabin they lived in on the outskirts of Gondor was lonely, so far from everyone else, with only one room for both her and Viseryon to sleep in. There was a common space, a dining area, and a room she was forbidden from entering, but Viseryon insisted she sleep with him in his bed. He used to say it was improper for her to sleep in the common space and would scold her for trying.

There wasn’t a place of refuge for her within the cabin, seeing as Viseryon always wanted her by his side. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t able to get away from him from time to time. One of her favorite places to slip away to was the village which was only a few miles away from the cabin, where she would play with other children her age until the parents realized what she was and called their children back inside, leaving Aelora standing in the streets all alone.

Then there were the meadows beside the mountains. She loved laying in the long grass playing with the wild flowers that grew. The meadows were much closer to the cabin than the village, but sometimes she preferred the quiet loneliness of the meadows to the stinging rejection of the village. She enjoyed looking up at the towering mountains.

How she gazed upon those mountains, day dreaming of dragons that would rise above the mountain’s peak and blow fiery breath upon the cabin, burning Viseryon inside. She used to imagine climbing upon the backs of those dragons and having them whisk her away, soaring high over Middle Earth and flying her to some sort of safety. She never feared their flame.

She knew dragons still existed somewhere out there, though they were nowhere near the power and stature of the ones that came before. There were none like the dragon who posthumously aided in her creation.

She dreamt of dragons often - day and night.

At night she would dream of one particular dragon. Each time she saw him she was in a land so different from the ones she grew up in, with large wooden buildings and fields of grass going as far back as the eye could see. He was large and pale, with pale eyes and a mane of stringy black fur that trailed down the length of his back and hung around his face. He had wings in place of his front legs (Would that make him a Wyrm? Aelora was always unsure of the difference) and larger, powerful hind legs. She loved dreaming of this dragon. He looked at her with love - a different kind of love than Viseryon’s - and he seemed ready to protect her… from what she never found out.

In her dreams she was safe, she was powerful, and she was loved. She had everything she could have ever needed in her dreams, and that’s why she longed for her time alone in the meadows.

✵✵✵✵✵

A shadow loomed over her as she read in the clearing behind Meduseld, causing her to look up from her book. A small smile crept onto her face as her eyes met with ocean-colored blue ones. She hadn’t seen Gríma since the night before, and part of her worried she’d never see him again after what happened.

Viseryon often warned her that men would leave her after getting what they wanted and to be vigilant. She wondered if he told her this to make him seem different from other men - more desirable. The thought made her feel ill.

She supposed Gríma didn’t entirely get what he wanted the night before and that nagging insecurity her creator fostered seemed to veer its ugly head.

Aelora found Gríma to be an odd man. He wasn’t conventionally attractive by any means, with extremely pale skin and dark circles beneath his eyes - his gaunt appearance was comparable to a corpse. She also noticed he lacked eyebrows - which was jarring at first. His dark hair and attire seemed to compliment his unconventional looks, and if it weren’t for her own dark attire she would say he was very near the opposite of her aesthetically.

Gríma in many ways reminded her of a crow. He was smart and resourceful, yet avoided and even viewed as a nuisance. Sometimes the way his cloak and hair fell reminded her of the birds’ feathers. Depending on the time of day and the amount of stress he was under, sometimes he resembled a crow that was molting, but she would never say this aloud. Instead she would snicker at the thought, and hope he would feel better and get the rest he surely needed.

She noticed the way he would skulk around in the shadows, watching her silently as she went about her day, and she noticed the way he looked at her.

She saw it in the main hall as he sat beside the throne. She felt his eyes on her, and at first she assumed it was the same bewildered look many wore when they laid eyes on her - the same look of fear and curiosity, but when her eyes met his she saw the difference.

No one had ever looked at her that - with such intensity and longing - not even Viseryon. She found it flattering, really, and she wondered what staying in Rohan would bring.

When she wrote him the note inviting him to her room her hands were shaking. Her mind raced with all the possibilities of what would happen - all the sinful fantasies. She wanted him, as much as it confused her. When his hand hesitated as it hovered over her hair, next to her cheek, and when her eyes met his once more and she saw the same longing in them as a few days earlier, she knew he wanted her too.

His pale eyes stared at her almost expectedly, for what she was unsure of. She closed her book.

“Did you want to talk to me or did you just want to stare?” Aelora teased, though she couldn’t deny the rapid beating of her heart. She hoped he was there to whisk her away.

“Walk with me.” He spoke with an almost urgent tone, and despite the smile that spread across Aelora’s face she was slightly worried. Somehow she convinced herself this would be the moment Viseryon was warning her about - this would be the moment he left her, whether it was out of dissatisfaction or because he took what he wanted. She gathered up the dark material of her skirt in one hand and placed her book under her arm.

She took his outstretched hand. His skin always seemed cool to the touch, though she wondered if the ever dropping temperatures outside had anything to do with that. He was quick to link arms with her and guide her back up the hill. He walked with long, slow strides so Aelora could keep up.

The skies were grey and the clouds hung low, and for a moment they wondered if it would bring the first snow of the season. The winds were strong and the chill in the air was biting, it made Aelora shiver despite her long sleeves. She would glance at her walking companion as they made their way around the outside of Meduseld, noticing the way he seemed so focused, so lost in thought. His mouth seemed to be in a permanent grimace - which Aelora found slightly humorous due to his name. He did indeed have a harsh look about him, but she knew there was more to it. She wasn’t sure where he was taking her, but it seemed he wasn’t interested in returning to the hall.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” Aelora questioned as her heartbeat sped up. No, she most certainly couldn’t look at him now. She almost regretted the night before, if not for the insecurity she felt about where she stood with Gríma, then it was for the way she was unsure of how to even speak to him after what happened. How was she supposed to talk to him like nothing happened? She should have taken things slower, much slower.

“Eventually. For now I’d like to enjoy your company.” No one had ever said that to her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She was sure she was turning red.

He had led her to the edge of the hill Meduseld had been built on. They stood on a rocky ledge and looked out, and while Aelora was familiar with the view, it was simply breathtaking at that time of day. The mountain Starkhorn imposingly sat before them, its snowy peak blending into the grey skies, and from there Aelora could see the river Snowbourne in all its powerful glory. This was Rohan - green, stony and cold, yet beautiful.

“Oh.” She began quietly. The mountains towered on the horizon in a haze, and for a moment it reminded her of her second home. It reminded her of the meadow. Another harsh breeze cut through the air, and she shivered once more, though this time Gríma pulled her closer to him. The furs of his cloak were warm and soft against her cheek, and she appreciated the gesture, even if part of her was still unsure of his motive. “So you don’t want anything from me?”

She hoped he wasn’t wooing her in hopes of just using her body.

“Just your time.” He answered again. She smiled at this and nuzzled his shoulder, pretending it was due to the cold.

“I imagine you’ve been rather busy today, I haven’t seen you lurking around like I normally do.” She laughed, yet he remained silent for a moment. It was true, he hadn’t been around. Instead of following Aelora as he had been for the first three days she’d been there he opted to follow Viseryon just to see what he got up to.

The Gondorian lord wasn’t much more interesting than Aelora. He had a similar schedule to her: wake up, eat at the main hall, then go off to do his own thing while he waited for his carriage to be fixed. He did seem to bother maids and the like a lot more than Aelora did, lurking in halls and waiting for someone to walk by to talk to, as if desperate for attention. Gríma was incredibly suspicious though, after all these chats almost never seemed random after the first few times. Yet he noticed the way Viseryon would subtly hand things to these servants. Gríma couldn’t help but wonder if Aelora was aware this whole time. He certainly hoped not. He placed his hand over hers.

“The king has been bombarded with requests and information over the last few hours. It’s to be expected, we are, after all, on the brink of war.” He stated grimly. He then looked to Aelora, who rested her head on his shoulder and gazed upon him with doe-like eyes. He could see their crimson color so much more clearly in the daytime, and they reminded him of shining rubies. He fought the urge to smile, letting his unsureness and suspicion get the better of him.

“Dark forces are afoot.” He warned, and she nodded. His eyes were focused forward again, focused on the horizon, as his mind raced. He hoped it wasn’t obvious, but she could tell. She wondered what he knew of the impending war. Did he truly know what forces were at play? She stood up straight, the weight of her presence suddenly lifting, making him feel bare.

Aelora stayed silent for a moment. She couldn’t deny she was beginning to grow quite fond of Gríma, and she thought it was quite nice just sitting in silence with him. Something about his brooding demeanor and odd appearance complimented her well, and her ever growing longing for him made her dread what was to come.

The dragon blooded woman hoped he saw her the same way, even if they had only known each other for a few days. She absolutely loathed that they only had three days left with each other, she wished she could spend a lifetime getting to know him, even if Viseryon would never allow that. Aelora didn’t know that her abnormal companion thought of her almost every day since she arrived - she had become somewhat of an obsession for him. He also dreaded the day their carriage was fixed. Despite his paranoia, despite the tiny voice in his head telling him not to trust her or her creator, the thought of her impending departure made him hold her closer.

Aelora reminded him of a cold winter's day. Almost everything about her was cold, and her clothing dark. Even that day, she wore a black velvet dress with red lining the inside of her sleeves. Her dresses reminded him of dying trees, and her fingertips the dying roots that reached deep into the ground, yet her eyes… her eyes held the warmth of a fire lit inside a fireplace. It was that warmth that drew him in. He was so close to her again, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He watched almost expectantly as a small smile formed on her lips. He wanted to kiss her.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She agreed in a voice barely above a whisper. He had to remind himself she was talking about the war. When she turned to look at him again she saw how close he was, and it made her heart race and her face heat up. His eyes were so bright. “I actually wanted to thank you and the king for your hospitality. Most would have just placed me with Viseryon with no regard to my privacy.”

She shrunk back, letting go of his arm and facing him. He excited her and made her nervous all at once. She watched as his face returned to its usual stony stare.

“It’s my pleasure.” There was a hint of playfulness in his words, and immediately Aelora let out a laugh, catching onto his double entendre. His humor was dry and would most likely be hard to pick up on in any other setting, but she found it endearing. “What were you reading?” He asked her, pointing to the book pressed to her chest.

“A legend about a displaced princess. She wants to go home so desperately but she can’t or she’ll be killed. She moves from place to place, building an army and finding the people she loves and trusts, but along the way she’s still searching for that place to call home. She uses the army to take back her throne. Or, at least, that’s what I hope will happen.” He stepped closer to her again and she felt her breath hitch. His blue eyes were almost overtaken by his pupil, and his mouth hung slightly agape. It was the same look he had the night before. She didn’t realize it before, but the rocky cliff they stood on was almost completely out of sight of the rest of Edoras. There were no doors leading there from Meduseld, and the homes of the common folk were all hidden behind the hall.

“And if it doesn’t?” He asked her as she took a step closer. Her book slid out from her grip, landing beside them on the grass with a soft thud! With her hands now free they came to rest on his shoulders.

“It has to.” She muttered, leaning ever so slightly closer to his pale lips. “It’s all she’s ever wanted, and she’ll burn everything to the ground to get it.” Those words, that mentality, resonated so deeply with both Aelora and Gríma. Their eyes met and there was a silent look of understanding. In that moment, they decided they were all they ever wanted, and they would indeed burn everything to the ground for each other. She needed to find a way to be rid of Viseryon.

“Tell me how it ends.” He whispered against her lips, before pressing his own to hers. His hand came to rest at her jaw; his touch was cold yet welcomed, and her own hand came to grasp at his wrist. She let her eyes close.

Gríma’s lips moved seamlessly against hers - engulfing and retreating like waves against sand. Warmth spread over her as she tangled her fingers in his raven locks, and like the night before she found his hair to be less than pleasant to the touch. It always seemed damp and greasy. Despite this, the way his tongue glided effortlessly into her mouth served as a good enough distraction.

His hands wandered from her jaw down to her hips, pulling her closer like he did the night before. One hand stayed firmly planted on her hip while the other trailed lower, grasping at her bottom and tugging at her skirt. She moaned into the kiss and grinded her hips against his. They had both gained a bit more confidence after the night before.

She felt nervous suddenly, and all too exposed for her own liking. It felt odd, moaning and grinding wantonly in broad daylight for any poor onlooker to stumble upon. What would they think? Who would they tell?

Aelora pulled away. She stared at him with half lidded eyes and smiled bashfully. He looked just as unkempt as her. She tried to catch her breath, panting and feeling like a dog on a warm summer's day. He held her hands in his and guided her to the long grass, where he sat without uttering a single word. She knew what he wanted.

Without a second thought Aelora lifted her skirts and sat in his lap, draping her arms around his shoulders as his hands came to rest on the tops of her thighs. She closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in another kiss as she shifted her hips ever so slightly, trying to satiate the ache she now felt between her legs.

He groaned, pulling away from her lips to bury his face in her neck. She could feel him grow hard under her, and it made her stomach flutter. She was still nervous, unsure if she wanted her first time to be somewhere so open. She always imagined it would be in a bed of satin with someone who worshiped her - not that Gríma hadn’t been doing just that. His hands glided across the expanse of her thighs and up her torso, landing on the velvet-covered peak of her bosom. He grabbed and squeezed, all while leaving kisses and bites along her neck and collarbone, eliciting another high pitched moan from Aelora. She rocked her hips faster against him.

She felt something, a familiar feeling, build up in her lower belly. It was pleasurable, and she knew she wanted to feel more. She let out small, airy gasps, finding it hard to muster anything louder at the moment. Gríma’s hands were now firmly planted on her hips, almost painfully digging into her flesh despite her dress still being on. She found the pain felt almost as good as the pleasure. Her whole body felt like it was on fire.

With an almost animalistic growl, Gríma flipped Aelora onto her back and situated himself firmly between her thighs. Her dress was now hiked up around her waist, exposing her lower belly and undergarments to the world. His touch cooled her heated skin as he traced along her abdomen, fingers scratching along her skin as he grabbed ahold of her cherry-colored underwear. Upon realizing what was happening, she quickly got to work on freeing him from his own clothes, her hands fumbling with his belt and trying to make sense of the skirts he wore.

His fingers dipped below her waistband, the coolness of his fingers dipping into her warmth and sending a jolt of pleasure down her spine. Her hands stopped immediately as pleasure clouded her mind. He had not yet entered her and yet, somehow, each stroke of his long finger seemed to graze the spot that made her legs shake and her back arch. She was familiar with that spot - that bundle of nerves that sat just above her entrance. As she grew older and explored her body away from Viseryon’s prying eyes she knew that spot was where to go to pleasure herself. She grabbed him by his hair again, pulling his face closer to hers as she rested her forehead against his. She rocked her hips again, hoping he would either sink his fingers deeper inside her or hit that spot once more.

She was a sight to behold; the usually stoic and proper dragon blooded lady was red faced and panting with her legs spread… and it was all for him. Never in his life did he ever think he would see a woman in such a way for him - he had thought about it, sure, but he never thought it would happen. He had made up his mind, he would take her there in the field, hidden by the long grass yet still out in the open for anyone to see or hear. He wanted them to know - especially Viseryon - that Aelora was his. His eyes met hers and all he could think of was how beautiful she looked.

I may just want to marry you, he thought to himself despite knowing his judgment was clouded by lust.

Her mouth dropped as her face contorted into a look of climax. She was getting closer by the second, with her movements speeding up and becoming more erratic. She pulled him even closer, struggling to bring her lips to his and she let out a final gasp, arching her back once more before-

“Aelora?” That same, shrill voice called from somewhere far off. They froze, both staring at each other with wide eyes. They had a moment to compose themselves, as much as Aelora despised the idea of Gríma withdrawing his fingers. She felt pleasure and arousal being replaced with fear and annoyance, and she whined at the absence of her lover’s (was he her lover now?) touch.

“Aelora?” Viseryon called out again. Gríma had backed away, getting to work on fixing his own clothes as Aelora stood and adjusted her skirt. Her legs felt like jelly. He noticed how her hair was out of place and unkempt, and he reached out, combing his fingers through it gently to make it seem presentable. They could blame his hair and any other irregularities on the wind.

Just like the last time, she stood on the tips of her toes and placed a kiss on Gríma’s lips.

“We should walk back together.” He suggested. Aelora opened her mouth to protest.

“Aelora, please my dear, where are you?” Viseryon sounded closer now. She closed her mouth and nodded, taking Gríma’s arm as he led her back to Meduseld.

✵✵✵✵✵

“Ah, there you are!” Viseryon’s jovial facade faded as his eyes met Gríma’s form. “Councilman Gríma, this is a surprise.” He could hardly hide his disdain, much like everyone else to lay eyes on the advisor.

“Lord Viseryon,” he greeted with a nod, “I was just showing the Lady the countryside, she showed great interest in it yesterday and I thought, who else was better to give her a tour than me.” He bit back the urge to smirk. “I’ve found she has a great affinity for wood.”

Aelora’s face became the same scarlet color as the inner fabric of her dress.

“I see…” The lord began. She felt his grey eyes scan over her form, and she knew he was looking for any sign of her disloyalty - even if there was no loyalty she was betraying in the first place. His eyes settled on a small, blossoming red mark upon her neck, right where it met her collarbone. His gaze shot back to Gríma immediately, barely concealing the jealousy and fury within his eyes.

“Councilman Gríma is very familiar with Edoras, he grew up here.” Aelora chimed in, hoping to steal her creator’s attention away. She fidgeted with her hair, bringing it to rest over her shoulder to conceal the mark left by her lover. “I asked him to show me around, I like this place quite a lot, much more than I do Gondor.” She mentioned.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and she smiled bashfully. He made her heart flutter in a way that was hard to hide. “He’s very knowledgeable.” She added.

“Yes, I’m most familiar with the twin mountains just south of-”

“Never mind that.” Viseryon cut him off quickly, knowing what the advisor was alluding to and was growing tired of being humiliated. “Aelora, I have news regarding our transport. It looks like we’ve been set back even further. A fire ravaged the workshop last night and burnt our carriage to a crisp.”

Aelora gasped. Her grip on Gríma’s arm tightened.

“I hope everyone is alright.”

“No one was hurt, luckily. It happened in the middle of the night.” Gríma tilted his head out of curiosity.

“I wonder how they kept the fire contained then, if it was the middle of the night. Surely someone had to be nearby to put the fire out.” The raven haired man mentioned accusingly. Aelora quickly turned to look at him.

“Oh, goodness, I seem to have forgotten my book in the clearing. I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Councilman, but would you mind retrieving it for me?” Aelora asked, batting her lashes at her secret lover in hopes of him agreeing. He gave her a brief look of concern before realizing she was right, she did forget her book.

“Of course, my lady, it would be no trouble at all.” He began as his arm slipped from her grasp. She bit her lip to hide her longing. “And when would you like me to return it to you?” He asked, but she knew exactly why he was asking.

“I can pick it up from your chambers later, if that’s alright. I’m sure Viseryon is going to have me busy for the rest of the day.”

Before Gríma could reply, Viseryon cut in.

“No, that is not acceptable. I don’t want her coming to your door at a late hour like some common whore.” The lord spat, pulling the silver haired woman away from Gríma. His grip was harsh and unforgiving, and when he tugged on her she couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of pain. “I’ll come and get the book from you.” Viseryon finally stated, which Aelora immediately began to protest.

“I’m actually quite busy.” Gríma remarked. “I came to her during my only quiet hour to ensure our guests were still comfortable here, and now that this problem has arisen I do have to consult with the king for what he wants to do with you both.”

“Very well.” Viseryon pulled Aelora closer. She found it hard to look at him. “We have much to discuss, then you can retrieve your book. If he’s not there before sundown, you’ll get it in the morning. Do you understand?” His tone was harsh and firm, he sounded like he was scorning a child.

Aelora nodded.

When she turned her gaze away from her creator Gríma was already storming down the hall toward the clearing. Not a single goodbye was uttered, and while she knew it wasn’t safe to do so, she still wished she could have said farewell. When the advisor was long out of sight her creator spoke again.

“You let him fuck you.” The words left his mouth harshly, they were almost a statement as opposed to an accusation. She turned around slowly. “He’s on to us and you let him fuck you!” He spat, grabbing her by both of her arms and shaking her violently. Aelora froze up, unsure of what to do. She knew she was capable of fighting him off, keeping him from hurting her, yet there was a part of her that was afraid to even try.

“I didn’t!” She wasn’t entirely wrong. They may have fooled around but Gríma had not fucked her… not yet, at least.

“Do not lie to me, I can see he left his mark on you. I can see it when he looks at you and you look at him. All of the avoiding me, I see it now. You love him, don’t you? You’ll jeopardize this whole plan!” His hands crept upward towards her neck. Panic settled in her core.

When she didn’t respond he continued. “You love him, don’t you? Don’t you? More than you love me?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted quietly. “I only just met him, Viseryon.”

“Do you love him more than you love me?” There was a fire behind Viseryon’s eyes, one she had never seen before.

She felt slightly more protected in Rohan than she ever did in her life, and so, she decided to poke the dragon before her.

“Your love for me is forbidden. It’s a perversion. A disease.” She spat, and finally his pale hands wrapped around her throat.

“So it’s true then, you love that old toad, hm? Well, I’ll see to it that he’s executed before you when I ascend the throne.” Aelora gasped for air, blackened claws digging into her creator’s hands and wrists in hopes that he’d let go - that the pain would be too much.

The pain did burn, but it didn’t burn as much as the perceived betrayal of his own creation. She wasn’t wrong, though, his love for Aelora was very much forbidden. He could kill her right then and there, and as his hands tightened around her neck and he watched her face turn a shade between red and purple he was convinced he would. He was angry, he was hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to make sure Aelora would be forever his. If she was telling the truth, if Gríma hadn’t fucked her, then if she were to die in that moment she would be forever his. Incorruptible. Pure.

He let out a pathetic whine as he let go of her. She collapsed to the ground, coughing and panting as she tried to catch her breath. It was so close to being stolen from her. She looked up at Viseryon through tear-filled eyes as she watched him thrash about, throwing another fit like a toddler. She was much more behaved than he ever was, even as a child, and she always found his fits to be pathetic and off putting. She watched as his chest heaved when he stopped, looking like a feral animal over her as she suddenly feared what he would do next.

“Either way, you did very well setting the carriage on fire, but like I said that spineless worm is on to us. We need to be careful.” He held out his hand for her to take. She glared down at it and fought the urge to spit on his hand before helping herself up, brushing off her skirt and holding her neck. She glared at him next. Her heart had been filled with hate, and he wondered for a moment what the advisor nicknamed wormtongue had been telling her. He scowled.

“I can’t even stand the sight of you, begone. I’ll be at your chamber door later tonight.” She went numb.

“What?”

“You clearly can’t be trusted alone. And like I said the night before I have been sleeping terribly. I’ll be sleeping in the same bed as you, just as we did in Gondor.” Viseryon stated, no ifs ands or buts. Aelora fought the urge to sob. “Oh, and I don’t want you near Wormtongue again today. If you truly left your book I’ll escort you to his chambers tomorrow.”

He felt his anger rise as Aelora stood still.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Begone with you! The sight of you vexes me.” He commanded, to which Aelora complied, albeit slowly. She was still shaken up by what happened earlier, and while she was prepared to die in order to take down Viseryon, part of her feared death.

She used to welcome the idea of death, especially as she got older and realized there was no real escape from Viseryon, but now she felt there was something to live for. She had only known Gríma for a few days, but she enjoyed his presence. Rohan in and of itself was a sign that she could be anywhere she wanted to be and see anyone she wanted to see. She would not shackle herself to Viseryon like the many dragon blooded before her, she was so much more than her creator.

As she entered the darkness of her chambers she ran a hand across her neck, feeling the red hot skin beneath her palm. Each time she swallowed it hurt. Gríma had left his mark, yes, but it seemed to her Viseryon made sure to leave his own mark as well. She knew his hands would leave bruises.

Did she love Gríma? Why did she find it so hard to answer that single question? It wasn’t hard to love someone more than she “loved” Viseryon, simply due to the fact that she hated Viseryon with every fiber of her being. But to say she loved Gríma, especially this soon after knowing him…

If Viseryon were to get his way she would never be able to answer that question. If Viseryon were to get his way either one of them would end up dead, but if she were to think realistically she would know both Gríma and herself would be killed.

She sat on her bed, staring at the light that leaked in through the straw ceiling.

She needed to get away from Viseryon.

✵✵✵✵✵

Viseryon returned to her later that day, just as the sun had begun to set. Aelora watched as the sun’s rays shifted behind the straw ceiling, and her heart felt as heavy as stone. She knew leaving to see Gríma would be dangerous after what happened earlier that afternoon, and despite the rage and longing for independence she held, she stayed put in her chambers, waiting idly by for her creator to come barging through her door.

Yet, Viseryon did not barge in. He knocked softly on her door, so softly she almost confused him with her lover. When she answered the door to see him standing there she had to hide her immediate disappointment and fear. She was dressed in her nightgown already, hair unbraided and brushed and the blankets on her bed were undone. Her sheets were satin, just as she liked them.

The look on Viseryon’s face was grim and his eyes full of sorrow. She was not moved.

“Aelora, my love, I am so sorry for what I did to you earlier. It was not right of me.” He apologized, taking her pale hand into his own. She was not moved. “I acted inappropriately, I accused you of things, and while my love for you is forbidden it does not wane. I try to provide for you in the best way I can, and I do all of this without expecting a single thing from you. The only thing I ask is your loyalty, even if I cannot have you in the ways I want.” His confession made her sick.

Everything, every suspicion she had over an odd action, every uncomfortable feeling she had around him, it was all confirmed in the matter of seconds. She wanted to tear her hands away and burn him where he stood. She wanted him to suffer in the way she had suffered for years. She wanted to scream and cry and show him just how much his love for her made her feel ill.

He does not love you, she told herself, If he did he would have never laid his hands on you. He shouldn’t love you.

“Your love for me is what made Lady Aemma leave. It drove her away and left me alone with you.” Aelora muttered, fighting the tears that brimmed in her eyes.

“Aelora…” Viseryon began in his usual warning tone. He softened. “I loved Aemma dearly, you know that-”

“Yet you fell in love with a child! With your own child!” She shouted, unable to hide how she truly felt. Being able to vocalize what she was thinking made her feel as if her whole world was collapsing. All of the lies she told herself over the years burned in her throat and in her mind.

“Aemma didn’t love me!” He shouted, though this was not a shout of anger. He sounded truly broken, as if that was the first time he’s ever admitted that truth out loud to himself. Aelora froze as he choked back tears and dropped to his knees. “Aemma never loved me, but she loved you. And I loved you. And you loved me back.” He cried.

“But I never-”

“I know. I know.” He kept saying it over and over. Aelora feared she finally broke him. “I thought… if we were alone… I could make you love me in the way Aemma wouldn’t. I created you to impress her. When that didn’t work, and I realized something out there loved me, I turned my attention to that. You were always so beautiful Aelora…”

His pathetic display made Aelora recoil in disgust, as did his words. He was never safe to be around, that was a fact she learned when she was young. She knew the way he held her was never normal, nor was the way he made sure he was the only one she could ever rely on. She felt as if she could kill him on the spot. Her gaze flickered to the door.

She wanted to run.

“I was a child…” She said in a voice just above a whisper. “What did you intend to do to me? What do you still intend to do to me?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He crawled closer to her. His hands gripped at her hips as he pressed his face into her lower belly. His tears wet her dress and stuck uncomfortably to her skin. “We are as we are. I’d just like to enjoy your company for now.”

Words that had been spoken so sweetly to her earlier in the day made her stomach turn uneasily and made her muscles tense now. From Viseryon’s mouth those words felt wrong, they felt manipulative.

“For now?” She choked. His grey eyes gazed upon her face.

“Forever. For as long as you like. I will not do a single thing without you wanting it.” Even she knew he was lying. With Gríma around, she knew Viseryon’s behavior would escalate. He backed away from her.

He truly looked pathetic. His eyes were red and snot dribbled down his nose and lips. His hair was a mess - his curls frizzy with silver locks covering his face. Every time he took a breath - a labored, deep breath - it would blow his hair from his face, but the locks would always return to the place they were before. His cheeks were wet with tears.

“What would you like, Aelora?”

I would like you to leave and never return, she thought bitterly, I would like the throne of Rohan and a golden chalice and a thousand servants, too, but none of those things will ever happen.

She glanced behind her at her bed. She was exhausted.

“I would like to go to sleep. I’m tired.” She stated, and she noticed a look of disappointment come over Viseryon’s features. Surely he couldn’t have expected her to say anything different. She would never want him, not in the way she wanted Gríma. Even then, with Viseryon escorting her to her bed and sliding into the sheets behind her, she missed the raven haired advisor, and she thought of him.

When Viseryon snaked his arms around her waist she had to close her eyes and choke back a sob. The three nights she spent alone were a miracle, and it was the best sleep she’d had in a long time.

The silver haired lord buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she felt him take a deep breath. His hands wandered, as they usually did, feeling across the expanse of her abdomen and settling on her breasts. From there they would not move, and for a moment she felt her creator’s breath hitch. He did not move a muscle, like he promised, but she knew. She knew he would memorize what she felt like, she knew he would do this every night to satiate his own needs without ever actually violating her in a way that he thought mattered, let alone the fact that the mere act was enough for her to feel violated.

“I do love you, Aelora.” He muttered into the crook of her neck, his voice muffled by the cloth of her nightgown. “Do you love me?” He asked one last time.

Aelora was frozen with fear.

✵✵✵✵✵

Aelora had snuck out against Viseryon’s wishes after the silver haired lord had fallen asleep to see Gríma.

She slipped out of his grasp and replaced herself with a pillow, and she found herself mentally apologizing to the inanimate object. She felt bad for anything that had to be that close to Viseryon.

If not for the attempt on her life earlier in the day, Aelora would have found sneaking around exciting. The idea of having a secret lover, just like in some of her old romance novels, was appealing to her. It made her feel alive. Perhaps if they persevere through this, if somehow Viseryon fails, then maybe they were meant to be.

She would step outside first though, hoping the cold, fresh air would calm her nerves and wash away whatever grimy feeling remained from having to sit still in Viseryon’s arms for so long. Her satin nightgown, also dark in color, swayed in the wind, exposing her legs to the harsher night environment of Edoras. She gazed out at the sleeping kingdom, with smoke still billowing out of their chimneys and warm orange glowing out of some windows. She watched quietly as farm animals shifted around in their pens.

The world was peaceful. The world was beautiful. She would regret what was to come if the man who sent them there truly did have what he said he did. There was a storm brewing, and not enough fresh air in the world could rid her of her guilt. Her tears were hot against her cheeks in the cold night air, she could see her ragged breaths leave her mouth in puffs of white that dissipated nearly instantly. Her heart and mind laid heavy with guilt and confusion and disgust.

From within her sleeve she produced a curved blade. It was made of the finest metal, with a black handle wrapped in red twine. It was her own that she had found in the mountains as a child, and Viseryon was unaware of it entirely. She glared at her reflection in the metal, and for a moment she wondered what she was going to do with the blade. Certainly she wouldn’t kill herself, not then and not there, but she was sure she didn’t have it in her to kill Viseryon either. Still, she thought of the cool blade slicing into her skin - into her throat - part of her wanted it, even if she knew she wouldn’t do it. Instead she pondered her own existence, staring longingly into the cold metal as she had many times before.

She worried deeply about what was to come. Viseryon claimed to love her, as much as it sickened her, but his plan to capture the throne of Rohan would put her in danger. He was a coward most of all, and she feared that all of the grief she had given him would sentence her to death, especially after the role she would play in his ascent. If it came down to it, if she had to choose between herself and her creator, she knew deep down she would choose herself every time.

Deep down, she knew what she had to do, but she had to make sure she had someone in her corner before she did it.

She turned on her heel and closed the large, oak doors of Meduseld. Aelora passed through the moonlit great hall, where a single musician sat idly strumming at his lute. He glanced up at her, smiling in a way that alluded to him knowing more than he let on, and he softly began to sing:

“Lady Aelora dressed in black with silver hair cascading down her back.

See how she lurks in the shadow at night,

searching for her worm-tongued fellow.”

She hardly found it alarming, for she could hardly care what anyone thought anymore.

Let them find out, she thought to herself, If this is to be what I am known for then so be it. She didn’t stop to indulge the musician. She padded through the hall toward the throne of the king, which sat empty and loomed with an ominous energy. With no one really around, she reached out and touched it.

Over the years there had been legends of the dragon blooded cursing entire bloodlines just by touching their throne, and the thought of that almost made her chuckle. If the throne truly was cursed now she hoped Viseryon would be the first to feel its wrath.

When she arrived at Gríma’s door she hesitated. What if he was sleeping? She didn’t want to bother him, especially that late into the night. The thought of returning across the corridor to her room kept her at Gríma’s door, frozen with fear. She would much rather deal with a slightly irritated Gríma than her creator, that much she knew.

Aelora took a deep breath and knocked.

It took a moment for him to open the door, and when he did she was shocked to see a candle burning on his desk and his eyes red with exhaustion. It was closer to the middle of the night, and it seemed like he was still up working. The look in his eye shifted from slight irritation and confusion to concern. He stepped out into the hall, pulling his cloak around him as he shut the door.

“What are you doing here?” He whispered, “It’s late.”

She hesitated, opening her mouth but unable to find the right words to say. Her eyes met his and she was overcome with desire, despite her overwhelming melancholy. The dragon blood lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. He stumbled backwards, hitting his closed door with a soft thump!, and groaned in surprise. His eyes grew wide.

Her lips were fierce against his, pushing feverishly as if she were afraid he would disappear at any moment. His hands fell to her hips, and he gently pushed her away.

“Aelora, what are you doing?” Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

“I want you.” She whispered against his lips. “I want you and I’m tired of everyone getting in the way.” Tears filled her eyes as she fought off the many thoughts that plagued her through the night.

What was she doing? She hardly knew this man, as she admitted earlier to her creator, yet she felt so drawn to him. She was inexperienced - a virgin - and for some reason she decided to give her virginity away to some stranger, the first man to show the slightest interest in her. She wasn’t sure if she loved Gríma yet, but she hoped this experience would assist her in finding out.

His hands snaked along her arms, where he grabbed her wrists and pulled them from his shoulders. There was still a look of apprehension on his face. It made Aelora want to cry even more than before, and she did. The tears that welled up in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t you want me?” She asked in a broken voice.

Something had happened, that much he knew. She seemed much more unstable than before. No, perhaps that’s not the right word, he thought to himself as he brushed her tears away. Vulnerable. She was more vulnerable than before.

“Of course I do,” he cupped her face in the same way he did the day before - the day they first spoke to each other. “Perhaps it would be best to discuss this in my chambers.” He watched as Aelora’s expression changed ever so slightly. Her eyes brightened with the realization she wasn’t being rejected.

Without turning around, Gríma unlatched his door and gently kicked the door open, leading Aelora by her hand into the dark of his room.

Even with the candle lit it was near impossible to see inside his chambers. She could see several pieces of parchment laid out on his desk, and the candle whittled down to half its usual size as it sat in a large puddle of wax that gathered in its holder. He must have late nights like this often, Aelora thought to herself. She could just barely see the outline of his bed; the dark covers unmade, as if he had been trying to sleep earlier in the night but couldn’t.

“Come,” He beckoned her closer as he stood by his desk, rolling the parchment up and placing it between the candle holder and the wall. “Have a seat.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I thought we were-”

“You’re distressed.” He stated the obvious, but it was something she desperately needed to hear. She nodded. Gríma’s hand grazed over something in the dark, something she couldn’t quite see. He handed the item to her without another word. It was her book.

That familiar aching in her heart returned.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” She began, pressing the book to her chest. He was stoic.

“Viseryon and I were not here by chance, but I feel you know this already. We were never even attacked. We were sent here by these dark forces you spoke of earlier to create unrest in Rohan, and if we delivered on this promise Viseryon would be crowned king. I was to kill King Théoden. I never wanted to come here, I never wanted to kill for this merchant of evil and grant power to the man I feel is least deserving of it. If Viseryon were to ascend the throne his incompetence would be the least of your worries.” Aelora placed her book down on the desk gently before taking a few steps closer to Gríma. She saw his confusion, and she also saw his anger. “My interest in you has always been genuine, Gríma. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way you do. I like our conversations in the clearing, and I enjoy seeing you go about your business in the morning. I can tell you’re a serious man with ambition, and I like that a lot. I relate to it, even. I cannot tell you if I love you just yet, but I would like to discover the answer with you. I know this is a lot and you have every reason not to trust me now, but know that you are the very reason I didn’t kill myself on the steps of this hall before coming to see you.”

From her sleeve she produced her blade again and she watched as fear flashed over Gríma’s features. She shook her head slightly, holding up the blade and her other hand to show she was no threat. She placed the knife onto his desk.

“I went outside earlier, unsure of myself and what would happen to me… I felt helpless. The only thing that kept me from slitting my own throat was the thought of you and the life I could have here if I defied my creator. I did not come to kill you, Gríma, I came to be loved by you.”

Despite what she had just told him, despite everything she confessed, his arms snaked around her waist. He couldn’t hate her, he couldn’t even be completely mad at her. He knew what they were up to, or at least, what Viseryon was up to, but she never seemed to be on board with his scheming, always alone and forlorn. He could tell she hated her creator, he could tell from the way she spoke about him and the way she looked at him. There was no real way to know if she was telling the truth, but the look in her eyes as she stared at him told him there was nothing to fear.

The truth was that she had been falling for him the moment she stepped foot in Meduseld, and she had been falling deeper and deeper ever since.

Crimson eyes met his, and he saw the sadness again. Even there in his arms she struggled to find a way to distract from the great sadness she felt over what she had been forced to do, over the way she betrayed the little trust he had for her in the first place.

“And to answer your question,” she began in a voice just above a whisper, “It does get lonely being a dragon blood. No one trusts you, friends are stolen away by their parents leaving you alone to wander the fields as you hear the other children’s laughter and you’re reminded that you’ll never be like them. You’re forced to return home to your creator who isolates you further, forcing you to share a bed with him while his foul hands grasp at your body. You aren’t allowed friends because all you need is him, you can’t make friends because everyone is afraid of you. The only chance you’ll get at love is in your dreams and the books you read. It is inherently a lonely existence.”

“And you want me?” He asked in disbelief, still skeptical of her intent. His suspicion was understandable, in his mind no woman would ever willingly go to bed with him - he who looked like he was always sulking - he who stared uncomfortably at them while they laughed and giggled and danced. His sunken eyes, pale skin, and yellow teeth were hardly considered attractive, and he knew his quiet, conniving personality didn’t help. He was convinced the only way to win a woman’s heart was by acquiring power, yet there he stood with more power than he could imagine and the one who initially held his heart still hated him. Aelora, however, was different. He still couldn’t believe she was real. She held his face in her hands, smiling widely and blinking away tears. She was beautiful.

“Yes, more than anything.” She answered truthfully.

That was the only confirmation he needed. In an instant he was on her, lips pressed firmly to hers as he backed her into the wall. Now trapped between the wall and his body, she spread her legs, allowing him to push his knee between them. He left a trail of hungry kisses down the side of her neck, unable to hold back now that they were in the privacy of his chambers. She ground her hips against his, slowly pushing herself against his knee to soothe that dull yet growing ache she felt between her legs. Her hands gingerly slipped beneath his cloak, rubbing at his shoulders as he growled into her skin, before she undid the clasp and the front and pushed the heavy material off of his shoulders.

He gripped the hem of her nightgown, pulling away and pausing only for a moment before pulling the garment over her head, leaving her completely bare save for her underwear.

She was a sight to behold, with the red tinged pale skin of her shoulders and cheeks and her large breasts. Gently, he ran his thumbs over the small pink buds as he watched her chest rhythmically rise and fall with each breath. She let out a small gasp followed by a drawn out whine, arching into his touch and grinding against his leg again. The friction made her bite her lip in an attempt to mask her moans, but he heard everything. His lips were at her neck again as his hands squeezed and kneaded her breasts, and he left soft kisses as he trailed his way up to her ear.

“Let me hear you.” He whispered, sending shivers down her spine and a wave of warmth through her core. A soft moan left her lips as he bit at her shoulder. “Good girl.” He groaned and he shifted, his hands leaving her body for only a moment as he fumbled with his belts. She heard them drop to the ground and she opened her eyes, watching him as his brow furrowed and he pulled off the old, scratchy outer shirt he wore.

“Go to my bed.” He commanded as he worked on his skirt. Aelora nodded excitedly, sliding out from between him and the wall and making her way to his bed. Her mind raced as she crawled on top of the plush surface, pressing her legs together to create some sort of pressure to distract her from the lack of Gríma’s touch. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him with great anticipation as the pale man approached the end of his bed. He was completely nude, and she felt her heartbeat speed up in anticipation and out of nervousness. Even in the low light of the room he was a ghostly white, and without the many layers of clothing she saw just how thin he was. If he weren’t the king’s advisor she’d worry he was starving. The look in his eye could have fooled her as well.

He climbed onto the bed, sitting back on the heels of his feet as he parted Aelora’s legs. His breath hitched when he noticed the dark spot on her scarlet underwear, damp with arousal from what he had done. He didn’t hesitate as he pulled her underwear down her legs, discarding the garment somewhere in the darkness of the room.

With every potential barrier out of the way, he situated himself between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the warm, heavy weight of his cock against her belly. They were both frozen, looking into each other’s eyes with desire and fear. She struggled to swallow, finding that her mouth was dry from her nerves. Her fingernails traced along his bicep tenderly, and if they could stay like that forever she knew she would be content. He dipped his head and captured her lips once more, kissing her briefly yet tenderly before pulling away and cupping her cheek.

Slowly, he slid into her, indulging himself in that unfamiliar warmth he only had the pleasure of dreaming of in the past. Aelora let out a breathy moan that sounded like music to his ears. She was tighter than he imagined, yet somehow he felt she was made for him. He let out a sigh, dropping his head to rest on her chest for a moment while he composed himself. She ran her fingers through his hair, tightening her legs around his hips as she flexed around his cock.

Having him inside her was an almost uncomfortable, foreign feeling for her. It was much different from when she would experiment with her fingers, but she found the way he stretched her was almost deliriously pleasurable. She fought to keep herself still while he breathed raggedly on her breast, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. She heard stories of men who only lasted seconds, and she wondered - and worried - whether or not he was one of those men. He shifted, dragging himself out at a slow pace before thrusting back into her in a steady rhythm. Her fingers curled in his hair.

She rocked her hips against his at the pace he set, aiding in trying to achieve that high they so desperately chased. His hands went to her hips again, this time holding them so tightly she was sure she would have bruises that would serve as evidence of their passion. This, she knew, was forbidden - but why did it feel so good, why did it feel so right? She arched her back.

“Gríma.” She moaned, throwing her head back and angling her own hips in a way that made each drag of his cock send an electric feeling down her spine and into her limbs. The mere sound of his name being breathed from her lips sent him into a frenzy, picking up the pace as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made it hard to hold back. The coil that settled in her core tightened, edging her closer and closer to climax as she held Gríma tighter than she ever had before, digging her claws into his back and leaving scratches in their wake.

Haunting blue eyes met hers, so clouded by lust but also affection, and she couldn’t help but pull him forward and trap him in a kiss. His tongue poked at her lips, to which she reciprocated, allowing the raven haired man to dip his tongue further. She moaned into his mouth, slowly sitting up and settling into his lap, moving her hips with his still. Her wetness dribbled down his length and onto his legs. His hands came to rest on the top of her thighs, rubbing them gently as he broke away from their kiss, panting hot breath onto her chin as she threw her head back. She let out the sweetest cry he ever heard, picking up her pace as she rode him.

“Mmm I never want to leave here.” She panted. He felt her tighten around him. She looked down at him. “I never want to leave you.” She confessed.

✵✵✵✵✵

They laid in each other's arms, still sweaty and panting, their legs intertwined. Aelora could feel his seed between her legs, some of it leaking out of her and onto the bed. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart and the sound of his breathing. He seemed much calmer now, probably calmer than she’s ever seen him. Her gaze was fixed on the still burning candle on his desk, the wax nearly melted through as it sat lower and closer to the holder. She cuddled into his warmth, and he pulled the blanket up further.

The blankets in his room were made from various furs, and the sheets were some sort of cotton variety. They seemed fresh, and for a moment she felt guilty for dirtying them. Gríma traced along her shoulder, his fingertips ghosting across her skin as if he were still afraid to touch her, as if he were afraid she would disappear at a moment's notice. It was hard for her not to swoon, even after everything they had just done.

Even then, laying in bed with him, she noticed the difference between Gríma and Viseryon. Gríma’s touches were often just as needy as Viseryon’s - if not more, yet the raven haired man made her heart flutter with longing. She could look him in the eye - those haunting blue eyes - and not feel utterly horrified by their closeness. He could pull her closer in hopes of a kiss and she would not feel sick to her stomach. He kissed her in ways she was sure Viseryon wished he could, and he made her feel things Viseryon never would be able to. She liked the way Gríma’s hands caressed her thighs as she sat atop him, both coming down from their highs, as if to soothe her and cool down her fiery skin. As she laid beside him in bed she fought the urge to snuggle even closer to him than she already was.

She could feel his gaze upon her, watching silently as he fought off sleep, and part of her knew he was falling in love with her. After the last week she would admit it would be hard not to fall for each other. Knowing this didn’t make her feel sick, and she supposed that’s what love was, it was the feeling of all being right with the world, feeling content lying next to someone and not wanting to burn the sheets where they laid.

Tears welled up in her eyes once more, overcome with a concoction of emotion that left her with a bittersweet feeling. She was left wondering how long this would last, wondering if she could even defy Viseryon and survive. She wondered what Gríma would do with the information she gave him earlier - would he turn her in? Did he get what he wanted from her and now he’d leave just like Viseryon warned?

Aelora let out a choked sob that woke Gríma immediately.

He looked down at her, shifting slightly to try and get a better view of her face but she buried herself further into the crook of his neck. He quickly ran a hand over her hair, attempting to soothe her. The sudden outburst worried him. Despite being quite a few years older than Aelora he was about as experienced as she was, and for a moment he worried he disappointed her.

“Is there something wrong?” He whispered, and she found herself unable to answer. “Aelora, please, if I did something, or didn’t do something-”

“It’s not you.” She interjected, sniffling and wiping her tears. She still refused to look at him. He held her tighter. “It’s Viseryon. I can’t return to him, especially not like this. He saw a love bite on my neck and nearly killed me over it.” She confessed. Gríma tensed under her. He wouldn’t physically do anything to the lord, he knew he was much too weak for that, but if an accident were to befall him…

He agreed, Aelora couldn’t go back to him like that, but she also knew she couldn’t stay the night.

“All of this has been lovely, but I know it won’t last. He’ll have you killed if he becomes king and he’ll kill me tomorrow if he finds out, which he will.” Gríma’s eyes fell to the dagger on his desk, the wheels in his head turning as he cooked up a scheme for his beloved Aelora. He was sure she was thinking along the same lines as he.

“You don’t want to go along with his schemes, he holds you hostage and controls every little thing you do. People dismiss it because you’re a dragon blood but anyone can see that you are so much more than a mindless puppet. He attacked you, and yet you still stay so firmly under his thumb, that’s no life for a dragon.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “You come from Ancalagon the Black, one of the greatest dragons to ever live, yet you act like a sheep. Are you a sheep, Aelora?” He asked, his voice halfway between awe and lecture. He squeezed her closer to him. In his eyes was a grave seriousness.

“No, you’re not. You’re a dragon, be a dragon.” Her crimson eyes flickered to the desk and landed on her dagger, and she immediately knew what he meant.

#grima wormtongue #grima wormtongue x reader #grima wormtongue x oc #brad dourif #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr oc #my fic: blood of the dragon #asoiaf inspired

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