Chapter Text
Their wedding had been a sham of a thing. Five minutes in front of a septon with his husband fumbling through the vows like a child learning to read. If his uncle Baelor weren’t there, Aerion would have ran. Or stabbed the knight who’d won his hand. Or perhaps both. Both seem like the more fun option.
Unfortunately, despite his disagreement over the wedding, prince Maekar also attended. Aerion’s father was another witness to his downfall. Of course he’d never have gone against the heir to the throne, but it would have been nice had he tried. Another barrier to his escape, another chance of being caught if he tried to run.
The wedding night was no better. Kingsguard stood outside the door lest Aerion tried to run or murder his husband. Princes Maekar and Baelor watched from a partition, the lord Ashwood with them. An old tradition to ensure consummation. Aerion was glad they were not in the room with him. He may have been tried for treason had they been.
At least the hedge knight he’d wed was able to shed his dirty clothes from the battle without much trouble. It would have been even more embarrassing to have to help him undress, to peel away those layers like some whore earning his coin.
Aerion’s own clothes were torn off him on command of his uncle, the prince left naked on his wedding bed like an offering to the Others. He could almost believe the man in front of him were an Other, if he believed in such things. A giant come to steal a southern bride to make half breed children with.
As Aerion watched the man undress he found himself wondering if that’s the true origin of his birth. The reason he hits his head on every door he walks through. This world is not made for him, yet he found his place. Fought for it through blood and tears.
Aerion’s body was not made for him, either, but it was won much the same way. A pitcher of wine filled his belly but did little to numb the pain. The pillows did less to muffle his cries, nor did his new husband even attempt to hold back his own sounds of pleasure.
In another life Aerion may have taken pride for how lost the knight became in him, how loud he was. May have even faced him in bed. In this one he simply held a pillow close and tried to drown out the slap of their skin meeting.
Aerion has never been one for prayer, yet he found himself praying that they would finish quickly. He prayed a lot that night, to be true. He prayed his backside wouldn’t bruise from the brutal way Ser Duncan thrust against him, prayed his maidenhead left a decent enough stain on the bedding, prayed his father and uncle had left from behind their partition already.
Aerion wasn’t sure how well they’d take to watching him being taken like a bitch in heat, though he doubts they’d enjoy watching him knotted much more. Gods, the knot. He prayed over and over again the knot was small.
It wasn’t.
Daeron joked the next morning about how his brother limped as he walked. Aerion felt the sudden urge to peel the nail from one of Daeron’s fingers before being swiftly reminded that his father sat beside them.
“The mark needs to be bandaged.” He’d said, averting his eyes from it.
So he feels shame. Or disgust. Either can be used. Something inside the prince told him his father had watched for longer than just to ensure consummation. Either to enjoy his suffering or to ensure it didn’t go to far, Aerion isn’t sure. The bitter feeling in his belly stays.
Father sent maids to his pavilion to clean and bandage the wound. Aerion wasn’t sure why, it’s not likely for him to leave his pavilion. Even if he were allowed to continue with the tourney, he wouldn’t have been able to stay ahorse for very long.
Prince Baelor visits him on the eve of their departure, sauntering in without announcement and looking around Aerion’s pavilion in search of any sign of his knightly husband. A disappointment for him, the man hasn’t stepped foot inside.
Empty well wishes were given for his marriage, the typical “may the mother bless you” and the like. Aerion didn’t much care for any of it, nor did he want to suffer through his uncle’s scolding of his behaviour. It was only when the man mentioned “no ill will” and “finally learning his lesson” was Aerion drawn to respond to him.
“Of course, uncle. I should be proud you’ve gifted me away like a prized mare.”
The man’s mouth thins into a line, dual coloured eyes settling on his nephew with a look of irritation behind them. So often does he incite this look in the man and every time that giddy feeling inside him returns. Aerion thinks he sees his uncle sigh, but isn’t entirely sure.
Prince Baelor shifts his stance, looking ever the perfect heir to the throne. That giddy feeling in his belly dies down quickly once he sees there is no rise to be gotten from his uncle just yet, but he’ll keep trying.
“You are so fond of Andal tradition, nephew, I thought you’d have already known of the consequences.”
Aerion sits up in his chair. The ache between his legs continues as he does but he does his best to ignore it.
“Selling me off —“
“You were not sold. You were won. As was Ser Duncan’s right. He could have spurned you, would you have preferred that? An omega rejected by even a lowly hedge knight is no reputation for a prince.”
Fire burns inside him, clawing its way up his throat. If he were a dragon he could spew it out, char his uncle to a crisp. Char this entire pathetic congregation and fly off into the night.
But he isn’t a dragon. They died long ago. Aerion is alone in this world, his uncle’s actions have proven that. Inside he rages, outside he bites his tongue.
His uncle is satisfied that Aerion has refrained from retaliation. He can only imagine the punishment the prince had planned for him had he acted upon his urges.
Still, Baelor waits for a response. Gives Aerion the opportunity to make things worse for himself, as he always seems to. When no smart remarks or threats toward his husband come, Baelor clears his throat.
“I’ve arranged for a position on the city watch for your husband.”
A beat. A glance. Another chance for Aerion to misbehave, to further dig himself deeper into his pit of shame.
“A manse may also be granted. If we believe it well suited to you.”
Aerion scoffs. An improper response, but at this point he deserves some lenience from propriety. Perhaps if he weren’t wed to common scum he’d behave more appropriately.
“You wish to rid of me so quickly?”
“I wish to give you comfort.”
Aerion rolls his eyes. Comfort. A lie to hide the truth, clearly. A banishment he can be angry about, can cause a fuss over. A sweet gesture from an uncle can hardly be refused.
“Away from prying eyes and,” the Prince’s eyes drift away in the same way his younger brother’s had. “Hearing ears.”
Ah. So he’d seen his fair share of last night as well. Aerion briefly wonders if he’d heard it through the echoing halls, unable to escape the sounds of his nephew’s ruination.
Aerion shifts his position on his chair again, lounging lazily. The smirk is hard to fight from making its way into his lips so instead he hides it by taking a large drink of his goblet.
He can use this. The guilt his father and uncle seem to feel, even if it’s only a miniscule amount. Play the weakened omega, the battered prince so pained by his nights with his husband.
“It would be a shame,” he says finally, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “If the maids were to see my bruises. They do love to gossip.”
“They’ll find anything to gossip about. Far more important things than bruises.”
Not the right move. He’ll remember that next time.
“Perhaps I’ll start showing off the mark more often,” he says, tugging his nightshirt down to show off the bandages on his skin. “Show the realm just how easily you gave me to some oaf.”
His uncle sighs, audible this time, and rubs his forehead.
“A mating mark isn’t much to gossip about.”
“Of course it is! We’re Targaryens. Gods among men. Yet you wed me to a hedgenight who — gods, I don’t even know if he can read.”
“It’s Andal tradition, Aerion. You yourself called upon it.”
The prince scoffs, ready to argue now. It’s one thing to pretend to care, it’s another to act as though he was simply following tradition. He hadn’t wanted to scream at his uncle in this way since he was nine and learnt Valarr wasn’t betrothed to him like he’d assumed — like Daeron had promised him.
“I called upon vengeance. Retribution.”
“And the gods answered.”
Aerion is silenced by that. Despite the rage inside him, he remains silent. Lets it fester.
“Is there anything else you wish to discuss before we leave?”
I wish to scream and shout. He thinks, but he does not answer. Glaring at his uncle is more fun, the same rise he’s able to get from Father or his brothers is not attainable with Baelor with the little effort Aerion is willing to put in at the moment.
“Good. Keep that bite cleaned, the last thing we need is you dying of an infection.”
“My new mate can lick it clean, as is tradition.” Aerion calls after him.
“Clean it however you wish, nephew, just ensure he isn’t too loud.”
The tall oaf didn’t visit his pavilion as Aerion had expected, not even after the prince sent a guard looking for him. The next time he sees the man is as they were packing up to travel home, Aegon bouncing around him like a flea on a dog.
The knight meets Aerion’s eyes briefly and quickly looks away. Rage bubbles under his skin again, the want to break the man’s teeth once again popping into his head. Seeing him broken and bloodied would be a lovely sight…
Aerion does not ride home. The journey is too long, his body too sore. Daeron sits across from him in the carriage, snickering to himself every time his brother winces at a bump in the road.
“Keep going and I’ll toss you out.”
“Fine with me,” Daeron mutters, resting his head against the door. “Perhaps Father will offer my spot to your groom.”
Aerion kicks his shin. Daeron snickers again.
Their camp is not as lavish as the one at Ashford Meadow. Their party is smaller, with less people and more banners of black and red than any other. Targaryens and their bannermen, with a few lesser lords mingled in. Aerion’s own sigil sits outside his pavilion, the golden dragon in the middle signaling where the prince will reside tonight.
Once again he goes without a visitor. Aerion would almost be mad if he actually wanted that giant to seek him out. It’s not as if he does, as if he’d accept any touches from the man, but it’s embarrassing that he hasn’t tried anything yet. Does he not know his rights?
Early in the morning he thinks he hears the man’s voice from outside his tent. At first the prince isn’t sure, the sounds of morning so strong. But it’s undeniable. Under the chirp of birds and the soft rustle of the wind, Ser Duncan speaks. Low as to not awake the camp, soft almost.
The thunderous beat inside his chest worsens as the steps grow closer, the prince keeping his body as still as possible so to trick the knight he were sleeping when the man inevitably enters. It was only a matter of time before the knight paid him a visit, unable to resist him for too long.
“Do you think Father will notice if we go?”
Aerion’s heart stops. Ice replaces the fire that had started to flow through him, the heat dulling instantly at the sound of his youngest brother’s voice.
“Nah, he’s got too much to worry about.” A pause. “Even so, he shouldn’t be too mad if we return with some fish for him.”
A laugh from his brother has Aerion rising in his bed.
So this wasn’t a morning visit, the culmination of holding off against his instincts for so long, an opportunity to slip into his bed unnoticed. No. This was the stupid oaf taking Aegon fishing before anyone wakes up.
“Shh,” Duncan hushes the prince. “We cannot wake anyone. I don’t want to be accused of princenapping twice.”
“Princenapping?”
Aerion shuffled out of bed as best he could, unsurprised at how weak his legs are when he tries. It’s been that way the past few mornings, along with the ache that remains between his legs.
As quietly as he can, he treads over the soft fabric floor of his pavilion as the knight and prince playfully argue over princenapping being a word or not.
“Either way, I don’t want to be accused of abducting you.”
A beat. A squeak.
“Fair.”
“Who goes there?” Aerion calls out, pulling the front of his tent open.
The two freeze. He’d expected them to run off, giggling as they do, but something stops them. Stops Duncan, really. Aegon had taken a few steps back, shrinking behind the man when he saw him to be unmoving.
Aerion hates how he has to tilt his head up to meet the man’s eyes, hates the way the knight averts them soon after. Pathetic. Brave enough to shove a cock inside him but not meet his gaze?
“I asked who goes there.” The prince repeats, crossing his arms.
“Apologies, my lord —“
“My Prince.” He corrects.
Aegon makes a grumbling noise behind the knight, as if he wants to speak up, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“My prince. We didn’t mean to wake you. Perhaps you should go back to your tent.”
“Why should I do that?”
The man shifts on his feet, light eyes skirting around their camp. He clears his throat, attention caught by Aerion’s own movements. The cold air creeps up the Prince’s bare leg, his sleep shorts only reaching his knees. The knight’s eyes catch there. Stay.
“I only meant —“
“You only meant,” Aerion repeats, lowering his voice to mock the man. “What did you mean? That I should return to my tent and let you take my brother? That I should obey you because you’re an alpha?”
“No—“
“No?” He’s having fun with this now, enjoying how the man squirms. “I shouldn’t do as you say?”
The man shakes his head, clearly frustrated. Aerion feels a smirk tug at his lips. He considers taking this further, perhaps resting his hand on the man’s arm, speaking in a sultry tone.
Aegon, like always, ruins his fun.
“Leave him alone.” The boy spits, own deep purple eyes glaring up at Aerion.
Their mother had those same eyes. Hers were never filled with such hate. Shame Aegon and Aemon were the only ones to receive them.
“Are you still here? Thought you’d run off somewhere to piss yourself. I can speak to him however I please, runt.”
“You can’t.” Aegon insists, stepping out from the knight. “He’s my sworn sword and he’ll be respected.”
“He’s my husband and he’ll be treated however I please.”
Aegon bites his lip, pale brows furrowed in anger. Aerion can tell he’s gotten to his brother with that. Staked his claim on the boy’s favourite toy, stolen it just like the little dragon carvings he used to play with.
“Egg,” The knight interrupts. Aerion had almost forgotten he was there. “Why don’t you go along. I’ll meet you at the river.”
The boy looks at Ser Duncan as if he’s offering to sacrifice himself.
“But —“
“I’ll be fine.”
The child nods resolutely, swinging the sack back over his shoulder. With one last glance at his mentor and glare at his brother, Aegon marches off toward the river. Good riddance, honestly.
“Finally —“
“Why are you so cruel to him?”
Aerion crosses his arms, blinking up at the man in shock. How dare he speak out of turn? If he weren’t the Prince’s husband, Aerion would’ve had him slapped by one of the guards. Calling him cruel would certainly constitute a good beating. He’d have to wake one first, though.
“Who said you can speak to me?”
“You spoke to me first!”
“Doesn’t mean you’re allowed to address me.”
The alpha lets out a heavy breath, averting his eyes for a moment. They fix on Aerion again when the prince steps closer. For a moment he almost reaches out, almost smooths a frayed strand in the knight’s tunic before stopping himself.
“I don’t have time for this.”
Aerion juts his chin up.
“You’ll have time for what I tell you to.”
The man huffs again, looking down at Aerion in a way that reminds the prince of the trial. Of how easily Dunk had gotten him on the ground, made him yield. His father had killed the Beesbury lord in an attempt to get to him, caved the man’s skull in.
The knight spreads his arms out, waiting for the prince to continue. The wind picks up slightly, blows the sleepy scent of him into Aerion’s nose. That stupid, soft part of him wants to move closer to the source. The rational part of him wants to burn the old, stained tunic.
“Well?”
“Well?” The prince repeats, pale brows raising. “Is that any way to address me?”
Dunk is clearly growing tired of his antics, unfortunately for him it only spurs Aerion on more.
“What did you want me for?”
Right. Aerion leans against one of the poles of his pavilion. He needs to think of something to say, something to keep the man here. Doubts an insult will work as well as he wants it to.
“Why are you awake so early?”
“I always wake early.”
“Hm.”
“Suppose I’m not allowed to ask why you’re awake?”
Aerion looks out over the camp, the dull light of a still rising sun filling the space. Valarr’s tent is next to his father’s, of course, and the kingsguard on the other side.
“I was awoken by Aegon’s shrill little voice.”
“Well, he won’t be bothering you much longer, will he?”
Aerion’s shoulders rise and fall in a simple shrug. He makes a point to speak in a low tone with Ser Dunk, the same way he had during their first bloody encounter.
“He’ll always bother me. He could move to Lys and he’d bother me.”
Dunk shakes his head, a motion that reminds Aerion of the hounds his father keeps at Summerhall. Large, fluffy things he takes to hunt birds.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?”
“No,” Aerion steps in front of the man. “I wished to ask why you woke me.”
“You just said Egg woke you.”
Egg. Gods, he hates the name. Aemon had given it to their youngest brother, as if it were befitting a prince in any way. To be fair, he was hardly a prince. Fourth son of a fourth son. Still, the shame it brings to the Targaryen name to allow oneself to be called Egg is indisputable.
“You both did.”
Another sharp intake of breath.
“My prince, if there is nothing I can help you with I have to get going now before the boy gets pulled into the river trying to reel in a fish.”
The brute pushes past him and Aerion debates swiping his feet out from under him but doubts it would even work with how heavy the man is.
His belly twists as he watches the man walk away, sour taste filling his mouth. It’s his instincts, most likely. Father had told him of how an omega craves their mate even if they hate them. Warned him against acting on it.
“You find a child more interesting than me?” Aerion calls out.
Ser Duncan should stop, should turn and confront Aerion. He doesn’t. Keeps walking toward the river. Aerion looks at the ground, the stones littering the path. It would take too long to fetch his shoes, he decides, and dashes after the man.
Catching up to him is easy enough. The prince has always been spry, quick. Even in contrast to the man’s larger gait. Ser Duncan doesn’t turn to look at him when the prince catches up to him.
“Are you following me?”
He’s very clearly annoyed.
Good.
“You did not answer me.”
Dunk groans.
“It may be a surprise to you, but I do not owe you answers.”
Aerion scoffs, hopping over a branch the man beside him cleared easily.
“What are you even wearing? Your tunic is disgusting.”
“It matters not to you.”
Of course it matters to him. Aerion can’t exactly have a husband who goes around wearing rags. How would that look? What would people think of him?
“It does, actually —“
“You’re still in your sleepwear. It might be best you focus on your own clothing.”
He’d forgotten that. Aerion looks down at his bare legs, sleep shorts barely reaching his knees and large red shirt exposing the bandages on his neck.
“I’m a prince. I can wear what I please.”
“I’m sure your father would be happy to see roaming around half naked.”
“I’m sure my father would like your head on a spike.”
Dunk sighs, walking faster. Aerion attempts to keep his pace. The grass is wet beneath his feet, a shock once he comes into contact with it. When he hisses, Dunk stops walking, turning to him instantly. Worry colours his features and he scans Aerion for any sign of injury.
“My prince. Are you alright?”
Shame should keep him from his next actions. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. He falls to the ground, holding his foot and looking at the man with a pained expression.
“My foot. I fear I’ve broken it.”
The man is kneeling in seconds, taking Aerion’s leg so gently and prodding at the skin. The prince hisses in pain, acting as though even touching it hurts.
“Can you walk?”
The concern in his voice is comforting, the soft way he looks at his royal bride alluring. Aerion shakes his head.
“Right. I’ll go get Egg, then come back to you—“
“You want to leave me here to fetch the child?”
“Just to make sure he’s safe.”
To make sure he’s safe? The boy isn’t some fragile little fledgling. He’s a prince of the realm.
“What of me? Aegon can run, I can’t.”
Dunk looks between Aerion and the path toward the river, debating. If he chooses that child, Aerion will burn the man to a crisp.
“I can’t just leave him there.”
“You can’t just leave me! Send a kingsguard to him when we get back to camp!”
“He’s a child. I can’t just leave him by the river. Your father would have my head for that.”
There are his words, once again biting him in the arse. Aerion thinks of storming off, but he likes the way the man is looking at him right now. Like an injured little bird.
Before he can protest, Dunk is placing an arm under his legs and hoisting him into the air. The Prince’s heartbeat picks up as he’s carried, purple eyes fluttering closed as he settles against the man’s chest. The scent clinging to him is overwhelming, he can’t help himself. Warm, earthy, and strong.
The restless feeling inside him settles as he breathes it in, and before he knows it he’s being startled by the booming voice of his mate calling out to Egg.
“Pack your things! We’ve got to get back to camp!”
“What? Why?”
“He was following me. Hurt his leg.”
“He’ll be fine! Just leave him where you found him.”
“I don’t think that would make a good impression on the Hand.”
As they walk back to camp, Aegon grumbles that he’s sure Aerion is lying. He’s always been sure footed. Dunk doesn’t defend the prince, so it falls on Aerion to do so himself..
“Shut up, runt.”
“Make me.”
“Oh, I will —“ he stops himself from kicking his leg out at the boy, remembering he’s supposed to be injured. “Once I’m seen to by a maester.”
“Stop it, both of you.” Dunk interrupts.
Aegon continues to glare at him. Aerion returns the look.
“I hope you lose the leg.”
Dunk doesn’t scold Aegon for that, which Aerion finds wholly unfair. He says so to Dunk and the man simply states he’s not going to lose the leg. Father is yet to wake when they return to camp, but the kingsguard are. As well as his uncle whose eyes widen ever so slightly when Dunk approaches with one prince in his arms and the other in tow.
The kingsguard give him slight looks as well, and Aerion realises the way this looks. Half naked and carried in by his new husband.
Maybe this will cease their chatter about him, their gossip regarding his unsuitability to marriage or his “dragon cunt” keeping the man from wanting to share his bed. Nothing says a heated love life like a romp in the woods.
The smirk he wears while Dunk carries him to his own tent is one of satisfaction, of victory. The man sets him down so gently on the bed that Aerion thinks he’s going to join him.
“I’ll fetch a maester.” The man says.
Panic rises inside him. If Dunk leaves now, they’ll all know it’s because of the injury. The oaf may even spill what truly happened and Aerion can’t have that. He’ll never live it down. So, he does what any rational man would. He grasps Dunk’s shirt and looks at him with the same innocent little eyes he uses on his father.
“No. Stay.”
Dunk’s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Torn between getting a maester and obeying the prince. His prince. His omega. The knight nods but Aerion doesn’t let go until he’s settled into the bed beside him.
“Only until you feel better,” Dunk says softly, “then I’m going to your father and we’ll get you a maester.”
Aerion nods, letting himself breathe in that earthy scent again. So different to what he’s used to. He’s unsure if the dirt is a part of Dunk’s scent or if the man just needs a bath.
“Do as you please. My father will ensure I receive the best of care.”
Dunk is stiff beside him. Unmoving. Afraid to even lay incorrectly. Aerion is going to have so much fun with him so long as he doesn’t have another bout of bravery.
“How is your leg?”
Aerion shifts closer. He’d forgotten which foot was supposed to be injured. An easy thing to distract from, though. Especially with how close he moves to the man.
“It’s fine. I’ll let you check it later.”
“A maester is probably a better bet than me.”
Aerion hums, purple eyes flicking up to meet the man’s own blue ones. Such a simple colour. Matarys’ eyes are blue as well, though they were never as striking as these.
“A maester will only tell you to scent me.”
The man blinks, cheeks going pink.
“I don’t think —“
“It’s good for healing,” Aerion slips a hand under his tunic, hot flesh comforting under his own icy hands. “It calms a panicked omega.”
“You… you don’t seem very panicked.”
“Oh, but I am. I need comfort, Ser Duncan. Comfort me.”
He isn’t sure when he’d made the decision to try this, but it feels right in this moment. He needs this, his body needs this. It’s only fair he gets what he wants. Aerion is a prince of the realm and one of the few Targaryen omegas. He deserves a mate who shows him that he is wanted.
“Egg is waiting —“
The heat moves from his belly to his chest, anger sparking like a flame inside of him.
“Are you more interested in a child than me? Is that what it is? Do you prefer them young?”
The man’s eyes widen, shock replacing any of his previous shyness. He jolts back, which Aerion decidedly does not like, and looms over the prince to look down at him, which Aerion definitely does.
“No! Why would you even say that?”
“You’re more interested in him than me.” Aerion says, doubling down.
“He’s my squire!”
Aerion laughs.
“I’m far more important than a squire.”
“No —“
“No?”
“Well, yes, but —“
Aerion sits up.
“You said no.”
How dare he? How dare he say no? That Aerion is not more important than a squire? The prince should kick him out. Banish him from his bed, from his tent, and have him follow them on foot on the trail home.
He has his own horses, though, so on foot wouldn’t be able to be upheld. He also hasn’t spent any time in Aerion’s bed since their wedding so that wouldn’t be a suitable punishment. Perhaps the prince can make him sleep on a pallet on the floor. Like a guard dog.
“I only meant that —“
“You only meant what? That I’m less important than your little squire? My brother isn’t the sun, you know, he doesn’t bring light into the world!”
“Gods, would you just —“ he places a hand on Aerion’s chest and pushes him down, the Prince’s head hitting the pillows beneath himself with a thump. “Would you shut up? I’m trying to talk and I can’t with you yammering.”
Aerion feels the need to snap back die down, the view of the man above him and the weight on his chest enough to calm that itching inside of him. He can’t let Dunk know that, of course, so he juts his chin out and gives the man a defiant look.
“Fine. Go ahead.”
The man lets out a breath, the hot air fanning on Aerion’s skin. He wishes it were closer.
“I don’t want you interrupting me or arguing back.”
Aerion glares at the man. Dunk returns the look. Finally, he caves, if only so the man stays above him.
“Fine. No interruptions.”
Dunk studies him for a moment before continuing.
“I have a responsibility to my squire to teach him how to be a knight.”
“You have a responsibility to me.” Aerion reminds him. “As a husband, as an alpha. Or did you forget that? Did you care not for your prize?”
Dunk shakes his head.
“You’re like a lame horse, always changing which direction you’re going in. You don’t want me here, then you do, then you want me dead, then you invite me into your bed and now you’re arguing over my responsibility. What happened to you never want me to touch you again? Or you’d rather pretend I don’t exist?”
Truthfully, yes, he has said that. But he wasn’t being particularly cruel by choice; he was only stating facts. It would have been even crueller to let the knight think anything was going to happen with them after their initial bedding.
But that was before the bond had settled. Before he realised that Dunk truly wouldn’t try anything, that Aerion hasn’t had the chance to yell at the man and deny him his bed. Before he’d heard Daeron and the kingsguard snickering over it.
Dunk looks down at Aerion, waiting for his response. He’s thinking of one that doesn’t sound too combative when the man lowers his head to rest so close to his own. Inches away from resting his head on Aerion’s shoulder.
“Aegon has plenty of knights to teach him responsibility.”
“He’s not their squire. He’s mine.”
Aerion takes in a sharp intake of breath. He could continue this argument, yet he doubts the man will budge in this. Such a small thing to set in stone, yet he’s adamant that the boy remain by his side. Not so much care is given to his spouse.
Aerion remembers back to his childhood, to his parents and their little pet names for each other. He remembers just how his father’s eyes would sparkle when his mother would take his hand, or when he would touch her mating mark, when she would call herself his.
Dunk has no name for Aerion to call himself by, no ‘I am the wife of your lord’ can fall from his lips when an inheritance is far from his hands. But he’s still able to take the man’s hand from his chest, guide it to the pathetic little mark he left, and look up at the man through his lashes the way he’s learnt alpha’s love.
“As am I.”
“What?” The man blinks, startled by the sudden change in demeanour. “Are you what?”
Aerion rolls his eyes.
“Yours. Am I yours? Will you deny me even this?”
The man’s eyes go dark. His thumb traces over where the bite would be, a low rumble coming from his chest. Aerion smirks. He’ll be going on no fishing trips today, no little outings with Egg.
“You don’t know what you’re saying, my prince.”
“I do. I know how a mating works, oaf. I know I’m stuck with you so we better make the best of it.”
Duncan’s large eyes finally move away from the bandages, finding the prince’s own. Something inside the prince stirs at being looked at like that, as if he’s prey caught by a beast. About to be devoured.
The man sits up, leaving Aerion laying there. Waiting. He closes his eyes, rubs them. Aerion nudges him with his knee, trying to get a response.
“I can leave, if you like.” The knight says, catching Aerion’s knee. Dunk pulls the Prince’s legs apart, settling between them. “Just say the words.”
“I’m not giving you an out.” Aerion breathes.
“Lame horse.” He grins, earthy scent spilling out of him and into Aerion’s lungs like smoke.
The shirt tears easily, exposing his chest to the chill morning air around them. Aerion’s nipples harden at the cold. Duncan doesn’t leave them like that for long, latching on to one in a way that makes the prince squeal like a piglet.
He hadn’t even realised his hand was buried in the man’s hair until Dunk pulled it away. The prince instantly reaches for those dark locks again, needing some part of him to hold. The knight does not let him, shaking his head at the attempt.
“You’re not allowed to hurt me now.”
“I can do as I damn well please.” Aerion spits.
The man offers him nothing but a warning look and Aerion wants to retaliate, to spurn him from his bed as he’d planned. But the ache inside him grows, the heat pooling in his belly with the man so close. He cannot sate it by himself. Has never been able to.
“Fine,” the prince spits. “But once your cock is out I have free reign to do as I please.”
The man grins, laughter spilling from his lips as he buries himself in the crook of Aerion’s neck. Kisses trail up to his jaw, each punctuated by a laugh.
“What is so funny?”
“You’re so small. Making threats while you fit in the palm of my hand.”
The way he says that makes the Prince’s belly twist. He really is small compared to his knightly husband. The shortest of his cousins around his age. Even Aelora is taller than him, if only just by two inches. But he’s never been so dwarfed by someone as he has Ser Duncan.
“I most certainly am not. You’re just overly large.”
“I am tall. It is an asset, I’ve been told.”
The kisses continue, as if the man can’t help but taste the pale skin of the dragon. His dragon, Aerion thinks. He likes that thought. He a vicious beast, guarded by the knight atop him.
“It’s an annoyance, is what it is. If you weren’t such a brute I may have won our trial.”
A nip. Another follows it in the same spot. Aerion will have a bruise to display no doubt.
“You left a few good bruises and cuts, but once that morningstar and sword were out of reach you were useless.”
“You mean once my face was being beaten in with my own shield?”
Dunk pulls away, the venom in Aerion’s voice ruining their playful banter. In this light his eyes look so dark, so blown with lust the blue has all but gone. Aerion feels a shiver go down his spine.
The man’s large hand comes to cradle his jaw, tracing over a fading purple bruise there. Aerion hisses, though in pain or from the lack of affection he isn’t sure.
“Do you still ache?”
“Of course I still ache. I was beaten, wasn’t I?”
“No,” the man shakes his head. “From our wedding. The maids, they said you needed a bath that morning to soothe your body. Lord Donarrion’s women said —“
Aerion jolts away from him.
“You spoke to whores about me?”
“No, I — just one, really, but the others were there. But they approached me first. It was more of a jovial conversation than anything.”
That is far, far worse. He not only spoke with the whore companions of some lesser lord, but he told them about Aerion in bed. Joked with them about stealing his maidenhead.
“What did they say? If they are so wise and knowing, what did they say?”
“I — that you must be sore, is all. Big man as I am and you being so small.”
“You’re lying.”
“What? I’m not —“
“They wouldn’t have said it like that,” Aerion grips the man’s hair again. “Whores aren’t exactly known for their kindness. Nor am I. What did they say?”
“That they’re surprised you didn’t break,” he says, hissing at the sharp tug of his hair. “That I best be careful lest I be charged with treason because of my knot. Now let go.”
Aerion does, falling back on the bed. His eyes flutter shut as he tries to contain the roaring inside him. The anger burning far hotter than any heat he’s ever felt. It won’t be hard to send someone for them. Their lord should be easy enough to do off as well. He has a younger brother.
“Aerion?”
“You’re an idiot.” The prince hisses, uncaring that the knight had said his name for the first time.
“For being worried?”
Purple eyes snap open, a dark fire behind them.
“For being an idiot!”
Aerion kicks him, uncaring which foot is supposed to be injured now. Dunk catches his foot at the next attempt to kick him.
“Stop that.”
Aerion laughs, props himself up on his elbows.
“Stop? Why should I? So you can go run to my father and tell him how you fucked me? Or maybe Valarr this time? I’m sure my dear cousin would love to hear of how I take a knot.”
“What on earth are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
“You’re telling everyone else. Whores, maids. It’s not a far leap to my family.”
“I’m not going to tell your family.”
Aerion scoffs.
Dunk huffs, taking hold of Aerion’s other leg and holding them apart to make room for himself again. Aerion hoists himself up, now eye level with the man’s chest.
He must have realised how ready the prince was to scratch his eyes out because he grabs hold of his hands fairly quickly and keeps them bound between them.
Aerion meets the man’s stare, unwilling to be the one to look away. To give in. To succumb to instinct. He will not be bearing his throat for the man.
“You’re so beautiful.”
That startles him.
“Of course I am. I’m a dragon.”
Dunk shakes his head.
“No. No, you’re far more than that.”
Aerion is silent for once. Stunned and unsure what to say.
“I won’t tell your family. I won’t even share your bed if you don’t want me there. You don’t need to worry about me doing something untoward.”
You’ve already done something untoward. He wants to say. Still, Aerion holds his tongue. He likes the way the knight is looking at him.
“You can be untoward. If I allow it.”
The softest little smile crosses his lips.
“Can I now?”
Aerion shrugs, as if it matters not what happens.
“If you must.”
The little smile turns into a smirk. Aerion’s hands are released and then the prince is swiftly pushed back onto the bed. He’s prepared to bite the man until Dunk is back at his throat, breathing in deeply as if he were a man starved. Is he… scenting him? During an argument?
“Fuck off.” Aerion writhes against him, unable to truly fight back with the weight above him.
Dunk groans.
“You smell so good. Like lilies and embers.”
Aerion can’t smell anything himself, nose full of the earthy, green scent of his husband. Gods. Dunk is his husband. His. Only his. The thought makes a low purr escape him, the most embarrassing noise an omega can make so early into a marriage.
Dunk seems to enjoy it, his body rutting against the prince. Aerion learns just how useless those trousers are once he feels a hardness pressing against him.
Lips are once again attacking him, marking their way down. Ser Duncan thrusts against him once more, chasing friction through his movements.
“Let me have you again. I’ll be gentle. You will not ache.”
A large hand is already creeping under his shorts, gripping the prince’s thigh in a way that is sure to bruise. Let the maids gossip about this, about how his husband wants him. Not the prince’s body being too frail to handle him.
Aerion is nodding before he realises, and the man is quick to act after that. Shorts are pulled off his body in a swift motion, exposing Aerion completely. Blue eyes lock on the quim before him, blonde curls damp with want.
Aerion had expected the knight’s cock pulled out soon after, shoved inside him just like their wedding night. Instead, surprise fills him as his legs are hoisted onto the knight’s shoulders and the man feasts upon him.
Aerion cannot stop the gasp from escaping him, nor can he hold in the soft whines and whimpers as his husband devours him like a man starved, nose pressing against the most sensitive part of him.
“You better not expect — hah — to be rewarded with this favour returned.”
Ser Duncan does not respond, simply continuing his task as a good soldier does. Sparks begin to shoot behind Aerion’s eyes before long. The prince feels his knees begin to shake.
“I am a prince of the realm. I do-do not do such a thing.”
Duncan either doesn’t care or isn’t listening, as he does not relent. The man continues until the prince is panting beneath him. Aerion’s belly continues to tighten, the prince finally pushed over the edge when the knight’s eyes meet his own.
Aerion isn’t sure what he’d said when his peak was reached, but it was enough to make the man below him laugh. Aerion knocks his knee against the knight’s head, the man only laughing more afterward.
Too weak to hit him again, the prince flops back against his pillows. Heaving breaths have his chest rising and falling rapidly. Aerion’s skin tingles as his knightly husband kisses his way back up, large hand resting on the prince’s hip.
“You can have me now,” Aerion yawns. “If you wish.”
Dunk chuckles, settling beside him.
“While you sleep?”
“I am not asleep. Simply resting my eyes.”
The man pulls him close, lifting a blanket to cover his naked form. It’s odd against his bare skin, yet Aerion does not mind.
“Later. For now I think it’s best you rest before a maester comes.”
Right. He was supposed to have an injured foot. He can’t exactly admit to lying now, not when the knight might leave him alone in this cold bed.
“Can you place a pillow under my foot? For comfort.” Aerion asks, opening his eyes as best he can’t to meet the man’s own.
Dunk does as he’s asked. Such a good little knight. He’ll definitely come in handy home in Summerhall. That tongue certainly will. Aerion hasn’t felt this calm in a long time.
As Dunk settles beside him again, Aerion places a hand out to stop him. He cannot see the man’s face through closed eyes but the prince is sure confusion would be there.
“It is unfair you remain dressed and I am not. At least take your cock out.”
“So you can hurt me?”
“What? Oh, right. No. So I can hold it.”
The man chuckles. Aerion doesn’t.
Hours later Aegon, always the sweet younger brother, for some reason decides against being helpful or sparing trauma to their father when Maekar decides his only omega son has slept in long enough.
Aegon does not steer their father away from barging in to Aerion’s tent to wake him, nor does he even attempt to wake or warn Ser Duncan so the man can escape in time. No loud noises, no setting the horses loose. Nothing.
You’d think, with the trouble his siblings are known for, he’d have at least come up with something. Aerion will never forgive him for not at least trying. It matters not that he was down by the river fishing. He should have stayed and guarded Aerion’s tent.
“Aerion!” The prince of Summerhall calls as he enters his son’s tent, startling the knight beside the omega and causing him to fall from the bed.
Maekar’s eyes fix on the man, as tall as he’d been the day they met and as naked as his nameday. Purple eyes move to his son, still asleep in his bed and just as naked.
“Your grace, I —“ Duncan grabs a pillow to shield himself. “I had only — he hurt his foot and needed me here.”
“Aerion!” Maekar calls again.
The prince did not need to be woken by his father calling his name loud enough to wake the camp, nor did he need to see his husband kneel in an attempt to beg for forgiveness.
The prince rises as much as he can, rubbing his eyes as he does. His eyes open just in time to see not only his father standing there but also his uncle approaching from behind. How lovely.
“Father?”
He doesn’t realise the situation in front of him at first until his eyes land on the bare arse of his husband.
Fuck.
“Why is he here?”
A thousand thoughts spin through his mind, though Aerion lands on whatever is most convenient for himself at this moment.
“I could not help myself.” His voice is almost a sob as he speaks. The innocent little lamb act has almost always worked on his father.. “My body… it acted on its own, Father. Uncle, you must know. You wed an omega. Our bodies are weak to instinct...”
Aerion hangs his head to avoid having to give them a doe eyed look. Maekar’s breathing grows louder. Baelor places a hand on his brother’s shoulder to calm him. The man looks over his shoulder and then back to Ser Duncan still kneeling on the floor with his head down. They are all silent for a moment.
“Is that all there was to it?”
“Yes, milord.”
Maekar still seems unsatisfied. Aerion watches as he slowly approaches the kneeling man. Fury is written so clear on his face. Aerion is sure Ser Duncan may have the soles of his feet whipped.
The prince cannot fault him for feeling disrespected or slighted by finding them abed. The reminder that his son, his only omega child, has been wed to a nameless alpha must be a harsh one.
“You are supposed to be watching Aegon,” the lord of Summerhall states. “Yet you busy yourself fucking my older son.”
“They are married, brother,” Baelor interrupts. “It is natural. No sin occurred in Ser Duncan taking what is his.”
Maekar grimaces, a familiar sight to Aerion.
“There was no taking, milords. I only used my mouth.”
Aerion wishes he could crawl back under the covers and die. Of course this stupid oaf had to try and defend his actions. Prince’s Baelor’s small chuckle only worsens the sinking feeling in Aerion’s belly.
“If you are going to duel please take it outside,” Aerion speaks before his father can. “I wish to return to my slumber.”
As he turns over, he holds the discarded tunic of his husband close to his chest. They do not duel, to the relief of Dunk at least, but Aerion is forced to leave his bed and dress. He accompanies his father for the remainder of the day, sitting beside him even at the end of the night when their supper is passed around.
When Duncan tries to sit beside his spouse, Maekar offers a glare strong enough to ward off even the hungriest of wolves. It seems the prince does not like the idea of his child wed, would rather forget it happened.
Aerion does not let the man in his bed again that night. He does make him help to pack it away the next morning, though. The servants could use some strong hands. Despite his lack of contact with the man, Aerion has to hear his father grumble about the oaf during their journey to the nearest inn.