Chapter Text
The humiliation of having to pick your son up from inns and taverns over and over never lessened, no matter how regularly Maekar had the pleasure to do it. These days he only went through the trouble if Daeron has been gone for more than three days, mostly to check on if he’s alive, perhaps get him to take a bath back at Summerhall and get him to drink something that isn’t wine. Daeron became well aware of that three day rule, often times coming back on his own, show proof of life and then fuck off right again.
Sometimes however, the prince simply forgot himself, lost track of time as he lost himself in the alcohol and the people around him. Those that visited the inn regularly knew of his prince status and stepped lightly around him just in case, but travellers who simply passed by the inn for a warm meal and some warm meal had no idea the drunk, musty, often stinking young man in the corner is anything more than an orphaned peasant. It allowed them to loosen up around him, have more fun. That fun of course included drinking and whoring, but there were times where instead of a whore, the men preferred to keep the company of Daeron. Threw him a sack of gold, pulled him close and got handsy as they got the prince on their lap. Daeron rarely ever minded, enjoying said attention more than any man should. It felt good to be touched and desired
At times he allowed himself to get dragged out of the inn, somewhere further out between the trees, allowing the men to get him on his knees, opening his mouth and letting his body relax as his throat was filled. There were some that tried to take it a step further, pin him against a tree and fuck him, but Daeron always meant to squirm away. It was humiliating and disgusting, the princeling knew so, it was also freeing. While with those men he could be anyone, tell fake stories, feel normal for just a night until they leave him like a used rag without even a thank you. The disgust Daeron felt afterwards was immeasurable, never stopping it despite that.
There were of course times where the prince had enough sense to deny any possible advances. Whenever the man looked too rich, clothes made of expensive fabric, groomed hair and beard, knights around. They could have met at court one day, it was only for the better if they didn’t accidentally recognize him. It applied the same now, Daeron rejecting the advances of a man who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him, possibly wasn’t even a lord yet and an heir instead. Despite that he acted like he was the king himself, everyone around was eyeing him and his knights, trying to get as far as they could to avoid the trouble an upset rich brat could cause.
Daeron tried to get away, following his rule of never touching high borns and ending his night early, sneaking back to his room at the inn hoping the man will be gone by the morning. They always got bored and left. This one seemed persistent, as when Daeron crawled out of his hole to continue his usual binge, the man was still there, trying to get to him, coaxing him with drinks the prince could not refuse. In the back of his mind, Daeron knew he should take his leave back to the castle, but he feared the lordling would follow him, catch him on the road defenseless and do Gods know what.
His father will come, that he was sure of. He just had to keep his mind clear enough to not let the man take him. If he remembered correctly, according to their unsaid agreement Daeron should have arrived home that morning, which meant Maekar will come and take him back tonight. He just had to wait and do his best to keep his distance. It was becoming overly difficult, the man getting more and more frustrated with Daeron’s refusal. The prince allowed them to sit at one table as the lordling laughed and talked with his companions, but was quick to swat any hand coming to grab him. He could see the anger in him rise, but Daeron did not care for it. His father will come any moment. He could always brandish his house’s sigil, scare the man off, but he feared he’d simply get killed for it. If anyone found out the high born was trying to lay with a man, a prince at that, he’d be as good as dead. It would be easier to shut Daeron up forever and leave.
Despite that, Daeron kept a hand at the hilt of his dagger, more for comfort than with intent to use it, waiting for his salvation to come. There was a signal him and the inn keeper had for when Maekar arrived, his father always lurking outside rather than going in to avoid causing a scene. This has been going on for so long Daeron no longer needed to be dragged out by force, instead obediently walking out and letting his father take him back. This time the prince was sure he’d run out.
His eyes lit up as the inn keeper finally walked up to him, placing a cup of ale in front of him rather than the usual wine Daeron took a fondness of and patted him on the shoulder as a goodbye. The prince felt his heart speed up, collecting all the strength he had within him before practically jumping over the table and running for the exit. He heard the man yell after him, but he knew not to look back. Maekar was just outside. He’ll protect him. He’ll slay that bastard if need be. Just as Daeron managed to get through the door, he was suddenly shoved onto the ground, falling right onto the mud in front of him. He could not gather himself to muster a scream for help, his sudden run and fall making it difficult to breathe let alone make noise.
As the prince tried to pick himself up, he was kicked in the side and grabbed by the hair. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going you little whore? Your little game has bored me beyond belief, I’ll tell you that.” The man’s voice was rough and terrified Daeron to his very core. His purple eyes darted around as he was lifted off the ground, trying to find his father’s silhouette through his blurry vision. Daeron saw him in the distance, standing turned towards his horse, seemingly unaware of the scene that unraveled so close to him. The prince wanted to scream, but his voice failed him once again. The grip in his hair loosened for a moment as the lordling waited for an answer from him and an answer he got.
Daeron tackled him to the ground, stepping over him as he lunged towards his father. It did not take the lordling long to gather himself back again and yell after Daeron again, calling him every insult in the book. The commotion finally took Maekar’s attention, who turned around with a frown on his face only to be met with his son collapsing right into him. Daeron leaned against his father’s frame, grabbing onto him as he panted, his legs almost giving out under him.
“What the fuck you think you’re doing, you little bitch? Get the fuck back here.” The man shouted, yet to realize he was standing in front of the prince of the realm and his son. Maekar looked down at Daeron, holding onto him so he wouldn’t collapse back onto the ground and then at the lordling that dared to harass him. He watched in silence as the man’s anger turned into fear as he took in Maekar’s appearance. White hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, unforgiving violet gaze and powerful frame. Then he stared back at Daeron, who now hid behind his father and looked back at him with the same violet, the realization slowly hitting him.
“What did you just call my son?” Maekar growled, grabbing onto the hilt of his sword, ready to cut out the insolent tongue that dared to insult his blood. His anger was quickly overtaken by worry as he heard his son whimper from pain, desperately pressing into his side. Daeron’s body ached more than he could handle, it was difficult to breathe or stand, getting dizzy at every move. Maekar looked down at him and then at the terrified lordling in front of him, deciding to let it go. For now. “I shall remember your face. Your sigil you so proudly wear on your clothes as you defiled the blood of the dragon. I would be very careful where you step on, for now.” It was an empty threat, but very effective as the man ran back inside with a tail curled between his legs.
It calmed Daerion down by a lot to know they were alone now, finally letting himself sob into his father’s clothes. Maekar did not know whether to scold his son or not, whatever trouble his son got himself into will probably have to wait. He sighed, pulling him into a hug for a moment. A rare display of affection that Daeron desperately needed right now.
“You’ll ride with me, I cannot have you collapse on your horse and injure yourself further.” Maekar sighed as he finally let him go. “I’ll go get it, try not to fall over and crack your skull.”
The ride home was silent as Daeron quickly fell asleep, leaning into his father’s chest as he sat in front of him. Maekar held him tight by the waist with one hand while holding onto the reins of his horse and the lead of his son's. He listened to Daeron’s slow breaths that tickled against his neck, his warmth pressed against him oddly relaxing. It was a long time since he held him this close, or anyone by that matter, forgetting the comfort of it. There were moments where Daeron began to squirm and whimper in his sleep, no doubt due to his nightmares, yet was quick to calm down as Maekar whispered calming words to him and pressed him closer.
As they got back to Summerhall, it was the middle of the night, with no one but guards awake to greet them. Maekar carried his sleeping son back to his bed with ease, finding it almost adorable how he could still lift him with no trouble as if he were still a child. Daeron woke up halfway through, as surprised as amused his father took his time to carry him rather than wake him.
“Stop pretending, Daeron. I need to take a look at your wounds.” The prince felt his face heat up as his father saw through his facade, yet did not bring it up until he laid him on the bed. He opened his eyes, looking up at his father whose expression was as stern as always, yet his eyes betrayed his worry.
“Can’t a maester look at them in the morning?”
“No. I still need you to explain why you had a noble running after you and calling you bitches and whores. Now get undressed.” Daeron did not dare to disobey his father, stripping down to his breeches as Maekar lit up the room with candles. The prince felt like a virgin maiden, feeling a certain shyness despite knowing his father saw him naked countless times. All due to the fact that besides bruises from the beating he took, there were also some left over love marks from his nightly adventures. Maekar raised his eyebrows as he saw his son try and fail to cover himself, his eyes taking in his fragile and pale build. There was a pang of guilt in his chest as he realized how badly he’s been neglecting his son, soon replaced with something closer to jealousy as he took notice of all the bites and hickeys.
Daeron winced in pain as his father gently examined the bruise forming on his side, trying not to look down at him as he kneeled by his side. There was really no nice way to explain what had happened. “He wanted to fuck me and was very… Displeased, I did not return his advances.” Maekar’s movements halted as he looked up at his son, quickly regretting he did not cut off that cunt’s head right there and then. Daeron finally got the courage to look back at him, a shiver running down his spine as he took in his father’s anger.
“Why would he even try such a thing? You’re a man.” Maekar scoffed, knowing he couldn’t let his rage, or the jealousy that he tried to deny the existence of, blind him as of right now. Daeron’s well being mattered more to him.
“Well… I’ve always been told I’m prettier than half the maidens in the realm, haven’t I?” Daeron let out a dry chuckle, his body relaxing under Maekar’s rough hand, leaning into his touch. The prince knew his mind shouldn’t be running as far as it did, it was his father touching him, simply examining his body, yet to Daeron it felt like foreplay, a promise of something more. It was perverted and vile to think such things of a parent, the prince simply couldn’t muster enough will to care. He allowed his body to react as it wished, let his dick twitch and beg to be paid attention to, knowing Maekar would be too blind to notice. It would not be the first time Daeron thought of his own father in a way which was not so appropriate, previously suppressing his feelings to avoid being shunned, now he was simply too drunk and exhausted to care. “He would not be the first to take notice of me in such a way if I were to be honest.”
Maekar’s feelings that boiled underneath his cold and hard demeanor shot up to the surface as his son was as blind as his father. Unaware of how infuriating the idea of others wanting his son in any capacity made him. “And did you deny their advances as well?” Daeron sensed his father's anger, but misunderstood where it stemmed from. Why he didn’t lie off the bat as he usually did was beyond him. Instead his lips parted but no words came out as he looked away in what seemed like further shame and embarrassment. It was a clear answer.
The prince flinched as his father unexpectedly stood up, expecting a punch in the face for his acts of sodomy which embarrassed not just him but his entire house. It would be more than warranted in Daeron’s eyes. He knew it was wrong, many of the things he did were wrong, but it gave him a slight amount of pleasure and comfort even if just for a moment.
Maekar did not hit him, instead stared down at him with his fists clenched, unable to understand what the stirring feelings inside him meant. He was not angry or disgusted because the people his son slept with were men.
It was because they weren’t Him.
These were thoughts the man had trouble accepting let alone understanding. Thoughts that didn’t appear for the first time, certainly not tonight. They were present when Daeron fell into him and leaned into him, as they were riding back and their hips grinded against each other just a little or when Daeron finally took off all his clothes. To think of his own son that way was soiling his honor. The honor of his family.
Yet he could not stop. Maekar knew he should yell all sorts of reprimands, punish his son, say Anything. Instead he stayed silent, fearing that if an argument were to ensue all he’d do is reveal he’s even filthier than Daeron. Maekar stared down at his son, finding it hard to look at his face knowing how many men must have defiled it over all this time. It should have been him. Only him. No one else was worthy enough to even be spared a glance at his boy and his nude body, let alone touch or ruin it.
To take him now would be barbaric, Maekar knew that, yet his hands itched demanding to grab onto his son’s hair and waist. Pressing him into the mattress and reclaiming what was once his, making it known to everyone whom Daeron belonged to. This was a desire he could not fulfill, the fear in his son’s eyes stopping him from moving even an inch. If he were to take him now, or ever, he’d become nothing but another face in a no doubt long line of people that took advantage of him. It was too late to act upon his urges, perhaps there was never a time for that in the first place. Perhaps his sense of ownership over his son was always a delusion or he lost the right to it the day he pushed him away. It did not matter.
Daeron was no longer for him to take either way, he slipped out of his father’s grip long ago with no way of coming back.
“See the maester in the morning and get plenty of rest. You’ll recover quick.” Maekar’s mouth ran dry as he spoke, his resolve dwindling the longer he stood in front of his son. His anger, jealousy, love. All fought to come to the surface, to completely destroy all the emotional barriers Maekar has put between the two. He knew it would be too much, that Daeron would reject him, despise him for it all. He had to leave before he did something unspeakable.
So he did, leaving Daeron all alone, scared and confused, fearing punishment that never came. It seemed he didn’t deserve his father’s anger either.