Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"I say he misses the event itself."

Valarr snorted at Aerion's side, leaning back into a chair as he peeled apart a blood orange, tossing the scraps onto the table. "Nonsense. He'll put on a show, at least a little, for your father." There was a pause, then Valarr smiled; a soft thing, like he hadn't wanted anyone except for Aerion to see, almost conspiratorial in the way his eyes flashed up, and then away. "I'll give him the two passes before he's unhorsed."

Leaning his elbow against the table, Aerion's finger traced over his lip. Watching his cousin's fingers work over the fruit, finally tearing it open before a grimace marred Valarr's face, a drop of red leaking down over his thumb. His tongue darted out, cleaning the drop from his skin before pressing a wedge of fruit into his mouth.

"I'll take that bet." There was a thrum growing in Aerion's veins when Valarr looked over and smirked. A flash of a pointed tooth, mismatched eyes showing more mischievousness than the father that gave them to him. The familiar tug that Aerion had at the thought had him wondering just where his uncle might be; they would be leaving soon, and it wasn't like their parents to miss breakfast before a trip.

Stumbling footsteps echoed through the small dining hall, drawing both of their attention up. Daeron's hair had been smoothed, barely, with reddened eyes and flushed cheeks. "Speaking of," Aerion called out, smirking when his brother simply scowled. "Would you like to join in our bet?"

Valarr's head snapped towards Aerion, the warning in his eyes making Aerion feel even more daring. A line drawn, tempting him all the more to dash across it just to see what his cousin might do. Gone was the version of Valarr that only he was granted to see, and in return was the polite, if relaxed, prince that the rest of their family received.

He wondered, vaguely, in the back of his mind, just what side Baelor might see when it was just the two of them alone. How different Valarr might act when it was Aerion that was not around. He swallowed down the turn of his stomach, focusing on his brother instead as he sat unceremoniously into the chair opposite Valarr, letting out a breath like it had taken a great deal of energy to do just that.

"What's the bet?" Even Daeron's voice sounded rough, and for a moment, however quick, Aerion wondered if his brother had one of his dreams the night before; there was a bone deep tiredness that had Aerion pausing.

Valarr's foot kicked sideways, barely seconds in the passing of their conversation and Daeron taking his seat. Another warning, Aerion knew, to keep his mouth shut.

"We were discussing how long you'll last." A pinch against his thigh made him grin, leaning forward instead. "In the tourney, of course. Valarr says you'll make it through a couple passes. I say you'll miss your first event."

With a scoff, Daeron sank into his chair. Bloodshot eyes fixed on the both of them; Aerion glanced over at his cousin, humour rising when he saw the apologetic embarrassment that had begun to cover Valarr's face.

"I say I'll find a way out of it." Another set of footsteps drew Aerion's attention up, watching the youngest brother make his way towards the table, little head held high and proud. "Maybe I'll run away."

"If you're running away, make sure to take the little brat with you."

Aegon had reached them by then, scowling at Aerion while reaching for one of the tarts that had been baked just that morning. Still warm, with sweetened centres he knew his brother would enjoy. Aerion snatched the plate away, smirking at the way Aegon's face immediately went empty - the kind that came just before his anger.

"You absolute prick." It was growled out, yet too high pitched and child-like for Aerion to worry over. A crack in the last word made him laugh; it came out sharp. Mean. And Aegon responded to fire with fire, as always when their father wasn't there. An apple was snatched off the table, the closest thing his brother could find, then promptly launched straight at his head.

It took nothing to dodge, yet Aerion stood anyway. Tensing as if he planned to chase Aegon down; his little brother flinched at the sudden movement, scurrying backwards while Valarr's fingers touched against Aerion's wrist. "Sit, Aerion." It was sighed out, yet Valarr's jaw tensed as he fought back a smile. "I'd rather not end up with food all over us before we ride out."

Slowly lowering himself back into his chair, Aerion watched Aegon carefully slip into the seat beside Daeron. Chin held high already, as if he hadn't almost run away. "Thank you, cousin. Someone must keep him settled when Uncle Baelor's not around."

As if Aerion was no more than some misbehaved dog.

Aerion's fingers tightened against his chair, eyes locking dangerously onto Aegon's. The kid's face paled, recognising the annoyance that had bled through, knowing he had pushed the bounds of Aerion's anger. Wide eyes stayed locked onto Aerion, watching closely for any sudden movements even while reaching for a slice of fresh bread, dull butter knife gripped tight in his other hand - as if that would stop him.

It was tempting, to throw something back. To chase him down and hear him beg Aerion for forgiveness.

Beside him, Valarr straightened at the sound of multiple footsteps, drawing his attention towards the entrance instead. Both of their fathers walked into the dining area side by side, moving in near perfect unison while guards trailed purposefully behind them.

Daeron hadn't even bothered turning; sliding down further into his seat as if it might swallow him whole before he was seen.

As always, Aerion's eyes found Baelor's. Tracking each movement of his uncle, from the quirk of his brow to the way his finger brushed along the edge of his cape. Right down to the way his eyes immediately searched for Valarr. Almost on Aerion, just a foot away, feeling like he was swallowing down shards of glass when he saw instead the way pride swelled through Baelor's eyes when they weren't on him.

Stepping lightly up towards the table, Baelor came to a stop behind them both. So close that Aerion could lean back and be given the chance to feel the soft brush of Baelor's arm. He stayed still instead, every muscle tensed in his chair. "Are you ready to go?" It was meant to be for them all, but Aerion knew that it was directed solely at Valarr. A hand brushed over his cousin's shoulder, squeezing lightly, and the smile that crossed Valarr's face made Aerion's chest tighten.

His mood soured. It rolled off him in waves that his brother's could feel; Aegon shrank back into his seat, watching Aerion closely from the corner of his eye. Daeron straightened up, raising a brow as he stared at Aerion, and for a breath of a moment, Aerion wondered if his brother knew. If he could see just what had begun to eat through his mind.

Maybe the dragons had come to Daeron in his dreams last night, to spill all of Aerion's secrets to a drunk that no one would believe.

And it seemed Baelor could too. His head tilted down, watching Aerion from the corner of his eye before he let his hand fall to Aerion's neck. Squeezing gently at his nape, greeting and reassuring all at once. It made Aerion's skin prickle, a mix of satisfaction and rage brewing through him; once again, treated like an animal to be tamed.

The thought of Baelor recognising that he could be the one to tame him sent a thrill over Aerion's skin.

"The horses have already been tacked, and carriages sent ahead with supplies. We'll be heading out shortly. See to it that you are prepared."

Daeron was the first one to speak. A deep inhale taken as he pressed himself up, food untouched on his plate and legs faltering beneath him. "Oh, joy," he muttered, brushing a hand through his hair. His face paled, and for a moment, Aerion was worried he might get sick; legs tensing in case of a much needed escape from the table. "How excited we are to pitch tents to celebrate some child that matters not to us."

A deep sigh came from their father. "We will be going so our family name might not be so hated within the next few generations. All I ask, is that you all behave." Maekar lifted his hand, palm out in an attempt to guide them from the room. "For the love of the gods, please do not embarrass us while we are there."

Rising to his feet, Aerion fought the urge to roll his eyes. Giving his father a short nod instead, every reaction he wanted to spill out wrestled down for the moment. When he walked with his family towards the gates, he kept his face composed. Moving as nearly whole, save for Daeron's lagging steps.

Baelor's presence loomed from beside him, yet it was Valarr's that draws his eyes over. Giving himself a spare few seconds of studying before violet eyes turn to the horses instead. It all felt monotinous now. But their fathers had agreed, had offered their sons as champions to celebrate a Lord's daughter; and now there seemed to be no choice but to follow along and pray that it all ended soon enough.

At least, Aerion thought to himself, they wouldn't have to smell the stench of King's Landing for much longer.

Winding down narrow roads, the last dregs of humanity came out to stare as they passed through.

**

The first day of travel had been unmemorable. Hours spent in the saddle, the familiar ache in Aerion's hips that came after a full days ride. It had given him a breath of relief to see Kings Landing and all the offending smells and sounds slowly dwindling behind them. Surrounded by trees, passing by people on their way to the city themselves; each small group pulled off to the side at the sight of their flags, dipping their head in respect.

Just as it should be.

The night came slow, tents already set up by the group sent ahead. Fires burning, dinner served once the sun had gone down.

Aerion wandered through the small camp, before letting himself step into Baelor's tent. His uncle's eyes flickered up, studying the intruder before deeming him harmless, and Aerion wanted to grin.

Seated opposite of each other at a small table, Baelor and Valarr sat motionless. Both of them studying the board between them hard, looking for a sign in the wood of what their next moves should be. Aerion kept quiet, settling himself into the chair beside Baelor to watch it all unfold.

The game looked close to being done, and he was surprised to see that Valarr looked to be closest to winning. There was amusement dancing in Baelor's eyes, so different from his own father's that for a moment, Aerion wondered if he had turned to drink already. There were no cups laying about though, and no sickening sweetness wafting from his uncle now.

"What say you, Aerion? What should my next move be?"

Valarr's eyes flickered from his father to Aerion, patient as he waited himself. Eyes just like Baelor's staring him down, daring him to try and win.

"I hardly think that would be fair, Uncle. I wouldn't want to embarrass my dear cousin."

This time, it was Valarr that spoke. A faint tilt of his lips let Aerion knew his cousin hadn't taken his words to heart in the slightest, trying not to smirk now. "Nonsense. I think I would win even if I had my eyes closed."

Aerion's heart kicked, the low thrum of excitement brewing under his skin. It wasn't often Valarr gave in to taunting, or that he taunted back. Even more rare that he let it out in front of his father, keeping himself viewed as patient and controlled. Perfectly molded from Baelor's own hands. A young prince that didn't give in to temptation like Aerion did.

It felt like he was getting a sliver of a peek into what Valarr might be like when it was just him and his father.

Leaning forward, Aerion made a move. It brought him closer; having to lean over the table into Baelor's space. And when he pulled back, Aerion let his arm remain pressed close. The heat of his uncle's arm against his own was its own secret thrill, racing through his veins as he pretended to not notice.

Another move from Valarr. Another from him.

Every time he chose, leaning back into his seat, he waited for a sound. A soft breath in, an amused laugh hidden under Bealor's breath when Aerion chose well for him; letting Aerion know that the move he had made was the same his uncle would have done as well. When he misstepped, there was a click of his tongue. Aerion didn't look though, wouldn't give in to the urge until he came out victorious against Valarr.

And then Aerion won; an opening Valarr hadn't noticed giving away his King, so focused on trying to figure out where his father might have been trying to move before Aerion had showed. He couldn't stop the smug little grin that broke across his lips without permission. Gloating at the scowl that was on Valarr's face, so close to winning himself before Aerion snatched it from right under his fingers. As it always goes, in battle.

He preened, just a little, as his back straightened. Leaning further than he had before against Baelor's arm, soaking the warmth that came from his body as he waited for him to tell Aerion just how well he had done. There was something about the words, when they come from his uncle, that made Aerion's gut twist. It made it feel like he had swallowed fire, burning down through his body when his uncle's voice was directed towards him. Low. Quiet. Proud.

"Did you see what he did there?"

Valarr huffed, still scowling but easing at his father's question. Staring at the board, brows furrowed as he replayed it over in his mind once more.

And Aerion stilled, teeth grinding against each other as he waited.

"I rushed that last move." He can see the way his cousin's shoulders relax with his realisation, annoyance easing into acceptance. Aerion wanted to swipe the board from the table, let the pieces scatter across the ground and leave Valarr to pick up the mess. "I should have taken a moment longer, should have adjusted my goals to Aerion's style instead of yours."

As if Valarr knew how his mind worked.

Baelor hummed, a soft sound of approval given to Valarr, and Aerion could see the slow nod that accompanied it. Still no praise sung towards him. It ate through his chest and made his skin feel like it was vibrating. Itching underneath in a way that made him want to dig his nails through it just to make it stop, and there was a sourness coating the back of his throat as he swallowed down his words.

The chair Baelor had been in shifted, watching him rise from the corner of his eyes. Then a large hand landed against his neck, just like it had that morning. Squeezing gently, thumb brushing through Aerion's hair in a show of quiet approval.

Immediately, the anger settled.

"Well done, Aerion. You always manage to surprise us." Baelor chuckled, a quiet thing, more to himself than to them. "Maybe one day your cousin will remember to read you properly."

Mismatched eyes stared down at him, and Aerion fought the urge that demanded he lean into the touch. His uncle wouldn't want that, not with Valarr right there. He knew that above all, he had to be discrete.

Instead, Aerion let a polite smile cross his face. Playing his part, just as he knew he should and wondering when Valarr might finally disappear from the tent.

**

The deepest part of the night settled over the camp, all sounds slowly quieting until the only thing left was the crackling of fires kept lit for watch. Aerion could still feel the itch that gathered underneath his skin, like a chain dragging him towards his uncle. The tent he was meant to sleep in was just him and Daeron, while Aegon was kept with their father; it would take nothing for him to slip into the night. The guard rotations were well kept, an opening found easily with how long Aerion had been listening to them pace.

Sitting up, he stared at the flap of the tent. It would be too obvious to step out through there. He could tell any guards that saw him he was relieving himself, but that would draw attention; they would continue to wait for his return, unwilling to risk something happening to him while his father slept just feet away.

Another guard passed by. Three minutes until he returned.

The back of the tent was neatly pressed against a rocky shelf, blocking anyone from sneaking up on their camp from behind. If he slipped through there, no one would know. Three minutes to sneak through shadows, out of sight of the watch fires and soft grass giving no sound for the guards to track.

Fabric moved quietly, watching his brother for any sign of waking even though he knew there would be none. Moving softly. Slowly. He peered around the rounded edge of the tent, letting himself relax at the sight of an empty fire. Embers still crackled and leapt into the sky, and for the next few moments, he knew no one would be looking his way. No one would suspect a prince in the shadows.

It was just as easy to sneak his way into Baelor's tent. The glow of the fire just barely reached through the dark fabric, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. First Aerion's eyes flickered around the space, landing on Valarr's bed to make sure he hadn't woken by chance.

The sight of an empty cot made him still. Had Valarr stepped out? How long until he returned? There was still a knife tucked against Aerion's hip, and the idea that followed seared into his mind, as sweet as a ripened peach, while his eyes darted towards the entrance. If he moved fast enough, he would be able to get Valarr on the ground. Shush him with a press of a blade, watching fear build in those pretty little mismatched eyes. Valarr would stay quiet too, he knew, because he wouldn't want to risk waking his father.

Something close to fire snapped through his veins at the thought.

Turning towards Baelor instead, his fingers toyed over the handle of his knife, ready to draw it the moment footsteps drew too near. Pausing one more at the sight of Baelor's cot, much more spacious than Valarr's - yet too much space occupied for a just his uncle.

Aerion knew just what he would find before he even walked over. Curiously tilting his head as his eyes traced over Valarr's sleeping form, flickering over to Baelor's the second after. Too close, he already knew.

The fire that had burned through him turned. Settling low and thick, moving through his body like molten rock instead a wildfire. Stepping closer, trying to tame whatever inconvenient thoughts now crossed his mind.

It wasn't fair, that was all.

Valarr, with his hair that didn't match their house. Eyes that dared to be anything other than the violet they should be. Mimicking Baelor's; as if Valarr had that right. If he stepped into the world without the three-headed dragon adorning his chest, no one would be able to tell he was of royal blood.

Aerion's hand brushed across Valarr's hair, tracing his fingers through the silver that streaked the sides. Wondering what reaction his cousin might have, should he wake up in that moment. What would his eyes show, when he opened them to find Aerion looming over them in their sleep? They were still so much softer than Baelor's. The shock would be amusing. The fear would be delicious.

However the jolt he would no doubt make would wake Baelor, and his uncle had long since schooled himself into keeping a tight hold on the mask of a king-to-be. His eyes would be hard. Angry. They would be the eyes of a dragon staring down at someone they thought might steal what belonged to them, and didn't that particular thought make his lip curl in disdain.

His fingers stilled, careful to not let them squeeze tight at the hair they still brushed through now.

Could Aerion find a way to slip in between?

His lips turned down deeper the longer he stared. Had Valarr woken from a terrible dream, just to crawl his way into his father's bed? Aerion wanted to tell himself that, yet he could see where Baelor's hand rested over his hip. Possessive in a way that was never seen in public.

Had Baelor beckoned him over, rathering his own son to share his space than Aerion?

Didn't that thought send something dark twisting through his gut.

The rotation of guards brought footsteps along the edge of the tent, and Aerion didn't move. Tilting his head to watch the shadows as the men walked slowly by; what Aerion did in the dark wasn't something that needed to be understood by the likes of simple men. The moment they were gone, his attention returned. To his cousin. To his uncle. Watching each slow breath they took, ignoring the way the feeling in his chest sharpened into something jagged.

It made him want to claw through his skin just to drag it out.

It made him want to burn the whole camp down.

At least then they might turn back, and he wouldn't have to sleep a tent away knowing just where Valarr had curled up during the night.

Letting out a slow breath, Aerion returned to the side of his tent instead. Careful and slow as he crept out the same way he had come, yet itching for something to ease his mood. He slipped through the shadows along his tent, stepping out the moment a guard made their return past the entrance, listening for the closing in of footsteps that didn't dare to expect an attack from where Aerion now hid.

He stepped out, every movement casual and unguarded. The jolt, the clang of metal as the man stumbled back in surprise, the hand that grappled with the pommel of a sword. It all made Aerion smirk. A flicker of amusement he shoved down before levelling the man with a bored stare.

"A Knight that frightens at the sign of his own Prince? I would watch yourself if I were you Ser, I would hate for my father to have to hear of just how unreliable you might be."

"My apologies, My Prince." The man bowed, voice still breathless from the shock. The lack of white steel let Aerion know that he wasn't one of the Kingsguard, and unused to Aerion's bite. "I wasn't aware that you had stepped out. You should have told -"

He might be fun to toy with.

"Do I need permission to relieve myself?" The words cut through the night like a sharpened blade, making the man's voice falter.

"No, My Prince. Of course not. But if we're too keep you safe then -"

"Why are you so curious to know when and where I go? I would hate to think you wanted something… unsavoury."

The implication hung heavy in the air, a slow drip of satisfaction spreading through Aerion at the sight of paling skin. Stricken eyes filled with fear at being accused of something like that. Stepping backwards as if a few more feet of space might make it impossible for Aerion to achieve.

Aerion hummed, a bored, unimpressed sound. "Pathetic," he finally chided, waiting until he was back inside his tent before he let his amusement show once more. Settling himself back into the makeshift bed as he listened to the man grumble his way past, muttering about princes that came out of the dark.

**

The third night crept by, the weariness of a longer journey finally making Aerion grow restless. An inn would have been preferable to this, which surprises even him. At least there they could have their own rooms. He could spend the night tucked away with Valarr, unwatched by parents or guards, free to do as they pleased until the morning.

If he snuck out in the middle of the night, would he find his cousin tucked back by his uncle's side?

It's more of a curious buzzing through the back of his mind when he thinks it. He enjoyed figuring people out, even if he found the results less than satisfactory. If only so he could figure out how best to tear it all down. Peasants could be dealt with swift and viciously; his family had to be handled with caution.

A fire crackled towards the middle of the camp, giving anyone who sat there a clear view of the tents, along with the surrounding area. Guards paced slowly along the edges, leaving the figures that sat around the fire now alone. Again, Aerion felt curiosity tug him forward.

"- happens. We both know well that all I'll be given is lords to old to do damage, or a Knight still fresh in his boots." The bitterness in his cousin's voice wasn't new; Aerion had heard the complaints many times over.

Settling himself beside his cousin, he watched in surprise as Valarr lifted a wine skin to his lips. Passed back into Daeron's outstretched hand, who eagerly followed suit. "Not to worry, cousin. I'll make sure to dirty that armour of yours." It was purred out, and Aerion felt his pulse kick when Valarr's eyes found his.

Just like Baelor's; except this time they looked like they were daring him to try. His uncle never looked at him quite like that.

Maybe there were a few differences between father and son.

"I thought it was agreed I wouldn't have to embarrass you in front of so many nobles?"

Daeron snorted as he took another sip of wine.

Leaning in, Aerion's tongue twisted against his teeth. Tracking the way Valarr's body moved without him noticing, a hint of pink flushing his cheeks from the haze of wine that had clearly begun to trickle through his mind. Valarr leaned towards Aerion, eager for the challenge that he gave. "Oh, little prince. Do you think you truly have what it takes to best me? A dragon ought never lose."

Valarr leaned closer still. Mask well worn off by the wine, Aerion could taste the excitement the poured from his cousin. It sent a thrill down Aerion's spine; knowing that Valarr was letting someone other than himself see that mask slip so precariously, and only because Aerion had so easily pulled it out.

"Only a dragon can best a dragon, cousin. Do not forget that." Something close to warmth simmered beneath the curiosity that had drawn him closer.

A crack of a twig snapping behind them made Aerion's head twist towards the sound, Valarr's gaze breaking away just as fast. From the corner of his eye, he could see Daeron's hand drop to his side, as if that could possibly hide the wineskin, or the smell of it that clung to the smoky air.

Aegon stumbled from the tent he shared with their father, his little face twisted into an annoyed grimace as he tried to yank his cloak from underneath his feet. When he looked up, he froze at the sight of their eyes on him, then straightened himself up, head held high as he marched towards them.

With a sigh that wasn't entirely angry, Aerion turned back towards the fire. "Isn't it time for little rats to be tucked into their nests?"

Beside him, Valarr smirked into his palm, hiding his amusement from his smaller cousin.

"I can go where I please." There was no waiver in his voice, impressively enough. And yet, the sound of footsteps stopped.

When Aerion looked back, he stood beside the fire. Eyes darting quickly as if weighing a heavy decision; they looked at the fire - and shortest path to an available seat, at Aerion that sat before it, and at the path that would take him around the back of their small group towards Daeron. His chin jutted into the air, so high that Aerion was surprised he didn't tilt backwards and risk singing the silver hair on his head.

Then, he took what seemed to be a courageous step forward. Between the fire, and Aerion.

Aerion had never been one to be able to quell small urges; it was like his body moved without thought, yet always pleased with the outcome. This time, he waited. Patient and quiet as Aegon passed, almost directly in front of him before he moved.

His hand shot forward, not with a shove but more a gentle push, he would think. Watching Aegon's eyes go wide as he stumbled under the force towards the fire. The terror that filled his face was delectable, the screech that followed pierced the air, all of the guards turning towards them, hands on their weapons in readiness for the attack. Aegon's feet caught him easily, barely taking two steps to right himself, and entirely safe from the fire.

From Valarr's other side, he heard a groan, half annoyed, half amused.

He could see the fury building on his brother's face, scrunching up as if readying himself to shout.

"Shh." Valarr hushed Aegon, brushing over his cloak as if dusting away the shove. "If you're not quiet, our father's will wake and send us all to sleep."

He could tell that Aegon wanted to say more, yet his teeth snapped shut, choosing to glare at Aerion instead. The lure of being able to sneak out of the tent, to stay up with them while their parents slept, won over. He made a soft hmph, chin jerking up towards the sky as he looked away from them both. Strutting himself towards Daeron's side, and plopping down beside the older brother.

The wine skin that Daeron held switched hands, held just out of sight like he didn't want Aegon to see. As if he didn't already know that Daeron drank most every night. And then it was discretely passed towards Valarr, his cousin's hand hesitating for only a moment before he reached out to take it. Passed directly towards Aerion, as if that would somehow make it better.

If it was him holding the wine, Aegon wouldn't complain. He knew better than that.

He hadn't been planning on drinking tonight, but he unstopped the cork, taking a slow sip. Warmth and the burn of something too-sweet slid down his throat. Valarr's eyes slid sideways, towards him, and Aerion felt satisfaction settle sweetly through his gut, sweeter than even the wine there now. His tongue pressed out, clearing the drop from his lip, sucking the sweetness from them as Valarr watched.

Leave it to Aegon to interrupt. Unable to sit quietly and enjoy the fact he had even been allowed to stay with them. "And how is your squire, cousin? Should you find him lacking, I am always open to helping where I can."

The hold on Valarr broke, eyes turning away from Aerion and for a moment, he considered whipping the wine skin at his brother. A rush of anger prickled under his skin at the loss of Valarr's attention, only vaguely settled when Valarr's arm pressed out; leaning against it and drawing his body closer to Aerion.

Almost like his cousin knew he needed to be settled. The anger returned brighter.

"I believe your father had other wishes for you, Aegon." Valarr's voice was calm, placating the nuisance that was his brother even as he rejected the offer. "However it is kind of you to let me know. I will keep you in mind, should I ever have need."

Dejection settled heavily through Aegon's body, frowning into the flames. Aerion watched with vague satisfaction.

It was only when he held the wine skin back towards his cousin, and when he watched Valarr hesitate, then accept, that the anger simmered. Still there beneath his skin, yet contained. Valarr's hand froze, almost shifting like he meant to pass it towards Daeron. Then mismatched eyes met Aerion's, studying each other for just a moment.

The cork was popped out, giving his cousin a pleased smirk when the wine skin lifted to his mouth. Swallowing down a sip under Aerion's demanding gaze, and only then did he let the anger fizzle out.

**

The fourth day of their trip proved just as tedious as the last three. Dragging on, growing more and more displeased by the mist that clung to his skin and dampened his cloak. Muck stuck to the horses, kicked up with their trots and dirtying his clothes after hours spent in the saddle.

The only positive, if Aerion could even call it that, was that the night had ended with them crossing an inn. A pathetic excuse of one, decrepit and run down worse than the peasants that wallowed in it; but it had a bed, and a chance for a bath.

Aerion dipped a finger into the water, scowling at the young servant girl that had just poured the last bit of water into the tub. "Do you call this hot?" The words were sharp, his frown growing when she flinched and raised wide eyes towards him. They dropped immediately after, mouth opening as if to answer before he scoffed. "Leave. It is no surprise that a place like this could not even boil water properly."

It burned against his skin, yet he knew it would cool fast.

The girl ducked her head down in a half bow, half hunch. Scurrying back out through the doors, nearly forgetting to shut it in her haste.

Stripping off his clothes, Aerion sank slowly into the water. Submerging himself under the steam that drifted lazily upwards, finally letting a pleased groan spill out at the way his muscles began to relax. The oils that fragranced the water were acceptable, at least. Not entirely offensive to his nose. And the feeling of dirt and sweat finally scrubbed from his skin was nearly enough to have him sending his thanks to the gods above.

His eyes cracked open, head lolling to the side along the rim of the tub. Staring at the door as voices drifted past, wondering just which family member was making their way to their room.

Was it Baelor, finally ready to settle in for the evening? Would he do just as Aerion was now, stripping down before sinking himself into steaming water?

The thought sent a thrill through him, letting his hands drift across freshly scrubbed skin. A lazy warmth settled through his gut, a slight quickening of his heart making his hand drift lower. Letting his eyes close as he sank deeper into the warmth, trying to picture it all now.

If he found out they didn't at least make his uncle's bath just right, he would have the servant's hands cut clean off.

Stripping down himself, the sound he would make at the feeling of water near burning against his skin. Muscles aching just like Aerion's did after days of travel.

He could see it perfectly; the silver sheen of thin scars that decorated his uncle's body. Warm months spent at Summerhall, when Baelor would take them to the lakes and he would steal glances before they slipped into the water. Even then, Aerion had been fascinated. Eyes continuing to drift back, studying the way hair trailed from his chest, down into a neat line past his belly button. A warrior's body; one that had won every fight it had gone through.

Aerion's mind wandered as his hand closed around himself, letting out a quiet breath as it slowly moved.

He had snuck into his uncle's room one night not long after that. Had spent hours tossing and turning as Aerion replayed it all in his mind until there had been no choice but to seek him out. Quiet footsteps leading him down the faintly lit hallways, heart racing at the thought of being let into Baelor's bed. His uncle had always indulged him, and Aerion had assumed it would be no different for this.

Hands circled around his waist the moment he had climbed onto the mattress, settling himself across Baelor's lap to wake him up only to be moved off the bed. The storm in Baelor's eyes had been delectable that night. Aerion could tell that his uncle hadn't wanted to move him; he knew better.

But Baelor had to, too caught up in morality and honour. There wouldn't be anything wrong with it. Their family had been chosen by the gods; no one else but a dragon should be welcome in Baelor's bed. Who else but him could take that place.

His hand tightened at the thought, shuddering even as the memory forced a grin across his face.

Baelor had acted so stern. Pretending to be cross. Pretending that he hadn't enjoyed the brief moments of Aerion grinding himself down across his lap. He'd had to kick him out; Aerion knew it was because he was trying to be honourable. He had tried to tell his uncle that a dragon could do as they pleased. And Baelor had told him to return to his room, but Aerion knew. He could taste it in the air, the way Baelor had practically dared him to try again.

Heat shot through Aerion's gut, settling low in his body as his hand worked faster. Water splashed from the movements, a loan groan ripping from his throat at just how easily his hand slid over himself.

He had tried again, of course. Waiting until he had found his uncle alone in the solar, scratching away at the papers before him. Stress had radiated from him then, and Aerion strolled through the room, hands tucked behind his back. He had asked what his uncle was working on; a tired smile pulled across Baelor's lips.

Things that won't concern you for a long while yet, he had told Aerion.

And Aerion wanted to press. Wanted to steal the paper from the table so his uncle's attention would fall on him instead, if only for a moment. Instead, he had stepped to Baelor's side, a hand resting against his shoulder. Peering down to watch the flow of his writing decorate the page. Then he had squeezed a little tighter, soothing over the muscle of his uncle's back, and Baelor stilled.

The sound of ink scratching across parchment stopped, the room falling silent.

Gods, the look in Baelor's eyes when he finally turned to stare at Aerion.

His hips jerked up into his hand, teeth digging into his teeth, then pressing harder until the pain turned bright and hot, the tang of copper flooding his tongue deliciously.

Aerion had turned to lean against the table, pressing a hand to his uncle's chest instead. He had told him that he seemed stress; why not let Aerion distract him, just for a moment.

His uncle's eyes sharpened; pretending it was reproach when Aerion knew better. He could tell that his uncle had nearly given in, even when his hands gripped deliciously tight around Aerion's wrists. The thought of having bruises left on his skin from Baelor had made him lean in, curious to see what his uncle might taste like.

Baelor had stood then, shoving Aerion against the table hard enough it stung his palms when they caught on the edge. You will be the death of me, he had muttered to himself. Aerion had near salivated at that; his uncle had left him there, papers discarded, but Aerion knew it was because the idea had been too tempting. It wouldn't take long for him to wear his uncle down.

The thought of that, of what he knew he would get soon, had his breath faltering. Thick air filled his lungs as he dragged in a breath, eyes squeezing shut as the warmth in his gut finally dropped even lower. Coiling tight through his cock, groaning loud at the sudden rush of release. His hand continued to work over himself, fucking his hips up lazily against his hand.

Soon it would be his uncle that did it for him, he was sure.

Maybe even tonight, if Baelor would stop pretending to be so honourable.

Peeling his eyes open once more, Aerion stood and wrinkled his nose at the water around him now. Stepping free of the mess, letting wetness pool along the floor as he dried himself off. There was a lazy curiosity now, half sated, yet still demanding he at least try. Baelor had a room to himself here; there would be no worries of interruptions. Guards flanked the stairs, barring the way for anyone other than a Targaryen.

He could have free reign to do as he pleased tonight.

Fresh clothes were thrown on hastily, pulling his door open slowly. A faint noise of another door creaking came from further down the hallway, and Aerion stilled. Waiting a few moments before he finally peered out cautiously, rathering to not have someone interfere or ask questions. He wouldn't want to put his uncle in that position just yet.

Baelor's door was on its way shut, only a flash of brown hair, too long to be his uncle's, to tell him just who had slipped inside. Once more, something close to jealousy bubbled up white hot into his chest. Prickling across his skin in waves that demanded he drag Valarr back to his own room. It demanded blood for the slight, for the theft.

There was a draw in him to cause a scene. To send a panic through the guards; he had gone to Prince Valarr's room, and it was empty. Search the grounds at once, what if someone had hurt him? Satisfaction bloomed hot under his skin at the thought; he surely wouldn't be able to find his way to Baelor's room after that, but neither could Valarr.

If he did that, how hard would he have to work to drag his uncle's guard down again?

The satisfaction soured, a rancid taste at the back of his throat as he swallowed it all down and let his door shut instead.

Valarr could take his spot tonight; it wouldn't last long after that.

**

The morning had come with commotion. Guards buzzing around, the sound of his father's voice reaching up through the floorboards in his anger. Aerion sighed as he pulled himself from the stiff bed; it was hardly fit for a commoner, making his muscles ache just as they had the day before. All of the relief his body had felt from the bath tossed into the dirt along with the water.

He took his time to get dressed, frowning at the impatient knock on his door.

Valarr stepped in without invitation, closing the door quickly behind himself like he hadn't wanted to be seen. "Daeron and Aegon are missing."

Ah, so that was why his father seemed hell bent on tearing the inn apart.

"What a shame," he muttered as he laced his boots along his calf. He frowned as he tilted his foot to the side; they had been cleaned the night before, and of course, the work was subpar. "Whatever will we do without them?"

"Uncle Maekar doesn't want to leave until they're found." Even now, Aerion could hear the annoyance in Valarr's voice. "Aegon probably convinced him to head to the tourney early. We're not far away now."

"Either that, or Daeron's drunk in a ditch somewhere and the little rat went to sniff him out."

At that, Valarr huffed a quiet laugh. Crossing the room to stare through the small window to the ground below, watching the way guards trotted around on horses while Maekar shouted orders at them.

Valarr's cloak shifted, and Aerion caught sight of darker skin marring the expanse of his neck. A pretty little bruise purpling away under Valarr's clothes. The memory of the night before came back, gritting his teeth as he tried to swallow down the rush of anger that slammed through him. Wondering what Valarr might do if Aerion stepped forward just to dig his thumb into his skin. How he might react if he knew that Aerion knew just where he had been the night before. Stepping closer like he might just let himself do as he wanted.

A quiet knock sounded at his door, his mood souring more. There was a moment's hesitation given before it pressed open. Again, entering without permission. Baelor stepped into the doorway, and Aerion had a brief thought of just how similar he and his son were. Impatient and impolite, the both of him.

And then he saw his uncle pause, so briefly he wondered if he might have imagined it. Had he imagined the way Baelor's eyes narrowed, for just a moment, at the sight of Aerion standing so close to Valarr? Hand half raised as if he had already laid it against his cousin, pulling it away at the sound of a guest.

"Your brothers seem to have gone missing." His voice was quiet, soft spoken as it always was. Missing, said as if Baelor knew better as well. "Your father thinks they might have gone ahead to the tournament. Aegon wouldn't stop raving about how excited he had been to get there last night." Baelor's eyes met Valarr's, and Aerion wanted to step between them.

Wanted to insert himself into whatever conversation they seemed to be having while he stood in the room, not a word spoken between them.

"We will be leaving quickly, in order to begin searching the grounds for them as soon as we are there." A nod of his uncle's head, directing Valarr to come, and Aerion scowled. Looking back through the window as Valarr stepped away. Baelor continued as if Aerion hadn't turned away at all. "Ready yourself, we'll leave within the hour."

Aerion didn't bother with a response, and the sourness of his mood only grew when the door shut behind them. Wondering just where his brothers might show themselves; how long it would take.

If either one made this mess interfere with his jousts he would skin them alive.

As they travelled the last few miles towards Ashford, clouds rolled in slow, and then all at once; hiding yet brightening the sun, and making the metal of Aerion's chain mail glint like an assortment of scales. Spurring his horse just a little faster, he closed in on the men ahead, narrowing his eyes first at Valarr, and then Baelor who still watched the road ahead as he spoke. Watching his cousin's lips tilt upwards, just a smidge, at whatever it was that was being said. By whatever it was that he was missing, as if they were keeping away from him on purpose now.

His heels dug in sharp at his horse's side, a trot turning to a canter as he urged the beast forward. Letting it settle back into an easy gait the moment he fell upon his uncle's left side. Something sharp ran through his chest when Baelor turned, his attention focusing on Aerion and away from Valarr. Something warm. Smug. A victory well earned, as far as he was concerned.

There was a look in his uncle's eyes that made Aerion's chest tighten gleefully. An acknowledgment, as if the man knew exactly why Aerion was now there, no sharp words following; which meant that, as far as Aerion was concerned, Baelor must be pleased that he was there. Well hidden beneath the well of indifference that was forced onto his face now, save for a single brow raised in question.

The memory of Valarr slipping through his uncle's door in the dead of night made that feeling of victory dampen.

Looking past Baelor, he finally addressed his cousin instead. The words fell polite enough, sharpened like a hidden dagger that he knew his cousin would feel before he even finished speaking. "So, will the young prince face someone his own age this year?" There was a smirk on his face, a haughtiness in his tone that had Valarr's hackles rising to the bait immediately.

It was one thing to tease him over it when it was the two of them alone. Valarr seemed to rather enjoy the way they would egg each other on, smiling at every insult thrown each other's way. But to do so in front of Baelor had seemed to flip a switch, making Aerion's tongue dart across his lips in an effort to contain his grin.

His cousin always looked so much more alive when he was irritated.

"He will rise to whoever challenges him," Baelor interrupted. His eyes were still trained on Aerion, but there was a sharpness that bit down his spine, that already had Aerion's lip curling down and wiping the smug grin from his face like he had been chastised. "I would not come all this way if it weren't for him."

The snarl that spilled out Aerion was audible. An involuntary reaction that had him suddenly seething, ready to dare his cousin to prove himself now, show them all right that second that he was even remotely capable of not embarrassing them - embarrassing his father - before Aerion convinced himself that it was a necessary comment.

Of course his uncle would say that; Valarr was his son. Baelor would have come whether Valarr did or not. He was the Hand of the King, and Aerion was entirely aware of the guards that flanked them on all sides, knowing Baelor had always been particular about appearances. He wouldn't be as embraced as he was, respected by people far and wide if he didn't pretend to have some values.

Still, the comment needled under Aerion's skin, unpleasant and icy, and he hated it all the more.

Instead of engaging any further, Aerion plastered what he felt was a smirk but came across more as a sneer. Contemptuous when he spoke, not bothering to hide the disdain that leaked into his voice now, as if they hadn't been speaking pleasantly just that morning.

Not that they weren't aware of just how fast his moods could change.

"What a shame." It was sighed out, and the only reaction he received in return was a huff of tired acceptance from Baelor and a roll of his cousin's eyes. "All this travel, just to watch him fail." Snapping the reins lightly, his horse trot forwards, finally bringing him to the front of the small group. "If you have any interest in seeing a victory, do be sure to watch over me. I won't go easy on the challenge, cousin." His head was turned, glancing over his shoulder with his chin tilted up in pride. Waiting for whatever response his uncle might deem worthy, already eagerly anticipating the words; attention still focused solely on him even as trumpets begin their fanfare in the distance.

It's like being warmed by a late spring sun when Baelor's eyes meet his, tampering down the eagerness that coursed through his veins, just to be doused in frigid water when they return all attention back to Valarr instead. A prickle brushed over his skin; something that felt a little too close to humiliation. It licked up Aerion's spine, teeth aching with the need to tear something apart; and then he glanced over.

Valarr's eyes were on him. His face almost always schooled into a perfect neutrality. Open, some would say. Honest. Soft. Something no Targaryen prince should be proud of, and especially not when their father was Baelor Targaryen himself. It was all no longer as appealing; the urge to ruin Valarr growing stronger in a way that was now lacking the slow roll of heat through his gut with it.

Valarr was nothing like his father either, as far as Aerion was concerned at the moment. Gentle where Baelor was sharp. Timid where Baelor was firm. All of his uncles softness and imperfections bled out into his eldest son; enough that it made Aerion's fingertips itch with the desire to steal Valarr away. He could could ruin that composure.

He could make him better.

And gone was the anger Aerion had managed to spark. There was a smirk just barely concealed on Valarr's lips now, and Aerion was struck with the idea that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't take much to twist him.

By the time they reached the bridge, the crowds had gathered. Swarming the sides of the roads to get just a glimpse of the perfection of their family; just as they should. Aerion's head remained high, flitting over commoners as was deserved. What was their presence to a prince?

It was only once they made it into the stables that Baelor deigned to speak once more. A hand gripped tight against Aerion's neck, ready to snarl and snap at whoever had the audacity to touch him before he registered just who it was. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, aching like a bruise did when you dug your thumb in even days later; he would let Baelor's hand press in further just to see if the weight of his touch could mark him.

Briefly, Aerion was aware that his mind hadn't slowed once in the journey from the inn. Everything seemed too bright, too loud. Too many things slamming through his head that would be better left contained until he was alone.

The grip was tight at the nape of his neck, fingers half hooked into the hair there, yet unmistakably familial to any onlookers. A warning, all the same. "Do not embarrass us, Aerion. I can see the way your attitude seems desperate to leak out."

It sent a thrill arcing up his spine, leaning in even as his own fingers tried to pry Baelor's from his neck. Squeezing tight, bending them too far, wondering if he might be able to feel the bone inside almost give and ignoring the wave of disappointment when his uncle showed no signs of pain. "I would not dream of it, Uncle."

Within seconds, the heat of the grip was gone. Aerion thought he might still be able to feel the impression on his skin, fighting back the call to lift his own hand and trace over the spot just to feel it himself.

Baelor dismounted with a smooth sweep, sword rattling at his side as barn hands swarmed to lead his horse away, another one already in tow. Half way through flicking his cape off to the side, readying himself for the dismount, a head of brown hair walked by. Sauntered, really. A streak of white telling him just who it was falling into step with his uncle, Baelor's hand resting gently on Valarr's shoulder as he guided the two of them towards the group of waiting nobles.

If he dismounted the other way, how easily could he play off the connection of his foot to Valarr's head as an accident? Not easily, he thought.

Aerion glared after them, teeth grinding together hard enough he wondered if they might chip. He almost hoped they would; sharpened, jagged, ready for the next time he used them to tear something - someone - apart, just as a dragon should.

"You." It was bit out, half over his shoulder towards the giant lurking behind him as he straightened his chain mail into perfection. "Take my horse to the stables."

"Oh, uh… I'm not a stable boy, my lord." An eager grin split across the man's face, earnest in a way that had Aerion frowning. "I have the honour of being a Knight."

Aerion wanted to sigh. Wanted to strike out at the man for daring to talk back, whether he was a stable boy or not. Baelor and Valarr were almost to the welcoming group of Lord Ashford, his eyes able to track them down through the scattered crowd in seconds. He should be there; his father was waiting, and Aerion could feel his eyes burning into him just as Aerion's were on Baelor. Could feel the disappointment that seemed to roll off him in waves day after day now, whether it's directed at him, or Daeron and Aegon. Always one of them, as it was.

A sharp whistle made another stable boy jump, giving the man behind him a final once over. Eyes filled with boredom and disdain flickered down, then back up, wanting the man to know just how unworthy he was of anymore of Aerion's attention. "Well. Knighthood surely has fallen on sad days."

The fall of the man's face was a small satisfaction, ignoring the breath he heard taken and turning away.

Once his horse had been left in properly capable hands, he made his way towards his family. Steps leisured, slow enough that he could see his father's jaw tick in another wave of annoyance as the rest waited for his arrival. There was a pause, a lull in conversation before their host finally spoke, acknowledging Aerion with a small bow and a tight smile.

"Welcome, prince Aerion. It is a pleasure to have you join us."

The words made him smirk. His father's eyes had already fallen back to the man, sharp enough that no warning was needed. While not sarcastic, it bordered on discourteous, something that wouldn't be tolerated, regardless of Aerion's actions. Baelor's smile, while still polite, almost fell and the man bowed deeper.

The faint drop of warmth from Baelor's eyes at the hinted slight made Aerion's own annoyance settle.

"Truly. It is an honour to have you all join us." The man straightened, whistling for servants to step forward, ready to lead them all indoors and out of the sticky mist that coated the air. The smell of horses, of hay and humans bled through it, strengthening with the warmth that was still trying to break its way through the clouds, making the stench cling to Aerion's skin and dampening through his clothes. "If you would like, let one of the servants know and they will have a bath drawn for you. Feel free to wander until supper, and someone will fetch you when it is time to eat." Then Lord Ashford turned to Baelor and Maekar, guiding them towards the entrance. "We have as many men as could be spared out searching for your boys, my Prince. They will be found soon, I am sure."

Aerion's skin itched with the need to scrub it clean, letting his eyes follow them through stone corridors. A single day of riding and the air already left him feeling unpleasant, wanting to scrape the grime from his skin once more. Already imagining the relief of hot water and the way his muscles would relax under the steam. He followed the servants through winding halls until they reached the room he was meant to stay while the other's continued past.

The sound of Baelor's voice pulled him from his mind, attention snapping towards his uncle as Lord Ashford led them in further. Watching their backs as they were led down the hall, towards a small gathering room, the steps of his uncle and father finally disappeared and Aerion stepped into his room, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he took in the quarters.

It would do, for the time being at least. Warm and dry, furnished almost enough to be homely. At least the first night of festivities would be amusing; Aerion wondered just how easily he might draw frustration out of his cousin in front of so many people.

He tossed his cloak over a small table, glancing towards the servant still patiently waiting. Head down, ready to do just as he asked. "Where will Baelor be staying?" It's an intrusive question, he knows. Letting himself enjoy the rush he gets when the servant hesitated, confusion drawn sharp across her face when she looked up, only to drop her eyes back down once more.

"Just down the hall, my lord." She pauses again, hesitating before she continues. "Is there anything I may get for you?"

Loosening the clasp of his belt, his sword fell soft along the sheets of the bed. "No. That will be all." Aerion didn't bother with another look. Didn't bother to make sure she had gone. His name was well known, at least, and it favoured him now; the servants would do anything to avoid him. His uncle, on the other hand, would be more of an issue. He just had to bide his time.

It was close to supper when he finally decided to slip into the hallway, waving away a servant as they straightened, ready to do as he asked. It wasn't hard to find his uncle's room; two guards were placed on either side of the door, hands resting heavily against the pommels of their swords, ready for any attacks that might come.

Not that they would - his uncle was too reverred. Reshaping the Targaryen name, as if he alone could atone for their past.

Not that Aerion believed there was anything to be atoned for.

It did, however, tell him that his uncle was finally alone. Stopping in front of the door, he raised a brow at the guards. Frustration creeping under his skin when they bowed, they acknowledged, and then stepped closer to bar his way.

"I would like to speak to my uncle." It was half bitten, half purred. A gentle warning not to get in his way, made all the more frustrating when they still kept the doorway blocked, knocking on it instead. It was a subtle reminder that he didn't have access to just anything he wanted, even as royalty. It made him want to see just how easily the guards might bleed.

"Prince Aerion is requesting an audience, Your Grace."

The sigh was audible even through the thick door. It stung, just a little, in a way that he would never admit. Ignoring the way it burned under his skin like a challenge, and the eagerness that followed to accept it. He could hear the sounds of water, the sounds of footsteps inside the room. "Enter." Impatience soothed all at once, Aerion held his chin high as he passed the guards to enter the now opened door.

Baelor's room faced the setting sun, the faint orange tinting the low clouds sifting through open windows. At least the mist had begun to dissipate, even as soft steam rose instead from the copper tub placed in the room for the prince. It smelled of faintly of almond, and a mix of fragrance that made Aerion's mouth water.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Aerion?" There was a bite to the words, a sigh in them that had Aerion stepping closer.

"I was just thinking of what champion I might challenge." Baelor's eyes drifted over to him lazily, ignoring the annoyance there. It wasn't strong, more tired than anything, and Aerion let his own smirk spread across his lips as he wandered along the edge of the room, eyes trailing over the tub his uncle had just been in. "I'm sure Valarr would most enjoy a real competition, don't you?"

Steam continued to drift up in slow tendrils from the water, making it easy to imagine his uncle's eyes drifting closed while he had been in it. Leaning back to sink further under the water. "This couldn't have waited until tonight?"

Aerion crossed the room, giving a single shrug of his shoulders as his fingers teased along the edge of the tub. There was a warmth in the room that was just right; fire lit and mixing with the soft smell of oils. Candles flickering gently in their holders as night began its slow set in. It all clung to his skin in a way that he no longer minded, not when it was from his uncle's room.

Looking over, Baelor was still watching him through half-narrowed eyes, his stare flat. Amused, if Aerion looked close enough. Not bothering to even look towards the hand dipping closer towards the tub.

"Maybe," Aerion finally replied, letting his fingers disturb the water. It rippled from his touch, Baelor's brow finally tightening. The hesitation finally showing, spurring Aerion on all the more. "But where would be the fun in that?" Aerion's eyes travelled down, peering over Baelor's body as his shirt was slid into place.

Was that a hint of a bruise he had seen? A darkened spot just above his hip?

Slow steps had taken Aerion closer to his uncle now, reaching a hand out as if to lift the shirt. He needed to see, to confirm what he already knew was there.

A hand snapped closed almost painfully tight around his wrist the moment Aerion's fingers brushed against the soft fabric. Enough that Aerion growled, teeth grinding together when he tried to rip it free and found no give.

"You're forgetting yourself, Aerion. I've already told you to cease this reckless infatuation you seem to have." This time, the amusement had gone from his uncle's voice. The words sharp like a viper's bite. Yet it wasn't quite angry either, if he really paid attention; just another guarded challenge. One that Aerion was eager to slip through and win, whether it took him days or weeks. Convinced that he could see the precious control his uncle carried slipping. And once he was through, he wouldn't be left to seek out the praise he knew he deserved.

Aerion huffed, a mocking pout sent Baelor's way just to see the way his jaw clenched. "I just wanted to speak with you alone. We know how sensitive Valarr can be when I bring up challenging him."

The grip around his wrist tightened painfully. "Out, Aerion. Now. And stop this foolishness." Baelor looked to the ceiling when he shook his head, no doubt praying to the gods to deal with Aerion now. "We will go to supper, and you will keep your hands to yourself. I do not have time to deal with your nonsense while we still search for your brothers."

But he would have time once they were found, his mind supplied.

The grip around his wrist loosened, gesturing for Aerion to make his way towards the door. He strolled lazily through it, knowing the Baelor would be just behind him as they made their way to the great hall below.