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Aegon could never have something and have it just be his.
He feels bad for thinking this way, of Duncan especially. Duncan wasn’t an object to be had, and he wasn’t his, or anyone's.
But he couldn’t help it, nor could he help the furrow of his brows as he observed Aerion and Duncan across the table (through the insistence of Aerion to their Uncle, Muña would never allow something like this). They were perched next to each other, Aerion practically in Duncan's lap, leaning his body languidly against the force of Duncan's tenser one, the hand not smashing nuts into shards resting upon the great curve of his stomach, the stomach that carried his and Duncan's child.
Glancing to the side, Aegon could tell by the curl of his Muña's lips that he was not the only one unsatisfied, or as unsatisfied enough to show it. Valarr, Matarys, and Uncle, bless their sweet cottoned souls, had enough patience to turn a blind eye. Daeron buried himself further in his cups, and Rhea, Daella, and Aemon, lucky bastards they seemed to be, weren’t here to be forcefully subjected to Duncan's and Aerion's eye-gouging display of affection.
Aegon swallowed the bite of food he’d been passing between his teeth, his throat visibly bobbing. Had his Muña been watching him, he’d berate him by now, tell him something akin to ‘you’re not a cow chewing cud, you’re a prince, now swallow.’
Instead, he found his Muña had busied himself cutting pheasant into shreds until it became mash on his plate. These days, it’d be best to pick your battles with Aerion, now that he’s with child, or at least that’s what Uncle says to him, always to the side and with a hushed breath.
They always walk on eggshells around Aerion when it comes to the topic. Partially because he’d rage at the thought of others seeing him as fragile, so delicate that he and his body would ever go so far as to harm their child because of nasty words. But it was also because the pregnancy was what the maesters referred to as ‘high risk’, the baby being so huge, and Aerion, much smaller. They’d never elaborate on why it was so dangerous, not with Aegon around.
The last part Aegon always thought to never mention. Not for Aerion's sake, but for Duncan's. Aegon only knew half of how much Duncan blamed himself for this pregnancy, doomed from the start.
Sometimes, Aegon would find Duncan amongst the horses in the stables, staring out at the bustling world around them, at the sky as the clouds drift by, as his own mind raced a mile a minute. And sometimes, if Aegon pushed just enough, and in the right, soft places, he’d get a little bit out of Duncan.
“I cherish Aerion and our child, day after day.” He’d said one day, voice as shaky as his constricted throat. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost them both.” his eyes never once left the sky.
Aegon could only say nothing. Because he did not know what quite to say. He could only watch the sky. And so he. He watched the sky by Duncan's side, who never once pushed him away.
Aegon would much rather go back to that day, standing side by side, just him and Ser Duncan watching the blue-eyed sky, than observing as his brother parted his cherry-bitten lips, tossing a cracked walnut over to Duncan's side with the blade of the knife he’d used to crack them.
“Feed me, Ser,” he crooned, swiping his tongue over those crimson lips. “Your child is hungry.”
Aegon chose to focus on his Muña cursing as his plate split in two. Dust and debris were in a circle around him from all that cutting.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
“People always ask if I hope our child to be a boy or a girl. Or if I hope for an alpha or omega.” Duncan started with a heavy sigh. “They always make a face when I say it doesn’t matter. I only hope they come to us in good health. I’ve never known what quite to say.” The admission came as freely as he walked by Aegon's side, sword gripped in one hand, his other hand hovering close to Aerion as he, too, walked by their side.
Aegon only had half a mind to point out it had long gone from walking and turned much into waddling, but he’d rather not have to bend at the knee, cleaning glitters of glass from the floor as retribution for making Aerion throw a cup at his head in his state.
“It doesn't matter.” Aerion huffed, a grin curling at his corners at hearing Duncan yelp after digging his nails into the skin of the hand that he’d caught hovering near. “They will be a dragon.”
Duncan hummed. “What of you, Egg?” As the training ground grew nearer, he stood by, arms at the ready, as Aerion lowered himself, a hand on his belly, and another pressed into the small of his back.
“I don’t find I mind much what they are either.” He swung his sword around, kicking the dirt beneath his shoes and watching as they blew into strands of clouds. “As long as they’re fit to squire.”
“Squire?” The arches of Duncan's brow met his forehead; he barely missed the kick Aerion threw to his knees, spitting at him to scurry away before he clawed out his eyes for his protective hovering.
“Yes. I’ll need a squire when I become a knight.”
That, of course, caused Aerion to crow. A cruel scratch at the back of his throat. “Even if you could convince muña of ever letting you stoop to the level of a glorified servant, you are out of your patchy head to ever think I’d allow my child to follow you around like a misled curr.” He said with venom-laced words spewed every which way.
Aegon bit his tongue, hard enough that he could taste the copper of blood pooling in his mouth. Duncan saddled to his side.
“I find it to be a fine idea.” He said, not unkindly to either, Aegon looked up at him, giving him a soft smile, which Dunk returned in full.
Aerion scoffed, eyes rolling to the side. “I will cut off all of your fingers if you even think of taking my child to meander amongst those common folk.”
“You carry the child of a common folk,” Aegon mumbled in ire. Dunk placed a grounding hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards the ground, swords dragging behind.
“No use gettin’ angry over it now.” He shook his head. Aegon could only nod.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
As time usually goes, day by day, the birth drew nearer and nearer, and as it drew nearer and nearer, the baby only got bigger, much to its parents' mixed delight and dismay.
The baby became so gravid, Aerion was forced to bed, where he’d stay until he fully healed after the child's birth. It was his resting period. Aerion referred to it as his prison.
On days Aegon felt especially gracious, to Dunk always, never much a feeling for his brother, he’d stop by, and strike up easy conversation. Dunk always seemed to enjoy it, even if Aerion did not, and really, that was all that mattered.
“Do you have a name for the baby, Ser?” Aegon asked, head resting upon his hands as he lay stomach down near the edge of the bed, a safe distance from Aerion's active feet.
“Why as him, you fool?” Aerion hissed as Dunk had opened his mouth; he closed it instantly with a resounding click of his jaw. “I carry this beast, I name him.” He sniffed. “And I’ve chosen Maegor.”
Aegon couldn’t stop the scrunch of his face as it tightened into disgust. “Maegor?” He could only form the words to say. Aerion grew cold, hands held protectively around his stomach.
“Do you have an issue, little brother?” He asked through bared teeth. Aegon straightened on folded legs. “Do I even need to say anything for you to know that is a terrible name? Only you could do something as cruel as this with purpose.”
Luckily, with nothing in arm's reach to throw but soft silken pillows, Aerion could only grumble. “I care not for what lesser than think! The offspring of a dragon needs a title as fearsome as it!”
As Dunk himself took a seat at the edge of the bed, feigning to lean down to adjust his seat, he whispered into Aegon's ear. “There’s no use with this one. I’ve tried to talk him out of it.”
With fluttering eyes, Aegon swung his legs over the bed, letting them swing.
“What about a girl?”
He knew instantly he shouldn’t have questioned upon seeing his impish grin.
“Rhaenyra has a nice ring, don’t you think?” He tilted his head in mock.
Aegon said nothing as Dunk only nodded.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
The labor started late in the night, when all had long gone to rest.
Aegon had only been made aware by all the bounding steps bouncing off the walls of the usually empty halls, save for a knight or two guarding the door.
Managing to slip past walls of bodies, he’d found Duncan, face buried in his hands, almost instantly.
It didn’t take long for Duncan to notice his presence, as a gust of wind followed him as he came to him, taking a seat next to his hunkered form.
“They don’t allow Alphas in the birthing room.” He whimpered as he looked into Aegon's searching eyes. “He needs me, and they won’t let me-” He cut himself off, face back into his palms.
Everyone seemed in disarray. Muña certainly had seen better days, frazzled and pacing in a line. Uncle made no move to stop him, worrying the ring on his fingers as he traced every step Muña made with his flittering eyes.
Strangely, even Valarr and Daeran were there, Daeron toying with a pint, though even he took baby sips compared to his boisterous gulps, and Valarr's knees could not stop their shaking.
Aegon couldn’t say he wasn’t worried. Despite his strained relationship with his elder brother, even he wouldn’t wish this end for him, and especially not the child, who may be a piece of him, but also a piece of Ser Duncan, and his Ser did not deserve a life without husband, child, or both gone.
He wished to alleviate the worry. Though there was little to be done but wait. Aegon couldn’t help but wonder if Aerion were screaming, having picked up horror stories of various labors during his time on the road. If he was, were the doors that thick that they absorbed the shock? Even he didn’t want to think of what was or wasn’t happening behind those heavy doors.
So, as all he could do, he slipped his hand around Duncan's arm, a reassuring squeeze with all his smaller hands could, and leaned his head against those big, able arms.
He felt as Duncan leaned into him.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
The door hardly opened a crack before Dunk had burst from his seat, hands held tight. Aegon had scrambled to his side, on instinct.
“The prince is just fine, and so is the child. A boy.” She said with a wide grin, stepping aside to make room for Dunk to squeeze by. Aegon looked from the open space to Dunk, unsure.
With a spare look, Dunk tossed his head to the side, allowing himself in. Of course, Aegon followed.
The room smelled of the ashy scent of charred wood that was Aerion's custom and of metallic blood, and a thick smoke hung in the air. Aegon took light inhales through his nose.
Aerion caught him immediately, moving from behind the mass of Dunk's body. His eyes heavy with sleep, he seemed to fight against, though they squinted, as if he wanted to say something against Aegon's presence, but seemed to hold his tongue.
Instead, his eyes met Dunks, and Aegons found the baby, resting against his mother's breasts as he nursed from them, sucking with fervor.
“He looks just like you,” Dunk’s words wobbled with his lips as he rubbed a finger against the baby's silver fuzz, long washed of fluid and blood. Aerion smiled lazily.
“He eats from me with the ferocity of a dragon.”
Aegon, who’d since meandered up to the bed to get a closer peek, opened and closed his mouth, fish-like.
“He’s huge.” He mumbled. “He’s as big as half of me!”
“As girthy as his fool of a father,” Aerion said, though no malice was laced in what he said. “He almost tore me in half. He almost couldn’t be more perfect. My dragon.” Aerion rubbed his nose against the baby's head, breathing the baby in.
Aegon shifted on his feet, eyes knocking from Aerion, to the baby, to Dunk.“As expected of the son of Ser Duncan.”
Dunk huffed.“A child of the prince, too, Egg.”
Aegon said nothing else. He could only stare as the baby finished its sucking, unlatching from his mother's teat. Rivers of white flowing from his puckered lips, he smacked together.
Dunk moved to the side.
“Come closer, Egg. Get a good look at Maegor while you’ve got the chance.”
And of course, only because Dunk had said so, he huddled as close as he could. And as he looked closer, he found that, despite the baby’s silver locks, he resembled his father much more than he did his mother, in size, face shape, and all.
Despite himself, Aegon never brought it up.