Chapter Text
When the heat faded from him, leaving a sticky sheen of sweat against his flesh and a bone deep ache throughout his body, the scent of pomegranate and embers remained in its wake. Near suffocating. It’s tart sweetness so jarring that Maekar didn’t immediately recognize it as his.
Omega.
The word echoed hollowly through his head. His violet eyes unblinking as he gazed up at the indigo silk canopy of his bedding. A chill sweeping through him.
Omega.
His breath hitched, his throat tightening against the tears that threatened.
This wasn’t who he was supposed to be.
A gentle, insistent knock stirred him. The door creaked. Maekar flinched. Eyes winching shut as he curled into the sheets. Trying to hide away from the world for just a few moments longer.
The sweet whiff of omegas proceeded the slippered footsteps of servants. Sounding softly throughout the room as they paraded through. Bringing with them a copper tub, buckets of scolding water. Too hot for anyone save a Targaryen.
“Your Grace?” A maid questioned tentatively.
Maekar steadied himself. Pushing back the sheets, he stood from the bed with his chin tipped stubbornly, bristling beneath their sympathetic gazes.
I do not need their pity. He thought bitterly.
“Be quick.” He command, trying to sound harsh but only managing petulant. His voice rough. A flush igniting across his cheeks at the sound of it. The heat veiled memory as to why he sounded that way. The echoes of Baelor’s name taunting him, the light flush of his cheeks burning to a furious crimson.
They did as he bid, working quickly to scrub away the sweat and pungent ouder of a first heat. The new scent, however, remained. No matter how much he wished it wouldn’t.
When they were finished, and he dry, they brought light silks of lilac and blue to adorn him.
He scoffed, shaking his head.
“Black.” He instructed.
“But Your Grace-”
He cut her off with a sharp glare.
She lowered her head demurely. “Yes, Your Grace.”
They dressed him with nimble, efficient hands then left just as suddenly as they arrived. Leaving him in his melancholy and draped in black silks. As though he were in mourning.
He inhaled deeply, attempting to quell his racing pulse before making his way to the door, pushing it open with a trembling hand. Faltering, violet eyes blinking in surprise as they fell upon Baelor, waiting patiently just beyond with his hands clasped at his back.
His heart stuttered.
Meeting the Alpha’s strange eyes of lavender and honey, Maekar inclined his head, speaking haltingly; “Brother.” More a question than a greeting.
Baelor smiled. His dark scent of ash and smoke tickling Maekar’s nose, bringing a warm flush to his cheeks. The memories of his shameless wantonness not even a sunset ago sparking heat to ember low in his gut.
He wondered absently if his pleas and moans had been overheard by the guards that had been placed at his door once he had descended into heat. If the gossip that Maekar Targaryen had cried for his older brother to fuck him had reached Baelor’s ears yet.
Targaryen’s, he thought bitterly, and our queer ways.
“Brother.” Baelor returned kindly, holding out his arm. Maekar tensed. “Allow me to escort you to father’s solar.”
“Am I to be escorted now?” Maekar sneered as he awkwardly took Baelor’s arm, his touch light. Unsure even as Baelor’s scent pulled him closer, as it always had.
Baelor hummed noncommittally, inclining his head in question. A dark brow arching over his honey colored eye. His Martell eye.
Maekar snorted at his pretense. “I’m no delicate maiden.”
“No.” Baelor agreed easily, amusement bright in the deep cadence of his voice. “But you are an omega now.” The lightness faded from his voice, his touch becoming protective, near possessive. “And to many Alpha’s, that is an invitation all it’s own.”
“I am perfectly capable of defending myself.” He bristled, ruthlessly smothering the small trickle of fear weaving it’s way beneath his skin. “I have trained in combat, same as you.”
Because I was supposed to be an Alpha. Not…not this. Went unsaid.
“I need no reminder.” Baelor nudged his shoulder, drawing his attention. “My nose still aches from when you broke it.”
Violet eyes swept over Baelor’s face, the dusk of his skin and the sharpness of his cheekbones. The crookedness of his nose.
At twenty, Baelor was a knight in his own right already. And he looked every inch the picture of a handsome Alpha Knight from the songs.
The flush dusting his skin brightened. He looked away. His shoulders hunching as his gaze fell sullenly to the stone floor of Maegor’s Holdfast as he thought; I’ll never be a Knight now. It wasn’t allowed for Omegas. He would be regulated to embroidery, swords to needles. And whatever else Omegas did.
Baelor stilled, sensing the bitterness of his brother’s thoughts, he turned Maekar to face him. The severe expression of his features quieting the caustic quip on Maekar’s tongue.
“You are a Targaryen.” He implored gravely, scent darkening to the kind of smoke that billowed black from an erupting volcano. “A prince of The Seven Kingdoms.” Unconsciously, Maekar sway closer, that impossibly dark scent intoxicating. “And you are my…” he hesitated, his shrewd duel colored eyes narrowing. “…brother.” The word came oddly from his tongue, as though it were meant to be another. “That is what matters.”
He stepped back, offering his arm again with a tension in his shoulders, a rigidness to his spine that had not been there before.
They walked the rest of the way in taut silence. Baelor only relinquishing his hold on Maekar to knock at their father’s solar.
“Come.” Their father’s voice drifted through the heavy wood and iron. The warmth of it soothing the rough edges of Maekar’s mood. The quiet pride and kindness lightening up the King’s eyes as Baelor ushered him into the solar almost quelling it altogether.
“Thank you, Baelor.” Daeron tilted his head curiously, purple eyes thoughtful as he gazed upon his heir. “You may leave us.”
Baelor bowed, glancing at Maekar with shrouded eyes before turning out the door, closing it behind him with reluctance. Though Daeron suspected he would not venture far.
He smiled softly, gesturing for his youngest son to sit.
“My son, I hear celebrations are in order.”
Maekar sneered, sinking into the chair, arms crossed over his chest in stubborn defiance. “I see no reason to celebrate this.”
Daeron frowned. “Though unexpected-”
“Ha!”
“-this is indeed cause for celebration.” He continued firmly, ignoring his son’s bitter laugh. “A tourney will be held in your honor.” Marker’s lips parted in protest, though his words stilled by a sharp look from his father. “With a feast to follow.”
“Am I to be paraded around as though prized chattel?” He hissed. “Escorted by my elder brother as though a vulnerable maiden?”
Daeron soften. “Being an Omega is nothing to be ashamed of.” He cut off Maekar’s on coming protest with a raised hand. “You will see that one day. For now though, you may go and prepare yourself.”
Maekar stood, anger souring his scent. Bowing stiffly before turning to leave.
“And Maekar.” He paused, glancing back to his father. “I did not send Baelor to escort you.”
Maekar blinked, anger evaporating in the face of his confusion.
“Things are different now.” The King implored. “You will be treated differently regardless of how you feel. I suggest you adapt.”
Maekar nodded. Leaving the solar, surprised to find Baelor waiting for him at the end of the hall.
“Have you no duties today, brother?” He asked snidely even as he took Baelor’s offered arm. Easier than he had before.
Baelor smiled, laughter echoing in his voice as he spoke. “You are my duty, little brother.”
Maekar huffed despite the heat igniting in his gut, the warmth across his cheeks that seemed a permanent fixture now.
“You’re ridiculous.” He grumbled, letting Baelor lead him, as he always had.