Chapter Text
Maekar told Valarr that Aegon meant to kill his brother, Aerion.
Valarr’s little cousin brought a whole dagger into Aerion’s chamber while Aerion’s consciousness slipped away due to the milk of poppy.
And Valarr could not bring himself to be surprised. He had lived beside Aerion all his life, he knew his cousin had made many enemies wherever he went. Small wonder, then, even his little brother wished him dead.
A curious sort of family, Valarr supposed. Maekar’s offspring had brought nothing but headache for their own father. As their extended family, Valarr and his father always spectated from the periphery in great wonder of every novel things Maekar’s family had done. No one in Baelor’s household called their kin as monsters, let alone considering killing each other. Matarys was a sweet little brother. Their mother, Lady Jena Dondarrion, was a fiercely loving mother. And Baelor… Baelor was everything. To him, to his mother, to Matarys.
As someone who had long prepared to carry the burden as big as a realm, Baelor always told Valarr that he must be ready for the death of the family. For thrones, politics and power had always been a fragile thing. The Blackfyre vermins and their supporters were always lurking quietly across the Narrow Sea or even within the land of Westeros. They waited ever for another chance to rise. No one was truly safe, well, not even in the hands of their own kin, it seemed.
So Valarr tried greeting grief with ease. He imagined what his father would have done if he was in his current place. Had Valarr been the one to wear his own armor and fought that useless trial they were never meant to face, his father would mourn in grace. He would not weep. He would not complain. He would think that this was The Gods’ will.
So Valarr did just that. Though a big part of him really longed to bury his dagger onto Ser Duncan's thick neck.
He loved his father. Dearly.
But love could not bring the dead back to life nor mend what had been broken.
And with Aegon’s failed attempt to kill Aerion, there was one less corpse to burn to the pyre. One less death to mourn over.
Because Valarr would despise Aegon for the rest of his life if had truly slain his brother on his sick bed.
***
Though being the fourth son of The King, his uncle's family seemed to possess troubles that were greater than those of the heir himself. And it seemed like Baelor’s family also could not escape the chaos ensued by Maekar’s family. As Baelor’s demise as the heir of the realm came by none other than Maekar's family.
Maekar tried everything to keep his family together after Dyanna’s death. Now, he put his hope and faith onto his fourth son, Aegon. Valarr could see plainly enough that Aegon had become Maekar’s last fragile hope, his final chance to salvage some shard of honor from the disgrace of his previous sons. After Ashford, Maekar had said it himself that Aegon was now his last son, his only hope.
It might well be a mercy for Maekar that Aegon failed to kill Aerion. Once a man crossed such a line, he might not find a way back. Sanity was a fragile thing amongst their kin.
Aegon had spent many years of his life hating Aerion for the cruelties he had done upon his little brother. But what Aegon failed to see was that Aerion had once stood where Aegon stood now. A vessel of their father’s hope and expectations.
Those days, Aerion was all glory.
Aerion had always been the cleverest compared to all of his brothers. Though he later dabbled into darker, questionable knowledge and arts, but he always possessed a sharp mind, just as sharp as his tongue. He was knowledgeable and politically adept. At supper, he would sit attentively as Baelor's and their grandsire’s talked about politics and strategy. And sometimes he even offered his thoughts with striking eloquence. Earning appreciative nod from Baelor and the people on the table.
And Aerion was a fine knight as well, a very skilled swordsman. He was swift and ruthless in hand-to-hand combat. Valarr had a little chance to win when he sparred with Aerion. At Ashford, while choosing an opponent to joust, Aerion stopped before Valarr’s tent. Valarr remembered tilting his head to his cousin, he wondered whether his cousin truly meant to take the risk of harming the second in line to the Iron Throne. Or merely just taunted and mocked him because he used to seek the thrill of danger. In the end, Valarr met with the latter.
Aerion had always been like this.
He found delight by dancing near danger.
He was brave, adventurous, bold and always eager to act. Some people called him mad but Valarr knew that Aerion merely did not fear soiling his own hands when he could acquire advantage from any situation. He stopped at Valarr’s tent because he wanted to witness Valarr’s and Baelor’s reactions. He suggested The Trial of Seven because he desired to see Ser Duncan lose the advantages given by Baelor. Aerion loved control. He took pleasure, smiled amusedly at the suffering of other people. And he did it with ease. He liked to toy with it.
Yet for some odd reason, Aerion had always been his mother's favorite. Lady Dyanna Dayne knew the extent of Aerion's madness, yet she still loved him fiercely all the same. She used to call him her little dragon, her fierce boy.
Well, Valarr supposed he secretly knew the reason why. His mother loved Aerion dearly because he resembled his father more than any of his brothers. For all his faults, Aerion bore Maekar’s likeness in spirit, his fierceness and loyalties, his bad temper, and his incapability of being anything but himself.
With their similar nature, Aerion had always wished to win his father’s favor. He wanted to continue his father’s legacy, he wanted to be the Anvil that his father was. So he kept his mask together in front of his father. Always showing the finest side of him, a clever and capable prince that he was. All doe eyes and innocent smile though he might set half a dozen stalls in Flea Bottom the night before simply because he felt like it.
Despite being the perfect golden son, Aerion remained a failure to his father.
All of Maekar's sons had failed him, save Aegon, at least for now. Daeron was an alcoholic whore, Aemon was too bookish, too shy and quiet, too ill-suited for courts.
And for Aerion, the greatest sin of Aerion Targaryen was the painful truth that he was an omega. A male one at that.
Most lands and cultures treated omega like the most precious treasures, especially amongst noble and great houses. Omegas were very rare. Among the Andals omegas in heat were secluded in guarded chambers, septons would offer prayers to bless their heat and preserve their virtue. The followers of The Old God believed that omega should wed the strongest warrior. Thus they gathered alphas to fight to death in order to claim the omega. And The Old Valyrian believed that the fertility of omega were tied to the birth of the dragon themselves, united with rites of fire and blood.
Aerion had been the first omega born in House Targaryen in long years since the Dance of the Dragon. Not many omega were born from the Old Valyrian blood, as the most of them born as an alpha by nature.
Hence, Aerion’s birth should have been a blessing.
But that was not the case when Maekar relied so much on Aerion after seeing how unsalvageable Daeron was. He looked at Aerion with pride and hoped that he might someday become the heir of the Anvil himself.
Maekar knew how people truly talk about omegas. They indeed treated omegas as treasures, but in truth, they also see that omegas were seen as little more than instruments of breeding.
All those brilliance. All of those glory. Meant for naught when one was an omega.
So no, Aerion being an omega was not a blessing it should have been. Not when being an omega defied all the purpose and hope of a father upon his son.
***
King's Landing always reeked of piss and shit. And The Red Keep was built upon the conquest and blood of countless men. They forged the Iron Throne as a reminder of power. Hence every corner of Red Keep was unwelcoming. Cold walls, grim light, dragon skeletons.
But it was home nonetheless.
Valarr had to make himself at home there. He was meant to sit on that jagged throne one day.
Thus his days were often filled with every affair of the throne he would sit on someday. Endless lessons, council with lords, and everlasting need to present himself as a capable heir.
Valarr served as the King’s cupbearer. He was no stranger to the small councils. He learned from a tender age that sitting on the Iron Throne was never a finish line. It was just the beginning. He ought to do everything to protect his claim to the throne. By guarding his claim to the throne, he would also protect the realm itself. He was aware of his grandsire, King Daeron II’s fragile rule. He knew what they said about his family, this dragonless, meek Targaryen dynasty which depended so much on their Dornish alliances, while the Blackfyre seemed to be more worthy of the Iron Throne. Stronger, more Targaryen-looking.
His father had taught him the game of chess a long ago. He said to Valarr that once he was born, he had been thrown into a board much like chess. And Baelor taught Valarr that he had to be a player in such a dangerous game. A smart one.
So Valarr did what he had always been taught.
He would present himself as a perfect prince, the one the realm admired. He smiled and he uttered words only after repeating it over and over again in his head, measuring how each word might serve and benefit him. He mastered the art of talking soft while asserting command, being calculative. Like his father.
And it suffoscated him.
Valarr had learned later that he was not his father. His father was patient and compassionate.
Using his father as the model meant he had to have a heart as vast as the sea. And Valarr had none of it. Turning himself into his father meant that there was no room for dark flickers plaguing his heart. There was no room for the desire to spike the heads of common folks who whispered about the sins of Targaryen customs. There was no room for wrath in his heart when he saw Lord Ronnel Penrose— once again being a massive incompetent cunt in the council. There was no space for the guilty delight of spreading rumors of Ser Humfrey Hightower’s ailments to silence him. None of it had a place in Baelor’s measured world.
But Valarr kept his princely mask. Kept his voice soft. And none would ever find this side of him.
All of those discrepancies. It made Valarr sick and tired.
And then there was Summerhall.
Valarr hated visiting other places. Because it meant that he had to maintain his perfect mask, keep his clever calculating mind going. And in the back of his mind, Summerhall always meant disgraced cousins from his father's side and more tiresome pleasantries.
Yet for once, visitation felt like a holiday for Valarr. Summerhall meant a beautiful palace, large marble pool, lake, and cherry trees. Summerhall meant that Valarr could become an ordinary kid and shed his dutiful prince skin for a chance. Summerhall meant fishing, ducks and lots of food.
And Summerhall meant Aerion.
“That Penrose fellow is still being a massive cunt?” Aerion asked while yanking the gut of a big fish he just caught. His dexterous fingers wielded the knife and dagger with ease.
“Apparantly.” Valarr replied. “Lady Eleana does most of the work now.” He laid himself out beside Aerion on the grass, folding his arms beneath his head as a pillow .
Valarr closed his eyes as the summer breeze caressed his cheek tenderly. He drew a deep breath. The distinct scent of Summerhall filled his lungs, he smelled cherry trees, petunia and warmth. Beneath the canopy of trees, rustles of petunias.
“He is a lost cause. The only reason he was given this post is on account of his dead father’s deed during the rebellion.” Aerion said, pausing a little to wrestle with one of his fish. “Perhaps we ought to do something about him.”
Valarr let out a slow sigh. “Rumors will not work. He is a shameless mutt. Heard from one of the servants that he invited different whores every night.”
“Then kill him.” Aerion said simply, eyes ablaze. “Use that clever head yours to conspire something, for Gods’ sake. The credit will not go to our house even though Lady Eleana does all the work.” Uttering something as killing someone like it was the most reasonable and sensible thing to do.
Valarr hid his smile and murmured, “You are insane.”
“Say that of someone who spreads lies about Ser Humfrey Hightower because he annoyed you.” Aerion shot back. “You are just the same freak as I am, cousin. You're just better at hiding it.”
“The Hightowers are an insufferable bunch. You will do the same when you see their hypocritical masks every time they greet our grandsire.” Valarr slandered.
Aerion leveled Valarr with a look both judging and amused, petunia-colored eyes glittering. “Imagine if your father knew you were behaving like this, cousin.”
“My father had an idea. He always has an idea about it. That is why he tried to protect me with all his might by always reminding me about boundaries.” Valarr shrugged and then looked at his cousin, “Imagine if your father knew, dear cousin.”
“He would turn a blind eye, for he relied on me for far too many things. I mean, you have seen Daeron, have you not?” Aerion argued confidently, “Besides, my father believes in free will and individual agency of his sons.”
“Might not be the wisest belief when he has a son like you.” Valarr snickered.
Aerion rolled his eyes and steered the conversation back to the small council, “This is exactly why we should stop treating small council like a running charity every time someone is capable of licking our arses.” and then Aerion went on and on about his prattle about Targaryen blood pureness.
Valarr had many things to say in response, mostly agreeing to what Aerion had just said. Valarr always understood Aerion's notions and ideology about Targaryen honor. But he also knew that Aerion was a prideful boy, hence it usually got the best of him. But as he felt his own thoughts drift, Valarr felt his consciousness slipping by the soft caresses of the wind, so he only hummed.
Aerion threw a fit because of that, “Seven Hells! Stop slacking. There is work to be done here.”
Valarr opened his eyes lazily, letting them wander over a pile of fish sprawled by his cousin’s legs, “Pray tells. Why are we doing this again?” Valarr asked, though he knew full well the answer. He simply did not want to partake.
“Quoting your dear father, tonight's feast is important. As Lords and peasants alike are gathering at Summerhall for Aemon’s nameday. It's important to show how humble the royals and noble houses really are.”
Valarr snorted, “Fish prepared by the princes of the realm. Right. As if every meal prepared by a prince is not made possible by the help of tens of his men.” His eyes flicked at ten servant boys busy fishing beside them. “Besides, you prattles one of two things about your dislike in regards to how we make allies, while doing the very thing you criticize. A little contradictory, is it not?”
“In my defense, I caught this one by myself.” Aerion replied, returning to his gutted fish. “But this is exactly what I have been talking about all this time. We would not have to do any of this if we had fucking dragons. We do not have to lick those Lord’s arse with all of these nonsensical efforts and wait for them to do the same.”
“Well, the truth is we do not have dragons. So we would have to cater to all of these allies all our life.” Valarr said then reached his fishing rod at last.
“And by then, Targaryen blood will already have ceased, mingled and watered down by endless marriages to other houses. And there was no way to bring dragons back.” Aerion jabbed before continuing. “Our house was built upon fire and blood, cousin. No other house in the entire Westeros is worthy enough for our blood. Maybe we ought to do something different from your father's strategy of winning the favor of every Lord we encounter in this realm.”
Again, Valarr truly understood Aerion’s point of view about this. And yet he had no clear path beyond what they have been doing all this time. Forging allies without dragons.
“I will find a way. I have to.” Aerion said in determination. And what Aerion meant by that was to hatch dragon eggs. Valarr read in Aerion's letter that he had been dabbling in pyromancy and dark arts. He also knew that Aerion had been sending ravens to their great-uncle Brynden Rivers or Bloodraven they called him. Their great-uncle was notorious as a sorcerer or such. Whispers said that he could be in many different places at once. Some said that he could see the future and change fate while having Gods’ favor.
Aerion begged him numerous times to journey to Essos to find a way to hatch their dragon eggs. House Targaryen still indeed possessed many dragon eggs, including Aerion’s own. Those eggs simply never hatched.
Before Valarr could voice his thoughts, Aerion continued, “But first of all, you should marry Daella. Or else, I will.”
At that time, Aerion had not yet been presented as an omega. He was a late bloomer, and most had always assumed that he was an alpha.
Valarr remembered the sudden sinking of his heart upon hearing his cousin's proposal. There was an unexplainable ache in his heart imagining one of them betrothed to someone else. Yet Valarr forced himself to mask it and present his usual calm and unaffected demeanor.
“I can picture her face, all disgusted if you ever forced her into marriage.” Valarr teased and they both laughed. They knew Daella. That wild girl would not be thrilled if Aerion forced them to marry one another. Valarr continued, “And Aegon has not forgiven you for what you did.”
Aerion had come to Aegon’s room one day and threatened to castrate him when he could not find the best suitor in their family. It was horrible behavior. But Valarr said nothing of it.
Aerion merely raised one of his eyebrows and shrugged.
Valarr looked at him quietly and sighed, “Well truth be told, marriage is an important thing for forging allies, Aerion. I must consider it really carefully. Wed one Targaryen to another is not a good political move right now.”
Aerion stared at him, incredulous, “You know what? I have always known you are an idiot. An honorable one, perhaps, but idiot all the same, still. Well, I suppose the fool here is me, speaking such proposal to you.”
“Maintaining the old ways was never how I was raised, Aerion. You know that. We do not have the ideal circumstances for such things.” Valarr replied.
“And neither did I, cousin. But I had this.” Aerion tapped his temple. “It is rather handy, you know. You should try for once.”
“You are an arsehole.” Valarr muttered, shaking his head.
And this was the reason why Summerhall was very liberating for Valarr. Here, Aerion and him spoke in profanities and slander without care. Valarr allowed Aerion room for his wild schemes, and Aerion gave the same for Valarr. And Valarr missed this for every minute he spent in King's Landing.
Aerion managed to clean one more fish when a sharp curse escaped his lips, “Fuck.”
Valarr snapped his head towards Aerion. And he saw blood on Aerion's left hand. There was not much of it but Valarr could see it seeped down his palm as Aerion tried to press it to stop.
Before he could think of anything, Valarr reached out. “Stop rubbing it on your new tunic, your mother would kill you. Let me see.”
Valarr cradled Aerion's left hands carefully. The dagger had cut Aerion's thumb quite deeply. He could see blood gushed from the open wound.
Valarr fetched his waterskin and rinsed the wound clean. While tenderly scrubbing blood on Aerion's pale skin, Valarr could feel Aerion's soft hand upon his. And the brush of Aerion's warm breath on his cheek.
Before Aerion could protest, Valarr opened his mouth and put Aerion’s injured thumb into his mouth, which invited a sharp flinch and melodic gasp from Aerion at the sudden intimacy.
Valarr traced his tongue over the wound on the pad of Aerion’s thumb, tasting the sharp tang of blood that somehow still tasted sweet in his tongue. Valarr heard Aerion’s breath stutter, felt the subtle recoil of muscle beneath his hold. But Valarr held Aerion’s left hand firmly in place.
Valarr lifted his eyes.
And all air vanished from Valarr's lungs when he saw Aerion. Aerion looked flustered and undone. Different from his usual demeanor of having control of every situation. He stared at Valarr with shaky eyes. In Valarr’s mind, Aerion looked very enticing with a dust of blush upon his cheeks, red lips. And Valarr found himself unable to look away.
Oh dear cousin. Look at you. So prideful, yet so undone from a mere tongue.
Valarr's heavy-lidded eyes drank every smallest fidget escape from Aerion. Aerion clenched his jaw shut when Valarr circled his tongue on Aerion's thumb, sucking it gently back and forth.
Valarr took the liberty to caress the back of Aerion’s hand with his thumb before he let go. And yet, he could feel Aerion's thumb lingering on his own lip.
“It tastes like fish.” Valarr commented, being a little cheeky about it.
Aerion’s eyes never left Valarr’s lips, captivated. “You have some blood on your bottom lips.” he whispered.
“Is that so?” Valarr replied, eyes fixed on Aerion when he deliberately licked his own lips. “Caught a glimpse of me at the Old Valyrian wedding, then.”
At The Old Valyrian wedding ceremony, Valyrians exchanged blood to one another. They cut open their lower lips with dragonglass until it drew blood, a symbol of unity of two souls.
Their eyes remained locked, never left one another until they heard the laughter of the serving boys who caught more fish. The connection broke.
And then Valarr heard Aerion laughed.
Light and whimsical.
Like a melody of Summerhall, blending with warmth of the sun, and cherries, and lake and ducks and fish. And a tint of red on Aerion’s iridescent skin. His freckles, ever clever lips. His beauty, under the bright sky of Summerhall.
Valarr smiled. In his mind he thought of how much he could grow accustomed to this.
Valarr had a massive library in his head of the words he wanted to tell Aerion.
First he wanted to tell Aerion that his eyes had the very shade of petunias around him.
And second, he wanted to tell Aerion that he was the most beautiful in Valarr's eyes.
But Valarr never had the chance to tell Aerion all of that. Because that year, his mother died of sickness. Valarr spent his days in mourning and avoiding all but the most necessary company and his duty. He had to. Without it, he feared he would start killing someone.
Weeks after that, a raven arrived at the Red Keep. Bearing news to the small council that Prince Aerion Targaryen had been presented.
As an omega.
Valarr remembered clenching every muscle with all of his might, forcing himself steady not to spill the wine on Penrose’s tunic.
And in the months that followed, Dyanna Dayne was dead while delivering Maekar’s last daughter, Rhaella Targaryen.
***
Valarr should have expected that his lovely days at Summerhall would change, now that many things had been different. He should have, but he did not. That was his first mistake.
Aerion threw Aegon’s cat in the well the very day Valarr arrived at Summerhall to offer condolences upon Dyanna’s passing.
Chaos followed.
The pyre had not gone cold yet, but all they could hear was Aegon’s wailing, shrieking as he threw the accusations on his brother.
Daella wept quietly in the corner while looking at Aegon's hysterical spectacle. From the chamber, Valarr could hear the babe wailing under the care of the wet nurse. Daeron drank himself to oblivion. And Maekar looked like he was about to weep himself.
“Explain yourself.” Maekar growled.
And for some reason, Aerion simply sat there. Calm, amidst the chaos. It was almost eerie the way he had his doe eyes, soft voice and innocent facade. Stripped away from every human emotion.
Valarr waited for Aerion’s reply with tension upon his muscles.
“Upon consulting Maester Kendry, cats could carry many diseases, father. Evidently, it included misbirth and many cases of stillborn.” Aerion said in a very even tone. Not a flicker of remorse, not even a hint of any emotion.
“He lied! Maester Kendry never said such a thing. He never even attended the lesson. All he talked about with Maester Kendry was dragons.” Aegon screamed.
Aerion turned to Aegon with a fake concern upon his face, “After what has happened to our mother, and you still place yourself and your own emotions first? That's very disappointing, brother.”
Strings of curse came from Aegon's little mouth, “I hate you! You always ruin everything! I wish you were dead!”
“Aegon! Mind your words!” Maekar rumbled.
Aerion shook his head theatrically as if he was the victim of the whole debacles he caused in the first place. He opened his mouth just to add more fuel to the fire, “Of course there was someone who wished to see me dead, even though all I desire is the best for this family.”
Seeing Aerion's attempt to make the problem even more complicated, Baelor stepped forward, “We must not wish for God's creations to perish so easily. I am speaking of every creation, including cats.”
Aerion sighed. Valarr knew that his cousin’s clever head was currently working to make more mess from the situation. Before Valarr or Baelor could intervene further, Aerion opened his mouth again.
“I believe that we must eliminate the cause of contagious illness from the very root. They burned people's bodies in the Great Spring Sickness years ago, did they not?” Aerion said.
“By throwing a sick cat into the source of water?” Maekar asked in disbelief.
“It was an empty well. Not the one with water in it.” Aerion said lightly, he raised one of his eyebrows, taunting his little brother, “You know, the one with many sharp dragonglass in it?” Aegon flinched so hard at the words.
“In truth.” Aerion opened his cruel mouth again. “I learned the very same principle when dealing with people. I believe we share the same ideology, do we not, cousin?”
Eyes now fell upon Valarr with all the attention. And Aerion wore a subtle, hideous smile on his beautiful lips.
It was a test for Valarr.
Aerion was challenging him. Aerion wished to see if Valarr would take his side in this tangled situation.
Valarr’s gaze flicked to his father and he caught his father looking back at him knowingly. Even his father knew that Aerion was throwing bait at Valarr. And now, his father quietly put so much expectation on Valarr's response.
Valarr could have turned this conversation even uglier, following Aerion’s expert step towards fire and chaos. But years of his father’s lessons in diplomacy guided him instead. “Animals indeed carry certain diseases, in most cases. Especially when we bring stray ones into our home.” Valarr could see tears of disappointment from Aegon's eyes.
“However we could not tell for certain if your cat had carried contagious sickness or not. I shall send a raven to Grand Maester Alford in the capital to consult on any human contagious illnesses we shall expect from a cat. We will see if it aligns with the sickness your passing cat bore.”
Baelor gave him a small nod. At the end, that was the most he could do in this situation. So Valarr knew it would satisfy his father. But on the other hand, he suspected that Aerion would not be satisfied with his answer.
“Alright.” Aegon said in a tiny voice.
Maekar sighed a weary sigh when he said, “Very well. We will not have more stray in the house, Aegon. You will learn to care about the wellbeing of your family.” Then he turned to Aerion, “And you, if the symptoms of the cat's sickness do not align with the Grand Maester’s account, you owe your brother an apology. And I shall see it done, here, before me, boy.”
Aerion did not answer immediately. Instead, he fiddled with his fingers for quite some time, leaving everyone to wait for his reply.
“Everything I did was for the sake of our family. You must know about this above everyone, father.” Aerion spelled every word one by one, clear and unyielding.
Valarr could taste the bitterness in those words. Valarr knew the source of it. He witnessed the years Aerion spent his youth perfecting himself for the sake of the house of Targaryen. Only to deal with the worst biological twist of being an omega.
And Aerion played this card in front of his father every damn time. He knew the guilt Maekar carried after treating him differently once they knew that Aerion was an omega. And he abused the card again and again to get what he wanted.
As Valarr had expected, Maekar sighed.
“Aren’t we all, boy. Aren’t we all.”
***
Later, Valarr found Aerion by the lake. Standing quietly while tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks that paddled lazily upon the lake.
Valarr brought his feet to stand beside Aerion. The sun had begun to dip towards the horizon, casting marbles upon the lake. Cold air started biting the Valarr’s cheeks.
“You really had to put me in the center of attention like that, didn’t you cousin?” Valarr broke the silence.
Aerion continued to busy himself by feeding the ducks. He was either ignoring Valarr or making him wait for a reply. But Valarr could wait, especially when it served more time for Valarr to observe Aerion from his side.
Now that Valarr looked at him closely, Aerion looked starkly different. Aerion always had these unyielding eyes, and yet he could see how shaky it was. Valarr wondered what were the passing thoughts running around that beautiful head to a point where he looked certainly unstable. For it seemed like he also lost many sleeps with the dark under his eyes.
And yet despite everything, Aerion still carried the scent of Summerhall. Of petunia, cherry trees, damp leaves, and warm hearth.
And despite his slumped shoulders, stripped away from the joy and spirit he used to have, Aerion was still breathtakingly beautiful. The most beautiful. Dim petunia-colored eyes, pale skin, cheekbones that grew sharper every passing moon. And Valarr noticed that Aerion cut his hair short. He did not miss how the tail of Aerion’s hair brushed the nape of his neck ever so tenderly.
“I did what I had to do. I heard what I wanted to know.” Aerion said quietly, eyes cast downward, never look back at Valarr even for once.
“Which was?”
“You had priorities.”
It landed with a very soft tone, almost delicate, yet it cut deeper than any dagger could do.
Valarr let out a shaky breath. It pained him because Aerion was being condescending toward him for the thing that was beyond his control. And it also pained him all the same because he could not make Aerion happy. Could not make a company when Aerion was stripped away from everything he had until that point. Left nothing but himself in this world.
Yet what was coming was lashing anger, “I’m sorry that I can not make everyone happy.”
Aerion whipped his head towards Valarr, eyes ablaze with anger. Now you’re looking at me.
Now he looked more like his Aerion, all fire and sparks. Something he wore often like his second skin compared to his melancholic shell he had earlier.
“I did not ask you to make me happy, you foolish cur.” Aerion spat, his eyes flashing. “I asked you to take my side for once.”
Valarr gritted his teeth. “By testing me in front of everybody? Putting me in the light, had the whole family spectated which side I would choose? You truly had a cruel way to make friends, Aerion. You could have simply asked!”
“That was exactly the point, you fool! Because upon choices and choices that were laid before you, I knew that you will never choose me, Valarr. Never! Hence, I dragged you into the light so that our family might also see your cowardice. I asked you to wed Daella. I asked you to cross the Narrow Sea with me to Essos. I kept asking you to do something for the sake of our family. No political benefit, no diplomacy, just our family.”
Aerion stepped closer, eyes wild and yet Valarr caught a shimmering of unshed tears, “Our House will perish, Val. Soon there will be no one left with the name of Targaryen possessing the power of the dragon. We ought to do something now.”
Valarr’s brow furrowed, realizing something odd from what Aerion said.
“You had the dream.” Valarr whispered.
A single tear glided from Aerion lavender eye. “One of these days I will ask you to marry me, cousin. Because I’m a fucking omega now. Yet I know you would not choose me in your life. So I asked you the least you can do for me.”
To stand by his side.
And there was nothing Valarr desired more in his life.
Hence that wet summer, the year they lost their mothers. The year Aerion had presented as an omega at seven and ten. Valarr Targaryen kissed his cousin, Aerion Targaryen for the first time.
Valarr cursed every god from the Wall to Dorne once he got the taste of Aerion.
Because Aerion tasted exactly like he imagined all this time through his sleepless night, his fevered daydreams, and through every of his wandering thoughts in the middle of duties and the realm.
Fire and pride and cruelty.
Yet at the same time, beneath all of those jagged layers, Valarr also found warmth, loneliness, and a mere boy. A curious, nervous boy. Upon every soft moan and the tremble of his body.
And trust, which he guarded with his might all of his life like the most precious possession of his life. And yet he offered it to Valarr ever so willingly and openly.
Then Valarr took it, gently at first.
Then greedily.
Valarr pushed Aerion to the bark of the tree they used to climb as kids. Valarr rolled his hips onto Aerion’s clothed cunt. Aerion groaned loudly which tore their connected lips. A string of saliva was still connecting their tongues, which Valar licked it clean then.
Valarr did not stop rutting them onto one another when he nuzzled Aerion’s neck, drowning himself in Aerion’s scent of petunia and every aspect of Summerhall. Valarr licked and nibbled Aerion scent glands. Mine, mine to claim upon.
“Valarr.” Aerion whimpered as he now also began to rub himself onto Valarr desperately.
As Valarr held Aerion close, lips brushing Aerion’s eyes and temples, Valarr was letting Aerion know that he was the one who embraced his very existence as a whole. Jagged edges and all.
Aerion had not wished for an absolute happy ending, he craved a tether. He was left astray from everything he once had. From the weight of his Targaryen inheritance, from the pride of being a golden child, from his mother who adored him, from the glittering image of Aerion Brightflame.
Now Aerion was merely an omega prince whose very existence was measured only by his womb.
Isolation.
The very same lonesome journey Valarr felt when he mourned for his lady mother.
They were two mere boys.
With the burden of honor and duty. And they lost something precious in their life. One had tried to swallow it down for duty. The other had lashed out because he lost every pillar he built to keep his pride intact.
And perhaps for the first time Valarr did not feel alone.
***
When Valar was nine years of age, Grand Maester Alford told him about Alpha, Beta and Omega. They called it secondary genders, for the sake of science and biology. Grand Maester Alford explained that the alpha and the omega were the products of human survival instinct to reproduce. Hence alpha and omega usually carried lingering traits of the beast within, as animals had often performed certain rituals before they mate.
In modern civilization such as Westeros, those primal traits were rarely found anymore, for men were no longer forced to reproduce for survival anymore. Yet across the Narrow Sea, such customs were still widely practiced. The Dothraki fought each other to death at their wedding because the alpha were submitted to their instinct and pheromones.
Once he met a potential omega to court, what happened to Valarr was this very same primal trait. But it was not until Valarr returned to Summerhall with blood all over his body when he fully understood that instinct had fully taken hold of him.
It began when he sat right beside Aerion at every supper. And then he would put piles and piles of Aerion's favorite foods on his bowl until Aerion raised one of his eyebrows and stared at him weirdly.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Aerion demanded, staring at the mountain of honeyed cakes and meat.
“Eat your food.” Valarr simply said.
The madness did not stop there, of course. One morning Valarr went to a master jeweler and the most skilled seamstress in the city. He commissioned the most lavish and expensive jewelry and finest Myrish satin tunics for Aerion. He did not even give it directly to Aerion. He simply left it by the door of Aerion's chamber and went about his business, continuing to do anything else that seemed to might make Aerion happy.
Then, as if he was possessed, Valarr went for a hunt in the woods. He mounted his war stallion gallantly, precisely shot one boar and one hare with his crossbow, tore its body with his dagger until he had blood all over, then skinned it clean because he wanted clean meat for Aerion.
It was past midnight when he reached Aerion’s chamber and put the heavy raw meat on Aerion's door. Wate and Yorkel who were stationed outside of Aerion's room exchanged a long wary look at one another.
“Your father has been worried sick all day, Your Grace.” Yorkel said.
“I went with Ser Roland.” Valarr answered, his eyes still fixed upon his proud hunt.
“That was the only reason that prevented him from tearing the whole city to look for you.” Yorkel added.
“Well, I am returned now, am I not?” Valarr raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, my prince.” Yorkel said.
“Big hunt, aye?” Wate smiled.
“The biggest.” Valarr nodded proudly.
“This one was surely bigger than what Prince Maekar used to hunt for Lady Dyanna, my prince.” Wate remarked while looking at the pile of bloody raw meat under him.
Valarr frowned. He wondered what it had to do with his uncle and his aunt? The only similarities between them was the fact that his uncle was an alpha like Valarr, and his aunt was a rare omega, much like—
The realization struck him like a heavy brick of dragonstone. All those foods and silks and raw meat.
Valarr was courting Aerion.
As an alpha to his omega.
He did not even realize it because it all came from his ancient alpha instinct to provide— to impress his potential mate. Alpha this, alpha that. He had his mind run all over the place. He could not think of anything but Aerion.
His laugh, his smug face, his dimples.
Their time, their hands upon each other, their inside jokes.
In the drunken haze of a man in love, sometimes Valarr would think that maybe Aerion was indeed a dragon.
“They said that the dragon's birth was tied to omega.” Aerion's sentence ended with a breathy moan as Valarr rolled his hips deeper.
“Really?” Valarr kissed Aerion's cheek, “Then you're my Zaldrīzītsos.”
Little dragon. Only fitting.
“For I am short, I will accept that— nnnh, there Valarr.” Aerion paused because Valarr found the best spot for him. “But there was a saying. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.”
Dragon is not a slave.
Valarr licked Aerion's tears of pleasure languidly from his cheek, “Hmm? Says the dragon beneath me.”
He could hear how close Aerion was with his clipped voice, “Even a dragon's rider is not their master.”
“Well I supposed, I'm no master of any dragon. My little dragon could fly as far as he wanted.”
Valarr could almost have grown accustomed to every madness of it.
Him. Aerion. All night long. Hush of breath. Sweat and tender skin. The soft core engulfed him. Aerion's tongue upon his. And their fingers upon each other's.
Valarr was doomed. He plucked the forbidden fruit from the high branch, having the taste of it and now he could not stop ravishing it. Not even they had returned to King's Landing. They sent ravens daily. Waiting for days until they were back to each other's embrace.
And Baelor, of course, had noticed.
Aerion was not seen with Valarr almost always at the same time. And Aerion, like a peacock, paraded Valarr's kiss marks like a war prize. Causing servants to whisper to one another about who might conquer the mad omega prince himself.
“It seemed like your cousin had found himself a suitor.” Baelor simply said.
Valarr's heart stumbled a little. He composed himself quickly and said, “The matter of his bedchamber is not my concern, Father.”
“It might.” Baelor argued. “Some men treat a romantic affair merely like a common sport. No heart in the matter, just a quick pleasure. Yet others might find themselves drowned in a deep sea of emotions from a mere brush of skin. Love sick they said.” Baelor paused before he continued, “Tell me son, do you love every person you kiss?”
“That depends, Father.” That was all Valarr gave because he was still waiting for his father to lay more pawns on the board.
His father held his gaze for several seconds before saying, “I saw you getting comfortable by the lake at Summerhall with your cousin.” He said at last, “What I meant by that was any sort of possible romantic affair done by two persons, plain as the midday sun."
“Targaryen was involved in romantic relationships with their blood all this time.” Valarr answered.
His father looked at him quietly yet again, his different colored eyes were unblinking. He indeed had highlighted the part if he loved the person he kissed, not the person that had an affair with. He knew Valarr was involved in a romantic affair with Aerion, but he asked if Valarr loved him.
“Your cousin is an omega.” Baelor added. “A capable one, no doubt, but also, a wounded and angry one.”
Meaning that Valarr could marry Aerion, but Aerion might not be the best option especially because Valarr was the heir to the heir.
Baelor leaned forward and opened his mouth again, “Allegiance is our only tool we have left to us, now that we no longer possess any dragon. Across the Narrow Sea, the Blackfyre still roam free, gathering power silently. Hence, the support of Free Cities, such as Tyrosh would be a great addition to our House.”
His father was always like that. He never pressured Valarr to take any choice that was his. What Baelor Breakspear would do was to spread all the pawns on the board, illuminate the advantages and the risks, and let Valarr decide.
“So, I will ask you once more.” Baelor asked him with a voice as steady as ever. “Do you care for those whom you kissed?”
Valarr did care. He cared for Aerion with a passion that frightened him most of the time. And it took a lot to come to terms with that. To admit that the mad boy had taken over his heart. And at the same time, he also knew how much it cost for Aerion to come with the same term. To accept his nature as an omega, who cared about Valarr who happened to be an alpha.
By the time they started admitting that they indeed needed each other in their life, that they were the best case scenario of preserving blood and family— just like Aerion said— Valarr was to be betrothed.
With Kiera of Tyrosh.
***
Moons had gone by.
And then Ashford happened.
Valarr was left to gather what remained of his father’s legacy. There were duties that were left behind by Baelor Targaryen, as the heir of the Iron Thrones, as the Hand of The King and as a father. Now Valarr had been raised as the first line to the throne, he needed an heir himself. He thought of his grandsire, his fragile standing against the Blackfyre. He thought of his family, his Targaryen legacy, the way people whispered on their weak standing once dragons ceased to exist. He thought of Matarys, his bright presence, now he has no one but Valarr.
Mountain of pressure on the back of a boy of nine-and-ten years.
But in the middle of the turbulence, his head was full of Aerion.
Instead of seeking comfort in the presence of his betrothed, Valarr came to Aerion's chamber. It had been several moons since Valarr was betrothed. Moons dragged painfully with no Aerion in his life anymore.
No stupid banter. No ravens arrived from Summerhall. No presence of the most important person in Valarr’s life.
He was supposed to be angry, nursing his righteous fury, blaming Aerion's childish obsession that cost his father's life.
But as always, when his heart grew too great, when duty pressed too heavy on his shoulders. Valarr remembered two boys, a lake, petunias and ducks. He remembered discussion and random prattles in High Valyrian about bloodline and the Old Ways. He remembered an alpha and an omega who tried to clumsily navigate their way towards each other.
Sometimes Valarr wondered if Aerion remembered the same picture in his mind when the days turned hard for him. He wondered if Aerion wept while reminiscing about their beautiful time after Valarr left him for Kiera of Tyrosh— and punched Valarr’s face until it rattled his teeth. He wondered if it was the image Aerion saw when he called Valarr a coward and how he spit near his boots like he was so disgusted at the very sight of Valarr.
He wondered if Aerion ever missed Valarr. Just like Valarr missed him like mad.
Valarr found Maekar in Aerion's room, all battered and weary from the bloody trial.
Maekar only looked up at Valarr once then turned his eyes back to Aerion on the bed.
His uncle broke the thick silence, “He’s in a deep sleep. The Maester gave him the milk of poppy.”
Valarr’s thoughts drifted back to the trial. Anger seeped into his chest like a wildfire, directed only to one person.
Ser Duncan The Tall.
Valarr could see, Ser Duncan was no match for Aerion’s skill on the field. But what made his blood fume was because of the sheer audacity of that lowborn who had dared to lay his hands upon Aerion. Valarr did not miss how the lowly knight handled Aerion, how he beat him senseless, sliced his femoral vein to a point Aerion might lose his life.
Aerion was his.
His to love, his to protect, and his to hurt.
And his father knew this truth, for he forbade Valarr to wear his armor and went to the trial himself.
His father knew that Valarr would let the primal instinct take over and slaughter the hedge knight without mercy once he stepped on that field.
So, saving his son’s grace, his father took Valarr’s armor and did the deed instead.
Noticing Valarr’s quietness, Maekar opened his mouth again, "Why are you here, nephew?"
I missed him
I yearned for his presence.
I wanted him more than anything in this world.
But nothing came from his mouth. His jaw remained shut. His words were archived in his massive library.
So Maekar added, "You can not keep doing this. You have betrothed. You will have a wife, and later, children. And then the whole realm." A beat passed, his uncle seeming to contemplate what he had to say next.
And then he simply said, "Let him go."
Of course Maekar had noticed. Maekar always noticed, just like his father had. Baelor had always given the chance for his children to reconsider by talking to them, offering them counsel. But Maekar tended his garden differently. He knew several of his flowers were poisonous, yet he kept them all because he loved all of them all the same.
At the thought of fathers. Valarr felt nothing but a hollow, bone-deep tiredness. His heart ached for the sudden bereavement. If only Valarr had taken Aerion as his bride from the start. If only he had reached that armor and donned it as his own. If only he had fought for his love. If only he had stopped being a fucking coward.
Hence, Valarr decided to pull out the most precious book from the archives of his library and gave it to his uncle, the father of someone that was so precious in his life.
“I love him.” Valarr admitted.
As the words glided from his lips, all he could feel was anguish. Because all he could see was a vision of him and Aerion, adorned in the bright Valyrian wedding gown.
How beautiful Aerion would look in such a wedding gown. With the red of Valarr’s blood upon his lips. With eyes of the shade of petunia fixed on him. Only on him. All his.
Valarr was mourning. For his father and his mother.
And For Aerion.
And the life they could have been.
Tears were waterfall upon his cheeks. And a sea of emotions that made Valarr gasp. Losing every inhale of breath as his head kept chanting the only name. The only thing he truly wanted in his life.
And Maekar stood there, eyes knowing because upon hundreds of people who uttered Aerion’s name with disgust and resentment, Maekar whispered his son’s name in his prayer. Of course no foes would understand that. Only Valarr and his parents.
He heard his uncle sighed tiredly, “I have six children, and you chose to love the most difficult one, dear nephew.” He put his hand upon Valarr’s shoulder, “The most beautiful one, I’m sure, but also a piece of shit at that.”
Valarr laughed. It sounded like a wheeze.
“But he was not always difficult. Even quite glad he was.” Maekar mused, “He was the one who planted all those petunias by the lake. Now it outgrew every flower there like weeds.”
Maekar was quiet before he revealed. “He said it was because you loved petunia.”
Valarr closed his eyes. The words cut deep into his soul. Oh, the irony. The only reason why Valarr loved petunias was because the shade was the same with Aerion’s eyes.
Maekar squeezed Valarr’s shoulder before he said something that made Valarr freefall even further into the deepest ravine at Dragonstone.
“I suggested to Baelor for both of you to be betrothed.”
Valarr whipped his head towards his uncle, finding his uncle grimacing painfully.
He drew his eyebrows together before continuing, “But Baelor said he'll leave the choice for you.”
And Valarr had chosen Kiera of Tyrosh. Because he thought that was what his father wanted. Because he believed it was his duty. Just how he was raised all this time.
He looked at his hands. His trembling and princely hands. The realization struck him like a painful truth. That after all, everything was no one’s choice but his own.
And once again, his uncle was there, knowing eyes and knowing hand on his shoulder.
His uncle whispered, “What have we done, Valarr? What brought us to this point?”
What have they done, indeed. Looking back now, Aerion had only wished to fulfil his father’s legacy. His method might be strange, unsettling and might not be suitable with the current Targaryen’s way. But he always wanted to fix what was broken from his family.
And then he was presented as an omega.
And all he had ever wanted was to marry Valarr.
Maybe the Gods were punishing them for the things they had done to Aerion. For the way they treated him. For the way they failed a precious omega.
***
After they returned to King’s Landing, Matarys did not take the news easily, almost inconsolable. He cried endlessly and refused every meal sent to him.
And with his father’s passing, other matters demanded Valarr’s attention. His grandsire invited Valarr to attend the small council meeting. His father’s position as Hand of the King now stood empty, and Valarr was next in line as the heir to the Iron Throne.
Valarr watched quietly as his grandsire coughed wetly throughout the heated discussion in regards to the position of Hand of the King. The King seemed more asleep than he was awake. Valarr’s eyes then slowly turned to Bynden Rivers at his side. He could not tear his eyes from his great-uncle after learning it was Bloodraven himself who had suggested inviting him to the council.
Something was amiss. But Valarr could not name it.
The discussion dragged on and on, talking about Blackfyres supporters across the Narrow Sea.
“Hence, we must officiate the wedding immediately.” Lord Penrose declared.
Valarr did not even flinch when he replied, “In the middle of the mourning period, my lord? The Queen has not even left the sept as of today.”
“I understand your feelings, My Prince. But the Blackfyre are already moving now that the heir of the Iron Throne just perished. Bittersteel is raising the Gold Company across the sea.” The cunt added.
Valarr knew he was merely borrowing time to mourn for his father. Had it been Aerion he was suggested to wed, he would have agreed at once. But at the end, the choice always belonged to him. He would only humiliate the poor girl if he decided to break the betrothal for the sake of his own heart.
Valarr drew a lungful of breath and nodded, “Securing the Free Cities would be the wisest decision. But the wedding must not be lavish. The whole realm is still mourning for The Lord Hand.”
“With that being said, Prince Maekar had suggested something further.” Prince Martell carefully looked at Valarr. “After what happened at Ashford, he intends to exile Prince Aerion to Lys.”
Cold spread through Valarr’s body.
Before Valarr could say anything, Bloodraven added smoothly, “Though it is officially named an exile, in truth it is a way to keep Lys under our surveillance.”
Valarr hid his clenched hands under the table, “Do you mean to wed him to a Lyseni, to secure Free Cities like me, or to send him as a spy?”
Bloodraven regarded him for a moment, “Prince Aerion may not be the most agreeable person. For now, spy would be the closer term.” Blooraven paused before he continued, “Prince Aerion is one of the most capable Targaryen Princes we had.”
Valarr rubbed his temple. Sending a precious Targaryen omega to Free Cities was a very dangerous decision. Though he would not deny that Aerion was the best choice, both for espionage and diplomacy.
His grandsire coughed again.
Valarr did not know what Bloodraven was scheming this time. But with his grandsire sudden decline of health after his father’s death could not be a coincidence. And now he sent Aerion, of all capable people in the realm, and of all his spies and ravens.
He needed to save Aerion at the very least.
“Blackfyre’s supporters are blood purists.” He started. “While I understand the importance of forging allies beyond House Targaryen, we must also uphold the traditions that led to the power of our house.” Valarr looked at each Lord in the small council. “Let the prince go to Lys until the matters there are settled. And then I would suggest we wed the only omega prince of House Targaryen within our family. The Gods did not send omegas into this world merely as a political tool.”
He inhaled slowly before adding, “I have secured our external alliance through my marriage with Kiera of Tyrosh. Prince Arion shall secure the internal one, reminding the realm that we still honor our custom and Valyrian traditions.”
Bloodraven looked at him in silence.
“Very well.” King Daeron. “I will speak with Maekar.”
Once the small council was dismissed, his grandsire approached him and said, “Your father would be proud of you, my dear grandson.”
***
Valarr waited for Bloodraven outside his chamber.
“Your Grace.”
“A word, my lord.”
His great-uncle led him into his chamber.
“My father was dead wearing my armor. Now my grandsire was on the brink of another with a sudden illness.” Valarr began. Then he looked at Bloodraven’s single red eye, “You know something.”
Bloodraven did not deny it. And yet all he had offered to Valarr was cryptics. “Spring sickness has plagued the entire King’s Landing after you depart to Ashford.”
“Am I to share the same fate as my father and my grandsire?” Valarr challenged.
“Our house will perish, Valarr.”
Aerion’s terrified words echoed in his mind.
But Bloodraven offered nothing, standing before him motionless.
Valarr pressed on, “I know that you see things, great-uncle. Past and future. Aerion often sought your knowledge. I know what you do. I know that your design reaches beyond personal matters. I simply wish to ensure the safety of the family I have left.”
Bloodraven slowly opened his grim mouth, “Something big is getting nearer, great-nephew. Some of our blood would believe themselves to be chosen to partake. Yet even the precious omega prince might not be enough."
The heart wore heavier in his chest.
“I do not care if I died. Or my father and grandsire.” Valarr said through clenched teeth, “Let Aerion live. I beg you.”
But more of Bloodraven’s passiveness left him frustrated.
“So I will be dead.” Valarr concluded. “Which of us must sit on that damned throne, then?”
His great uncle looked him dead in the eyes with his single red eye, “The most unlikely ones.”
***
In other words, he would die soon before he ever ascended to the throne for it seemed that he was the most likely one. Just like his father. He supposed from the very sickness The King carried himself right now.
But Valarr was tired. So tired.
His feet carried him to a place he visited each day without any passing thought.
Aerion had been mostly unconscious after Ashford, kept under the milk of poppy. But tonight, when the guard opened the door, Valarr found Aerion had risen from his bed. Still bruised because of the trial, yet fully conscious and awake.
Aerion sat by the ledge of his chamber window. He looked tender sitting there. Skin pale beneath the moonlight and hair swayed gently from the night winds.
Valarr thought he might never see Aerion like this again. And his heart ached with the thought.
“This city is disgusting.” Aerion said.
“I told you numerous times.” Valarr replied simply.
Several beats passed between them quietly.
Aerion sighed, “My father said that they’re sending me to Lys.”
Valarr had nothing to say.
Aerion continued, “And I heard that you attended the small council. Quiet as a mouse while they decided the fate of this disgraceful, useless omega prince.” Aerion laughed, “I’m too tired and injured to even be angry.”
“I argued for you to marry another Targaryen after you return to Westeros.” Valarr said.
“And who is the fortunate fellow?”
Valarr sighed, “The first candidate is Daeron—”
“Daeron!” Aerion burst into laughter. “It would be an honor to receive chlamydia from my brother.”
“And Matarys.” Valarr added tiredly. “And no, Daeron does not have chlamydia.”
Aerion lashed out, “Fuck my life. I can still hear him weeping every night from my chamber after uncle’s death! He is a green fucking boy!”
Valarr knew. Valarr knew Aerion wanted no answer except himself. And Valarr’s mind had been haunted by the same thought lately. So he understood the anger.
Upon remembering Maekar's words, his heart began to ache all over again.
Valarr's eyes stung when he said, “Uncle told me.” Aerion waited. “He had suggested to my father that we marry."
When Valarr looked up to Aerion, all he could see was rage.
“What? As if it changes anything?” Aerion’s voice sharpened. “If anything, I hate you even more.”
Aerion continued, voice full with venom, “Why does my father’s opinion matter more than mine? I told you, cousin, hell—I begged you. I never wanted to be an omega. I despise it. Yet I was more than willing to become the perfect one. For you! For this fucking realm. For our family!”
Aerion’s voice broke into something raw.
“And yet you pushed me away. You make me feel like a cheap whore you could discard whenever it is not befit your political agenda and your duty. You truly disgust me."
And Valarr could not bear the sight of hurt in Aerion's eyes. Pain after pain after pain. How much wound they shall inflict to one another?
Valarr sighed tiredly, “You made your point when you nearly knocked my teeth out.”
Aerion set his eyes with fury when he cursed. “Fuck you! I wished for far worse than knocking your teeth.”
Valarr clenched his jaw. It had been all doomed from the very beginning. Again, not because of anyone but himself.
Now that he knew he would die sooner rather than later. Valarr realized that he should have, truly should have simply chosen Aerion from the very beginning.
And now Aerion’s mare was being prepared for his departure to Lys at first light. Valarr could not stop thinking it might be the last time they would ever see each other.
So Valarr looked at Aerion. Trying to capture every essence of the love of his life for the very last time. His petunia eyes, his angry frown, and his familiar scent. Memories flooded through him like a bursting dam. Of the breeze of Summerhall, of every fish Aerion had caught, of the trees they had climbed, of every laughter escaped from them as they ran barefoot around the hills upon the fresh grass beneath.
“Aerion.” Valarr called.
My dearest. My first love. My youth.
“Begone with you, cousin.” Aerion sighed. One angry tear escaped from his eyes.
Valarr stepped closer, eliminating the distance he had always forced between them.
“Aerion.” Please.
Valarr begged and begged, though he knew the plea was meant for himself. For his own foolishness.
Aerion weakly pushed him when Valarr reached for his hand, threading their fingers the way Aerion always liked.
“I fucking hate you!” Aerion cried now. Every drop of tears felt like a blade tore Valarr’s heart again and again.
"Aerion."
A plea. A prayer. Worship.
And when Valarr kissed Aerion, he did it with warmth. And gentleness. Because Valarr could be nothing but with him. Still gentle when he pushed Aerion's hair from his sweaty forehead. When he kissed his eyes, his nose, and sucked every inch of Aerion’s skin. And when he insisted on breaching the forbidden place deep inside of Aerion.
And Aerion realized what Valarr was attempting to do.
“Val, stop. Too deep.” Every thrust sent shivers and moans from Aerion’s beautiful lips.
But Valarr firmly pushed and pushed. Eyes never left Aerion, burning the memories of him.
“Valarr. You can not. Please.” But Aerion opened his legs wider, canted his hips higher as Valarr kept breaching the muscle of resistance inside of Aerion.
Valarr had submerged completely to the lust though he knew it must be hurt for Aerion. It was the first time Valarr went this deep with him. They were always careful.
Aerion tried to push Valarr weakly but Valarr nudged his hips harder. And he slipped through.
Aerion trashed in his embrace.
“Shhh… trust me. Can you trust me, my love? My little dragon?” Valarr whispered. His own tears fell onto Aerion’s cheeks as he dragged his length deeper and deeper.
Valarr closed his eyes once he felt the burst of his seed filled Aerion’s forbidden place. He heard Aerion crying and moaning as his own gush of slick washed to existence upon Valarr’s growing knot.
Valarr nudged their foreheads together, trying to calm his omega down. Hushing voice in a calming tone.
But in the midst of Valarr’s knot, Aerion slapped his face so hard, “You selfish piece of shit!”
And Valarr caught Aerion's hand, kissed his knuckles— still, very gently.
Even until the very end.
***