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The village burns all around him.
Above, the sky has turned a hue of red on black. Acrid smoke fills the air and surely this must be hell on earth.
They could never have anticipated an attack of this scale from the northerners. How could they when they’d sat in their walled castles thinking the worst of those primitive barbarians.
Now said barbarians are raiding their shores, burning their villages to the ground.
Aerion recalls being separated from his family. His brothers, his cousin, his father.
It was the tall one that’d attacked him. That big brute of a warrior had charged at him, taken him unawares and his father had come to his aid but the man had struck Maekar down. Aerion had watched his father crumple under the blow.
Then he’d fought at Daeron’s side, their blades against the giant barbarian’s axe and shield. And then pain and darkness welcomed him.
Death. Surely that must have been it.
But Aerion’s head hurts terribly now as though he’d been struck.
His ears pick up the sound of waves crashing together, rolling in upon the shore. When had he gotten to the shore? No…perhaps he’s on a beach. Slowly Aerion opens his heavy eyelids.
At first all he sees are spots of black and brown but as his vision focuses, he realises that the brown seems to belong to the long straked planks at the bottom of some ship or boat. The black turns out to be dozens of booted feet. His mind doesn’t process any of it.
It must be a dream…surely…
Aerion pushes up on his hands, bound by thick cords of rope. He hears the roar of the waves and feels a mist of sea spray overboard.
That gets him.
Gods help him. He really is on a ship…one of those dragon headed war ships…and he is surrounded by invaders. Rows upon rows of them as they sat in their places.
If he is here then what about the rest of them? His brothers? His father? Had these invaders thought to take them too?
Slowly Aerion pushes up onto his feet, the boat rocking under him. His legs trembled as he fought to stay upright. It looked like they were sailing right into a storm. The heavy storm clouds up ahead were low on the horizon and Aerion could hear the ominous rumble overhead. He felt eyes upon him then, the invaders dressed in their furs and leathers glaring at him with hardened eyes.
Aerion suddenly felt small, like a child once more.
“The one you took’s awake!” one of them calls, wavy dark hair a mess upon his head, “He doesn’t look too happy neither.”
“Of course he wouldn’t. The slight thing must have the shock of his life.”
Aerion recognises the man who answered his friend. The tall giant of a man who had attacked them. He strides over now, hands hooked into his belt. He wore his sandy blond hair short, fringe all wet and plastered to his head. The warrior looked Aerion over with those haunting blue eyes and Aerion takes a step backwards, holding his gaze.
The man is tall, very much taller than Aerion who just barely came up to his chest.
“Had a good nap, little prince?”
Aerion scowled, “I am not little! You’re a giant!”
The warrior laughs and a ripple of laughter follows from his men as well, “That may be. Now sit down,” he orders.
“I am a prince, you brute.”
“Can see that,” the man replies easily, “An underfed prince too as it is.”
Aerion gulps that flicker of panic and humiliation running through him again as the other men on the ship laughed once more. He lifts his chin, glaring the warrior in his blue eyes, “You can’t order me around. I demand answers first.”
“Gods,” the man sighs eyes rolling heavenward, “Sit down before you get washed overboard with the waves. No one’ll catch you there so you’ll drown.”
“I’d rather drown than be here,” Aerion argues, “Where are my brothers? My father? Did you take them too?”
The man doesn’t answer him. Instead, he turns away.
‘The nerve of him!’
Aerion feels that fiery rage well up inside him and he attacks the barbarian, throwing himself at the big man’s back. Aerion strikes the giant with his bound hands, “Don’t you turn your back on me! I asked you a question!”
All at once the man rounds on him, grabbing Aerion by his bound wrists as he leans in close. He smelled like leather and the sea.
“And I asked you to sit. Down,” he growls teeth bared at him in a snarl of words.
“No,” Aerion answers evenly as he glares into the man’s striking blue eyes, “You don’t scare me,” he says and a chorus of ‘ooohhhs’ sounded over the waves. “I’m sure that if you wanted me dead, you would have killed me already. But you haven’t. So I must be of some use.”
The wind whipped up about them now and Aerion took a deep steadying breath, steeling his nerves.
“Ask your question then.”
“Where is my family and where are you taking me?”
“That’s two questions,” the man snorts as he leads Aerion by his bound hands towards the back row of the ship, “First, you’re not headed home that’s for damned sure. Second, your family left you.”
Aerion is forced into an empty bench now as a wave splashes over the side of the ship, drenching him entirely. A shiver runs up his spine as the water chills him to the bone.
“Th-they wouldn’t,” Aerion protests as he looks up at his captor. His father would never leave him and neither would Daeron. They were blood of the dragon. The only reason why Aerion would be left alone would be if they died.
“You killed them…didn’t you? You monster!” Aerion asks as he glares up at the man, “You struck my father down and my brother too.”
“Think what you want of me. It matters not,” the giant answers with a shrug, “You will stay in your seat if you know what’s good for you. If not I’ll give you a clout in the ear.”
The anger remained burning in his veins but Aerion stayed seated at the warrior’s threat.
Thordin, Dunk’s longship weathered the storm perfectly as they sailed across back to his chieftains lands. Lyonel of the Clan Baratheon had set off with them south to raid the villages and bring home the spoils. They had stormed the coast, burning the villages and taken their riches. The defending clansmen had been roused late and for once, the dragon fell to the stag.
The longships pull up to shore now back in safe harbours once more. All at once, warriors and shield maidens alike clambered over the sides of the ship, jumping into the surf all eager to meet their loved ones after the long voyage.
Dunk stayed upon the ship. He had no kith or kin. He had been an orphan raised by the old man, Arlan of Pennytree, a seasoned warrior who had pledged his blade to Lyonel, the chief of clan Baratheon. Naturally, Dunk had followed suit taking over Arlan’s place as leader on this last voyage since the old man had retired from the fighting to live up in the mountains. So Dunk was alone, as always.
“Oh there she is, I see her!” Raymun exclaims as he gets to his feet now waving excitedly from the deck to his redheaded wife.
Dunk grinned watching the way his shield-brother’s face lit up at the sight of her. Flame-haired Rowan had been a thrall once serving in the chief’s hall and she had always had a soft spot when it came to Raymun. They’d taken their vows just before Dunk and Raymun had set off on the voyage, months ago now. She had been with child or so the healers had said.
Turns out to be true for her belly is swelled now to bursting and her cheeks are flushed as she stands amongst the crowd waving to them.
“Go on,” Dunk tells him, jerking his chin to the fair lady, “I know you’re urging to take her in your arms.”
Raymun grins and vaults eagerly over the side of the longship splashing his way up the bank to envelope Rowan in a hug.
The benches of the longship were near empty now save for those who were bringing the ship in to shore and the captive that Dunk had taken on his ship. The pale, underfed prince was curled up on his bench. He had barely eaten much on the journey over nor had he talked. Dunk shouldn’t have lied to the boy. His kin had not perished at Dunk’s hands at all. The real truth of the matter lay in darker deeds.
Dunk had fought the silver-haired nobles off. They were all weak but they didn’t deserve to die. He had left them. It was the greed and lust of his clansmen that had gotten this stray trapped with him. Raymun’s cousin, Steffon of the Red Apple had thought to take this one for his new thrall. Dunk had been in the midst of arguing with the man when reinforcements from the enemy side had come.
The easiest thing had been to retreat and so Dunk did…with the unconscious prince tossed over one shoulder.
Now he lies in Dunk’s longship but he wouldn’t be there for long. It would be custom for the spoils and the thralls to be brought before the chief. He would be rid of the problem soon enough.
Or so he thought.
By early evening, the clansmen had gathered in the great hall to be addressed by their chief. Lyonel had fought with them and now he spoke in that same booming voice that had earned him the name Laughing Storm.
“My fellow warriors,” Lyonel addresses them, “tonight we will feast, knowing that our families will not starve this winter! Our raids and plunder have offered us means to trade for food and for that we must thank the Gods who have provided for us. It has been said by the seeress that this winter will be the harshest one that we have ever known and so tonight, every man and woman who fought will have their pick of the spoils,” he says his hand sweeping over the array of gold and riches.
There were candlesticks taken from their southern altars. Bolts of beautiful fine cloth. Casks of rich wine. And the captives…
Some were monks, with their heads oddly shaven. Others were nobles. And then there was the silver-haired prince. The young man sat with his back all rigid, shoulders drawn. His clothes had been fine once before and he’d been armoured too, in the finest of steel. Dunk had stripped him off it on the ship. It would have drowned the slight thing with his sharp eyes and his sharp features.
He thought now of what he might choose when it came to his turn.
Gold would be a good choice. He could barter it at the market for new furs, maybe a new sword and whetstone too and perhaps some silver to make armour. The prince’s armour would be in amongst the spoils. Dunk could take it for his own and have it melted down and recast into something that might fit him.
“Dunk!” he feels an elbow dig into his ribs, “We’ve got a problem.”
Dunk looks to Raymun now, his shield-brother’s face drawn taut, “What is it?”
“I hear tell, my cousin intends to claim the little prince this evening as his prize,” Raymun says voice all urgent-like.
“And?” Dunk prompts, “It’s none of our business now, Raymun. We’ve already saved him once. To the victor the spoils,” he says quoting their chief’s words, “Any man can take whatever he wants.”
“Then you take him!” Raymun urges.
“Don’t be daft now,” Dunk chides, “That one doesn’t like me. He’ll come kicking and screaming and I’ll not have some highborn thrall kicking a fuss up in my house over some nonsense and the like.”
“Gods above…none of them ever like us, you great ox! We’ve taken them from their homes,” Raymun argues.
“Still, some of them came willingly,” Dunk points out, “Your Rowan for one is among that lot.”
“Look I’d wager, with that hair and those eyes, you can get a good price for him. You keep him safe through the winter and then you can ransom him back to that family of his which he keeps going on about,” Raymun continues in earnest.
Dunk’s jaw tightens as his gaze flits over to the silver-haired prince. Across the distance their eyes meet for just a second, lilac orbs narrowing in contempt before he lifted his chin in disdain and turned away.
“Why don’t we let the chief have him?” Dunk counters, “He knows the boy’s worth. He’ll want to take him first, surely.”
“When have you ever seen our chief take his spoils first?” Raymun snorts.
“Fair point,” Dunk rumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he watched men and women going up in their turn to take their share.
Very casually, his eyes slid over towards Steffon. The man had already been drinking heavily it seems for his face is all mead-flushed. In addition to that, he did not hide the way he was staring intently at the silver-haired prince. Dunk read the lascivious hunger upon his features, saw the crude gesture he made to one of his band of men. If the prince is taken by Steffon he will end up on his back, legs spread to serve the whole lot of the Red Apple and his men before the night is over.
Something akin to worry flickered in Dunk’s chest at that for bed thralls were the worst and lowest of their lot. There is no doubt about that.
“If you don’t take him now,” Raymun says quietly, “My cousin surely will. And you know what Steffon does with the pretty ones…” he says voice strained, “He’ll break your prince before the week is out and then toss him to his crew when he tires of him.”
Dunk’s stomach turned at the thought of the silver-haired prince being thrown to the wolves. He had seen it happen before. Steffon was a greedy, lustful man. Dunk’s gaze wandered over to the new thrall once again, he seemed so small compared to the rest of them. Yet there was a fire that burned within him. Dunk remembers how he’d radiated with a ferocity upon the deck of his longship.
‘You don’t scare me.’
Mercy is one thing and foolishness is another. Dunk did not need any more trouble on his hands.
“If you want to save him so much, why don’t you take him?” Dunk asks, “You’re going to need a thrall when the babe in your wife’s belly comes.”
“I…already took my share…” Raymun reveals as he shows Dunk a jewel encrusted dagger, “It’s for the boy…which I hope we’ll have. Though don’t you tell Rowan.”
“Gods be good….” Dunk hisses, knowing there is no other choice, “I’ll hate you for this.”
“I know,” Raymun answers with a tight smile as Dunk steps forward just moments before Steffon thought to do the same.
“Duncan the Tall!” their chief calls with a grin, beckoning Dunk forward, “Come, come you fought bravely, more so than anyone else. Come and have your pick.”
“Jarl Lyonel,” Dunk greets clasping hands with the chief, “I would suggest for you to keep the fair-haired one.”
Lyonel let out a booming laugh, “I have a better suggestion,” he says one arm slinging around Dunk’s shoulder, “Take him for yourself. You’ve already saved him once. Perhaps he’ll find a way to thank you for that.”
“He…doesn’t know…” Dunk answers.
Lyonel tuts in a severe showing of mock disapproval, “Best you set things right then, big man,” he says as he slaps Dunk’s back twice and shoves him forward, “Take him for your own.”
Dunk trips up on his feet as the chief shoves him off. He gulps feeling apprehension roiling in his gut as he approaches the thralls. There are seven of them and the fair-haired prince sits at the very end, hands still bound, eyes cast away from him.
Aerion felt the tension in the air, felt eyes upon him as the hall seemed to darken. A shadow fell over him and he turned towards the presence, eyes rising from booted feet to a familiar face. Not this warrior again. The man seemed to be haunting him to no end. From the longship to this hall. Aerion narrowed his eyes at the man. He had been rather content to sit here the whole evening and observe these barbarians have their pick of the spoils. But it was slowly becoming clear to him that he himself, is a part of said spoils.
Now, it would appear that this warrior had chosen him as he stands there hands hooked into his belt, blue eyes all icy.
“You,” he says that thick square chin jutting out at him, “You’re mine now.”
The words alone riled him up to no end and Aerion hocked a ball of spit at the barbarian’s feet, “I refuse,” he says hearing a ripple of voices all about them, “I am no man’s spoil, giant barbarian.”
“He doesn’t want you, Dunk the Tall!” comes another raised voice off to the side, “Best let a real man have him!”
Dunk the Tall? That is the warrior’s name? It would certainly fit his giant oak tree stature.
Again, that thinly veiled look of annoyance crosses the big man’s face and Aerion watched him struggle not to roll his eyes. His great chest expanded as he heaved a breath, shoulders rising and falling while he exhaled. Then, the man crouched so that they were now eye to eye. He reached out a large hand and Aerion flinched, drawing back.
But it is a gentle touch settled about his bound wrists now and he smelled the warrior’s sea salt and leather scent as he leaned in close, “Listen well, little prince,” the voice said, “You fought well enough against me for a southern princeling and I know I do not scare you. You have fire in you. So, I suggest you come with me, if not you’ll end up in the hands of ol’ Steffon over there,” the man says jerking his head over to the one who had previously spoken.
Aerion’s eyes flicked over to the one called Steffon. The man held a horn of drink and he looked terribly hungry so much so that it unsettled Aerion. But still…
“I will not go with a man who slaughtered my kin!” Aerion snarled, “I’ll take my chances with your friend.”
“See?!” Steffon guffawed, “The boy wants me instead. Grance!” he hollers for his second, “Go and get him.”
“You stay where you are,” Dunk roars as he stops Steffon’s second-in-command, “I’m not done here.”
He turns back to the fair-haired prince now, defiant lilac eyes still glaring openly at him, “You are a fool to choose swine like him,” Dunk hisses as he yanks upon the princeling’s bound hands drawing the boy up, “If it should set you at ease, then I will tell you that I did not slay your kin.”
“Liar!” came the reply as the prince tugged back on the ropes, pulling away from Dunk.
“Enough!” Dunk snarls as he grabs roughly at the slight frame of the prince now, hands clamping down on both shoulders as he shakes him slightly, “I’ll not have your nonsense fighting any longer,” he seethes watching those lilac eyes widen ever so slightly, “I claim you as my share and that is that. No one else will touch you. You shall eat and drink your fill. You will share my hearth and come spring I will ransom you back to your family.”
“If you speak the truth and spared them, then know this,” Aerion answers him, “My father, my uncle, my brothers? They will not spare you. They will not pay you a single coin. Instead, they will have your head.”
Dunk huffs a laugh, “I should like to see them try to take it,” he sneers, “They do not know where to find us. And for all they know, you are dead to the world,” he continues seeing fear flicker for a moment in those strange lilac eyes, “Now, you will come quietly with me and not fight me on every step or, I will oblige your request and personally deliver you to Steffon myself. Then you can see what a real barbarian is like.”
Aerion’s lips press into a thin line now as he held the barbarian’s gaze steadily.
“What should I call you?” the man asks.
“I am Aerion of house Targaryen descended from the blood of dragons.”
“Aye, that would be reason enough as to why your nose is always in the air,” Dunk snarks with a shake of his head, “I am Duncan the Tall. You may call me Dunk.”
“Dunk,” Aerion tries the name on his tongue. It is simple, very fitting for this rough-looking giant of a man.
“Aye, that’s it. With me, you need only wait a few seasons before you can go back to your silk and towers, my prince,” the big man says, “Come now and walk, or I will lift you over a shoulder and carry you out if needs be.”
For once, Aerion obeys as he walks behind the giant barbarian. The alternative alone made him flush with indignity. Aerion is sure that this Dunk would likely deliver on his promise to toss him over a shoulder and carry him out. His one hand alone is enough to hold both of Aerion’s bound ones as it is. He bites the inside of his cheek now as Dunk cuts through the crowd. It feels like everyone gathered in the hall is staring at him with their foreign eyes.
He knows only two names so far. Dunk, which is this tall giant and Steffon, the one with the hungry wolfish smirk who even now, watches Aerion like a hawk.
The feast would last for nine days and nights. This Aerion learned from a flame-haired lady by the name of Rowan. She had been a former thrall and now she is married to one of the barbarians, Raymun of the Green Apple. Shield-brother to Dunk, his supposed master and also cousin to the lecherous Steffon.
“Tell me again what your husband told you about the giant,” Aerion demands of the woman as they sit together at a trestle table.
“Right,” Rowan answers nursing her horn of honeyed mead, “It’s as I told you before, the giant, who’s name is Dunk,” she reminds, “Saved you when they were on your lands. It was him what took you on his longship back home because Steffon tried to have his way with you.”
“While I was unconscious?” Aerion asks because he doesn’t remember any of this at all. For all he knows it could be a well spun tale and this Dunk was the one that wished to have his way with Aerion.
“Tis’ true!” Rowan insists, “My Raymun did see it. His cousin had you all laid out on a table. That Steffon’s a mean one indeed he—”
Aerion stomach turned in disgust as he held up his hand to stop her, thinking better he did not need to know the sordid details.
“So you think I am safe with Dunk then?” Aerion asks.
“He’s the safest after my Raymun of course,” Rowan offers.
Aerion lets out a derisive snort, “Why because he doesn’t just fuck the thralls?”
“Oh he does,” Rowan answers with a laugh, “Don’t think because he’s all nice that he doesn’t have his needs. He’s got an appetite that one he does. But he treats everyone with respect, bed thralls included.”
Aerion can at least attest to the fact that the man had kept his word of keeping Aerion fed and watered. The past three nights had passed uneventfully. Aerion had been given a thin straw pallet bed to sleep on with a lumpy pillow and some furs for blankets. He had not expected it but there had been an aloof sort of kindness in Dunk’s actions. And at least Aerion had not felt the chill.
“I have no need for you to sit and keep me company,” Aerion tells Rowan now watching her eyes wandering, “Go and seek your husband out to dance or something. I am fine on my own.”
“Oh no, Dunk said you might say that. Next thing I know you’re running off back to take a ship to sail,” Rowan says with a shake of her head, “I’ll be sitting here watching you. Can’t dance anyway,” she continues pointing to her rounded belly.
“It’s not good for the baby,” another voice cuts in and Aerion finds the wavy haired man approaching. Rowan’s husband, Raymun. At his side is the giant with two horns of honeyed mead. He holds one out to Aerion who simply shakes his head at the offering as he makes space beside him for the big man who climbs into the seat beside him.
“I overheard the chief making plans for another voyage come spring,” Dunk says.
“Spring is still a long way away,” Aerion replies coldly, “Who knows where I’ll be by then.”
Dunk frowns at the prince’s negativity, eyes shooting Raymun a meaningful look across the table. ‘This isn’t working. I will not have him sulking under my roof all winter.’
“Pennytree Hall is nice at winter time, so I hear” Raymun says brightly, hoping to help the situation along.
“Pennytree Hall?” the prince asks, seemingly interested, “Where is that?”
“Dunk’s home,” Raymun continues, “Up in the forest outside this settlement.”
“You mean the place we currently reside in isn’t your home?” Aerion asks.
“It is the chief’s,” Dunk answers, “We use it at the gathering for voyages across the seas. Once the celebrations are over we each return to our own halls for the winter.”
So this is only a temporary stop. There is still more journeying to be had.
“I’m going to get some more fruits,” Rowan announces as she pushes up carefully from the table.
“I’ll go with you,” Raymun answers.
And Dunk wishes that he might get up and follow as well. Words have never been his strong suit and now the silence is more apparent than ever. Dunk downs the second horn which had been intended for Aerion now as he racks his brains for something to say.
“How are you settling in?”
“I wish to retire for the evening.”
Dunk feels an utter fool for even bothering to ask.
“I shall walk you back then,” Dunk offers as he stands.
“I don’t want your company. I’m capable of finding my way on my own,” Aerion answers, voice quiet, “You can stay and enjoy your evening. There is no need to pretend at abstinence and celibacy on my account,” he continues pushing up from the seat, “I bid you goodnight.”
A roiling anger bubbles up in Dunk as he stares at the silver-haired prince’s departure. Fine. Let him wander about on his own then and let trouble come for him. Dunk had hovered like a watchful hound for naught. Since his efforts were not wanted or needed he turned his thoughts to other things like the dancers, pushing that inkling of worry into the back of his mind.
Aerion cut through the celebrations in the great hall, the place smelled like woodsmoke and roasting fat on open fire. He watched men and women celebrating with mead and coupling in dark corners. There were dancers, dressed in flimsy robes. Everywhere he looked he saw people gathered in pairs and groups some stole looks at him and smirked from darkened corners. Others sneered at him and bared their teeth.
Nevertheless, Aerion held his head high and made for the nearest exit.
Only just as he was approaching it he was stopped, “Where are you going, little prince? Did the big giant of a man not satisfy you?”
Aerion fixed his eyes upon Steffon Fossoway with his red-blond hair and smug grin, “I have no need for your crude jokes,” Aerion snarks, “I am not interested in either of you.”
“Ahh, but I am interested in you, thrall,” Steffon husks as he shoves Aerion roughly back up against the wall, “You ever taken a real man’s cock before, princeling?” he asks grabbing Aerion’s chin.
“I am sure that yours will be nothing impressive,” Aerion dodges as he feels the man’s fingers digging into his flesh.
Steffon lets out an almost satisfied hum, “You are much more fiery than I expected,” he purrs, “I think I like you much better like this.”
“Do you now?” Aerion counters, “You prefer something livelier compared to an unconscious husk all layed out on a table for you?”
Steffon guffaws at that head thrown back as he pats Aerion’s cheek none too lightly, “Heard about that did you, thrall? Would’ve had my way with you had that stupid giant not interfered and carried you off on his shoulder.”
‘So it’s true…’
“Come,” Steffon orders gripping Aerion’s shoulder tight now as he steered him over towards a corner where a barrel of honeyed mead stood. He dipped a horn into it and then reached into a pouch at his belt to sprinkle something into the drink before he pressed it into Aerion’s hands.
“Drink up, it’ll warm you well and good now.”
“What did you put in it?”
“Special herbs fresh off the land,” Steffon answers, “nothing harmful of course, I won’t give you nothing that I won’t take myself.”
Aerion arches a brow at him, “You drink it then,” he says offering the horn to Steffon.
“It is my gift to you, princeling. You will drink it or else,” his hand flicks to the dagger at his belt in a silent threat, steel glinting in the firelight.
Aerion is weaponless. Were he armed, he might very well gut the bastard. Better that he drink this poisoned brew and live to see another day or die by some dagger wound. Or perhaps he’ll die from the poison. There’s only one way to know and Aerion lifts the horn of honeyed mead to his lips and drinks deeply to spite the man.
The mead was sweet, more so than what Aerion had taken the day before in Dunk’s tent. It took a moment for the heat to settle low in his belly and his breath hitched, coming short and ragged. His heart pumped harder in his chest now and Aerion felt a growing heat taking over, skin flushing crimson. He stumbled backwards against the barrel of mead, catching himself on it, fingers clutching on tight.
“What in the devil…?” Aerion breathed as fire licked hot under his skin. His cock hardened in his laced breeches now, straining against the material as a humiliating little whimper escaped from his throat before he could stop himself.
Steffon’s hand landed heavy on Aerion’s shoulder, cupping the column of his neck, “There now, feels good doesn’t it?” he asks, “That heat’s the herb working. It’ll burn through your veins and keep you all riled up till you get fucked proper. That’s the only cure for it,” he husks breath all sour and stale, “Come on pretty one, you’re lucky my tents close by.”
“I have no need for your hospitality,” Aerion growls, voice strained, intent on putting distance between them. The world tilted unpleasantly as he tried to jerk away from Steffon’s possessive hold. The ground seemed to be as unsteady as the roiling seas which Aerion had been upon when he’d woken up in this nightmare.
Heat surged low in his belly, sharp and coiling now as a wave of desire drew another embarrassing sound from him.
“Easy now, my princeling,” Steffon murmured, stepping closer, “There’s no need for you to rush off,” he coos, one hand moving to rest upon the curve of Aerion’s hip, pushing up on his tunic, “Let me have a look at you, hm?”
Aerion spits at him, taking the man by surprise as he slaps him right across the face, “I am no whore!” he snarls, “You will not treat me as such!”
“Oh you are not in any state to be making demands! Struggle all you like, little prince,” Steffon continues, one hand pressed to his cheek, “It’ll make it all the sweeter once I bed you,” he says half pulling and half dragging Aerion towards the exit.
Aerion used his weight to counter the movement, dragging them back. When Steffon turned and tried to get him to move, Aerion drove his elbow into the man’s ribs catching him with enough force as to make him grunt. But he wasn’t free. His head spins as each inhale burns hot in his lungs. His skin prickles over as Steffon crowds him into the wall, “Fine, since you are so eager I’ll take you right here.”
Whatever was in the mead made Aerion crave to be touched. His body turned traitor against him as Steffon tugged at his tunic, those hands reached for the lacings upon his breeches fingers deftly pulling at them.
Aerion whimpered, that stubborn Targaryen pride refusing to let him cry out. Someone would see his resistance, surely. Someone would stop this from happening. But as he was spun around, chest pressed into the wooden wall, Aerion felt panic flutter through him and he made a single choice to call that man’s name.
“Dunk!” he yelled, “Duncan!”
The name tore from him as he thrashed and elbowed his way out from Steffon. Again, the world seemed to tip and Aerion swayed upon his feet only to feel a massive brick wall spring up behind to catch him.
The scent of sea salt and leather enveloped him at once and Aerion felt Dunk’s hand close about his wrist, drawing him behind his back.
“I thought I told you to keep your hands off him?” Dunk ground out voice low and dangerous.
“Your princeling came to me,” Steffon lies calmly, “He drank my mead and asked to leave for somewhere else because he felt dizzy.”
“You cornered me and tried to force yourself upon me!” Aerion accuses as he lunges at the man, only to be held back by the giant’s large arms wrapping about him.
“Easy,” Dunk says noting the terrible flush on the prince’s cheeks, “We do not wish to cause a scene.” Then he turns to fix Steffon with a cold glare, taking a few steps such that he towered right over the man, “Touch him again and I’ll feed you your own cock,” Dunk threatens, “Now begone you swine. Go find someone else for your bed tonight.”
“You can’t keep watching over him forever, Dunk the lunk,” Steffon scoffs as he pushes past Dunk.
As soon as the man is gone, Aerion shrugs the giant’s grip off him, “You can let me go now,” he says trying to hide the quiver in his voice, “I’m fine.”
“Are you? Truly?” Dunk asks as he crooked a finger under Aerion’s chin lifting the prince’s face to catch the light. He noticed it, the subtle way Aerion’s eyes darkened and his lips pressed together as though to stifle any sort of noise. Not to mention the fierce crimson flush that sat high upon those cheeks and spread to his ears.
“Yes,” Aerion answers as he takes a step back.
“Come, I’m walking you back and I won’t take no for an answer,” Dunk insists.
Aerion closed his mouth biting back the protest on his tongue as he let the warrior lead him away, that big callused palm burning into his bruised wrist.
That strange heat did not seem to ease even as Aerion curled up on his bed set low to the ground. He wanted to crawl beneath the furs naked and let the cold air caress his skin. But that would be madness especially with that big oaf shuffling about behind him! If only Daeron were here, he might know what poison Aerion had ingested and how to get rid of it.
Blindly he tugged at the laces on tunic, loosening the fabric that the cold air might kiss his neck and cool him. There’s also the matter of the tightness in his breeches…Aerion presses a hand over the tented bulge and true enough he is hard and only growing harder.
Aerion whimpers, a desperate little needy sound as he presses into the thin straw mattress. Sweat beads upon his brow and his hips twitch, rocking forward into the mattress. Somehow, he finds pleasure in the subtle friction of thrusting against the mattress and Aerion hates himself for the baseness of such an act. But he could not bring himself to stop.
“Aerion…?”
The warriors voice made him still his movements. He’d quite forgotten there was another person sharing the space with him. His skin prickles
“What is it?” he asks trying to keep his voice even as he lay in that small pallet not daring to turn around. Aerion felt a flash of heat course through him when he heard Dunk’s deep booted footsteps crossing the room. He felt the warrior’s presence behind him now and went deathly still, eyes staring at the cracks in the wall.
“Is something the matter with you?” Dunk asks one hand curling about his shoulder now as he turns Aerion onto his back.
For the first time Aerion sees concern in those blue eyes as the man looks down at him, studying him all intently.
“Seven Hells, stop looking at me,” Aerion rasps trying to turn away. But tonight, that hand feels nice and warm about his shoulder, “Please just…turn away I—” he broke off on a whimper, body trembling under Dunk’s hand, responding to the warrior’s touch.
“Gods be good…” Dunk grouses, piecing together the reason for Aerion’s flushed skin, “There was something in the drink wasn’t there? The one Steffon gave you?”
Aerion gulps but nods his head, “I don’t know what it is but…it feels…like I’m burning up from the inside.”
“Aye, you must be,” Dunk mutters eyes trailing down Aerion’s body now, lingering no doubt upon the tented bulge between his legs.
Aerion closes his eyes, whimpering in shame now as Dunk eyed him.
“Fire moss,” Dunk says, “Must’ve been that. It’s the only thing round these parts that can give you the heat you’re feeling in your veins. Thing is…” he pauses seemingly hesitant now, “There’s only one way to stop it.”
“What way?” Aerion asks eyeing Dunk, “Tell me at once.”
Again, hesitation flickers in the warrior’s eyes, “Wait here, I will fetch someone to take care of you.”
Aerion grips the warrior’s arm tight before he can stand, “No! Absolutely not,” he snarls, “I will not have any more people privy to such an…embarrassing state of mine! Whatever it is surely you can take care of it! So tell me the cure, at once!”
“You wouldn’t like it,” Dunk huffs a laugh as he eyes Aerion’s hands upon his arm. They are delicate hands pale and smooth. They have never seen proper work.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he insists.
Dunk is no stranger to the needs of the body. He’s had countless bedmates before tonight and he took what he wanted whenever the need arose. Yet somehow he finds his ears burning as he tells the prince, “You will need a good fucking,” Dunk tells him, voice low in the confines of their shared chambers, “Nothing like that sweet lovemaking it is you southerners do. But something harder, wilder, until the poison’s truly spent from your veins. Otherwise, the fever takes you or your heart gives out.”
“You jest!” Aerion lets out a broken, near hysterical laugh now as he pushes up onto his elbows, “Surely…this isn’t…that serious. I can use my hand to spend,” Aerion suggests.
“You could. But you’ll find it doesn’t work.”
Aerion’s body trembled his hole clenching needily as a whimper fell from his lips. This cannot be his fate, “Wh-what are you suggesting then?” he asks voice sounding terribly small.
“Since you do not wish for anyone else to know then the only other way would be for me to aid your situation…and…lie with you.”
Aerion’s eyes widened at that. The barbarian is offering to lie with him!?
“No,” Aerion ground out, “I’ll take my chances with my hand then.”
“And when it is not enough, you’ll come to me and ask me for it and I’ll say no.”
“You insolent—!” Aerion lashed out only for his arm to be caught in Dunk’s hand as the viking pinned it to his bed.
“Either you take my offer as it stands now, or I will leave you to perish,” Dunk husks, “Already you have invited more trouble than is necessary for me.”
“If you regret is so much then perhaps you shouldn’t have taken me under your roof!” Aerion hisses arching up as he struggled in Dunk’s grip, eyes burning with defiance.
“Aye, perhaps I shouldn’t have,” Dunk agrees, “More fool am I going to the trouble to save you twice with no reward.”
“Surely lying with a prince would be the greatest reward you’ve ever had,” Aerion snarks, brow arching in question, “I don’t imagine there would be many lining up to warm your bed Duncan the Tall, you’d sooner crush them.”
“On the contrary you should see the offers I get every time we return from a long voyage. The thrall’s adore a man my size,” he husks as he slips his arms under the prince’s form and gathers Aerion up in his arms like he weighed nothing.
Aerion lets out a soft yelp, his arms hooking about the viking’s neck immediately as the world shifted. This close his heart raced and blood rushed loud, roaring in his ears. Dunk’s sea salt and leather scent enveloped him and Aerion leans his head close, burying his face against Dunk’s neck as he lets out a soft sigh. The sound mortifies and delights him all at once. He blames the fire moss, the poison burning in his veins.
In truth, he has never had a lover before not at the Keep or even secretly in the pleasure districts. Unlike his brother Daeron who indulged in the bodily pleasures, Aerion kept his needs something private. Either a hand or his trusted candle would do the trick. He had never trusted anyone enough to let them see him vulnerable, naked and wanting and now…
Dunk deposits the prince upon his large bed, darkened lilac eyes glare up at him.
“You will not speak of this again after today,” Aerion tells him in a fierce whisper as pale fingers work to unlace his tunic and breeches. “You will not look at me either while you take me. And when it is done you will leave me be and forget such a thing ever happened, giant.”
“Aye, I’ll do what is need to keep you alive, little prince. Nothing more and nothing less,” he says as he reaches to brush the prince’s fumbling hands aside to help him.
Dunk makes quick work of the ties and laces, pulling tunic, breeches and smalls off that slighter frame to reveal smooth pale skin. The prince is entirely flawless without a scar upon his body and his starlight silver hair, worn long, is like a shimmery halo about his head. Despite all his expertise, Dunk has never witnessed such beauty before and his mouth runs dry as his eyes take in the prince’s writhing form. He would be a fool and a liar to say he was unaffected.
Aerion’s chest rose and fell in soft, panting breaths and Dunk, who had not even undressed himself kneels upon his bed now, large hands moving to span across the prince’s waist. Aerion’s breath hitched at the simple touch and he whimpered involuntarily. Dunk trailed his hands up those slim sides, thumbs moving over his ribs till they flicked over pebbled nipples. The prince let out a soft cry at that, skin utterly sensitive.
Dunk shifted his touch back to Aerion’s waist, “On your knees,” he rumbles voice all low and strained as he helps Aerion to turn over onto his belly, guiding him onto his knees.
Aerion let the barbarian guide him, hands planted upon the furs now as his arms trembled while he braced himself. His hair fell to cover his already flushed face and Aerion felt suddenly rather exposed as Dunk’s large callused hands stroked down his back, over his hips.
“I hate this,” Aerion hisses, hips already twitching backwards involuntarily, his hole clenching on nothing, “This…this is too exposed…I—ah…” his body jerks as Dunk’s hands cupped his arse, kneading softly, “I am not just some thrall to be mounted!”
“By anyone else’s account, you most certainly are,” Dunk husks, “And you know the consequences if I don’t help you,” Dunk continues simply as he continued to rub soothing circles upon the prince’s pert arse cheeks. He knelt behind Aerion now, hands spreading those pale cheeks as he set to work.
Aerion meant to snap at the man for such a forward movement for prying him open like this without dignity. But that first, hot, wet drag of the viking’s tongue across his hole tore a broken moan from his throat instead. The barbarian’s mouth was relentless as he began to devour Aerion with his tongue.
Dunk licked over the tight furl of muscle again and again, tongue pressing all flat and firm in a devastatingly thorough motion before circling the rim and pushing inside him. The sensation was unlike anything Aerion had ever felt before. No ordinary candle up his arse could ever compare and he moaned wantonly.
Dunk worked lower too, lapping at Aerion’s taint, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there before he returned to the fluttering hole already glistening wet with his saliva. He sucked and licked and thrusted with a fervour till the obscenely wet noises filled the room they shared.
It isn’t long before Aerion began to push back wantonly onto Dunk’s face, hips rocking almost eagerly as he felt the scrape of Dunk’s stubbled jaw. He tells himself that it’s the poison that’s making him work himself all wantonly open like this. Tells himself that the poison is what’s making him moan. But Seven Hells, Dunk’s tongue felt so impossibly good all hot and slick, so unlike anything he’d ever felt there. Each stroke of that tongue sends sparks racing up his spine as his cock drips steadily unto the furs beneath him.
Aerion felt the rumble of Dunk as the warrior groaned against his skin, nuzzling his arse like some prize. It made him shudder to be treated like this.
“That’s it…open for me, my prince,” Dunk praises, “Such a good boy.”
Aerion whines at the words, “Not a boy,” he cries, hearing that deep rumble of a laugh.
He felt his hole being stretched out as one finger dipped into him and then a second. They joined Dunk’s tongue in teasing him open. It felt almost too perfect and yet Aerion knew it was the fire moss, the poison burning in his veins that demanded such embarrassing things of him. Aerion worked himself harder now, rocking back against Dunk as he chased that heated sensation, curses and whimpers falling from him.
When Dunk finally pulls back to survey his work, Aerion was a pretty mess, his hole slicked and glistening with Dunk’s spit. It twitched under his gaze, needing something to fill it, something which he would provide, for the sake of saving the prince’s life. Or so Dunk tells himself as he rises up on his knees. He pulls off his tunic and moved to unlace his breeches as he drew his hardened length out.
Aerion trembled at the thick, heavy slap of the viking’s cock against his arse. He bit down on his lower lip as the man rutted against him. Aerion could feel every inch of him, that heavy, blunt heat of the warrior’s shaft sliding up against the crack of his arse. He felt…big…just as big as the rest of him. Aerion’s heart skipped when he heard the pop of a cork and smelled a heady sweetness. Dunk’s cock slid up against him easier now as a slicked oil was dribbled against his opening.
Curiosity is what made Aerion turn about. He wanted a glimpse of the viking warrior who would be his first.
So he looked.
And something like regret mixed in with excitement pulsed through him.
The warrior’s cock is by far the largest that Aerion had ever laid eyes upon. Dunk was easily as thick as Aerion’s own wrist. Dark and veined. Aerion sucked in a breath as all the bravado left him filled instead with panic.
“No,” he gasps, scrambling forward on the furs, away from Dunk, “There’s no way you’re putting that monstrosity in me! You must be mad! You’ll split me in two you giant brute!”
Dunk looks down at himself. He’s never had a problem with his former bedmates, both male and female. They’d willingly taken him and they’d been glad about his size too. Now the prince here on the other hand looked incredibly panicked. Dunk curled a hand about Aerion’s slim ankle now and drew the prince back down to him with easy strength, “Easy, my prince,” he husks, letting his hand stroke up Aerion’s thigh, squeeze his hip encouragingly, “I will go slow for you, I promise. I won’t hurt you any more than I have to…”
Aerion twisted onto his back, heart still racing in his chest as that callused hand caressed his thigh. The viking looked tense almost but at least he was waiting…
“You…you swear it?” he demands now, voice cracking, “You swear to be careful with me, barbarian? Because…I’ve never had a—” Aerion breaks off on a gasp as Dunk’s body pressed up against his now, his weight deliciously heavy as it pinned Aerion down against the furs.
Dunk braced an arm beside the prince’s head, the other reaching to line himself up as he pressed against Aerion’s opening, “I swear it,” Dunk husks in promise, “Now breathe for me and let me take care of the rest.” Something ached in his chest for the prince now. To be his first…in such a twisted manner…it wasn’t right. But that is how fate had ordained it and Dunk is powerless against the fates.
Aerion nods wordlessly now as he gazed up into those tender blue eyes. He tried to draw in even breaths as he closed his eyes, doing his best not to think about the size of the man who was about to breach him. Heat fluttered low in his belly again as Dunk pressed himself against Aerion’s entrance all hot and insistent.
“Slow…” he hears the viking repeat, “Slow…” he husks as he pushes forward.
Aerion’s head fell back against the furs, body arching up as a strangled moan tore from his throat at the thick press of Dunk’s cock that breached him.
“Dunk!” he cries softly hand flitting to curl about the warrior’s tensed bicep.
‘Gods…I’m dying…’ the thought spears into his mind. It was the only thing that made sense as the poison burned in his veins. It he thought the poison was bad…well…perhaps this is worse and he should have insisted on using his hand for Dunk is impossibly huge, very much more so compared to Aerion’s pleasure candle. This was a real life hot-blooded man who is easing into him and it burned, made his inner walls flutter wildly, clenching about the blunt invasion of Dunk’s cock. Every inch that the viking sunk into him sent sparks of fullness shooting up his spine.
Still, Dunk continued to ease into him, soft, low grunts falling from his lips as he shook with the effort of holding back.
Aerion slapped a hand against the viking’s chest, fingers curling against the coarse hairs, “Slow…Dunk…you said slow…please…!” he whimpers voice turning all small and desperate now, “You’re…too big…too much,” his breath hitched as Dunk’s cock slid into him, large hands gripped tight about his thighs now as though the big man had to ground himself to stop, “Slow, Seven Hells…please, I’m begging you…you eager fuck—! Giant!”
Dunk grit his teeth, his body trembling with the effort of staying where he is. Aerion is deliciously tight. There’s no doubt in his mind now that the prince is a virgin. “Hush…!” Dunk grits out voice all rough and ragged, “You’re the one that’s too damned tight,” he grouses, “Clamping down on me…like you…don’t want to let me go. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying, my prince…”
Aerion whines at that, chest heaving as those lilac eyes glared up accusingly at Dunk.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Dunk growls, hips inching forward and making the prince whimper, “Should’ve told me you’re an unspoiled virgin.”
Aerion throws an arm over his eyes at that, the words like a verbal punch to the face, “It…wasn’t necessary for you to be privy to that information.”
“Aye? And now you’re the one that’s suffering.”
“It’s your fault,” Aerion accuses.
“My fault?” Dunk asks as he grips the prince’s arm and wrenches it off his face, “Look at me,” he commands noting the way the prince trembled under him, lilac eyes fluttering open on his command, “Did I poison you, hm?” he asks, pinning that slender wrist to the bed as he rolled his hips into Aerion slowly, “Did I spike your damned mead with fire moss?”
Aerion refused to answer, but he sucked in soft breaths through those parted lips, lilac eyes half glazed as Dunk continued to ease into him.
“I offered to walk you back but your pride had you turning me down. Who’s to say this is not of your own doing?” Dunk husks, “You reap what you sow.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Arion hisses as he writhed under Dunk, that stretch easing slowly now, “I would never ask…for this…” he continues as his cock throbs, untouched against his belly.
“You’ve never had a lover then, little prince?” Dunk asks sinking in the last few inches now, hips flush against Aerion’s arse, fully seated in him.
Aerion’s hand flexed against Dunk’s chest, pressing against that great mountain of muscle, “I don’t need one!”
“Really?” Dunk rumbles with an amused grin, “No wonder you’re so tense. You’ve never had the pleasure of relieving yourself.”
“Don’t you mock me!” Aerion chides, as his inner walls clenched purposefully about Dunk watching the way the viking’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he groaned and lowered himself to his elbows, crowding in close to Aerion now, “I’ll have you know that I relieve myself whenever I please.”
“Oh Aye?” Dunk husks grinding into that tight heat, “How?”
Aerion let out a soft squeak at that, the sound mortifyingly embarrassing to his own ears. He’s certainly not going to tell this barbarian he pleasures himself with a candle. That would be asking to be mocked.
“Must be embarrassing, hm?” Dunk rumbles his hand carding through starlight silver-blond hair, “Did you use your fingers?”
“Sometimes…” Aerion answers as Dunk leans in to him, heated lips pressing to his neck in an open-mouthed kiss. The viking continued to kiss him all the way down to his chest, where he sucked and nipped his away across Aerion’s pale skin till his mouth closed about one of the prince’s small, flat nipples. His tongue flicked all broad and hot over the tightening nub and Aerion moaned arching up off the bed into Dunk’s mouth.
Dunk did the same with the prince’s other nipple, sucking gently and playing with the sensitive nub till Aerion was pressing up against him, soft whimpers falling from his lips. He could feel the Prince’s passage easing about him, no longer as tense as before. So he shifted, hips pulling back out and drawing a hiss from Aerion before he thrust back in once more, sinking right to the hilt and made the prince cry out brokenly.
Aerion clung on to the big man his body consumed by a terrible heat. He felt claimed, owned by this giant warrior. It both terrified and thrilled him in equal measure to be filled up like this, legs held aloft as the weight of Dunk’s ballocks rested against him, heavy with seed. A part of him wondered if he is Dunk’s first lay since that voyage across the sea. If he was…
A shiver of something akin to desire prickled through him as his walls clenched about Dunk in helpless pulses.
“What about other times?” Dunk asks raising his head now as he takes in Aerion’s flushed cheeks and those pretty parted lips.
“Other times…?”
“When you’re not fucking yourself open with your fingers…” Dunk husks, forehead pressing to the prince’s now that their lips were ghosting against each other.
“I…” Aerion found it hard to breathe or to think for that matter as Dunk, fucks into him in shallow strokes, “I…had a candle…used the blunted base…”
Dunk clicks his tongue softly, “No wonder you’re terrified,” he rumbles, dragging his lips over Aerion’s, “I’d bet your candle can scarce fill you up the way I do.”
Aerion whines in shame for the viking is right. The beeswax candle is indeed a poor substitute for a real cock but…well…one had to get creative if one wished to survive under the watchful eye of a strict father.
“You talk too much, giant,” Aerion breathes nuzzling close against Dunk as his hips undulated, working back down upon Dunk’s now, the poison in his veins demanding more movement, “Either kiss me or fuck the poison out of me and be done with this…”
Again, Dunk tuts at him, “So eager,” he rasps voice nearly tender, lips slanting over Aerion’s now as he stole a kiss, licking into the prince’s mouth and making him moan. It made him hard to hear such a small, pleased sound drawn from the prince with his tongue. In the months he’d spent away on the raid, he had not expected to return to this sweetness, this needy little writhing, pale body under him.
Dunk is bewitched, likely so. Either that or he’s a starved man set before a banquet fit for the gods. For as much as Aerion had protested before with all his words and fiery fight, the prince yields to him now so readily, lips blooming open under his tongue, wet muscles sliding together. He didn’t even have to do a thing as Aerion’s arms wound about his neck, hands massaging and scraping at his scalp while they continued to kiss.
Dunk began to work his hips faster now, his own pent up need from a long voyage demanding release. His pace is steady, long, deep strokes that plough into the Aerion’s heat. It pushes soft broken sounds from the prince’s lips a melding of curses and pleas against Dunk’s lips. The fire in his veins must be driving him wild too for Aerion had taken to kissing and nipping Dunk’s neck.
“There…again, harder,” Aerion demanded as he held the viking close.
Dunk obeyed, hips slamming into Aerion hard enough to make him moan all loud and shameless.
It is like music to his ears. The prince is by far his most vocal bedmate and Dunk rather enjoys hearing him cry out like that.
“Gods…you brute…” Aerion husks into his ear, “You’re…breaking me…”
“Am I?” Dunk growls, his next thrust coming faster now, “You wanted it harder, no?”
Aerion only whines as Dunk ploughs him open, the wet slap of flesh on flesh growing louder in their chamber. He could tell the way the barbarian’s control seemed to fray, the way those large hands grabbing at his hips, holding him in place to take that thick cock. Then Dunk is leaning in to him again, mouth latching onto Aerion’s to kiss him soundly once more.
There’s something in the way this brute kisses that makes Aerion’s belly twist in pleasure. Dunk kisses all eager and earnest like he cannot get enough of Aerion and it makes his skin prickle with the delight of being wanted by someone. It must be why Daeron always indulged in wine and wenches and their cousin, Valarr. Aerion had witnessed them coupling before like animals in heat as he hid behind the tapestries in his brother’s room and now…
Now his mind feels nothing but bliss as Dunk fucks him so hard that the wooden bedframe beneath them starts to creak with the force of the barbarian’s strokes. Aerion’s own moans and whines are swallowed by Dunk as he shifts to wrap his legs about the viking’s tree trunk torso, heels pressed into the small of Dunk’s back as he drew the man in deeper.
The fire moss poison had burned up every last ounce of pride in him now so that all that remained was a hungry, desperate need. Aerion gave Dunk the encouragement he knew the big man needed, “Harder, right there…you great brute! Don’t stop…!”
Dunk couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He quite adored the feel of Aerion about him, that slick, tight heat clenching down around his cock, so damned needy as though the prince couldn’t get enough of him. He likes the way Aerion feels in his arms too all small and perfect as he clings on to Dunk like moss to a rock. Each stroke sends his heavy stones slapping against Aerion’s arse. He can feel himself coming unravelled, breath getting all ragged now.
“You’re taking me so well,” Dunk whispers nuzzling against Aerion’s ear as he nipped that pale shell, “So tight…and…Gods…so good, my little prince.”
Aerion sobs a broken little cry as Dunk drove repeatedly into his sweet spot. His cock bounced and leaked between them, entirely untouched.
“Much better than any candle you’ve had, huh?” Dunk groans, “I fill you up so good and you like it so much.”
Aerion was fully given over to the pleasure flaming in him now, nails raking down Dunk’s broad back, hips bucking under Dunk’s hands. He felt the crest of his undoing burning in his belly and and within moments, he spills first. A strangled scream tearing from him as his back arched off the furs. Between their bodies his cock pulsed and thick ropes of pearly spend coated their chest as his inner walls clamped down tight around the length buried inside him.
Dunk follows moments after, a near tortured groan falling from him as his hips stuttered, slamming home one final time before he stayed, sheathed within Aerion, spilling his seed deep inside the prince. Dunk trembles as his bollocks twitched and pulsed. He ground his hips into Aerion as wave after wave of his undoing washed over him. His seed flooded the prince till it had nowhere else to go and started to leak out around his cock, staining the sheets below.
Dunk buries his face in the prince’s neck now, large frame trembling with each aftershock as he held Aerion close.
The prince is shaking too, clinging tight to him as his body quivered in answer to Dunk’s seed painting his insides.
“Fuck…so much…you brute…” Aerion cursed lips nipping at Dunk’s neck and making him growl.
But the fire moss is not finished as Aerion’s cock stayed hard, twitching in protest as Dunk thought to pull out from him.
Aerion whimpers as his hole flutters to adjust about the newfound emptiness without Dunk. He felt a callused hand move to palm the spend off his belly, using it, the barbarian started to fist his cock once more in slow, firm strokes.
“Dunk…no…!” he cries hips writhing at the big man’s tough strokes, “That’s…too much…please, I can’t!” he whispers his body still so sensitive.
“Yes you can,” Dunk answers working his hand in gentle little twists till he had a good rhythm going, “One more for me, little prince.”
Aerion’s felt lightning in his veins again as Dunk stroked him to completion once more. This time he was brought to tears as Dunk milked his cock till he was completely and utterly spent. He lay there, still breathing hard, limbs trembling as he eyed the viking, lilac orbs meeting dark blues.
They were a mess.
Aerion lay all sprawled out in Dunk’s fur pelted bed with spend streaking his thighs and belly. He can feel Dunk’s seed leaking from him still.
And Dunk is no better, his chest and hand covered in the prince’s spend. The furs beneath them would need a good washing too.
For a long moment it was only their ragged breathing in the room as they glared at each other, no doubt still reeling from their undoing.
Then Aerion started to cry.
It was a quiet act at first, something born from a slight sniff and a hitch of his breath. Then his chest shuddered as he sobbed, curling in on his side. Aerion lies here miles upon miles away from home with his enemy between his spread thighs…thighs that are sticky with the barbarian’s seed. His body aches from Dunk’s merciless fucking and he felt so used for some reason…
No, it wasn’t just that. He felt embarrassed too that Dunk had seen him so utterly vulnerable.
“Gods be good…” Dunk whispers as his voice cracks with worry, “Aerion…I’m sorry…” he says one huge hand moving to cup the prince’s tear stained cheek as he thumbed it away, “I…I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you in terrible pain? Tell me what you need, hm? I’ll fetch you water or…or…”
‘Seven Hells what does one offer after coupling instead of simply leaving?’
“Please don’t cry…” Dunk begged.
Aerion cried even harder as he turned his face into Dunk’s palm. He must look an utter state. But he isn’t bothered to care right now. He’s been ruined by the very same man who’s also happened to save his life. Dunk is both a destroyer and a saviour.
“Hush now, little prince,” Dunk murmurs, not knowing how else he might offer comfort, “The poison’s well spent now, it’s over. You’re safe. Just wait here now.”
Dunk’s heart twisted as he withdraws from Aerion going to fetch a basin of clean water and cloths. Aerion watched him, sniffling away with glistening lilac eyes as Dunk wrung out the cloth, before kneeling beside Aerion once more.
“May I?” he asks, one hand perched upon the prince’s knee.
Aerion moves his head in a nod and the huge warrior set to work with careful hands.
Dunk wipes the cooling spend from his chest, then his thighs. Every touch is something gentle, tenderness mixed in with reverence. Dunk is silent throughout the rest of it, face solemn. Aerion sees the regret upon the viking’s features and he does nothing to comfort the man. He only lies there and lets himself be cleaned.
When he is finished, Dunk strips the ruined furs off the bed and leaves them aside for the thralls to deal with later. He takes one of his spare tunics from a chest and offers it to Aerion.
“It’s probably too big…but it’s all I have for now,” Dunk tells him as he helps Aerion to the edge of the bed before he dresses the prince in his tunic.
The plain grey fabric of Dunk’s tunic hangs about Aerion like a nightgown, falling to his knees. The neckline is far too big, already slipping off one pale shoulder. But it felt soft and warm and it smelled faintly like Dunk all sea salt and leather. Aerion lowers himself back onto the bed, sitting all huddled up in it, knees drawn up to his chest as he sniffed softly.
Like this, Aerion looked very much like the boy Dunk kept calling him. His small frame curled up tight, all defensive. Dunk felt rather fierce and protective of the prince now. So after he’d given himself a quick clean as well and pulled on a fresh pair of breeches, Dunk reaches for the dagger upon his discarded belt. He drew it very slowly from his belt under that watchful lilac gaze and then settled beside Aerion.
“Here,” Dunk offers quietly, holding the sheathed dagger out to Aerion, hilt first, “So that you might protect yourself against any more harm in future. No one will touch you again without your leave and you won’t be forced into doing anything you do not truly wish to do.”
Aerion takes the blade with both hands and unsheathes it, turning it over slowly in his hands. In the firelight, the blade’s silvery edge glinted and Aerion runs a thumb along the flat of the blade, metal cool to the touch. This was all he had needed in the hall this evening…
If he’d had it…none of this evening would have occured.
Now he flips the blade angling it at Dunk’s throat.
Dunk doesn’t even flinch.
“I want the bastard’s balls for what he did to me,” Aerion says voice hoarse from crying but all venomous, “For what he made me do tonight. For the poison…for everything.”
The warrior’s brows rise in question as he reaches out to Aerion and closes a large hand over the prince’s smaller one, lowering the dagger till the point rested all harmless between them.
“It is not as easy as that, little prince,” Dunk says his voice calm, “You are angry and I—”
“Angry?” Aerion scoffs, wrenching his hand out from under Dunk’s, “I’m murderous!”
“I understand—”
“NO! You don’t understand a thing.”
Dunk lets out a soft sigh, “I know you may think that I don’t. But Steffon is blood-kin, a cousin to Raymun who is my shield-brother. The man is a menace who used to bully Raymun to no end. But to kill him without cause would be to start a blood feud and the entire crew might turn on us both. I could plead your case to Chief Lyonel but…now…is not the time.”
“Then when?” Aerion asks fiercely meeting Dunk’s solemn blue eyes.
“Your vengeance will come, Aerion this I vow to you. I will not let him touch you again. But you must…try not to be so…stubborn,” he continues in earnest, “When the time is right, I will stand at your side and see that Steffon pays for what he did…to us…to you…tonight. You have my word.”
Yet another promise from the big man.
This time it is one that Aerion doesn’t know if the viking can keep. After all why will Dunk want to kill one of his kinsmen?
But Dunk has been trustworthy so far and he has certainly surprised Aerion this evening. Sheathing the dagger once more, Aerion relents, “Very well, Duncan the Tall,” he say leaning his forehead against Dunk’s shoulder now, “I will hold you to your vow.”
One day, Aerion will be the one to render Steffon helpless and on that day, blood will be spilled.