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Normally, people would be scrambling for the chance to mate a Targaryen. Many would count it the greatest fortune they could hope for.
There was no shortage of examples. It was said Prince Aenys had been pursued by so many alphas during his mating run that the guards struggled to keep order. It was a miracle he was saved by his brother Maegor the Cruel.
Princess Maegelle found the thought of such attention so frightening that she chose the life of a septa instead. Princess Viserra, meanwhile, delighted in boasting of the chaos her own mating run would cause. Rivalries grew so fierce that men were already brawling over her before it could even begin. In the end, she never lived to see it. A drunken horse race claimed her life first.
And there were countless other tales lost to history.
The latest belonged to his brother, Valarr. One of the Kingsguard, fond of gossip and loose tongues, had told him the story a few years ago. They had found the princes beneath the moonlight beside a stream, surrounded by men left bruised, bloodied, and broken while they made love on the ground.
How Daeron had managed it remained a mystery. Valarr, also, had never spoken a word about it, and their brother only laughed whenever the tale was mentioned.
His parents' story was even more of a mystery.
All Aerion knew was that his father had once been betrothed to a Dondarrion. The match had been all but settled, until Maekar's mating run. Their grandfather had expressly forbidden Baelor from taking part, perhaps hoping to preserve the alliance, perhaps because he knew exactly what sort of chaos would follow if Baelor entered the chase.
Baelor ignored him.
Whatever happened during that run remained known only to the two of them. No songs were sung of it. No courtier could give a proper account. Only the outcome was certain.
The Dondarrion match was abandoned, and some years later Aerion and the rest of the disappointments were born.
Whenever Aerion had pressed for details, their father, Baelor would only smile faintly and change the subject while his mother’s response was usually just a glare sharp enough to end the conversation altogether.
Aerion, on the other hand, intended to have only the very best.
He was six and ten now, nearly grown. His hips had softened into one suited for childbearing, his white-gold hair was cut like the scales of a dragon, and every septa, court omega, and gossiping servant seemed convinced he would have half the realm fighting over him when his mating run came.
Aerion fully agreed.
However, it was just that Aerion also made a habit of terrifying every alpha who showed the slightest interest.
At the opening feast days before Kingslanding’s mating run, one young lord Lannister had attempted to compliment him.
"You are even fairer than the singers claim, my prince."
Aerion did not thank him. Instead, he asked, "What makes you worthy of me?"
The lord stared.
"My prince?"
"If I am to spend even a moment listening to you, surely there must be a reason." Aerion tilted his head. "So tell me. What makes you worth the time I will waste?"
The poor man spent so long searching for an answer that Aerion lost interest and turned away before he could give one. The conversation ended shortly thereafter and it earned him a sharp clout across the ear from his mother later that evening, because apparently the bastard loved to tattle too.
All he had done was separate those unworthy of him from those who might be worth his attention. Surely that was the purpose of a mating run. There was no shortage of alphas eager to court a Targaryen prince, and Aerion had neither the time nor the patience to entertain every fool who approached him.
Indeed, later that same day, he had unhorsed a knight nearly twice his size before half the gathered court. The man struck the ground hard enough to draw laughter from the stands. Aerion was removing his helm afterward, sweat darkening the pale strands of his hair, when another alpha stepped forward.
Lord Tytos Blackwood.
"You ride well, Your Grace."
Aerion handed his helm to a squire and regarded the man coolly.
"I believe that was apparent when I unhorsed him."
The Blackwood lord blinked, as though he had expected modesty. Aerion had never understood why people expected princes to pretend otherwise.
So by the third day of festivities, the alphas had begun warning one another away from him.
"Do not approach the prince unless you wish to leave the conversation regretting it."
"He asked Lord Celtigar how much gold his father spent to buy his knighthood."
A chorus of groans followed.
"He did not."
"He did. Right in front of half the feast."
Another man snorted into his cup. "That is nothing. He told Ser Alisander that he was short, dull-witted, and unlikely to improve with age. You should have seen the poor fool's face."
"I heard he keeps a list."
"A list?"
"Of every alpha he deems unworthy."
The men exchanged uneasy glances.
"No, it is worse than that," one of them said. "My cousin spoke to him yesterday. The prince remembers every face. If you offend him once, he never forgets."
"Gods preserve us."
A younger lord scoffed and drained his ale.
"I would not have him if he begged for it," one lord declared loudly. "Arrogant creature. He carries himself as though he is above the rest of us."
"As though?" another snorted into his cup. "The prince would tell you outright that he is."
That earned a few reluctant laughs.
"It is not as though his scent is worth all this trouble either."
"No," a third agreed quickly. "Even with all those herbs he uses to dull it, there is something strange about it. Not unpleasant, exactly, but... wrong."
"Wrong how?"
The man hesitated.
"I do not know. It simply does not smell like any omega I have ever met."
"Aye. I pity the fool who must wake to that scent every morning."
The others murmured their agreement into their cups.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
By the morning of the mating run, Aerion was thoroughly pleased with himself.
Not a single alpha had dared lay a hand upon him. Most would not even meet his gaze for long. The fools had finally learned their place.
As the participants gathered at the starting line, Aerion surveyed them with quiet satisfaction. Several looked determinedly elsewhere when his eyes passed over them.
"They are afraid," he observed. Beside him, Valarr followed his gaze and let out a long sigh.
"And you think that is a good thing, brother?"
"Of course, it is." Aerion frown, narrowing his eyes at their eldest.
"Most omegas would prefer to be pursued."
Aerion snorted. "Most omegas would be pleased by whichever fool happened to be closest."
Valarr rubbed at his temple and Aerion continued before he could reply. "I only want the bravest among them. The strongest. The most worthy." His gaze drifted toward the crowd of alphas. "Surely you wanted the same, once."
The words were innocent enough. The look accompanying them was not.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The run began with the sound of trumpets.
Their notes rang across the fields and woods beyond the city walls, loud enough to send birds scattering from the trees.
One by one, the omegas ran. Some sprinted at once, vanishing into the forests. Others chose more careful routes, disappearing into the hills, and streams that dotted the forest. Tradition granted them a head start of one hour before the alphas and even some betas were permitted to follow.
Aerion intended to make himself impossible to catch.
If anyone wished to claim him, he would have to earn it.
He crossed a stream to throw off any scent trail, doubled back twice through a stand of pines, climbed a rocky slope that left less skilled trackers cursing, and finally concealed himself in the ruins of an old watchtower overlooking the forest below.
It was, Aerion thought, an excellent hiding place.
The tower sat high enough to provide a clear view of the forest, yet thick ivy and crumbling stone concealed him from anyone looking up from below. Better still, there was only one practical approach.
He had also armed himself with a Valyrian steel knife his mother had slipped into his boot, more for peace of mind than anything else. Aerion had accepted it without comment, still, it was sharp enough to make a point, should anyone be foolish enough to force one.
An hour passed, then another stretch of uneasy silence.
The forest below started shifting in small, subtle ways, leaves trembling without cause. Somewhere far off, a raven took flight as if disturbed by unseen footsteps.
They had begun the chase and the hunt.
He rose slowly from his seat among the broken stones, fingers settling around the hilt of the knife hidden in his boot as movement flickered once more between the trees below. The figures were too distant to make out clearly, but he caught glimpses of men moving through the undergrowth with purpose. Whether they were skilled hunters or merely wished to appear so remained to be seen.
As the hours passed, the forest carried news of the hunt better than any messenger could. Horns sounded from distant hillsides. Shouts echoed through the trees. Once or twice Aerion heard moaning borne upon the wind, followed by the thunder of hooves as riders escorted mated pairs back toward King's Landing.
The omegas were being found.
One by one they vanished from the hunt. Some were tracked before noon. Others lasted until the afternoon. Each horn blast marked another capture, another match made before witnesses and gods alike. The sounds grew more frequent as the day wore on, until it seemed every corner of the countryside echoed with celebration.
Yet no one came for him.
At first, Aerion had found the situation amusing. Let the others be caught. Let the alphas exhaust themselves chasing easier prizes while he remained beyond their reach. It merely proved what he had known all along, that most were unworthy of him.
The amusement lasted less than an hour.
By midday, irritation had begun to gnaw at him. By afternoon, it had hardened into something uglier. Aerion paced behind the crumbling wall and peered down into the forest for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He had hidden himself well, certainly, but not so well that every alpha in the realm ought to fail.
Another hunting horn sounded in the distance and not long after, a second answered it from farther west. Then a third. The forest seemed determined to mock him with the success of everyone else's hunt.
The thought struck him suddenly, and the insult of it nearly stole his breath.
“It cannot be… surely.”
He stared out over the trees, his grip tightening around the ancient stone beneath his hand. The possibility was so offensive that he almost dismissed it at once. Yet as the afternoon sun crept lower and still no one appeared, he found it increasingly difficult to ignore.
Prince Aerion Targaryen had entered the mating run expecting the finest alphas in the Seven Kingdoms to fight one another for the privilege of catching him. Instead, he was alone in a ruined tower while everyone else seemed determined to be anywhere but near him, and seemed to mate anyone other than him.
The realization left him angrier than he cared to admit. Because surely even if he had crossed streams, concealed his trail, and chosen his hiding place carefully, there was only so much any omega could do. Scent could not be hidden forever. If anything, his growing frustration was likely making it stronger.
Any competent hunter should have found him hours ago.
The wind shifted, carrying his own scent back toward him. It lingered amongst the old stone and ivy-covered walls, impossible to miss for anyone with a nose worth boasting of. The knowledge did nothing to improve his temper.
For he knew he was being ignored.
And that, Aerion found, was far more insulting.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The third day dawned grey and damp.
Aerion watched the morning mist drift between the trees below the watchtower and wondered whether it would be considered a crime to cut off the head of every alpha in the Seven Kingdoms, who had insulted him during this mating run.
He promised to skin them all alive, build a massive dragon made of gold, shove them into its stomach to burn it alive.
His patience had long since deserted him after all. So had his dignity, though he refused to admit that to himself. His clothes were stained with dirt and leaf, his hair tangled by wind and sleep, and the last proper meal he had eaten had been before the hunt began. The previous night he had caught a rabbit with a snare, skinned it himself, and cooked it over a small fire amongst the ruins.
It had tasted awful.
The memory only soured his mood further.
Every sensible voice in his head told him to return to King's Landing. The hunt was finished. It had been finished for days. No law required him to remain in the forest until he starved to death.
Yet the thought of returning was unbearable.
Aerion knew exactly what awaited him.
His father would look concerned. Daeron, Valarr and Daella would attempt sympathy. He knew for sure Egg, Matarys and Rhea would have a choice of words. And his mother would tell him that nobody deserved him anyway and that there is always a next year, and would even praise him for hiding himself too well. While courtiers would lower their eyes and pretend not to gossip while discussing the prince nobody had wanted badly enough to chase.
The pity would kill him and all the condescension would finish the job.
No. I would rather spend another week in the woods eating rabbits than give them that satisfaction.
Below, the forest stretched endlessly in every direction. Somewhere beyond those trees were hundreds of alphas who had crossed half a continent to compete for a Targaryen prince, only to lose their nerve the moment they met him.
Cowards. Every last one of them.
A branch snapped in the distance.
Aerion froze.
For a moment he thought it was another deer or perhaps one of the wild boars that roamed the woods. Then came the sound again, followed by the unmistakable crunch of heavy footsteps.
Whoever was coming through the forest sounded as subtle as a charging horse.
Aerion's eyes narrowed.
At last.
The figure that emerged from the trees was enormous.
For a moment, Aerion wondered if his hunger had finally driven him mad.
The giant stood well over six feet tall, nearly seven, broad as an ox, with shoulders that looked capable of carrying a horse if required. He wore the plain gear of a peasant, battered from long travel, and stared long at Aerion with wide eyes and mouth agape.
Aerion watched him carefully, scent flaring as he circled the man like a dragon observing his prey.
“You’re not some simpering lordling.” The prince immediately abandoned any intention of appearing dignified.
“Y-Your hair… Targaryen!” The giant cleared his throat and straightened himself up. “I have the honor to be a knight… my prince?”
Three days in the forest had left him tired, hungry, and thoroughly fed up, thus he simply looked up and down. “Oh… Knighthood has fallen on sad days.”
The giant's shoulders deflated. Perhaps he was one of those hedge knights who slept in ditches, under hedges, and in whatever muddy hole the road offered.
Aerion allowed himself to stare openly, drawing in another breath. Aside from the offensive smell of poverty and hard travel, the man scarcely smelled of anything at all. No alpha scent worth noting.
"I… I am truly sorry…I just found myself lost, m'lord." the giant said with an apologetic smile. "Pray tell, do you happen to know the path out of this forest?"
Aerion kept on inhaling.
The man was a beta.
Of course. He smelled of nothing and he clearly isn’t affected by Aerion’s own.
That explained everything.
No wonder he had wandered through the hunting grounds as casually as a man strolling through a market square. No wonder he seemed entirely oblivious to what was happening around him.
Aerion let out a long breath through his nose.
The giant shifted awkwardly beneath his stare.
"Is that a no… m-my prince?"
Without answering, Aerion pushed himself away from the crumbling wall. Dirt and bits of dried ivy clung stubbornly to his clothes. He brushed them off with what dignity he could muster and straightened to his full height.
The effort was somewhat ruined by the fact that the other man was absurdly large and Aerion only came up to his chest.
"You said you were lost?" Aerion asked at last, studying him with narrowed eyes.
The giant nodded. "Aye, m'lord. I was making for King's Landing."
Aerion folded his arms. "And what business do you have there, hedge knight?"
"No business, truly." The man rubbed the back of his neck. "Just looking for work. A hedge knight goes where the road takes him. Thought a city that size might have use for another sword—or another pair o' hands, if not."
"Hm." Aerion's gaze traveled over his worn cloak and battered boots. "Do you have coin?"
"Not much."
"A place to stay once you arrive?"
The giant's expression grew sheepish.
"No, m'lord."
"A horse, then?"
At that, the man let out a weary sigh.
"Had one."
Aerion raised an eyebrow.
The giant shifted his weight. "My horse, Chestnut died crossing Dorne. Somewhere between the Prince's Pass and Vaith. Heat near cooked us both, and there wasn't enough water to go around. Buried him by the roadside and carried on alone."
There was no self-pity in the telling, only the resigned tone of a man accustomed to misfortune.
"And after that?" Aerion asked.
"After that I spent near a fortnight begging rides from merchants and wagons. Last one I found was carrying lambs." He grimaced at the memory. "I slept amongst them for three nights. They smelled worse than a sellsword's boots and one of the creatures bit me whenever I tried to close my eyes."
Against all reason, Aerion found himself imagining it. The image of this enormous man being terrorized by a lamb was so ridiculous that he nearly smiled. "You allowed yourself to be bullied by sheep?"
The giant barked out a laugh. "It was lambs, m'lord."
"That hardly improves your tale."
"No," the man admitted with a grin, "I suppose it doesn't."
"Well, giant," he announced, dusting a stubborn bit of dirt from his sleeve, "we may be of use to one another."
"My name is Dunk, my prince." He was still polite, but there was a certain caution about him now, as though he sensed he was being led toward a pit and had not yet spotted where the dragon in it lay.
"What kind of name—" Aerion began before deciding he truly did not care. He waved the question away. "No matter."
There was, unfortunately, no graceful way to ask a complete stranger to participate in a deception designed solely to preserve what remained of his dignity. Aerion had spent the better part of the morning attempting to devise one and had failed.
"When we return to King's Landing," he said at last, choosing each word with care, "you are going to tell people that you found me."
Dunk frowned. It was not the reaction Aerion had hoped for.
Aerion resisted the urge to sigh. "You are going to tell them that you found me through the forest. That you followed my trail for days and discovered where I was after a long search."
For a few moments Dunk simply stared at him. Aerion watched understanding arrive with painful slowness. The giant's brows climbed upward. His mouth opened slightly. Then came the realization.
"You want me to lie to the king?"
The bluntness of it was irritating.
"Even though I didn't?" Aerion wants to hit him. “I have only ever found rabbits in the forrest… a deer once, m’lord. Not a… prince.”
“What are you talking about, you oaf?” He must be making fun of Aerion, pretending he doesn’t know what all this is. Aerion too, is much too angry and hungry after having spent three days alone in a ruined watchtower and growing steadily more offended by the fact that nobody had come looking for him.
That did not make it acceptable.
"Then just lie? You said you were bound for King's Landing," Aerion continued. "You have no horse, little coin, and nowhere to stay. I can solve all three problems. You will have a room, decent food, clean clothing, and whatever else is required to make you presentable."
Dunk fell silent then, considering it more seriously than Aerion would have liked. Most men would have accepted immediately. A warm bed and a prince's favor were not things commonly offered to wandering travelers. Yet there was a stubborn honesty about him that Aerion was beginning to recognize.
"My old master, Ser Arlan used to say that a man ought to earn the stories told about him," Dunk said at last. "It doesn’t seem right to claim deeds that belong to someone else."
Aerion studied him. Strange man. Stranger than any lordling he had met.
"No deed belongs to someone else," he replied. "But you found me. That part is true. The rest is merely… presentation."
"It is as important as the rest."
Aerion found himself thinking that perhaps he ought to kill him. He wants to have his hands on the giant’s neck and strangle him to death.
His father would certainly understand. His mother might even approve. Plenty of Targaryens throughout history had dealt with inconvenient conversations by feeding people to dragons.
Aerion was a prince of House Targaryen. He was offering the fellow food, lodging, clothing, and a place at court. The giant ought to have accepted immediately and thanked him for the privilege. Instead, he kept disagreeing.
"Yes uh… Ser Arlan always said that a man only has his word. Once folk decide that means nothing, it becomes difficult to convince them otherwise." Dunk rubbed the back of his neck. "But… I guess he also said a man ought to help those in need when he can."
"I have no need of your help, peasant." The words emerged immediately.
Dunk winced, “Truly? From what I understand you were separated during a hunt and—”
What is he—
"I reckon you're asking me to help save your pride."
The accuracy of the statement struck like an arrow finding a gap in armor.
Aerion looked away first for beyond the broken wall, the forest stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sun. Somewhere out there, dozens of mated couples were likely making their triumphant return to King's Landing while he stood in an abandoned watchtower bargaining with a peasant.
"Fuck, sure yes, perhaps," Aerion was exhausted.
"Then I have to help."
The words were spoken so simply that Aerion almost missed them.
Dunk held out one large, calloused hand. There was no mockery in the gesture, no triumph at having forced a confession from him. If anything, he sounded reassuring, as though the matter had already been settled and there was no shame in it.
"Ser Aralan would've given me a clout in the ear if I turned away someone asking for help," he said.
Dunk still looked faintly confused, but Aerion was hungry, tired, and in no mood to continue arguing philosophy with a peasant in the middle of a forest. The finer details could be settled later.
"Then it is settled," he said with a dismissive wave. "You will be more than compensated. You shall be my guest for as long as you require. No sleeping in stables. No wandering roads. No worrying where your next meal shall come from."
The giant blinked.
"That's generous, my prince."
"It is." Aerion started down from the ruined tower. "Also, I refuse to call you Dunk. It sounds ridiculous."
"It was my name before I can remember."
"I do not care. From now on, you shall be… Duncan."
The giant considered that for a moment before shrugging.
"As you say, my prince..?"
“Aerion.”
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
By the time the gates of King's Landing rose before them, Aerion had assembled the beginnings of a perfectly respectable tale.
Duncan had tracked him through the forest. Duncan had followed his trail across streams and rocky hills. Aerion had hidden well, fought well, and resisted capture longer than any omega in recent memory, but in the end Duncan alone had found him and earned his favor. The finer details remained somewhat unfinished, though Aerion was certain he could improve them once he had eaten something that was actually palatable.
The only difficulty was that Duncan was also, apparently, a giant fool.
They crossed into the yard of the Red Keep to find King Baelor waiting with King Consort Maekar beside him, along with Daeron, Aegon, and what looked to be half the court. Servants had already begun whispering. Maekar's expression grew colder with every step Aerion took toward them.
At his side, Duncan leaned down slightly and whispered, with the air of a man approaching a battlefield far too late to retreat,
"Forgive me, my prince... did you just say we are mated?"
Aerion stared at him.
"Have I not been clear earlier?" he asked, lowering his voice. "It was a mating run. What precisely did you think this was?"
Duncan looked genuinely stricken.
"I thought we were pretending you'd been found," he said weakly. “All because you were lost… I just… I did not realize that finding you meant… marrying you."
Aerion closed his eyes briefly.
Seven hells. He really was an idiot.
But despite everything, by the afternoon of that day, it has been announced that Prince Aerion Targaryen would be wed.
King Baelor had declared it before half the court, and once Baelor made up his mind on a matter, moving him was much like trying to move a castle with one's bare hands.
Maekar nevertheless tried.
The king consort fought the match from the very first day. No common-born man had ever wed a Targaryen prince, he yelled as a glass broke in the king’s solar.
No hedge knight's squire, he was seen to throw his food over the table.
No wandering traveler who had arrived at court with little more than the clothes on his back. If that were not enough, the discovery that Duncan was a regular beta only seemed to worsen matters.
Arguments echoed through the Red Keep for days.
Aerion heard most of them himself while Dunk sat stiffly on his side. Others were carried to him by servants eager for gossip. By the end of the first week, maesters had been summoned to examine old laws and precedents concerning mating runs. Dusty books were pulled from shelves. Scrolls were unrolled. Learned men spent entire afternoons squinting at ancient records.
To Maekar's increasing displeasure, none of them could find anything that prevented it.
The laws spoke at great length about mating rights, obligations, inheritances, and legitimacy. They spoke of witnesses, and noble obligations. Yet nowhere did they forbid a lowborn man from claiming a Targaryen during a lawful mating run. Nor did they say anything about betas.
The truth, Aerion suspected, was that whoever had written those laws had simply assumed such a thing would never happen.
Unfortunately for them, it had.
As protest, Maekar refused every invitation Baelor sent to his chambers for nearly a fortnight.
"Your mother has not spoken more than six words to me since breakfast," Baelor informed him one evening.
Aerion took a bite of peach.
"Only six?"
Baelor sighed heavily.
"It was three yesterday."
For all Maekar's efforts, however, Duncan remained.
Worse still, Aerion's brothers seemed determined to adopt him.
Daeron took to him almost immediately. The giant's stories amused him to no end, and Duncan possessed a surprising number of them.
Aegon was no better.
Where Daeron laughed at Duncan, Aegon simply liked him. The giant spoke to princes the same way he spoke to stableboys, and unlike most men at court, he seemed entirely uninterested in flattering anyone. Aegon found this refreshing. Soon enough they could often be found talking together in the training yard while Duncan watched the squires practice or helped the stablehands with some task that was plainly beneath the future good brother of a prince.
It should have been embarrassing.
Instead, people liked him for it.
That was perhaps the most bewildering part of all.
Duncan knew little of courtly manners. He stumbled over formal titles, forgot proper customs, and occasionally said things that left nobles staring at him in disbelief. Yet somehow, he was more tolerable than most of them.
For Duncan only ever seemed to want… Aerion.
He wanted breakfast with Aerion.
He wanted lunch with Aerion.
He wanted dinner with Aerion.
It was a strange thing.
The lords of the realm sought titles, lands, influence, and favor. Courtiers measured every conversation for advantage. Yet Duncan seemed perfectly content with a shared meal with him.
It made him… difficult to dislike.
Which was why a sudden commotion in the training yard sent a cold spike of alarm through Aerion's chest.
He had been walking the galleries with Valarr when shouting erupted below. Aerion exchanged a glance with his brother and quickened his pace.
By the time they reached the yard, half the castle seemed to be there.
Guards were struggling to hold someone back.
Duncan.
For a heartbeat Aerion scarcely recognized him.
The giant's face was bloodied, his tunic torn at the shoulder, and three guards had their hands on him. Even so, they looked less as though they were restraining a man than a storm.
Across the yard, sprawled in the dirt, lay a knight Aerion recognized as a younger son of the Lord of Duskendale.
"Say it again!" Duncan roared.
The sound carried across the yard like thunder.
"Ser Duncan—" one guard began.
"I'll hear him say it again!" Duncan struggled forward, forcing the guards back a step despite their combined weight. His voice shook with fury. "Say that filth about my prince again and see what becomes of you."
"Duncan."
Aerion's voice cut through the uproar like a knife. The giant froze immediately. For a moment the fury remained, wild and terrible in his eyes, before recognition settled over him.
"Aerion," Duncan said.
Silence spread across the training yard. Guards loosened their grip but did not release him entirely. Aerion's gaze moved from Duncan's bloodied knuckles to the knight sprawled in the dirt. The man looked considerably less brave than he had moments before.
"What happened?"
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
Aerion had shooed the maester away almost immediately.
The old man had protested, muttered something about infection, and attempted to remind him that treating wounds was a maester's duty. Aerion had informed him that he was perfectly capable of applying salve to scraped knuckles and that if Duncan somehow died from bruising, they could summon him back.
Now Duncan sat upon the edge of a chair while Aerion cleaned the cuts on his hands. The giant endured it in silence until Aerion finally asked, "Is it true, then? You struck that man over some insult?"
"He insulted you."
The answer came so quickly that Aerion looked at him.
Duncan had lowered his gaze. The anger from the yard was gone now, leaving only something that looked suspiciously like guilt.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I hear what folk say. They think I don't, but I do." His voice had gone rough. "They say you're too good for me. That you deserved some great lord or prince instead of..." He gestured helplessly toward himself. "They laugh at you because of me."
Aerion stared.
Of all the reasons he had expected, that had not been one of them.
Duncan laughed once, though there was little humor in it. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I should never have come here."
The words seemed to cost him something.
For a moment he sat looking at the floor before drawing a long breath.
"I can leave."
Aerion's hand froze.
"I can go." Duncan still would not meet his eyes. "We can tell everyone the truth. Tell them I stumbled into your hiding place and none of this was real. They'll stop talking then."
The suggestion struck Aerion with surprising force.
Leave?
Why was the very thought so intolerable?
"I don't want you suffering because of me."
Before he could rise, Aerion caught his wrist.
The giant stopped.
For a moment neither of them moved. Duncan's gaze dropped to the hand wrapped around his own.
"You may not," Aerion said.
The words came out sharper than intended.
"I forbid it."
Duncan blinked.
"My prince—"
"No."
Aerion tightened his grip.
"You do not get to wander off because some idiot cannot keep his mouth shut."
For the first time, Duncan looked up and Aerion hated the uncertainty he found there.
Hated it enough that he added, more quietly, "I will send riders after you. I will send hounds. I will drag you back to King's Landing by your heels if I must."
Aerion rose to his feet without releasing him. “This is not a request." He swallowed. "You are not permitted to leave."
The threat should have sounded terrifying, and yet the giant lifted his free hand slowly, giving Aerion every opportunity to pull away. His calloused fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from Aerion's cheek before settling lightly against his jaw so their eyes may meet.
The prince stared at him.
Idiot.
Wonderful, impossible idiot.
Aerion closed the distance first.
His fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Duncan's tunic, yanking the giant forward to push his tongue past Duncan's lips, sliding hot and insistent against his, that he answered with a groan that vibrated through both of them. Aerion angled his head and deepened the kiss, sucking on Duncan's lower lip before biting down just enough to draw another shaky breath from him.
The giant's massive hand stayed at Aerion's jaw, thumb stroking slowly along the line of bone while the other hand gripped his waist, fingers spreading wide to feel the heat of skin through thin cloth.
Aerion broke the kiss only to trail his mouth along Duncan's jaw, nipping at the stubble there before returning to claim his lips once more. He licked into Duncan's mouth with hunger, sucking on his tongue, then pulling back to let their lips brush and cling before diving in again. Duncan's breathing had grown ragged, each exhale warm against Aerion's cheek as the prince refused to let the kiss end, chasing every small sound the giant made.
Aerion's hands slid up to cup the back of Duncan's neck, fingers threading into the short hair at his nape and tugging lightly to tilt his head exactly where Aerion wanted it.
When the prince finally drew back enough to speak, his lips were swollen and glistening. "You are not leaving," he said against Duncan's mouth, voice low and rough.
He let himself be held like a man afraid of losing something precious.
While Aerion found himself holding on just as tightly, suddenly unwilling to discover whether Duncan might disappear as easily as he had appeared.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The wedding was held on Dragonstone.
No great lords were summoned. No tourney was announced. No feast lasting seven days and seven nights. Aerion had claimed he wanted a small ceremony because the court did not deserve the honor of witnessing it.
The ceremony took place beneath a grey sky overlooking the sea. Salt wind swept across the ancient stones of the castle and tugged at cloaks and white-gold hair alike. Only family attended. Baelor stood smiling in a way that made him look ten years younger. Maekar alone appeared as stern as ever.
Though Aerion noticed he had stopped objecting which felt miraculous.
When the vows were spoken and witnessed, when the final blessings had been given, and when Duncan somehow managed not to trip over his own feet during the proceedings, the gathering slowly began to disperse.
It was a blur of hands that led them to their bedchamber.
There, Aerion stood in the center of the room, his hair shimmering like spun moonlight against the rich fabrics of his wedding attire.
He felt a strange, fluttering tension in his chest. For years, he had carried the pride of the dragon, convinced that only an alpha, a powerful one, could ever be a worthy match for a prince of his stature. And once he may have looked at Duncan who was clumsy, honest, and devastatingly kind and asked could a beta truly satisfy his hunger?
Could a man who stumbled over courtly titles truly conquer a prince?
That doubt had been obliterated when Duncan’s robes fell.
Yet when Duncan shed his trousers, Aerion's breath caught. That cock hung heavy and monstrous, thick veins pulsing along its length, the head already glistening.
Aerion watched as he approached his trembling heat with a shy hesitation, large hands shaking as he parted the prince's thighs.
When he first pushed that monstrous head into Aerion’s tight, virgin cunt, Duncan had gasped, his face flushing a deep crimson. He had been so overwhelmed by the slick, gripping heat of the omega that he’d barely lasted a few minutes, his breath hitching before he shot a thick, hot load of cum deep inside Aerion with a startled moan, collapsing against the prince's chest in a fit of embarrassed apologies.
“I’m sorry…” He panted. Tears welled in Duncan’s eyes, his broad shoulders shaking as he fought back a sob of overwhelming pleasure mixed with shame. His cock still twitched inside Aerion’s flooded pussy, leaking more sticky spurts even as he tried to pull back. “I didn’t mean to… gods, you feel too good, I couldn’t hold it.”
Aerion smirked through the haze of sensation, his voice dripping with teasing mockery even as his walls fluttered around the softening length. “Is your cock truly that useless? Spilling so quickly like you’re some untried boy.”
Duncan’s breath hitched harder, a single tear slipping down his cheek as the embarrassment burned hotter than the pleasure.
“I… I’ll make it up to you. Please, let me.” He withdrew slowly, the wet drag of his cock pulling strings of cum from Aerion’s stretched entrance. Without another word, he dropped between those spread thighs, burying his face against the slick, cum-soaked folds.
His tongue dragged broad and hungry over Aerion’s clit first, then plunged deep into the dripping pussy, lapping up his own release with desperate, sloppy strokes. “You taste incredible,” he mumbled between licks, voice thick and broken. “So sweet, so warm...”
“Gods!” Aerion’s hips rolled against his face, grinding down while the beta’s hands gripped his thighs, spreading him wider for better access.
Duncan’s own cock hardened again against the sheets, but he ignored it, focused on making Aerion shake. “I’ll stay down here all night if you want,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to speak before diving in again.
The omega’s laughter turned into a moan as Duncan’s tongue found a particularly sensitive spot inside, sucking hard on the clit afterward.
And as the candles burned lower, he had spent the entire wedding night breaking Aerion down, filling him so completely and relentlessly that the prince had forgotten his own name, and pride.
Duncan had fucked him into a state of mindless bliss, his massive length stretching Aerion’s tight pussy to its absolute limit, pounding into him until Aerion was nothing but a sobbing, shaking mess of pleasure.
The sheer, visceral reaction of Aerion the way the prince’s toes curled and his back arched, the way his pussy clamped down on Duncan’s girth like a starving mouth began to awaken a something in the beta.
"Is it… pleasing for you?" Duncan would ask from time to time, his voice losing its tremor and becoming a warm, low rumble.
He pulled back, the wet schlick of his cock sliding out of Aerion’s drenched pussy echoing through the room. The omega prince lay beneath him, flushed and wrecked, his once-proud gaze now glassy with exhaustion and raw need.
"Stop talking…" Aerion whimpered, his voice broken. "I can’t… Move… Or I will swear I will have you gelded— nnnh!"
That shaky threat was the closest thing to a plea Duncan would get. He drove back in with one hard, confident thrust that punched a broken scream from Aerion’s throat. The prince arched violently, his walls clenching around the thick length splitting him open.
"Haaah… fuck, you’re so tight," Duncan groaned, sweat dripping down his chest. "I can’t believe how perfectly your cunt swallows me, Aerion."
Aerion wailed, high and melodic, as Duncan started pounding into him with brutal, steady rhythm. Each thrust slammed deep, the fat head battering his cervix while the thick shaft stretched every slick fold. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the air, mixed with the obscene squelch of Aerion’s soaked pussy.
"My beautiful prince," Duncan panted, voice thick. "Look at you… taking every inch like you were made for it."
"Fuck… you… ahhh!" Aerion sobbed, head thrashing side to side, fingers clawing at the sheets.
Duncan didn’t stop. He kept driving in, grinding against the fluttering cervix while Aerion shook and moaned mindlessly beneath him. The prince’s cunt milked him greedily, trying to pull him deeper.
"That’s it… come on my cock again," Duncan grunted, movements turning faster, more desperate.
He flipped Aerion onto his stomach, yanking the prince’s hips up so his ass was high and his dripping cunt was fully exposed. The swollen lips were red and puffy, glistening with slick and cum. Duncan slammed back inside with a wet slap, burying himself to the hilt.
Aerion howled, body jerking forward from the force. And the beta gripped his hips hard enough to bruise and started fucking him like he wanted to break him. Every thrust forced more slick out around his shaft, the sound filthy and loud.
"Gonna fill this greedy cunt," Duncan growled, voice ragged. "Gonna pump you so full you’ll feel it for days."
Aerion could only moan, drooling into the sheets, too far gone to form words. His pussy clenched and fluttered around the pounding cock, another orgasm building fast.
The beta could feel his own climax rising, balls tightening, cock swelling. He lunged forward, pinning Aerion flat to the bed and driving his cock as deep as it could go. His teeth found the junction of Aerion’s neck and shoulder. With a guttural snarl he bit down hard, claiming the omega as his own. At the same time more thick rope of cum erupted straight into Aerion’s womb.
"Take it—fuck—take every drop," Duncan snarled around the bite, hips jerking as he pumped load after load of hot seed deep inside. His cock pulsed, forcing more cum into the omega with each throb. Aerion screamed, body convulsing as the sudden stretch and flood of cum triggered another shattering orgasm. His pussy squirted again, soaking the sheets while Duncan kept grinding, grinding, grinding, making sure every spurt stayed trapped inside.
They stayed like that for long minutes to catch their breath, Duncan’s teeth still sunk in Aerion’s neck. Every few seconds another heavy pulse of cum would flood Aerion’s already stuffed womb, the beta’s low groans mixing with the omega’s broken, mindless whimpers.
By the time his cock finally began to soften, Aerion was a trembling mess, body twitching from countless orgasms, his belly slightly rounded from the sheer amount of cum Duncan had pumped into him. When Duncan finally pulled out, a thick, creamy river of seed poured from Aerion’s gaping cunt, running down his thighs in heavy rivulets.
Aerion lay there, completely spent, pride long gone, replaced by the deep, satisfied ache of being thoroughly claimed and bred.
After hours of passion, their bodies finally gave in to exhaustion. Duncan pulled Aerion close, their limbs tangled together on the soaked bedding as their breathing slowed, drifting off and feeling the heavy warmth inside him. Duncan followed soon after, holding his prince protectively.
They woke in the afternoon, sunlight filtering through the curtains.
It was Duncan who stirred first, his eyes soft with lingering concern. He traced Aerion's cheek gently. "Are you alright? I... I got carried away. Does anything hurt?"
Aerion smiled warmly, pulling him into a tender embrace. "You overestimate yourself, you big oaf." He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to Duncan's lips, melting away every worry. "No need to fret."
Hand in hand, they moved to the balcony, the fresh air wrapping around them. Duncan hugged Aerion from behind, shyly nuzzling his neck and their lips met in a slow, deep kiss, full of affection and promise, bodies pressed close under the afternoon sun.