Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aegon was 12 and halfway through the first night of a raging fever when he realized he was presenting as an Omega.

The first thing he felt was a wave of crushing relief. The weight of the crown seemed to fall off of his head with the realization, and he laughed boldly into the empty room with an almost unhinged delight that was swallowed by the storm raging outside. His only claim to that wretched throne was the cock between his legs, and his first fever would take it away by the end of the week.

Good riddance.

The second feeling was an equally crushing wave of guilt. His mother and grandfather had hung every hope on him, and he’d failed them down to the level of blood and bone. And he’d failed his little brother, Aemond, who would now be put forward as Rhaenyra’s rival in Aegon’s place. Sharp, intense little Aemond, who took duty too seriously and wouldn’t even question it.

Everyone had expected Aegon to be an Alpha, would have been fine with him being a Beta, but never in a million years had anyone considered that Aegon would be an Omega. It was unthinkable.

”No it wasn’t.” The thought rolled in like the thunder, whispering in the voice of The Maiden herself. ”You prefer silks to swords, and feasts to fighting. This was always who you were.”

The truth of it only intensified the guilt and the relief, mixing them together until they were so tangled he couldn’t separate them. He shouldn’t be an Omega. He shouldn’t be a soft, pretty thing whose job was to dance and sing and flatter.

But, Gods, did he want to be.

He wanted knights and lordlings to fall on themselves to offer him pretty baubles, and he’d rather dangle his favor like a prize before the Alphas of the court than ever take up a lance himself. He wanted to be the reason some gallant knight fought hard enough to win the day, laying a crown of flowers at his feet and proclaiming him Queen of Love and Beauty.

He shouldn’t want any of that. He should want the throne, power, to be an Alpha like his Father and Grandfather and Great-Grandfather all the way back to Aegon the Conqueror. He should be cursing the Gods at this turn of events. He shouldn’t want it. But the pure, aching need for it was an all-consuming thing. And Gods, it was his. The fever would burn away everything that made him his mother’s pawn and leave only the opportunity to grasp at what he truly wanted.

He prayed sincerely since the first time his mother had struck him while quoting the Seven Pointed Star. He thanked The Maiden, hands clasped tight and whispers fervent in the dark heat of his nest. He vowed to The Seven, and especially to The Maiden, that he would not waste the gift they’d given him.

Viserys had been so pleased that as soon as Aegon’s fever had cleared and he could leave his apartments, the King had taken his son to choose whatever jewels he wished from the Royal Vault.

It was hard not to be cynical about it. To think that Viserys was only so pleased because Aegon was no longer a threat to his precious eldest. But the way he beamed with pride and kept going on and on about “The first Targaryen Omega since before the Doom!” made it hard to fight the small flicker in his chest, or the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth. His father had already reminded him a dozen times that there hadn’t been an Omega in their family in over 200 years.

“It was a magic we thought lost to our line with Valyria. Daenys the Dreamer was the last, and she saved us all.” Viserys had said, finally looking at Aegon like he was worth something.

What did his father see, now, when he looked at him? Did Aegon even want to know? Viserys had butchered his beloved Aemma for a chance at an Alpha son, yet now Rhaenyra was his heir and Aegon’s Omegahood was worth this confusing affection he was receiving.

”What is it that goes on inside of that head of yours, Father?” Aegon wondered.

“Here, take a look at this one.” His father’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, procuring a beautiful golden collar necklace dripping with purple star sapphires. “It was your grandmother Alyssa’s.”

Aegon took the necklace, running his fingers over the fine, intricate goldwork and the sparkling purple stones that shone with one brilliant starburst each when he held them to the light. He couldn’t help but wonder why Rhaenyra didn’t have the necklace. It was such a beautiful thing, and an heirloom from the King’s beloved mother. Why was it still here?

He didn’t ask, fearing the answer would sour this moment with his father. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he was being offered his sister’s rejected castoffs.

“Thank you, Father. It’s beautiful. I’d be honored to wear it.” He said, letting a small smile bloom. He put it on, the gold and sapphires resting against the pale column of his throat where it was now exposed by his Omegan attire.

“The stones suit you, Aegon.” Viserys said, still shuffling through boxes of jewels. He pulled out a decadent cascade of gold and green, considering the necklace for a moment. “How do you feel about emeralds?”

Aegon grimaced, remembering all of the times since that stupid feast when he was 4 that his mother would shove him into green just because she’d worn a green dress once and everyone decided to make a big deal of it. Green wasn’t even a Hightower color, not truly. With all the gold and green, you’d think they were trying to be Tyrells.

Not that Aegon was itching to wear Hightower gray and white, it would wash him out dreadfully.

“No, no emeralds I think. Amethyst, maybe.” Aegon said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’re right. Purple suits me. Give that one to Mother. She’s the reason there’s an Omega in House Targaryen at all.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Viserys said, contemplating it. After a moment, his father pocketed the necklace and moved on. Aegon turned away from him to hide a smile.

“Here, these earrings belonged to Queen Alysanne. She was fond of Amethysts, too.” Viserys said, bringing his son a pair of dangling golden earrings set with amethysts.

“I’ll need my ears pierced.” Aegon said, taking the earrings anyway.

“We’ll have a maester see to it. You shall be the most glittering Omega at court, as befits your station.” Viserys said, with a warmth Aegon hadn’t felt from him since he was small.

The Maiden had smiled on him, and now The Father had followed. He would go to the Sept later and light a candle in thanks.

“I can’t wait.” Aegon said, turning away to hide a smile he couldn’t control.

Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Aegon supposed he’d known that, somewhere in the back of his mind. The Gods had been good to him, but they weren’t endlessly benevolent.

The first slight had been the Septa assigned to chaperone him everywhere. It wasn’t proper, his mother said, for a young Omega Prince to be left unattended to roam the castle. Septa Ellyn was a kind enough woman, a Beta with a stout stature and burly arms, but she stalked Aegon like a shadow everywhere he went. An Omega’s Septa was a shield of propriety that nearly every noble maiden was expected to carry with them. And now he was no exception.

The second slight was the new lessons that came with the Septa. Deportment. Relearning to dance as the following partner. Embroidery. He was even expected to pick up an instrument. This blow, though, was softened by a lack of strategy lessons and the assurance that he would never have to pick up a sword again.And he did enjoy the harp.

The third was much more embarrassing, and there was nothing to soften the blow. His mother, looking as embarrassed as he felt, had explained what his marital duties would entail now that the fever had taken his member and left a quim. Aegon hadn’t wanted to think too hard about that part, if he was being honest with himself. He hadn’t even looked at himself properly yet. The last thing he wanted to think about was anything going into or coming out of it.

But Mother insisted he be educated.

She’d also explained certain things he should know. Things as monumental as how to care for your body when you were with child and things as simple as how to wipe himself to prevent yeast infections.

“Mother?” He asked after she’d finished explaining how often to change his bloodcloth during his post-fever courses. “Are you cross with me?”

Alicent sighed, twisting her rings around her fingers. Her 30th Name Day had passed recently, and in that moment Aegon could see every single year on his mother’s face.

“No, Aegon. I’m not cross with you.” She said, cupping his cheek and offering a melancholy smile. “I’m cross with myself. I should have seen this coming.”

“There hasn’t been a Targaryen Omega since Daenys the Dreamer. And there hasn’t been a Male Omega in our house for generations before that. How could you possibly have guessed?” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Because I saw it sometimes.” Alicent said, looking out of the window and watching the gentle fall of the rain. The storm that had rolled in the same night as the fever still hadn’t left, it had only roared itself out until it was as meek as a kitten. “In the way you acted, in the way you carried yourself, in the things you enjoyed or abhorred. I just didn’t want to come to terms with it.”

“And now?” Aegon asked. He feared the answer, and yet he couldn’t help but ask the question.

“And now….” Alicent sighed, the silence stretching taught between them as Aegon’s imagination conjured all of the hurtful things his mother could say.

“Wine and honey. My grandmother smelled of wine and honey, too.” She said instead, her voice a bit distant. His fingers twitched with the strange urge to reach out, but he doused it. “He was said to have been as beautiful as a sunrise when he was a maiden, with a tongue sharper than Valyrian steel. A true rose of House Tyrell, thorns and all.”

Aegon perked up, tilting his head curiously as his mother spoke. What was she driving at here? He knew his great-grandmother was a Tyrell Omega, but Grandfather never spoke much of him. What was the relevance, other than a shared scent?

“You will be beautiful, Aegon.” She continued. “You’re a Targaryen, you could hardly not be. Alphas will fall all over themselves to offer you anything and everything just for a scrap of your attention. They’ll do their best to spin your head around with gallant acts and florid poetry. But you’ve also always been quick-witted and sharp-tongued. You have thorns of your own. A dragon’s claws. You’ll need them now more than ever, your sword and shield against those who would threaten your virtue, or lure you in with sweet words only to tie you to them for power and prestige.”

”Like you did with Father?” He thought mutinously.

“I understand, Mother.” He said instead. “I’ll be careful.”

”Not for you.” He thought. For the promises I made the night The Maiden blessed me with the fever. The night the Gods saved me from you.”

They were all lucky that Alicent had assigned Aegon a Septa when a fight broke out after Laenor’s funeral. More lucky than Aegon could even begin to comprehend.

It had started out as what Aegon considered a childish argument about who “deserved” a living creature that made her own choices. But it had quickly devolved when the insults about Jace and Luke’s parentage had come out. Aemond had a rock, Luke had a knife, and then suddenly Septa Ellyn had them both by the scruffs of their necks and everything was fine.

“That was close.” He whispered into the air, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Yeah.” Jace said, walking beside him as Septa Ellyn led the children back to their parents to be disciplined. “Luke almost-” He cut himself off, as if he couldn’t even bear the thought of what his brother could have done.

“And Aemond could’ve-” Aegon agreed, haltingly, going silent for the same reason.

“I’m glad your Septa was there.” Jace said, sounding as young and small as Aegon felt. He had been so powerless down there in the caves, watching with horror as it unfolded. He was the oldest, he was the only one presented. But he couldn’t do anything.

“Me too.” Aegon said, looking down at his feet and blinking his eyes rapidly to soothe the sting of them. “I guess it’s not all bad, having her around.”

“What’s it like? Being presented?” Jace asked curiously. Aegon was the only one of the children so far to present, though Jace and the twins were likely to do so soon. He supposed he should have expected their curiosity.

“It’s-” Aegon scrunched up his nose, thinking. “It’s different, but it’s not. No one’s suddenly treating me like an Omega grown. I’m still a child to them. But I’m expected to wear different clothing, and Father insists I wear jewels. I have to learn embroidery, and relearn how to dance. Some of the squires have been paying me more attention of late, too. Alphas around my age, boys who wouldn’t look twice at me as anything but a Prince before. It’s strange.”

Jace didn’t seem pleased with the answer for some reason.

“Squires are hardly suitable company for a Prince.” He grumbled. Aegon blinked at him, snorting a little when he saw the childish pout on his nephew’s face.

“I have no interest in squires.” Aegon said with a roll of his eyes. “Some of the young knights at court are quite handsome, though.” he added with a blush and a small, shy smile.

That only seemed to make Jace more agitated.

“I bet they’re not even that good.” He grumbled, pouting. So Jace was jealous of the older boys who’d already presented, hm? It made sense, his own change was lurking around the corner and every firstborn son in the realm longed to be an Alpha. A mischievous smirk coiled on Aegon’s face like a serpent ready to strike.

“Ser Quentyn Swann unhorsed three Knights on Mother’s last Name Day, and he’s only six and ten.” Aegon countered, a teasing lilt to his voice. “And so tall.” he added as an afterthought, a bit dreamily.

Jace glared at him venomously.

“Someone’s jealous that they haven’t earned their spurs yet.” Aegon teased, pinching Jace’s cheek. “Don’t be. You’ll get your turn soon enough, and you’ll make a fine knight.” He said, knowing how sweet those words would sound to ears that wanted so badly to hear them.

The scowl was replaced by a shocked look, and the tips of Jace's ears turned pink. He looked so cute like that, like a little dog that had just had its head pat.

“Do you think so?” He asked, open and unguarded in the way only an unpresented child could be. His scent, mild and milky, spiked gently at the praise. This was why Jace had always been his favorite nephew. It was so easy to make him hang on every word Aegon said, like he was important. Like Jace thought he was important.

“I know so.” Aegon said, leaning in to peck his nephew on the cheek. Septa Ellyn barked his name and Aegon turned to her, suddenly reminded of his new station and the folly of innocent kisses given to soon-to-present boys. He pulled back, part sheepish and part impish, giving Jace a wink before skipping off with Aemond back to their parents.

Jace hung back, a hand on his cheek, until the nursemaid the Septa had called for came to collect them.

“What do you know about Quentyn Swann?” Jace asked his swordmaster, Ser Meryn Coldbrook, in the yard the next day. The Spring air was bracing on Dragonstone, sweeping in off the sea with a bite that belied the warming days. Jace, though, was sweating. His fine black cloak had been discarded halfway through their training session, but his hair still clung, curling, to the back of his neck.

“A fine young knight. Won his spurs fighting bandits in the Rainwood. I’ve heard he’s a promising lance.” Ser Meryn answered. Jace’s jaw tightened and he struck harder than he meant to, leaving an opening that Ser Erryk took advantage of. Jace barely parried, his mind elsewhere.

“Aegon said he unseated three knights at the Queen’s Name Day tourney.” Jace grumbled as he adjusted his grip on the sword and made a half-hearted swipe at Ser Meryn that was swiftly slapped away. ”And that he’s tall.” His brain added mutinously.

“Aye, he did.” Ser Meryn said, his eyebrow twitching slightly as if he wanted to raise it.

“House Swann is a minor house.” Jace said, scowling. Aegon was a Prince. The first Targaryen Omega in two centuries. He couldn’t marry into house Swann. The idea was ridiculous! And yet…and yet Aegon had looked so besotted talking about him.

“Aye. Minor, but rich and powerful enough. They control the Slayne.” Ser Meryn said neutrally.

“You’re not helping.” Jace grumbled. Was the Slayne important enough to secure a royal match? Surely not. It didn’t even flow all the way to Storm’s End. Thoughts about Jahaerys’ daughter Viserra, who had been betrothed to a Manderly before her death, came unbidden and unwanted. Was that truly any better than a Swann?

No. No, that was ridiculous. White Harbor was much more important than the Slayne, and Viserra had been a Beta and tenth born. Grandfather would never make that mistake with Aegon. He was far too precious.

“What’s this about, My Prince?” The knight asked, looking down at the young Prince with an open curiosity.

Jace didn’t answer for a moment. He couldn’t just come out and tell him that it was because every time he thought about the moony look on Aegon’s face when he’d called Ser Quentyn tall he wanted to smash something.

“It’s nothing.” He muttered, taking up his stance once more.

“My Prince, if-” Ser Meryn started, but Jace cut him off with a snarl.

“I said it’s nothing!” He insisted, throwing his blunted training sword into the dirt and stomping off.

That horrible, angry feeling like he wanted to smash things (preferably Quentyn Swann’s face) only grew as he stalked off towards his rooms. His skin felt itchy and too tight, like it couldn’t contain his anger. His heart was thundering, far more than it should be for the light spar he’d been in. His blood raced with agitation and a need he couldn’t name.

His mother found him that way, stalking down the hall like a storm someone had thought to bring indoors. She greeted him with a smile, opening her mouth to say something. But instead her jaw went slack and her eyes wide as she slapped a hand over her nose. Jace barely had time to react before she was turning away from him.

“You, Guard!” She ordered, turning to a man standing watch outside of her solar. “Escort Prince Jacerys back to his rooms. I want a round the clock detail on his doors for the next week.” The man snapped to attention and crossed the hall in quick strides, laying a hand on Jace’s shoulder to lead him away. Jace shrugged him off with a half-feral growl.

“What is the meaning of this!?” He snapped, baring his teeth at her with wild eyes. The guard laid a hand on his shoulder again and again he threw him off with a low growl. “What have I done!?”

His mother’s eyes crinkled at the corners, though her smile was hidden behind the hand that was still holding her nose. “You’ve done nothing, my sweet boy.” She said, stepping away from him. Into fresher air, he realized. For some reason the stink of a rutting Alpha had filled the hall.

“Your change is upon you, you’re becoming a man.” His mother said wistfully, her hand twitching at her side as if she wanted to reach out for him. In a startling moment of clarity, Jace realized that the rutting Alpha was him.

“I don’t understand.” Jace whined, wiping the sweat from his brow and running the damp hand agitatedly through his hair. “I feel awful.”

“I know, sweetling.” Rhaenyra said sympathetically, gesturing for the guard to approach him again. “It always feels terrible, even for Betas. But it will pass. Go to your chambers. You’ll feel better in your den.”

He didn’t want to go to his den. He wanted his mother. He wanted Aegon. But his mother was quickly receding down the hallway, and Aegon was hundreds of miles away.

Jace did his best not to fight the guard as he put his hand back on his shoulder and led him off, but something in him wanted nothing more than to round on the Alpha and attack. His very presence was off-putting, like a direct challenge he had to face.

Somehow, though, he managed to keep a leash on the urge until he was deposited in his rooms. Mother had been right, he felt better here, less exposed. But it wasn’t enough. He drew the curtains over the windows and blew the candles out, cloaking the room in blessed darkness that made the pounding behind his eyes lessen just a fraction.

He tumbled into the bed and drew the curtains, completely sealing himself into a cocoon of shadow and safety. He whimpered as a spike of some strange feeling went through him, making weird, unwelcome things happen between his legs.

For some reason, his mind turned to Aegon.

He’d smelled so good when he’d leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Like the finest Arbor Red he’d ever tasted, rich and juicy and sweet. The thought made his gums ache, a sensation he’d never felt before and was suddenly keenly aware he didn’t like.

”A fine young knight, a promising lance.” Ser Meryn had said.

”And so tall.” Aegon’s words came back to him and Jace snarled, fingers tightening in the sheets. Stupid fucking Quentyn Swann. What was so special about him? Nothing, that was what. Unseated three knights? So what, they were probably hedge knights and upjumped squires.

A traitorous whisper in his mind reminded him that Harwin Strong was taller than any Swann.

Jace buried his face in his pillow and screamed, his fangs unsheathing for the first time as he bit down angrily on the fabric. Blood from his broken seals pooled in the black silk, hidden against the dark surface. But he could taste it mingling with the musk of the feather down inside of the pillow. It was truly happening, every Noble boy’s dream. He was becoming an Alpha, and it was a miserable experience.

Lucky him.

He screamed into his pillow again, pummeling into it with reckless fists and imagining it was Quentyn Swann’s face. The anger refused to abate, and whatever was going on in his nethers was only getting worse. He hated this. He hated presenting. He hated his rut.

He hated Quentyn fucking Swann.

Rhaenyra was called back to King’s Landing less than a moon’s turn after the funeral. Apparently Lyonel Strong had gotten into a fight with Grandfather deep into his cups and now his mother was Hand of the King. Something about preparing both her and the Realm for her rule. Jace thought maybe it was just to get her away from Daemon. Not that it had worked, since the Rogue Prince was currently swaggering about the ship giving orders as they prepared to disembark.

Either way, part of him was excited to go back to King’s Landing. His first rut had filled him out a bit, broadening his shoulders and giving him an extra inch of height. He doubted he was as tall as Ser Quentyn yet, but he had to be at least taller than Aegon now, right?

The wind off the Blackwater whipped at his hair, throwing his dark curls into his eyes. The scent of cedarwood and oakmoss curled around him, a proper mature scent that would follow him now to the end of his days. He had prayed for some marine note; saltwater or ocean breeze. Some scrap of a lie to hide behind. Instead, he smelled like a godswood. He smelled of the First Men the way that Aegon smelled of the Reach.

Charcoal and sharp black pepper tickled his nose, and he turned to look at Daemon. That was what a Valyrian smelled of. Exotic spices and fire. Daemon smelled like he didn’t belong here. Like he should still be in the shadows of The Fourteen Flames. Jace and Aegon smelled as they were, two boys whose roots in Westeros ran back a thousand years or more.

”Maybe that’s a good thing. a traitorous part of his mind whispered. "A Westerosi King for Westeros. The first in a hundred years.”

He dismissed it. He was a Velaryon. Trueborn. To even consider the alternative was to court treason.

Luke stumbled up from the bowls of the ship, still looking green even though they’d been docked for almost a half hour. ”Trueborn. Anything else is treason.” he reminded himself as he looked at his seasick little brother. It wasn’t a lie if he believed it.

“We’ll be off the ship soon.” Jace assured Luke gently, patting his back. He smelled of sour milk, the stink of a distressed child. His new Alpha instincts clawed at him to protect, even stronger than his instincts as an older brother.

“I don’t want to get off the ship. I don’t like King’s Landing.” Luke said petulantly. Then, more mournfully, “Aemond probably hates me now.”

”Well you did pull a knife on him, little brother.” Jace thought, but he didn’t say it. He simply squeezed his brother’s shoulder. Luke had taken Aemond’s spat insults during and after the fight hard, and nothing Jace said would convince the pup that his favorite uncle had just been angry.

“All you can do is apologize and hope he forgives you.” He told him, ruffling his hair. “He’s always been softer with you, mayhaps he’s already forgiven you.”

“Then why didn’t he answer my letter?” Luke griped, leaning on the railing of the ship with a pout. Luke had written to Aemond as soon as they were back on Dragonstone, but no word had ever come back from King’s Landing.

“It’s been less than a moon’s turn, Luke. For all we know his reply is arriving on Dragonstone right now and we merely missed it.” Jace said, continuing to pet the dark curls under his fingers and sending out his scent to comfort his brother.

Luke turned and buried his face in Jace’s chest, a child seeking comfort in a related Alpha. He’d been doing it more often of late, an instinctive reaction to Jace’s presentation. Jace wrapped his arms around his little brother and squeezed.

“If Aemond doesn’t forgive you, I’ll duel him.” Jace promised with a small smile.

“Knock him in the dirt.” Luke grumbled, muffled by Jace’s doublet. “But only if he doesn’t forgive me.”

“And if he does forgive you?” Jace asked, amused.

“Then help me steal those cherry tarts he likes from the kitchens.” Luke grinned, easy and sweet. Jace wondered sometimes if maybe Luke would be an Omega, and his instinct to feed those he cared about only bolstered that. But there was never any use speculating before a child presented. Look where it had gotten the Hightowers.

Aegon.

The thought of his uncle sent a strange warmth through him. He wondered if he’d be in the royal procession meeting them at the docks, or if the children would have been left at the castle. He wanted to see him so badly, to see his reaction to Jace’s presentation.

Would he be surprised? Would he take him more seriously now? And how would his scent change, now that Jace had a mature nose? Omegas had smelled sweeter since his presentation, especially unmated ones. Would Aegon smell sweeter too? How was that even possible when he already smelled like the richest honey?

“Jace, Luke. It’s time to leave.” Daemon said over the wind and the din of the docks.

He supposed he’d get his answers soon

Aemond still didn’t know how to feel about what he’d seen.

That morning, he’d gone to his mother’s chambers to inform her that he was ready to leave for the procession. That he, at least, was a dutiful and punctual child. Helaena would rather spend time with her beetles than get dressed efficiently, and Aegon had somehow become even more vain about his clothing choices since presenting. Both of them were taking ages, and he’d thought perhaps he could persuade Mother to leave them behind.

When he’d gotten to his mother’s chambers, he’d seen his parents coming out. Both of them. Which was strange enough in and of itself. But then something had happened that still had Aemond questioning everything.

Viserys had leaned down and kissed his wife.

And Mother had smiled and kissed him back.

His first instinct had been to turn away for some reason, like he shouldn’t be witnessing this. Then a warring need to both run away and confront his parents and ask what they thought they were doing. But he hadn’t gotten to do any of those things, because suddenly his parents were turning to look at him with the warmest looks he’d received from either of them in years.

“Aemond, my boy. Are you ready to greet your sister?” Viserys had asked. Aemond hadn’t answered for a moment, just staring at Viserys like a stranger.

“Yes.” He had said slowly, trying to process. “I’ve come to tell Mother I’m ready to go. Aegon and Helaena are not.”

“I’ll see to Aegon.” Viserys had said, as if it were something he did. As if seeing to his children was a natural part of his day. Aemond had watched his father walk away, perplexed.

“Mother, what’s going on?” He has asked, unable to hold in his confusion anymore.

“Don’t ask questions.” She had said quickly. But her tone hadn’t been sharp, just a gentle warning. As if she was just as confused as he was, but more willing to take part in the farce. He had noticed the necklace she wore, a collar of gold and emeralds he’d never seen before. Was it connected, he had wondered? But Mother had told him not to ask questions, so he hadn’t.

That had been hours ago, before the procession through the city. They were at the docks now, waiting for Rhaenyra and her children to disembark, but still Aemond was puzzling over the events of the morning. He fiddled with the reigns of his pony where they were tied around the pommel, trying to make sense of it all.

Things had shifted since Aegon presented. Father had been overjoyed, yes, but Aemond had assumed that his interest would fade as quickly as it always did. But it had been almost 3 moons since Aegon’s presentation, and Viserys’ newfound investment in his family hadn’t waned. Just a week ago he’d come to the yard to watch Aemond train. It had been off putting and distracting. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Aegon, of course, was eating the attention up like it was a feast and he was a man starved. Even now his brother sat excitedly chatting to their father as the old King watched on indulgently, the Omega’s star sapphire choker at his neck as always. He hadn’t seemed to take the damned thing off since Viserys gave it to him.

How could they just forgive him like that?

The thought struck Aemond out of the blue, and a part of him was ashamed of it. Didn’t The Mother command forgiveness? And yet….and yet Aemond didn’t want to forgive. It was one thing to forgive Lucerys for siding with Rhaena, which he was already struggling with. It was another to forgive his father for a lifetime of absence.

Aemond scowled and turned away from his father and brother. He couldn’t look at them anymore. Instead he focused on his mother, who sat straight-backed and regal on a gray palfrey. The picture of royal dignity and grace. Surely she was only accepting her husband’s affections out of duty. Mother had always stressed the importance of duty.

Yes, that must be it.

Suddenly, his attention was taken by the herald’s trumpets as Princess Rhaenyra and her family disembarked from their ship. His eyes immediately sought Lucerys out, and he wondered again for the hundredth time if they could ever go back to how things were before the fight.

He’d received Lucerys’s letter not long after they’d returned to King’s Landing, but he’d never replied. He wasn’t sure how to. It had stung, Lucerys siding with that idiotic scrap of a girl who thought that a dragon was some kind of inheritance a parent could leave to their child. Especially after that stupid pig incident.

But when their eyes met over the crowd and Lucerys gave him a shy, tentative smile, it was hard to stay angry. He didn’t smile back, but he did offer a polite nod. The way Lucerys’ smile grew was worth the slight sting to his pride that forgiveness always conjured.

Maybe he’d finally give him the riding gloves he’d gotten for him before the funeral. Last time he’d seen his nephew, the boy had been wearing gloves that were clearly too small for him. Aemond was familiar with outgrowing clothing faster than your parents could notice it needed replacing, so he’d commissioned a new pair. Fine lambskin things in Velaryon sea green. Nothing special, but they’d make a good peace offering.

“Your Grace. It is good to see you again.” Rhaenyra greeted their father with a soft smile and a bow. Aemond sat straighter on his pony, eyes focused on his sister. “And your family.” She added, jerking a terse nod towards Mother. Alicent, to her credit, merely returned the nod with a more graceful one. Rhaenyra would never be half the Queen Mother was.

“Daughter! Welcome back to King’s Landing.” Viserys greeted, smiling indulgently down at his daughter the same way he had Aegon only moments before. As if how he felt about the two was even remotely the same. Aemond clenched his jaw tight.

“Come, we’ve prepared horses for you to travel back to the Keep.” Viserys said, having some groomsmen bring forward the horses for the Princess’ family. Jacerys, he noted jealously, had transitioned to a horse like Aegon had. He looked down at his own pony and scowled. At least Helaena and Lucerys still had to ride ponies, too.

As the procession turned around to make its way back to the Red Keep, Lucerys fell in beside him. He didn’t look at the other pup, his violet eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. But he could feel his weight at his side like a lodestone.

“Qybor.” Lucerys said. Aemond turned to him then to find the boy looking up at him with those sweet, imploring eyes he always put on when he’d done something. He’d seen them a hundred times after one of Aegon’s pranks landed harder than Lucerys had anticipated. Why must they be so hard to stay angry with?

“Taoba.” He replied neutrally, regarding his nephew coolly.

“Do you forgive me?” The pup asked, sounding truly contrite. Aemond pursed his lips. Of course he forgave him. But Lucerys didn’t need to know that yet.

“Why did you side with Rhaena?” He asked instead, spitting the question at him like venom.

“Her mother died. She was upset, she needed me.” Lucerys said, shrinking back with hurt eyes. Good, let him hurt. He hurt Aemond first!

“And I didn’t?” Aemond sneered. ”You picked her. Why did you pick her?” He thought, anger bubbling up in his chest.

“You had Vhagar.” Lucerys said, fiddling with his reigns. As if a dragon could mend all wounds. Like Lucerys thought that’s all Aemond needed. And maybe Aemond had thought so, too…in the moment. But later, as they were departing for home, the thought that Lucerys might never speak with him again had ached far deeper than not having a dragon.

“You said I didn’t deserve her!” Aemond scoffed instead of saying all of that. Instead of telling Lucerys how much it hurt. How lonely it felt when everyone, even Lucerys, stood against him.

“I didn’t say that!” Lucerys cried, alarmed. The denial stung like a viper’s bite, its effect on Aemond’s emotions just as toxic. He’d set out to forgive Lucerys, but somewhere along the way the wounds had reopened. Or maybe he’d picked the scabs off himself.

“You implied it!” Aemond snapped, deciding that he didn’t care right now. He just wanted Lucerys to understand, to feel his pain. “What else would it mean, that I should have waited for Rhaena to claim her? Other than Rhaena deserving her more than me!”

“That’s not what I meant!” Lucerys protested. “But Vhagar was her mother’s-” Aemond cut him off. He was so sick of that argument. Did no one respect that great ancient beast but him?

“Vhagar is her own creature, not some trinket to be passed down.” He said, the words seeming to cut into Lucerys like a knife as he flinched away from them. “If Rhaena can’t see that, perhaps it is she who doesn’t deserve Vhagar.”

“You’re right.” Lucerys said, the tension escaping his body with his resigned sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Suddenly Aemond felt unsure. He’d gotten what he wanted, Lucerys to acknowledge his perspective. But now what did he do? The gap between them felt as wide as that day on Driftmark.

A beat of silence stretched near infinite between them before Aemond spoke.

“I’m sorry too.” Aemond said quietly, not looking at Lucerys. “For-” Lucerys cut him off.

“It’s fine.” He said, clearly not even wanting to acknowledge what Aemond had said. Maybe that’s why the insults had never gotten back to Father despite Aemond waiting almost a moon’s turn for the reprimand. “I forgive you if you forgive me.”

“I forgive you.” Aemond said with a graceful dip of his head. Lucerys beamed, his little face shining with joy. How did he find it so easy to forgive? Even now, Aemond wanted to hiss and spit like a kicked cat. It was costing him so much of his pride to give in. But Lucerys just…forgave.

“Will you play cards with me?” He asked, brown eyes shining with eager hope. He smelled like the sweet milk of a pup’s contentment, and part of Aemond preened at having done that. Maybe practicing a little forgiveness wasn’t all bad.

“Only if you don’t cheat this time.” Aemond said with a smirk as he spurred his pony into a trot, leaving Lucerys behind. Just because he forgave him, it didn’t mean he had to be nice, he decided.

“Hey! I don’t- get back here!” Lucerys huffed, trotting after Aemond who continued to ignore him despite the slight smile curling his lips.

This was the way it should be. Lucerys and Aemond, not Lucerys and Rhaena. Stupid girl. She couldn’t have his dragon, and she certainly couldn’t have his best friend.

By the Gods, Jace could practically taste the grapes that made the wine of Aegon’s scent, it was so rich and sweet.

The ache in his gums that had preceded his unsheathing was back, his fangs pounding where they were retracted into his skull. He longed desperately to let them out and relieve the pressure, but it was incredibly ill-mannered to reveal your fangs in the presence of unmated Omegas.

Omegas like Aegon.

Gods, why had Grandfather seated him next to his uncle for the feast? It was torture. Sweet, maddening torture. Nothing had ever smelled so utterly delectable as the scent of honeyed wine pouring from Aegon. The wine he was drinking was like so much ash on his tongue in comparison, but he sipped at it anyway simply for something to occupy his aching mouth.

He tried to focus on what Aegon was saying, but everything about him was so utterly distracting. Moonlight hair caught the flickering light of the torches like the flames themselves were tangled in his curls. Violet eyes danced with mirth and mischief, the same that dripped from pretty pink lips.

“Jace?” Aegon asked, head tilting to the side. His pretty silver curls moved with the movement, and the firelight tangled in them moved and shifted, too.

“Hm?” Jace asked, swallowing thickly. “Sorry- You were saying?”

“I asked if your mother had chosen to squire you to someone yet.” Aegon said, brows furrowing. “Are you alright?”

“Oh! Yes. I mean, no. No, she hasn’t. But yes, I’m alright.” Jace said, nervously taking another drink.

“That’s strange. You’ve already presented and yet you’ve never served a knight? How will you become one?” Aegon asked.

The question stung, mostly because of the truth buried in it. Most boys became squires well before their presentation, even those who would later go on to be Omegas. Even Baela, who had presented as an Alpha around the same time he had, was squiring for her father. He was behind even female Alphas his age.

“Mother is just protective.” Jace said, cheeks burning. He would become a knight. Better than the other boys at court who looked at Aegon a second too long. Better than Ser Quentyn.

“I could talk to Father.” Aegon offered, eyes bright and curious. “If you want to be a knight, he won’t deny you. And my sister won’t deny him.”

Jace studied Aegon’s face, eyes narrowed. What was this? Another prank? A chance to humiliate him? But no, Aegon was simply looking at him with those same bright eyes with no hint of emotion on his face except the anticipation of Jace’s answer.

“And what do you hope to gain?” Jace asked slowly, eyes still slitted. Aegon jerked, looking bemused.

“Gain?” He asked, sounding as if he hadn’t even considered it. A first. “I don’t know, what are you willing to give me for it?” A cat’s lazy grin stretched across his face as he regarded Jace mischievously.

’A kiss’ was Jace’s first fleeting thought, and he felt his cheeks burn again. No, that wouldn’t be a reward for Aegon, that was just another thing Jace wanted.

Then he remembered how Aegon had stared in open awe and envy at his mother’s lightly rouged cheeks when they’d met at the docks. Alicent had scolded him sharply, likely something about such things being vain. But Jace had seen the way he’d kept sneaking glances.

“I’ll get you a pot of rouge.” He offered. Aegon went still, his eyes widening a fraction.

“I’ll do it.” Aegon said quickly, his eyes sparkling. Warmth bloomed in Jace’s chest as he realized he did that. He’d put that satisfied little smirk on his Uncle’s face. He’d give him a thousand pots of rouge if it would make him always smile like that.

And whenever Aegon used it, perhaps he’d think of Jace.

Aegon fidgeted as the guard knocked on the door of his father’s solar. He still wasn’t used to just calling on the King casually, even though Viserys never seemed unhappy about his son’s visits. He stood straighter as the door opened, striding into the solar with surer steps than he felt capable of.

“Aegon, my boy. Come in, come in.” Viserys said, ushering his son into the solar. It smelled of old books and ink, papers strewn about on the desk.

“Good morrow, Father.” Aegon said with a dip of his head.

“What can I do for you, my son? Is this about the proposals? I’ve told them you’re too young-” Aegon cut his father off.

“No, Father. It’s not about that. I came to speak to you about Jacerys.” Aegon said, taking a seat as his father rounded the desk to shuffle through some papers, jotting down a few notes.

“Jacerys?” Viserys hummed absently. “What about him?”

“Well, he’s presented.” Aegon started, not sure how to broach the subject of Jace’s squireship.

“Yes! A fine young Alpha, a good heir for your sister.” Viserys said, voice warm and bright as he spoke of his grandson. “And such a nice boy, he’ll make a fine king.”

’Better than I would, anyway. Aegon thought.

“Should he not be squiring by now?” Aegon asked, pushing past the mix of relief and bitterness that spurred in him. “Aemond does, and Baela. If he’s to earn his spurs, shouldn’t he be in more dedicated training?”

“Is he not yet a squire?” Viserys asked, finally looking up from his papers at his son. Of course Viserys hadn’t even noticed that Jace wasn’t in service of a knight. As much as he preferred his sister and her brood, he’d paid about as much attention to them as he had to his own children.

“No, Father. Princess Rhaenyra still hasn’t allowed him.” Aegon said, picking at his fingernails to stop himself from scowling at the King. His mother would skin him later when she saw, but she had no room to talk.

Get out of your books and models for one day and perhaps you’d see something. Aegon thought maliciously.

“Well that will have to be rectified. In fact, I believe I have just the young knight in mind. Someone not too much older than Jacerys, who might be a good friend for him.” Viserys said, cheerful and buoyant and completely oblivious to the resentment roiling behind the lilac eyes tracking him.

“Who?” Aegon asked, swallowing it all down.

“Oh, what was his name again?” Viserys hummed absently as he picked his quill back up and shuffled through his papers. “The young Stormlander. Ah, yes!”

“Ser Quentyn Swann.”

Chapter Text

Ser Quentyn was indeed very tall.

But it was so much worse than that. Jace had hoped that he’d be plain. Or perhaps a terrible swordsman to make up for being a decent lance. Maybe he was cruel and petty, someone Aegon would come to resent. Or perhaps he was a dullard, lacking the wit needed to entertain the impish Prince.

He was none of those things.

His golden hair had caught the first rays of morning light as Jace had met him in the training yard for their first lesson. Striking blue eyes sparkled with warmth, tracking Jace as he entered. A cavalier half-grin sat lopsided on his face, as friendly as it was carefree. Even at six and ten his jawline was already strong, and he was broad across the chest and shoulders with thick arms. Beside him, Jace looked like a child.

“Well met, My Prince!” Ser Quentyn greeted, his smile widening. He already had a blunted training sword in hand, and it arced gracefully towards Jace as he threw it to him. So of course Jace fumbled and dropped it. Of course he did. And of course Swann didn’t mock him, giving nothing but a patient smile as Jace bent to pick it up.

“Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have thrown it.” Swann said sheepishly, ruffling his golden hair. As if it was his fault that Jace had dropped the sword. And he wasn’t saying it like some simpering noble might, eager to take the blame from Jace to spare his wrath or gain his favor. He said it as if he actually believed he was at fault.

“It’s fine.” Jace grumbled, dropping into a proper stance and tightening his grip on the hilt. Quentyn gave him another sheepish look and took up his own sword. But it fell away as he took up a fool’s guard stance, his sword nearly trailing in the dirt as he held it loose in front of him. There was nothing but steel in those blue eyes now.

“Alright, come at me. Let’s see what you’re made of, My Prince.” He said, the corners of his lips quirking but the resolve never leaving those piercing eyes.

Jace’s jaw tightened. This was a guard one used for a novice, goading them into a reckless attack so you could use the stance’s fluidity to your advantage. It was an insult, a lack of respect. But to attack without planning was folly.

Jace adjusted his stance, sword held steady at his right hip ready to thrust forward. He watched Ser Quentyn for any sign of weakness but the steel in his eyes and the cavalier smile on his face betrayed nothing.

Jace adjusted his grip on his sword and stepped forward into a thrust. But Ser Quentyn’s sword moved like a striking viper, swatting Jace’s away easily. The young knight grinned playfully as he tapped Jace first on the neck and then on his ribcage on the opposite side.

“Your thrust isn’t fluid enough for use against a swordsman experienced in the Fool’s Guard.” Ser Quentyn said, drawing back and slinging his sword over his shoulders. Jace burned with shame, the places where Ser Quentyn’s sword had tapped him feeling bruised despite the lightness of the touches.

“It’s fine for someone who leans on it as a crutch, to goad novices to attack. But against someone with any real talent for the sword, you need to be more fluid.” The young knight explained, and Jace’s shame burned even brighter. Ser Quentyn hadn’t been toying with him as he thought. This was a more advanced lesson, and Swann had simply assumed Jace was up for it.

The knight dropped his sword back down into his guard. Jace could see it now, the way that Ser Quentyn’s whole body was subtly coiled to strike. What he’d taken for loose form he was now seeing as tempered grace.

“Come at me again, but this time let yourself feel the movement.” Ser Quentyn said, giving a curt nod.

Jace looked at him, unimpressed. What kind of advice was that?

Ser Quentyn laughed, as if he’d read his mind. “It’s hard to explain. But swordsmanship is a dance, not a rote routine. You are a perfect example of technique and form, but you need to relax. If you fight the way a Maester would describe swordplay, you’ll fall quickly on a battlefield.”

Jace rolled his shoulders, breaking himself out of the stiffness of his form.

This time he sat back and observed for longer, taking in everything about his opponent before coming at him with a testing swipe. Quentyn parried it and came at him, but Jace’s sword was already where it needed to be to block the incoming blow.

Quentyn’s blade slid off of his with a hiss, changing direction with a flash of steel. Jace caught it with his shield and brought the pommel of his sword down on the crook of Ser Quentyn’s elbow. But the way the arm gave away under his blow told him that Quentyn had anticipated it, and was moving his arm away before Jace’s hand even came down.

He could see it now, what Swann had meant. That swordplay was a dance, not a routine. A give and take between adversaries who were also partners.

And Ser Quentyn was a better dancer than Jace.

The arm he had tried to disable swung down, flitting as gracefully as a hummingbird under Jace’s shield and biting into his side. The hit was much harder than the two earlier taps had been, but somehow it hurt less.

“We’ll make a fine swordsman out of you yet, My Prince.” Ser Quentyn said, clapping Jace on the shoulder with that same cavalier grin and something akin to pride shining in his blue eyes.

This time when Ser Quentyn threw his golden head back and laughed, Jace couldn’t help the small smile that answered.

Everyone said Aemond would be an Alpha.

Luke could see it. He was tall, and fierce, and skilled with a sword in a way other boys their age weren’t. He was prideful, and masculine, and he rode the largest dragon in the world. If anyone had ever exuded Alpha energy before their presentation, it was Aemond.

Jace said there was never any use in guessing someone’s secondary gender before their presentation. He said that you could never really tell, and that people were more complicated than either of their genders. And maybe he was right, but everyone had said Jace would be an Alpha and then he had been.

Luke thought that maybe Jace just said that because everyone said Luke would be an Omega.

But if he’s being honest with himself, Luke wouldn’t mind being an Omega at all. He loved children, and he’d never been a good swordsman. Jace told him he just needed more practice, that he’d only been learning for a year, but Luke just knew he didn’t have the knack for it. His claim to Driftmark would pass to Joffrey, and with it his feelings of inadequacy.

And would it be so bad? To be pretty and adored? Aegon seemed to enjoy it immensely. He’d changed since presenting, his cruelty tempered into mischief and his smiles wider and brighter. He delighted in the pretty things he wore, and Luke had seen how greedily he’d clutched at the pot of rouge Jace had passed him a few days ago.

And if Aemond was an Alpha, then maybe he didn’t want to be anything else.

An Alpha couldn’t marry a male Beta. And they certainly couldn’t marry another Alpha. But if Luke was an Omega, then he could marry Aemond and then they’d never have to be apart again. They could sleep in the same room every night and take every meal together. Luke could read his favorite books to Aemond, and brush his pretty hair whenever he wanted to.

His mother had explained the mechanics of making children when he’d asked about Joffrey, but it all sounded very gross and strange. He didn’t think he was going to like that part much, but he did want babes with Aemond.

He’d already picked out their names, and none of them would be Aegon because there were already too many and Aemond didn’t even like his brother. Their boys would be Baelon and Corlys, and their girls would be Visenya, Alysanne, and Rhaelle. Luke would carry them with the same dignity and grace his mother did with Joffrey, and he would be the best mother ever to his pups and love them infinitely.

He pulled up the loose board under his bed and reached inside, pulling out the small embroidery slate he’d stashed inside. He knew he’d be mocked if anyone found out. Other boys dreaded the idea of becoming an Omega. Of having their inheritances stripped and being reduced to the same role as a woman. The idea that he’d be practicing for the possibility would be foreign to them.

But he wanted to embroider his own wedding cloak. He always had. His bride cloak will be his childrens’ maiden cloak, he wants it to be special. And he worried that if he doesn’t start learning until after he presents that he’ll never be good enough. Rhaena had been learning since she was small, and she’d already good enough to give away her projects without shame.

He stared down at the lopsided, messy red dragon. Or it was supposed to be a dragon, at least. It looked more like a very strange horse. The black cloth it was stitched on bunched around the edges awkwardly, not even laying flat stretched as it was over the slate.

“Aemond would never accept this.” He groaned, starting the time consuming process of loosening the slate so he could move on to a different area of the fabric and start again. At least he hadn’t been foolish enough to actually try to embroider a gift for Aemond.

“I’m worse at this than I am at sword fighting.” He lamented. “I’ll make a terrible Omega.”

“Luke?” His mother’s voice came, her surprise as evident as his own when he turned to look at her with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” She asked, looking down at the embroidery in his hands.

“I-” He stammered, still staring at her, white as a sheet. They froze there for a long moment, both of their eyes wide and their thoughts visibly racing behind them. Luke futilely tried to stash the slate back under the floor, but then his mother finally spoke.

“You know.” She said, seeming to ponder something. Her eyes flicked from her son to the embroidery in his hands. Luke swallowed thickly, all the things she could possibly say tumbling through his thoughts.

“I’m no good at embroidery, myself.” She said instead of any of that, pressing her lips into a thoughtful line.

“You’re not?” He asked, shocked that his mother was bad at anything.

“I pricked my fingers far too often to enjoy it.” She said with a small smile, sounding like her thoughts were far away in another time. “And my flowers never came out as delicate as my friends’.”

“You’re the Crown Princess. You don’t need to be good at embroidery.” Luke said, a bit sullen.

“I certainly wished I was, the first time I wanted to gift a knight my favor.” Rhaenyra chuckled, looking out the window into the darkness with a sad smile. “Who is it for?” She asked, taking the slate from Luke and tracing her fingers over the lumpy dragon.

“Aemond.” Luke admitted timidly. His mother regarded him carefully, violet eyes unreadable as she processed the information.

“He’s a handsome young man, and the blood of the dragon has always been drawn to its own.” His mother said evenly. There was more to it than that, but whatever it was she was content to keep it to herself.

“Everyone says he’ll be an Alpha, and that I’ll be an Omega.” Luke said, squirming a bit. “It would make sense, would it not?”

“Perhaps.” His mother said with that same enigmatically even tone. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping just a fraction and a smile returning to her face.

“But you don’t need to be good at embroidery to be a good mate and mother. If you are an Omega, and we don’t know that you will be, you will not be defined by how pretty your stitches are.” She said, patting his head.

“I know that.” Luke huffed, pulling his knees up to his chest. “But I want to do it. I want to make nice things for Aemond, and for other people I care about. Like Rhaena and Helaena do. Helaena gave me the prettiest handkerchief as a welcome gift, with gilt seahorses and sea thrift clusters. And I had nothing to give Aemond except my apology.”

“I could task one of the Septas with teaching you.” His mother offered, handing him back the slate. He started to undo it again, intent on practicing on a new part of the cloth still.

“The other boys will mock me.” He said sullenly, tugging too harshly on the fabric and the frame. His mother scoffed.

“Those same boys would be honored to receive the fruits of your studies once you presented. Ignore them. Dragons do not answer to the whims of men.” She said, her gaze sharp and commanding, every inch the future Queen she was.

“Okay, I will study with a Septa. But please don’t tell anyone!” He begged, clutching the slate to his chest. People already looked at him strangely, taking note of his brown hair and eyes, his upturned nose; his First Men features. He didn’t need to give them any more stones to sling at him.

“Oh, Lucerys.” Rhaenyra sighed, cupping the back of his head so she could pull him in to kiss his forehead. “You must learn to care less for the opinions of others. Especially those beneath you.”

“I’ll try, mother.” He said, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. Rhaenyra just shook her head and sighed, ruffling his hair.

“See that you do.” She said, pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaving him.

Helaena was glad that she’d presented as a Beta.

The world was already so loud and sharp, full of jagged edges and sudden noises. And her dreams and visions were even louder, clouding her reality and soaking her thoughts in blood. Visions of a strange future that couldn’t come to pass. A world with no secondary genders, a world at war.

She was glad to not have to layer to sharper, more insistent instincts of an Alpha or Omega over all of that.

Instead she could sit in the garden, examining her beetle friends, without worry of an impending cycle. So that’s where she was, watching a pretty beetle crawl across her hand. The sunlight shimmered off of its carapace as it crawled, rainbows glinting in the depths of the green . She would call him Maelor, she thinks. Aegon would take the twins’ names, but she could keep Maelor for herself. She hoped she did get to keep him, this time.

“What’s that?” Baela asked as she sat down in the grass next to Helaena. The young Alpha looked at her with big curious eyes and Helaena smiled. Baela would like the name.

“It’s a rose chafer.” She said, holding out her hand. Baela held hers out as well, both girls watching as the little green beetle crawled from a pale hand to a darker one. Baela pulled her hand back so she could examine the thing, letting it crawl across her skin idly.

“S’pose that’s why you found it in the rose garden.” Baela said, still watching the beetle. “I like your new smell.” She said conversationally as the little thing opened its wings and took off. Common courtesy, to congratulate a newly presented friend on their adult scent.

“Bee balm and clover.” Helaena says with a small smile, picking her embroidery back up from where she’d discarded it to play with the beetle. “The insects like it, too. I am content with it. Yours is pleasing, as well.”

She doesn’t mention that they will smell well together, for Baela need not know that yet. The Alpha’s own scent of burning dragon’s blood resin and black tea paired well with her own herbaceousness.

“Father is already talking of betrothals.” Baela said with a sneer as the beetle flew off back to the roses.

“Mmm.” Helaena hummed, focusing on her stitches. Baela need not worry, it would not come for many moons.

“He’s trying to get the Princess to promise me to Luke.” Baela huffed, picking a small white flower out of the grass and twirling it between her fingers. “I don’t want to marry Luke, even if he is an Omega. He’s such a brat sometimes.”

“The birch is made to bear the pomegranate.” Haela replied. “Life and Death, birth and rebirth.”

“You don’t sound worried.” Baela said, still twirling the little white flower. “Does that mean everything will be okay?”

Helaena smiled, drawing the purple thread through the cloth. Lilac and rosemary, a ring around the birch. A beehive heavy with honey hanging from a cedar. A warm cup of tea and the buzzing of bees. She hoped Maelor would have curls.

“Everything is never okay.” Helaena said, not looking up from her work. “But many things will be.”

Baela simply nodded, leaning back on her arms and quietly watching the sky as they sat in companionable silence.

Aemond hated it when Mother and Grandsire argued.

They didn’t do it often in front of the pups, but when so many of their arguments centered around Alicent’s children these things just happened. Aemond had been in his mother’s chambers reading as his mother brushed her hair out when Grandsire had come in.

He knew immediately what they were going to talk about.

Him. The topic was always Aemond these days. How Aemond would be an Alpha for sure, not a misunderstanding like Aegon. How Alicent should use her newfound favor with the King to push Aemond as heir. How all of their hopes now rested on his shoulders. Otto would lecture on and on about his new duties, his new expectations.

Mother, Seven bless her, would always defend him. He was too young, unpresented. They didn’t know if he’d be an Alpha. Maybe he’d be a Beta, and his standing would only be marginally better than his Beta sister’s, not enough to press the issue now that she was Hand. Aemond was grateful she never argued for the possibility that he’d be an Omega. Even the thought was enough to send a shudder of revulsion down his spine.

Sometimes, like today, both would refuse to back down.

“An Alpha heir will always be a threat to her rule!” Otto bellowed, red in the face. His mother met him with eyes fierce and shining like the signalfire of the hightower.

“If there is an Alpha heir at all!” Allicent shouted back. She clutched at the butter yellow fabric of her skirts, but her back was straight and her head held high.

Aemond pulled himself closer to the wall as they continued shouting, clutching his book to his chest with wide eyes and trying to make himself as small as possible. He hated how weak it made him feel, how helpless he felt when the people he cared about raised their voices. It had been the same at Driftmark, when all of his supposed friends had cornered and shouted at him. He could smell his own stink of sour milk in the air; a distressed pup calling out for comfort.

But if his Mother and Grandsire could smell him over the raging battle of their own pheromones, they showed no sign of it.

Aemond slowly rose to his feet and slink to the door, slipping out of the room and into the hall. If either of the occupants noticed his departure there was no sign of that either as the pup took his first few halting steps away. He didn’t know where he was going, really, just that he wanted to get away from the yelling. So when he found himself outside of Aegon’s chambers, he was almost as confused as his brother was when he opened the door to find Aemond there.

But Aegon seemed to scent his distress immediately, sighing and pulling him into his chambers.

They didn’t talk as they climbed into Aegon’s bed, Aemond tucking himself up against his brother’s side and burying his face in his scent gland. The scent of a calm, related Omega soothed him; the scent of sour milk settling and sweetening as he took deep breaths of wine and honey. Aegon just petted his hair, letting him take his comfort.

“Do you even want to be an Alpha?” Aegon asked after long moments of silence. Aemond snorted, almost not dignifying that with a response.

“Of course I do, what a stupid question.” He grumbled.

“No one asked me.” Aegon shrugged. “No one cared what I wanted to be.”

“So, what? You care?” Aemond huffed, not having the heart to put any malice in it.

“I do.” Aegon said, hand still passing gently over silver hair. “Do you want to be King?”

Aemond considered it. Did he want to be King? The power and recognition certainly appealed to him. He would wield Blackfyre and wear the Conqueror’s Crown and sit the Iron Throne and no one in all Seven Kingdoms would be able to oppose him. He could do what he wanted when he wanted, and no one would ever ignore him for Rhaenyra or Aegon again. A heady thought.

“No.” He answered after a moment. “Father never goes to the yard to train, he never seems to have the time. And a King is expected to stay out of battle unless it is necessary so he doesn’t risk himself. And a King may not travel as he wishes, for he has business at Court. I could not tour the Free Cities, or lead an expedition to Valyria, or go beyond the Wall. Duty would keep me here.”

“Adventurous little thing, aren’t you?” Aegon teased, chuffing out a drowsy laugh. “You know, you also couldn’t do those things if you were an Omega.”

“I will not be an Omega!” Aemond protested shrilly. How dare Aegon even suggest that! “Mother says-”

“Mother said I wouldn’t be an Omega either.” Aegon pointed out, his eyes closed but a smirk playing at his lips. “And yet here I am.”

“Well if I were an Omega, I’d do all of those things anyway!” Aemond snarled. “I wouldn’t be like other Omegas! I’d be stronger, and not let anyone tell me what to do! And if any stupid Alpha tried to bite me, I’d feed them to Vhagar!” He seethed, baring his teeth at his brother. Aegon bared his own back in an amused grin.

“No you wouldn’t. Mother would tell you that it’s your duty to marry and be pupped and you’d do it.” Aegon teased, though there wasn’t any malice in his voice like there had often been when he’d teased Aemond before.

“Then I would convince my Alpha!” Aemond insisted. “Mother says Omegas have certain power over their mates. I would figure out what it is and use it!”

For some reason that made Aegon burst into almost manic laughter.

“Gods, little brother, you don’t even know what you’re saying!” He cackled. “You’d never consider such actions if you knew what they were.”

“Well then I would just marry an Alpha that will let me do what I want!” Aemond huffed, not understanding what amused Aegon so. Did he think Aemond incapable of whatever tactics an Omega had with their mates?

“And what Alpha would allow that?” Aegon barked out a laugh. Aemond paused, not really knowing what to say to that. He didn’t know much of Alphas and what they did and didn’t allow their mates. But he did know one Alpha who wouldn’t smother him.

“Jace would let me do whatever I wanted.” He said imperiously, as if that settled the debate. He hadn’t expected Aegon’s mirth to slip from his face like water and be replaced with a pinched, waspish look.

“You won’t marry Jace.” Aegon hissed, the wine of his scent souring. Aemond’s lip curled and his brows furrowed as he looked at Aegon like he’d gone mad.

“Of course not. I’ll be an Alpha.” Aemond snorted, rolling his eyes. His brother was so stupid sometimes. Had he truly been taking this conversation seriously? “This is all just useless imaginings. It doesn’t matter what I could or could not do as an Omega, I will not be one.”

The petulant pout on Aegon’s face didn’t drop as he regarded Aemond with narrowed eyes.

“If you say so.” Aegon scoffed after a moment, anger seeming to drain out of him as he laid back against the pillow and closed his eyes again. “Just remember this conversation when your own Omega asks for leniency, little Alpha.”

“I would never force Lu-” Aemond stopped, blushing. “I would never force my Omega to bend entirely to my whims.” He braced himself for more of Aegon’s teasing. His slip up hadn’t even been subtle, and his brother was smarter and more observant than many gave him credit for.

Instead, Aegon just went quiet.

“Mother will not let you marry Luke.” He said after a moment. “He’s a-”

“Don’t say that!” Aemond hissed, pinching his brother hard on the meat of his waist and earning a snarl. “You don’t know that! That’s just what Mother says, she could be wrong!”

“Mother’s opinion is all that matters when it comes to this. She will not let you marry Luke.” Aegon said. The way he said it was so achingly sad that it gave Aemond pause. Why did Aegon care whether Aemond could marry Luke?

“Do you think she will make us marry?” Aemond asked instead, mouth twisting in disgust.

“Gods, I hope not.” Aegon scoffed, his expression mirroring Aemond’s. “I’d rather take a crusty old man’s knot than yours, brother. Whatever blood curse causes Targaryens to lust after their siblings doesn’t seem to have stricken me.”

Aemond blushed, scowling, but he couldn’t refute him.

“Nor I. I’d rather a barren old crone for an Omega than you.” Aemond agreed. “Being married to Helaena wouldn’t be terrible, I suppose. She’s kind, and I would treat her well. But I would not want it if I could have someone else.”

“Helaena is odd, and her bugs disgust me.” Aegon said with a petulant twist of his lips. “I’m glad she didn’t present as an Alpha. I would have hated to be married to her.”

“Who would you like to marry, then?” Aemond asked, looking up at his brother with curious eyes. Aegon scoffed derisively, but the look on his face was sad and almost fond.

“It doesn’t matter.” Aegon shrugged, the movement jostling Aemond slightly. “Mother will decide who I marry.”

“You said no one asked you if you wanted to be an Alpha because no one cared.” Aemond said. Aegon hummed, opening his eyes to look at the canopy of the bed.

“And?” Aegon asked, huffing out a breath.

“Who would you like to marry?” Aemond asked again. Aegon didn’t answer for a long moment, but he did hold Aemond closer. Aemond buried his face back in Aegon’s scent gland. His sadness smelled bitter, like someone had poisoned the wine.

“Jace.” Aegon said quietly, his voice as delicate and fluttering and broken as a tattered bird’s wing. “I would have been very happy to have married him, I think. But it’s best not to dwell on things we can’t have, Aemond. It only hurts in the end.”

Aemond just hugged him tight and nodded against his neck in understanding, thinking of Luke and things that could not be.

Aegon had been avoiding him.

He couldn’t fathom why. They hadn’t fought. Jace hadn’t said anything that seemed to visibly upset him. Aegon hadn’t stormed away from any of their conversations or started an argument as he was wont to do when Jace displeased him. And Aegon hadn’t done anything to him, either, to be hiding in guilt. Not that Aegon was good at feeling guilty, but it did happen sometimes.

He might not have noticed if he didn’t have so much free time on his hands. But Ser Quentyn seemed content to only take up his mornings, training him at sword, lance, and bow before dismissing him to; in his words; ‘enjoy his childhood’. As if any presented Alpha of two and ten wanted that reminder.

He had wanted to use his extra time to spend more of it with Aegon. If he thought he had been hungry for his Uncle’s attention before they presented, it was nothing compared to now. The pretty Omega was never far from his thoughts, and when they were in a room together it was like his eyes were thirsty for the sight of him because they would go back no matter how many times he pulled his gaze away.

And he’d started noticing new things about him, in his time spent staring. Things like how the roundness of his face made him look very sweet, or how plump and pink his lips were; plumper and pinker when he would bite them to hold back a laugh. One time, to his utter shame, his eye had even been drawn to the curve of his Uncle’s rear. He’d immediately turned away as soon as he’d noticed where his eyes had trailed, but he’d still gone to the Sept later that day and prayed to The Maiden for forgiveness.

Mother had never made them pray on Dragonstone, though there was a Septa who instructed them in the Faith as all noble children of the Seven Kingdoms were. But she said at Court that there would be different expectations. That the Targaryens were the Protectors of the Faith and must show that they took their duty seriously. Jace as the Crown Prince and future King should take this duty especially seriously, for the Faith would look to him one day.

And he had taken it seriously. He came to the Sept every time he had a problem and prayed about it, asking the Seven That Are One to help him. It was oddly peaceful, sitting with his thoughts in the sunny space, with the light shining through the leaded glass catching the great crystal at the center of the ceiling and casting Holy rainbows across the space. He’d come to enjoy his time there, and while he didn’t know that he felt the presence of the Seven, he did know it brought him peace.

Which was why he was there now, in the private Sept reserved for the Royal Family, knelt before the Altar to the Crone. He didn’t know exactly which God to ask for help when your Uncle was avoiding you, but he supposed one could never go wrong with the Wisdom of the Crone.

“I did not expect to find you here.” A familiar voice said. If he hadn’t recognized it, he would have recognized sweet honeydew and lilies. Queen Alicent.

“I come often, Your Grace.” Jace said, shifting uncomfortably. Were her words some kind of slight against him? His Piety? He knew the Queen knew- believed the rumors and didn’t like him. Did she think a b- someone like him unlikely to pray?

“I suppose we must come at different times, then.” Alicent said, and it didn’t sound unkind. But Jace was still wary. “I have not seen any of Rhaenyra’s family here yet.”

“Mother prefers the sept used by the rest of the Court.” Jace said. “She says it puts others at ease to see her pray with them.” Alicent arched one graceful brow and Jace suddenly felt like one of Helaena’s insects being scrutinized.

“And you?” She asked.

“What of me, Your Grace?” Jace asked, confused.

“Why do you pray here instead of with your mother?” She asked. Jace just shrugged, fidgeting a little bit under her gaze.

“It’s peaceful here. Quiet. It’s easier to pray.” He said. Alicent seemed pleased with that answer at least, a small smile blooming on her face. She regarded him for another long moment before seeming to decide something.

“Come with me.” She said, gesturing for the young Alpha to get up. He scrambled to obey, offering his arm to her like a proper Prince though the height difference made it look rather ridiculous as they left the Sept and walked down the hall to Alicent’s chambers.

He’d never been in the Queen’s chambers. He’d been to Grandsire’s, and his Uncles’ and Aunt’s before he presented and it was deemed uncouth. But never Alicent’s. The room was rather anticlimactic in a way, richly decorated and beautiful but not much different than the chambers of any other noble Lady. No gross caricatures of him and his siblings, nor any practice target with a drawing of his mother stuck to it. Simply a room for living and sleeping in, much like his mother’s. Though considerably greener, grayer, and whiter than his mother’s.

Alicent gestured for him to sit on one of the chairs near the hearth and he did, watching her curiously as she dug through her jewelry box. She pulled something out and turned to him, concealing it in her palm.

“I was reminded that I never sent you a presentation gift.” She said, holding out her hand. Jace held out his own, palm open, and she pressed whatever it was into it. He pulled his hand back to examine what she’d given him.

It was a silverwork Warrior’s pendant, a sword on a chain with a beautifully wrought hilt inlaid with a ruby at the pommel. A fine presentation gift for an Alpha, offering them the guidance and protection of The Warrior for battle and strength.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Jace said sincerely, fastening the chain around his neck. He wondered what had driven Alicent to give him anything, much less something so fine. But he wasn’t going to question good will from a woman who had no reason to offer him any and from whom it would be sorely needed.

“It was your Great Grandsire’s.” Alicent said, her eyes trained on the necklace that now rested against Jace’s doublet. “Baelon. I had hoped to give it to Aegon, but the Gods had other plans.”

Jace fiddled with the pendant, confused.

“Why not keep it for Aemond?” He asked. Aemond was pious, he would like a gift like this. And while one could never know the will of the Gods, Alicent must be hoping for him to present as an Alpha.

But there’s a strange sadness and resignation to the tight smile Alicent gives him.

“Fret not, Jacaerys. When Aemond’s presentation comes, I shall have something fine for him as well.” She said instead of answering the question directly. Jace just grew more puzzled. The Queen was acting strangely, and he found he didn’t like it. If only because he couldn’t make heads or tails of what it meant for his mother.

“Of course, Your Grace.” He says instead of asking the dozens of questions bouncing around his skull.

“Go now, I have business to see to and I’m sure your knight will be seeking you.” Alicent said, ushering him out of the room. He didn’t correct her about Ser Quentyn, for he was also eager to depart. The interaction had unsettled him, leaving him with questions he didn’t even know how to begin to seek answers for.

“Good day, Your Grace. Gods be with you.” He said with a bow.

“And with you, My Prince.” Alicent nodded. For a moment they just stood there, as if neither knew how to proceed. Alicent’s eyes flicked down to the pendant and then back up. Jace refused to do anything but stare back stoically.

Then they both turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Luke almost wished that he’d been squired to Ser Quentyn.

Jace had it so easy! He just did his training in the morning and then Ser Quentyn released him to do whatever he wanted. It seemed like Ser Harwin always had some need of Luke, keeping him close throughout the day to run errands and fetch things.

Most of the time, Luke really didn’t mind it. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Ser Harwin was his father. He enjoyed their time together; enjoyed learning about him; enjoyed just being around him. He had loved Laenor Velaryon with his whole heart, but there had always been just that bit of distance between them. As Luke had gotten older, he started to realize how hard it must be to raise another man’s sons. Even if you loved them.

Harwin didn’t seem to have that problem. For all that they could never say out loud that they were father and son, Luke could feel it in every interaction; how much Harwin loved him. He could feel it in the way he would tousle his hair, or the proud smiles he would give when Luke did something right during training. He could feel it in the way that Harwin would always crouch down to talk to Joffrey, but never talked down to him the way adults sometimes did. He could even feel it in the way he’d sigh sadly when Jace would glare at them from across the yard; in the longing in his eyes when he watched Jace with Quentyn.

Jace, for his part, seemed to seethe whenever Harwin was near. He hadn’t taken the news of his marriage to Rhaenyra well. Luke had heard him destroying his room the night it was announced. He thought maybe he understood his brother, though. Whatever children Harwin and Rhaenyra had now would be allowed to call Harwin father; to inherit Harrenhal; to never live with the mark of bastardy over them. And it did feel like something of a betrayal, getting married now after everything. The only person less pleased about their union than Jace was Daemon.

A year into their marriage, though, and Luke had made peace with it. He had his father in his life in a way he never had before, and he refused to look that gift horse in the mouth. And Harwin was a good teacher, better than they’d had on Dragonstone. Luke was improving by leaps and bounds, his comfort and confidence with a sword growing every day. Harwin had even been teaching him how to wield the massive war hammer that he sometimes used, though Luke was still much too small to do so effectively.

But when he was already sweaty from training and Ser Harwin sent him back out into the heat of Summer to fetch Joffrey in from the yard, he did get just a little jealous of his brother.

He wiped his brow on the sleeve of his doublet, hair sticking to the back of his neck and curls frizzy with the humidity of King’s Landing as he made his way back to his parents’ chambers to report and deliver Joffrey to them. But as the two Princes approached, they could hear raised voices from inside.

“It should be Luke’s!” Harwin raged, and Luke gestured for Joffrey to stay quiet as they crept up to the door. The guards had disappeared, likely not wanting to overhear something they shouldn’t, so they were able to press their ears against the wood to hear better.

“Harwin, we’ve talked about this! It would only cause more trouble for the boys.” Rhaenyra raged back, and through a crack in the door Luke could see her pacing the floor with quick, curt steps.

“How could there possibly be more trouble, Rhaenyra? They were doomed to trouble the second they came out looking like-” Harwin started, only to be cut off by their mother.

“Luke will have Driftmark. He won’t be left destitute! He’s taken care of, you don’t have to do this!” Rhaenyra argued, throwing up her hands.

“Will he, Rhaenyra? Because Corlys has an Alpha granddaughter now.” Harwin said, his voice a low warning. “And he and Daemon have become too close for my liking.”

Joffrey shouldn’t be hearing this, Luke thought suddenly. He was only 8, still unaware of the true nature of their parentage. But the only way to get him away from it was to leave himself. And he just had to know what they were talking about. It was about him, wasn’t it? He should know.

“You can’t expect me to give everything to this child when we have three other boys who have every right to it first, Rhaenyra, you can’t.” Harwin pleaded. “Jace is your heir, I understand that. But Luke-”

“Luke is Corlys’ heir and I will hear no more of it!” Rhaenyra snapped. There was silence behind the door for a long moment, and Luke held his breath waiting for his father’s reply. But it didn’t come, and eventually Luke decided to knock on the door and let them know they were there.

“Enter.” Harwin commanded, and Luke pushed the door open. His parents looked at him with wary expressions, likely wondering if he’d heard them. But Luke kept a straight face, hiding Joffrey’s curious stare behind him. The air in the room was thick with tension and angry pheromones, but Luke refused to let it cow him.

“I brought Joffrey, as you asked.” He said, his hand on the boy’s head. Rhaenyra’s shuttered look opened up into a smile as her youngest son came out from behind Luke and ran into her arms.

“There you are, sweetling.” Mother cooed, petting her hands through his hair. “I believe Ser Harwin and I promised to take you on a ride through the city today, did we not?”

“You did!” Joffrey said, whatever angst he had over what they’d heard disappearing in the face of time with his mother and a ride. “And you said we could stop at the market and get those pork pies I like from the stall with the nice woman with the yellow hair!”

“I did, didn’t I?” Rhaenyra said, nodding along with her youngest child. “And I believe Ser Harwin has a surprise for you, as well.” She said, glancing at her husband. There was trepidation in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure Harwin would play along with this little moment they were making for Joffrey. But she needn’t have worried, if there was anything that could soften Breakbones Strong it was his sons.

“Come here, Joff.” He said, kneeling on the ground to get on the child’s level and gesturing for him to come forward. Joffrey came quickly, so excited by the promise of a surprise that he was nearly shaking with it. Harwin drew a dagger from his belt, a fine thing of good castle-forged steel with an ornate hilt covered in intricately carved vines and flowers. The pommel was a fox’s head, the eyes two warm citrine stones.

“This was my grandfather’s.” He said, passing it to the little boy who examined it with eyes full of awe. Each of the boys had been given some family heirloom. Jace had been given a sword that had belonged to Lyonel in his youth. Luke was given Bridgebreaker, a storied family warhammer that was being kept for him until he was large enough to heft it.

Harwin definitely shouldn’t be giving them gifts like this. Family heirlooms meant to be passed to trueborn sons. Bridgebreaker, in particular, should go to the Heir to Harrenhal, not to Luke. Even if he was Harwin’s son, he was a bastard. Protected by his mother’s subterfuge and Laenor and Corlys’ love, but still a bastard. But Harwin gave them anyway, and if Lyonel objected he had a funny way of showing it by sending the weapons when his son asked for them.

”It should be Luke’s”

He turned the idea of being legitimized over in his head as he stared at the glinting citrine eyes of the fox pommel. Did he want that? Jace did, he thought. Maybe not in any conscious way, but in the way that the little boy inside of him wanted to be recognized by his father. And Joffrey was still young enough that it would be nothing but joy, his memories of Laenor already starting to fade and his bond with Harwin growing by the day.

But what did Luke want?

Well he’d never wanted Driftmark, he knew that. He hated ships and sailing and the greensickness that came with it. He had no desire to fight the Velaryons for their seat, and knew in his heart that he wasn’t up to the task of being Lord of the Tides. He’d always felt a thief, stealing something that was rightfully someone else’s.

But when he thought of inheriting Harrenhal…the feeling was different. He couldn’t quite name the feeling itself, but it wasn’t negative. Curiosity, maybe. He already knew how it would be taken if he inherited Corlys’ seat, but he had no idea what the repercussions would be for being Harwin’s heir. Laenor had many cousins, all of whom had more blood claim to Driftmark than him. But if he was declared a legitimized son of Harwin Strong, who could fight his claim? Larys? Maybe, but the law wouldn’t be on his side. Simon’s grandsons, too, could do nothing to challenge it. Not because of deceit and force and the threat of dragonfire, but because it was simply the way of things.

And it would all be out in the open. He wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. He wouldn’t have to endure cold eyes from Velaryon sailors as he lost the contents of his stomach over the side of the ship. He would never again have to stammer and demure when called bastard, always having a real and true response he could offer. He could call Harwin Father.

Yes, he thought to himself. He wanted to be legitimized. He wanted it more than he’d wanted almost anything in his life, perhaps more even than he wanted to be Aemond’s mate. He wanted Harrenhal; he wanted to keep Bridgebreaker even if Mother and Father had another son; he wanted to be a Strong.

“May I come with you?” He asked suddenly, needing in that moment to spend time with his mother, father, and brother.

“Of course!” Harwin said with a broad smile that reminded him of Jace in more than just the way they shared a mouth; in the kindness and warmth of it. He loved him, he realized. He loved his father. So much it almost hurt in that moment.

“I’ll have Jace summoned.” Rhaenyra said brightly. “We can go as a family.”

As a family, Luke thought as his heart warmed and filled with everything it had. Yes, that was exactly how it should be.

Sometimes Aegon hated being pious.

Moderation was boring, and wine was divine. Attention from Alphas and male Betas was enchanting, and he hated when they’d withdraw it because he couldn’t kiss them. The fact that he wanted to kiss them made it even worse. He enjoyed the act of praying, but not of kneeling on the cold Sept floor until his knees ached. At least it was beautiful with the speckles and arcs of rainbow light bouncing off the seven walls. At least The Gods didn’t deprive his eyes as well as his body.

But the way his mother would smile at him when she saw him in the Sept and how she would kneel down beside him so they could just spend quiet time together almost made it worth it.

She never struck him anymore. He didn’t know why, she’d just stopped some time after he’d presented. He hadn’t even noticed until almost a year had passed without so much as a pinch to his ear. She still lectured him endlessly on duty and expectations, but the fear and rage had left her somewhere along the line; replaced by softer concern and a mother’s gentle sternness.

Stranger still, she never called Rhaenyra’s sons bastards anymore. At least not around Aegon. ‘Rhaenyra’s whelps’ and ‘those Strong boys’ and ‘the bastards’ had been replaced in her vocabulary with ’Rhaenyra’s sons’ and ‘The younger Princes’ and ‘your nephews’. Though she also still refused to call them Velaryons.

So much was strange about life after his presentation that, for all he could tell, had nothing at all to do with being an Omega. As if somehow his experience with coming of age had come with an extra gift of everything he’d ever wanted. It was disconcerting and deeply terrifying, if he was being honest with himself. He was waiting still to wake up from this dream and return to the misery of his life before.

Father had started to sup with them regularly, asking about their days and nodding along with an absent smile as they spoke. He didn’t know if it was genuine affection, truly. It had never come until after he’d become something special to Viserys, a Targaryen Omega to add to the story of his reign and to his legacy. And there was something distant about it, like he viewed Aegon and his siblings like things that belonged to and reflected on him, rather than people.

But strangest of all was the way he seemed to treat Rhaenyra and her children the same way.

He’d always assumed that Viserys loved Rhaenyra. Truly and deeply in the way a parent should, the way that he should have loved him. He’d always compared the way their father treated them, ever since he was old enough to understand the difference. Cold versus warm. Attention versus distance. These had been the lessons of his childhood.

But comparing it now? It was like looking in a mirror. Only, Rhaenyra didn’t seem to notice. She didn’t notice how half the time it felt like Viserys wasn’t truly listening when she spoke. She didn’t notice how he would interrupt her whenever he pleased. She didn’t notice that he only spoke to Jace and never to Luke or Joffrey. His sister looked at their father like he’d hung the moon and the stars, while the look he gave her could be described as indulgent at best.

Aemond had always told him that Father loved Rhaenyra more because he’d truly loved Aemma Arryn but never Mother. But as Aegon thought about the way his father treated all of them, he couldn’t help but remember that Aemma Arryn had been bred until her body gave out and then cut open. Was that love? He couldn’t imagine it was. He couldn’t imagine Jace even letting it get to that point, let alone cutting the baby out of his mate unless they begged him to save the child. Even Aemond would never do that. Daemon had faced a similar dilemma, but that wasn’t his fault the way Aemma’s death was his father’s. Laena had only endured two pregnancies, and everyone had thought she was healthy up until she wasn’t. And ultimately Laena had taken the decision out of his hands in Fire and Blood in a way Aemma had been powerless to.

No, he decided. His father didn’t love any of them. Not in the way he ought.

He still lit a candle for him at the altar of the Father; for guidance as King, for health and safety. The way one might pray for an acquaintance, or the way the smallfolk likely prayed for Viserys. Not the way he lit a candle to the Warrior for Jace to ask him to make him a knight because he wanted to be and he would be just and strong, or to the Maiden to ask her to make Aemond an Omega because it would be incredibly amusing. Not the way he lit a candle to the Mother to ask her to keep his mother on whatever path she was walking that had made her kinder.

Steps at the doorway and the faint scent of honeydew and lilies let him know that said path had brought her to him.

“Mother.” He greeted without opening his eyes, still knelt at the altar to the Maiden for guidance on how the fuck he was supposed to stay chaste when so many Alphas around his age were so attractive. It was easy not to touch Jace because he really, truly wanted him and knew he couldn’t have him. But the ones who looked like a fast bit of fun he could toss away after were a lot harder to resist.

“Aegon.” She said in return, lighting a candle and placing it before kneeling beside him. Her auburn hair was neatly done up in a golden hairnet set with emeralds, but Aegon wished that she’d kept it down. He liked it best like that, with it spilling over her back like a cascade. She’d let him brush it sometimes when he was a little pup, and he often longed to reach out and do so again.

“Have you come to pray for Aemond?” He asked. His brother would present soon, and it was customary to light a candle each to the Maiden, Warrior, and Smith to represent the trinary. He didn’t know why else his mother would be praying to the Maiden.

“For you, actually.” She said with a small smile. “Maiden’s Day is nearing. As a married woman, I will be barred from the Sept for the day. I thought to get my prayers out now while I had the chance.”

“What have I done now that needs praying over?” Aegon joked, though the laugh that followed rang a bit hollow.

“You’ve done nothing. But you will need to be betrothed soon, if not married. Your father-” Alicent paused, a wry twist to her mouth. “Your father is ignoring the issue. When I pressed, he told me that he trusted me to handle it. How unusual, for him to take no interest in his children.” She spat sarcastically.

“Who are you considering?” Aegon asked, his blood running cold. He’d thought he had more time than this. He had hoped to go years more without a betrothal, to be left in peace to pretend that he could one day be Jace’s. To delude himself into thinking that he could fight it.

“I have someone in mind.” Alicent confirmed. “I will not mate you to someone unworthy, my son. Trust at least in that. He is kind, and pious, and will inherit much and more. I have been observing him for you for some time. I have not found him wanting in any aspect that concerns me. He will protect you, and never hurt you, and possibly even care for you. You will be well-suited.”

A cryptic answer. And a singular one. He had expected a list of names, possibly long enough to fill a few minutes of talking. Instead it seems his mother had already picked his mate and was simply waiting for something to make it official. This was getting more vividly real by the second and Aegon despised it.

“Who is it?” He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“That I cannot tell you. Not yet.” Alicent sighed, shaking her head. A single auburn lock slipped free of her hairnet to curl around her ear and bounce with the movement. “But Aegon, I need you to trust me. I am doing my best for you, to make a match that’s not only worthy of your station but which might make you happy.”

Trust was a funny thing to Aegon. Everyone asked for it and no one really tried to earn it. What had his mother done to make her trust him? Why would he think she would put his wants and needs over the Realm’s when she’d never done it before?

“Of course, Mother. I trust you.” Aegon lied easily. He’d had so much practice at it, after all. Alicent smiled at him, relief sagging her shoulders a bit.

“Thank you, Aegon. I know this must be hard, to be thinking of marriage and proposals so young. But you’re grown now, and we must make certain we make a good alliance. The safety of your brothers and sister may depend on your marriage.” She said seriously. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, even before presenting. It was simply that his duty had shifted from becoming King to marrying someone with a large army and great influence.

He lowered his head again, pretending to pray as he thought through the options. Not a Hightower, their forces were already secured. Lord Tyrell was already married. Tyland Lannister was a bit old for him, and a second son, and his brother was also already married. She had described him as pious, so not the Stark boy he was close in age to, or the 8 year old Greyjoy boy. Lord Baratheon had only Omega daughters so far, and Mother wouldn’t wait for the younger ones to present. He similarly discarded the Redwynes, the Tullys, the Arryns, the Freys, the Boltons, the Manderlys, and the Royces.

That left…not a lot of options.

The houses he’d listed accounted for most of the power in Westeros. Any house less influential would be beneath him. Seven hells, half the houses on the list were beneath him. Mother had specified that it was a match worthy of his station, but what match was there left who was also kind, pious, and who would inherit great wealth?

His mother rose from beside him and took another candle, placing it on the altar to the Warrior. She knelt again, head bowed in prayer as Aegon tried to work out what she was scheming. But he could no more see into her pretty auburn head than he could into the depths of the oceans.

“Who do you pray for now?” He asked, desperate for some clue.

“Prince Jacaerys has been promised by Ser Quentyn to ride in the next tourney.” Alicent said, and that only confused Aegon more. Since when did the Queen pray for his bastard nephew? How did she even know what Ser Quentyn had promised his squire? None of this made any sense, it was as if someone had replaced his mother with a different person entirely. One who cared if his mate cared for him and prayed for Jace.

Aegon reached a wary hand out and took his own candle, lighting it and letting the wax drip down onto the altar before affixing it beside his mother’s. In truth, he didn’t want Jace to participate in the tourney. Laenor’s lover Joffrey Lonmouth, for whom Jace’s youngest brother was named, had died in a tourney. Aegon had seen the same happen himself, all it took was a stray shard from a broken lance. No one’s fault, and yet a man lay dead all the same.

But Jace was stubborn, and proud, and determined to be knighted. And for the son of a Princess in a time of peace, it was unlikely that would come from battle. Jace would have to earn his knighthood on the tourney field. It was better, Aegon told himself. It was better than being knighted as a courtesy as he lay dying in the mud as some young squires were.

“How is Helaena?” He asked as he drew back from the altar and sank to his knees beside her.

“She has calmed somewhat since this morning.” His mother sighed. “But her dreams plague her more and more with each passing moon.”

It had started soon after Rhaenyra’s second marriage. Helaena had woken from a nightmare screaming about dancing dragons and bloody seas. She’d cried out for Baela, screamed at Aemond about pomegranates and rubies, and sobbed out apologies to someone named Maelor. She’d been inconsolable for three days, and then dangerously silent for a fortnight after.

A year later and she was still having nightmares, still muttering about dancing dragons and gems and fruit and someone named Maelor. Lost in a world of her own that she only came out of to shout panicked warnings that made no sense.

But this morning had been different. She’d woken up in a cold sweat, but silent as the grave. She’d leapt from her bed and grabbed Aemond, staring into his eyes with a look of hard determination that Aegon had never seen before.

“Harvest season has come. The pomegranate ripens, the ruby is plucked from its place. He will lose sight, you must not. See for him, Aemond. He will be blind without you. Together you still have two eyes.” Helaena had warned, voice shaking with anger. And then she had fled to the dragonpit, Dreamfyre taking to the skies to blast the Princess’ uncharacteristic rage into the sky in the form of dragonfire.

“Calmer doesn’t mean she’s alright.” Aegon said sadly.

“No.” Alicent agreed gently, putting a hand on Aegon’s thigh. “No, it doesn’t. But Gods be good, it will be enough for now.”

“I don’t know how to protect her. Whatever threat she sees, it’s not something I can shield her from.” Aegon sighed, placing his hand over his mother’s.

“Do your duty when the time comes. Make the match I provide for you. That will protect Helaena, I swear it.” Alicent said, squeezing her son’s hand firmly. “Your husband will protect you. And you can influence him to protect your siblings. This is an Omega’s duty, their battlefield.”

He would be sold off like a cow to some High Lord or his son, but it would keep his family safe. He could only hope that whoever his buyer was, he would be kind and easily swayed. Aegon would have to learn all of the tricks of a married Omega, to keep him in line and keep him between his family and their enemies. But he would do it. He would do anything for them.

“I understand, mother.” Aegon said, bowing his head.

The Kingswood was beautiful in Summer, lush and green and full of life. The Court had gathered for a Maiden’s Day hunt, and a hundred different colors of livery flitted through the trees. Aemond sat atop his horse, finally too big for a pony, looking out over the procession in front of him with a scowl.

Mother was speaking with Ser Harwin.

Aemond didn’t like it. He didn’t like how much interest his mother had been showing his nephews, he didn’t trust it. Mother hated Rhaenyra’s children, and Rhaenyra, and Ser Harwin. She always had, as long as Aemond could remember. Pinched looks when they’d play with the boys, harsher reprimands when Luke or Jace would get in trouble, constantly throwing the blame for childhood fights onto them even when it wasn’t true. The word ‘bastard’ had fallen from her lips too many times to count.

So now why was she whispering back and forth with their sire as if they were partners in some conspiracy? She even smiled from time to time, as if Harwin’s words were reassuring some fear she had. Why was it now his half-sister who was giving them the pinched looks and not the other way around?

“Is something amiss, Aemond?” His father asked him, looking over at his son with an absently concerned look.

“Nothing, Father. I simply can’t stand this heat.” He lied easily. He was not Rhaenyra or Helaena, to fall for their Father’s false affection. He and Aegon were in staunch agreement that Viserys was not to be trusted. It was why they kept Daeron from him when they could.

“Hmm, yes.” Viserys hummed, no longer even looking at Aemond. “Well it will only be a few hours.”

“Of course, Father. I will endure.” He said, kicking his horse into a trot. He had no interest in staying in his father’s presence and being reminded that his attention was as hollow as his neglect.

He sought out Luke, guiding his horse to walk beside the other boy’s pony. Luke was still quite small even at two and ten, slender as a sapling and almost a head shorter than Aemond. It was no wonder people thought he’d be an Omega. How else could Breakbones’ boy be so little? Jace had not been so small at that age.

“Have you seen anything yet?” Luke asked as their mounts fell into step. Aemond hummed, thinking of his mother and Luke’s father talking.

“Nothing worth shooting at.” He said cryptically. Nothing worth making a fuss over. But questions, always questions, lingered.

“The crowd is making too much noise.” Luke said with a frown. “They’re scaring away all the game.”

“Perhaps we should call for a Kingsguard and break away from the party.” Aemond suggested, making eye contact with Ser Criston and beckoning him over when Luke nodded his agreement.

“My Princes.” Ser Criston greeted with a respectful bow of his head, though his eyes were much colder when looking upon Luke than Aemond.

“We wish to break from the party to search out better game. Accompany us.” Aemond ordered, urging his horse back into a trot and expecting Luke and Ser Criston to simply follow. And they did, the crashing of their mounts through the brush behind him evidence.

“I saw a fox earlier, but Joffrey begged me not to shoot it.” Luke said conversationally as he once again fell in beside Aemond. “He’s become taken with the creatures since Ser Harwin gave him that dagger.”

Ah yes, Ser Harwin and his shameless penchant for treating his sons like a true father. How unfair that Luke got two fathers who loved him so dearly when Aemond had been saddled with Viserys. If the Gods truly hated bastards so, why were things so much easier for his nephews? And again, why would his mother be talking with Ser Harwin when he’d created three of them?

“If we see another fox, you may shoot it if you wish. I have no such sentimentalities.” Aemond said.

“Ah, but if I were to shoot a dragon, you’d likely murder me.” Luke teased.

“Dragons are not foxes!” Aemond snapped waspishly. “There are more foxes in this one forest than there are dragons in the whole world.”

“You wouldn’t shoot a dragon even if they were as common as cats.” Luke snickered. “There is some sentimentality left in you, yet.”

“Practicality, you mean.” Aemond huffed, turning his gaze away from Luke sharply. “If Targaryens went around shooting dragons, we’d be nothing.”

“Your love for them runs deeper than that.” Luke said, and there was something warm and fond in his voice that made Aemond’s stomach do a little flip that he ruthlessly ignored.

“Hush! We’re here to hunt, not scare away game with your chatter.” Aemond grumbled, cheeks flushed. He kept his head turned away from Luke so he couldn’t see.

“As you say, Qybor.” Luke said, and Aemond could hear the grin in his voice.

“Joffrey is quite taken with your step-father.” Aemond said lightly, wishing to change the conversation. He still couldn’t shake his suspicions and lingering questions about their respective parents conspiring.

“I thought you said we shouldn’t chatter.” Luke said warily. Clearly this wasn’t where he’d wanted the conversation to go.

“What about you, Luke? How do you feel about your mother’s husband?” Aemond asked instead of responding to Luke.

“I-” Luke looked around quickly, as if to check who could be listening in. But they’d firmly broken from the rest of the group now, alone save Ser Criston who was far enough behind to not hear them.

“It’s nice.” He said, not elaborating. But Aemond knew what he meant. Nice to be near his father. “Ser Harwin is kind, and he’s a good teacher. I’ve been learning much from him, and my swordsmanship has improved drastically.”

“He is good to you?” Aemond asked. Fathers could be so fickle. And Luke’s had already broken oaths three times over to make him and his brothers. Aemond didn’t know if he could trust him with his favorite person.

“Yes. He’s good to all of us. But to me especially, I suppose. He gave me Bridgebreaker, and took me to squire. He’s even promised to take me to Harrenhal, so I may see more of the world.” Luke said, his expression a perfectly blank slate. But Aemond thought he could hear the smallest tremor of hope in Luke’s voice as he spoke of Harrenhal.

“Good. I should hate to have to feed him to Vhagar for being unkind towards you.” Aemond said imperiously. “My sister would be terribly cross with me.”

“Only for stealing her chance to feed him to Syrax.” Luke said with a grin. “You need not worry, Qybor. You are not my only protector.”

Aemond’s stomach did that horrible little flip again, in tandem with a hard thump from his heart. Luke thought of him as one of his protectors? His cheeks burned and he longed to turn away and hide it, but it was like he was frozen; staring at Luke like he’d given him the answer to all of life’s puzzles.

“What?” Luke asked, tilting his head to the side and staring at Aemond with those warm brown dog’s eyes; expressive, kind, loyal. Aemond wondered how something so beautiful could be a mark of bastardy. How bastards could be seen as so monstrous when Luke was so unendingly good.

“I will always protect you, Luke.” Aemond said, features morphing into a hard look of determination. The world would be cruel to Luke. The Queen already had been. They would look at thick brown curls as soft as silk, and brown eyes full of tenderness and see only a monster, a bastard.

Let them see what they wanted, for he would cut their eyes out if they dared voice it and then they would see no more.

Luke blinked at him with eyes as large as dinner plates, mouth falling open slightly. He looked silly like that, but also surprisingly endearing, and Aemond couldn’t help the small smirk that quirked the corner of his lips up. But then Luke’s face shifted into a look of determination as fierce as Aemond’s had been.

“And I will always protect you, Qybor, I swear it.” Luke voice, his voice firm and unwavering. Aemond smiled, then. A true smile, rare but so well-earned. It seemed to dawn on Luke like a sunrise over a meadow, lighting up every part of him slowly but surely as his own smile grew to match.

Luke had ridden the high of his time in the Kingswood with Aemond for the rest of the day

To have the Alpha (or presumed Alpha) that he wanted as a mate promise to protect him? That was as good as a marriage proposal! It was what marriage was for an Omega, after all. The Alpha took you under his protection when he laid the cloak over your shoulders. And Aemond had promised that he’d always protect Luke. And Luke had promised the same, because he wanted their marriage to be a partnership where he gave as much to Aemond as he was given in return.

His joy only grew when he was told that Corlys and his family had arrived in the capital and they would all be dining together tonight. He hadn’t seen Baela and Rhaena or his grandsire since they and Daemon had retired to Driftmark following his mother’s wedding to Harwin. He had exchanged letters with his cousins, but it wasn’t nearly the same as having them close.

He had rushed to them when they’d arrived, Rhaena and Baela immediately drawing him into a three way embrace. But Corlys was strangely distant, offering only a small smile and a nod. Rhaenys was colder than ever, looking down her nose at him like he’d done something to offend her.

“Grandmother. Grandfather.” He greeted warily. Corlys’ smile grew somewhat, but it was mirrored by the growth of Rhaenys’ frown. The couple shared a look, and it was Corlys that demurred first. Baela and Rhaena seemed attuned to the tension, putting themselves between Luke and their grandparents.

“Why don’t you show us to our chambers, Luke?” Rhaena suggested, guiding the pup away. He noticed that she was flaring her scent, anise and sea breeze, likely to calm everyone. It wasn’t working, because Luke could feel the spiraling confusion and vague sense of rejection still.

“Of course. Come with me.” He said, allowing the twins to lead him away from the Lord and Lady of Driftmark. He fought the urge to look back, not wanting them to see the hurt on his face.

Baela and Rhaena refused to answer any of his questions, redirecting his attention every time he even looked like he was going to ask. But he eventually put his fears aside, deciding to simply enjoy the time with his cousins. He and Baela sparred in the yard, and Luke earned a compliment about how much he’d improved. Rhaena had looked over his latest embroidery project in secret and declared it “lovely”. And the three of them together snuck down into the kitchens to steal tarts as they had when they were small, giggling the whole way back to Luke’s chambers with their pilfered sweets.

“Will you actually give this one to Aemond?” Rhaena asked, idly playing with the black handkerchief Luke had painstakingly embroidered a green dragon on, rimmed in crimson thread.

“I don’t know.” Luke said, squirming where he sat on the bed, face still covered in the crumbs of the tart he’d just finished. “What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Why would he not like it, it’s beautiful.” Rhaena soothed.

“It’s not normal for unpresented boys to give other boys things like this.” Luke said, twisting his fingers together.

“That’s nonsense. We all know you’ll be an Omega.” Baela snorted, rolling her eyes. “It’s as stupid as making me wait to pick up a sword until my presentation! Everyone knew!”

“Jace says that only the Gods know their plans for a person.” Luke argued, though it sounded weak to his own ears. The only reason he’d learned to embroider in the first place was that he agreed with Baela. So why was he so nervous?

“Please.” Baela growled. “As if the Gods don’t sometimes broadcast their plans for all to see. Not everyone’s presentation will be a surprise the way Aegon’s was. You will be an Omega, Aemond will be an Alpha, and you will be hopelessly in love for the rest of your lives.”

Luke squeaked and slapped his hands to his burning face.

“Baela!” He admonished.

“Luke!” She shot back, rolling her eyes again. “You know I’m right. Just give him the handkerchief.”

“Maybe.” Luke admitted, taking the handkerchief back from Rhaena and looking down at it with his lip between his teeth. “After dinner, perhaps.”

“It’s almost that time, isn’t it?” Rhaena said, looking out of the window to see the sun hanging low in the sky. “Let us make towards the private dining hall.”

When they got there, half of the family had already filed in. Otto and Viserys were talking at the head of the table while Alicent correct Daeron’s posture. Aegon was fidgeting with the silverware, leaning on his hand looking bored. He only perked up when Jace came in behind Luke and the twins and slid into the seat next to him.

Luke sat next to Aemond, giving him a shy smile as he remembered their conversation in the Kingswood. They would both present soon, and then he could broach the subject of a betrothal. He would make their promise to protect each other real and tangible, the mark on his neck a visible testament to it.

The room conversed quietly as the rest of the family filed in in trickles, Joffrey the last to arrive looking as though he’d just woken up from a nap. The little boy gave a bright smile to Rhaenys and Corlys, and Luke froze for a moment. But Joffrey turned away before he could see the hard look in Rhaenys’ eyes, or the grimace from Corlys.

Luke sat next to Aemond, brows furrowed as he watched his grandmother and grandfather hiss and whisper at each other from across the table. Rhaenys kept shooting his mother scathing looks, which Rhaenyra met with sharp eyes of her own. Whatever was going on, Mother was aware of it.

Grandfather was not. Because as he spotted Luke taking his seat, he grinned wide and gestured to Corlys.

“A whole year since you’ve seen your heir, Lord Velaryon! You must be thrilled to see young Luke again. And our other grandsons, of course.” The King said jovially. He didn’t spare enough of a glance at his cousin Rhaenys to see the way her eyes burned and her face twisted into a scowl.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Corlys said, shoulders tense as he refused to meet his wife’s glare. Baela and Rhaena also refused to meet Luke’s eyes when he sought them out.

“You fled so quickly after the wedding, you didn’t even have time to say goodbye.” Rhaenyra said, swirling the wine in her goblet as she fixed Corlys with a hard stare.”He was quite disappointed.”

“Yes, well. Urgent business brought me back to my seat, Princess.” Corlys said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“And my Uncle with you. How singular. He’s never shown an interest in Driftmark before.” Rhaenyra said, eyes narrow and lips pressed tight together.

“Baela and Rhaena are always welcome at Driftmark. It is their home.” Rhaenys said, scathingly. “And Daemon is their father, so he will always have a place at our table.”

The tension was so thick in the air Luke was sure that he could cut it with the dagger at his hip. He could feel Aemond’s stiff posture and the anxiety wafting off of the other pup from his left side. He took Aemond hand under the table, squeezing his fingers and smiling when Aemond squeezed back and relaxed a fraction.

“Perhaps it is time for Luke to take up his duties as heir.” Viserys suggested. “You should take him back to Driftmark with you, when you go.”

Luke stiffened at the same time Rhaenys did, but likely not for the same reason. His grandfather hadn’t so much as consulted his mother before offering him up to leave her side. If she was with child, as he suspected after overhearing her with Ser Harwin, then he had no desire to be parted from her. And, selfishly, he also didn’t want to be parted from Aemond.

“Luke still has much to learn at court, Your Grace.” Corlys said, trying to break the tension that had only thickened with the King’s suggestion. “And I am in no hurry to take the boy from his mother.”

“Actually, I think my father has a point.” Rhaenyra said, her jaw tight and gaze sharp. But it didn’t land on Corlys. No, it bore into Rhaenys like a drill. “Luke will be Lord of the Tides, perhaps it’s high time he learn what that means.”

“Your son still gets greensick on short voyages.” Rhaenys sneered, her nostrils flaring as her fist clenched on the table. Luke flinched, and it was Aemond’s turn to squeeze their joined hands soothingly. Luke squeezed back, feeling the tremble in Aemond’s hand.

“What better cure than exposure? I’m sure if Corlys takes Luke sailing enough, it will pass.” Rhaenyra dismissed her. “His father was a fine sailor.”

Rhaenys laughed, sharp and bitter. The room was choking with tension now, everyone avoiding each other’s gaze except the two Princesses, who stared each other down like foes over a battlefield. Corlys laid a hand over his wife’s clenched fist, but she threw him off.

“I didn’t know you to be a seaman, Ser Harwin.” She said, the smile that crossed her face gleaming like a dagger in the dark. For a moment, the whole room froze.

Then the tension exploded.

Mother and the King threw themselves to their feet, shouting about treason. Daemon cackled gleefully at his daughters’ side while the twins seemed like to sink into the floor out of shame. Corlys was yelling first at his wife, and then at the King and his mother. Ser Harwin’s voice boomed above the rest. Otto Hightower first looked smug, and then horrified as Queen Alicent joined the shouting on the King’s side. On Luke’s side.

He and Aemond were clutching their hands together now like a lifeline, both boys trembling. But while Aemond looked close to tears, Luke was vibrating with rage.

How dare they? How dare any of them? How dare Rhaenys for questioning his mother? How dare Mother push her this far? How dare the King offer him up without even thinking? Did he not even notice the tension? He hadn’t noticed the same between his wife and daughter for years, he shouldn’t be surprised. And they’d upset Aemond! He wanted to shout at them all, but that would only upset him more.

He looked over at the boy in question and furrowed his brows. He’d expected the glassy eyes, likely from unshed tears. But other than that, he’d expected the same look of absolute fury that always overtook Aemond when someone managed to make him cry. Instead what he was greeted with were flushed cheeks and a cloudy, vacant expression.

He waved his hand in front of Aemond’s face and the boy blinked slowly, turning to Luke with a furrowed brow and lips pursed with concern. Luke pressed the back of his hand to Aemond’s forehead, feeling a scorching heat against his skin.

“Luke, I don’t feel so good.” He whimpered, a shudder going through his body. And then Luke caught it, the scent of pomegranates, lilacs, and the simmering fullness of an Omega in heat.

A fleeting thought came to him. Omegas hated pack conflict above all else. Put them against a foe and they could be as vicious as anyone. But when family fought, they would grow quiet and anxious. It wasn’t uncommon for Omega children to present during a family fight.

“Stop.” Luke croaked, not sure who he was talking to. It almost felt like he was talking to Aemond, begging him to not be an Omega. But no, it was the adults he was talking to. The ones too engrossed in their argument to notice the presenting child in their midst.

“Stop!” Luke shouted, trying to be heard over the din. “Stop it! Stop arguing!”

“Luke, sit down and-” His mother started, rounding on him. But he stood firm, chest puffed out and chin held high in defiance.

“Aemond is presenting!” He shouted back. The room froze again, the shouting voices quieting in an instant.

And then it exploded into chaos once more.

When Aemond realized what was happening to him, he finally let the dam break on his tears. It was Ser Criston who carried him off, letting Aemond cling to him as he sobbed. The Alpha’s scent of rain-soaked stone and petrichor was soothing. He was Aemond’s pack, his protector, almost a father to him. If anyone was safe to cry with, it was Ser Criston.

“I don’t want to be an Omega.” He whimpered against Ser Criston’s white surcoat.

“You need not stop your lessons.” The knight said, the only consolation he could likely give. Aemond choked on a sob that was half despair and half gratitude. At least one thing would not have to change. But Seven Hells, everything else would.

He had half a mind to grab the dagger from Ser Criston’s belt and drive it into the area of his body that would change the most. That would betray him slowly over the course of the next week. He would shrink and shrink until nothing remained of the man he was; should have been. And then that disgusting hole would open up, a vicious mockery of his body. The ugly wound on his groin that would render him a mere object, a conduit of pleasure and pups for some Alpha or Beta and nothing else.

The tears had turned to screaming rage by the time Ser Criston laid him in his bed. Vhagar’s roaring matched his own, echoing from the Kingswood and shaking with the terrible anger of her rider.

Everything was being taken from him, just as everything had always been taken from him. His father’s love, stolen before he was born. The throne that was his birthright? Stolen by his sister and now by this. Rhaena had almost stolen Luke, and could have taken Vhagar if he hadn’t acted quickly enough. Nothing he had was sacred, not even his body. Not even his best friend.

Luke.

Gods, Luke. They were doomed, now. Even after Aegon had told him Mother would never let them marry, he’d held out hope. But now it was dashed against the rocks like so much jetsam from the sunken ship of his dreams.

There would be no ships, now. No tours of the Free Cities, no trips beyond The Wall, no voyage into the ruins of Valyria. Ser Criston had assured him that he could still train with a sword, but to what end? He would never be allowed to lead soldiers into battle except in dire circumstances on dragonback. He would be expected to stay behind and mind the children and see to the castle’s defense while his mate did all the real fighting.

His battlefield would be the birthing bed. He would have to allow his mate to take over his body, forcing it to swell into a grotesque and bloated thing. Then he would labor for hours expelling the parasite inside of him, and have to count himself lucky to have survived the ordeal; only to be forced through it again and again. At best he would be like his mother, left alone after a passable amount of heirs and spares. At worst he would be like Aemma Arryn, forced to miscarry again and again in search of a male Alpha only to die screaming with his final child.

His life was so seldom fair, but this really felt like a step too far.

Maybe he should just throw himself from his window. A large part of him would rather be dead than an Omega. His body couldn’t finish defiling itself if he died now, and at least he would die with something between his legs that didn’t horrify him. At least if he died now, his body would still be his own.

Aemond felt the sheets rip and tear beneath him as he writhed in them, screaming and crying hysterically. He didn’t want this! He didn’t want to be an Omega, a broodmare, a submissive maiden. He wanted to be an Alpha, a warrior. He wanted his mother!

Apparently he’d said that last part out loud, because Ser Criston finally left his concerned vigil over the crying child to slip out of the door. A few minutes later his mother was by his bedside, petting her hand through his sweat-damp hair.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Aemond sobbed, burying his face in her palm. “Targaryen Omegas are rare, and we already have Aegon! This isn’t fair!”

“All will be well, my son.” Alicent tried to shush him, cupping his blotchy red face in her hands and running her thumbs over tearstained cheeks. “It will not be so bad as you think-”

“My life is over!” Aemond shrieked, cutting her off. “I won’t get to do anything! I’ll have to sit at home and have babies and do nothing!”

“That’s not true!” Alicent rushed to console him. “You’ll manage a household, you’ll see petitioners in your mate’s stead, you’ll-”

“I don’t want that!” Aemond cried, struggling in his mother’s grasp. “I want to be a warrior! If I’m an Omega I can’t protect them! I can’t protect Aegon or Helaena or Daeron. I can’t protect Luke. I can’t protect you.”

“Oh, sweetling.” Alicent sighed, gathering her son against her chest and laying his head on her sternum. “It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around.”

“No!” Aemond huffed. “It was my job! Be an Alpha, become King, protect us all from her.”

“I have that under control, Aemond.” Alicent promised, smoothing his hair back from his face. “It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be alright. We’re all going to be just fine. I have things under control. There are plans in motion that I have not told you about, but I promise I have not been idle since your brothers’ presentation.”

“What will happen to me now?” Aemond asked, whimpering as he curled tighter against his mother.

“You will get through your fever. You will act in accordance to your gender and station. I will allow you to keep training with Ser Criston for your protection, but in all other areas you must strive to be a proper Royal Omega.” Alicent explained, her voice sure and strong and steady; leaving no room for argument. “Your virtue is as much your shield as your true shield. Your reputation your destrier, your beauty your lance. Your best chance to protect your siblings now is to make a good match, and good matches come to good Omegas. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, mother.” Aemond rasped against her collarbone, a fresh wave of tears starting as the reality sunk in that there was nothing that could stop it. He would be an Omega whether he wanted to be or not, and have to endure all of the life changes that came with it.

The window was looking like a better option with each passing second.

Tears burned in Luke’s eyes as he stumbled into the Sept, blurring his vision the way his thoughts felt blurred. He felt cold, achingly cold like it was the dead of Winter. Every breath was a desperate gasp for air that wracked his body with a sob he wouldn’t let escape.

Aemond was an Omega.

He didn’t even bother to light a candle, he just threw himself before the Altar of the Maiden with no heed for the way his knees crashed against the hard stone and finally let out a broken, choking sob.

“I take it back!” He wailed, hands clasped so hard the knuckles were white. “I take it all back! Please, don’t make me an Omega! Please, anything else! An Alpha, a Beta, just please! Not an Omega!”

He crawled over to the Altar of the Warrior and grabbed a candle with shaking hands. He barely managed to light it, trembling as he was, as he struggled to make a cohesive pool of wax to stick it in. But eventually he got it and sunk back to his knees.

“Please, Warrior. Please. I know I’m not the best swordsman, and that I’m small. I know I’m too soft, and I can embroider. But please, make me an Alpha. I’ll work hard every day to be the best Alpha I can be. I’ll train day and night, and I’ll protect Aemond like I swore in the Kingswood. I’ll be a good mate for him, I promise. Just please, don’t take him away from me. Don’t make me an Omega.” He begged, rocking himself and his clasped hands back and forth desperately.

Then he scrambled for the Altar to the Smith, lighting another candle and looking up in supplication. “Please, I will devote my life to any craft you wish. I’ll even continue embroidery, though I’ll be mocked for it. Anything, Smith, please. Spinning, weaving, smithing, woodwork. Whatever you ask of me. Just please make me a Beta. Not an Omega, please!”

“Luke?” Rhaena’s voice came from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Luke whimpered and shook his head, pressing his lips together. Rhaena crossed the Sept in sweeping steps, throwing herself at him in a hug.

“I’m so sorry! Grandmother has been so awful since we left! Daemon just eggs her on and on, and Grandfather barely tries to stop them anymore!” Rhaena cried, squeezing Luke tight. “They want Baela to be heir to Driftmark now that she’s an Alpha. Because- Well…I suppose you know what they think.” Rhaena murmured, hurt in her voice.

“To the Seven Hells with Driftmark!” Luke snapped, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging until the pain in his scalp grounded him. “To the Seven Hells with Grandmother! Why should I care about a woman who never loved me and a seat I never wanted when Aemond’s an Omega!?” He shouted, eyes wild and dark with rage as he clung to Rhaena.

“Oh Luke-” Rhaena gasped, hugging him tighter.

“I’ve lost him, Rhaena.” Luke whimpered, starting to shake again. “I’ve lost him forever.”

“We don’t know that yet.” Rhaena tried to reassure him, but the waver in her voice spoke to the uncertainty. “It’s a 2 out of three chance that you’re still compatible.”

“Please don’t.” Luke begged weakly. “We both know. Everyone knows. It’s as obvious as-” He sighed. “It’s as obvious as the reasons Rhaenys doesn’t want me to have Driftmark.”

“We should have told you, but I think Grandmother is having the ravens watched.” Rhaena said, burying her face in his hair.

“Baela will be a good Lord of the Tides.” Luke murmured. “Maybe I can offer to be her mate, since I can’t-” He cut himself off with a small, gasping sob. “Since I can’t marry Aemond. Everyone would be appeased.”

“It’s not fair.” Rhaena scoffed. “You didn’t do anything. It was your mother and Uncle Laenor and Ser Harwin that made the mistakes. Why must you pay for it?”

“The payment is something I had stolen in the first place.” Luke shrugged. “Or that was stolen for me.”

“I don’t want to not be your cousin anymore.” Rhaena admitted, scent growing bitter with sadness. “We’d only be first cousins once removed if Laenor wasn’t your father anymore.”

“You’ll always be my cousin in my heart.” Luke said, squeezing her tight. “I don’t want to be a true bastard.”

“Uncle Viserys will legitimize you.” Rhaena assured him. “Your mother would never allow you to stay a bastard.”

“A legitimized bastard Omega.” Luke scoffed. “The farthest thing from a suitable mate for Aemond.”

“I’m so sorry, Luke.” Rhaena sniffled. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. Losing our grandparents and Aemond in the same stroke.”

“He was supposed to be an Alpha.” Luke whimpered, clutching Rhaena’s dress in a shaking hand. “He promised to protect me, and I promised to protect him. We were going to get married, and be together forever. Hopelessly in love, just like Baela said.”

“You can still protect each other.” Rhaena said, running her hands through his hair. Dark, but not Baratheon black. Why had Mother thought she could fool anyone? “Omegas must stick together. We understand each other in ways Alphas never will. You can always be Aemond’s friend, his sister, his confidante.”

“It’s not enough.” Luke whimpered, his tears rolling down Rhaena’s smooth, tawny skin. “I wanted it all. All of him. All we could be.”

“I know.” Rhaena said, her voice barely above a whisper and full of secondhand regret.

Luke went quiet then, letting the tears fall and letting Rhaena pet her fingers through his hair. The hair he’d gotten from his true father. The hair Aemond had once said was ‘a surprisingly charming mess’. After that comment, Luke had contemplated growing it out to please Aemond. Now, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cut it all off.

Wiping his eyes, Luke pulled away from Rhaena and rose to his feet. He swallowed thickly as halting steps brought him back to the Altar of the Maiden. He looked up into the lovingly-carved visage of her soft face, grasping a candle tightly in his hand as he gazed at her with resigned despair. He let out a shuddering breath and lit the candle, placing it on the altar.

“Maiden, please bless Aemond and protect him through his presentation. I don’t- I don’t know why you took him from me, but please treat him well.” Luke rasped out, a fresh wave of tears cascading down his cheeks.

The Maiden smiled serenely down at him, refusing him an answer. The Gods would not reveal their plans, not to Luke. He would just have to keep faith.

What a joke.

Chapter Text

Even in the thin light of the hours just past dawn, King’s Landing was still uncomfortably hot and humid. The narrow streets and the tall buildings boxing them in held heat like a stone, trapping in the mingled breaths and pressing bodies of the people. Even in the castle, the high walls kept away any breeze and turned the training field set up for jousting into a simmering pot.

Jace was sweltering in full tourney plate atop his destrier, a command from Ser Quentyn in order to get him better used to the weight of it. It was heavier than his usual armor, with more coverage and thicker plate. Where battle armor would have many openings for movement, this was full-coverage, trapping his body heat inside with him as the sun beat down on the metal. He felt like he was cooking, the sweat sticking to every inch of his body offering no relief.

Ember, his pitch black young stallion, was as impatient as he was to continue, pawing and prancing in place as Ser Quentyn fiddled with the quintain. He’d taken the arm of it off for some reason, and when he replaced it the shield that served as a target had been removed.

“You’re getting good, Jace.” Quentyn said with that same easy, charming smile. Jace returned it sheepishly, ducking his head. Quentyn never skimped out on praise, but he still managed to deliver it with such warmth and pride that it felt special every time.

“Does this have anything to do with why you took the shield off the quintain?” He asked, adjusting himself in the saddle as the borrowed tourney plate dug into his ribs slightly. He’d have to use the stretcher again after his most recent growth spurt.

“Yes. You need a smaller target.” Ser Quentyn said, lifting the arm back up into position and fastening it down. “That shield was, what? About a square foot? Well the beam of the arm itself is only four inches. You’ll aim at that.”

Jace regarded it skeptically. “If you say so.”

Quentyn laughed, shaking his head. “You will do well, My Prince. You’ve been nothing if not a quick study. And a square foot versus four inches will make a lot of difference on the field.”

“A few inches can make a lot of difference in many fields.” One of the nearby knights barked with an easy grin and a belly laugh. Ser Martyn Reyne, a newly minted knight a few years older than him. Jace scowled at the crude joke, one of many that Reyne flung out like seed into the wind for anyone to hear. He’d even joke like that with Aegon, an unmated Omega! He was a wretch and a coward and Jace hated him with every fiber of his being.

“I’m sure you would know, lacking in them as you are.” Jace bit back. Even at four and ten Jace was nearly as tall as Martyn, and while part of that could be attributed to Jace’s own tallness it was also part a fault of Martyn’s shorter stature.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have enough for both of us some day, My Prince.” Martyn called back, his grin turning sharp. “Mayhaps you’ll be as tall as your sire.”

A round of titters came from the knights and squires around Ser Martyn. Reachmen and Westerlanders whose Lords were Green loyalists. Even with no Alpha sons, some of the faction still clung to the open question of Daeron’s presentation as a scant hope.

“I hadn’t known Ser Laenor to be particularly tall.” Ser Quentyn said, his hand on the pommel of his sword and his voice low with warning, reverberating through the yard menacingly. The Swanns were largely neutral, their Baratheon liegelords content to wait out the conflict until they could get something from one side or the other. But Quentyn himself never permitted insults to his squire in his presence.

“Truly?” Ser Martyn drawled, not taking his eyes off of Jace. “I never met the man, myself. Perhaps the rumors were mistaken. I had been told the Prince bore a strong resemblance to his father. I simply assumed that Ser Laenor was tall.”

Jace grit his teeth, Quentyn’s hand tightened over his sword. Martyn smirked openly at both of them.

It had been this way since Rhaenyra and Harwin’s marriage, whispers around every corner and open mockery cloaked in just enough courtly manners to toe the line. Mother couldn’t have confirmed the rumors of their birth better if she had shouted it from the rooftops. Now instead of Harrenhal where no one could see him, Ser Harwin was at court where the Lords of the Realm could easily compare him and the Princess’ sons. Especially Jace, who grew taller and broader with each passing moon.

“Perhaps you would like to have a practice match with me?” Quentyn asked, his voice hard and eyes sharp as he regarded Ser Martyn much like one would regard a particularly annoying worm. “You’ve come to the training field and yet I haven’t seen you make a single pass at the quintain, Ser Martyn. Come, try your lance.”

Ser Quentyn certainly hadn’t become any worse with a lance since unseating three knights at six and ten. And Ser Martyn certainly hadn’t grown a spine somehow in the last five minutes. The knight’s eyes went wide with apprehension and he physically recoiled from the offer, his fellow feckless wretches turning their tittering laughs on him.

“It seems my squire has misplaced my horse.” Ser Martyn said with a thin smile, rising from where he’d been lounging with the other Green wastrels. “Perhaps I will train with my sword today instead.”

“Yes, that sounds like a fine idea.” Quentyn said, eyes still boring into the other knight. He kept staring holes into him as he left, taking a gaggle of other knights and squires with him. Only a few knights who were actually training and their squires remained, and their eyes quickly slipped away from the furious Prince and his Knight.

“Are you well, My Prince?” Quentyn asked, eyes still boring a hole into the distance where Martyn had left.

“I thank you for coming to my defense.” Jace said in lieu of an answer. What answer could he give? Of course he wasn’t well. His mother had practically exposed him as a bastard to the entire court.

“It is my duty. As your knight, as your subject, and as your friend.” Ser Quentyn said with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ll suffer no lies against you.”

“And if they weren’t lies?” Jace asked, fists tightening on the reigns of his horse. What good was loyalty cloaked in secrecy? What good was Quentyn’s word in the face of the blazingly obvious truth?

For a moment, Quentyn was silent. He regarded Jace with sharp blue eyes, searching his face for the Gods only knew what. Jace refused to give it to him, staring back impassively.

“You’ll make a fine King one day, My Prince.” Quentyn said, a crooked smile growing. It was a declaration without so many words, and one Jace had needed to hear. It didn’t matter, not to the people who mattered. It didn’t matter to Quentyn, or Aegon, or to his Mother. And if it mattered to the Lords of the Realm, he would show them he was as much a dragon as any of his kin.

“Gods be good, I will be remembered as one of the best.” Jace answered with a smug smile.

Aemond felt disgusting.

Every time his legs moved, he felt like a freak. He could feel the absence of his member like a phantom limb. It felt less like it had shrunk away and morphed with the fever and more like it had been cut off. Like it should be there, but wasn’t. He’d asked Aegon about it, but the other boy had looked at him strangely and said that he’d get used to it.

But Aemond didn’t want to get used to it. He wanted his cock back! That thing between his legs wasn’t a part of his body. It wasn’t supposed to be there! There wasn’t supposed to be this empty, aching space between his legs, or a thrice-damned hole. The thing was like a wound on his body; on his very soul. It wasn’t even just that he didn’t want to be an Omega, it just felt wrong for his body to be this way on a deep, visceral level.

“Aemond! My lance!” Ser Criston called, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“Coming!” He called back, grabbing the ash wood lance and jogging back to where Ser Criston sat atop a gleaming white stallion. At least Ser Criston wasn’t treating him any differently. He’d kept his promise, lessons in the yard had continued. And when the Tyrell knight Aemond had been squiring for cut him loose right before the tourney, Ser Criston had been quick to step in.

The fucking tourney. It had been turned from simply a celebration of Maiden’s Day to a celebration of Aemond’s presentation. An auspicious sign, he’d been told, that he’d presented as an Omega so close to Maiden’s Day. What a crock of shit.

“Ser Harlen is incompetent. Make it quick.” Aemond said as he handed Ser Criston his lance. He didn’t even spare a glance for the Tyrell knight, the same one who’d abandoned him as a squire when he’d presented. Ser Criston nodded, a hard smile on his face as he flipped his visor down and spurred his horse forward.

Aemond returned to the tent, wanting solitude. He felt stared at constantly since his presentation, a freak to gawk at more than a Prince of the Realm. No one looked at him the same anymore, save his siblings. The neckline of his clothes had receded precipitously to show off his unmarked neck, and with it had come the wandering eyes of knights, squires, and lordlings. Different mixtures of interest and ambition followed him wherever he went. The ladies and Omegas of the court treated him differently, too; seeking his company and complimenting him on the jewels mother made him wear. He’d already had a few offers of companionship and service from ambitious young women and Omegas who wanted to be seen with a Prince. Even Ser Criston, for all that he was his most stalwart supporter in wanting nothing in his life to change, was more protective and refused to let him wander certain parts of the castle without an escort.

The biggest betrayal, as always, had come from Luke. The one person with the most power to hurt him.

What hurt the most about Luke’s treatment was that he didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like other people, who began to treat him like something fragile and innocent. No, Luke had become a sullen, mulish little sot since Aemond had presented.

It was as if he was angry at Aemond for being an Omega. It manifested in thunderstorm pouts when the subject was brought up, waspish retorts when faced with the idea that Aemond would receive offers for his hand, glares when Aemond was approached by Alphas their age. He’d even stormed out of a room once when Aegon had teased him about having to birth children.

Well if Luke wanted it so bad, he could have it. He could choke on being an Omega. He could take the low collars and the stares, he could have the heats and the pheromones and the fucking quim. Just so long as Aemond didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

Aemond threw himself onto a pile of cushions that had been laid out, pouring himself a glass of watered down wine and downing it in a few angry gulps. Stupid Luke, what did he know? It wasn’t like Aemond wanted this.

He stared up at the canopy of the tent, brows furrowed in a scowl as he wondered if he could get the blasted thing sewn shut. But then how would he make water? And besides, mother would flay him alive.

“A visitor, My Prince.” The guard outside of the tent called. Aemond growled and rose to his feet, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Enter.” He called, not bothering to keep the acid out of his tone.

He’d expected maybe Aegon, or one of his nephews. His mother, perhaps, if she was feeling particularly anxious about her Omega child being among so many knights. What he was greeted with instead was Robyn Beesbury, second son of the Lord of Honeyholtl.

Robyn was two years older than Aemond, already an Alpha secure in his presentation and quickly growing into adulthood. Tall and slim as a spear with flaming orange hair and bright blue eyes, Robyn was as attractive as he was ambitious and he was all too aware of that fact.

“My Prince.” Robyn greeted with a deep bow and a charming smile. Aemond scoffed, downing the rest of his wine and setting the goblet down on the table forcefully.

“What do you want?” Aemond snapped.

“A rose with thorns, how poetic.” Robyn said smugly, as if what he’d said was original in any way. “You’re quite beautiful, My Prince. Has anyone had the pleasure of telling you so yet?”

“Yes. Now get on with it.” He ground out through gritted teeth. Rage coursed through him, hot and pulsing. What right did this wretch have to come to his tent and look at him like a cow at auction? A second son scheming to marry up who didn’t even see Aemond as a person. He wanted to gut him cock to gullet.

Should he pour another glass of wine? It was watered down, maybe it would be fine.

“Perhaps this is my purpose?” Robyn asked with that same charming smile just dripping with self-satisfaction. As if Aemond was already won. “To tell you how fair and lovely I think you are.” Robyn leaned up against the table, getting into Aemond’s space. Would Mother be cross with him if he pushed the boy? Alphas weren’t supposed to be this close to him, and it was already making the guard that had followed Beesbury in nervous.

“Then you’ve succeeded in your goal. You’ve told me, now leave.” Aemond sneered over the rim of the goblet. He longed to chuck it at Beesbury, or maybe hold it in his fist as he punched him, letting the metal slam into his head. Anything to teach the flattering sot that Aemond was not some delicate, beautiful, Omega thing.

“Just one more thing, Your Highness.” Robyn said, moving with Aemond to take up his space again. “I’m to ride in the tourney today, my first real competition. I’d be honored if you bestowed your favor on me.”

Aemond could do nothing but bark out a mad laugh at the audacity.

“Get out.” Aemond growled, the hand around his goblet clenching until the knuckles turned white.

“Don’t be like that, beautiful.” Robyn pleaded, reaching for Aemond’s free hand only to have it slapped away. “We both know you’re only playing hard to get.”

Aemond saw red. By the time he knew what was happening, Robyn was backed up against the center pole of the tent with Aemond’s dagger pressed to his throat. The fear in his eyes was electric, it made Aemond feel powerful, and for a moment all of his self-hatred melted away into a mad confidence.

“I don’t play games, Beesbury.” He hissed, hand fisted in his black and yellow doublet. “I’m not one of your simpering little fools who swoon at a smile. I am the blood of Old Valyria and Vhagar’s rider and if I am hard to get, it is because I am not for the likes of brainless, pathetic sots like you.”

“M-my Prince!” The boy stuttered, trying to shift away from the blade against his skin but being blocked by Aemond’s grip and the pole behind him. “I meant no offense!”

“Offense was taken!” Aemond sneered, pressing the knife harder against him until a thin line of blood welled up. “You come into my tent without an escort, intrude on my personal space, and try to touch me and you claim you mean no offense?”

“I-” Robyn started, but he was cut off by the flap of the tent being flung open so hard it smacked against the side of the tent.

“Prince Aemond, put the dagger away.” Ser Criston ordered sternly as he barged into the tent, his plate not even dented from the tilt. Clearly he’d taken Aemond’s request to heart and made the match quick.

“I’m just teaching Lord Beesbury’s cur some respect.” Aemond snarled, not taking the dagger away from Robyn’s neck.

“Your mother would not approve of your methods.” Ser Criston reminded him, taking a step forward. Aemond’s hand tightened on the dagger, knowing Criston would take it if he had to. With a growl, he let his hand drop.

“Get out.” He growled to Robyn, who scrambled to comply as quickly as he could. He ran past Ser Criston, who was still looking at Aemond with stern eyes.

“This behavior is unbecoming of a Prince.” Ser Criston said, staring Aemond down as he stared back, tilting his chin up defiantly.

“Of a Royal Omega, you mean.” Aemond shot back acidically.

“Of anyone. The Beesburys are important allies of your mother, word of this will get back to Lord Horas.” Ser Criston countered.

“Lord Horas can rot.” Aemond snapped. “His whelp should know better than to test my patience!”

“Mayhaps it would do you good to spend some time in the stands.” Ser Criston said coldly, eyes narrowing as he regarded Aemond. “I’m sure your mother will be well pleased by your company until my next tilt.”

“What!?” Aemond snarled, fist tightening around the handle of his dagger. He realized he still hadn’t put it away, but to do so now would undercut his rage. “You can’t just send me away like a sulking child! I was merely defending myself!”

“There was a guard here to defend you.” Ser Criston pointed out without sympathy. “Go to your mother.”

Aemond cried out and hurled the dagger into the dirt with a satisfying thud that buried the blade deep. Stalking out of the tent, Aemond passed by a still pale Robyn Beesbury. He gave the boy a vicious smile, delighting in the way he paled further and turned away in haste.

Oh yes, he quite liked that an Alpha was afraid of him.

Aegon was dreadfully bored.

Aemond had become shit company since his presentation, angry and sensitive in a new way that wasn’t as fun to needle at. He’d thought it would be funny to watch Aemond of all people struggle with Omegahood, but honestly it wasn’t all that entertaining. He didn’t rise to Aegon’s bait so much as physically attack him, and that just wasn’t a reaction Aegon wanted to draw out.

Little Luke had changed, too, surly and bad tempered nearly every time Aegon saw him. Traditionally, Luke was far from his favorite target. He was sensitive and emotional and prone to crying when he was teased. It was a lot less fun than when Jace or Aemond would snap back at him. But in his foul mood and the absence of the other two, he’d actually proven quite the verbal sparring partner. Sharper and more willing to hurt and tear and go for the throat than kind, dutiful Jace.

And of course, Jace. Who had abandoned him to prepare for the tourney.

It was always training this, Ser Quentyn that. If Aegon wanted to hear about the intricacies of learning how to joust he’d have done like Aemond and kept training. Ser Quentyn had quickly soured as a topic, since every time Aegon would praise the man Jace would get surly and possessive. It sent a thrill through Aegon to know that Jace was jealous over him, of course. Who didn’t want to be wanted? But it also usually ended with Jace stomping away to go train some more and leaving Aegon alone and bored.

If anyone had a right to be jealous of Ser Quentyn, it was Aegon. Swann was the one who got to spend the most time with Jace. Even now, his nephew was in Ser Quentyn’s tent helping his knight prepare for the joust. And poor Aegon, alone and abandoned, had to stoop so low as to go there to find him. And if Jace was going to make Aegon chase him down, then Aegon was going to retaliate.

He stepped into the tent, followed by one of the Kingsguard who wasn’t participating in the joust. He made sure to school his countenance into the sweetest, most endearing smile, presenting the image of a shy Royal maiden with no ulterior motives. He twisted a golden ribbon between his fingers in an act of performed nervousness, biting his lip to turn it red and sell the lie of his timidity.

“Ser Quentyn, good day.” He said, tilting his chin down slightly so he could look up at the young knight through his lashes.

“Prince Aegon, good day.” Ser Quentyn said with a bow and a kind smile. That was the only reason Aegon could even slightly forgive Jace for being so enamored with his mentor. He was at least someone worth looking up to.

He flicked his eyes over at Jace, trying not to smirk when he saw the stormy look of possessive jealousy on his face. Good, let him stew it in for the moment. He twirled the golden ribbon around his fingers to draw Jace’s eyes to it, and thrilled when the other boy’s eyes turned hungry at the sight of it.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck in your joust.” Aegon said, twirling the ribbon and fluttering his lashes. Ser Quentyn raised an eyebrow, looking down at the ribbon then back up to Aegon then over to Jace. Aegon could see the moment where Quentyn figured him out. His lips pressed into a flat, stern line but his eyes sparked with amusement even as he gave an exasperated sigh.

“I thank you, My Prince. But luck does not win the day, it’s skill that will see me through.” Ser Quentyn said. “Luck is for the untalented. For those who spend their days idle rather than in the training yard or atop their horse. Do you not agree, Prince Jacaerys?”

Jace startled, not expecting to be brought into the conversation. “Of course.” He answered quickly, “Ser Quentyn has trained very hard, it’s that work that will do the most.”

“Oh, Jace! I didn’t see you there.” Aegon lied through his teeth, finally turning his full attention to his nephew. The look of indignant fury on Jace’s face when he said it was delicious, and the way his eyes cut at Ser Quentyn as if he was the problem was, frankly, hilarious. But Aegon wanted Jace’s attention on him, not on the knight.

“You’re riding in the tourney too, right?” Aegon asked in faux innocence, twirling the ribbon around his fingers and reveling in the way Jace’s eyes tracked its movement. “I’d wish you luck, but apparently you don’t think you need it.” Aegon sighed dramatically.

“No, I said Ser Quentyn doesn’t need it.” Jace said quickly, eagerly. His eyes flicked down to the ribbon and then quickly away as if he didn’t want to be caught looking; wanting. “I could use the luck, if you’re willing to offer.”

“Oh, well in that case-” Aegon said, allowing a sly grin as he sidled up to Jace. He looped the ribbon a few times around the fingers of one hand, holding it up so it caught the light. “Good luck!” He chirped brightly, turning away.

“Wait!” Jace said, clamping his mouth shut as if he hadn’t meant to speak. Aegon smirked, and Ser Quentyn gave him and exasperated glare.

“Yes?” Aegon asked, not turning back to Jace.

“I- uh- Would you like to stay for a bit? The servants just brought us some light food. We have wine.” Jace offered as a cover, cheeks a brilliant red. That’s when Aegon turned to him, pretending to consider it for a moment as he fiddled with the ribbon.

“Hmm, no. I believe I’ll leave you to your preparations.” Aegon sighed after a moment. Jace deflated, and he almost felt bad. But it would be alright in the end, so no harm no foul right? It was just a bit of teasing before he made Jace happy.

“Are you sure?” Jace asked, looking at Aegon with those warm, pleading brown eyes that he found it so hard to say no to. And he wouldn’t, he thought. He’d strung Jace along long enough.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Aegon said with an apologetic smile. “But I do want to give you something before I go.”

The way Jace perked up at that, eyes flicking down to the ribbon, made it hard to keep the smirk off of his face. His sweet little pup, always chasing after him. Well, he’d definitely earned a reward.

“Will you do me the honor of riding with my favor, Prince Jacaerys?” Aegon asked sweetly, fluttering his lashes at the Alpha and holding out the coveted ribbon. Jace’s eyes went wide as he stared first at Aegon and then at the ribbon. The fingers on his right hand twitched, as if he wanted to snatch the ribbon from his hand before the offer was retracted.

“The honor would be all mine, My Prince.” Jace said, face flushing even deeper as he reached out and gently took the ribbon from Aegon’s outstretched hands. Their fingers brushed for a moment, an electric thrill running through him that Jace clearly felt as well if the twitch of his fingers said anything.

The smile Aegon gave Jace then was genuine, full of all of the true sweetness he could muster. And then he did something that was, perhaps, a bit brash in hindsight. Certainly something his mother would never approve of, given his upcoming mystery betrothal.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jace’s cheek. Just a whisper of a kiss that lasted less than a breath, so quick that they could both fool themselves into thinking it hadn’t happened, save for their audience. When Aegon pulled back, the look on Jace’s face was everything. Awestruck and as open and readable as a book, Jace looked like every one of his namedays had come at once and the Maiden herself had descended from the heavens naked before him.

“Good luck.” Aegon said softly into the still air between them before slipping away out of the tent, leaving Jace there to process.

Over an hour later and Jace was still riding the high of that moment.

Aegon hadn’t just given him his favor over Ser Quentyn, he’d kissed him. He could still feel the soft warmth of Aegon’s lips on his skin, and he couldn’t stop touching the spot where they’d been. Aegon had kissed him!

That morning all he could think about was the joust. How to do his best, how to impress Ser Quentyn and his mother. Now his thoughts were all on Aegon, and how to show he was worthy of the favor bestowed upon him. Worthy of that kiss.

Maybe worthy of one on the lips.

No, that was wishful thinking. A kiss on the cheek was improper enough, he would never dream of actually besmirching Aegon with a kiss on the mouth. No matter how pretty and soft his lips looked.

Across from him on the lists was someone who had no such qualms.

Martyn Reyne again, the dog. He was always sniffing around the other Prince, flattering and simpering. Whether he was after an impossible marriage or to ruin a Royal Omega Jace didn’t know. But he did know he hated him for it. As much as he hated him for being a spineless, feckless little shit who insulted him to his face.

Jace looked down at the golden ribbon he’d tied around his wrist. He would show that lout for the both of them.

“Here’s your lance!” Joffrey called excitedly, half out of breath as he shoved the lance towards his older brother eagerly.

He’d asked Luke to be his Squire first, since Harwin had stopped competing in jousts after the death of Joffrey Lonmouth, but his brother had been in a sour mood for days now and had turned him down in no uncertain terms. He assumed it had something to do with Rhaenys and Driftmark, but Luke refused to even talk to him about it. He was starting to grow worried.

Joffrey, by contrast, had been over the moon when Jace had asked him to fill in. The eight year old had never squired before, but what he lacked in skill and knowledge he made up for in pure enthusiasm. If he was knighted, he might take his brother to squire simply because it was so much fun to have such an eager pup around.

“Thank you, Joffrey. You can watch, but don’t get too close. And when I return, we’ll go get some pies, hm?” Jace said, taking the lance from him and offering the boy a warm smile. His brother nodded eagerly back at him, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Good luck!” He said, scampering away to somewhere he could get a better view of the joust.

“This is what we’ve been training for.” He murmured to Ember, patting the side of his neck. “You’ve been preparing for this your whole life, almost. You ready?”

The black destrier pawed at the ground and tossed his head in affirmation. Jace grinned and flipped the visor on his helmet down, kicking the stallion into a trot to take his place on his side of the field.

Reyne was still half off to the side, laughing with his friends and some serving wench he had his hands all over. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was pawing at her teats, and she didn’t seem to mind at all, her hand on the chestplate of his armor as she threw her head back in laughter.

And this was the sot that thought he had a right to Aegon’s company.

Jace’s hand tightened on his lance as Reyne broke away from the group and mounted his roan courser. The knight threw a jaunty wave to the crowd and blew a kiss to his wench before donning his helm and putting down the visor, now a faceless opponent across from him in the lists. But Jace knew who was in there, and he was determined to best him.

Taking a centering breath, Jace let the noise of the crowd fall away. It was easy inside the tourney armor, which dulled his hearing naturally. He adjusted his grip on the reigns and tucked his lance under his arm, squaring it as he waited for the call then kicked Ember into a gallop.

The lists rushed past him in a blur, Ember’s hooves thundering underneath them as they seemed to move as one cohesive unit. But Jace’s focus narrowed to a pinprick set at the dead center of Reyne’s shield, right in the heart of the red lion emblazoned on it.

He felt the impact vibrate up his arm at the same time he felt Reyne’s lance strike his own shield. His strike was truer, hitting at the lion’s heart as he’d intended as the ashen lance shattered to bits. But Reyne’s was off-balance, hitting the top of his shield and nearly skittering off. Jace was either denied victory or spared a lance to the eye when Martyn’s lance chose instead to catch on the rim and buckle before shattering as well.

By the time he’d trotted back to his end of the lists, Joffrey was already waiting with a fresh lance, looking up at him in childish awe.

“That was brilliant! Ser Martyn is a real knight and you’re only a squire and yet you’re doing better than he is!” Joffrey praised, little eyes shining as he ran up to him to give him the fresh lance. “I’m sure you’ll break your next lance and he won’t! He barely hit you that time!”

Jace decided not to tell Joffrey of the danger he was in when the lance threatened to glance off into his helmet. To him, jousting was simple fun and pageantry. Ironic, then, that he was named for a man who had died in one. Still, he would not spoil his brother’s fun.

“It is our Uncle’s favor.” Jace said, lowering his voice as if he were telling him a secret. “Everyone knows the favor of an Omega maiden motivates a knight like nothing else. And it’s said to carry the blessing of The Maiden.”

Joffrey’s eyes went wide, looking at the golden ribbon with a newfound awe.

“You have to win the tourney and crown Uncle Aegon the Queen of Love and Beauty!” Joffrey insisted, starry-eyed. Jace laughed and ruffled his hair.

“I don’t know about that, Joff. But I’ll do my best.” He said, flipping his visor down and shooing his brother back to his watch spot. He trotted Ember back to the start of the lists, lance held high as he came to face Reyne again.

The red lion on his silver shield now bore a deep dent at its heart from Jace’s first pass. That would be the point he was aiming at. The herald gave the signal and they charged forward, he and Ember merging into one being again as the world fell away and became nothing but him, Reyne, and the list.

He zeroed the tip of his lance in on Ser Martyn’s shield, but movement caught his eye as Reyne fumbled with the shield for just a moment. It caused him to rock to one side in the saddle; just a bit, but just enough. Jace smirked inside of his helm, adjusting his lance to ram into Ser Martyn’s side and send him toppling into the dirt as his lance shattered from the impact.

“The winner is Prince Jacaerys Velaryon!” The Herald called as the crowd cheered for him. But he only cared about the applause of one person. His eyes scanned the crowd for Aegon, but he frowned as he couldn’t find him. He wasn’t with his Ladies and Omegas in Waiting in the stands. More worryingly, he wasn’t with Septa Ellyn and his mother in the Royal Box.

He handed Ember off to a groomsman as he dismounted, pulling off his helm and starting to strip himself of his tourney plate. It would be some time before his next tilt, with so many contestants still in the running.

“That was amazing!” Joffrey cried as he ran up to his brother, quickly fumbling with the fastenings of his brother’s plate to help him get it off. “He just went tumbling, it looked so funny!”

“It was quite the sight, wasn’t it?” Jace grinned, whipping the sweaty hair from his eyes and pulling his sweat-soaked doublet off so he could change.

“Uncle Aegon’s favor worked! You should thank him.” Joffrey said, storing Jace’s armor clumsily.

“I intend to do just that. Only, I have to find him. Do you think you could take care of making sure we’re ready for the next tilt while I search for him?” Jace asked. Joffrey lit up at the prospect of being trusted with such an important task, nodding eagerly.

“I can do it! We’ll be the most ready we’ve ever been!” The pup said with a curt nod.

“I’m sure we will be.” Jace said, a grin splitting his face as he ruffled his brother’s hair. “I’ll entrust it to you.”

As he left the tent to look for Aegon, a cloud passed over the sun and cloaked the tourney momentarily in an eerie and sudden shade. A strange tingle went up his spine and for a moment his thoughts went, unbidden, to Luke.

But the cloud passed quickly, casting everything in sparkling sunlight once again. He pushed aside the strange feeling that had overcome him and set off to find his uncle.

The overbearing heat of the sun, the mingled bodies, and the cookfires was doing nothing for Luke’s mood. Even under the shady black awning of the Royal Box, he was sweltering. He’d chosen a silver silk doublet embroidered with sea green sea horses in an attempt to keep cool but the silk was sweat-damp and sticking to him now.

The sound of heavy, stomping boots and the stink of rotten pomegranates and burnt rosemary certainly didn’t help either.

He wanted to hate Aemond’s Omega scent. He wanted to wrinkle his nose at it, find some repulsive note in it that would make all of this easier. But even like this, Aemond managed to smell lovely to him. The stink of his displeasure only made him want to comfort, not turn away in disgust. And that was what he truly hated.

“Shouldn’t you be with Ser Criston?” Luke asked, not looking up from the tourney field where the next joust had started.

“The sot sent me here.” Aemond sneered. “He seems to think me in need of chastisement like a child.”

The reminder that Aemond wasn’t a child any longer stung. No, he was an Omega grown now, not quite a full adult but certainly no longer a pup.

“What gave him that impression?” Luke asked, finally looking up at Aemond. He was as lovely as ever, and he would only grow lovelier as he aged into his presentation with that soft, flowing hair and comely purple eyes. No doubt his mate would take great pride in having someone so beautiful.

Luke hated them already.

“Mayhaps the cut I left on Robyn Beesbury’s neck.” Aemond said smugly, throwing himself onto the bench beside Luke. Luke just stared at him incredulously.

“And why did you cut Beesbury’s neck?” He asked.

“He came into my tent uninvited, tried to romance me, and asked for my favor.” Aemond scoffed, lips drawing up in a sneer. “Can you imagine, me stooping so low as a Beesbury?”

Aemond’s voice fell away as Luke’s hearing was overtaken by the blood rushing through his ears. Robyn Beesbury wanted Aemond? That foppish flatterer? He couldn’t hope to be good enough for him! Aemond was one of the most amazing people in all of Westeros: beautiful, intelligent, talented with the sword, a dragonrider, and the Blood of Old Valyria. Beesbury was a sheep before a dragon, a pig lusting after a jewel. It was grotesque!

“Luke!” Aemond snapped, pinching him hard on the arm. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Did you give him your favor?” Luke snarled.

“What?” Aemond scoffed.

“Did you give him your favor?” Luke asked more harshly.

“No, you imbecile! I gave him a cut on his neck, like I said.” Aemond drawled, rolling his eyes. But Luke wasn’t mollified.

“Did he touch you?” He asked.

“He tried, but I smacked his hand away.” Aemond shrugged. “It’s why I put the knife to his throat. That and he had the audacity to tell me I was playing hard to get.”

Luke was going to kill him. Luke was going to run Robyn Beesbury through with a sword and then lop off his head so that it could rot on a spike on the castle gate as a warning to anyone else who would dare overstep with Aemond.

“This is why you shouldn’t be alone in a tent surrounded by men and Alphas!” Luke snapped, rounding on Aemond. “You’re an Omega now, you need to be careful! There are people who want to hurt you, take advantage. You have to protect yourself!”

“I did!” Aemond snapped back. “Are you forgetting that I put a knife to his neck? I’m not some defenseless fragile Omega!”

“You’re not invincible, either!” Luke cried, throwing up his hands. “What if you hadn’t had a knife? What if he’d overpowered you anyway? He’s two years older than you and an Alpha!”

“That doesn’t matter! I bested him! I could have slit his throat and he knew it! He was scared of me, Luke! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Aemond shouted, jumping up from the bench and stomping his foot as he fumed.

“He had the audacity to touch you!” Luke growled, rage overtaking him just thinking about it. How dare he touch what was Luke’s?

“And I took care of it!” Aemond cried in frustration. “It’s like you’re not even listening!”

“You’re the one not listening!” Luke insisted, turning on his heel and stalking off.

“Where are you going? Get back here! We’re not done!” Aemond demanded.

“Yes we are! I have more important things to do than argue with a stubborn Omega like you!” Luke snapped, almost immediately regretting it as a hurt look crossed Aemond’s face. But he was worked up now, full of rage with nowhere to put it but to push it out into the world. Everything was being stripped away from his systematically and he couldn’t take it anymore. Laenor, Driftmark, Aemond. And now Beesbury was after something that by all rights should be his, just another person trying to steal from him. And he would pay for it.

So he ignored Aemond’s shouts and taunts, stalking off into the crowd to find him.

He had slipped away the second Jace had unhorsed Ser Martyn. It was more fun this way, to make Jace pout and grouse and whine about how Aegon hadn’t been watching him only to reveal that he had been all along. Perhaps he would get another chance to put some awestruck, besotted look on his face.

Aegon felt giddy as he replayed the memory of Jace’s face at the moment he offered his favor again and again, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. He’d cherish it forever, locked away deep in his mind just for him. He’d need it if his husband wasn’t all his mother claimed him to be.

The thought of his impending betrothal brought his mood crashing down.

Kind, rich, pious, male, and without any overtly concerning qualities. This was all he knew about his impending betrothed. Mother had made no mention of his appearance, whether he was tall or short, handsome or ugly, stout or lithe. She hadn’t mentioned if he was funny, or charming, or if he had any wit at all. All he knew was that she had no objections.

And that he wasn’t Jace.

He signed and toyed with the star sapphire at the hollow of his throat, wondering if he should go back to his Septa. She wouldn’t believe he was relieving himself forever. And Jace would have an easier time finding him if he went back. He’d only meant to step out for a moment, really. Long enough for Jace to notice his absence.

But as he passed by a gaggle of knights, one staggered to his feet and walked up to him. Martyn Reyne, smelling almost as much of wine as Aegon did.

“Prince Aegon!” Martyn called, a lazy smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around Aegon’s shoulders. Already rather brazen of him to do in a crowded public place, made all the more brazen when he leaned in close and whispered, “Hello, beautiful.”

Normally, Aegon would be open to Reyne’s flattery and flirting. He was more persistent than the other Alphas and enjoyed the chase enough to stick around when Aegon rebuffed him. It made for good entertainment and a nice boost to his self-esteem if nothing else. But the knight’s breath was unpleasantly sour, and he was leaning on Aegon more than holding him.

“Unhand me.” He ordered imperiously, trying to push the Alpha off of him.

“Don’t be like that. I just got eliminated from the joust by your bastard nephew, I need a sweet thing like you to console me.” Martyn whined, sounding more like a child than a man of six and ten. Aegon rolled his eyes, pushing at him.

“You’re drunk and you smell terrible, get off!” He scoffed, baring his teeth when the Alpha still wouldn’t budge. “And don’t talk about Prince Jacaerys like that or I’ll have your tongue!”

“C’mon, lovely~ Everyone knows you’re down for it. You just like to play hard to get.” Martyn slurred, punctuating his sentence with a drunken giggle. “No one’s got in your breeches yet, but we all know it’s a matter of time.”

Aegon could feel the color drain from him like a bucket of ice water over the head. But hot on its heels was an inferno of rage, returning the flush to his cheeks tenfold. He didn’t even think twice, cocking his fist back and clocking Martyn on the jaw.

Martyn cried out and staggered back, looking at Aegon in shock for a moment before his face twisted in rage and he advanced on the Omega. Aegon looked around frantically for a guard or a member of the city watch as Martyn’s hand curled around his neck and found no one.

“You little slut! I’ll teach you to tease me like that!” Martyn growled, hand tightening around Aegon’s neck.

“Let go!” Aegon wheezed, scratching at the armor covering Reyne’s forearm as his gauntlet dug into his neck.

“You think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re nothing but a whore!” Martyn growled, squeezing until the metal of his gauntlets cut into Aegon’s flesh and his breath was cut off. Panic clawed at him as he clawed at the unyielding steel of Martyn’s plate.

“St-stop!” He wheezed, stars dancing in his eyes as tears pricked along the corners. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? He was a Prince of the Realm, a Royal Omega. Why were the knights Reyne been sitting with doing nothing?

Aegon tried to kick Martyn’s leg out from under him, but he was quickly growing light headed and uncoordinated. He reached out trying to claw at Reyne’s face, the only unprotected part of him, but his arm came up short. Darkness started gathering at the corners of his vision, his thoughts growing hazy and his limbs weak.

He never should have left Septa Ellyn behind. She’d protect him, like she’d protected Aemond and Jace. Gods, how could he have been so stupid? Now no one was here to protect him.

“Unhand him, cur!” Someone shouted, but Aegon couldn’t for the life of him think whose voice it was. Everything sounded so far away.

The next second he was on the ground, hacking and coughing as sweet, fresh air flooded back into his lungs. He could hear the clash of steel ringing somewhere nearby, but all he could focus on were the gulps of air he was drawing in and the way it somehow made the lightheadedness worse instead of better.

Aegon finally regained enough breath to focus on his surroundings and what he saw was like something out of a dream, or a singer’s ballad.

Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon stood over Martyn Reyne, who lay in the dirt with the Prince’s sword pointed at the hollow of his throat. Posture unyielding, grip on his sword firm, and face a hard mask of cold rage, his nephew looked every inch the Righteous Knight defending an Omega damsel. Jace’s black armor seemed to suck up the light, the rubies of the dragon’s eyes seeming to look down at Reyne with the same contempt as the Prince.

“If I ever see you near Prince Aegon again, I’ll gut you like a fish.” Jace growled, fire burning in his dark gaze and his lips pulled back in a snarl, his fangs gleaming threateningly in the sunlight. He was beautiful like that, shining and golden in the sunlight and burning with fury.

In contrast, the way Martyn paled only made him look more pathetic. Especially when paired with the bleary way he blinked his unfocused eyes and the look of near confusion he gave the sword. As if he had no idea how he’d gotten here.

“Seven Hells! Fucking- You! You again!” Martyn slurred glaring at Jace. “Always the thrice damned bast-” Jace cut him off, pressing the tip of his sword to his neck.

“Finish that sentence and I’ll cut your tongue from your head myself.” Jace warned.

“Why are you even here?” Martyn whined, letting his head fall into the dirt so he was finally sprawled on his back. He sounded less like he was truly asking and more as if he was lamenting Jace’s presence to the Gods.

“You think you’ll be the one, then?” Martyn asked with a drunken giggle. “To bloody your sword with the Royal Whore? You Targaryens are a strange lot, wouldn’t put it past you.”

Jace snarled and flicked his wrist, Martyn howling in pain as a cut opened up along his cheekbone. The knight looked up at Jace with wide, confused eyes; too drunk to comprehend the situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Say one more word about myself or Aegon or any member of the Royal Family and I will have you executed for treason.” Jace said, bearing his fangs in a snarl as he pointed the tip of his sword straight at the point of Martyn’s nose.

“Seven fucking Hells.” Martyn groaned. “Edd! Help me up!”

Eddard Waters scurried across the way from where he’d been watching the whole ordeal with a group of other knights. None of which had raised a hand to help him. Eddard, at least, looked contrite about it as he flicked wide, concerned eyes over at Aegon. But that concern wasn’t enough to make him act, and it wasn’t enough to keep him from hurrying over to help Reyne up and usher him away.

Useless coward.

Jace stared them down, sword held firm in his grip and his body a shield between the knights and Aegon, until the group had disbanded and scattered. But Aegon had already taken note of who they were. They would pay for their inaction. If not by his hand, then by Jace’s. He could tell as much by the look in his nephew’s eye as the other boy turned to him.

But his face softened in an instant as he knelt next to Aegon, taking his hand in his own.

“You’re hurt.” He said, staring at Aegon’s quickly bruising neck with a warring look of concern and fury.

“With thanks to those cowards.” Aegon snarled, baring his teeth in the direction the bulk of the knights had left in.

“They are no true knights.” Jace agreed, squeezing Aegon’s hand as he helped him up off of the ground. For some reason, Jace wasn’t wearing his gauntlets, and the Alpha’s hand was warm in his. He found his heart skipping a beat as he was pulled up and into Jace’s orbit, their eyes meeting as they stood in each other’s space.

“Thank you.” Aegon said softly into the charged air between them. “For saving me.”

“It was my duty.” Jace said, flushing. But he didn’t look away from Aegon, nor did he drop his hand. “And my honor.”

“My gallant protector.” Aegon said with a soft smile. Jace flushed again, his hand shifting in Aegon’s to grip it more firmly.

“I will always protect you.” He said, voice gentle but firm and determined as he raised Aegon’s hand to his lips and brushed them across the back of it. Aegon’s stomach flipped and heat flooded the apples of his cheeks.

“Gallant, indeed.” Aegon teased, trying to deflect from the way his heart was thumping against his ribs.

“I was simply returning to you what you lent me earlier.” Jace said, still delicately holding Aegon’s fingers.

Aegon knew that what he did next was the height of folly. Perhaps one of the most foolish things he’d ever done. He knew as he did it that if word got back to his mother, she would be enraged. But the only care he showed was looking about their surroundings to make sure they were mostly alone.

“It’s rude to return a gift. Take it back.” He murmured, cupping Jace’s cheek and leaning in to press their mouths together.

Jace’s lips were warm and slightly chapped, but soft and malleable beneath his. It took no time at all for the other boy to respond, their mouths slotting more firmly together. Jace didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, trying at first to settle them somewhere proper like his shoulders before giving up and smoothing them down his back to his waist to pull him close.

It occurred to Aegon that this was his first kiss. Good, then, that he’d shared it with Jace. He’d want no one else to have it, not even his mystery betrothed. Long into his marriage, he would look back on this moment and cherish it; let it keep him warm through the long winters of his arrangement.

It was like one of those winters had come when Jace pulled away from him. Only the Alpha’s breath, lingering warm between them, offered any respite.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Jace murmured as their eyes slid open slowly to meet each other. The other boy’s pupils were blown wide, his eyes a midnight sky Aegon wanted to stargaze into forever.

“It might have been my only chance.” Aegon said, too vulnerable and sincere when he’d meant it to be flippant. “And you set me up too well, My Prince.”

“I shall endeavor to be less inviting in the future.” Jace said, hands slow and lingering as they slid from his waist. So honorable, worrying about Aegon’s reputation. But so unable to hide that he wanted Aegon as much as he was wanted by him.

“I don’t think you could do that if you tried.” Aegon said, taking a step back to make things easier for his stalwart prince. “I should return to my Septa.”

“You should.” Jace agreed. “Would you allow me to escort you? It would ease my mind.”

“Please.” Aegon agreed, falling into step beside his nephew. He didn’t take Jace’s arm, and Jace didn’t offer; both seeming to know that to touch again now would be dangerous. Not when Aegon could still feel the warmth and brush of Jace’s lips against his.

But Aegon didn’t regret it, not for a moment. If he was to be sent away to marry a stranger, he would horde little moments like this greedily to pack in his luggage and tuck close to his heart next to his pendant of the Seven Pointed Star. He would take as many pieces of Jace with him as he could.

It might be all that kept him sane.

Robyn Beesbury was really not having a good day.

First that mad bitch Aemond Targaryen had held a dagger to his neck, then he’d been hit in the shoulder during his last joust so hard that he’d nearly dislocated his shoulder. And finally, he was out of wine.

He sighed, pulling himself up from his chair with some effort because of his shoulder. He’d have to track down a servant, he’d sent them all away when he’d come back from the joust so he could stew alone. How dare that frigid cunt humiliate him like that? He wasn’t even that pretty, long in the face with a mouth made for twisting into frowns and scowls. He should be grateful for any attention at all!

He heard the flap of the tent move and sighed in relief. That must be one of the servants coming back.

“Fetch me some wine.” He called, bending over to unlace his boots since he didn’t need to go anywhere now.

He never got the chance to rise back up, a fist smashing into his nose out of nowhere and making the tent spin around him as stars danced before his eyes. Another punch knocked out a tooth and sent him sprawling. He lay staring up at the canopy of the tent, wondering what the hell was happening.

When Lucerys Velaryon stepped into his field of vision, towering above him with dark eyes full of hate, it only raised more questions than answers.

“Stay away from him.” The Prince warned, his voice a low growl as he put a boot on Robyn’s chest and pressed down until it was hard to breathe.

“Who? Aemond?” Robyn asked, slightly panicked as he realized the mistake he’d made trying to seduce that ice bitch. “I-I don’t want him! He’s mad! You can have that frigid cunt!”

That wasn’t the right thing to say, obviously, as Lucery’s eyes widened in rage and the boot on his chest pressed down harder.

“Watch your tongue! Aemond is the Blood of Old Valyria and far too good for the likes of you! You are nothing, Beesbury. Aemond is so far above you that the idea that you could court him is a farce. He is a sapphire and you are coal, a dragon where you are a sheep. You will never touch him again, do you understand me?” Luke snarled.

“Alright, alright!” Robyn cried, if only to get the Prince off of him and out of his tent. “I didn’t even touch him, really. I went to grab his hand and he slapped it away, I swear!”

“He will never be yours, do you understand me?” Luke growled.

“Yes, Gods! I’ll never so much as look in his direction again, just let me up!” Robyn groused, trying to push the smaller boy’s foot off of him and finding it surprisingly difficult.

“If you give him trouble again, Beesbury? I’ll kill you.” Luke warned, his voice an icy hiss like wind off the Shivering Sea.

And with that, the Prince was gone. Leaving Robyn there on the ground wondering what the hell had just happened and why the hell the Targaryens were all fucking lunatics.

Chapter Text

Alicent had never cared for tourneys. Too long in the hot sun or out in the bitter winds of Spring and Autumn. She was glad to return to the Red Keep to prepare for the feast to celebrate the tourney’s opening day. There she could order her wine to be chilled with ice from the stores of great blocks taken from frozen Northern lakes, and the fans of the servants would be wafting something other than sunbaked air at her.

She could change, too. Would have to, given what she had promised to do. But she’d focus more on the relief of getting out of her sweat-stained shift and putting on a clean one along with her dress. Perhaps she’d even have a bath drawn, there was some time before the feast would start. Yes, a bath. With cold water straight from the deepest well.

But first she needed to round up her children and make sure they were behaving themselves. Aemond and Daeron were already accounted for, having ridden back with her. She’d made sure to keep her third child in her sights after the incident with the Beesbury boy. But Aegon and Helaena were still at large, and she needed to get them off to their chambers to wash and dress as well. Aegon, in particular, she hadn’t seen in hours and she was starting to worry that he’d gotten himself into some mischief.

He was far too permissive of the Alphas who sought him out, too brazen and flirtatious. She knew he rebuffed them all the same, but an Omega’s reputation was more than just whether they were intact or not. With his betrothal still hanging in the balance, Aegon couldn’t afford to be seen as a brazen flirt. Conclusions would be drawn about his behavior after the marriage, improper conclusions.

Oh how she wished Aegon were as dutiful as Aemond. Or at least as docile as Helaena. But he was so willful! Only a few days before she had caught him looking at vile illustrations of carnal acts. And rather than be contrite when chastised, he simply told her that he needed to know how to perform his duties. As if her more proper instruction hadn’t been enough!

She despaired of him, truly. But at least he had settled down some since his presentation. He seemed less inclined to provoke her on purpose at least.

She headed back towards the gates, hoping to perhaps catch him or Helaena on their way back to their chambers. If she didn’t find them, she would send Ser Criston after them and go bathe. They were old enough now that she needn’t hound them about getting ready for a feast, and she must focus her attention on Daeron.

She found Aegon in the courtyard, conversing with Prince Jacaerys. That, at least, was one Alpha she didn’t have to worry about him around. The Princess’ eldest son was nothing if not respectful towards Aegon, perhaps even doting. He’d gained a reputation through the Red Keep for his kindness towards Lord and servant alike, and his near gallant behavior towards the fairer sexes. While Alicent still abhorred the mother, the son had earned some level of respect from her. She had never thought that a bastard could earn her approval, let alone one of Rhaenyra’s. But Jacaerys seemed near purpose built to make her question her view of him: kind, chaste, noble, and pious as a proper Alpha Prince should be.

“Aegon, Prince Jacaerys.” She greeted as she approached. “Aegon, where have you been? I told you to remain with your Septa.”

“I was with Jace, Mother. I was well protected, I assure you.” Aegon dismissed her. Tension eased in her neck and shoulders a bit, and she gave Prince Jacaerys a smile and polite not. “My thanks. My son is reluctant to stay in one place for long. I shudder to think what could have happened had a family member not been there to guard him. Tourneys are a beacon for unsavory types, sellswords and hedgeknights of ill-repute and common breeding.” She said, giving her son a withering look as she said it. She expected him to roll his eyes or make some other dismissive gesture, but instead he flinched and refused to meet her eyes. Jacaerys, too, looked uncomfortable at her statement.

She frowned, turning to regard her son more closely. Nothing seemed amiss at first, so she grabbed him by the chin and forced his eyes onto hers. She stared into them, brown boring into violet as if she could physically dig down into him to find out what had happened. Aegon gave a stilted laugh and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, batting her hand away so he could turn his eyes away from hers.

“Mother!” Aegon groused in his usual good humored manner, though it rang as hollow as his laugh. “I assure you, I can take care of myself against whatever brigands and ne’er-do-wells you’ve imagined stalking the Kingswood.” He punctuated his statement with a dismissive toss of his hand and an exaggerated eyeroll. But as he waved his hand in a flippant gesture, her eyes were caught on the stones of his necklace. The lovely star sapphire one his father had given him years ago that he was never seen without. The first real, true moment of her marriage. The moment Viserys became more than just a ghost in her and her children’s lives. She’d always loved that necklace and how lovely it looked on her son’s pale, slender neck.

But as the necklace shifted with his movement, she caught a horrifying mottled purple just under the gold. Not the purple of the sapphires, the purple of bruises. For a single, horrifying moment she wondered if she had been wrong about Jacaerys. But no, Jacaerys was looking at the bruises too, a dark storm on his face that told tales of what he thought of the matter.

“Aegon!” She cried, grabbing her son by the chin again so she could move the necklace and inspect the bruises ringing his neck. White hot rage and cold, clawing fear warred in her in flashes as her breath quickened. “What are these? Where did they come from? Who did this to you?” She asked, nails digging into her son’s arm as if to remind herself that he was here and safe with her and not with whoever had hurt him.

“It’s nothing.” Aegon said quickly, trying to pull away from her. She didn’t let him go, her grip iron firm. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was leaving bruises, herself. But she could scarce think of that over the pounding, repeating thought that someone had hurt her baby; her Aegon, her firstborn, her little boy.

“It’s not nothing!” Alicent shouted, drawing looks from the crowd around them returning from the joust. Good, let them see. Let them see what someone had done to a Prince of the Realm and let them see her fury over it. Let whoever hurt him choke and die on it. She would see them flayed alive, or drowned in an oubliette, or gutted and hung from the walls of the Red Keep as the birds feasted on their organs. They would pay.

“It was taken care of, Mother. Don’t fret.” Aegon tried, still refusing to meet her eyes as he pulled more frantically against her hold. He was shutting down, she could tell. Closing his shutters and shutting her out like he always did when something was truly wrong. Frustration mounted as she held him in place, trying her best not to hold him too hard despite it all. Every time she held onto him too hard he ran. He always had. She hated it, but what was she to do? She just wanted him to listen and behave!

“Jacaerys.” She snapped, letting out a harsh breath through her nose as she turned sharp eyes on Rhaenyra’s eldest son. If Aegon wouldn’t acquiesce, then she knew someone who almost couldn’t help but be honest with her. “Who did this?”

The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but her son cut him off. “Jace, don’t answer that! It was nothing, Mother. I assure you, Jace took care of it. I daresay the sot won’t look at me twice now.” He said, laughing that hollow, stilted laugh that did nothing to make her feel better. Why did he always have to hide things from her? It was her job as his mother to protect him from these kinds of threats until he was wed and that responsibility passed to his husband.

“Jacaerys, answer me or I will bring you before your mother.” Alicent growled. She had no time for her son’s trickery and games. She would get to the bottom of this, and she would see the perpetrators suffer.

“M-Martyn Reyne, Your Grace.” Jacaerys stammered out, pointedly not looking at Aegon as her son gave him a look of utter betrayal.

“Very well.” Alicent said, her jaw tightening as she finally let go of her son. He rubbed his arm where she’d been gripping it and for a moment she felt bad. She’d been trying so hard to be kinder to her son since his presentation. Omegas needed softness, and didn’t respond well to threats or violence. The same way a cornered prey animal was more dangerous than a predator, so an Omega could be far more dangerous when cornered than an Alpha. And more likely to bolt, as well. Aegon always ran from her. Why did he run? But she didn’t have time to coddle her child, as much as she wished to. She was the Queen, and an attack had been made on a Prince.

“Ser Criston.” She called, her sworn shield trotting to her side like a loyal dog. Ser Criston was perhaps her most appreciated ally, and she would need him now. “Fetch me Ser Martyn and bring him to the King. We will have this dealt with immediately.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Ser Criston said with a bow, marching off to complete her orders. Aegon balked at her side, face flushing red with anger. He was so quick to color, her Aegon. Pale but passionate, his blood running as hot as his dragon. Rhaenyra had been the same way, as a girl. There were so many ways her son reminded her of her old friend. Perhaps that was why he vexed her so, but she refused to dwell on that in this moment.

“Mother! I said it was handled!” Aegon snapped, fists balled at his side. Alicent cut him a scathing look and turned to face him.

“Aegon you are a Prince of the Realm, a Royal Omega, and you have been attacked. Possibly nearly killed, by the look of those bruises. This injustice cannot be allowed to stand. Whatever punishment you believe Jacaerys doled out, it was not enough. Ser Martyn will answer for his crimes before your father and be punished according to the severity of what he’s done. The Crown must not be made to look weak, Aegon. Do you wish for your sister or brother to be attacked, as well? For brigands and criminals to feel free to harass them because they think we will do nothing?” She said, eyes hard and brows furrowed as she tried to get her son to just understand for once. Why did he never understand?

“As if anyone would try to harm Aemond after what he and Luke did to the Beesbury boy.” Aegon scoffed. She tucked away the tidbit about Lucerys for later, not having known he was involved. Perhaps it was time for another talk with the Crown Princess. But that was a concern for another time.

“And Helaena?” She asked with a lift of one dainty auburn eyebrow. Aegon had the decency to look away in silence, at least. “The Reyne boy will be brought to justice. And you will inform me when things like this happen going forward. Have I made myself clear?” She asked. Aegon scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, still not looking at her. “Have I made myself clear?” She asked again.

“Yes, Mother.” He grumbled, flicking angry violet eyes up at her. He was always so angry and mistrustful of her, despite everything she did for him. Gods only knew what she could do to get through to him.

“Come along, both of you. The King will have the truth of it out of you all.” She said, turning on her heel and expecting the boys to follow as she strode towards the throne room. She called a passing guard to inform the King of their impending arrival, throwing a sharp look over her shoulder when it was clear Jacaerys had followed her, but her son had not. Scowling, Aegon fell into step with his nephew, and Alicent turned back to her destination with purposeful steps. She would see justice done, even if she had to do it herself.

Baela couldn’t wait for the melee. Jousting held no interest for her, and she disliked sitting a horse for too long when she could be riding a dragon. A sword fit her hand much better than a lance, and the battleaxe even better. Since her presentation she’d filled out as she always knew she would. Taller and broader, enough to rival the boys her age. She now stood nearly as tall as willowy Aemond, though he was much thinner than her. Soon she would surpass him, she suspected. An Omega like him wasn’t meant to be strapping, at best he would grow even more tall and slender; a spear rather than a shield. But like as not, he wouldn’t grow much taller than he was now.

He could be as tall as he wanted, though, she’d be taller. She knew it. She’d be stronger, too. And then her father would stop comparing them. He would stop telling her how quickly he’d picked up the blade, or how many knights he had bested at what age. She sometimes thought that Daemon wished that Aemond was his son, with how he held him up as the standard. Let him compare her to Jace, at least! Aemond was an Omega, no matter his talent now he would eventually be outclassed. He wasn’t Daemon’s eldest Alpha child. He wasn’t a full-blooded Valyrian bonded to his cradlemate. That was all Baela. Aemond was just a second Omega son, and he would pass into obscurity as his peers surpassed him and he settled in to life as a mate and mother. He wasn’t special.

Still, she felt the itch to go back to the training yard. To heft her sword or her axe and prove to herself that she was going to be better. That the years they’d kept her from the yard wouldn’t matter if she worked hard enough. Time spent learning didn’t matter, look at Luke. For years he’d shown no improvement over the 9 year old who’d first had a sword put in his hand. Only under the tutelage of Ser Harwin had he truly made any progress. If she worked hard, she could do more than catch up. She could surpass them, she knew she could. Then it would be she who was the standard, not a feral slip of an Omega.

That was the thought that did it, sending her back towards the training yard though she only had a few scant hours to prepare for the feast. Grandmother would be cross, having explicitly stated that tonight was vitally important and Baela had to look and act her best. She dreaded it, truly. They would be doing more than just causing a scene. But all the more reason to be prepared, right? All she had to do was stop her training soon enough to wash and dress for the feast. It would be simple.

The skills she would work on already whirling in her mind, Baela let her steps lead her toward the yard. The battleaxe, she thought. Yes, that would be her weapon tonight, and for the melee tomorrow. She thought of Reefsplitter, the greataxe that sat above the mantle of Grandfather’s solar. A storied, heirloom weapon and the only known Valyrian Steel axe in existence. Grandfather had used it in his youth, but as he’d aged he’d hung it up for the sword. A great two-handed thing, it would be years yet before Baela could comfortably wield it, and yet she wanted it dearly all the same.

She wanted so many things, though. Things she shouldn’t want because she couldn’t have them. Things with pretty silver hair and soft hands that were so gentle with even the smallest of creatures. Things that were tender and kind in a way that seemed so out of place in their hard, harsh world and the nest of vipers that was the Red Keep. Things that gave Fire and Blood a new meaning, shifting them from destruction and death to hearth and home. Things that were crying softly in the garden just within earshot.

“Helaena?” She called gently as she stepped between two rose bushes and into the Beta’s view. “What’s the matter?”

Helaena’s head popped up and swung to look at her, eyes wide and full of tears. They were such lovely eyes, round and sweet and the prettiest shade of light violet that was almost gray. She was so strikingly pretty like that, like somehow her sorrow only made her more beautiful. Queen Alicent was like that, too. And yet Baela still wished to do all she could to get her tears to cease. Helaena of all people should never be brought to tears, she was too kind and good to be allowed to cry.

“Silver wings, silver words. But all of it for naught.” Helaena said mournfully, shaking her head. Her lip trembled as she wiped at her eyes, the tears never seeming to end no matter how many she whisked away. “Silver egg and silver hair, but blue is what we’ve got.” She looked at Baela in askance; no, in desperation; as if the Alpha could somehow save her from her visions if only she could decipher her riddles. Helaena had always been like a strange cursed princess out of a song, but with creeping dread Baela realized what she had stepped into was more like a tale meant to frighten children. Helaena’s next words offered no comfort. “Purple stars and ruby red, he’d rather run than lose his head. It’s done, Baela. It’s done. There’s naught any of us can do now.”

Baela dropped swiftly to one knee at Helaena’s side, reaching out to lay a tentative hand on her shoulder. Helaena allowed it and Baela felt blessed. The Beta Princess found no comfort in touch, but from Baela she’d always accepted it. Even sought it, sometimes. Now, in her upset, she was even leaning into it as if it brought her comfort. She wished she could hold her, but eve if she would allow it that would be very improper of her.

“What is so frightening to you?” Baela asked, though she knew she would get no straight answer. Helaena seemed to barely understand what she saw, herself. She wondered what exactly she saw, how much of it was meaningless riddles even to her. Was the Sphynx the riddler, or the riddle?

“Death is thick in the air, so thick I can taste it.” Helaena sad, shaking her head as a fresh wave of tears spilled over. Her face dropped back into her hands, the curtain of her waves falling over her face.

“Whose death?” Baela asked, alarmed. Helaena’s riddles could be worrying, but they’d never been a danger.

“I cannot see. Their faces smile, but the smiles are knives. And their eyes, Baela! Oh, their horrible eyes!” She sobbed, shaking her head frantically. “Cold jewels and pits of maggots, gaping maws and the light of strange stars. When they look at me I feel as if my whole heart will freeze over.” Her nails dug into her cheeks as she clutched her face, red crescents blooming on her skin. She’d break her skin, soon, cut into it with her neatly trimmed nails and make herself bleed.

Damn propriety, Baela thought as she grabbed Helaena’s wrists to pull her nails away from those beautiful cheeks and guide the Beta into her arms. The girl went willingly, laying her head on Baela’s shoulder and burrowing into her embrace. Baela could feel her heartbeat pick up as warmth spread through her, emanating from every point of contact between their bodies. Bee balm and clover surrounded her in the balmy night air, curling around her like a sweet embrace. Helaena was as warm as a hearth fire, and solid but soft in her arms. Holding her was like coming home after a long voyage, and Baela never wanted to let go.

“I have you, Princess.” She spoke softly into the soft, fine hair she had so often admired. “I’m here with you. We are in the garden, with naught but bees to threaten us. You are safe.” She soothed, running her hand up and down Helaena’s back as she let the Beta bury her nose in her scent gland and curl against her. It was highly improper, but Baela couldn’t care less as Helaena’s scent started to lose the sour, bitter notes it had taken on in her distress. All she could think of was how Helaena allowed her this, allowed her to comfort her and draw her into her arms. It felt like the highest blessing.

“A bee’s sting can be deadly.” Helaena said, and Baela could not tell if it was more cryptic visions or simply a statement of fact. She dismissed the thought and simply hummed lightly, still rubbing her cousin’s back as they lay curled together on the grass. This, this is what she wanted to come home to. When she dismounted her dragon or disembarked from her ship, it was this kind of peace and wholeness that she wanted to sink into like a warm bath. If only she had told Father before all of this, perhaps he could have secured a betrothal. But that seemed like a slim chance, now.

“Baela, will you stay with me?” Helaena asked, not raising her head from her shoulder. Her voice was small and soft, and she curled in on herself in Baela’s lap as she spoke. Baela held her tighter, burying her face in her hair.

“Of course.” She murmured back, breathing in the Beta’s bee balm and clover scent and letting the sound of crickets wash over her. Yes, Baela thought, this was what home felt like.

Jace tried to gently grab Aegon’s wrist as they slipped into the throne room where the King had gathered the court to hear the charges against Ser Martyn, but Aegon pulled away. He didn’t feel like giving Jace the satisfaction when his blood was still boiling. That tattletale! He was going to take care of it! He had already started planning his revenge on the way back to the keep. By the time Mother had cornered them, he’d decided that Reyne should be beaten within an inch of his life and then hooded, shackled, and tossed on a boat headed to the Islands of Ibben to freeze. A bit of coin through a proxy would see it done. He could even watch if he wished, perhaps gloat a bit before he was shipped off. The others he had tossed around the idea of various punishments for. Being drugged and tossed naked in a sheep pen for improper conclusions to be drawn and been one of his favorites so far. All gone in an instant because Jace couldn’t keep his big mouth shut when faced with adult authority.

Ser Martyn would die for this, he was sure. Kings had killed for far lesser slights against their children. Braxton Beesbury had faced Blackfyre simply for laying with his great aunt Saera. A crime that many would go on to commit without losing their lives while a young lordling still lay dead and buried. Ser Martyn would join him, a feast for the worms and nothing more. Never anything more, just because he’d lost his temper with Aegon. Mother had lost her temper with him many times, and yet her head still rested firmly on her neck. Were they truly so much above others that such crimes should be punishable by death? Strangling, perhaps, but coupling? He had thought himself sparing these Alphas that fate by keeping his vows to the Maiden, but perhaps he’d simply been staving off the inevitable.

Aegon took his place by his mother’s side, sparing a glance up at his father as Viserys seated himself on the throne. Up there, high on the twisted amalgamation of a thousand defeated swords, Viserys looked like a god. And with the stormy look on his face and the fire in his eyes, he seemed a god of Judgement. Someone had told him what they were here for, no doubt. That some lowly man had dared touch his poor, undefended Omega son. What a crock of shit. A drunk had lost his mind for a moment, nothing more. He’d been struck before, it wasn’t worth this simply because the hands that had struck him were not royal.

Jace tried to take his hand again and again he pulled away. Did Jace not realize that they’d signed this man’s death warrant? He didn’t want to hold hands right now. Jace’s scent soured with a powdery whisper of sadness, and Aegon merely turned up his nose.

“Aegon, please.” He pouted, reaching for his hand again. “Why are you so cross with me? He hurt you, he has to pay.”

“He was going to pay!” Aegon snapped. “I was going to make him pay! Do you think me incapable of getting my own revenge?”

“Aegon, you’re a Prince.” Jace said with a confused frown, as if that explained all of this pomp and circumstance. “Your mother is right, not punishing your attacker publicly makes the Crown look weak.”

The Crown, the Crown, always the Crown. His whole life before he was born had revolved around an upjumped hat and an uncomfortable chair. He was once again grateful to be an Omega, as now they at least couldn’t put the damn thing on his head. Rhaenyra could have the blasted thing, and Jace after her. Though Jace hardly deserved the trouble that would come with it. And woe be unto his Queen, who like Mother would bear all of the responsibility and hardly any of the power. At least they would have Jace. That’s something he would trade a crownless life for, if he could. Even as cross with the Alpha as he was. But he was no more meant to be Queen than he was to be King. Jace’s heart would go to someone else, regardless of the kiss they’d shared.

“Egg, please don’t be cross with me.” Jace pleaded, and when Aegon turned to look at him he was finished. Those sweet brown eyes had always been a weakness of his. He could no more stay angry with Jace than with any other puppy. “I only wish to protect you.” Jace added, and when he reached for Aegon’s hand again, he let him take it.

“I can protect myself.” Aegon groused. Jace smiled fondly and shook his head.

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to.” He said, squeezing Aegon’s hand. “Let me do it, sometimes. I find great satisfaction in it.”

Aegon looked away as his heart thumped. Great satisfaction? What a sop his Jacaerys was. He truly had stepped out of some singer’s ballad or a tale for children. Pretty, perfect paragon Jacaerys Velaryon: prince, heir, and most gallant of knights. A Maiden’s dream. Aegon’s dream.

“You rode well in the tourney.” He said instead of acknowledging Jace’s statement. The boy beamed at him, lighting up like a sept at the Feast of the Father.

“You saw.” He said, giving Aegon a bashful look. “I didn’t see you in the stands, I thought-”

“I saw.” Aegon assured him squeezing his hand. “You have a talent for it, I’d wager. Martyn may be a drunk, but he’s no pushover.”

“He’ll be nothing, soon.” Jace said darkly, a spark of deep petrichor in his scent that raised Aegon’s hackles and sent a shiver of fear down his spine. There was no mistaking it, now. Jace was well aware that Martyn was going to die and he was reveling in it. A dragon, indeed. He could almost smell fire and blood coming off of him along with his dark, intense rage and kill drive. The sweet little puppy was showing that he was still a wolf inside, an attack dog willing to bite and tear to protect him. For all that he didn’t want anyone to die, in that moment he wanted to kiss Jace again for the sentiment. For caring.

The doors opened before he could make a fool of himself, the whole Court turning to look as Martyn was dragged into the throne room by Ser Criston and Ser Arryk. Whispers rippled across the room as the knight was dragged to the bottom of the long and twisted stairs to the throne where his father sat amidst a forest of spikes. The throne looked almost demonic, the light of the torches barely reaching to the top of it and ringing his father in austere shadows. There had been no time to light the torches on the throne itself, but it only made more of a spectacle of the trial. Father looked as if he were the representation of The Stranger, looking own upon the damned.

Martyn certainly looked damned. He must have sobered up at some point, because he had the wit to look terrified. He was shaking like a leaf, hunched in on himself as he stared at the floor in front of the throne. The gash Jace had left on his cheek had opened anew, trickling blood down his jaw. A dark bruise was forming on the same side, and Aegon assumed Ser Criston had something to do with that. Part of Aegon preened. That punishment, at least, had been doled out for his sake. Not the Crown’s.

“Your Grace, Ser Martyn Reyne has laid his hands on our son, choking him until he bruised. I demand justice!” Alicent cried, pointing an accusing finger at Reyne with fire and hatred in her eyes. The crowd exploded into whispers, eyes immediately finding Aegon. He refused to shrink under their gaze, standing taller despite the feel of it on his back. Jace held his hand tighter, stepping closer as if to protect him from the gossip.

“Aegon, does the Queen speak true?” The King asked. His voice was measured, but it carried through the throne room as if he were bellowing. Aegon looked up at the man who had sired him, a man as distant from him as if that throne he sat atop was the highest of mountains. Did he even truly care? On a personal level, as a father, did it even register to him that his son had been choked? Martyn was dying for his father’s ego and his mother’s rage, not for what he’d done to him.

“I hit him first.” Aegon shrugged, looking away. He wouldn’t give Viserys the satisfaction.

“Queen Alicent, do you have any witnesses to this crime?” Viserys asked, brushing past Aegon’s contrarianism.

“Prince Jacaerys saw it, Husband. He can tell you I speak true.” Alicent said, turning to Jace. The boy took a step back but then seemed to catch himself, squaring his shoulders and standing straighter as he addressed his grandfather.

“It is true, Your grace. I caught Ser Martyn with his hands about Aegon’s throat and pulled him off myself. The cut on his cheek is courtesy of my blade, as well, for grave insults to Prince Aegon’s honor, my own, and my Mother’s.” Jace said, his voice carrying with the same easy authority as Viserys’. Calm and clear but carrying throughout the room and into the rafters where the King sat.

“Ser Martyn, you stand accused of a grievous crime against the Crown. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Viserys asked, violet eyes boring into the man who had dared touch his son. Lord Reyne took a step forward as if to shield his son, but stopped himself. Nothing could save the boy now, Viserys’ Valyrian steel gaze testament to that.

“Your Grace, I- I didn’t mean- I was drunk, Your Grace, I was out of my senses!” Martyn pleaded, tears streaking down his face as it finally sunk in exactly how fucked he was. He’d always been a pathetic thing, and his blubbering only made him more so. But Aegon would blubber in the face of death, too. But he was not so stupid as to flirt with it the way Reyne did.

“So you do not deny it?” Viserys asked, his voice slamming down like a hammer as he stood from the throne, the height of it lending to his own stature as he towered over the room. Reyne burst into sobs, clutching himself like a child trying to self-soothe. If this was the standard of Westeros’ knights, then they had slipped far indeed in the years of peace.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt him, I was just drunk!” Martyn pleaded, but the pleas fell on deaf ears as the King looked down on him with nothing but fury and judgement.

“Guards, take this man to the Black Cells. He will be executed after the conclusion of the tourney.” Viserys ordered, ignoring the pained screams of Lady Reyne and the rising tide of whispers through the court. Ser Martyn wailed loudly as he was dragged away, looking every bit the 16 year old boy he was. Aegon looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound. Jace squeezed his hand reassuringly, having held it through the entire proceedings.

“He sealed his own fate, Aegon.” Jace said softly, his thumb sweeping gently over the back of his hand. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I do not wish to speak of it.” Aegon rasped, not looking at his nephew. “Please, escort me to my chambers. I wish to wash this business off of me.”

“As you wish.” Jace said, offering his arm to lead Aegon out of the throne room. As they left, Aegon could still hear Lady Reyne’s screaming and feel the gaze of a hundred eyes on him. But as Jace pulled him close and flared out his scent comfortingly, Aegon thought that maybe he could put it behind him.

With that business concluded, Alicent was finally free to retire to her chambers. The heat of the throne room, all of those bodies packed in tight, it had only made her more desperate for a bath and to get out of her sweaty shift. Her skin was starting to itch from the grime of the day, and she could feel the sweat on her scalp. It was revolting, unbefitting of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Damn this Summer heat and damn this tourney. She couldn’t wait for its conclusion so she could stay in the castle and see justice done for her son.

She passed through the gardens, the quickest route from the throne room to her chambers. They were lovely in the summertime, lush and bursting with life. The flowers themselves were in full bloom, thickening the air with their sweet scents. The buzzing of insects rang through the air, bees and butterflies and more enjoying the garden as food, home, or hunting ground. It was why she was never surprised to find her daughter here, for Helaena loved nothing more than the buzzing and crawling creatures of the earth. But finding her in Daemon’s Alpha daughter’s lap, head tucked under the girl’s chin and hand resting against her chest? That was certainly something she’d never expected.

Her first instinct was to march over and demand to know what Baela was doing, touching her daughter so inappropriately. But when Helaena lifted her face, she saw that it was streaked with tears and blotchy in the way it only got when she has been crying for quite a while. Curious, that Helaena would seek comfort from the other girl. Helaena hated to be touched, even as a small child she had preferred for her mother to sit near her rather than hold her in her lap or stroke her hair. But she rested so comfortably in Baela’s arms, unbothered and content.

She thought back to the offer Daemon had made her. It had seemed a folly at the time, when he had nothing to offer except petty revenge. But perhaps a betrothal could have been good for Helaena. It would be so hard to match her with an Alpha who understood her and could care for her properly, and yet there sat one whose touch Helaena didn’t balk at. But no, it would still be a folly to tie her daughter to the Rogue Prince. There would be other Alphas, or perhaps a kind Beta who could sit in quiet contentment with the Princess. Baela was a fleeting distraction, and one she should nip in the bud as soon as possible for multiple reasons.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” She asked as she stepped out from behind the bushes, looking down her nose at Baela sternly.

“Your Grace!” Baela gasped, unceremoniously depositing her daughter into the dirt as she scrambled out of their illicit embrace. No, Baela was not the Alpha for Helaena.

“Explain yourself.” She barked, drawing herself up to her full height as meager as it was. But Baela was a child and Alicent was a Queen, she would seem tall enough to her.

“The Princess was upset…” Baela murmured, looking anywhere but at Alicent knowing that was a paltry excuse.

“You are an Alpha grown, and Helaena is a Beta Princess. You should both know better than to touch each other inappropriately.” Alicent admonished. “You threaten Helaena’s reputation and your own, do you understand that, Princess Baela? Do you understand the danger you put her in?”

“I-” Baela stammered, looking startled. “Yes, Your Grace.” She finished, hanging her head in contrition.

“I must never catch you being forward with my daughter again, do you understand me?” Alicent said, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Baela murmured, ducking her head in a nod. “Never again, Your Grace.”

“Begone.” Alicent hissed. “I’m sure your father is looking for you.”

The girl was gone almost before Alicent finished commanding her to leave, clearly eager to be out of the Queen’s presence. Alicent watched as she went, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into a scowl. Once she was alone with her daughter, she turned to Helaena with a softer, more concerned expression.

“She didn’t take advantage, did she?” Alicent asked, kneeling next to her little girl.

“No, Mother. She was just trying to comfort me. Like when we were children.” Helaena said, looking away from her.

“You’re not a child anymore, my sweet. You must be more careful.” Alicent scolded. “Good matches come to good girls. You must be dutiful and chaste at all times.”

“Of course, Mother.” Helaena hummed. Her usual dreamy vacancy made it hard for Alicent to judge if she was truly listening to her or not, but she decided that she would keep watch and take those problems as they came.

“Come, I’ll take you to your chambers.” She said, holding out her hands to her daughter. The girl didn’t take them, preferring to rise to her feet on her own. It stung, when Helaena had just been in the lap of that Alpha girl, that she wouldn’t touch her own mother. Why did all of her children seem to avoid her in their own ways? Helaena pulled away from her touch, Aegon pulled away from her concern, and Aemond was a secret and a mystery unto himself. Only Daeron, still too young for subterfuge, didn’t run from her.

“Yes, that would be good. I must feed my ant colony.” Helaena said, brushing off her skirt and looking back over her shoulder at Alicent for a moment with eyes that had always seemed to see too little and too much all at once. “The bees grow restless, I fear a sting.”

“Then let us leave the garden, sweetling.” Alicent said, taking Helaena’s arm and delighting in how she didn’t shrug her off. “The bees can’t get us in the Keep.”

“The bees can get us anywhere.” Helaena said, gripping her mother’s arm tighter as Alicent led her away from the heat of the gardens into the relative cool of the castle.

“Yes, I suppose there are windows.” Alicent said, as on the back foot as ever when dealing with her daughter’s strange ramblings. “But they’d have to fly an awfully long way, so the chances are slimmer inside. Come.”

Helaena simply nodded, already slipping away from Alicent again back into whatever mindscape had her so bewitched. When would her little girl come back to her? Would she ever truly shake off this madness that plagued her? Would she lose Daeron too, the same way she’d lost her other children? She ached to run to the nursery and gather him up in her arms and make him promise that he’d never leave her. But duty called, as it always did, and she had matters to attend to once she’d escorted her daughter.

“Black suits you, Mother.” Helaena said as she slipped into her chambers, leaving Alicent struck as she had many times before with her strangely prescient riddles.

“I certainly hope so, sweetling.” Alicent said to the closed door, sighing to herself as she left to prepare for the feast.

Aemond sat in front of his mirror, examining his face as he oiled and detangled his hair. He contemplated himself as he meticulously coaxed each strand into perfect place. He liked his hair like this, tame and controlled. His natural waves were wild, messy, chaotic. They looked too much like he felt on the inside. The routine of taming his hair had become the routine of taming himself, a meditative moment in his day when he could calm the storm inside of him that had only grown in intensity with his presentation.

Did it look pretty? He’d never thought about it before. It had always been his hair. What he did with it was to please himself, and perhaps his mother simply by keeping it neat. But Beesbury had called him lovely, and he hadn’t been the first. Some had been snivelling upstarts like Beesbury, stinking of insincerity from a mile away. But some had been sincere, sweet even. He’d still turned them down, incensed at what their attention meant, but they’d meant it. Was he? Was he pretty?

He didn’t think he was, at least not particularly. Not like Aegon and Helaena and Mother. It didn’t bother him, to not exactly be beautiful, and he didn’t think he was ugly by any means. But he just didn’t see what those Alphas and Beta boys saw when they sidled up to him nervously and said they found him fair. Did he even want to be pretty? Pretty was for women and Omegas, and the last thing he wanted to do was act like what he was and draw attention to it. And besides, who did he have to be pretty for? Maybe he’d have wanted to be handsome, if he were an Alpha, so Luke would be pleased with him. But now, it felt as if mating and marriage were nothing but a duty to bear. What did it matter if his mate thought him fair or not? They would produce heirs either way. If his mate thought him ugly, then at least he wouldn’t be alone in being disgusted by the act.

Maybe it was a blessing that Luke would be an Omega. If he’d been an Alpha and Aemond had been unable to perform with him, he’d have been mortified. But maybe it would have been different with Luke. Everything had always been different with Luke, why not that? He couldn’t imagine enjoying it, but perhaps he could have bore it if Luke were his Alpha. And Luke would have made a good Alpha, too. His kindness and warmth would temper the sex’s more aggressive and haughty tendencies, and he’d never reduce Aemond to his own sex.

Except he had, hadn’t he? Aemond thought, hand tightening on his brush and mouth twisting into a frown. More important things to do than argue with a stubborn Omega. He was going to strangle that little cur the next time he saw him. If he wouldn’t take that from a grown Alpha there was no way he was taking it from a puny unpresented bastard pup like little Lord Strong. He may be an Omega, but he was still stronger and taller and better with a sword than Luke. He could still teach him a lesson in the training yard for his words.

Aemond set down his brush with a hard click, his hair immaculately straight and shining silver in the fading light of the evening. But his mind was still a roiling mess, the storm inside of him kicked up to a fever pitch thinking about Luke’s transgression. His fingers twitched on the handle as if the brush were a sword he could put to his nephew’s neck and demand payment from him for the slight. Some blood, at least. But what else would Luke have to pay? Perhaps some embarrassing task, or being forced to do Aemond’s bidding for some arbitrary amount of time. Or perhaps he’d just tattle on him to his precious brother, who famously would harbor no slight against an Omega. Yes, that last one sounded good. The humiliation of being scolded and whatever punishment Jace saw fit to dole out. If Aemond was lucky, Jace would further tattle to Rhaenyra and start the process all over again.

Satisfied, Aemond rose from his vanity and turned towards his bed to grab his boots. But as he turned, something came flying through his window and whizzed past his nose, barely avoiding hitting him in the head and landing with a thunk on the floor before rolling under his wardrobe. Aemond retrieved it, frowning in confusion when it turned out to be a crooked yellow carrot.

Gripping it in his hand so hard his knuckles turned white, he stalked to the window with quick, heavy steps and leaned over the sill. He searched the courtyard, baring his new fangs despite how much they embarrassed him. They were small, dainty things made only for puncturing the soft flesh of an Alpha or Beta’s thigh gland where he’d mark his mate. Not like an Alpha’s, which had to tear through the muscle and sinew of an Omega’s neck or a Beta’s wrist; or a Beta’s which had to be strong and yet delicate enough for all three.

“Whoever threw that, I’ll have your head!” He bellowed into the courtyard below, searching for the culprit. Brown curls and a pair of contrite puppy eyes were all he found, and it only enflamed him more. Of course it was Lucerys! Who else would have the audacity to throw a fucking carrot through his window? Who else was such a thorn in his side? Such an unending nuisance? Such a bone headed shit as to risk his wrath even more?

“Lucerys Velaryon, I’m going to kinslay before the Gods and Men!” He threatened, throwing the carrot back down at him and grinning viciously as Luke flinched bodily away from it. He hoped it bruised where it hit him on the back, it would serve him right.

“Qybor, I’m sorry!” Luke called back up at him, wringing his hands and looking up at him with the same pout he’d had after that stupid pig incident years ago. “I was an ass, I know it. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I was just worried about you, and angry at Beesbury. I didn’t mean it, I swear on the Old Gods and the New.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than apologize to a stubborn Omega?” Aemond spat back, wondering if there was anything else in his room to throw. “Your stupid carrot almost hit me! Who even throws a carrot?”

“There’s naught else in this courtyard. Unless you’d rather me throw a rock at you.” Luke said, gesturing around the space. It was, as he said, empty of suitably light, small objects shaped for throwing other than a cart full of produce being unloaded into the kitchens below. Which at least explained where Luke had gotten a carrot. At least he hadn’t chucked one of the summer melons.

“Why are you throwing things at me to begin with, you daft boy?” Aemond asked, hand itching to grab his hairbrush laying on the vanity and throw that, too. But it was a nice brush, his favorite brush, a gift from his Mother. Luke wasn’t worth the risk of damaging it.

“I needed to get your attention. Ser Criston barred me from your chambers because you’ve presented, and I didn’t know how else to talk to you alone before the feast.” Luke said, scuffing the toe of his boot against the flagstone. Normally Aemond would find such a show of submission and humility from the pup endearing. But right now he was far too furious.

“I have no wish to talk to you alone, Nephew.” Aemond said, sneering. “I heard everything from you I ever wish to hear again!” The look on Luke’s face when he said that was somewhere between horror and devastation, and Aemond’s sneer turned even more malicious as he stared down at his nephew. Good, let him suffer. Let him hurt. Now he knew what it felt like. And now Aemond was going to leave him alone, feeling like nothing, just like he’d left Aemond. He turned from the window and walked away, head held high and unwavering in his resolve to not turn back no matter what Luke said.

“I’m coming up” Came the call from the courtyard, and Aemond stopped in his tracks. That was unexpected. What was the brat even talking about? The only possible way up was the vines crawling up the side of the-

Seven Hells.

Aemond rushed back to the window, eyes widening as he saw Luke already three feet off the ground and climbing higher on the tangle of honeysuckle that dripped from the red stone of the keep underneath Aemond’s window. The vines were thin and delicate, and not rooted deeply in the rock at all. In most places Luke was more using the damage the vines had done as foot and handholds than climbing on the vines themselves.

“Stop it! You’ll fall!” Aemond snapped, alarm shooting through him as Luke missed a foothold and nearly slipped. He had somehow already gotten halfway up, high enough now that if he fell he could do significant damage to himself.

“Halfway there, might as well keep going.” Luke laughed breathlessly as he kept climbing towards the window without even pausing at Aemond’s warning. “This is harder than the Singers make it sound.”

“What?” Aemond asked, perplexed. What did songs have to do with this?

“Climbing up a tower to talk to an Omega Prince. They make it sound so easy. But then again, you’re supposed to let down your hair for me.” Luke said, pausing and looking up at Aemond with a crooked grin that almost charmed him.

“You pulled it enough when we were toddlers, don’t you think?” Aemond said, snorting.

“You always had the prettiest hair.” Luke said, that cavalier grin still plastered on his face as he resumed his climb. Aemond didn’t know exactly which of the emotions coursing through him at that moment made him flush as red as Meleys, but he didn’t like any of them. He held on to the anger, banishing the others somewhere he didn’t have to think about them.

“And you’re supposed to be a dashing Alpha knight, but here we are.” Aemond said, lip curling in disgust he only half felt. Damn Luke to the Seven Hells! Why could he never stay mad at him? What did he have to do to be beyond Aemond’s forgiveness, put out his eye?

“If I were a dashing Alpha knight coming to rescue you from a tower, you’d have to marry me at the end of the song.” Luke said. There was something in his tone that Aemond couldn’t quite place, something between warmth and sadness. It ached, because Aemond could feel it, too.

“Perish the thought. Perhaps its better that you’re a snivelling pup, then.” Aemond drawled, though something warm and fluttering settled in his chest.

“I’d certainly get in more trouble for this if I was an Alpha.” Luke said, gripping the windowsill and hauling himself up. Aemond stepped back, stoutly refusing to help pull him up. If Luke wanted in his room, he’d have to get there himself. He smirked as the pup grunted and puffed, struggling through the act of pulling himself into the room as Aemond turned his back on him.

“Are you going to help me?” Luke whined, wriggling as he tried to shimmy on his belly through the window.

“No.” Aemond said lightly, picking up his brush and running it through his hair idly, just for something to do to really drive it home to Luke that he wasn’t going to lift a finger.

Shuffling against the stone, a few strained groans, and a lot of heavy breathing and Luke had finally made it into the room. When he heard him collapse into a heap below the window, only then did Aemond turn to him with a lock of hair in hand and the brush carding through it. He’d expected Luke to be pouting at him, put out that he hadn’t helped. Instead the boy was staring openly at him, eyes laser-focused on the hand in his hair.

“What?” Aemond asked, drawing his brows together.

“Nothing.” Luke said, flicking his gaze away as Aemond put the brush down.

“Well say your piece and get out, then.” Aemond huffed. “I have better things to do than entertain a spoiled pup.” Luke flinched back from Aemond’s choice of words, his own thrown back in his face once more. Good. Foolish boy, he should know better than to shout at him.

“I’m sorry.” Luke whined, despair written all over his face. “Please, Aemond, I didn’t mean any of it. I’m a fool. An ass. A dumb shit who stuck his foot in his mouth. I admit to all of it, and more. Whatever would make you happy. Just don’t be cross with me, please? I don’t know what I’d do if you stayed cross with me. You’re my best friend, Aemond, I can’t bear to not speak.”

For a moment, Aemond didn’t speak. He just regarded Luke cooly, cocking his head to the side. Silver hair spilled over his shoulder as he cocked his head, and he couldn’t help but notice the way Luke’s eyes were drawn to it. Jealousy, probably. Of Aemond’s legitimacy as a Targaryen and what beauty he had as an Omega. But for all that Aemond was seething at him, he could admit that Luke had nothing to be jealous over. He had lovely hair of his own, hair that could tempt any Alpha once he’d presented. He’d just have to grow it out. Perhaps, if Luke grovelled sufficiently, Aemond would give him advice on getting it to grow faster.

“Did you truly beat Beesbury?” Aemond asked instead of acknowledging what he said. “I heard the maids say you were seen coming out of his tent, and now his nose is broken.”

“I broke it?” Luke said, blinking in shock. But the expression was quickly schooled into a sneer. “Good.”

“Why?” Aemond demanded, wanting to hear it from Luke’s own mouth that he thought Aemond incapable of punishing his enemies himself so he could banish the boy from his rooms and stay angry.

“He touched what was m-” Luke snarled, stopping himself abruptly as his face twisted into vile rage. “He touched what wasn’t his to touch.”

Another flutter in his stomach and Aemond cursed himself for being so weak. But after all of the disinterest and neglect he’d suffered his whole life, the idea that someone could do something like that for him was heady. That Luke was so incensed at Beesbury’s antics that he broke his thrice-damned nose like a common sellsword pissed over a bad bet made tingles rush over his skin, and for a fleeting moment he wanted to throw himself at the pup in gratitude.

“You may stay, then.” Aemond said curtly instead, sitting back at his vanity and grabbing his perfume for something to do other than drag Luke into the bed to cuddle like when they were pups. Luke lit up like a Sept at the Feast of the Father, throwing himself at Aemond. The Omega grunted at the impact as Luke wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tight. He was so obviously small like this, barely coming up to Aemond’s shoulder and as slender as a sapling. Now it was Aemond’s turn to be jealous, that Luke would make such a lovely Omega with all the right proportions while he was tall and gangly and narrow. And unlike Luke’s hair, that wasn’t something he could change. Not that he wanted to. He didn’t need to be pretty and he didn’t want to be an Omega. But the jealousy burned against all logic. Even as he acknowledged to himself that if he had been an Alpha, Luke’s pretty petiteness would have been something he treasured.

“I would break a thousand noses should it keep you pleased with me, Uncle.” Luke said with a happy sigh, burrowing his face into Aemond’s shoulder. Aemond smiled, petting his fingers through Like’s dark, silky curls. He still smelled of the honeysuckle vines he had climbed to get here, a sweet, cloying scent that would suit an Omega like Luke. He could so easily imagine it, like this. Luke a little bit older, already presented and as beautiful as the sunrise. And Aemond, an Alpha in his dreams as he could never be in reality, taking him to wife. Able to hold him like this whenever he wished. A sweet song that could never be sung.

“As much as I appreciate it, taoba, you mustn’t. No Alpha will want a match with such a violent Omega.” He teased. Aemond would have. Aemond would have been overjoyed to have such a fierce mate. Now he would be someone’s fierce, violent Omega and they would not be overjoyed with him. It didn’t seem fair, that he would not receive the same treatment from an Alpha that he would have gladly given. Respect, freedom, appreciation of them for who they were. Did he not deserve that, too?

Something dark and unhappy flicked across Luke’s features, and he held Aemond harder. “Perhaps I do not want to match with an Alpha.” He growled.

“A Beta, then. Even worse, they will be intimidated by you rather than just displeased.” Aemond snorted. Luke understood nothing about society, just as his mother did not.

“I do not wish for a Beta, either.” Luke snapped, fingers digging into Aemond’s waist. Aemond’s heart fluttered in his chest as a fleeting thought crossed his mind that was quickly dismissed.

“You must marry, Luke. You are a Prince, we do not have the sort of freedom you seek.” Aemond sighed. “Or I surely would be fighting for myself the same way.”

“I don’t wish to be with anyone but you.” Luke said, so quiet that Aemond almost didn’t hear him over the clamor of servants coming to haul in the produce from the cart in the courtyard. Aemond’s heart hammered hard in his chest, and the fluttering feeling was back tenfold. But accompanying it was an inner wail of despair, building and thrashing at his insides trying to claw its way out.

“Luke…” He said softly, fingers tangling more ardently in the boy’s hair as the despair dug its fingers into his heart. “You know we cannot.”

“Ser Laenor lay with Alphas and other male Betas.” Luke protested. “Why may two Omegas not lie together?”

“And Ser Laenor was the laughingstock of the Court and was killed by his lover!” Aemond said, twisting his mouth up in a scowl. “Would you have that for us? Ridicule and death? To watch as our husbands mount other Omegas and get bastards on them? Or be set aside in disgrace?”

“I don’t care what my husband does!” Luke protested vehemently, looking close to tears. “You will be my wife in all but name, Qybor, and I will be yours. If we must bear heirs for our Alphas, let it be so. But let us do it together, as we’ve done all things.”

“We mustn’t, Luke.” Aemond said, voice small and sad and just as wet as Luke’s sweet brown eyes. “Things are different for Omegas. Laenor could lie with who he wished and all that happened was that people mocked him. We could be executed for infidelity if our husbands are powerful enough, and even if not we would likely be sent to the Faith to be Septas. And then we’d truly never see each other again.”

“But I love you.” Luke said, his voice wavering on a note that sounded exactly like the despair rending Aemond’s insides apart.

“I love you, too.” Aemond said, a single tear slipping out as his lip trembled. He wiped it away quickly as he tore himself from Luke’s arms, hugging himself as he stepped away and turned his back on him. “But we cannot.”

“Queen Rhaena did.” Luke protested, coming up behind Aemond and hugging him again. “She travelled the Westerlands with the Four-Headed Beast, and brought her lover to Dragonstone.”

“And for it she lost three dragon eggs and her husband poisoned her friends.” Aemond countered.

“Androw Farman poisoned them because they treated him terribly. Not because Rhaena was unfaithful.” Luke argued. “And we cannot get bastards on each other, so what would it matter?”

“It would matter a great deal. Not many Alphas or Beta men are Androw Farman, to weather the insults of the Realm for his wife’s transgressions and only retaliate when he’s treated unfairly.” Aemond said with a shake of his head. “We would be shaming them greatly, and they would not abide such an insult.”

“I would protect you. I will always protect you, as I swore in the Kingswood. And I will love you until the end of my days, Aemond. Whether you let me express it or not. Please, Uncle, let me love you. As you deserve. Not by some knotheaded Alpha who only wants your womb, but by someone who well and truly means it.” Luke begged, burying his face between Aemond’s shoulderblades.

“I-” Aemond started, voice catching on a sob that threatened to escape as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “This isn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“It wasn’t.” Luke agreed sadly, hands fisted in the back of Aemond’s doublet. “We were supposed to be so much more. I named our children, you know. We were to have at least five.”

Aemond did sob then, a desperate thing that scratched his throat coming out. He could see them, as clear as day. Sweet little pups with soft brown eyes and silver curls. They would have been beautiful. He would have loved them to the ends of the earth, in ways his father could never have dreamed of loving him. He would have given them everything he never had as a child: care, attention, dragons, justice. And now he couldn’t even give them life. He would have sunk to the floor under the weight of his despair if not for Luke’s deceptively strong arms winding around his waist and keeping him upright.

“It’s not fair!” He raged into the humid air of the setting sun, tearing at his hair and sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s not fair.” He repeated again, quiet and defeated, slumping in Luke’s hold.

“We can make it fair, Aemond. We needn’t be apart, we needn’t listen to the Faith or to the Court.” Luke begged desperately. “Please, Aemond, be mine. Be mine in all the ways that matter, even if we may not wed. No one need know. What is so strange about two Omegas from the same family being close? No one will suspect, I swear it. We could wed brothers, even, and stay together in the same holdfast and raise our children together and never be parted. Who would question such close Omega friends sharing a bed from time to time? Winter nights are cold, we wouldn’t be the first.”

“Kiss me.” Aemond begged, turning around abruptly in Luke’s arms and looking down at him like a wounded pet. “Kiss me, Luke, please. Before I’m driven insane by the thought of losing you.”

They surged together, then, Aemond’s hands fisted in the front of Luke’s doublet and Luke’s hands cupping Aemond’s face as their lips met. It was a clumsy kiss, full of inexperience and desperation on both ends, but it was the sweetest thing Aemond had ever experienced. The closeness, the affection, the need to exist as close to in the same exact space as was possible, everything was deliriously heady and yet soul-soothing on a bone deep level. He never wanted to pull away, never wanted to leave Luke’s arms. But they eventually had to pull back, breathing in the same air that hung heavy between them.

“Please be mine, Aemond.” Luke whispered into their shared space, their little slice of the Seven Heavens that wrapped them up in its cloak of privacy and contentment.

“Okay.” Aemond whispered back, leaning in slowly to gently press their lips together again. The Gods would damn him for this, his Mother would despair of him, even Aegon would likely balk at what he was doing. But Aemond didn’t care anymore. Luke would be his, and he would be Luke’s, wives to each other in all but name. And that was worth all of the God’s favor and his Mother’s approval. It was worth the world.

The Black Cells lived up to their name. All Martyn could see was inky darkness that seemed to stretch on forever even though he knew logically it ended at the walls of his cell. But he could no more see the walls of his cell than he could the sky. Nothing but blackness deeper than any night he’d ever experienced. Even on a cloudy, moonless night there was more light than this. He thought he could go mad down here, unable to tell where anything ended or began. Perhaps that was the point, to drive prisoners mad in retribution for their crimes. Almost all of the senses were cut off here. No sight, nothing to touch but cold stone, and nothing but the smell of rot and blood and despair. There were no sounds, either, each cell on this level a world unto itself to isolate the poor sots who existed here. Sots like him.

He shouldn’t have drank so much after his tilt. He’d just been so angry, being bested by a bastard child who didn’t deserve to even be in the lists. He barely remembers what happened after, what he did to deserve this. Mere flashes in his mind of angry violet eyes turning to panic as hands he could scarcely believe were his own wrapped around a slender neck. He’d sobered up quickly, though, once the Kingsguard had come. Sobered up and fell into despair. Even if he should survive this, which he’d known even then that he wouldn’t, his mother would never be able to look him in the eyes again knowing what he’d done to an Omega.

And to Aegon, of all people, pretty Aegon who was at once both sweet and cruel. The boy had driven him wild since he first laid eyes on him, he’d been lost the second he opened his mouth and shown off his sharp tongue. He’d always liked the feisty ones, and Aegon was perhaps the feistiest one could be without being a feral cunt like his younger brother Aemond. Too feisty, perhaps, as it had landed him in this hellhole.

Yes, this was Aegon’s fault. For provoking him. And Jacaerys’ for being a snivelling little bastard pretending at being a Prince. He would never do something like that if he hadn’t been pushed, he was sure. And he was pushed. Aegon had hit him. For all that he was a Prince, he was still an Omega and should have known better than to incur an Alpha’s wrath like that. How was he supposed to control himself when that whore slighted him like that? No Alpha worth a damn would have done different, he was sure. Aegon should have known his place. Yes, yes of course, this was Aegon’s fault.

The thought crystalized in his mind over the hours of isolation, despair warping and twisting into hatred. By the time the hallway flooded with light and he saw the first glimpse of his surroundings since the guards had left him, it had hardened into a pure, vengeful rage that consumed him down to his core. He glared at the person who had brought the light, squinting his eyes against it as they stung from it.

“Ser Martyn Reyne.” The voice said, and he finally saw past the blinding torch to the person who was wearing it. They were wrapped in a thick cloak, face hidden by the shadow of the hood and voice unplacable with no accent and an androgynous lilt. It could be a man or woman of any age, as far as Martyn could know. It was almost like The Stranger themselves had come for him, shrouded in darkness and equal with man and woman, Alpha and Omega. The one they would all return to in the end.

“What do you want?” He spat venomously. “Come to take me to my execution, then?”

“No.” They stated simply, leaving the word hanging in the air for a moment as Martyn regarded them warily.

“Then why are you here? To gawk? To beat me? To mock me?” He asked, baring his fangs.

“I have come with an offer.” They said, stepping closer despite the fact it did nothing for Martyn’s ability to see them.

“Of what? What could you offer me, a man set to die?” Martyn scoffed.

“A chance to leave this place. A chance to live. A chance to have your revenge.” The figure responded.

“And what payment do you seek? For my freedom?” Martyn asked, mouth twisting in a frown.

“A simple favor. Nothing, really. Simply a life for a life.” The figure answered. “You will kill who I bid, and then you will be on a ship to Pentos. Far from where the King can track you down.”

“Who?” Martyn asked, narrowing his eyes. He’d already nearly killed someone, was he willing to go all the way? For his life, yes, but he needed to know more first.

The figure let out a chuckle. “No one it will pain you to kill.” They answered. “But it will pain the Princes who put you here.”

A vicious grin spread across Martyn’s face. A chance to hurt the useless whore and the bastard Prince? For that, he would be willing to kill a thousand men.

“Get me out of this cell and I will kill whoever you wish.” Martyn answered, rising from the floor to grab the bars of his cell and stand before the cloaked figure.

“My men will come at the hour of the eel. Be prepared, and do not sit next to the far wall.” The figure instructed. Then they turned their back on him, taking a step to retreat back into the darkness.

“Wait!” Martyn called desperately. “At least leave the torch!”

“Apologies, Ser Martyn. But no one can know someone was here. Besides, the darkness will be friend enough to you, soon.” The figure spoke, not turning back around to face him. And then with a few long strides, they were gone. The light left with them, plunging Martyn back into inky, unending darkness. But at least now, there was hope. Hope to live, hope to be free, hope to get his revenge on the thrice-damned whore that put him here. And that would be enough to endure it, at least until the hour of the eel.

He couldn’t wait to get his hands on what would hurt him.