Chapter Text
He finds Aerion seated by the shade of a tree, carefree and careless as he is wont to be, while the world grapples with the wake of his temper and its consequences. Would look like a cat basking in the shade, were it not for the ugly bruises still painting his pretty face.
Maegor does not announce himself nor has he any need to.
“That was most unbecoming of you,” Maegor ventures.
Aerion looks up. His eyes linger on Maegor’s approaching figure, and he rises only when Maegor is within arm’s reach.
Maegor lifts a hand to brush a stray leaf from Aerion’s hair. It is a testament to how much Maegor has indulged him, as well, that Aerion does not flinch. Maegor ought to clout him in the ear, or take him over his knee, as Father should have done before he allowed for any more impropriety.
Instead, when Aerion’s eyes meet his, Maegor uses the same hand to seize him by the chin. Aerion lifts it in an attempt at defiance, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Where Maegor has always known when to scorch the earth, Aerion’s fire is a constant burn that singes those who come close to it if they are lucky, burns and consumes those who are less so. He could see it even as children, before Aerion learned to sharpen that fire into cruelty.
After all, they have always burned the same.
“A hedge knight. Truly, Aerion?” Maegor teases. Aerion attempts to wrench free of his hold, but Maegor does not relent, even when Aerion winces. His hand closes around Aerion’s jaw, and forces Aerion’s chin upward. “Look at me when I am speaking to you, valonqar.”
Aerion’s nostrils flare at that, his scent growing smokier as his temper rises, its lovely plum taking on notes of fire. But he knows better than to try and pull his tricks with Maegor. “You would suffer for our House to be insulted?”
Maegor releases his chin, not before patting him on the cheek, a soft slap, the sort one might give an unruly hound. “I would have made quick work of it.” But Aerion has always enjoyed a spectacle. Like a cat toying with a mouse before it sees fit to kill it.
“I have heard father intends to have you sent away,” Maegor gestures towards the winding paths of the gardens. It may not be proper for him and Aerion to stroll through the gardens as an unwed alpha and omega. Brothers though they may be, the traditions of their house have never found that to be an obstacle, and so, people would assume, if they were to be seen, that impropriety is abound.
Not that any whispers of impropriety matter much to Maegor. Soon enough, such whispers will not be worth heeding.
Aerion eyes him warily, yet falls into step at Maegor’s side all the same. He does not confirm nor deny, so Maegor continues, “The Free Cities would be a mercy. More like than not, he means to have you wed within the year.”
Ever predictable, Aerion does not hold back his fury, as though Maegor himself had arranged the matter. “He cannot!” Aerion protests. Maegor chuckles. That only serves to further inflame Aerion. “I will not wed any fool Father picks! I am the blood of the dragon–“
“Oh, hush, will you,” Maegor mutters sharply. “It still amazes me so, dear brother, that you find yourself surprised by the consequences of your actions.”
Some would argue Maegor is not much better. The difference is Maegor leaves no trail to follow after. He has taken men’s lives for less than Aerion’s little quarrel with the hedge knight. But Aerion must needs turn his cruelty into a spectacle. That, and Father has never harbored illusions about what Maegor is, while Aerion has always been skilled at playing the perfect prince when their Father’s eyes are upon him.
“Do not mock me, dearest brother,” Aerion retorts. “It is not you who is to be bartered off like some common whore.”
That does make Maegor laugh, rather heartily. He can feel Aerion’s eyes burning into him. “A dragon bride for some donkey lord. That would be a sight.”
Maegor knows his brother as well as he knows the feel of his own sword hilt. Before Aerion can start lashing out again, he turns to meet his brother’s furious gaze. “You have been shown patience you have never earned.”
Aerion does not argue, though he glares at Maegor. He knows it is the truth.
Mayhaps it has been so because Aerion is the only omega among them, had always been favored by their mother for the fact. Maegor can admit he bears some blame, as well. He used to find Aerion’s changing moods amusing, delight in the way he would treat the world as his playground, and its inhabitants as his toys. Would comfort him, when Aerion would come to him after being disciplined by their Father, even if the punishment had been earned. Had encouraged his pride in being the blood of the dragon, assured him that they were stations above common men, walking gods from Old Valyria.
He had thought, then, that Aerion would grow more subtle with time, more deft in the use of his venom. Alas, his brother has only grown reckless and spoiled, and there are to be consequences now. Maekar will not stand for another affront, not when it has cost their House so dearly.
Usually, Maegor might have found some amusement in his brother’s misery, for there is a certain grim satisfaction in seeing Father so thoroughly displeased with the son he once held dearest. Maegor was not allowed such indulgence as the second-born, and least of all an alpha besides. Father’s praise never comes half so readily as his discipline does, nor are his affections given as swiftly as his disappointment. If anything, Maekar had only grown harsher once it became plain that Daeron would not become the heir he had hoped for.
Yet as Maegor glances sideways at the bruises darkening Aerion’s cheekbones, he finds no such pleasure at the sight, nor does he find any delight in the thought that Aerion might be wed off to some witless lordling who will treat him as nothing more than a broodmare for his unworthy seed.
For all his many faults, Aerion is still the blood of the dragon, still his brother.
“If you ask sweetly, mayhaps your elder brother will help you,” Maegor says, a note of mischief threading through his tone.
Aerion rolls his eyes. He knows that Maegor’s favor is never without its price. “I would sooner eat my tongue.”
“Careful, valonqar,” Maegor says, though there is no steel to his tone. “You know as well as I that I might yet see you shipped across the Narrow Sea, wed to some Lyseni merchant.”
Aerion narrows his eyes at Maegor, halting his steps. Once he does so, Maegor does so as well. Face to face, Maegor allows himself a smirk.
“You would not dare,” Aerion says. “Nor could you,” he says mockingly.
Maegor tuts softly. “Do you wish to make a game of it?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment. “You know that I have ever been more skilled at games of chance.”
“Maegor.”
Maegor laughs again. He reaches out a hand to place against Aerion’s cheek. Aerion does not flinch, though his gaze hardens.
“Act like the dragon you are,” Maegor hears Aerion’s breath hitch. So easy to please, his vain little monster of a brother. “Behave yourself, zaldrītsos. If you are good, I shall see to it that your chosen husband is, at least, worthy of you.” His thumb brushes softly along one of the bruises marring Aerion’s cheek.
Aerion tears away from Maegor’s hand. Maegor allows him to. If pushed too far, Aerion will bite back, and Maegor has no wish to see his brother bleed by his own hand.
“You speak as though you have any say in the matter,” Aerion retorts. “Father heeds not your counsel.”
They both know that is half a lie. Father would sooner listen to little Aegon’s counsel, but he does not dismiss Maegor entirely. Maegor shrugs. “I have more say than you do.”
Maegor steps closer, crowding into Aerion’s space. Aerion will never admit to it, but he does hold back the urge to flinch this time. Despite it, his plum-and-smoke scent has grown sweeter, his temper softened for now. “No more foolishness from you, Aerion. If you wish to toy with your food, do so where no eyes may see,” Maegor warns him in a low murmur, has to lean down so Aerion may hear it.
Then, he steps back, the faintest shadow of a smile tugging at his mouth even as Aerion glares daggers at him. “Have a good evening, brother.”