Work Text:
He could not escape forever. Aerion was well aware of this. “A mating hunt?” he still asked though, fingers tightening around his cup. The hunts had fallen out of favor in recent years, the court whispering of unimaginable debauchery of willing bodies, the Faith considering it undesirable spectacle for the old Gods. The rest just did not care to see their children bloodied before they were taken to the marriage bed.
His father eyes were fixed on his empty plate. “You have refused all suitors so far,” he said. “The King is growing impatient. We cannot prolong this any longer.” Especially after Ashford, he did not add. Aerion still heard it, saw it in the way his father avoided his gaze.
Punishment then, he thought. Deserved maybe even. “We will ensure to have the lists filled with adequate options,” said his uncle, voice calm and reasonable as always. Aerion put his cup down forcefully, the sound echoing in the dining room.
He ought to have known that being invited to dine alone with his father and uncle had been no good sign. He merely thought it to be another reprimand though. A reminder to behave in a way befitting of a prince. Of an omega.
Anger stirred deep inside him. But then he thought of Ashford. Of what had come afterwards. “I see,” he said. “When will the hunt take place?”
A wary look was exchanged between his father and uncle. “We have started with the preparations already,” his uncle replied.
Of course they had, Aerion thought. He could not escape this. He would lose just like he had done in Ashford. Well, he thought, as he silently lifted his cup towards his mouth, let it be one last battle then at least.
If he had to do this, he would make sure he’d bleed for it first.
“But what if he gets hurt?” He felt himself slow down. He knew the voice, had it haunt him since Ashford. Taken in like a stray dog, he had once commented, watching the hedge knight who had skulked into the service of a future king straighten his back. My Lord, he had replied, blue eyes meeting lilacs, have you come to spar?
And he had, like he always had, because the hedge knight was one of the few to not hold back against the omega son of a prince.
“It's Aerion,” came the unimpressed reply of his little whelp of a brother. “I’d be more afraid of him hurting them.”
He could not help the amused smile at that. “Quite right, boy,” he said, stepping out of the shadows and watching with satisfaction as Aegon startled at his sudden appearance. “They will have to work hard if they wish to catch me.”
He could see the hedge knight move towards him, before he realizing it was Aerion, making himself into a shield at the pup’s sudden reaction. Alpha instincts, Aerion thought, rolled his eyes and did not notice the way the knight’s scent calmed again upon seeing him.
He stank of mud. Rain and wet earth, morning dew on grass, wild open fields with hints of blooming flowers. Horrible, he thought and did not take a deep breath.
“You accept this then?” asked the hedge knight who smelt of grass and leaves and everything Aerion did not have in the Red Keep. Did not want. “This hunt?”
Aerion shrugged. “They’ll fight me for this,” he said. “If blood will be spilled one last time, the better.” He would not go easy. He would not allow himself to be taken easily.
“I see,” the hedge knight said and did not stop looking at him. Could he smell the ash he carried on his scent, Aerion wondered. The promise of fire, of flames, the urge to burn.
They had been closer yet in Ashford. Close enough that he must have smelt the blood underneath the fire. “I will not be bound to somebody I deem weak,” he said loudly. If bound he must be, let him at least chose his chains. “I see,” the Knight just repeated as he kept staring at him.
Somewhere it smelt of rain and Aerion abruptly turned around and stalked away. If he felt eyes following him, he did not care.
The day of the hunt drew closer. He studied the lists before, went through the names of those who signed onto them. Some he knew from tourneys, some he had bested in them before it was deemed too inappropriate for an omega to participate in them, even a Targaryen one. He stared at the names, thought of the faces and titles behind them and frowned.
Strong they must be, at least some of them, he thought. Strong enough for it to not taste bitter on his tongue. Strong enough for this to not be defeat but conquest.
His training sessions grew more violent over the coming days.
“My prince,” said the hedge knight after a particularly gruesome one. Aerion felt a pang of pride at the fact that he was slightly out of breath. A bruise was forming on his own body where he foolishly had moved himself too close to the man to try and knock the sword out of his hands.
“Are you … how fare you?” Thick as a castle wall, but not such a fool he’d dare ask Aerion if he was fine outright. “You almost hit my nose,” he said instead, thoughtfully weighting his own sword in his hand. There would be no weapons during the hunt. Maybe he ought to command the hedge knight to fight him with just their fists. “Do you wish to draw the blood of the dragon once more, cur?”
The hedge knight did not rise to the provocation. Did not even appear particularly vexed by the insult. Not enough bite in your words anymore, whispered some part of him that remembered how his dreams smelt like.
“Do you wish me to make you bleed?” asked the hedge knight instead. Aerion looked up at him. “Why would I ask for this?” Blue eyes evaded his sharp gaze. “The hunt draws closer,” said the hedge knight then, voice soft, a mere whisper between them.
“And with every fight you throw yourself into my blade almost as if...” He trailed off. Looked up at him again then and Aerion could not read what was hiding in those eyes anymore. The smell of rain though spreading between them. “You are angry,” said the hedge knight. “More even so than usual.”
He wanted to laugh. Wanted to tell the hedge knight to mind his words. “What would they do to you,” he said softly instead. “If you were to hurt a prince of the blood once more?”
The hedge knight just stared at him silently. “Did not think of this, did you, dolt?” Aerion asked. “I did,” replied the hedge knight. “And yet you asked.” “Yes. Yet I asked, my prince.”
Aerion stared at him and did not know what to say this. “Once more,” he finally managed to force out. Raised his sword and stepped towards the hedge knight who just nodded as they continued their training fight. No blood was drawn that day, from neither side.
Late that night Aerion laid in bed and thought of the sound of swords clashing and blue eyes furrowed in deep concentration as they tried not to hit too hard.
The sky was gray on the day of the hunt but void of rain. He looked at it and briefly wished for storms, for thunder and lightning. He had stopped looking at the lists moons ago, every new name added just another disappointment.
“You accept this hunt then?” echoed the question of the hedge knight in his mind. Flexing his hand he wondered how much of his blood would be worth this.
The tent he was preparing in had been emptied of servants. Less tradition, more his demand. The robe he would wear was thin, richly decorated in red embroidery. He felt bared in it, wished for the comforting weight of his armor.
A noise coming from the tent entrance then, a large body, too tall to hide itself. “Enter,” Aerion said without turning around. A pause.
“I ought not to, my prince,” came the apologetic reply. “I said enter, dog,” Aerion repeated, voice firmer. He really ought not to. Not just because Aerion was a prince. The command was obeyed still and the hedge knight stared at the floor as he entered, not looking at Aerion in these clothes he felt so ill at ease in.
Slowly he raised his arms, showing off the dragon stitched into the sleeves. “You think they will like it?” he asked the hedge knight.
A flicker of his gaze at cloth too thin, too form-fitting, too soft for anything Aerion thought himself to be. The hedge knight knew him in chain mail and shimmering breastplates, richly decorated and undoubtedly costly, but armor still. He suddenly thought that he ought to not let the hedge knight see him like that.
“Do you like it?” the hedge knight asked though and Aerion lowered his arms. “It does not matter. It will be torn and bloodied soon enough.”
Silence from the hedge knight and Aerion suddenly felt tired. “I will gift you my sword after this,” he said, the words coming out of nowhere, from somewhere so deep inside of him he had not dared look at it outside of late long nights filled with the smell of wet earth freshly after rain.
The hedge knight looked at him, startled. “Why would you, my lord?” he asked, blue eyes drilling into his. “You will take care of it,” Aerion said instead. “You will use it. I wish for it to still see use after this.” “Why would you not use it yourself?” “Have you not heard?” Aerion said with a laugh that did not sound shaky, that did not sound weak, that did not make the knight flinch.
“I will be allowed to bleed one last time. And then no more.”
Commotion outside, nearing the tent and Aerion walked forward, stepped past him. “Promise me this, Ser Duncan,” he said and without another look at him, he left the tent.
He spared no look to the alphas waiting as he walked towards the woods. He could smell them, heavy and harsh on the wind, scent spiking with a rawness as he walked by them.
He did not care for any of the smells, he found. But still, one would win, would defeat him and all he could do was make sure they’d bleed before. He felt his teeth itch inside his mouth. Did not look at anybody as he walked. Stopped in front of the woods. They smelt of rain, he thought faintly. Not right but at least they smelt of rain.
Somewhere far away he heard the horns blew. Somewhere far away he realized he was running. Somehow far away he wished for the right scent of rain.
The first one came for him after almost half an hour had passed, when his burning lungs prevented him from running any longer. She came with a snarl from the thickets and he showed his own teeth in response, mouth opening, ready to bite. Another sound though, the scent of alpha thickening to a nauseous degree and her body was hit by another, the two alphas struggling on the ground, snarling wildly at each other.
He did not stop to wait to see which of them would win, started running again. Managed five minutes before something hit him from behind, large and hot, iron grip around his throat holding him in place, nails burrowing deep in his skin.
“Caught you,” a voice whispered, a mouth pressing against his neck and without thinking he bit down. Iron in his mouth and if he could not wear it anymore, he would taste it at least, he thought wildly. A scream turning into a pained whimper. “Mad beast,” the alpha growled and Aerion grinned at him, all blood-red teeth and the man paled slightly.
Did not follow when Aerion started running once more. He managed some more minutes but his legs were shaking, his body’s fire turning into simmering embers and he could not run forever. He knew that. Had known it the moment he set foot in these woods. The taste of blood had been replaced with something more bitter and he stopped at last. Stood still in a small meadow, balled his fists and waited.
Make it hurt, he thought. He would make his defeat hurt. It was all he could.
Still he felt himself tense when a shadow appeared beneath the trees, when the scent of blood freshly spilled creeped into his nostrils. Then though something else. Something familiar. Something softer. Something lovely.
He realized it was the smell of rain mere moments before the lumbering figure of Ser Duncan stumbled out of the woods. There was a cut on his face, a wild look in his eyes and blood on his fists. He looked startled when he caught sight of Aerion, like a deer who suddenly found itself front of a bow but the expression vanished almost instantly, turned into something determined as he marched towards Aerion who could only stare back in utter bafflement.
“I did not know they allow the likes of you on the list,” he then managed when he finally found his tongue once more but it came out shaky instead of mocking like he had intended it to. “They do not,” Ser Duncan said, stopping a few feet away from Aerion.
Blue eyes roaming over him, getting caught briefly on the faint redness on his neck before they came to rest on the leftover of the blood on his mouth. His eyes darkened slightly and Aerion wondered what exactly it was. The pain he’d been caused or the pain he had caused?
“What brings you here then, Ser?” Aerion asked at last when Ser Duncan made no move to speak again. “They will have your head for this.”
“I am aware,” Ser Duncan said. Still standing away from him and Aerion suddenly found that he did not like the distance. He took a step forward, watched the blue in Ser Duncan’s eyes grow deeper even more, the scent of grass and wet leaves turning sweeter, notes of blooming wild flowers appearing. Not stepping towards him though, Aerion noted and it was not disappointment he felt at that, he told himself sternly.
“I come with an offer, my prince,” Ser Duncan said. Swallowed briefly then and Aerion watched in fascination as this man who he thought brave as could be was clearly struggling to find the courage for his next words. “Let me mark you,” he then said in a rush. “No one else will be able to claim you. I will leave afterwards and you will be free.”
Aerion stilled. Silence fell between them, even the wind seemed to halt. “What nonsense,” Aerion then managed. “They will find you. They will kill you for it.” Where did he think he could run, he thought. This hedge knight, this poor excuse of a knight, this … Dunk.
Dunk closed his eyes. “You will be free,” he repeated softly. Somewhere far away, somewhere oh so close, it smelt of rain.
Aerion stepped forward. Once more. Stood in front of Dunk then at last who opened his eyes and locked down at him. Rain, Aerion thought.
“Fire,” Dunk mumbled. “You smell of fire and ash and blood.” Aerion raised his hand, slowly, carefully.
Pulled Dunk down to him, who watched him like in a trance, pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue almost completely.
Still there though, Aerion thought dimly. Breathed in and there was rain everywhere. Opened his mouth and then bit down hard into Dunk’s shoulder.
A loud hiss of pain but he did not move away from him, not even when Aerion’s bite deepened. Blood in his mouth again, sweeter this time though, tinged with the scent of grass and flowers.
He did not let go for a long moment before looking up at Dunk. “I caught you,” he then said through the blood dripping from his mouth. “I hunted you. You did not mean to participate but I lured you into the woods, called for your aid, tricked you. And then I … then I made you mark me.”
Dunk’s eyes widened in surprise. “But…” he began before Aerion cut him off. “They will not kill you for this,” he said. “It will be my fault.” Ashford again. Only not, only not defeat, only something else this time.
“You will not be free,” Dunk said slowly. Aerion watched him silently for a moment. Wished to let himself sink into the scent of rain completely. Stepped back instead. “If my freedom is all you wish of this, Dunk, then leave now. I will not see them kill you for me.”
You’re mine to, he thought widely. Mine to not kill, mine to have, mine to keep. Mine to not watch die by the hands of someone else.
A growl then, and everything was rain when Dunk suddenly stepped forward, pulling Aerion roughly closer, mouth clumsily pressing against his. Aerion returned the kiss without thinking, let himself fall into the scent of fresh grass, of blooming flowers at dawn, of a world that whispered the promise of rain to come. “Aerion,” Dunk mumbled against his lips. “You smell of all I could ever wish for. You are all I could ever wish for.”
In the distance there was the sound of thunder and when he broke away, he felt something wet land on his head. Looked up at the sky above them then, felt the first drops of rain running down his face. In front of him Dunk raised his throat, showing of the bloody bite already left.
“Well then,” Dunk mumbled. “Catch me, Aerion.” And this, Aerion thought as the rain started falling, as Dunk’s scent was everywhere around him, as he made to spill some more blood for his greatest conquest and victory, this was not something he would ever wish to escape from.