Chapter Text
AERION
Aerion must have guessed as much when his sleep was interrupted by a flood of servants instead of just the usual one.
They undressed him gently, for the prince would cut off the hand of anyone who dared to touch his pale skin.
They bathed him, though the servants passed by and rubbed the sponge while receiving threats by the dozen.
And they dressed him in opulent attire.
The prince no longer frowned or cast judgmental glances, for at last the servants Aerion considered vermin had withdrawn their hands from his body.
Aerion was fastening a brooch with silver dragon heads when he finally made sense of it all.
“Aegon…” Aerion sighed. The idea of celebrating his brother’s name day was not an event that particularly pleased Aerion.
But his father would force him to attend; he had already made his will known simply through the commotion that had interrupted the prince while he dozed.
“What do you think my father would do if I slipped away?” Aerion said, running his tongue thoughtfully along the inside of his mouth.
“I don’t know… my prince,” said a nervous servant who was adjusting the prince’s cloak from the floor.
Aerion, paying little attention to the servant, spun on his heel, leaving the servant lying on the floor.
“Go away,” exclaimed Aerion, making it clear he wanted to be alone.
When he was finally alone, he sat down in his plush chair and began to play with the sharp tip of his dagger.
He didn't have much to do but wait and wait; he spent some time thinking about the events to come. He thought about the tournament that was to be held in his younger brother's name, imagined how he would win if he participated, and also thought about the faces of those who despised him when he emerged victorious.
He remained lost in thought for a while longer, recalling the lords of each house and their sons; he had to be prepared—he never knew when it might come in handy to use some piece of gossip he’d heard to threaten or blackmail anyone who defied him.
He weighed the idea that he would have to endure the drunken ramblings of his brother Daeron, he would have to endure the endless, degrading rants of his brother Aemon, and he would have to endure the suffocating presence of his brother Aegon, the one who bore the conqueror’s name and acted accordingly.
Finally, it dawned on him that all this would take place at Summerhall. Aerion sighed; that place stirred up unpleasant memories—his childhood, no less.
There was a knock at the door, and he knew it was time to leave. He rose, stepped out of his chamber, and was led to the courtyard of the Red Keep, where his carriage awaited.
The black and red banners fluttered fiercely against the walls; the freshly groomed horses gleamed, and Aerion’s carriage, covered in silver, shone and sparkled as if it were an artificial sun.
He descended the tall steps of the main courtyard and looked up; there, by the carriage, stood the Hand.
Aerion looked away when his gaze met Brynden’s; that man was sinister and mysterious, unsettling Aerion merely by his presence, and the knowledge that he would be sharing a carriage with him shattered the composure he had resolved to maintain throughout the event.
“Come on in, my prince,” said Brynden, inviting Aerion to climb into the carriage.
Without a word, Aerion stepped into the carriage.
“His Majesty and his brothers are waiting at Summerhold. We’ll take the Rose Road and turn south through Fawnton.”
“It won’t take more than a week; we’ll arrive in time for the prince’s celebration,” added the Blood Raven.
Aerion nodded without looking at the bastard, implying that he was listening but would not honor him with his violet gaze.
Brynden rested his arm on the velvety armrest beside him and did not take his eyes off the prince for a long time.
Aerion, who assumed it would be a boring journey, rested his elbow on the opposite armrest, sighed again, and rested his cheek on his knuckles.
DUNCAN
The sky was already fading and turning pink as Duncan arrived on Maester’s back.
He was descending the northern slope when the trees finally stopped obscuring what lay ahead of Duncan; the sheer scale and presence of Summerhall were unmatched.
Duncan felt anxious; his hands were sweaty, and he was trembling slightly. Maester seemed to notice, as he shook his head from side to side, almost as if complaining.
He couldn’t figure out why—was it because he was returning to Summerhall after so long? Duncan doubted it. He had been here before with Egg and had never felt this way.
Was it because it had been a while since he’d served as a royal guard? He didn’t think so; Duncan was more than capable, and he knew that his friend’s name day celebrations weren’t what was unsettling him.
It was then, as Duncan was already passing through the grand gates of the summer residence, that he realized what was unsettling his mind and body.
Aerion
He didn't have much time to dwell on that thought, for as soon as he dismounted, he was pressed from behind by a weight that felt familiar.
Egg clung to Duncan, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and tightening his grip. He didn’t seem willing to get off the walking tower anytime soon.
“Have you grown even more?” Aegon said, rubbing his nose gently against Duncan’s profile affectionately.
“Egg!” Duncan exclaimed, startled. “My prince…” he corrected awkwardly.
“Don’t call me that, Duncan—not you!” Aegon smiled and laughed with the joy of someone who hadn’t seen a loved one in a long time.
“Sorry, Egg,” said Duncan as he scratched his cheek with his index finger.
He smiled back. “You’ve really grown; you weigh more than the last time you hung off my back.” Egg frowned, pretending to be offended.
“What are you implying, Duncan?” he said with a mischievous smile.
Raising his hands, “Nothing, nothing, I swear!” he said, laughing.
They laughed like old times, a little deeper inside the warm bubble that was this encounter.
Then Aegon loosened his grip and climbed down.
“You should take a bath; I could smell you from my window,” Aegon said, showing little consideration for the knight who had just arrived from a week-long horseback journey with no chance to wash.
Duncan blushed slightly and tried to smell himself discreetly; sure enough, he reeked intensely of pheromones.
“Don’t sweat it,” said Aegon, placing his hand on his friend’s back to guide him inside the castle.
“Do you have any stories from a recent adventure?” Aegon asked curiously as they walked through the brightly lit corridors of the refuge.
“I don’t see you around here often enough to think you’re part of the Kingsguard,” he added.
Duncan shook his head. “I’m not exactly off on adventures…” he replied.
Aegon tilted his head, intrigued. “Then what?” Duncan smiled a crooked smile. “Well, your father—” he coughed, correcting himself, “His Majesty the King gives me assignments that only close, trusted people can carry out… and that’s me, I suppose…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“So you run errands for my father, huh?” said Aegon, with his usual boldness.
“Duncan snapped, ‘No… that… isn’t what—’” Aegon cut him off as he burst into sudden laughter.
“Oh, Duncan… you can’t take a joke, can you? I’d pay to see that look on your face again,” he said between laughs, wiping a tear with the back of his index finger.
“So a joke…come here! Duncan grabbed Aegon under his arm and rubbed his knuckles against the prince’s head, ignoring all protocol.
“Stop, stop! You stink, man!” Aegon said, laughing.
Aegon managed to break free from Duncan’s grip, straightened up, and smoothed his silver hair with his fingers.
“Anyway, these are your quarters,” Aegon announced, letting his companion in.
“You have a bath ready; just call a servant if you need anything, okay?”
Duncan nodded. “Thanks, Egg,” he said tenderly.
“No problem.” Aegon turned and closed the door behind him.
Duncan’s belongings had already been moved from Maester to these chambers.
He loosened the belt holding his sword and set it down in a corner, next to his armor, which lay there.
Duncan looked out the window of his chamber; through the bars, he could see the sun behind the mountain, already setting. He saw a pair of blackbirds flying over the castle and remembered that he needed to take a bath.
So, with a firm push, he stepped away from the window.
He approached the large bathtub, which seemed to be designed for a man of his stature, and began to undress. He untied his nightshirt, revealing his hairy chest. As he untied his trousers, he noticed a small table next to the bathtub; it held what looked like essential oils and bath salts. Duncan, eager to take advantage of this opportunity for a comfortable bath, decided to use them.
Duncan slipped one leg into the water and then the other, placing both hands on either side of the wooden tub to lower himself in.
“Ah…” he exhaled with pleasure.
He bent his knees, for although the tub was built for a tall person, surprisingly, it wasn’t big enough for Duncan.
It wasn't a problem; he was comfortable, very comfortable. He rested his head on the edge and his arms at his sides. Without looking, he picked up one of the glass containers sitting on the stool, opened it, and poured the contents into the water.
Soon, Duncan found himself enveloped by a sweet, very sweet, almost intoxicating aroma and sensation. It smelled of roses, honey, raspberries, and cinnamon—a blend that truly dulled the senses.
Before he knew it, Duncan found himself with an erection between his thick thighs.
He didn’t fight it or resist the urge. He’d been riding for weeks, and his last heat had been a disaster, so nothing was going to stop him from letting off a little steam—especially in this comfortable, relaxing situation.
Duncan ran the palm of his hand from the base of his penis to the tip, then wrapped his hand around the erection and began to move up and down slowly, underwater, caressing the tip with his index finger on each stroke.
Duncan was lost in the pleasure. His hips rose and thrust against his hand in a calm, lustful dance; with his other hand, he stimulated his nipple. The pleasure was so intense that his neck went limp, so he surrendered, resting his head completely on the edge and closing his eyes.
Duncan was burning with pleasure—literally. Heat radiated from his body, and he was panting.
“Shit…” Duncan moaned. The scent, which reminded him of the sweet aroma of an omega, penetrated deep into his senses, and that calm, lustful dance with which he had begun was gradually turning into an erratic dance, disrupted by peaks of pleasure.
He kept thrusting against his hand, ignoring the water that was starting to spill out of the tub from the movement. With his eyes closed, lulled by the scents of the essential oil, he imagined taking an omega and making him his own, driving his cock deep inside him until he was satisfied.
Gradually his movements became even more erratic; as he neared orgasm, more thoughts raced through his mind.
“Yes…” he whispered in a ragged gasp.
Suddenly, just as he was about to release his load, his mind went blank and the image of Aerion appeared, almost like a curse or a blessing without explanation. Whatever it was, Duncan raised his hips to the highest point and spilled himself. As if Aerion himself, whom he hadn’t seen in a decade, had given him permission to ejaculate.
Duncan, gasping but regaining his breath and his composure, brought his hands to his face, feeling somehow embarrassed.
He asked himself many questions, all in vain, because it had happened—he had ended up thinking about Egg’s brother and the man who had once been his rival.
The only question he truly asked himself once he stopped rubbing his face in embarrassment was, why did this sweet scent remind him of the most feared prince of the Seven Kingdoms?