Chapter Text
They didn’t speak about it.
Not when they woke up the next morning, still close enough to breathe each other’s air. Not when they broke their fast in their solar, Aerion eating more than he usually did, and Duncan, strangely, much less. Not when Dunk announced he was going with Ser Eric to watch the men-at-arms drill, at the captain’s insistence, and Aerion that he would summon the maester and steward to the solar to convene with them as he had promised.
And not for the next week, which they mostly spent apart, each seeing to his own business.
Aerion learned as much as he could about their holdings. He grilled Gareth and Willem on dues, taxes, fines, trade, fishing, and crops. He had them write down the lordship’s monthly incomes and expenses, to survey last year’s harvest, and to tally everything they had in their storerooms. He asked for calculations on what repairing the castle would cost. He had all the old account books brought to his solar, and spent every day studying them, trying to make sense of the finances. All in all, he found himself quite busy, struggling with numbers; but slowly, he started to understand the situation they’d been thrust into more clearly.
He also asked Maester Gareth to teach him the history of the area in detail, so that he better understood Dunk’s territory and the lands surrounding it. The denizens of Crackclaw Point in the east were especially interesting to him; a queer and wild people, they were said to have dozens of petty rulers over the pine barrens, bogs, and valleys of their jutting peninsula. The numerous quarrels and feuds with each other were only surpassed by their mistrust of outsiders. During the Conquest, they joined eagerly with the dragon kings, in order to oust the rule of Maidenpool and Duskendale. Afterwards they swore allegiance directly to the Crown, and were known to be Targaryen loyalists. Aerion wondered how they would perceive him. Will they trust me because of my name, or just see me as the spouse of yet another lord who may try to encroach upon their territory?
Maidenpool, of course, interested him as well. It was the nearest town and nearest major port to Dawnfort, and the Mootons were Dunk’s immediate liege lords. Aerion remembered Lord Jayce Mooton, a portly man past fifty who had fought with the Targaryens during the Blackfyre Rebellion. The prince had already made sure to write him a respectful, flattering letter, allegedly coming from both himself and Duncan. He’d offered to read it to the knight before sending it out, but Dunk just shrugged and said he trusted him.
His husband seemed to have a different approach to the whole matter of ruling. He started riding to the villages, but not to survey the land and oversee his revenues, as Aerion had suggested; he just wanted to know his new smallfolk. He visited taverns and alehouses, browsed the markets and shops, spoke with innkeepers and craftsmen and fisherfolk. He would go to the septs to pray and confess, and to the smithies to browse weapons and armor.
They spent their days apart, but in the evenings, Dunk would sit on the bed with a cup of mead or ale and relay to him what he’d learned, always gleeful.
He brought new tales every day. At an inn by the fishing village right beneath the castle — Saltcrest, the village was called — the innkeep told him about Angler’s Cove, a half-hidden fishing ground rich in cod and mackerel and shrimp, where sometimes the smallfolk glimpsed mermaids. In the local fishmarket, the knight claimed he’d found the biggest crabs he’d ever seen in his life. In the hamlet of Greentide, a few leagues away, he saw houses built on stilts, expanding the settlement into the bay itself. A young girl selling cockles gifted him a seashell bracelet, while up on the western hill, in the last village under Dunk’s domain, a huntsman told him local legends of the woods as they dined on freshly-caught hare and rabbit.
Aerion did not find the knight’s discoveries particularly useful, but Dunk spoke with so much warmth and appreciation for everything that it was impossible to not be carried along. So he listened, and asked questions, sometimes even with a faint grin on his face.
By the end of the week, the night when Aerion had wept in Dunk’s arms seemed to have been set aside, if not forgotten. It was the knight who finally brought the subject up, on an unusually fine, balmy afternoon. They were in the courtyard after noon, in the castle garden. Duncan had just returned from one of his outings, while Aerion had come outside for a much-needed breath of fresh air, after being cooped up with ledgers and account books for hours. His handmaids sometimes accompanied him, but he’d started dismissing them on most days, bidding them to wait on him only in the morning and evening. He spent so much time over books that it seemed unfair to make the two omegas sit next to him and watch him work. They would be bored out of their wits, surely.
The small, rectangular garden was surrounded by hawthorn hedges. Two apple trees stood at its entrance, and two pear trees in the far end. Rosebushes, lavender shrubs, and peonies adorned one side, while more practical herbs crowded the other; dill and parsley and mint, sage and rosemary, rue, basil, fennel… It was a cramped place, but it had a quiet and charm to it that often drew them both, especially when they were tired.
They said nothing for a while, simply enjoying the flowers and the gentle twittering of birds. Dunk was leaning against one of the apple trees, Aerion sitting across from him on the other, resting on a low, thick branch.
Finally, the alpha broke the silence. “Have you been feeling better, Your Grace?” he asked tentatively. “At— at night, I mean?”
Aerion knew what he meant at once. He sighed. “Yes, Ser Duncan. I sleep quite adequately.”
“I’m glad.” Dunk hesitated. “Are they… are they dragon dreams?” he asked, in a hushed voice.
Aerion raised an eyebrow. “Dragon dreams? How do you know about that?”
“Daeron told me… he said he could dream of things to come, sometimes. He saw what would happen to your uncle, too. But those visions seemed to be a great burden to him.”
“They are. He’s been having them since he was four, and they’ve always tormented him.” He sighed. “But no, Ser, mine are not dragon dreams. That one was an old memory, best left forgotten. That’s all.”
“Oh. That’s good, then. I mean, not good, but, you know. Better than the alternative.” He flushed red.
There was more silence, for a while. But there was something Aerion knew he needed to say. “I have to thank you,” he muttered, “for helping me that night.”
Dunk inclined his head. “I’m happy to have managed it. I’ve seen you wake up like that so many times. And you sounded so…” he struggled with the words. “Well. I just had to help. I—”
A bark interrupted his musings, and a brown blur rushed into the garden and right between the knight’s legs. Dunk gave a surprised laugh. “Oh, there she is! How is my girl?”
Aerion watched, bemused, as a scrawny old bitch with a light brown coat ran around Dunk, whining and wagging her tail. The knight cooed and bent down to pet her, muttering so many endearments Aerion almost wanted to mock him.
“I didn’t know you had a pet,” he observed instead.
Dunk grinned crookedly. “She’s just one of the Dawnfort dogs, for guarding mostly. Though this one was a hunting dog, years ago.”
“Many, many years ago, no doubt,” Aerion said dryly.
Dunk rolled his eyes. “She’s very sweet. She’s taken to me a lot, always wanting to be petted. You’d never know how old she is, with her spirit.”
The dog seemed to finally notice Aerion; she walked over to the branch he was sitting on, wagging her tail.
“Oh, she’s interested in you! You should greet her,” the knight prompted.
He looks as excited as if he’s introducing me to his baby sister, not a bloody dog. Still, he didn’t argue. He reached his hand out, and when the bitch sniffed at him, he gave her a reluctant pat on the head. To his chagrin, she responded by licking his fingers.
Dunk laughed. “See? She’s a good girl. She likes you, even though you’re sneering at her.”
Aerion gave a little snort. All the dogs wandering about the castle seemed to be skinny and weathered, muddy and missing teeth, but Dunk didn’t seem to mind. “We do need some proper hounds, you know. The ones we have look like they are the age of my aunt Elaena.”
The knight smiled warmly. “You are so spoiled. Would you like a hawk too? A peregrine falcon?”
He scoffed. “I will have you know I prefer goshawks to peregrines. It is more fun to hunt with them.”
“How so?” Dunk asked. The bitch trotted back to him, and he started rubbing between her ears.
“Peregrines swoop down on their prey from above,” he explained. “With goshaws, they fly after it, twisting and turning through the foliage, and you can chase the hunt on your horse if you are a fair enough rider.”
“It sounds thrilling,” Dunk said earnestly. “I’ve never gone hunting or hawking or anything like that.”
“Well, I could take you, if I was allowed out of this castle,” he observed mildly.
Dunk hesitated. “I… I know this has been hard for you. Have I made it worse, with all my stories?”
Aerion started picking apple blossoms and placing them gently on his palm, looking away from the knight. “No, Dunk. I have little interest in drinking at inns and listening to fisherfolk’s tales. I wanted to learn the lay of the land, to see our crops and our territory… and mostly, to gallop freely around the countryside.”
The dog lay down next to Dunk, settling into a curled-up position. “Your father was terrified you’d do something stupid if allowed to ride out,” the knight said somberly. “I would simply ask for your word as a knight that you won’t, but you have not exactly proven to honor your vows.”
“And have you? How is it knightly to hold an omega hostage in your castle?”
He gave a soft sigh. “You are right, it’s not. But I swore to the king and your father to guard you. If you were to run away, they would punish me, and they would punish you as well. Do you want to be locked up, like you were in Maegor’s?” He hesitated. “I begged your father to release you, you know. How is it honorable to allow one’s betrothed to be locked in a room for a week? It shamed them, and it shamed me. But the prince would not relent. That’s why I thought it was best to take you here as fast as possible after the wedding. If we stayed at the Red Keep, Maekar could still confine you if he wished, and I would not be able to stop it.”
Aerion glanced up. “And now you are confining me, just in a larger prison.”
The comment seemed to hit a nerve; the knight winced. “You are blunt, as ever.” He sighed. “I never intended to mistreat you, my prince. And certainly not to imprison you. So, very well. I give you leave to ride out. You may go where you wish.”
Aerion was suspicious. “So you trust me now?”
“I’m choosing to. Trust goes both ways, and for all my promises, I cannot demand that you trust me without extending you the same courtesy. I won’t restrain you in any way... but I’ll ask that you have mercy on me, and on yourself. You know how things will end if your father finds out you fled. His wrath will fall upon both of us.”
The generosity of the offer gave him pause, and he found himself wanting to be honorable in return. “I... I won’t flee. On my honor as a Targaryen, whatever that’s worth. I’ll come back to you.”
“That’s good. Do you want to tell the groom to saddle Onyx?”
“What, now?”
“You’ve been very eager to see the countryside. It’s still early in the day. As good a time as any. I’m not commanding you to do anything, but I do advise that you have an escort. It can be perilous to wander alone, even in this peaceful place."
He was left speechless for a moment. “I will take Parry, and Wat,” he said finally, naming two of the youngest guards. He jumped down from the branch, rubbing the bark and petals off his hands.
“Thank you.”
“And I…” he wanted to do something for the knight, some favor in return. “I can speak to you at supper, tell you what I know about our estates and our finances. You’ve been sharing everything you learn, but I’ve just kept it all to myself.”
“If you think I’m smart enough to understand,” Dunk said playfully.
“Of course you will understand.”
“I hope so. Well, you ought to get going, if you want to be back for supper. I’ll stay here with Elaena for a while.”
“Elaena?”
“Yes. You seem to have found the perfect name for her. I’ll just have to make sure to call her something else around your aunt.”
Aerion chuckled. “She’s not even my aunt, really. She’s my great-grandsire’s first cousin. She’s old, I’m telling you.” He paused to give the hound one last brief pet, then rushed out of the garden.
The stableboys most certainly did not just trust his word that he was allowed to leave, though both muttered apologies. One had to go running to ask Dunk before they agreed to bring out his palfrey, as well as two sorry-looking stots for Wat and Parry. The clear power imbalance between him and his husband would normally have angered Aerion, but nothing could ruin his mood when he was finally being released. He had spent the past week trying to reconcile himself to the idea that he would stay cooped up in the castle for the foreseeable future; it had taken a greater toll on him than he’d realized. He could scarcely contain his anticipation.
The mare seemed eager to let loose as well. As the portcullises were being winched open, she pawed at the ground and snorted, stepping impatiently back and forth.
Aerion chuckled. He patted the palfrey on the side of her great black head. “Hush, Onyx. Lykirī.”
The moment the way was clear, he gave her a slight kick at the sides. “Naejot,” he muttered, and the mare began to gently amble forward. They sped up into a canter as they rode down the hill, the land stretching endlessly ahead.
Aerion didn’t bother to check on his guards; he was too impatient, and their horses were too slow. The wilderness spread all around him; hills intertwining with heathland and wastes and thick woods, streams snaking through the land. Saltcrest and the waters of the bay shimmered up north, surrounded by farmland, and Greentide was further east, at the border with Cracklaw Point. The smallest settlement, up a small hill, lay in the west, surrounded by woodland. But none of that interested him today. Aerion set out south, riding through the shrubland and thickets. Sometimes he heard the hooves of Wat and Parry’s horses behind him, but he paid them no mind. He heard the song of pipits and the sharp calls of harriers, soaring gracefully above him on great, powerful wings. He saw butterflies and bees and wasps flying through the foliage, buzzing next to flower shrubs and bushes. The countryside was beautiful, the colors of spring bright and cheerful. Soon he lost track of time.
When he and Onyx stumbled upon an unusually smooth, rolling heath, he smirked. “Sōvēs,” he told the palfrey.
She hardly needed anything more. She broke into a gallop, her hooves beating against the ground, her muscles firm and strong between his thighs. They rode through purple and pink heather, yellow prickly gorse, and tall green grasses. Occasionally their thundering past alarmed something hiding in the shrubs and sent it flying; warblers and yellowhammers and other birds that he didn’t have time to see properly. Once, he could have sworn he spotted a little red fox rushing away.
At the edge of the heathland, the shrubs met with the start of a pine-and-broadleaf forest. The woods were crowded with green soldier pines and sentinels and oaks, large and dense. As they approached, he saw that a stream stood between the heathland and the foliage, intimidatingly wide.
Aerion smiled, not bothering to slow down. “Vezōt, Onyx.”
The mare jumped, crossing over the water in one elegant leap. He felt the wind, the rush of blood in his veins, his stomach fluttering. When Onyx landed on the opposite bank, she let out an almost triumphant nicker, making him laugh. He stroked her mane. “Gevī! Gevī, Onyx. Good girl.”
He suddenly realized that they were alone.
The guards had been left far behind; he could no longer hear their horses’ hooves, nor glimpse them in the distance. There was just him and the horse and the wilderness; rustling leaves and swaying grass, the gentle babbling of the stream, the scent of pine needles.
The thought arose, inevitably, that he could just go. The road was nearby, somewhere to the west. Onyx was fast enough to outrun any horse in Dunk’s stables, save perhaps his Goldberry. He’d already realized that fleeing somewhere in Westeros would be impossible… but in the Free Cities, perhaps he might be safe.
I could take a ship from Maidenpool, or even Duskendale. He was wearing a belt of gold around his waist, and two rings in his left hand, including his mother’s. He could buy passage if he sold something. Pentos is closest, but I could go to Tyrosh, or Lys, or even Volantis. He was skilled enough to sell his sword, and some mercenary company was bound to want a Targaryen princeling in their ranks, omega or no. Perhaps he could even go further still, to see the wonders of the far east. Maidenpool was only a day’s ride away, and Dunk was unlikely to chase after him, especially with only a dozen men. The alpha would have to alert Maekar, of course, but until then Aerion would have sailed…
And then Father will punish him for letting me go.
He was under no illusions about that. Maekar would be furious that Dunk let him ride out, especially on Onyx, a speedy and strong palfrey. And King Daeron would see the danger as well. A rogue prince was not something that bode well for anyone, especially a vengeful and volatile one. The knight would lose his lordship, or his freedom, or even... No. The king would not hurt Dunk. Neither would Father. Would they? Aerion realized he had no idea anymore. It was not like the alpha had noble kin or connections to defend him. It was not like anyone would care, other than Egg.
I shouldn’t care either. I shouldn’t. He’s just a hedge knight who humiliated me publicly, who showed the realm I’m just a weak omega after all. If he hadn’t interfered in that tent, none of this would have happened. I’d still be a prince, still unmarried, still…
But the alpha had been kind to him. He had held to his knightly vows when it was against his best interests; even the prince could see that. He was stubborn, clumsy, infuriating… but he was the one who repeatedly refused to hurt him, even though he had good reason. He was the one who comforted Aerion in the night, soothing his pain. The sycophantic companions the prince had been crowded by in Summerhall had all melted away, his kin had abandoned him to his disgrace. Only his enemy had been steadfast.
Only his enemy could look at him and make him feel like he had walked into a sunlit room, like something in his belly softened and quieted.
He turned around, and urged Onyx back over the stream.
When he rode back into the castle, ambling gently through the gatehouse entrance, the sun was setting. He found Dunk waiting for him by the stables, a queer look on his face.
He knew I would be tempted, he realized at once. Promise or no promise, part of him thought I wouldn’t come back.
He rode up to him. To his surprise, Dunk approached and raised his arms to help him dismount.
Aerion almost chided him; it was absurd to give such assistance to an expert rider, though omegas were traditionally supposed to receive it as some old chivalric tradition. But something in Dunk’s eyes made it clear he wasn’t doing it to deride Aerion’s skill. It was meant as an act of service.
He took his feet from the stirrups and turned to sit sideways on the horse. Then he laid his hands on Dunk’s shoulders, while the knight supported his waist, and he went down on him. But they were too close; the movement caused his body to slide against Dunk’s, giving the prince a good feel of the hardness of his chest and the firmness of his arms. His cheeks heated up.
They looked at each other for a few moments. “Good evening,” Dunk said softly. “How was your ride?”
“Good evening. It was… it was… satisfactory.” He was going to tell him about the fields and the stream, and the thickness of the pine forest, but he found himself at a loss for words.
Dunk smiled gently. “You’ve just missed supper.”
“Oh. I— I lost track of time.”
“I’ll sup with you in our rooms, if you want.”
“You haven’t eaten either?”
The knight shook his head. “No. Beside, you did promise to talk to me about that whole estate business, right? I can’t let you get away with breaking your word.”
Aerion nodded; he’d almost forgotten about that. “Of course, as you wish.”
Back in their solar, they had a plain but pleasant supper of fruit, bread, and crab stew. As the servants were taking the plates away, Aerion rested his arms on the table and sighed. “I suppose I had better start explaining.”
Dunk took a sip of his ale, nodding. He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Uh… Plainly, if you can. I don’t have much of a mind for numbers.” He looked very abashed.
“Yes, yes.” He frowned, trying to think of where best to begin. “Well, things are somewhat uncertain, at the moment. We’re mostly reliant on fishing, obviously, in Saltcrest and Greentide. Then there’s the trade of peat and iron from what bogs happen to lie in our territory, and wood from the forests. But as for crops, well…” He pursed his lips. “The soil around here is not very fertile. We grow rye and barley and oats, mostly, but none at great yields. I think we'll need to buy seeds from somewhere else if we are to improve. And perhaps we could turn some of the heaths and wastes into farmland. That would help feed us better, Gareth says.” He sighed. “And, of course, Willem says there is a good market for wool, so we should invest in more sheep instead. But that would mean destroying farmland, to expand the pastures.” He frowned. “I’m not sure what would be the best option, if it’s any of them. And they all need coin, of course.”
“Do we have coin?”
“Almost none. Taxes around here are low, and mostly given in kind, not silver. And we need to pay wages, and start repairing this sorry little keep of yours. I apologize, but every time I look at those walls I feel like punching someone. Call it my omega nesting instinct or something, I don’t bloody know. But I need to fix this place back up, if it kills me.” Which means my jewels will have to go after all. He clenched his teeth.
Dunk was grinning a little. “I’m glad you’re so passionate about this, at least. I was afraid you were just bored of everything around here.”
He scoffed. “Well, I am glad you find it amusing. I’m sure your little escapades are far more entertaining than my poring over numbers all day, Ser Loiterer.”
“They are,” he said, quite unabashed, “which is why you ought to come with me from now on.”
Aerion grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. “I think not.”
“Why not? You need a rest from all this, at least—”
Aerion shook his head. “No.” He had no desire to dine and drink with peasants and fisherfolk, who would whisper curses and jests the moment he turned his back. “You are doing the socializing just fine by yourself. Get back to the matter at hand, ser. We shouldn’t let this discussion go astray, it’s supposed to be important.”
Dunk faltered at his brusque tone. “Alright. You said we don’t have much food in our stores right now, right? I think that’s important.”
“Well, there’s enough to keep the castle fed if there’s a short siege or a drought or some such. But certainly not enough for a real crisis, and not enough to aid the smallfolk if they need it.”
Dunk gave him a hesitant look. “I’m surprised you care about the smallfolk.”
Aerion shrugged. “It is not a matter of caring. When the lord cannot help his people, they either desert him or take up arms. There are only a dozen men-at-arms in this castle, Dunk. I would prefer to not end up a head on a spike.”
“Surely your family would not allow that, no matter what happens,” Dunk protested.
Aerion shrugged. “Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. I would not wager my life on it. I have clearly already flown out of their minds like a bothersome bug driven out of the room.”
Dunk hesitated. “Has no one written yet?”
He gave a bitter little laugh. “No. And I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”
“Aerion, it’s only been, what, two weeks since the wedding? Three weeks? I’m sure they’ll write soon, or visit. At the very least, your siblings—”
“My siblings!” Aerion flared up. “Who? Daeron? Oh, I’m sure he misses me, but only because Father’s attention is all on him now. His backside is rather sore, you can count on that.” His older brother had always received the brunt of Maekar’s discipline, and since their father tended to brood like a baited bear, it must be even worse for him now. “My sisters? They will hardly notice I’m gone. And you surely do not expect Egg to write to me, do you?”
“What of your cousins, or your grandsire? He is said to be very kind, I’m sure he will be thinking of you—”
“My cousins surely blame me for Baelor’s death. And my grandsire wasn’t even at our wedding, Dunk. More important things to do than watch his embarrassment of a grandson shame the family name yet again, I’m sure.”
Dunk stared at him for a few moments. “More important things,” he said flatly. “Aerion, do you realize King Daeron is probably grieving? Did you stop to consider that at any point?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but abruptly stopped. He had the sudden, nasty realization that Dunk was right. He hadn’t given much thought to his grandfather’s pain.
“He lost a son,” Dunk said patiently. “His firstborn son. His heir. But that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you, or that he doesn’t love you. Of course he cares for you, he must.”
Aerion grimaced, half in guilt and half in irritation. He started fidgeting with Dyanna’s ring on his finger, twisting it back and forth. “And marrying me off was what, a kindness?” he asked bitterly. “He could have stopped my father if he wished.”
“No, it wasn’t a kindness. But his mind can scarcely be working right at the moment. And he’s an old man, isn’t he? Past sixty?”
“So that excuses him leaving me at the mercy of someone who hates me? Who could have done whatever he wished to me?” His temper rose. He looked away from Dunk’s pleading face, bristling. “Tell me, Ser Duncan. Had you been a different man, what would have stopped you from raping me that first night, and every night thereafter?”
There was a little pause, and then Dunk spoke with a strained, hoarse voice. “I’m not excusing anyone. I’m just saying that he is bound to still care for you. And he must have reasoned that I was honorable enough to not do that—”
“For once in your life, think, Dunk. Honorable men still take vengeance. Honorable men can still be corrupted. No. If I am to remain unforgiven, I will not give any of them the benefit of compassion. If I am unforgivable, so is my grandsire, and my father, and the whole lot of them. They knew who you were. A hedge knight, my sworn enemy, the one I tried to murder or maim. They bound me in marriage to you anyway, when you had all the cause in the world to despise me. I hurt your precious Egg, I hurt Baelor, I hurt your mummer girl—”
“Tanselle.” Duncan snapped, his voice dropping.
The prince looked up, startled. “What?”
The knight’s face was cold, blanched white. He’d bitten his lip, Aerion saw with surprise. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.
“Tanselle.” The alpha said cooly. “Her name was Tanselle, not mummer girl, and you broke her finger. And never once, even since our wedding, have you apologized for it.”
Aerion shot up, fists clenched, but Duncan kept going, his voice raised. “And Egg! You hurt Egg so much that he wanted you to die, Aerion. He is nine years of age, and he looked across the field and shouted ‘kill him.’ You have said nothing of that either. You feel guilt, aye, you are in pain. I've said it, I’ve seen it, I’ve held you in the night while you wept. But have you even apologized to anyone, or tried to make amends? You can complain about not being forgiven all you want, but you have not even bestired yourself to ask for it!"
The big knight sighed, his shoulders slumping.
“I am sorry that you were forced to wed against your will. I am. I saw how desperate and afraid you were at our wedding, it was written all over your face, it was coming out in your scent. When I entered our bedchamber it smelled like a wild animal being cornered by wolves. When I heard you weeping in our marriage bed something twisted in my gut. I know what they did to you was wrong. I’m not asking you to forgive, I’m not asking you to forget. But you cannot sit there, arguing about not being forgiven yourself, and not even try!”
There was a long silence. Aerion stood frozen, staring down at the seated Dunk, his eyes burning with angry, unshed tears. Humiliation and affront were churning in his insides like snakes.
“Get out,” he hissed. “Get out of my sight.”
The knight nodded stiffly. “As you wish. Your Grace.”
When he was gone, Aerion fell back down on the chair, heavily. The rage seemed to have been fleeting; it slowly went out of him, replaced by a deep, aching exhaustion, a shame as sharp and cold as a bucket of ice dropped over his head.
How did I muck everything up again? I was meaning to help him.
It was the same way he’d fumbled everything else in his life. Maekar had doted on him, until Aerion proved to be unruly and rebellious. Daeron had loved him dearly, until his cruelty began to come forth. Baelor had been gentle and supportive, until Aerion killed him.
Daeron had told him how their uncle died, unthinking, while Aerion was still recovering. He remembered his brother apologizing afterwards, spouting a stream of comfort and sympathies while Aerion was retching over a basin. “It’s alright, brother, it will pass. When the bile comes out it means there's nothing else in your belly. I would know.”
He bit his lip. I won’t weep again. I’ve wept more during the past month than in all my previous life, I’m sick of weeping.
When his handmaids walked in, he fled to the bedchamber, unspeaking. He sat on the bed and pulled the coverlet around his shoulders, staring at the hearth. He didn’t go to sleep. He waited.
By the hour of the owl, he realized Dunk would not return tonight. He sighed, then rose and threw a cloak over his shoulders, to shield him from the night’s chill. He stepped through the solar carefully, mindful to not wake Kyra and Sam. He took a lantern from the cupboard and lit it, wondering where the knight had found shelter in. The great hall? The stables? But Dunk had been very careful to not stir gossip before, and bedding down like a servant certainly would. He’s not gone to sleep, Aerion realized. He’s going to just wait for dawn, and then pretend he was on an early stroll if someone sees him. He’s spending the night outdoors. And suddenly, he also knew where.
The garden looked wild and lonely beneath the moonlight, hedges and trees forming harsh shadows. But the sky was full of stars, the moon full and bright. A good sign, surely.
Duncan was sitting down by an apple tree, but when he saw Aerion approaching, he rose. He didn’t say anything. His expression in the half-light was indiscernible, so Aerion had to move very close to see his face properly. He moved slowly, hesitantly, almost waiting for the alpha to rebuke him, to send him away. But he didn’t.
Aerion laid the lantern on the ground next to them, and looked up at Dunk’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said weakly.
Dunk just stared at him, eyes piercing and unsure. Aerion bowed his head.
“I’m sorry. For Tanselle. For Egg. For all it. I know what I have done. I knew from the moment I woke up after the trial, wounded and in despair. I didn’t…” He blushed, though he doubted Dunk could see it in the low light. “When you wed me, part of me just believed I deserved whatever fate was in store for me. I woke up every day waiting for you to snap, to take vengeance. You never did. You shame me at every turn, just by choosing to do better than I would. I used to hate that. But now…” He trailed off, unsure. “I am sorry for dragging you into all this. I am sorry for hurting you, again and again, for no better reason than my own shortcomings. Forgive me, Ser Duncan.”
He dared not raise his head, afraid of what he would see in Dunk's eyes. There was a long, awful silence. And then he felt calloused fingers, brushing against his face.
Dunk lifted his chin, gently leading him to look up. His expression was unreadable, but suddenly there was a new scent in the room, rising with the alpha’s pheromones; light, airy, and safe. Aerion shuddered, his own scent subtly changing.
The knight wiped the tears from Aerion's cheeks, tears he hadn't even realized had fallen. “I forgive you,” he said softly.
Aerion breathed deep. His eyes became sharp and focused, drinking in the lines of Dunk's face. The moonlight gave it a soft, silvery glow, but the small, swaying flame of the lantern made the shadows dance. He knew the alpha's lip was still split from when he’d bitten it.
Fire and blood, he thought idly.
He raised himself on his tip toes, and wrapped his arms around Dunk’s neck. The knight understood, as clearly as if their desires were linked. He bent down, and Aerion kissed him on the lips.
It was a gentle kiss at first. He drank in the smell of green apples, then a deeper, fresh scent of summer breeze and rainfall, then, deepest of all, the pure scent of clean earth. He gasped against Duncan's lips, drawing closer almost without his own volition, opening his mouth wider. The alpha was responding in turn, his mouth warm and rough, his hands wrapping tight around Aerion's waist, pulling him in.
It could have lasted for a moment, or a year. Aerion only came back to earth gradually, gently, trembling as he pulled back. He didn't know why he had done it. He didn't know what the alpha was thinking.
Dunk ran his fingers through the prince’s silvergold hair. His hand moved to cup Aerion's cheek, with startling tenderness.
“Do you forgive me, Aerion?” he asked timidly. “For marrying you, even though you didn’t want it?”
He gave a little nod. “Yes,” he muttered, “yes.”
They stood still, gazing into each other's eyes.
The knight reached out to grasp Aerion’s arms. “You must be cold,” he said softly, “you’re only in a nightgown under this cloak. You should get back to our bedchamber.”
“Only if you come with me.”
“I will. I’ll come back to you.” He hesitated. “I will always come back.”
It felt, Aerion thought as they were walking away, like a promise.