Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. 

He woke up every morning with a sense of elation mixed with anticipation. It was as if he'd spent his whole life as a coiled up hatchling that was finally spreading its wings under the morning sun, basking in its warmth. 

His own sun was his knight, of course. It was Dunk's gaze that drew Aerion towards him like he was seeking to bathe in it, Dunk's smile that made him feel like he was being illuminated by a pure, radiant light. It was Dunk's touch that made his skin come alive and blossom with desire. 

But if the alpha was a sun, he was a gentle one. He was not the hot sun of Dorne, beating down mercilessly on white sandy dunes. He was not a sweltering Volantene day, with thick air and moisture clinging to the skin. His light did not try to burn, nor to dominate. That was Aerion's way; the dragon way, the way of fire and blood. But Dunk was the sun of Lys, of Summerhall; soft rays shining on blue waters, a spring afternoon graced with gentle breezes. 

If their first night together was a sweaty jumble of passion, the ones that followed were even more fervent. It was only two days later that Aerion woke Dunk up in the crack of dawn, laughing, and informed him that his heat had finally arrived. "You seem to have brought it on," he declared, "with all your wiles." Then he announced that he had to get back at the alpha, and declared boldly that he would have him in rut within the day. 

He won that wager. 

Their shared desire was exhilarating. Duncan in rut was delightfully passionate, all reticence forgotten. Nearly every time they fell asleep, the alpha would soon wake him, pressing up against his body, hissing that the omega's scent was driving him mad with lust again. Aerion felt like a wild dragon in his cave, caring only about his mate and their love. 

"What is my scent like, to you?" he asked the alpha one night, curious. "I mean, I've smelled myself, of course, but they say it's not the same." 

Dunk answered immediately. "Exotic," he said solemnly. 

Aerion laughed. "Exotic? Is that good or bad?" 

"Very good. You smell wonderful, Aerion. There are some southron smells, at first; lemon and orange blossom and jasmine, fresh and clean and flowery. But also something wild and darker underneath, like smoke and salt. It's enchanting. The way a true dragon prince ought to smell." 

He's telling me I smell like Dorne and Dragonstone, Aerion realized. He was so flattered by that description that he grabbed the alpha's neck and pulled him down on him, ending their brief conversation. 

By the time his heat was over, the prince had almost forgotten that a world existed outside their rooms. Boats were still being built, he knew, and limestone was being spread in the fields. But anything beyond that was irrelevant to him, until he finally woke one morning to find that his hormones had, at last, cooled down. The alpha was still fast asleep, his face peaceful; Aerion softly kissed his brow before rising to dress, without waking him. Dunk's rut had also abated, just the previous evening, and they'd both slept heavily through the night. 

His handmaids had figured out what was going on quick enough, and kept discreetly out of the way. When Aerion sat down for breakfast, his scent neutral again, they looked at each other knowingly. Sam merely blushed and stammered a greeting; but Kyra was, as always, braver. 

"My lord, you had a lively week," she pointed out, when Aerion announced that he would go riding. "Shall you not be needing some rest, for a while?" 

Aerion rolled his eyes. "I feel quite alright, Kyra. I could bloody well joust, not just ride." 

Surprisingly, they perked up at the mention of jousting. "I've been meaning to ask you, my lord," said the girl, hesitantly. "Do you think we could attend a tourney sometime, or a melee? Or even have one here, now that we have more coin? I've never been to anything like that, and neither has Sam." The boy nodded in agreement, vigorously. 

Aerion arched an eyebrow. "You two want to attend a tourney?" he asked, bemused. "Why?" 

Kyra seemed to take some offence to that. She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. "Well, why not?" she challenged. "Your lordship likes them, so why shouldn't we? What's so different about us?"  

Aerion felt strangely abashed. "Well, most omegas don't care about any of that," he said reluctantly. "You all seem to prefer needlework to swordplay." 

"I don't think there is anything wrong with preferring either of those things," Kyra said with some passion. "But I think many omegas would like to learn how to fight, if we were permitted. I used to sneak down to the barracks in my sire's keep to wield the spears and swords, sometimes." 

Aerion was intrigued. "Truly? You must be a rare breed, then, like myself." 

But she was shaking her head. "My pardons, my lord, but that is not true. There are many who would be eager to learn, but betas and alphas don't let them choose. My parents taught me to think for myself, but most omegas are punished even for that." 

He stared at her for a while, considering. Her words had given him an idea. "Kyra," he said calmly, "you should ride out with me today. You as well, Sam. You'll want comfortable clothing. I think it is past time that we all did a little experiment together." 

It was a long and vigorous morning. By the time they returned to the castle, it was past noon, and they were all sweaty and flushed, his handmaids still giddy with excitement. Sam was chattering more than he ever had since Aerion first met him, and Kyra was asking how soon they could practice again. Aerion laughed, telling her he would have to think about it. He sent them to the great hall in case they hadn't completely missed dinner, and went looking for Dunk. 

He found him at the far end of the garden, seated on a bench with Elaena by his side. Aerion stood for a moment to gaze at the sight; his alpha was framed by the flowering canopy of the largest pear tree, surrounded by branches full of beautiful white blossoms. The sunlight streaming through the foliage made Duncan look enchanting, bringing out the color of his tan skin and sandy hair. Aerion would have stayed unobserved for much longer, but Elaena spotted him and barked, making Dunk look up. The old hound ran straight to the prince, wagging her tail and boldly licking his hand. Aerion huffed. "You are getting rather presumptuous, for a mutt," he commented, looking down into her earnest brown eyes. 

"She knows she's named for a Targaryen princess now," Dunk retorted. "She's very proud of her royal House, you see." 

"Hmm. Never tell my father that, please. If he finds out you made a ragged old bitch into an honorary dragon, he may never speak to you again. He's as prickly as a bloody porcupine, when it comes to his lineage." He reached out to pet the dog's tawny head. 

"I shall try to not be pricked," said Dunk, grinning. "How are you, my prince? You left in haste this morning, I was loath to wake without you by my side." 

"Poor knight. Well, I am here now." He sat down across from Dunk, Elaena plopping down at his feet. The benches were Aerion's idea; he refused to sit on branches like a squirrel every time he wanted to visit his own garden. "I have a proposition to make." 

"I'm listening." 

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Do you think you might be ready to drill with me?" he asked. "I won't get angry if you're not, but I was thinking… it would be useful to stay in good form, for us both." 

Dunk pondered on it. "Alright," he said softly. "We can try. I do need some training, that's quite plain. And it may even help me forget about the trial, if we fight in more pleasant circumstances." 

Aerion beamed at him. "Thank you." 

"Don't thank me. In truth, I was restless before, just riding around all day. Lovemaking fixed that, but we can hardly stay in bed forever. I cannot be so idle. Even today, I grew restless again, without you."  

"Did you do nothing all day?" 

"I did. I practiced my reading. Gareth says I'm doing great." 

"Good. You should start working on sums, as well." 

"I know how to count, Aerion," Dunk protested, piqued. 

"Arithmetic is not just about counting," Aerion retorted. "You'll see when you start learning. So you ought to practice again after dinner. The sooner you're done with reading, the sooner we can move on to other things." 

"You'd be a formidable schoolmaster. As you say. What will you do after dinner?" 

Aerion gave him a little provocative grin. "Well, what do you order me to do, alpha?" 

Dunk raised one sandy eyebrow. "You may do as you like." 

The prince scoffed. "You are a curious beast. Do you not want an obedient omega?" 

Dunk frowned a bit. "Sweetling, I'm an orphan from the streets of King's Landing. I never thought I would have any omega, much less one so highborn and lovely. And I don't think you owe me obedience and all that silly stuff some folk say, I've told you. Besides, I like your spirit. I only wish it hadn't turned to cruelty so often." 

"Well, that's been taken care of, hasn't it? I haven't been this well-behaved since… Well, actually, I was never this well-behaved. Why," he said teasingly, "if some pesky peasant insults me now, I think I may even let him keep his tongue." 

Dunk smiled in a crooked, roguish way. "Aerion, anyone who dares insult you will have to face me first. And remember, I'm part giant." 

"Indeed. But not nearly as savage as a giant, it would seem. You refuse to even take charge of me, and I'm just a puny omega." 

The knight huffed, exasperated. "Gods be good, Aerion, I've told you, I don't—" Then he paused, examining the prince's face for what seemed like a full minute. 

"Aerion," he said, very carefully, "are you saying that you want me to take charge of you? Is it your wish to be more... obedient?" 

Aerion snorted. "Well," he said solemnly, "it took you long enough, didn't it? I've been hinting at it for a while." 

Duncan's eyes widened, and then he gave a surprised laugh. He relaxed, squaring an ankle over one knee. "'Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall,' Ser Arlan used to say. You should be glad I figured it out at all. But why didn't you just tell me?" 

Aerion threw his hands up, sighing. "Because I didn't know exactly what I wanted. I'm not sure I know now, either. I don't actually want to be forced to do anything, clearly. I just... I think I would like it if you... If... If we played at it. My brother used to say that some people like that, in their lovemaking." Daeron would say many things when he was well and truly drunk, only to apologize once he sobered, mortified to have discussed such subjects with an omega. But the younger prince had merely found it amusing, and now it turned out that it had been educational, too. 

Dunk cocked his head. "What exactly do you have in mind?" 

"Well, mostly you commanding, and me obeying. But only when we both want it. Does that even make sense?" 

"I think so. I can try." He hesitated. "I must confess, this is not something I have a lot of knowledge about." 

"Perhaps we could start simple. Give me an order, anything that comes to mind. And if I truly don't want to do it, I shall tell you so." 

"What, here and now, in front of poor Elaena?" 

"Not anything lewd. Just give a simple command, to see how it feels." 

"Hmm. Like this?" Dunk cleared his throat, fixing a stern gaze on him. "Come here, and tell me how you spent your time today." 

Aerion's chest fluttered, warmth spreading in his belly. He licked his lips. "Oh." 

Dunk waited, then cracked a tiny smile. "You are supposed to do it, I believe, not just stare at me." 

"Oh." He flushed. "Right." He rose, moving to sit next to Dunk. "We rode to the stream down south by the woods, just I and Kyra and Sam. The daffodils are out by the waterside, and a pair of ducks have made their nest in the grass. We brought some eggs back to the castle." 

"Mhm. Go on." Dunk put a hand at the small of his back, softly stroking. 

"It was quite peaceful. We saw larks, beavers, and dragonflies, and broke our fast among the trees. There were many of the flowers you've shown me." 

"That's a good way to spend a morning. And then? You were gone for quite a while."  

"We did some swordplay," Aerion confessed. "With tourney swords, not sharp steel. I bought them from the smith down in Saltcrest." 

"Swordplay? With your omegas?" 

"They should know how to defend themselves," Aerion protested. "I am not the only omega in Westeros who can fight, you know." 

"I am aware. Isn't one of those she-wolf Stark girls an omega?" 

"Yes, and she supposedly hunts bears and fights in every melee held in the North." 

The knight's hand was still stroking his back. Aerion leaned against his shoulder, rubbing his face on his sleeve. Dunk chuckled, holding him close. "Are you feeling alright, my princeling?" 

"Mhm." He breathed in Dunk's scent, as if even a few hours apart had been too long. The aroma soothed him, clearing his head, bringing new inspiration. "I know something else we can try," he muttered. "I've thought about it sometimes. It's certainly not appropriate for the outdoors, however." 

"And what might it be?" 

Aerion sat up on the bench, trying to puzzle out a good way to phrase it. "Daeron told me about this, as well. It's a rather popular activity; apparently he, in particular, loves it. But it's something a bit more... intense." 

Dunk took a deep breath. "What do you mean?" His voice was level, almost artificially so. Clearly, he had some idea of what his mate was implying. 

Aerion swallowed, trying to find the words. His own reluctance annoyed him. You are a dragon, not a bleating sheep. Be blunt. "I am talking about chastisement." 

"Chastisement. You mean, physical?" 

"You cannot tell me you haven't at least considered it," Aerion said defensively. "I was trying to ruin your life, and you were attracted to me as well. Surely all that rage and lust mixed into some interesting fantasies." 

Dunk blushed. "I confess, there were times where I pictured taking you across my knee. It was... a titillating thought." 

"So you would enjoy it as well as I." 

"Yes," he admitted. "But... it would not be right to strike you." 

"But I want you to. It makes all the difference, don't you see? It is different the way us bedding each other is different to you taking me by force. It would be pretend, not the real thing." 

Duncan paused at his insistence, his face set in thought. "If we're pretending that way, I suppose you'll be acting unwilling. So we'd have to think up something to make sure you can still stop me, if you wish." 

"How about I say something special? Something that is not 'stop' or 'no.' Something unique." 

The knight perked up at the idea. "A Valyrian word, perhaps?" 

"Hmm. I cannot think of a particularly fitting one..." 

"It has to be something you wouldn't say otherwise, something unrelated to wooing. Unsavory, even." 

"Ashford," the prince blurted out. 

Dunk laughed. "Of course. What else would you think up?" 

"So will we try it?" 

Dunk smirked. "My prince, I think that we should move this conversation to our chambers, now." 

It was all Aerion needed to hear. He rose and took the alpha's arm, practically dragging him along. Elaena looked at them with a puzzled expression as she lay sprawled on the grass, seemingly too lazy to follow at their heels this time. When they reached the main keep, Aerion hurried up the steps so quickly that Dunk stumbled a bit, laughing. In their bedchamber, the prince locked the door, lowering the bar as well. He turned to the alpha, smirking. 

"You should take the lead now," he challenged. "So, what's next?" 

Dunk gave a boyish smile. "Well, I suppose we must needs find a cause. It is hardly believable for me to punish you for no reason." 

Aerion snorted, amused despite his trepidation. "Dunk, I think you have plenty of reasons." 

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but I wouldn't want us to use something too serious. That might... confuse things." 

The omega considered. "I am imprudent," he blurted out. 

Dunk chuckled. "Towards me?" 

Aerion shook his head. "No. Well, yes, but that is not what I meant. I keep snapping at people, and yesterday I called Wat a straw-headed dolt. Again." 

Dunk's eyebrows rose. "And you see that as an issue?" 

"I am... ashamed of it. Don't look so surprised, Ser Gallant, you're rubbing off on me. And it is frustrating to not be able to control yourself. My tongue has a will of its bloody own." 

"Hmm. Very well. It's more than good enough for me; I do get angry when you talk down to people, you know." 

"Good. Summon that anger, then." 

Dunk grinned, then sat on the edge of the bed. "Oh, not so fast. First, you will ask for what you want, directly." His face sobered, only a little. "Do you need me to punish you, little dragon?" he asked, in a very smooth, even tone. 

Aerion nodded, his heart pounding, still hardly believing his luck. He would never have guessed that Dunk would agree to this so comfortably. He felt his scent rise, thickened with lust. 

"Use your words," Dunk ordered. His voice was sharper, lower. A quick and easy change, slipping from gentle to commanding smoothly. His scent was rising in response to Aerion's, heavy with desire. 

Aerion shivered a bit, eagerness mixing with trepidation. "Yes," he said softly. "Please, punish me." 

"And do you remember that you can say the word 'Ashford', and I will stop at any time?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. Come here." His voice was a low growl, sending a shock down Aerion's spine. He obeyed, walking to Dunk in small, unsteady steps. 

"Sit on my legs." 

Aerion sat, straddling him. Their faces were very close together, and the alpha's eyes were dark with an intensity he had rarely seen in him. Aerion felt his cheeks color, but he didn't look away. He could hardly understand his own emotions; he was afraid, but it was somehow pleasurable, a wonderful thrill that had his blood pumping fast in his veins. 

Dunk was clearly excited as well; Aerion could feel his elevated heartbeat, and smell the sharpness in his scent. The knight was trying to be stern, however. "Do you understand that the smallfolk here spend their days working hard to serve us?" he asked solemnly. 

"I... Yes." 

"And do you understand that I was born as much a commoner as they are, an orphan from the slums? Your own husband?" 

"Yes, my lord." 

Dunk's eyes widened a bit at the honorific, but he kept going. "Good. I am glad your wit is as quick as ever. It will help you understand the rest." He took a deep breath. "Now, pull down your breeches, and bend over my lap." 

Aerion's heart was drumming in his ears. He rose and carefully arranged himself over the alpha's thighs, breeches unlaced and discarded. It was not the most comfortable position, but the alpha was large enough that Aerion felt secure. Dunk did not move for a while, simply letting him settle. 

Then Aerion felt the knight's palm gently resting against his bottom. A shiver went up his spine.  

"Now, tell me," Duncan asked levelly. "Have you ever been chastised like this?" 

"No." 

There was a pause. "Truly? Well, you're only a soft princeling, so I will temper my strength. But we still need the punishment to stick. Don't we?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Very well. Now, I will explain it to you plainly. Our household members are to be respected. Yes, they're here to serve, and they should be obedient to you as their lord. But that doesn't mean you've got the right to snap at them, or to raise your voice, or to demean them with vile names. If you do, I will correct that behavior." 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Good." Dunk pulled his hand back, and Aerion had but a moment to prepare before the palm came down hard on his arse. He gasped, but the first few slaps were more stimulating than outright painful. Duncan was being methodical, covering both cheeks, and leaving enough time between each smack for Aerion to recover himself. 

"I know you were raised in a royal household," the alpha lectured, between slaps, "but that does not exempt you from common decency. If anything, you ought to be held to a higher standard. If you want to be called a prince, you must learn princely courtesy." 

Aerion hissed as one smack landed on his sit spot, the first truly painful moment. "Yes, alpha." 

"Good boy." Dunk quickened the pace, hitting harder and faster. Aerion began to squirm, little whimpers escaping his lips. His whole bottom felt warm. When the knight landed a few swats on his upper thighs, he moaned and twisted in his lap. 

"None of that, now," the alpha chided. Aerion tried to stay still, but as the spanking continued to rise in intensity, his willpower was abandoning him. After one sharp swat to his left cheek, his hand shot up automatically, trying to cover the spot. 

Dunk simply grabbed Aerion's wrist and held his arm firmly behind his back, undeterred. Soon the omega's feet were twitching, and he was curling and uncurling his toes. Slick flowed from his entrance, arousal forming a hot, tight feeling in his belly. He moaned again, rubbing against Dunk's leg. 

"Settle down, omega. We are almost done." Yet he swatted harder, reaching a fast and brutal rhythm. Aerion couldn't help moving now, and crying out with every slap. Soon, he felt tears rising in his eyes, and let them flow. He hung his head, his bottom smarting as he was held firmly in his alpha's lap, his head empty of anything other than remorse and submission and bliss. 

When the first soft sobs began, Dunk finally relented. He stopped the spanking, resting his hand on Aerion's buttocks and rubbing gentle, slow circles on the inflamed skin. 

"Now," he said firmly, "tell me what you have learned." 

Aerion sniffled. "I-I must treat our household with courtesy." 

"Good. And why is that?" 

"Because they d-deserve respect, like you and I do." 

"That's right. And what are you not allowed to do?" 

"Yell. Call names. Insult them." He sniffled again. "I am sorry, alpha." 

Dunk gently pulled him up, sitting him on his lap to look at his face. "You are forgiven, my prince. You were a good boy. Took it very well." He wiped his tears away. 

Aerion melted at the praise. He settled against the knight's chest, closing his eyes. He did not remember the last time he had felt so calm, so at peace. His heart was beating in a steady rhythm, and the fire he always carried within him seemed to have transformed into a gentle, sweet warmth. 

They lay down on the bed, and Dunk covered them both with a blanket. Aerion stayed still for a while, his hand resting on the knight's chest. 

"Seven hells," he said finally, drawing a bark of laughter from Duncan. 

"That good?" 

"My arse is sore and my thighs are wet with slick, but yes." 

"Poor lad. I'll clean you up later, myself. Or do you want your handmaids to help? I can send for them, they can bring some dinner as well. You must be hungry—" 

"Don't you dare get up," Aerion snapped, "Just stay here and let me hold you, you ridiculous giant." 

Dunk snorted. "Your wish is my command, as always." 

Aerion smoothed his cheek against the knight's chest, while Dunk petted his hair. "I can't believe you had never been spanked before." 

He shrugged. "My father always threatened to do it, swearing that I needed the rod to set me straight. But somehow he never did. Daeron was often being whipped, but I was the one being yelled at, mostly. Oh, and he did threaten to send me to the silent sisters, but only once." Aerion had very calmly asked Maekar if he remembered what had happened to Saera Targaryen when she was bundled off to the silent sisters, and, like magic, his father never mentioned it again. 

"Mhm. I should put you over my knee more often, then, to make up for lost time."  

"You should. Especially when I tell you to." 

The prince would have lain back down, but Dunk looked like he wanted to say something else, his brows knitting together in thought. Aerion held his tongue, waiting. 

"I do have to ask for one thing," the alpha said at last, "regarding our household." 

"Oh? You are not about to make me go around apologizing to everyone, are you?" 

Dunk laughed. "No. Just this: get to know them better." 

Aerion frowned. "I do know them, Dunk. I've been living with them for months. Sam and Kyra sleep in the next room, in case you haven't noticed." 

"We have thirty people living in the castle with us, my love," Dunk said, patiently. "Are you telling me you know them all?" 

"Well, I should think so. I've supervised their work, several times." 

"Alright. What is the laundress' name, then?" 

The prince opened his mouth to respond, indignant, then discovered that nothing at all came to mind. He bit his lip. He knew the laundress well enough, he thought; she was a burly, no-nonsense woman who spoke little but worked a lot. But her name? "I… I don't…" 

"And the cook? He makes our food every day, surely you ought to know him. What's his name? What village is he from?" 

"I'm not sure, I…" 

"The boy who tends the hounds? He has a way with them, you know. What about our stablehands? The maidservants who clean our rooms? The scullions in the kitchens?" 

Aerion stared at the knight. "Well," he said, abashed, "you're making me feel like I should be back over your knee, Duncan." 

The alpha leaned in to kiss his forehead. "I'm sorry; I'm not trying to do that. I just wanted to make a point. You ought to know everyone, and not just because it's courteous. They'll love you better if you show an interest, and if the need should arise, you've got to be familiar with every tool in your hands. You're the one who told me to be vigilant, that the Blackfyres invaded not too long ago. Well, follow your own counsel. Not everyone can wield a sword, but even the meanest serving boy can prove useful, in his own way." 

Those words stayed in Aerion's head, for days afterwards. He did as Dunk advised, gathering some interesting information along the way. The laundress — whose name, he made sure to note, was Gunna — had served the old lord too, about whom she had many choice tales. A guard called Myrtle had grown up near Dyre Den, and knew the Cracklaw bogs like the back of her hand. One of the stablehands, a wisp of a girl who couldn't have been more than ten, proudly declared that her name was Scout, "and I live up to it, too. I gots good eyes and better ears, milord, I'd see the foe from miles." She made Aerion promise, to his great amusement, that he would come to her first, should he be in any need of scouting. Other names were less droll; one of the scullions introduced himself as Rat, which had Aerion so scandalized that he almost told the lad to just pick a new name. "A rat?" he asked Dunk that night, still incredulous. "In the kitchens?" That made the knight laugh so hard that Aerion smacked him with a pillow. 

They began drilling as well, and it was surprisingly easy. Aerion was rusty, but it all came back to him rather quickly, and Duncan, to his relief, found it pleasurable as well. The first time they sparred, the two of them were evenly matched; a week later, Aerion was disarming Dunk twice a session. He couldn't disguise his triumph, even though he suspected the alpha was holding back. "You are dead, again." he declared one morning, the tip of his tourney sword against Dunk's throat. 

The alpha narrowed his eyes, then brushed the blade aside and swept Aerion off his feet, dragging him down on the verdant field they had chosen as the day's training ground. He straddled the prince, drawing a surprised laugh. "Is that honorable conduct, my lord? Seems like dirty tactics to me. Have you turned back into a rogue?" 

Dunk's eyes twinkled. "A rogue? Is that sufficient respect for your lord husband?" 

"Sufficient respect for an oaf," Aerion said, greatly daring. 

"Hmm. I see what the issue is. It's been too long since you were chastened." He flipped the prince on his stomach, holding his arm behind his back and pushing just firmly enough to hold him down without hurting him. He laid a lazy smack on Aerion's backside. "Tell me again how I'm an oaf," he said pleasantly. 

"Well, now you're just shameless," the prince whined. "We're outdoors." 

"Worried some peasant will pass by? Maybe the smallfolk will enjoy knowing that your busy tongue gets you in trouble sometimes." 

"From what I recall from the night we consummated our marriage," Aerion said mildly, "it is your busy tongue that got us in trouble. We barely left that room for a week." 

"Well, now you've done it. I hope you're happy with yourself, because we're not leaving here until you get your just rewards." 

In the end, Aerion got much more than that. They left hours later, smiling, their clothes in disarray. 

Not all of their sessions were this exciting, of course; most of the time, Aerion took his omegas along, or practiced with the men-at-arms in the castle. Soon he had all of them drilling every morning, the yard coming alive with the ringing of steel. He discovered a lot of pleasant surprises. Their captain-of-the-guard, Eric, was barely more than twenty, but not nearly as inexperienced as he looked. He was deft and strong, and as calm and collected when fighting as he was awkward when doing anything else. Myrtle was rather agile with a spear, while old Harwyn had so many tricks up his sleeve that the prince highly doubted his claim that he'd only fought in one battle before, and "on the side of yer noble grandsire, of course, m'lord". 

Even Sam proved to have potential. The boy might be meek and shy, but his instincts were good, and he read his opponents easily. He even disarmed the ferocious Kyra a few times, though he would follow each victory with a string of stammering apologies, to everyone's amusement. 

Aerion was happier than he'd ever been in his life. Everything was falling into place. He spent mornings riding or drilling, afternoons looking through accounts, evenings in passionate bliss. He could easily keep going like this forever, he thought, as untiring and unceasing as the flame of a Valyrian glass candle. 

Yet, a few weeks later, he made a discovery that could change everything, in a heartbeat. And despite his initial daring, he didn't quite know how to feel about it. 

He didn't immediately go to Dunk. He waited until they were undressing for bed, torn between fear and hope. Then he stood in front of the knight, half-naked, shivering. "Duncan," he said softly, "I need to speak to you." 

Dunk looked up, smiling, but his face fell when he saw Aerion's expression. He rose, concerned. "What's wrong, my prince? You look half a ghost. Did something happen with the estate, or your family, or—" 

"No," Aerion muttered. "Everything is fine. I've heard nothing new from my kin. The last of the shipments left yesterday, and we have the deposits. And most of the boats are nearly finished; I rode down to Saltcrest two days past. We're doing great, they all tell me." 

"Then why do you look so upset? What is it, sweetling?" 

Suddenly he was fighting back tears. "Why do you love me, Dunk?" he asked in a small, timid voice. 

"What? What do you mean?" 

"I can't understand it, sometimes. Attraction or not, apologies or not, most alphas in your position… Anyone in your position… Why do you love me? What have I ever done, to be worthy of it?" 

Dunk was silent for a long time, regarding him with thoughtful, tender eyes. Then he approached. He placed one hand on Aerion's shoulder, and used the other to gently lift the omega's chin. "Because I see you," he said at last. "You've worn cruelty like a suit of armor, perhaps all your life. But I can see beneath. You're half-divine, my prince. Flame unquenched. And you've changed. You're being selfless, you're helping people, it's astounding to me how much you're helping. You make me the happiest I've ever been in my life. Every morning I wake up beside you, I can scarcely believe my good fortune. So of course I love you, Aerion. And of course you're worthy of it." 

The knight's ardor shook him out of his desolate mood. He no longer felt like weeping; he just stared up at Dunk, uncertain. "I'm afraid," he said shakingly.

"Why are you afraid?" 

He took a deep breath. "Because I am with child," he confessed, barely above a whisper. 

Dunk reacted with the shock of all sires, since time immemorial. He stared in pure, dumbfounded bewilderment, unspeaking, as the realization settled. Then, his face lit up, like sunlight breaking through clouds. 

"Are you certain?" he managed to ask, voice hushed and reverent. 

Aerion nodded. "I wasn't, at first; I missed two heats before, so I thought this might be similar. But I saw Gareth today, and he says it's very likely. And also… I can feel it, Duncan. I don't even know how, but I can. There is a child. There will be a child." 

Dunk reached down to touch the omega's abdomen, then hesitated. "Aerion, you should only do this if you want to. Don't concern yourself with me; if you're not ready—" 

But his doubts were clearing up again; his alpha had managed to banish them. "I do want to. I just needed… I just had to be sure… I needed you, Dunk." 

The alpha did touch him then, laying a gentle palm over his stomach. "You have me, my prince. I'll always be yours. Never doubt that." 

Aerion looked up at him calmly, his courage returning. "I won't. I promise, I will never doubt you again. I am yours and you are mine, husband. For the rest of our days." He drew the knight down into a long, lingering kiss, sighing, muttering endearments. 

When he finally pulled back, he was smirking. "I have the perfect way to celebrate this, as it happens." 

Duncan smiled. "And what would that be?" 

"Why," he said pleasantly, "writing the perfect letter to Summerhall, of course. But it has to be delivered by a messenger, not a raven. I need someone to be able to describe the look on my father's face, when he reads all about how potent his new son-in-law is. This is what he asked for, after all; Targaryen heirs. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know all the wonderful details about how his first grandchild came to be. Now, I'll go fetch some ink and parchment. Please, do try and remember, so that I don't write anything inaccurate; did your rut last six days overall, or seven?"