Chapter Text
Maekar never wanted to be an omega; he wasn't fit to be one, not when he was tall and lean from all the training in the yard, nor with his ugly face and damned scars from the pox that took hold of him when he was younger.
Alas, he was an omega, and sooner or later, he would present as one, and the lords of the realm would gather around him like flies swarming a piece of meat, not because he was an ancient beauty of Valyria, but for the dragon blood that runs through his veins.
Maekar knew they would be disappointed when they saw him; he was no beauty of old Valyria, not like Rhaegal's soft omegan beauty. The only thing he had was his hair and eyes as something slightly enchanting, and he kept to them well, especially his hair. By five and ten, he had never cut it, keeping it long and soft and nicely trimmed. He never wore it down, always had it braided or tied up, in his mind, only his future alpha had the right to see his only trait of beauty.
"Excuse the interruption, your grace, the king requests your presence in the dining hall," the knight stationed on his chamber door called out to him. "I'll be there shortly".
...
It appears he arrived late, as all his family was already seated, his father at the head of the table, his mother parallel to him, Aerys and Rhagal on the left, and of course, his seat next to Baelor.
"Have I delayed you from breaking your fast? My apologies," Maekar said as he was taking his seat.
Aerys snorted from across him, lifting his eyes from whatever new book he was reading towards him, "Try to be sincere with your apologies, brother." Maekar just rolled his eyes and took a piece of bread to his plate.
His mother reached out to him, tucking a loose hair behind his ear. He had his hair braided, but it seems that in his hurry, he had not perfected it.
"Must you always braid your hair so? You have such beautiful colour, the same as your grandmother's," his mother said, fussing him around. He knew his mother loved him, but she always had something to say about how Maekar hides his true beauty, if he had any.
"That is true, my queen, I rather see quite the resemblance between our Maekar and my late mother," his father spoke with a hint of sadness in his eyes upon remembering the late, tragic queen Naerys. He does not remember what she looked like; she died when he was but 4 years or so, but he heard tales about her delicate beauty. He doubted he was comely enough to be compared to her.
"Indeed, brother, you looked too pretty with your hair down last I saw it," Rhaegal chimed in kindly. He was by far the gentlest of his brothers, touched by madness, some said. Rhaegal inherited their mother's hair, black as the night sky, with lovely lilac eyes and a pale complexion; he looked like a proper omega.
"Can we please stop discussing my hair?" he sighed, as he began savagely tearing the bread in front of him, which was not very omega etiquette of him.
He felt a hand tug at his braid. Baelor had lifted it and brought it close to his nose, close enough that his mouth almost brushed it. He did not say anything, just smiled and let the braid slip through his fingers. Maekar blushed furiously and refused to meet his brother's gaze; only Baelor could elicit such a reaction from him, only he.
Maekar was not naive to his own feelings; he had loved his brother for as long as he could remember, not the same love he had for Aerys or Rhagal. He always followed Baelor wherever he went, insisted on training with him, traveling with him, and even sleeping next to him, which was later forbidden by their mother when Maekar was announced to be an omega. The announcement broke him; he hid in his chambers for a week, crying his eyes out. He was meant to be an alpha or beta and spend his life next to Baelor, not shackled in silk and powder to be married off and made to squeeze heirs to some smug lord for the rest of his miserable life.
The thought of his inevitable fate disgusted him; it was better that he return to his chambers. Maybe he would have a training session at noon, though it was heavily looked down on for an omega to train at arms, he was blood of the dragon and a prince of the realm, and he would do whatever he wanted.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm not hungry," he said as he was standing up to leave.
"Maekar," his father called, "I have something important to discuss with you all". And so he had no choice but to sit back down.
Baelor reached his hand under the table and squeezed his thigh. He'd always done gestures like these, a squeeze or a touch, on the thigh or neck, but especially his hair.
"As you all know, I have been getting multiple betrothal offers from all over the realm," King Daeron spoke, eying all his children, "As you already know, Baelor is to be betrothed to the lady Jenna Dondarion, a most appropriate omega." Maekar felt Baelor's hand stiffen on his thigh, "Aerys to Lady Aelinor Penrose, a comely beta. That leaves you. "his father looked at him and Rhaegal.
Maekar knew he was to be betrothed with his first heat possibly coming really soon, but was he really to be sold off?
"I have arranged a tourney with my council for the coming of age of my youngest son, Maekar," his father spoke. Bealor rose abruptly.
"Father, he is still young-"
"The winner of this tourney will be granted your hand, Maekar," his father finished.
It was Maekar's turn to stand up. "This must be a jest, surely, you cannot sell me off as so," he yelled, tears threatening to fall.
His father sighed, his voice laced with exhaustion, "Maekar, I have arranged a tourney specifically for you. I know how much you value strength and valor. Do not fret, for all the suitors are made sure to be of proper rank."
"What about Rhaegal? He is older than I; surely you ought to betroth him first." Maekar did not want to use his brother as a scapegoat, but some situations call for certain measures.
"He is to be betrothed as well, though his betrothal choice is from the tourney celebrations, not the tourney itself." Maekar looked to Rhaegal, his brother, who did not seem shocked; he only had a sad smile on his face.
He turned to face his mother, who averted her eyes, then to Aerys, who looked down at his book, but his brows pinched. Finally, he looked to Baelor, his mismatched eyes unreadable, his face pressed, his hands clenched.
"You knew of this," he said calmly to Baelor. "You all knew of this," he yelled this time, looking around the table. He pushed away his chair and walked to the hall's entrance, he was no longer a child, he had to act with grace, he turned one last time to the table and all those sitting around it, he looked at his father tears streaming down his face, "As you wish your grace", he did not wait to hear a response.
...
A knock came at his door. He knew who it was from the scent, as he got closer to his presentation, scents became clearer to him; his favorite was the sweet caramel and vanilla scent coming from right outside his door.
The door opened, revealing Baelor, his brother, who was the image of the warrior, ten and eight, tall, broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, short-cropped dark hair, and his beautiful mismatched eyes, one violet, the other brown. He was undoubtedly Martell in appearance and Targaryen in fire.
"Maekar, I know you do not wish to see me," Baelor said, stepping forward towards Maekar. He was in his bed, wearing only his small clothes, his hair loose and messy from all the crying and tossing around. He was covered fully by his blanket, pulling it even tighter to protect his modesty from Baelor, an alpha.
"Do not step forward, brother, for we both do not wish for the ruin of our soon-to-be betrothals. We do not want Lady Jena fucking Dondarrion thinking you harbor any feeling for your omega brother, or I to you," he said from under the blanket, sniffling.
"Maekar-" Baelor tried to speak to him, his voice laced with the slightest hint of irritation and something darker.
Maekar really wanted to be left alone now, he tossed the blanket aside storming from his bed and stepping right in front of Baelor, he put a pointing finger to his chest, "I do not wish to hear anything from you, brother, you're to be married to another, and I am to be sold off like a broodmare, a fact that you knew well"
He turned around to his bed when he felt a strong hand tug at his scalp. Baelor had grabbed his hair with force yet gentle enough not to hurt him, "Do not walk away from me, Maekar," Baelor whispered in his ear, his breath hot and scent thick and musky.
Maekar felt his body tense up, his empty stomach clenched on itself, "As you have? Brother?"
Baelor lowered his mouth, almost growling, as he brought it close to the scent gland on Maekar's neck, his lips lightly touched it, then, without notice, he licked it slowly.
Maekar shuddered at the feeling, a whine escaping his mouth. Baelor's other hand grabbed his waist, pushing it backwards so they were chest to back.
"I won’t allow it, Maekar, you hear me? I would never allow it," he said deep and low against the exposed skin of the junction between his neck and collarbone.
"What can you do, my prince? I am to be wed to another lord" Maekar said his voice low, " perhaps a fat one, or a handsome one" Baelor loosened the grip on his hair, allowing Maekar to turn around and face his brother, "Tall and handsome, he will win the tourney, wed me before all to witness in the great sept, then on the wedding night he will take off my clothes, untie my hair, push me to our martial bed and fuck me-"
"Enough." Baelor warned, bringing Maekar ever so closer to him, their mouths mere inches apart, "There is no alpha in the seven kingdoms for you, brother, except for me. As there is no omega for me except you."
"Then what are we to do, Baelor?" Maekar said, his voice betraying him with a tremble, "Father had clearly stated that the winner of this damned tourney will be granted my fucking hand!"
"Fuck that, and fuck father’s tourney, I will cut through every single one of those dames and knights if it meant to get to you, sweetling" Baelor pulled him into a hug, playing with his hair, tugging and twisting the long silver strands, "I'd march half the realm into war if it meant i get to have you like this every night, to gaze upon your hair and face".
"You are not the king, brother, you're only the heir; besides, you should not jest so. I know my face is not pleasant to look at; you’re too honorable to say it," Maekar said, lowering his face, too insecure and self-conscious to look upon his brother.
"Look at me," Baelor said, lifting his chin so their eyes could meet, "Men would go to war for the sight of you, write songs about the mere glance of your hair, and the beauty of your eyes. I do not jest when I say it, you are the most beautiful creature my eyes have set upon, Maekar."
His brother said so sincerely and kindly that Maekar ought to believe him.
"I do not wish to be married to anyone but you, Baelor. I do not wish to spend a life next to anyone but you," he finally confessed what had been known between them for years.
"I know, brother, and I need you to trust me. Can you do that for me, sweetling?" Baelor said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
Maekar nodded. Bealor let go of him and gave him a slight smile as he stepped away towards the door.
"Wait," Maekar yelled to him. He reached Baelor and gave him a quick, shy peck on the lips.
"Seven hells, Maekar, you cannot do that and expect me to leave," Baelor growled.
"I thought you more honorable brother, a prince does not sully his bride before the wedding night now, does he?" Maekar said as a smirk tugged at his lips.
"The things you do to me, Maekar." Baelor opened the door with a smile on his face. Right before closing the door, he turned one last time to Maekar, "Do not ever appear as you are now in front of anyone," he said sternly, eying his small clothes and wild hair.
Maekar just turned back to his bed and grinned like an idiot.