Chapter Text
Chapter One
Well, at least they didn’t turn us away at the gate, Dunk thought as the stableboys took their horses.
He’d seen Honeyholt before while he and Ser Arlan made their way through the Reach, but only ever from a distance. Not a massive castle, but nor was it the smallest he’d seen. Tall and rectangular, strong walls protected it, and a distinctive buzz of bees echoed through the courtyard.
Many bees. Thousands.
Egg heard it the same time he did, leaping back and quickly tugging his hood around his head, but the servant leading them into the castle only laughed.
“They’re honeybees,” he promised. “Very gentle honeybees. Even when we take honey from the hives, they rarely sting so long as we’re calm and move slow.”
Egg swallowed, not at all reassured, but Dunk gave him an encouraging nudge forward.
“I’ve seen it myself. They won’t sting,” he promised his squire.
Of course, he couldn’t tell Egg where he’d seen it. That would involve bringing up Ashford before they even got inside the castle, and Dunk’s stomach was already twisted in knots.
Aerion alone was calm. His scent was even, unmarred by anxiety as they entered Honeyholt. He even cast a dry look at his brother when the younger princeling wrapped his arms around himself.
“They are bees. You are a dragon,” Aerion said lowly. “Behave like a dragon.”
Egg shot his brother a glare in return. “Perhaps you can grow scales whenever you please, but the rest of us understand that we’re no more than flesh and bone.”
A sharp spike of anger pierced Aerion’s scent. Were they alone, the comment might have had him breathing fire. But before he could fire a retort, the servant opened the door to Honeyholt’s great hall, where the Beesburys would receive them. So he swallowed it for now, clenching his jaw.
Remember, omega, you promised me you’d act princely.
But Aerion needed no reminder. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, the tension eased. Instead, he plastered on the mask he’d promised to don. Brows knit. Face soft. Not a mask of contrition, but one of respect and concern. The role of a prince.
A crock of shit, of course. Aerion saw every single person in this castle as beneath him. Had he not been responsible for getting their heir killed, he wouldn’t even behave this respectfully.
It’s a convincing crock of shit at least, Dunk conceded quietly. If he didn’t know Aerion, even he might have been convinced.
Dunk scarcely took a moment to look around the great hall as he entered. Enough to tell it was beautiful. Enough to register the yellow stone inlay in the floor, patterned to look like honeycomb. But beyond that, he couldn’t say. Blood pounded in his ears, sloshing stomach churning violently.
Humfrey died fighting for me. Him and his cousin both. Dead to save a hedge knight’s hand and foot.
He damn near lost the battle not to vomit when Lord Beesbury approached him, mouth pinched grimly. Dunk immediately knelt, head bowed.
Neither Egg nor Aerion knelt, but Egg followed his ser’s example, bowing his head respectfully and addressing Beesbury as ‘my lord’.
Aerion’s own greeting was far more subdued: a respectful nod of his head. “Lord Beesbury.”
I suppose he did warn me he had no intention of apologizing. Dunk swallowed his anger.
He waited for Beesbury to give him permission to rise, and when he did, Dunk hunched as much as possible so as not to force the shorter lord to look up at him.
“M’lord,” he greeted, then stiffened. Wait, I have an idea!
Dunk pointedly gestured at Aerion. “Please accept my gratitude for Humfrey’s honor and bravery. And please accept my apologies on behalf of my omega for your family’s tragic loss.”
Beesbury was a beta, as was his wife, who stood behind him. Some of the servants and guards littering the room were alphas and omegas, but they were standing several paces back. Too far back to smell the way Aerion’s scent burned, acrid and searing. Dunk could practically feel the fury radiating off him, though the omega said nothing and didn’t move so much as an inch.
In fairness, Dunk couldn’t blame him.
It never sat right with him that some alphas treated omegas as if they were property. They were people, not chattel. Normally, he would never speak for Aerion, let alone behave as if Aerion had no right to speak for himself.
But the Beesburys deserved a proper apology. And if Dunk had to endure Aerion’s fury later to give it to them, he would do it.
Beesbury accepted the apology with a grave nod of his own. “I carry no ill will towards you, Ser Duncan,” he promised. “My son had his own reasons for participating in the Trial of Seven. I suspect a quest for glory played no small part, but I would very much like to believe that he also did so to protect an innocent.”
From Aerion…The words went unsaid.
But to Dunk’s surprise, Beesbury glared at Aerion for only a second before relenting.
“I accept your apology, my prince. It would be petty to hold a grudge given the tragedy that has befallen your own family.”
Scent still sharp, Aerion let no trace of rage show on his face, brow still furrowed. “My Uncle Baelor would have been a great king,” he agreed. “He is sorely missed.”
Beesbury blinked, frowning. “Well…yes…” he said slowly. “But I was referencing the more recent tragedy. Our maester received word only three days past.”
Recent…oh no.
Dunk’s heart leapt into his throat, twisting to look at Egg. Only nine years old, the boy somehow managed to keep himself composed, only the slightest tremble in his tiny shoulders.
Oldtown. The sickness…Egg’s worst fears about his favorite brother had come true.
“If you’ve been traveling, I expect word from King’s Landing hasn’t reached you yet,” Beesbury added.
What?
“King’s Landing?” Aerion asked, clearly drawing the same conclusion Dunk had. “We’d heard there was a sickness in Oldtown, where our brother is learning to become a maester.”
Beesbury was shaking his head before Aerion even finished his sentence. “The sickness isn’t just in Oldtown, my prince,” he said grimly, face twisted. “It’s hitting all the big port cities. King’s Landing was hit far harder than Oldtown.”
Egg drew a sharp breath, eyes wide. Oldtown, he’s been prepared for, but King’s Landing…
Beesbury winced, gesturing for Dunk and the princelings to follow him deeper into the castle. “Perhaps it’s best we speak in private.”
*************
“So,” Aerion calmly said to Egg when the Beesburys granted them privacy in their guest suite, “it seems you and I have both moved up in the line of succession.”
Egg wheeled on him with a snarl, grabbing a throw pillow from the settee and hurling it at his brother with every ounce of strength in his small body. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!” he roared, tears streaming down his face.
The pillow struck Aerion square in the chest, but the prince only rolled his eyes.
“Aerion,” Dunk said, squeezing Egg’s shoulder before striding over to his omega. “Did you hear Lord Beesbury? Your grandfather is dead. Valarr is dead, and Matarys as well.”
Each name struck Dunk like a knife in the heart. Baelor’s entire line has ended.
After Baelor died, it had been some small comfort to Dunk that his sons were still alive. Valarr was as good and honorable a man as his father had been, Baelor kept alive through him. But now with both sons dead, the last trace of Baelor was gone, and it was like watching him die all over again.
I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…
Guilt Aerion did not share.
“My grandfather was a good man, a good king, but I scarcely knew him,” Aerion said. “I made my peace with his inevitable death some time ago. He was an old man, and I knew the Stranger would come for him sooner rather than late.”
“He’d not yet reached his sixtieth year!” Egg protested, pacing back and forth across the suite’s living area while his tears continued to flow. “He might have lived another decade!”
“Unlikely,” Aerion said coolly. “His father and grandfather both died right around their fiftieth year. Nearly every Targaryen King died well before his sixtieth year. It was his time.”
Dunk winced, but in fairness, Aerion wasn’t entirely wrong. Ser Arlan had been right around that same age, and as much as Dunk grieved him, he knew it had been his ser’s time as well.
“And our cousins?” Egg demanded, sniffing. “Are you going to tell me it was their time as well?”
“Of course not,” Aerion conceded. “And if you wish to mourn them, I shan’t judge you for it. But I will not.”
Roaring again, Egg launched himself at Aerion, but Dunk caught him around the middle, stopping him. The boy kicked, twisted, and screamed to get free, spitting fire at his brother, but the fire burned out just as quickly. Bones and muscle failing him, Egg collapsed in Dunk’s arms, gripping him tightly while he sobbed.
“I’m sorry, Egg,” he said, hugging him and rubbing his back.
He sniffed, trying and failing to rein in his tears. “Everyone keeps dying.”
I wish I could tell you it gets better, boy, but we live in a harsh world. These won’t be the last people you lose.
Words that could wait until Egg had gotten out the last of his tears.
He didn’t even notice Aerion quietly leaving the room. Not until he heard the door to one of the suite’s bedchambers open, then shut again. Uncomfortable with his brother’s grief, mayhaps. Or simply craving some time to himself. Either way, Dunk was not about to go chasing after him just yet.
Egg’s tears finally slowed, and Dunk helped him over to the settee, coaxing him to eat some of the food the Beesburys had left for them. He even allowed him to have a cup of wine, though the boy only drank a few sips before giving the rest to Dunk.
“They were always nice to me,” Egg said softly, nibbling on a small piece of cheese. “When I was in King’s Landing, they were always nice to me. Valarr especially. He knew what Aerion was like. Daeron loves me, but he’s a drunk and barely knows where he is half the time. Valarr…”
Egg bit his lip. “Valarr is the older brother I wish Aemon and I had.”
Dunk had no idea the right words to say. Death surrounded him since he was a young boy in Fleabottom, claiming more people than he could even remember, and yet still, Dunk didn’t know the right words to say to ease Egg’s pain.
It may be that there are no words. I don’t know if any words could have taken away mine either.
And so Dunk just sat with him, rubbing his back and encouraging him to tell stories of Valarr. The boy had a few silly ones, and in time, a small smile returned to his face, the happy memories chasing away a bit of the pain.
“That’s what you gotta hold on to, Egg,” Dunk said. “Losing Ser Arlan…well, I don’t like to think about that. But I do like to think about everything he taught me. The years we spent together. Those memories make me happy. Make it feel like…”
Like part of him is still with me.
Crying had exhausted Egg, and so Dunk helped him to the suite’s second bedchamber, then gave him one last pat on the shoulder before leaving him to settle into bed. When he was sure Egg no longer needed him, Dunk drew a breath to fortify himself, then crossed the living area to the bedchamber Aerion had chosen.
Of course, he made himself right at home.
Freshly washed with some of the water the servants had left, Aerion had changed into his night clothes and climbed into bed. A pitcher of wine sat beside him on the nightstand, a half-full cup in his hand while he stared at a book in his lap. Had clearly eaten as well; a crummy plate sat on the table in the bedchamber’s little sitting area.
No sign that he was in any way distressed by the news.
“You truly do not grieve them?” Dunk asked softly.
Aerion did not look up from his book. “The death of a king is a loss for my House, of course. But my cousins misliked me even before Ashford. It would have been far worse after.”
“They were your blood.”
“I did not kill them. Nor did I wish them dead. Had Valarr become king, I would have bent the knee and accepted his rule, because he was the blood of the dragon, and he was ahead of me in the line of succession,” Aerion said. “I’m not pleased to hear that they are gone. I simply don’t care.”
Dunk folded his arms, unsure of how his omega’s words made him feel. We are expected to love our cousins…But the older Dunk grew, the more he learned that families were complicated things. He never had any siblings or cousins of his own; how did he know he wouldn’t have felt the exact same way if a cousin he misliked grew sick and died?
Aerion’s gripped a page, his eyes stilling. “I was…relieved,” he admitted. “The sickness has not found its way to Summerhall. It is good my father and Daeron chose to remain there when Aerys was crowned and named Bloodraven his Hand.”
Dunk only loosely understood who ‘Bloodraven’ was, but he didn’t ask. “Maekar is a good man,” he said instead. “I’m glad he’s safe as well.”
A brief look passed through Aerion’s eyes. The same one he always wore when his father came up. Somewhere halfway between pain and longing. A look smothered quickly, as it always was.
He loves you, Aerion. But Dunk knew better than to say it.
“I’m certain it would relieve him to know that you and Egg are also safe,” he suggested. “Mayhaps on the morrow, you could send a raven to Summerhall?”
Aerion turned the page roughly, threatening the fragile paper. “To Summerhall’s smith, mayhaps. I promised you plate armor.”
Dunk winced. “That’s not what—”
As for my father,” Aerion continued as if Dunk hadn’t spoken, “Aegon can see to that. I doubt he has any desire to hear from me.”
He didn’t send you away because he hates you.
He’d only gotten glimpses into what Maekar’s relationship with Aerion was like, but he knew without question that the Anvil loved his sons deeply. And more likely than not, he was worried out of his mind.
Yet saying such a thing would only enrage Aerion and likely cause his omega to call him an idiot. So Dunk kept his mouth shut for now.
Instead, he changed into his own nightclothes (a foolish luxury in his opinion), and slid into bed, peering at the book in the omega’s lap. “Anything interesting?”
“Very much so, actually.” Keeping his finger to mark his page, Aerion quickly closed the cover to let Dunk look at it. Dunk stiffened, saying nothing as he stared at the swirly writing.
“I know the story, of course. This version has more detail than the last one I read, but in fairness, some of that detail may be fabricated. It happened two hundred years ago, after all.”
“Hmm,” Dunk agreed quietly, eyes locked on the blanket.
“I don’t think I ever asked: what are your thoughts on it?”
Dunk swallowed. “I, um, well, I never read that book.”
Aerion rolled his eyes. “I meant the story. You said you grew up in King’s Landing. Surely you heard it.”
Frozen, Dunk’s mind whirled, scrambling for some way to answer. But it wasn’t a yes or no question; Aerion asked for his thoughts. And he couldn’t get his mind to work quickly enough to find a way to dodge.
Aerion paused, looking over at Dunk with an arched eyebrow. “You haven’t heard the story?” he pressed. “How? I thought everyone knew about the first attempt to take Dorne. Especially when the story got passed around again after Dorne officially joined the Seven Kingdoms.”
Damn. Dunk had indeed heard that story. But how do I play it off without…
Aerion blinked, a spark of realization in his eyes. “You can’t read.” He said it bluntly, a statement rather than a question.
Dunk’s face burned, and he pulled away, folding his arms across his chest.
“You said it yourself, I grew up in Fleabottom,” he mumbled. “Traveling with Ser Arlan didn’t change much in that sense. He couldn’t read either.”
He wrapped his arms tighter, prepared for the barrage of insults to follow, but Aerion only snorted.
“I have a million reasons to call you an idiot, Ser Duncan, but that is not one of them,” he said. “Most lowborns can’t read. You’re not going to magically know how if no one taught you. Reading is a skill.”
You once acted like people who couldn’t were stupid. But in fairness, Aerion had been quite…emotional at the time. He might not have actually meant it.
“Anyway, I’ve read up to the part where Queen Rhaenys arrived in Dorne and commanded Princess Meria Martell to bend the knee,” he explained, finding his place on the page. Once he found it, he started reading aloud. “Princess Meria declared, ‘I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that.’ To which Rhaenys responded, ‘I shall, but we will come again, Princess, and the next time we shall come with fire and blood.’ But Meria was unshaken. ‘Your words. Ours are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. You may burn us, my lady, but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your peril.’”
Dunk stared, dumbfounded, while Aerion read to him, the words flowing from his silken voice. An act of kindness, mayhaps? Or possibly just because his omega wanted to discuss the story. Whatever his motivations, Dunk felt a warm, pleasant flutter in his heart. Moving in closer again, he laid down, resting his head in Aerion’s lap as his prince regaled him with a piece of House Targaryen’s history.
He smiled when Aerion scratched his nails along his scalp. For a second, anyway. Then, his omega gripped his hair too tightly. Just shy of painful.
“Ser Duncan?” Aerion said calmly, interrupting the story.
“Um…yeah?” he asked, wincing slightly, though the touch didn’t truly hurt.
“If you ever apologize on my behalf again, I won’t be in a forgiving mood.” He smiled, sharp teeth flashing in the candlelight. “And I won’t wait until we’re alone to show my displeasure.”
Then perhaps don’t get anyone else killed unnecessarily? An argument Dunk swallowed. He didn’t want to fight. And in all honesty, he misliked doing it in the first place. Taking an omega’s voice by speaking for them wasn’t right, even if the apology was owed.
“I won’t,” Dunk promised. “I’m well aware that you’re capable of speaking for yourself.”
Aerion nodded, smile still a bit unsettling. “Good boy,” he praised.
“Woof.”
Aerion chuckled, then went back to stroking his hair pleasantly as he read aloud.
Must be confusing for him to know who to side with, Dunk mused, enjoying the comfort of the warm bed and Aerion’s lap. Both Dornish and Targaryen. Powerful, strong-willed ancestry on both sides.
Perhaps it was no mystery why his omega was so stubborn.