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Alicent had never cared for tourneys. Too long in the hot sun or out in the bitter winds of Spring and Autumn. She was glad to return to the Red Keep to prepare for the feast to celebrate the tourney’s opening day. There she could order her wine to be chilled with ice from the stores of great blocks taken from frozen Northern lakes, and the fans of the servants would be wafting something other than sunbaked air at her.

She could change, too. Would have to, given what she had promised to do. But she’d focus more on the relief of getting out of her sweat-stained shift and putting on a clean one along with her dress. Perhaps she’d even have a bath drawn, there was some time before the feast would start. Yes, a bath. With cold water straight from the deepest well.

But first she needed to round up her children and make sure they were behaving themselves. Aemond and Daeron were already accounted for, having ridden back with her. She’d made sure to keep her third child in her sights after the incident with the Beesbury boy. But Aegon and Helaena were still at large, and she needed to get them off to their chambers to wash and dress as well. Aegon, in particular, she hadn’t seen in hours and she was starting to worry that he’d gotten himself into some mischief.

He was far too permissive of the Alphas who sought him out, too brazen and flirtatious. She knew he rebuffed them all the same, but an Omega’s reputation was more than just whether they were intact or not. With his betrothal still hanging in the balance, Aegon couldn’t afford to be seen as a brazen flirt. Conclusions would be drawn about his behavior after the marriage, improper conclusions.

Oh how she wished Aegon were as dutiful as Aemond. Or at least as docile as Helaena. But he was so willful! Only a few days before she had caught him looking at vile illustrations of carnal acts. And rather than be contrite when chastised, he simply told her that he needed to know how to perform his duties. As if her more proper instruction hadn’t been enough!

She despaired of him, truly. But at least he had settled down some since his presentation. He seemed less inclined to provoke her on purpose at least.

She headed back towards the gates, hoping to perhaps catch him or Helaena on their way back to their chambers. If she didn’t find them, she would send Ser Criston after them and go bathe. They were old enough now that she needn’t hound them about getting ready for a feast, and she must focus her attention on Daeron.

She found Aegon in the courtyard, conversing with Prince Jacaerys. That, at least, was one Alpha she didn’t have to worry about him around. The Princess’ eldest son was nothing if not respectful towards Aegon, perhaps even doting. He’d gained a reputation through the Red Keep for his kindness towards Lord and servant alike, and his near gallant behavior towards the fairer sexes. While Alicent still abhorred the mother, the son had earned some level of respect from her. She had never thought that a bastard could earn her approval, let alone one of Rhaenyra’s. But Jacaerys seemed near purpose built to make her question her view of him: kind, chaste, noble, and pious as a proper Alpha Prince should be.

“Aegon, Prince Jacaerys.” She greeted as she approached. “Aegon, where have you been? I told you to remain with your Septa.”

“I was with Jace, Mother. I was well protected, I assure you.” Aegon dismissed her. Tension eased in her neck and shoulders a bit, and she gave Prince Jacaerys a smile and polite not. “My thanks. My son is reluctant to stay in one place for long. I shudder to think what could have happened had a family member not been there to guard him. Tourneys are a beacon for unsavory types, sellswords and hedgeknights of ill-repute and common breeding.” She said, giving her son a withering look as she said it. She expected him to roll his eyes or make some other dismissive gesture, but instead he flinched and refused to meet her eyes. Jacaerys, too, looked uncomfortable at her statement.

She frowned, turning to regard her son more closely. Nothing seemed amiss at first, so she grabbed him by the chin and forced his eyes onto hers. She stared into them, brown boring into violet as if she could physically dig down into him to find out what had happened. Aegon gave a stilted laugh and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, batting her hand away so he could turn his eyes away from hers.

“Mother!” Aegon groused in his usual good humored manner, though it rang as hollow as his laugh. “I assure you, I can take care of myself against whatever brigands and ne’er-do-wells you’ve imagined stalking the Kingswood.” He punctuated his statement with a dismissive toss of his hand and an exaggerated eyeroll. But as he waved his hand in a flippant gesture, her eyes were caught on the stones of his necklace. The lovely star sapphire one his father had given him years ago that he was never seen without. The first real, true moment of her marriage. The moment Viserys became more than just a ghost in her and her children’s lives. She’d always loved that necklace and how lovely it looked on her son’s pale, slender neck.

But as the necklace shifted with his movement, she caught a horrifying mottled purple just under the gold. Not the purple of the sapphires, the purple of bruises. For a single, horrifying moment she wondered if she had been wrong about Jacaerys. But no, Jacaerys was looking at the bruises too, a dark storm on his face that told tales of what he thought of the matter.

“Aegon!” She cried, grabbing her son by the chin again so she could move the necklace and inspect the bruises ringing his neck. White hot rage and cold, clawing fear warred in her in flashes as her breath quickened. “What are these? Where did they come from? Who did this to you?” She asked, nails digging into her son’s arm as if to remind herself that he was here and safe with her and not with whoever had hurt him.

“It’s nothing.” Aegon said quickly, trying to pull away from her. She didn’t let him go, her grip iron firm. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was leaving bruises, herself. But she could scarce think of that over the pounding, repeating thought that someone had hurt her baby; her Aegon, her firstborn, her little boy.

“It’s not nothing!” Alicent shouted, drawing looks from the crowd around them returning from the joust. Good, let them see. Let them see what someone had done to a Prince of the Realm and let them see her fury over it. Let whoever hurt him choke and die on it. She would see them flayed alive, or drowned in an oubliette, or gutted and hung from the walls of the Red Keep as the birds feasted on their organs. They would pay.

“It was taken care of, Mother. Don’t fret.” Aegon tried, still refusing to meet her eyes as he pulled more frantically against her hold. He was shutting down, she could tell. Closing his shutters and shutting her out like he always did when something was truly wrong. Frustration mounted as she held him in place, trying her best not to hold him too hard despite it all. Every time she held onto him too hard he ran. He always had. She hated it, but what was she to do? She just wanted him to listen and behave!

“Jacaerys.” She snapped, letting out a harsh breath through her nose as she turned sharp eyes on Rhaenyra’s eldest son. If Aegon wouldn’t acquiesce, then she knew someone who almost couldn’t help but be honest with her. “Who did this?”

The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but her son cut him off. “Jace, don’t answer that! It was nothing, Mother. I assure you, Jace took care of it. I daresay the sot won’t look at me twice now.” He said, laughing that hollow, stilted laugh that did nothing to make her feel better. Why did he always have to hide things from her? It was her job as his mother to protect him from these kinds of threats until he was wed and that responsibility passed to his husband.

“Jacaerys, answer me or I will bring you before your mother.” Alicent growled. She had no time for her son’s trickery and games. She would get to the bottom of this, and she would see the perpetrators suffer.

“M-Martyn Reyne, Your Grace.” Jacaerys stammered out, pointedly not looking at Aegon as her son gave him a look of utter betrayal.

“Very well.” Alicent said, her jaw tightening as she finally let go of her son. He rubbed his arm where she’d been gripping it and for a moment she felt bad. She’d been trying so hard to be kinder to her son since his presentation. Omegas needed softness, and didn’t respond well to threats or violence. The same way a cornered prey animal was more dangerous than a predator, so an Omega could be far more dangerous when cornered than an Alpha. And more likely to bolt, as well. Aegon always ran from her. Why did he run? But she didn’t have time to coddle her child, as much as she wished to. She was the Queen, and an attack had been made on a Prince.

“Ser Criston.” She called, her sworn shield trotting to her side like a loyal dog. Ser Criston was perhaps her most appreciated ally, and she would need him now. “Fetch me Ser Martyn and bring him to the King. We will have this dealt with immediately.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Ser Criston said with a bow, marching off to complete her orders. Aegon balked at her side, face flushing red with anger. He was so quick to color, her Aegon. Pale but passionate, his blood running as hot as his dragon. Rhaenyra had been the same way, as a girl. There were so many ways her son reminded her of her old friend. Perhaps that was why he vexed her so, but she refused to dwell on that in this moment.

“Mother! I said it was handled!” Aegon snapped, fists balled at his side. Alicent cut him a scathing look and turned to face him.

“Aegon you are a Prince of the Realm, a Royal Omega, and you have been attacked. Possibly nearly killed, by the look of those bruises. This injustice cannot be allowed to stand. Whatever punishment you believe Jacaerys doled out, it was not enough. Ser Martyn will answer for his crimes before your father and be punished according to the severity of what he’s done. The Crown must not be made to look weak, Aegon. Do you wish for your sister or brother to be attacked, as well? For brigands and criminals to feel free to harass them because they think we will do nothing?” She said, eyes hard and brows furrowed as she tried to get her son to just understand for once. Why did he never understand?

“As if anyone would try to harm Aemond after what he and Luke did to the Beesbury boy.” Aegon scoffed. She tucked away the tidbit about Lucerys for later, not having known he was involved. Perhaps it was time for another talk with the Crown Princess. But that was a concern for another time.

“And Helaena?” She asked with a lift of one dainty auburn eyebrow. Aegon had the decency to look away in silence, at least. “The Reyne boy will be brought to justice. And you will inform me when things like this happen going forward. Have I made myself clear?” She asked. Aegon scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, still not looking at her. “Have I made myself clear?” She asked again.

“Yes, Mother.” He grumbled, flicking angry violet eyes up at her. He was always so angry and mistrustful of her, despite everything she did for him. Gods only knew what she could do to get through to him.

“Come along, both of you. The King will have the truth of it out of you all.” She said, turning on her heel and expecting the boys to follow as she strode towards the throne room. She called a passing guard to inform the King of their impending arrival, throwing a sharp look over her shoulder when it was clear Jacaerys had followed her, but her son had not. Scowling, Aegon fell into step with his nephew, and Alicent turned back to her destination with purposeful steps. She would see justice done, even if she had to do it herself.

Baela couldn’t wait for the melee. Jousting held no interest for her, and she disliked sitting a horse for too long when she could be riding a dragon. A sword fit her hand much better than a lance, and the battleaxe even better. Since her presentation she’d filled out as she always knew she would. Taller and broader, enough to rival the boys her age. She now stood nearly as tall as willowy Aemond, though he was much thinner than her. Soon she would surpass him, she suspected. An Omega like him wasn’t meant to be strapping, at best he would grow even more tall and slender; a spear rather than a shield. But like as not, he wouldn’t grow much taller than he was now.

He could be as tall as he wanted, though, she’d be taller. She knew it. She’d be stronger, too. And then her father would stop comparing them. He would stop telling her how quickly he’d picked up the blade, or how many knights he had bested at what age. She sometimes thought that Daemon wished that Aemond was his son, with how he held him up as the standard. Let him compare her to Jace, at least! Aemond was an Omega, no matter his talent now he would eventually be outclassed. He wasn’t Daemon’s eldest Alpha child. He wasn’t a full-blooded Valyrian bonded to his cradlemate. That was all Baela. Aemond was just a second Omega son, and he would pass into obscurity as his peers surpassed him and he settled in to life as a mate and mother. He wasn’t special.

Still, she felt the itch to go back to the training yard. To heft her sword or her axe and prove to herself that she was going to be better. That the years they’d kept her from the yard wouldn’t matter if she worked hard enough. Time spent learning didn’t matter, look at Luke. For years he’d shown no improvement over the 9 year old who’d first had a sword put in his hand. Only under the tutelage of Ser Harwin had he truly made any progress. If she worked hard, she could do more than catch up. She could surpass them, she knew she could. Then it would be she who was the standard, not a feral slip of an Omega.

That was the thought that did it, sending her back towards the training yard though she only had a few scant hours to prepare for the feast. Grandmother would be cross, having explicitly stated that tonight was vitally important and Baela had to look and act her best. She dreaded it, truly. They would be doing more than just causing a scene. But all the more reason to be prepared, right? All she had to do was stop her training soon enough to wash and dress for the feast. It would be simple.

The skills she would work on already whirling in her mind, Baela let her steps lead her toward the yard. The battleaxe, she thought. Yes, that would be her weapon tonight, and for the melee tomorrow. She thought of Reefsplitter, the greataxe that sat above the mantle of Grandfather’s solar. A storied, heirloom weapon and the only known Valyrian Steel axe in existence. Grandfather had used it in his youth, but as he’d aged he’d hung it up for the sword. A great two-handed thing, it would be years yet before Baela could comfortably wield it, and yet she wanted it dearly all the same.

She wanted so many things, though. Things she shouldn’t want because she couldn’t have them. Things with pretty silver hair and soft hands that were so gentle with even the smallest of creatures. Things that were tender and kind in a way that seemed so out of place in their hard, harsh world and the nest of vipers that was the Red Keep. Things that gave Fire and Blood a new meaning, shifting them from destruction and death to hearth and home. Things that were crying softly in the garden just within earshot.

“Helaena?” She called gently as she stepped between two rose bushes and into the Beta’s view. “What’s the matter?”

Helaena’s head popped up and swung to look at her, eyes wide and full of tears. They were such lovely eyes, round and sweet and the prettiest shade of light violet that was almost gray. She was so strikingly pretty like that, like somehow her sorrow only made her more beautiful. Queen Alicent was like that, too. And yet Baela still wished to do all she could to get her tears to cease. Helaena of all people should never be brought to tears, she was too kind and good to be allowed to cry.

“Silver wings, silver words. But all of it for naught.” Helaena said mournfully, shaking her head. Her lip trembled as she wiped at her eyes, the tears never seeming to end no matter how many she whisked away. “Silver egg and silver hair, but blue is what we’ve got.” She looked at Baela in askance; no, in desperation; as if the Alpha could somehow save her from her visions if only she could decipher her riddles. Helaena had always been like a strange cursed princess out of a song, but with creeping dread Baela realized what she had stepped into was more like a tale meant to frighten children. Helaena’s next words offered no comfort. “Purple stars and ruby red, he’d rather run than lose his head. It’s done, Baela. It’s done. There’s naught any of us can do now.”

Baela dropped swiftly to one knee at Helaena’s side, reaching out to lay a tentative hand on her shoulder. Helaena allowed it and Baela felt blessed. The Beta Princess found no comfort in touch, but from Baela she’d always accepted it. Even sought it, sometimes. Now, in her upset, she was even leaning into it as if it brought her comfort. She wished she could hold her, but eve if she would allow it that would be very improper of her.

“What is so frightening to you?” Baela asked, though she knew she would get no straight answer. Helaena seemed to barely understand what she saw, herself. She wondered what exactly she saw, how much of it was meaningless riddles even to her. Was the Sphynx the riddler, or the riddle?

“Death is thick in the air, so thick I can taste it.” Helaena sad, shaking her head as a fresh wave of tears spilled over. Her face dropped back into her hands, the curtain of her waves falling over her face.

“Whose death?” Baela asked, alarmed. Helaena’s riddles could be worrying, but they’d never been a danger.

“I cannot see. Their faces smile, but the smiles are knives. And their eyes, Baela! Oh, their horrible eyes!” She sobbed, shaking her head frantically. “Cold jewels and pits of maggots, gaping maws and the light of strange stars. When they look at me I feel as if my whole heart will freeze over.” Her nails dug into her cheeks as she clutched her face, red crescents blooming on her skin. She’d break her skin, soon, cut into it with her neatly trimmed nails and make herself bleed.

Damn propriety, Baela thought as she grabbed Helaena’s wrists to pull her nails away from those beautiful cheeks and guide the Beta into her arms. The girl went willingly, laying her head on Baela’s shoulder and burrowing into her embrace. Baela could feel her heartbeat pick up as warmth spread through her, emanating from every point of contact between their bodies. Bee balm and clover surrounded her in the balmy night air, curling around her like a sweet embrace. Helaena was as warm as a hearth fire, and solid but soft in her arms. Holding her was like coming home after a long voyage, and Baela never wanted to let go.

“I have you, Princess.” She spoke softly into the soft, fine hair she had so often admired. “I’m here with you. We are in the garden, with naught but bees to threaten us. You are safe.” She soothed, running her hand up and down Helaena’s back as she let the Beta bury her nose in her scent gland and curl against her. It was highly improper, but Baela couldn’t care less as Helaena’s scent started to lose the sour, bitter notes it had taken on in her distress. All she could think of was how Helaena allowed her this, allowed her to comfort her and draw her into her arms. It felt like the highest blessing.

“A bee’s sting can be deadly.” Helaena said, and Baela could not tell if it was more cryptic visions or simply a statement of fact. She dismissed the thought and simply hummed lightly, still rubbing her cousin’s back as they lay curled together on the grass. This, this is what she wanted to come home to. When she dismounted her dragon or disembarked from her ship, it was this kind of peace and wholeness that she wanted to sink into like a warm bath. If only she had told Father before all of this, perhaps he could have secured a betrothal. But that seemed like a slim chance, now.

“Baela, will you stay with me?” Helaena asked, not raising her head from her shoulder. Her voice was small and soft, and she curled in on herself in Baela’s lap as she spoke. Baela held her tighter, burying her face in her hair.

“Of course.” She murmured back, breathing in the Beta’s bee balm and clover scent and letting the sound of crickets wash over her. Yes, Baela thought, this was what home felt like.

Jace tried to gently grab Aegon’s wrist as they slipped into the throne room where the King had gathered the court to hear the charges against Ser Martyn, but Aegon pulled away. He didn’t feel like giving Jace the satisfaction when his blood was still boiling. That tattletale! He was going to take care of it! He had already started planning his revenge on the way back to the keep. By the time Mother had cornered them, he’d decided that Reyne should be beaten within an inch of his life and then hooded, shackled, and tossed on a boat headed to the Islands of Ibben to freeze. A bit of coin through a proxy would see it done. He could even watch if he wished, perhaps gloat a bit before he was shipped off. The others he had tossed around the idea of various punishments for. Being drugged and tossed naked in a sheep pen for improper conclusions to be drawn and been one of his favorites so far. All gone in an instant because Jace couldn’t keep his big mouth shut when faced with adult authority.

Ser Martyn would die for this, he was sure. Kings had killed for far lesser slights against their children. Braxton Beesbury had faced Blackfyre simply for laying with his great aunt Saera. A crime that many would go on to commit without losing their lives while a young lordling still lay dead and buried. Ser Martyn would join him, a feast for the worms and nothing more. Never anything more, just because he’d lost his temper with Aegon. Mother had lost her temper with him many times, and yet her head still rested firmly on her neck. Were they truly so much above others that such crimes should be punishable by death? Strangling, perhaps, but coupling? He had thought himself sparing these Alphas that fate by keeping his vows to the Maiden, but perhaps he’d simply been staving off the inevitable.

Aegon took his place by his mother’s side, sparing a glance up at his father as Viserys seated himself on the throne. Up there, high on the twisted amalgamation of a thousand defeated swords, Viserys looked like a god. And with the stormy look on his face and the fire in his eyes, he seemed a god of Judgement. Someone had told him what they were here for, no doubt. That some lowly man had dared touch his poor, undefended Omega son. What a crock of shit. A drunk had lost his mind for a moment, nothing more. He’d been struck before, it wasn’t worth this simply because the hands that had struck him were not royal.

Jace tried to take his hand again and again he pulled away. Did Jace not realize that they’d signed this man’s death warrant? He didn’t want to hold hands right now. Jace’s scent soured with a powdery whisper of sadness, and Aegon merely turned up his nose.

“Aegon, please.” He pouted, reaching for his hand again. “Why are you so cross with me? He hurt you, he has to pay.”

“He was going to pay!” Aegon snapped. “I was going to make him pay! Do you think me incapable of getting my own revenge?”

“Aegon, you’re a Prince.” Jace said with a confused frown, as if that explained all of this pomp and circumstance. “Your mother is right, not punishing your attacker publicly makes the Crown look weak.”

The Crown, the Crown, always the Crown. His whole life before he was born had revolved around an upjumped hat and an uncomfortable chair. He was once again grateful to be an Omega, as now they at least couldn’t put the damn thing on his head. Rhaenyra could have the blasted thing, and Jace after her. Though Jace hardly deserved the trouble that would come with it. And woe be unto his Queen, who like Mother would bear all of the responsibility and hardly any of the power. At least they would have Jace. That’s something he would trade a crownless life for, if he could. Even as cross with the Alpha as he was. But he was no more meant to be Queen than he was to be King. Jace’s heart would go to someone else, regardless of the kiss they’d shared.

“Egg, please don’t be cross with me.” Jace pleaded, and when Aegon turned to look at him he was finished. Those sweet brown eyes had always been a weakness of his. He could no more stay angry with Jace than with any other puppy. “I only wish to protect you.” Jace added, and when he reached for Aegon’s hand again, he let him take it.

“I can protect myself.” Aegon groused. Jace smiled fondly and shook his head.

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to.” He said, squeezing Aegon’s hand. “Let me do it, sometimes. I find great satisfaction in it.”

Aegon looked away as his heart thumped. Great satisfaction? What a sop his Jacaerys was. He truly had stepped out of some singer’s ballad or a tale for children. Pretty, perfect paragon Jacaerys Velaryon: prince, heir, and most gallant of knights. A Maiden’s dream. Aegon’s dream.

“You rode well in the tourney.” He said instead of acknowledging Jace’s statement. The boy beamed at him, lighting up like a sept at the Feast of the Father.

“You saw.” He said, giving Aegon a bashful look. “I didn’t see you in the stands, I thought-”

“I saw.” Aegon assured him squeezing his hand. “You have a talent for it, I’d wager. Martyn may be a drunk, but he’s no pushover.”

“He’ll be nothing, soon.” Jace said darkly, a spark of deep petrichor in his scent that raised Aegon’s hackles and sent a shiver of fear down his spine. There was no mistaking it, now. Jace was well aware that Martyn was going to die and he was reveling in it. A dragon, indeed. He could almost smell fire and blood coming off of him along with his dark, intense rage and kill drive. The sweet little puppy was showing that he was still a wolf inside, an attack dog willing to bite and tear to protect him. For all that he didn’t want anyone to die, in that moment he wanted to kiss Jace again for the sentiment. For caring.

The doors opened before he could make a fool of himself, the whole Court turning to look as Martyn was dragged into the throne room by Ser Criston and Ser Arryk. Whispers rippled across the room as the knight was dragged to the bottom of the long and twisted stairs to the throne where his father sat amidst a forest of spikes. The throne looked almost demonic, the light of the torches barely reaching to the top of it and ringing his father in austere shadows. There had been no time to light the torches on the throne itself, but it only made more of a spectacle of the trial. Father looked as if he were the representation of The Stranger, looking own upon the damned.

Martyn certainly looked damned. He must have sobered up at some point, because he had the wit to look terrified. He was shaking like a leaf, hunched in on himself as he stared at the floor in front of the throne. The gash Jace had left on his cheek had opened anew, trickling blood down his jaw. A dark bruise was forming on the same side, and Aegon assumed Ser Criston had something to do with that. Part of Aegon preened. That punishment, at least, had been doled out for his sake. Not the Crown’s.

“Your Grace, Ser Martyn Reyne has laid his hands on our son, choking him until he bruised. I demand justice!” Alicent cried, pointing an accusing finger at Reyne with fire and hatred in her eyes. The crowd exploded into whispers, eyes immediately finding Aegon. He refused to shrink under their gaze, standing taller despite the feel of it on his back. Jace held his hand tighter, stepping closer as if to protect him from the gossip.

“Aegon, does the Queen speak true?” The King asked. His voice was measured, but it carried through the throne room as if he were bellowing. Aegon looked up at the man who had sired him, a man as distant from him as if that throne he sat atop was the highest of mountains. Did he even truly care? On a personal level, as a father, did it even register to him that his son had been choked? Martyn was dying for his father’s ego and his mother’s rage, not for what he’d done to him.

“I hit him first.” Aegon shrugged, looking away. He wouldn’t give Viserys the satisfaction.

“Queen Alicent, do you have any witnesses to this crime?” Viserys asked, brushing past Aegon’s contrarianism.

“Prince Jacaerys saw it, Husband. He can tell you I speak true.” Alicent said, turning to Jace. The boy took a step back but then seemed to catch himself, squaring his shoulders and standing straighter as he addressed his grandfather.

“It is true, Your grace. I caught Ser Martyn with his hands about Aegon’s throat and pulled him off myself. The cut on his cheek is courtesy of my blade, as well, for grave insults to Prince Aegon’s honor, my own, and my Mother’s.” Jace said, his voice carrying with the same easy authority as Viserys’. Calm and clear but carrying throughout the room and into the rafters where the King sat.

“Ser Martyn, you stand accused of a grievous crime against the Crown. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Viserys asked, violet eyes boring into the man who had dared touch his son. Lord Reyne took a step forward as if to shield his son, but stopped himself. Nothing could save the boy now, Viserys’ Valyrian steel gaze testament to that.

“Your Grace, I- I didn’t mean- I was drunk, Your Grace, I was out of my senses!” Martyn pleaded, tears streaking down his face as it finally sunk in exactly how fucked he was. He’d always been a pathetic thing, and his blubbering only made him more so. But Aegon would blubber in the face of death, too. But he was not so stupid as to flirt with it the way Reyne did.

“So you do not deny it?” Viserys asked, his voice slamming down like a hammer as he stood from the throne, the height of it lending to his own stature as he towered over the room. Reyne burst into sobs, clutching himself like a child trying to self-soothe. If this was the standard of Westeros’ knights, then they had slipped far indeed in the years of peace.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt him, I was just drunk!” Martyn pleaded, but the pleas fell on deaf ears as the King looked down on him with nothing but fury and judgement.

“Guards, take this man to the Black Cells. He will be executed after the conclusion of the tourney.” Viserys ordered, ignoring the pained screams of Lady Reyne and the rising tide of whispers through the court. Ser Martyn wailed loudly as he was dragged away, looking every bit the 16 year old boy he was. Aegon looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound. Jace squeezed his hand reassuringly, having held it through the entire proceedings.

“He sealed his own fate, Aegon.” Jace said softly, his thumb sweeping gently over the back of his hand. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I do not wish to speak of it.” Aegon rasped, not looking at his nephew. “Please, escort me to my chambers. I wish to wash this business off of me.”

“As you wish.” Jace said, offering his arm to lead Aegon out of the throne room. As they left, Aegon could still hear Lady Reyne’s screaming and feel the gaze of a hundred eyes on him. But as Jace pulled him close and flared out his scent comfortingly, Aegon thought that maybe he could put it behind him.

With that business concluded, Alicent was finally free to retire to her chambers. The heat of the throne room, all of those bodies packed in tight, it had only made her more desperate for a bath and to get out of her sweaty shift. Her skin was starting to itch from the grime of the day, and she could feel the sweat on her scalp. It was revolting, unbefitting of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Damn this Summer heat and damn this tourney. She couldn’t wait for its conclusion so she could stay in the castle and see justice done for her son.

She passed through the gardens, the quickest route from the throne room to her chambers. They were lovely in the summertime, lush and bursting with life. The flowers themselves were in full bloom, thickening the air with their sweet scents. The buzzing of insects rang through the air, bees and butterflies and more enjoying the garden as food, home, or hunting ground. It was why she was never surprised to find her daughter here, for Helaena loved nothing more than the buzzing and crawling creatures of the earth. But finding her in Daemon’s Alpha daughter’s lap, head tucked under the girl’s chin and hand resting against her chest? That was certainly something she’d never expected.

Her first instinct was to march over and demand to know what Baela was doing, touching her daughter so inappropriately. But when Helaena lifted her face, she saw that it was streaked with tears and blotchy in the way it only got when she has been crying for quite a while. Curious, that Helaena would seek comfort from the other girl. Helaena hated to be touched, even as a small child she had preferred for her mother to sit near her rather than hold her in her lap or stroke her hair. But she rested so comfortably in Baela’s arms, unbothered and content.

She thought back to the offer Daemon had made her. It had seemed a folly at the time, when he had nothing to offer except petty revenge. But perhaps a betrothal could have been good for Helaena. It would be so hard to match her with an Alpha who understood her and could care for her properly, and yet there sat one whose touch Helaena didn’t balk at. But no, it would still be a folly to tie her daughter to the Rogue Prince. There would be other Alphas, or perhaps a kind Beta who could sit in quiet contentment with the Princess. Baela was a fleeting distraction, and one she should nip in the bud as soon as possible for multiple reasons.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” She asked as she stepped out from behind the bushes, looking down her nose at Baela sternly.

“Your Grace!” Baela gasped, unceremoniously depositing her daughter into the dirt as she scrambled out of their illicit embrace. No, Baela was not the Alpha for Helaena.

“Explain yourself.” She barked, drawing herself up to her full height as meager as it was. But Baela was a child and Alicent was a Queen, she would seem tall enough to her.

“The Princess was upset…” Baela murmured, looking anywhere but at Alicent knowing that was a paltry excuse.

“You are an Alpha grown, and Helaena is a Beta Princess. You should both know better than to touch each other inappropriately.” Alicent admonished. “You threaten Helaena’s reputation and your own, do you understand that, Princess Baela? Do you understand the danger you put her in?”

“I-” Baela stammered, looking startled. “Yes, Your Grace.” She finished, hanging her head in contrition.

“I must never catch you being forward with my daughter again, do you understand me?” Alicent said, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Baela murmured, ducking her head in a nod. “Never again, Your Grace.”

“Begone.” Alicent hissed. “I’m sure your father is looking for you.”

The girl was gone almost before Alicent finished commanding her to leave, clearly eager to be out of the Queen’s presence. Alicent watched as she went, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into a scowl. Once she was alone with her daughter, she turned to Helaena with a softer, more concerned expression.

“She didn’t take advantage, did she?” Alicent asked, kneeling next to her little girl.

“No, Mother. She was just trying to comfort me. Like when we were children.” Helaena said, looking away from her.

“You’re not a child anymore, my sweet. You must be more careful.” Alicent scolded. “Good matches come to good girls. You must be dutiful and chaste at all times.”

“Of course, Mother.” Helaena hummed. Her usual dreamy vacancy made it hard for Alicent to judge if she was truly listening to her or not, but she decided that she would keep watch and take those problems as they came.

“Come, I’ll take you to your chambers.” She said, holding out her hands to her daughter. The girl didn’t take them, preferring to rise to her feet on her own. It stung, when Helaena had just been in the lap of that Alpha girl, that she wouldn’t touch her own mother. Why did all of her children seem to avoid her in their own ways? Helaena pulled away from her touch, Aegon pulled away from her concern, and Aemond was a secret and a mystery unto himself. Only Daeron, still too young for subterfuge, didn’t run from her.

“Yes, that would be good. I must feed my ant colony.” Helaena said, brushing off her skirt and looking back over her shoulder at Alicent for a moment with eyes that had always seemed to see too little and too much all at once. “The bees grow restless, I fear a sting.”

“Then let us leave the garden, sweetling.” Alicent said, taking Helaena’s arm and delighting in how she didn’t shrug her off. “The bees can’t get us in the Keep.”

“The bees can get us anywhere.” Helaena said, gripping her mother’s arm tighter as Alicent led her away from the heat of the gardens into the relative cool of the castle.

“Yes, I suppose there are windows.” Alicent said, as on the back foot as ever when dealing with her daughter’s strange ramblings. “But they’d have to fly an awfully long way, so the chances are slimmer inside. Come.”

Helaena simply nodded, already slipping away from Alicent again back into whatever mindscape had her so bewitched. When would her little girl come back to her? Would she ever truly shake off this madness that plagued her? Would she lose Daeron too, the same way she’d lost her other children? She ached to run to the nursery and gather him up in her arms and make him promise that he’d never leave her. But duty called, as it always did, and she had matters to attend to once she’d escorted her daughter.

“Black suits you, Mother.” Helaena said as she slipped into her chambers, leaving Alicent struck as she had many times before with her strangely prescient riddles.

“I certainly hope so, sweetling.” Alicent said to the closed door, sighing to herself as she left to prepare for the feast.

Aemond sat in front of his mirror, examining his face as he oiled and detangled his hair. He contemplated himself as he meticulously coaxed each strand into perfect place. He liked his hair like this, tame and controlled. His natural waves were wild, messy, chaotic. They looked too much like he felt on the inside. The routine of taming his hair had become the routine of taming himself, a meditative moment in his day when he could calm the storm inside of him that had only grown in intensity with his presentation.

Did it look pretty? He’d never thought about it before. It had always been his hair. What he did with it was to please himself, and perhaps his mother simply by keeping it neat. But Beesbury had called him lovely, and he hadn’t been the first. Some had been snivelling upstarts like Beesbury, stinking of insincerity from a mile away. But some had been sincere, sweet even. He’d still turned them down, incensed at what their attention meant, but they’d meant it. Was he? Was he pretty?

He didn’t think he was, at least not particularly. Not like Aegon and Helaena and Mother. It didn’t bother him, to not exactly be beautiful, and he didn’t think he was ugly by any means. But he just didn’t see what those Alphas and Beta boys saw when they sidled up to him nervously and said they found him fair. Did he even want to be pretty? Pretty was for women and Omegas, and the last thing he wanted to do was act like what he was and draw attention to it. And besides, who did he have to be pretty for? Maybe he’d have wanted to be handsome, if he were an Alpha, so Luke would be pleased with him. But now, it felt as if mating and marriage were nothing but a duty to bear. What did it matter if his mate thought him fair or not? They would produce heirs either way. If his mate thought him ugly, then at least he wouldn’t be alone in being disgusted by the act.

Maybe it was a blessing that Luke would be an Omega. If he’d been an Alpha and Aemond had been unable to perform with him, he’d have been mortified. But maybe it would have been different with Luke. Everything had always been different with Luke, why not that? He couldn’t imagine enjoying it, but perhaps he could have bore it if Luke were his Alpha. And Luke would have made a good Alpha, too. His kindness and warmth would temper the sex’s more aggressive and haughty tendencies, and he’d never reduce Aemond to his own sex.

Except he had, hadn’t he? Aemond thought, hand tightening on his brush and mouth twisting into a frown. More important things to do than argue with a stubborn Omega. He was going to strangle that little cur the next time he saw him. If he wouldn’t take that from a grown Alpha there was no way he was taking it from a puny unpresented bastard pup like little Lord Strong. He may be an Omega, but he was still stronger and taller and better with a sword than Luke. He could still teach him a lesson in the training yard for his words.

Aemond set down his brush with a hard click, his hair immaculately straight and shining silver in the fading light of the evening. But his mind was still a roiling mess, the storm inside of him kicked up to a fever pitch thinking about Luke’s transgression. His fingers twitched on the handle as if the brush were a sword he could put to his nephew’s neck and demand payment from him for the slight. Some blood, at least. But what else would Luke have to pay? Perhaps some embarrassing task, or being forced to do Aemond’s bidding for some arbitrary amount of time. Or perhaps he’d just tattle on him to his precious brother, who famously would harbor no slight against an Omega. Yes, that last one sounded good. The humiliation of being scolded and whatever punishment Jace saw fit to dole out. If Aemond was lucky, Jace would further tattle to Rhaenyra and start the process all over again.

Satisfied, Aemond rose from his vanity and turned towards his bed to grab his boots. But as he turned, something came flying through his window and whizzed past his nose, barely avoiding hitting him in the head and landing with a thunk on the floor before rolling under his wardrobe. Aemond retrieved it, frowning in confusion when it turned out to be a crooked yellow carrot.

Gripping it in his hand so hard his knuckles turned white, he stalked to the window with quick, heavy steps and leaned over the sill. He searched the courtyard, baring his new fangs despite how much they embarrassed him. They were small, dainty things made only for puncturing the soft flesh of an Alpha or Beta’s thigh gland where he’d mark his mate. Not like an Alpha’s, which had to tear through the muscle and sinew of an Omega’s neck or a Beta’s wrist; or a Beta’s which had to be strong and yet delicate enough for all three.

“Whoever threw that, I’ll have your head!” He bellowed into the courtyard below, searching for the culprit. Brown curls and a pair of contrite puppy eyes were all he found, and it only enflamed him more. Of course it was Lucerys! Who else would have the audacity to throw a fucking carrot through his window? Who else was such a thorn in his side? Such an unending nuisance? Such a bone headed shit as to risk his wrath even more?

“Lucerys Velaryon, I’m going to kinslay before the Gods and Men!” He threatened, throwing the carrot back down at him and grinning viciously as Luke flinched bodily away from it. He hoped it bruised where it hit him on the back, it would serve him right.

“Qybor, I’m sorry!” Luke called back up at him, wringing his hands and looking up at him with the same pout he’d had after that stupid pig incident years ago. “I was an ass, I know it. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I was just worried about you, and angry at Beesbury. I didn’t mean it, I swear on the Old Gods and the New.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than apologize to a stubborn Omega?” Aemond spat back, wondering if there was anything else in his room to throw. “Your stupid carrot almost hit me! Who even throws a carrot?”

“There’s naught else in this courtyard. Unless you’d rather me throw a rock at you.” Luke said, gesturing around the space. It was, as he said, empty of suitably light, small objects shaped for throwing other than a cart full of produce being unloaded into the kitchens below. Which at least explained where Luke had gotten a carrot. At least he hadn’t chucked one of the summer melons.

“Why are you throwing things at me to begin with, you daft boy?” Aemond asked, hand itching to grab his hairbrush laying on the vanity and throw that, too. But it was a nice brush, his favorite brush, a gift from his Mother. Luke wasn’t worth the risk of damaging it.

“I needed to get your attention. Ser Criston barred me from your chambers because you’ve presented, and I didn’t know how else to talk to you alone before the feast.” Luke said, scuffing the toe of his boot against the flagstone. Normally Aemond would find such a show of submission and humility from the pup endearing. But right now he was far too furious.

“I have no wish to talk to you alone, Nephew.” Aemond said, sneering. “I heard everything from you I ever wish to hear again!” The look on Luke’s face when he said that was somewhere between horror and devastation, and Aemond’s sneer turned even more malicious as he stared down at his nephew. Good, let him suffer. Let him hurt. Now he knew what it felt like. And now Aemond was going to leave him alone, feeling like nothing, just like he’d left Aemond. He turned from the window and walked away, head held high and unwavering in his resolve to not turn back no matter what Luke said.

“I’m coming up” Came the call from the courtyard, and Aemond stopped in his tracks. That was unexpected. What was the brat even talking about? The only possible way up was the vines crawling up the side of the-

Seven Hells.

Aemond rushed back to the window, eyes widening as he saw Luke already three feet off the ground and climbing higher on the tangle of honeysuckle that dripped from the red stone of the keep underneath Aemond’s window. The vines were thin and delicate, and not rooted deeply in the rock at all. In most places Luke was more using the damage the vines had done as foot and handholds than climbing on the vines themselves.

“Stop it! You’ll fall!” Aemond snapped, alarm shooting through him as Luke missed a foothold and nearly slipped. He had somehow already gotten halfway up, high enough now that if he fell he could do significant damage to himself.

“Halfway there, might as well keep going.” Luke laughed breathlessly as he kept climbing towards the window without even pausing at Aemond’s warning. “This is harder than the Singers make it sound.”

“What?” Aemond asked, perplexed. What did songs have to do with this?

“Climbing up a tower to talk to an Omega Prince. They make it sound so easy. But then again, you’re supposed to let down your hair for me.” Luke said, pausing and looking up at Aemond with a crooked grin that almost charmed him.

“You pulled it enough when we were toddlers, don’t you think?” Aemond said, snorting.

“You always had the prettiest hair.” Luke said, that cavalier grin still plastered on his face as he resumed his climb. Aemond didn’t know exactly which of the emotions coursing through him at that moment made him flush as red as Meleys, but he didn’t like any of them. He held on to the anger, banishing the others somewhere he didn’t have to think about them.

“And you’re supposed to be a dashing Alpha knight, but here we are.” Aemond said, lip curling in disgust he only half felt. Damn Luke to the Seven Hells! Why could he never stay mad at him? What did he have to do to be beyond Aemond’s forgiveness, put out his eye?

“If I were a dashing Alpha knight coming to rescue you from a tower, you’d have to marry me at the end of the song.” Luke said. There was something in his tone that Aemond couldn’t quite place, something between warmth and sadness. It ached, because Aemond could feel it, too.

“Perish the thought. Perhaps its better that you’re a snivelling pup, then.” Aemond drawled, though something warm and fluttering settled in his chest.

“I’d certainly get in more trouble for this if I was an Alpha.” Luke said, gripping the windowsill and hauling himself up. Aemond stepped back, stoutly refusing to help pull him up. If Luke wanted in his room, he’d have to get there himself. He smirked as the pup grunted and puffed, struggling through the act of pulling himself into the room as Aemond turned his back on him.

“Are you going to help me?” Luke whined, wriggling as he tried to shimmy on his belly through the window.

“No.” Aemond said lightly, picking up his brush and running it through his hair idly, just for something to do to really drive it home to Luke that he wasn’t going to lift a finger.

Shuffling against the stone, a few strained groans, and a lot of heavy breathing and Luke had finally made it into the room. When he heard him collapse into a heap below the window, only then did Aemond turn to him with a lock of hair in hand and the brush carding through it. He’d expected Luke to be pouting at him, put out that he hadn’t helped. Instead the boy was staring openly at him, eyes laser-focused on the hand in his hair.

“What?” Aemond asked, drawing his brows together.

“Nothing.” Luke said, flicking his gaze away as Aemond put the brush down.

“Well say your piece and get out, then.” Aemond huffed. “I have better things to do than entertain a spoiled pup.” Luke flinched back from Aemond’s choice of words, his own thrown back in his face once more. Good. Foolish boy, he should know better than to shout at him.

“I’m sorry.” Luke whined, despair written all over his face. “Please, Aemond, I didn’t mean any of it. I’m a fool. An ass. A dumb shit who stuck his foot in his mouth. I admit to all of it, and more. Whatever would make you happy. Just don’t be cross with me, please? I don’t know what I’d do if you stayed cross with me. You’re my best friend, Aemond, I can’t bear to not speak.”

For a moment, Aemond didn’t speak. He just regarded Luke cooly, cocking his head to the side. Silver hair spilled over his shoulder as he cocked his head, and he couldn’t help but notice the way Luke’s eyes were drawn to it. Jealousy, probably. Of Aemond’s legitimacy as a Targaryen and what beauty he had as an Omega. But for all that Aemond was seething at him, he could admit that Luke had nothing to be jealous over. He had lovely hair of his own, hair that could tempt any Alpha once he’d presented. He’d just have to grow it out. Perhaps, if Luke grovelled sufficiently, Aemond would give him advice on getting it to grow faster.

“Did you truly beat Beesbury?” Aemond asked instead of acknowledging what he said. “I heard the maids say you were seen coming out of his tent, and now his nose is broken.”

“I broke it?” Luke said, blinking in shock. But the expression was quickly schooled into a sneer. “Good.”

“Why?” Aemond demanded, wanting to hear it from Luke’s own mouth that he thought Aemond incapable of punishing his enemies himself so he could banish the boy from his rooms and stay angry.

“He touched what was m-” Luke snarled, stopping himself abruptly as his face twisted into vile rage. “He touched what wasn’t his to touch.”

Another flutter in his stomach and Aemond cursed himself for being so weak. But after all of the disinterest and neglect he’d suffered his whole life, the idea that someone could do something like that for him was heady. That Luke was so incensed at Beesbury’s antics that he broke his thrice-damned nose like a common sellsword pissed over a bad bet made tingles rush over his skin, and for a fleeting moment he wanted to throw himself at the pup in gratitude.

“You may stay, then.” Aemond said curtly instead, sitting back at his vanity and grabbing his perfume for something to do other than drag Luke into the bed to cuddle like when they were pups. Luke lit up like a Sept at the Feast of the Father, throwing himself at Aemond. The Omega grunted at the impact as Luke wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tight. He was so obviously small like this, barely coming up to Aemond’s shoulder and as slender as a sapling. Now it was Aemond’s turn to be jealous, that Luke would make such a lovely Omega with all the right proportions while he was tall and gangly and narrow. And unlike Luke’s hair, that wasn’t something he could change. Not that he wanted to. He didn’t need to be pretty and he didn’t want to be an Omega. But the jealousy burned against all logic. Even as he acknowledged to himself that if he had been an Alpha, Luke’s pretty petiteness would have been something he treasured.

“I would break a thousand noses should it keep you pleased with me, Uncle.” Luke said with a happy sigh, burrowing his face into Aemond’s shoulder. Aemond smiled, petting his fingers through Like’s dark, silky curls. He still smelled of the honeysuckle vines he had climbed to get here, a sweet, cloying scent that would suit an Omega like Luke. He could so easily imagine it, like this. Luke a little bit older, already presented and as beautiful as the sunrise. And Aemond, an Alpha in his dreams as he could never be in reality, taking him to wife. Able to hold him like this whenever he wished. A sweet song that could never be sung.

“As much as I appreciate it, taoba, you mustn’t. No Alpha will want a match with such a violent Omega.” He teased. Aemond would have. Aemond would have been overjoyed to have such a fierce mate. Now he would be someone’s fierce, violent Omega and they would not be overjoyed with him. It didn’t seem fair, that he would not receive the same treatment from an Alpha that he would have gladly given. Respect, freedom, appreciation of them for who they were. Did he not deserve that, too?

Something dark and unhappy flicked across Luke’s features, and he held Aemond harder. “Perhaps I do not want to match with an Alpha.” He growled.

“A Beta, then. Even worse, they will be intimidated by you rather than just displeased.” Aemond snorted. Luke understood nothing about society, just as his mother did not.

“I do not wish for a Beta, either.” Luke snapped, fingers digging into Aemond’s waist. Aemond’s heart fluttered in his chest as a fleeting thought crossed his mind that was quickly dismissed.

“You must marry, Luke. You are a Prince, we do not have the sort of freedom you seek.” Aemond sighed. “Or I surely would be fighting for myself the same way.”

“I don’t wish to be with anyone but you.” Luke said, so quiet that Aemond almost didn’t hear him over the clamor of servants coming to haul in the produce from the cart in the courtyard. Aemond’s heart hammered hard in his chest, and the fluttering feeling was back tenfold. But accompanying it was an inner wail of despair, building and thrashing at his insides trying to claw its way out.

“Luke…” He said softly, fingers tangling more ardently in the boy’s hair as the despair dug its fingers into his heart. “You know we cannot.”

“Ser Laenor lay with Alphas and other male Betas.” Luke protested. “Why may two Omegas not lie together?”

“And Ser Laenor was the laughingstock of the Court and was killed by his lover!” Aemond said, twisting his mouth up in a scowl. “Would you have that for us? Ridicule and death? To watch as our husbands mount other Omegas and get bastards on them? Or be set aside in disgrace?”

“I don’t care what my husband does!” Luke protested vehemently, looking close to tears. “You will be my wife in all but name, Qybor, and I will be yours. If we must bear heirs for our Alphas, let it be so. But let us do it together, as we’ve done all things.”

“We mustn’t, Luke.” Aemond said, voice small and sad and just as wet as Luke’s sweet brown eyes. “Things are different for Omegas. Laenor could lie with who he wished and all that happened was that people mocked him. We could be executed for infidelity if our husbands are powerful enough, and even if not we would likely be sent to the Faith to be Septas. And then we’d truly never see each other again.”

“But I love you.” Luke said, his voice wavering on a note that sounded exactly like the despair rending Aemond’s insides apart.

“I love you, too.” Aemond said, a single tear slipping out as his lip trembled. He wiped it away quickly as he tore himself from Luke’s arms, hugging himself as he stepped away and turned his back on him. “But we cannot.”

“Queen Rhaena did.” Luke protested, coming up behind Aemond and hugging him again. “She travelled the Westerlands with the Four-Headed Beast, and brought her lover to Dragonstone.”

“And for it she lost three dragon eggs and her husband poisoned her friends.” Aemond countered.

“Androw Farman poisoned them because they treated him terribly. Not because Rhaena was unfaithful.” Luke argued. “And we cannot get bastards on each other, so what would it matter?”

“It would matter a great deal. Not many Alphas or Beta men are Androw Farman, to weather the insults of the Realm for his wife’s transgressions and only retaliate when he’s treated unfairly.” Aemond said with a shake of his head. “We would be shaming them greatly, and they would not abide such an insult.”

“I would protect you. I will always protect you, as I swore in the Kingswood. And I will love you until the end of my days, Aemond. Whether you let me express it or not. Please, Uncle, let me love you. As you deserve. Not by some knotheaded Alpha who only wants your womb, but by someone who well and truly means it.” Luke begged, burying his face between Aemond’s shoulderblades.

“I-” Aemond started, voice catching on a sob that threatened to escape as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “This isn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“It wasn’t.” Luke agreed sadly, hands fisted in the back of Aemond’s doublet. “We were supposed to be so much more. I named our children, you know. We were to have at least five.”

Aemond did sob then, a desperate thing that scratched his throat coming out. He could see them, as clear as day. Sweet little pups with soft brown eyes and silver curls. They would have been beautiful. He would have loved them to the ends of the earth, in ways his father could never have dreamed of loving him. He would have given them everything he never had as a child: care, attention, dragons, justice. And now he couldn’t even give them life. He would have sunk to the floor under the weight of his despair if not for Luke’s deceptively strong arms winding around his waist and keeping him upright.

“It’s not fair!” He raged into the humid air of the setting sun, tearing at his hair and sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s not fair.” He repeated again, quiet and defeated, slumping in Luke’s hold.

“We can make it fair, Aemond. We needn’t be apart, we needn’t listen to the Faith or to the Court.” Luke begged desperately. “Please, Aemond, be mine. Be mine in all the ways that matter, even if we may not wed. No one need know. What is so strange about two Omegas from the same family being close? No one will suspect, I swear it. We could wed brothers, even, and stay together in the same holdfast and raise our children together and never be parted. Who would question such close Omega friends sharing a bed from time to time? Winter nights are cold, we wouldn’t be the first.”

“Kiss me.” Aemond begged, turning around abruptly in Luke’s arms and looking down at him like a wounded pet. “Kiss me, Luke, please. Before I’m driven insane by the thought of losing you.”

They surged together, then, Aemond’s hands fisted in the front of Luke’s doublet and Luke’s hands cupping Aemond’s face as their lips met. It was a clumsy kiss, full of inexperience and desperation on both ends, but it was the sweetest thing Aemond had ever experienced. The closeness, the affection, the need to exist as close to in the same exact space as was possible, everything was deliriously heady and yet soul-soothing on a bone deep level. He never wanted to pull away, never wanted to leave Luke’s arms. But they eventually had to pull back, breathing in the same air that hung heavy between them.

“Please be mine, Aemond.” Luke whispered into their shared space, their little slice of the Seven Heavens that wrapped them up in its cloak of privacy and contentment.

“Okay.” Aemond whispered back, leaning in slowly to gently press their lips together again. The Gods would damn him for this, his Mother would despair of him, even Aegon would likely balk at what he was doing. But Aemond didn’t care anymore. Luke would be his, and he would be Luke’s, wives to each other in all but name. And that was worth all of the God’s favor and his Mother’s approval. It was worth the world.

The Black Cells lived up to their name. All Martyn could see was inky darkness that seemed to stretch on forever even though he knew logically it ended at the walls of his cell. But he could no more see the walls of his cell than he could the sky. Nothing but blackness deeper than any night he’d ever experienced. Even on a cloudy, moonless night there was more light than this. He thought he could go mad down here, unable to tell where anything ended or began. Perhaps that was the point, to drive prisoners mad in retribution for their crimes. Almost all of the senses were cut off here. No sight, nothing to touch but cold stone, and nothing but the smell of rot and blood and despair. There were no sounds, either, each cell on this level a world unto itself to isolate the poor sots who existed here. Sots like him.

He shouldn’t have drank so much after his tilt. He’d just been so angry, being bested by a bastard child who didn’t deserve to even be in the lists. He barely remembers what happened after, what he did to deserve this. Mere flashes in his mind of angry violet eyes turning to panic as hands he could scarcely believe were his own wrapped around a slender neck. He’d sobered up quickly, though, once the Kingsguard had come. Sobered up and fell into despair. Even if he should survive this, which he’d known even then that he wouldn’t, his mother would never be able to look him in the eyes again knowing what he’d done to an Omega.

And to Aegon, of all people, pretty Aegon who was at once both sweet and cruel. The boy had driven him wild since he first laid eyes on him, he’d been lost the second he opened his mouth and shown off his sharp tongue. He’d always liked the feisty ones, and Aegon was perhaps the feistiest one could be without being a feral cunt like his younger brother Aemond. Too feisty, perhaps, as it had landed him in this hellhole.

Yes, this was Aegon’s fault. For provoking him. And Jacaerys’ for being a snivelling little bastard pretending at being a Prince. He would never do something like that if he hadn’t been pushed, he was sure. And he was pushed. Aegon had hit him. For all that he was a Prince, he was still an Omega and should have known better than to incur an Alpha’s wrath like that. How was he supposed to control himself when that whore slighted him like that? No Alpha worth a damn would have done different, he was sure. Aegon should have known his place. Yes, yes of course, this was Aegon’s fault.

The thought crystalized in his mind over the hours of isolation, despair warping and twisting into hatred. By the time the hallway flooded with light and he saw the first glimpse of his surroundings since the guards had left him, it had hardened into a pure, vengeful rage that consumed him down to his core. He glared at the person who had brought the light, squinting his eyes against it as they stung from it.

“Ser Martyn Reyne.” The voice said, and he finally saw past the blinding torch to the person who was wearing it. They were wrapped in a thick cloak, face hidden by the shadow of the hood and voice unplacable with no accent and an androgynous lilt. It could be a man or woman of any age, as far as Martyn could know. It was almost like The Stranger themselves had come for him, shrouded in darkness and equal with man and woman, Alpha and Omega. The one they would all return to in the end.

“What do you want?” He spat venomously. “Come to take me to my execution, then?”

“No.” They stated simply, leaving the word hanging in the air for a moment as Martyn regarded them warily.

“Then why are you here? To gawk? To beat me? To mock me?” He asked, baring his fangs.

“I have come with an offer.” They said, stepping closer despite the fact it did nothing for Martyn’s ability to see them.

“Of what? What could you offer me, a man set to die?” Martyn scoffed.

“A chance to leave this place. A chance to live. A chance to have your revenge.” The figure responded.

“And what payment do you seek? For my freedom?” Martyn asked, mouth twisting in a frown.

“A simple favor. Nothing, really. Simply a life for a life.” The figure answered. “You will kill who I bid, and then you will be on a ship to Pentos. Far from where the King can track you down.”

“Who?” Martyn asked, narrowing his eyes. He’d already nearly killed someone, was he willing to go all the way? For his life, yes, but he needed to know more first.

The figure let out a chuckle. “No one it will pain you to kill.” They answered. “But it will pain the Princes who put you here.”

A vicious grin spread across Martyn’s face. A chance to hurt the useless whore and the bastard Prince? For that, he would be willing to kill a thousand men.

“Get me out of this cell and I will kill whoever you wish.” Martyn answered, rising from the floor to grab the bars of his cell and stand before the cloaked figure.

“My men will come at the hour of the eel. Be prepared, and do not sit next to the far wall.” The figure instructed. Then they turned their back on him, taking a step to retreat back into the darkness.

“Wait!” Martyn called desperately. “At least leave the torch!”

“Apologies, Ser Martyn. But no one can know someone was here. Besides, the darkness will be friend enough to you, soon.” The figure spoke, not turning back around to face him. And then with a few long strides, they were gone. The light left with them, plunging Martyn back into inky, unending darkness. But at least now, there was hope. Hope to live, hope to be free, hope to get his revenge on the thrice-damned whore that put him here. And that would be enough to endure it, at least until the hour of the eel.

He couldn’t wait to get his hands on what would hurt him.