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They met at a fork in the Trident river. Robert’s breath caught at the sight of him, even as he threw the prince from his horse and jumped off his own to finish the job. He wanted them on equal footing, to slay Rhaegar as he would a boar.
He clutched his hammer as to almost break his own hand and drew it back with the intention of splitting Rhaegar’s black heart in two, so that all would see blood drift down the river to their feet. There were many in Rhaegar’s party who would mourn their dragon prince, he was sure.
He swung his hammer directly at Rhaegar’s breastplate but let it hang, wanton and waiting, as sweet scent reached him: delicate, exotic, and decidedly beaten.
Robert stared, bewildered, just as the bastard took aim at his neck. Returning to himself, he disarmed the already wounded Rhaegar in an instant. The glint of steel and the empty hand that followed made the prince look as if he surrendered willingly.
Pushing Rhaegar into the shallow waters of the Trident was a simple task. He struggled, of course, but when Robert sat astride him and threw off his helmet, their battle was at an end.
He looked upon the black prince and saw his silver hair submerged in water. Their eyes met, that inhuman, alien purple that had surely singed nightmares into his beloved Lyanna’s heart forever. Then he shifted as a hot, sweet scent drifted on the wind.
“What trickery is this?!” Robert demanded. He scented it again. Gentle and soft pheromones drifting towards him, heightened by the water lashing against the neck of his captive.
“It can’t be,” Robert murmured. His face sank down to Rhaegar’s neck. Such closeness between them was unthinkable; intimacy with the man who raped Lyanna and whose need for an intended had drowned his own parents at sea. But he had to know.
Rhaegar lay still, half submerged, gasping as he was manoeuvred into Robert’s waiting arms. He was near half-dead from battle, and his neck drooped a little as Robert’s hand alternated between supporting him and scenting him. His lips parted a little as if the shock of contact was worse than enduring Robert’s blows.
“Omega,” Robert said, horrified. “Aerys truly is mad!” And perhaps more conniving than Robert had suspected, having managed to keep such a secret. “The heir to the dragon throne… a bitch who starts a war because he’s desperate to spread his legs.”
Robert had thought Rhaegar an alpha, as the rest of them had, because every heir to a noble house was assuredly an alpha. Lyanna Stark was an alpha too, though a woman, yet that made her no less fierce. Alpha males were engaged only to alpha females to ensure a higher chance of alpha heirs, while omegas were kept for brothels and pleasure. The thought of one forcing Lyanna to sate his urges near made Robert take his hammer and crush Rhaegar’s pretty armour; he outfitted himself like a brothel whore, too. It was a wonder Robert hadn’t noticed before.
“You raped her?” Robert asked. He nipped Rhaegar’s gland once, which was enough to make the omega shudder, then dropped him carelessly into shallow water. While Rhaegar strove for breath, Robert removed his codpiece. His cock, big as every Baratheon man was, cast a shadow over Rhaegar’s noble armour. “I’ll kill you, Rhaegar Targaryen, but I’ll be damned if I don’t fuck you bloody first.”
Though men still shouted fields away, Robert stripped Rhaegar methodically. The sweet scent became stronger as he peeled back the viper’s skin, revealing a body unblemished and delicate. Robert’s hands traced him, awed by Rhaegar Targaryen staring up at him as he was defeated, owned, and conquered. He pushed inside with brutal force.
As Robert’s balls pressed against the tightest pussy in all of Westeros, Rhaegar screamed with what little strength he had left. Someone shouted far into the distance as the prince wailed, but Robert did not care. Let them see their omega princeling being rutted by an alpha; divine punishment for his crimes against nature and man. His own forces would not let them near.
“I hid in a brothel surrounded by omega whores before your man found me,” Robert said, “but none of their pussies were so fine as yours, my prince.” His voice was crueller than he had ever known it to be. “Is this how you thank your men, perhaps?” He continued thrusting, incredulous at the amount of slick Rhaegar was producing. “The Targaryens devolving into omega bitches who can only take a good, hard fuck from their betters.” Rhaegar was near dead. The Targaryen flame kindled by Aegon the Conqueror was being snuffed out by Robert’s own cock.
Rhaegar’s lashes fluttered prettily. His flaxen hair moved with every tide of flesh that bore down. Well pleased with the prince’s whorishness, Robert looked to where his cock was buried to the hilt and glimpsed blood.
He almost reeled back and freed the bastard, but he stayed his hand. His cock was coated in it; not the eager wetness of an omega at all, but blood joining the stream and specking the translucent water with hard crimson.
Robert’s lip quirked in disgust and astonishment. Rhaegar could be no virgin; he’d kidnapped Lyanna to sate his dastardly desires, after all. Perhaps it was simply the roughness, the size of Robert’s cock, that tore the prince’s soft insides.
He bore down hard and thrust deep. Of the forty-thousand-strong Targaryen host, it seemed only his cock had managed to fuck Rhaegar so well.
“If you wanted a good, hard fuck, my prince,” Robert murmured, playing at Rhaegar’s neck, “you needn’t have gone to all this trouble. You could’ve spread yourself in my tent. Eddard, myself, and the rest of the men would have gladly had you.”
Perhaps it was unnatural. Aerys, in his madness, neglecting his whorish little son and leaving him unmarried and forced to take another’s betrothed to satisfy his base urges. But that was the cost of Targaryens reaching too high. They would not stop inbreeding, producing far too many yowling, worthless omegas who they either married themselves or pawned off to other great houses. The insult was unspeakable.
“Whore,” Robert growled as his knot began to take root. He swore he could feel Rhaegar’s womb pulsing next to his cock, beckoning him inside. “Useless, conniving bitch. I always knew there was something wrong with you.” He ran a hand through Rhaegar’s soft, white hair and brought the strands to his nose: floral and alien. “To think, a war started because of this.” He slapped Rhaegar’s tiny cocklet and did the same to his still bleeding omega pussy. “At least you’re getting what you wanted, even if so many had to die for it.”
Rhaegar choked something out, but Robert did not hear him. His knot caught against that precious dragon womb, coating it in ropes of cum. He held fast, near crushing Rhaegar into the Trident’s stones.
Brothel whores wore collars around their necks, but Rhaegar had nothing, only the revulsion that bled from Robert’s veins. He stayed his hand and laid his head against Rhaegar’s soft skin, biting at his lips as he felt his womb quiver. Doubtless, Rhaegar knew that Robert’s seed was worth more than his own inbred, watered-down pleasure.
“You liked that,” Robert murmured. “A shame. Perhaps if the king had put you to free use outside the keep, we might’ve stayed our hand.” Robert grabbed his hammer. “But no more. Your house is no longer free to terrorise the innocent, and you will burn in the seven hells for what you’ve done to me.”
Rhaegar gasped up at him, his strange, otherworldly eyes glazed with something unknowable. “The child…” he murmured softly.
Robert stared down at him, certain the son was as mad as the father, until the dance of Rhaegar’s fingers over his stomach made it clear: his womb. “You think I’ll let you live because I’ve put a babe in you?!” He laughed. “Did Aerys permit Lord Rickard and Brandon to live for the sake of house Stark?” He grasped Rhaegar’s hand and threw it back into the water. “I doubt the world waits on anything you could produce, Rhaegar Targaryen.”
He slammed his hammer down hard once and heard the sharp crack of armour. Rhaegar, to his disappointment, did not scream. He murmured something unintelligible, something unimportant, and that was the end of him.
When Robert’s eyes finally met the stream, he saw only red. Rhaegar’s blood and the rubies cut from his armour glittered in the sunlight, making the Trident appear as if it were on fire.