Chapter Text
Aerion was absent from dinner tonight, but he never really left. Matarys spoke of him, again. Last time, it was searching the dragonpit for what remained. “Aerion said he could tell the bones apart, whether they belonged to Syrax or Dreamfyre.” Before that, it was climbing atop Balerion’s skull. “Aerion slid right through its giant eye socket!” This time, it was stealing his sister’s dress. “Aerion bet he could fit into it as well.” Eyes gleaming, Matarys said, “I love having Aerion stay with us.”
Father smiled. “Good Aerion can bring some joy to the Red Keep. Ever since…your mother.”
Click, click, click. Valarr’s heart clicked every time Aerion’s name was dropped.
He had no time for such follies. There were letters to read, counsel to heed, and soldiers to lead. Mother had helped father with it. Now that fell onto him. And the heir could not be seen dawdling around with the troublemaker of the family. But still, he imagined Aerion holding a dragon’s tooth like a dagger. Foolish yet lovely. That’s where his mind had strayed when sitting in the small council, until father asked his opinion on Lord Brynden’s advice. “I agree.” An answer that could not go wrong with the Bloodraven.
“Aerion also asked about you two,” Matarys continued.
“What about us?” Valarr tried to keep his voice casual.
“Something about your decision on Tyrosh? Would there be a royal marriage? I told him I don’t know. And why ask about boring politics when we were having fun?”
Father did mention letting the Tyroshi wait, but he didn’t explain why. And Valarr’s thought circled back to the little sting. Fun. Was there more of it that Matarys was not sharing? Valarr held his tongue and ate. The lamprey pie was a bit sour tonight.
“Father”, he waited till Matarys left, “whenever Matarys has some free time, you let him go off with Aerion. It may be a poor influence. He could also turn…wild.”
A trivial matter, it seemed to father. “Sometimes, it’s good to have an interest, don’t you think?” He tapped his finger, “Keeps one motivated.”
Aerion was sitting on his bed when he returned. Valarr hastily looked back, then slammed the door shut. “You can’t just sneak into my room like that! What if someone came in before me and saw you in—” Valarr felt his face go hot. The pent-up grudge over dinner evaporated at once.
He had pictured something plain and simple—but this. Aerion was wearing a dark red gown, heavy silk, trimmed with gold and silver. His waist looked impossibly narrow in the bodice. The neckline was high and modest, the sleeves long and fitted. Aerion looked more behaved than ever. An ideal, seemly, lady wife.
“You shouldn’t keep me waiting.” Aerion leaned back, propped on his hands, legs swinging, feet peeking out from the crimson hem like white little doves.
Valarr wouldn’t wait for another second. He reached out to unwrap this present. The laces in the back were loose and half-knotted. Typical careless Aerion, couldn’t even dress himself properly. Until Valarr realised the dress was just too small for him. “Be careful.” Aerion giggled, “This is Daella’s favourite feast dress. She would be so mad if you ruined it.”
Girls were complicated, and so were their clothes, for which Valarr had neither experience nor patience. So he just drew up the dress, pulled Aerion onto his lap and entered him. Aerion wore nothing under the dress, and Valarr would see to it that he left the same way; the messed-up little doll putting himself together, clenching around Valarr’s seed as he walked, hoping not to stain the dress or leave a trail of suspicious slick behind him.
Valarr threaded his fingers amid the tangled knots, drifting slowly along Aerion’s spine, all the way to its lowest curve. That’s where the spiky tail would be if his cousin were really a dragon.
“It tickled, Valarr”, Aerion squirmed to avoid his touch, only making him sink deeper onto him. Aerion’s breath hitched as he bounced. “Aren’t you going to take the bodice off me, Valarr? I can scarcely breathe.”
But Valarr didn’t want to. The misfitting dress suited Aerion perfectly. The softness squeezed out by its stiff bone. The little wriggling as Aerion tried to slip free from the reins he laced on himself. Dragon trap, Valarr thought and grinned. Even Aerion’s panting came out sweeter through it. This was better than bare skin.
“You should wear it more often.” Valarr heard himself saying, and Aerion thumped his shoulder.
When he finally allowed Aerion out of the dress, a pair of bruises caught his eye.
“What happened to your knees?”
“I fell.”
“On both your knees?” Is this Matarys’ doing? But his brother wouldn’t have the nerve.
“Yes.” Aerion lifted a brow. “Need I remind you of the sword lesson yesterday? You tripped me!” He accused.
Valarr had no recollection of that. People fell in training all the time. Apologetically, he nibbled Aerion’s chubby cheek. “Then what have you been doing with him these days?”
Aerion’s eyes flicked up. “Who?”
“My brother,” Valarr paused. “Who else have you been glued to lately?”
Aerion laughed. “Are you jealous?”
Valarr gave him another, sharper nibble.
“Nothing fun really,” Aerion tilted his head back and blew softly at Valarr’s fringe. “He told me he dreamt of me. Saw me caught in the fire. He was almost crying when he said it. So I cheered him up with some kissing games.” He smirked. “It doesn’t take much to get a boy like him excited.”
Valarr pulled away. “You shouldn’t be kissing anyone else. Not when we are…” He bit the words back. When we are fucking in secret? He would not marry Aerion of course. He’s no fit for a queen.
“Who are you? My father?” Aerion seized Valarr’s hair and yanked him back. “Must I report to you every person I kiss?”
Valarr lowered his gaze. He knew better than to look Aerion in the eyes; it would only make things worse. And there was another blue bruise, a streak on the side of his wrist. Catching the slim bone of it, he held it up to Aerion’s face. “Did you hurt your wrist in the training as well?” He questioned.
Aerion jerked his hand free. “I tried on a bracelet, but it’s too tight for me.” He rolled his eyes. “You should find me some prettier ones. Didn’t your mother have one with the big purple pearls from the Summer Isles? I heard uncle still keeps it. It would go nicely with my eyes, don’t you think?”
Noticing Valarr’s frown, he laughed. “Don’t give me that heir face. I want another round.” He climbed back onto Valarr’s lap, arms looping around his neck.
Valarr doubted father could ever find him a wife as good as Aerion. Good in bed.
The light in father’s chamber was dimmer than usual. “You two have done so well in the jousting today.” Father nodded with a smile. It was the tourney for grandfather’s name day, and Matarys’ first since his knighthood. “My sons, making me so proud, deserve a treat.”
Matarys looked over to Baelor’s desk for the reward. Though weren’t they a bit too old for this? And neither of them really wanted anything. Little can amaze them, one of the few disadvantages of being a Targaryen. As if father can magically resurrect a dragon.
“I think it’s become appropriate for you to have this now. The gift our family has always held dear.” Father stood up to light another candle. “Matarys, will you wake him for us. Be gentle.”
Horror numbed Valarr’s tongue. In bed, underneath the blanket, was Aerion, unconscious. Or simply asleep, he hoped. He was in a light silk gown, too large for him, covering all the way down, like he was wrapped in a wrinkled cocoon. Matarys jumped away from the bed, like the floor was burning, and knocked over a vase. It shattered into pieces. Father gave him a look. Clumsy, it said.
“He won’t bite.” Father bent to the bed and cupped Aerion’s face, pulling him up, and Valarr could see the dark marks on Aerion’s neck.
The knees, the wrist; he had let Aerion fool him with all of it. Meanwhile, he, Valarr, had never dared to leave a single mark. Afraid of what others might see. Afraid of what Aerion might use against him.
“Well, still not startled.” Father patted his cheek, like it was just another lazy morning. Aerion hummed, eyes still closed. “Not now, uncle.” Can delusion sound so real? He glanced toward his brother. Matarys was stepping on the pieces of porcelain. Valarr turned back, and met Aerion’s misty violet eyes. They blew wide. Did dragons’ pupils glow like this when they saw fire?
Aerion’s gaze travelled from his face to Matarys’, and the surprise soon resumed to the usual annoying smirk. “Finally decided to tell your sons?” He looked up to father in a sweet girlish curiosity. “I’m glad I don’t have to reveal it for you.”
Father did not answer him. He beckoned to his sons. “You two will enjoy this.”
“Is it a test?” Valarr stared at him, catching Matarys’ stricken face out of the corner of his eyes. Father smiled wryly. “No more sneaking around, Valarr. Isn’t this what you wanted? Now come, be an example for your brother. At least you have some experience.”
“No.” Matarys cried. The guards could hear them. “Father, you are not yourself.”
“You are turning into Valarr, Mat. Pretense is not needed for the second son.”
“I am not! I don’t love him. Never. It’s you and Valarr, paying so much attention to him. And I just followed what you do. Like I did everything.” And they said Matarys was the one with a gentler nature. “Please, father, let us leave. We won’t tell anyone.”
“Us.” Father chuckled. “Alright. Ask your brother then. Does he wish to leave as well?”
Blood drained from Matarys’ lips. Eyebrows furrowed at Valarr in a desperate plea. He was suddenly the boy again. The boy whose hands trembled with the weight of the sword. Valarr remembered how he’d held up Matarys’ hand at his first sword lesson, how he’d placed his hand on Matarys’ shoulder to steady him. Father said we must love our brothers.
What did Matarys expect him to say? Let’s run away forever and leave Aerion with father?
Aerion cut in shrilly. “Denying, Matarys? For dragon’s sake, just as I thought, spineless as your brother.” But father silenced him, squeezing the nape of his neck, like taming a naughty kitten. Aerion winced. “Don’t talk to my sons like that. Now, Matarys—”
“Don’t you remember, Mat?” Aerion purred. “When you called your dear brother the most boring heir? When I said your company was far more enjoyable than his? When you skipped the lessons with him just to be with me?”
“Does uncle Maekar know?” Matarys was avoiding Valarr’s eyes now. “I’m going to tell him, father, and he will stop you. This. All of this.”
Father seemed to find this daring young son interesting. “Will you? Then why hesitate? At least your uncle had the courage to leave Aerion alone with his elder brother.”
Matarys gaped. A nervous glance at Valarr, and quickly drifted away. Matarys did not trust him, and father had noticed it before Matarys himself. It was worse, worse than them talking what a mediocre heir he was behind his back. “Why are you turning your sons against each other?“ Valarr blurted, words spiralling out of control, like Matarys’ nerve.
“Looking for someone to take the blame, Valarr? I am not the one making your brother jealous of you.”
“A good show as it is, can you three take this touching father-sons lecture somewhere else? I am feeling sleepy again, so…” Aerion yawned. And father’s mouth curved at this beautiful, indifferent creature.
Disgust shot up into Valarr’s chest. “Was that also him, making you jealous of your brother, father? Jealous of how uncle owns him, yet does not know how to take his true worth?”
He hit the mark, as father’s beard gave an easily missed twitch. “Always so quick, Valarr.” He paused for one breath. “That’s why I am letting you two share him now. So you all get a chance.” He rose from Aerion’s side towards his sons. “And I would advise you to cherish it. The next time won’t come this easy.”
He did not wait for their response, and walked to the door. “Uncle?” Aerion scrambled to the foot of the bed. The gown slipping loose, more bruises flared along his collarbone. He raised his voice. “What are you playing at?” Unsteady from the sudden movement, he caught the bedpost, and slid back to the careless tone. “Are you not joining? Are you not going to show them, how you always do?” His acting was too crude to look at. Any two-stag whore in King’s Landing would come off more genuine.
Father smiled fondly, explaining patiently, as if to a temperamental pet. “They will be, more like themselves, when I am not in the room.” And he nodded to his sons, “I’ve made sure you will not be interrupted.” The door clicked shut.