Chapter Text
Aerion leaned against the solid wall behind him, crossing his arms and raising his chin to watch his brother Aegon and his tall knight. They were talking cheerfully, and Aerion hated that they were so absorbed in their own world that they barely noticed his presence.
However, when Aegon finally noticed him and fixed his gaze on him, his expression changed. The gesture was enough for Duncan to turn his face and see him as well. The air in the room shifted, thickened, and both went from having a playful, comfortable look to one that was defensive and uneasy.
Aerion had been expecting it, and he enjoyed it immensely. He had always loved stirring that feeling in his insolent little brother and in Daeron, but for some time now, what gave him the warmest, twisted satisfaction was making Duncan uncomfortable.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, the clear undertone in his voice showing his indifference to the idea of disturbing their peace.
“What do you want?” Aegon asked brusquely, and Aerion raised an eyebrow at the sound. His hair had grown, now similar in length to Aerion’s own, and his voice carried a slightly deeper tone. In a few years, his brother would be a teenager, and Aerion might have found that amusing if it weren’t for Duncan’s presence.
Aerion still inspired fear in Aegon, but his posture and gaze were bolder now, knowing he was protected by his knight.
“What could a knight do against a dragon?” he asked himself mockingly, but then he remembered the punch—the one that had almost cost him a tooth—and the judgment of the Seven… He had to resist clenching his fist at the faltering answer to his own question.
Duncan hadn’t touched him again; he knew the consequences… And Aerion took advantage of that detail again and again.
“Can’t I spend some time with my little brother in his chambers?” he asked, smiling. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Aerion didn’t need to look at his brother to know his reaction to the insinuation, the memory of the nights he had snuck into his bed to scare him, because his gaze was fixed on Duncan and how he looked back. The fire of helpless rage flared in those blue eyes, and Aerion had to suppress the emotion churning in his stomach.
“So you told him, huh?” he thought, watching as Duncan turned toward him, his massive body completely blocking Aegon from view in a clear act of protection.
“I think you should leave, my lord” Duncan said. And Aerion smiled, because Duncan always avoided answering him, and if possible, even looking at him. It didn’t matter that he knew Aerion never took his eyes off him—Duncan simply ignored him.
“Or what?” He uncrossed his arms and stepped away from the wall, moving slowly toward the knight and stopping in front of him, his gaze raised. “What are you going to do, you big idiot?”
He still remembered the first time he saw him, with those startled, deer-like eyes and his ragged clothes that made him look like any ordinary stable boy—clothes now replaced by fine dark silks befitting a knight of House Targaryen. Aerion burned with the desire to strip him of that clothing, to leave him bare at his mercy, and remind him of where he truly came from.
As he would with any common whore who didn’t belong within these walls.
Duncan was a constant reminder of his former humiliation and of someone he wanted to break, as he would with others like him—but no matter how hard he tried, Duncan never gave in. Even his own family seemed to favor him. His own uncle had chosen Duncan’s side over his, and he had paid dearly for it.
Duncan frowned slightly at being called an “idiot,” but instead of hardening his anger, his eyes softened into a resigned pity. It was not what Aerion expected, and it only made his desire to inflict harm grow.
“I’m not going to do anything,” he said, then added, “Are you going to?”
He asked, revealing that he was fully aware that if Aerion went after him unprovoked, the weight of responsibility—and its consequences—would fall solely on Aerion. And he was far from wanting to see his father’s look of disdain again.
“You’d be surprised at what I’d like to do to you,” Aerion said, looking at him and deliberately letting his gaze slide over Duncan’s lips before returning to his blue eyes. It was a lascivious provocation, meant to unsettle him and break the calm that was so infuriating Aerion—and judging by the confusion on Duncan’s face, it worked.
It was well known within the Targaryen fortress, Aerion’s sadistic streak—both in violence and in sex. Rumors traveled through walls and reached everywhere.
So Duncan had to understand that his words were not merely provocative, but deeply twisted.
“This is how I see you. You’re not a knight, you’re nobody by my side… just someone I could have fun with, claiming your blood and your screams between my moans of pleasure. The prey of a dragon.”
“Enough,” Aegon stepped forward, moving around Duncan and looking at him. He didn’t seem to grasp what his older brother had meant, nor did he notice Duncan’s face paling slightly.
“I bet he’s a virgin,” Aerion thought, and the mere idea sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, unbidden, without ever breaking his gaze from Duncan.
He looked at him, and that brief moment in which he caught him off guard made his eyes remind him again of that startled deer, who had turned out not to be a mere stable boy, momentarily cracking the façade of the composed and competent knight he so carefully cultivated and refined over time.
Recognizing that he had been disarmed by such a small phrase, rather than by the threat of violence he always tried, felt like a long drink of water on a scorching day.
“Enough,” Aegon repeated, trying to get his attention, and this time, with effort, Aerion tore his eyes away from Duncan and looked at him. “If you don’t leave, I’ll speak to Father.”
Always the same threat. Aerion would have smiled, if it didn’t have its damn effect on him.
“Tell me, what will you do when Father is gone? Or when that idiot Daeron stumbles drunk into some ditch and the crown belongs to me after his death?” He could almost feel Aegon’s hair bristle, and in that moment he looked back at Duncan. “What will you do?”
Duncan clenched his jaw and drew in a subtle breath, holding his gaze. Aerion couldn’t tell what emotion lay behind it, but he was certain of one thing: it was no longer pity.
This time, Aerion allowed himself a smile.
“I suppose we’ll see when the time comes.” He didn’t stop looking at him as he walked slowly backward toward the exit, casting a brief glance at his younger brother’s expression of pure hatred before leaving the room.