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Aegon was 12 and halfway through the first night of a raging fever when he realized he was presenting as an Omega.

The first thing he felt was a wave of crushing relief. The weight of the crown seemed to fall off of his head with the realization, and he laughed boldly into the empty room with an almost unhinged delight that was swallowed by the storm raging outside. His only claim to that wretched throne was the cock between his legs, and his first fever would take it away by the end of the week.

Good riddance.

The second feeling was an equally crushing wave of guilt. His mother and grandfather had hung every hope on him, and he’d failed them down to the level of blood and bone. And he’d failed his little brother, Aemond, who would now be put forward as Rhaenyra’s rival in Aegon’s place. Sharp, intense little Aemond, who took duty too seriously and wouldn’t even question it.

Everyone had expected Aegon to be an Alpha, would have been fine with him being a Beta, but never in a million years had anyone considered that Aegon would be an Omega. It was unthinkable.

”No it wasn’t.” The thought rolled in like the thunder, whispering in the voice of The Maiden herself. ”You prefer silks to swords, and feasts to fighting. This was always who you were.”

The truth of it only intensified the guilt and the relief, mixing them together until they were so tangled he couldn’t separate them. He shouldn’t be an Omega. He shouldn’t be a soft, pretty thing whose job was to dance and sing and flatter.

But, Gods, did he want to be.

He wanted knights and lordlings to fall on themselves to offer him pretty baubles, and he’d rather dangle his favor like a prize before the Alphas of the court than ever take up a lance himself. He wanted to be the reason some gallant knight fought hard enough to win the day, laying a crown of flowers at his feet and proclaiming him Queen of Love and Beauty.

He shouldn’t want any of that. He should want the throne, power, to be an Alpha like his Father and Grandfather and Great-Grandfather all the way back to Aegon the Conqueror. He should be cursing the Gods at this turn of events. He shouldn’t want it. But the pure, aching need for it was an all-consuming thing. And Gods, it was his. The fever would burn away everything that made him his mother’s pawn and leave only the opportunity to grasp at what he truly wanted.

He prayed sincerely since the first time his mother had struck him while quoting the Seven Pointed Star. He thanked The Maiden, hands clasped tight and whispers fervent in the dark heat of his nest. He vowed to The Seven, and especially to The Maiden, that he would not waste the gift they’d given him.

Viserys had been so pleased that as soon as Aegon’s fever had cleared and he could leave his apartments, the King had taken his son to choose whatever jewels he wished from the Royal Vault

It was hard not to be cynical about it. To think that Viserys was only so pleased because Aegon was no longer a threat to his precious eldest. But he refused to make it easy on Aegon. He kept beaming with pride and going on and on about “The first Targaryen Omega since before the Doom!” while smelling like the smoke of a happy, well-fed dragon and incense just after it starts to fade. It made it hard to fight the small flicker in his chest, or the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth. His father had already reminded him a dozen times that there hadn’t been an Omega in their family in over 200 years.

“It was a magic we thought lost to our line with Valyria. Daenys the Dreamer was the last, and she saved us all.” Viserys had said, finally looking at Aegon like he was worth something.

What did his father see, now, when he looked at him? Did Aegon even want to know? Viserys had butchered his beloved Aemma for a chance at an Alpha son, yet now Rhaenyra was his heir and Aegon’s Omegahood was worth this confusing affection he was receiving.

”What is it that goes on inside of that head of yours, Father?” Aegon wondered.

“Here, take a look at this one.” His father’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, procuring a beautiful golden collar necklace dripping with purple star sapphires. “It was your grandmother Alyssa’s.”

Aegon took the necklace, running his fingers over the fine, intricate goldwork and the sparkling purple stones that shone with one brilliant starburst each when he held them to the light. He couldn’t help but wonder why Rhaenyra didn’t have the necklace. It was such a beautiful thing, and an heirloom from the King’s beloved mother. Why was it still here?

He didn’t ask, fearing the answer would sour this moment with his father. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he was being offered his sister’s rejected castoffs.

“Thank you, Father. It’s beautiful. I’d be honored to wear it.” He said, letting a small smile bloom. He put it on, the gold and sapphires resting against the pale column of his throat where it was now exposed by his Omegan attire.

“The stones suit you, Aegon.” Viserys said, still shuffling through boxes of jewels. He pulled out a decadent cascade of gold and green, considering the necklace for a moment. “How do you feel about emeralds?”

Aegon grimaced, remembering all of the times since that stupid feast when he was 4 that his mother would shove him into green just because she’d worn a green dress once and everyone decided to make a big deal of it. Green wasn’t even a Hightower color, not truly. With all the gold and green, you’d think they were trying to be Tyrells.

Not that Aegon was itching to wear Hightower gray and white, it would wash him out dreadfully.

“No, no emeralds I think. Amethyst, maybe.” Aegon said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’re right. Purple suits me. Give that one to Mother. She’s the reason there’s an Omega in House Targaryen at all.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Viserys said, contemplating it. After a moment, his father pocketed the necklace and moved on. Aegon turned away from him to hide a smile.

“Here, these earrings belonged to Queen Alysanne. She was fond of Amethysts, too.” Viserys said, bringing his son a pair of dangling golden earrings set with amethysts. Up close the scent of dragonsmoke and faded incense was strong, stronger than he’d smelled since he was a child. Something that felt like a deep well surged up inside of him, and he slammed a lid on it before it could reach his eyes.

“I’ll need my ears pierced.” Aegon said, taking the earrings anyway.

“We’ll have a maester see to it. You shall be the most glittering Omega at court, as befits your station.” Viserys said, voice and scent as warm as the first curl of smoke after dragonflame.

The Maiden had smiled on him, and now The Father had followed. He would go to the Sept later and light a candle in thanks.

“I can’t wait.” Aegon said, turning away to hide a smile he couldn’t control.

Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Aegon supposed he’d known that, somewhere in the back of his mind. The Gods had been good to him, but they weren’t endlessly benevolent.

The first slight had been the Septa assigned to chaperone him everywhere. It wasn’t proper, his mother said, for a young Omega Prince to be left unattended to roam the castle. Septa Ellyn was a kind enough woman, a Beta with a stout stature and burly arms, but she stalked Aegon like a shadow everywhere he went. An Omega’s Septa was a shield of propriety that nearly every noble maiden was expected to carry with them. And now he was no exception.

The second slight was the new lessons that came with the Septa. Deportment. Relearning to dance as the following partner. Embroidery. He was even expected to pick up an instrument. This blow, though, was softened by a lack of strategy lessons and the assurance that he would never have to pick up a sword again.And he did enjoy the harp.

The third was much more embarrassing, and there was nothing to soften the blow. His mother, looking as embarrassed as he felt, had explained what his marital duties would entail now that the fever had taken his member and left a quim. Aegon hadn’t wanted to think too hard about that part, if he was being honest with himself. He hadn’t even looked at himself properly yet. The last thing he wanted to think about was anything going into or coming out of it.

But Mother insisted he be educated.

She’d also explained certain things he should know. Things as monumental as how to care for your body when you were with child and things as simple as how to wipe himself to prevent yeast infections.

“Mother?” He asked after she’d finished explaining how often to change his bloodcloth during his post-fever courses. “Are you cross with me?”

Alicent sighed, twisting her rings around her fingers. Her 30th Name Day had passed recently, and in that moment Aegon could see every single year on his mother’s face.

“No, Aegon. I’m not cross with you.” She said, cupping his cheek and offering a melancholy smile. “I’m cross with myself. I should have seen this coming.”

“There hasn’t been a Targaryen Omega since Daenys the Dreamer. And there hasn’t been a Male Omega in our house for generations before that. How could you possibly have guessed?” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Because I saw it sometimes.” Alicent said, looking out of the window and watching the gentle fall of the rain. The storm that had rolled in the same night as the fever still hadn’t left, it had only roared itself out until it was as meek as a kitten. “In the way you acted, in the way you carried yourself, in the things you enjoyed or abhorred. I just didn’t want to come to terms with it.”

“And now?” Aegon asked. He feared the answer, and yet he couldn’t help but ask the question.

“And now….” Alicent sighed, the silence stretching taught between them as Aegon’s imagination conjured all of the hurtful things his mother could say.

“Wine and honey. My grandmother smelled of wine and honey, too.” She said instead, her voice a bit distant and the honeydew in her Omega scent retreating back behind mournful lily. His fingers twitched with the strange urge to reach out, but he doused it. “He was said to have been as beautiful as a sunrise when he was a maiden, with a tongue sharper than Valyrian steel. A true rose of House Tyrell, thorns and all. The Reach has always had an abundance of strong Omegas. Florys the Fox, Florence Fossoway, GIlbert of the Vines.”

Aegon perked up, tilting his head curiously as his mother spoke. What was she driving at here? He knew his great-grandmother was a Tyrell Omega, but Grandfather never spoke much of the mother he’d lost so young. What was the relevance, other than a shared scent?

“You will be beautiful, Aegon.” She continued. “You’re a Targaryen, you could hardly not be. Alphas will fall all over themselves to offer you anything and everything just for a scrap of your attention. They’ll do their best to spin your head around with gallant acts and florid poetry. But you’ve also always been quick-witted and sharp-tongued. You have thorns of your own. A dragon’s claws. You’ll need them now more than ever, your sword and shield against those who would threaten your virtue, or lure you in with sweet words only to tie you to them for power and prestige.”

”Like you did with Father?” He thought mutinously.

“I understand, Mother.” He said instead. “I’ll be careful.”

”Not for you.” He thought. For the promises I made the night The Maiden blessed me with the fever. The night the Gods saved me from you.”

They were all lucky that Alicent had assigned Aegon a Septa when a fight broke out after Laenor’s funeral. More lucky than Aegon could even begin to comprehend.

It had started out as what Aegon considered a childish argument about who “deserved” a living creature that made her own choices. But it had quickly devolved when the insults about Jace and Luke’s parentage had come out. Aemond had a rock, Luke had a knife, and then suddenly Septa Ellyn had them both by the scruffs of their necks and everything was fine.

“That was close.” He whispered into the air, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Yeah.” Jace said, walking beside him as Septa Ellyn led the children back to their parents to be disciplined. “Luke almost-” He cut himself off, as if he couldn’t even bear the thought of what his brother could have done.

“And Aemond could’ve-” Aegon agreed, haltingly, going silent for the same reason.

“I’m glad your Septa was there.” Jace said, sounding as young and small as Aegon felt. He had felt so powerless down there in the caves, watching with horror as it unfolded. He was the oldest, he was the only one presented. But he couldn’t make himself do anything.

“Me too.” Aegon said, looking down at his feet and blinking his eyes rapidly to soothe the sting of them. “I guess it’s not all bad, having her around.”

“What’s it like? Being presented?” Jace asked curiously. Aegon was the only one of the children so far to present, though Jace and the twins were likely to do so soon. He supposed he should have expected their curiosity.

“It’s-” Aegon scrunched up his nose, thinking. “It’s different, but it’s not. No one’s suddenly treating me like an Omega grown. I’m still a child to them. But I’m expected to wear different clothing, and Father insists I wear jewels. I have to learn embroidery, and relearn how to dance. Some of the squires have been paying me more attention of late, too. Alphas around my age, boys who wouldn’t look twice at me as anything but a Prince before. It’s strange.”

Jace didn’t seem pleased with the answer for some reason.

“Squires are hardly suitable company for a Prince.” He grumbled. Aegon blinked at him, snorting a little when he saw the childish pout on his nephew’s face.

“I have no interest in squires.” Aegon said with a roll of his eyes. “Some of the young knights at court are quite handsome, though.” he added with a blush and a small, shy smile.

That only seemed to make Jace more agitated.

“I bet they’re not even that good.” He grumbled, pouting. So Jace was jealous of the older boys who’d already presented, hm? It made sense, his own change was lurking around the corner and every firstborn son in the realm longed to be an Alpha. A mischievous smirk coiled on Aegon’s face like a serpent ready to strike.

“Ser Quentyn Swann unhorsed three Knights on Mother’s last Name Day, and he’s only six and ten.” Aegon countered, a teasing lilt to his voice. “And so tall.” he added as an afterthought, a bit dreamily.

Jace glared at him venomously.

“Someone’s jealous that they haven’t earned their spurs yet.” Aegon teased, pinching Jace’s cheek. “Don’t be. You’ll get your turn soon enough, and you’ll make a fine knight.” He said, knowing how sweet those words would sound to ears that wanted so badly to hear them.

The scowl was replaced by a shocked look, and the tips of Jace's ears turned pink. He looked so cute like that, like a little dog that had just had its head pat.

“Do you think so?” He asked, open and unguarded in the way only an unpresented child could be. His scent, mild and milky, spiked gently at the praise. This was why Jace had always been his favorite nephew. It was so easy to make him hang on every word Aegon said, like he was important. Like Jace thought he was important.

“I know so.” Aegon said, leaning in to peck his nephew on the cheek. Septa Ellyn barked his name and Aegon turned to her, suddenly reminded of his new station and the folly of innocent kisses given to soon-to-present boys. He pulled back, part sheepish and part impish, giving Jace a wink before skipping off with Aemond back to their parents.

Jace hung back, a hand on his cheek, until the nursemaid the Septa had called for came to collect them.

“What do you know about Quentyn Swann?” Jace asked his swordmaster, Ser Meryn Coldbrook, in the yard the next day. The Spring air was bracing on Dragonstone, sweeping in off the sea with a bite that belied the warming days. Jace, though, was sweating. His fine black cloak had been discarded halfway through their training session, but his hair still clung, curling, to the back of his neck.

“A fine young knight. Won his spurs fighting bandits in the Rainwood. I’ve heard he’s a promising lance.” Ser Meryn answered. Jace’s jaw tightened and he struck harder than he meant to, leaving an opening that Ser Erryk took advantage of. Jace barely parried, his mind elsewhere.

“Aegon said he unseated three knights at the Queen’s Name Day tourney.” Jace grumbled as he adjusted his grip on the sword and made a half-hearted swipe at Ser Meryn that was swiftly slapped away. ”And that he’s tall.” His brain added mutinously.

“Aye, he did.” Ser Meryn said, his eyebrow twitching slightly as if he wanted to raise it.

“House Swann is a minor house.” Jace said, scowling. Aegon was a Prince. The first Targaryen Omega in two centuries. He couldn’t marry into house Swann. The idea was ridiculous! And yet…and yet Aegon had looked so besotted talking about him.

“Aye. Minor, but rich and powerful enough. They control the Slayne.” Ser Meryn said neutrally.

“You’re not helping.” Jace grumbled. Was the Slayne important enough to secure a royal match? Surely not. It didn’t even flow all the way to Storm’s End. Thoughts about Jahaerys’ daughter Viserra, who had been betrothed to a Manderly before her death, came unbidden and unwanted. Was that truly any better than a Swann?

No. No, that was ridiculous. White Harbor was much more important than the Slayne, and Viserra had been a Beta and tenth born. Grandfather would never make that mistake with Aegon. He was far too precious.

“What’s this about, My Prince?” The knight asked, looking down at the young Prince with an open curiosity.

Jace didn’t answer for a moment. He couldn’t just come out and tell him that it was because every time he thought about the moony look on Aegon’s face when he’d called Ser Quentyn tall he wanted to smash something.

“It’s nothing.” He muttered, taking up his stance once more.

“My Prince, if-” Ser Meryn started, but Jace cut him off with a snarl.

“I said it’s nothing!” He insisted, throwing his blunted training sword into the dirt and stomping off.

That horrible, angry feeling like he wanted to smash things (preferably Quentyn Swann’s face) only grew as he stalked off towards his rooms. His skin felt itchy and too tight, like it couldn’t contain his anger. His heart was thundering, far more than it should be for the light spar he’d been in. His blood raced with agitation and a need he couldn’t name.

His mother found him that way, stalking down the hall like a storm someone had thought to bring indoors. She greeted him with a smile, opening her mouth to say something. But instead her jaw went slack and her eyes wide as she slapped a hand over her nose. Jace barely had time to react before she was turning away from him.

“You, Guard!” She ordered, turning to a man standing watch outside of her solar. “Escort Prince Jacerys back to his rooms. I want a round the clock detail on his doors for the next week.” The man snapped to attention and crossed the hall in quick strides, laying a hand on Jace’s shoulder to lead him away. Jace shrugged him off with a half-feral growl.

“What is the meaning of this!?” He snapped, baring his teeth at her with wild eyes. The guard laid a hand on his shoulder again and again he threw him off with a low growl. “What have I done!?”

His mother’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and though her smile was hidden behind the hand that was still holding her nose he could still smell how the wistful, delicate smell of burning rose petals swept forward against the burning embers of her Beta scent. “You’ve done nothing, my sweet boy.” She said, stepping away from him. Into fresher air, he realized. For some reason the stink of a rutting Alpha had filled the hall.

“Your change is upon you, you’re becoming a man.” His mother said wistfully, her hand twitching at her side as if she wanted to reach out for him. In a startling moment of clarity, Jace realized that the rutting Alpha was him.

“I don’t understand.” Jace whined, wiping the sweat from his brow and running the damp hand agitatedly through his hair. “I feel awful.”

“I know, sweetling.” Rhaenyra said sympathetically, gesturing for the guard to approach him again. “It always feels terrible, even for Betas. But it will pass. Go to your chambers. You’ll feel better in your den.”

He didn’t want to go to his den. He wanted his mother. He wanted Aegon. But his mother was quickly receding down the hallway, and Aegon was hundreds of miles away.

Jace did his best not to fight the guard as he put his hand back on his shoulder and led him off, but something in him wanted nothing more than to round on the Alpha and attack. His very presence was off-putting, like a direct challenge he had to face.

Somehow, though, he managed to keep a leash on the urge until he was deposited in his rooms. Mother had been right, he felt better here, less exposed. But it wasn’t enough. He drew the curtains over the windows and blew the candles out, cloaking the room in blessed darkness that made the pounding behind his eyes lessen just a fraction.

He tumbled into the bed and drew the curtains, completely sealing himself into a cocoon of shadow and safety. He whimpered as a spike of some strange feeling went through him, making weird, unwelcome things happen between his legs.

For some reason, his mind turned to Aegon.

He’d smelled so good when he’d leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Like the finest Arbor Red he’d ever tasted, rich and juicy and sweet. The thought made his gums ache, a sensation he’d never felt before and was suddenly keenly aware he didn’t like.

”A fine young knight, a promising lance.” Ser Meryn had said.

”And so tall.” Aegon’s words came back to him and Jace snarled, fingers tightening in the sheets. Stupid fucking Quentyn Swann. What was so special about him? Nothing, that was what. Unseated three knights? So what, they were probably hedge knights and upjumped squires.

A traitorous whisper in his mind reminded him that Harwin Strong was taller than any Swann.

Jace buried his face in his pillow and screamed, his fangs unsheathing for the first time as he bit down angrily on the fabric. Blood from his broken seals pooled in the black silk, hidden against the dark surface. But he could taste it mingling with the musk of the feather down inside of the pillow. It was truly happening, every Noble boy’s dream. He was becoming an Alpha, and it was a miserable experience.

Lucky him.

He screamed into his pillow again, pummeling into it with reckless fists and imagining it was Quentyn Swann’s face. The anger refused to abate, and whatever was going on in his nethers was only getting worse. He hated this. He hated presenting. He hated his rut.

He hated Quentyn fucking Swann.

Rhaenyra was called back to King’s Landing less than a moon’s turn after the funeral. Apparently Lyonel Strong had gotten into a fight with Grandfather deep into his cups and now his mother was Hand of the King. Something about preparing both her and the Realm for her rule. Jace thought maybe it was just to get her away from Daemon. Not that it had worked, since the Rogue Prince was currently swaggering about the ship giving orders as they prepared to disembark.

Either way, part of him was excited to go back to King’s Landing. His first rut had filled him out a bit, broadening his shoulders and giving him an extra inch of height. He doubted he was as tall as Ser Quentyn yet, but he had to be at least taller than Aegon now, right?

The wind off the Blackwater whipped at his hair, throwing his dark curls into his eyes. The scent of cedarwood and oakmoss curled around him, a proper mature scent that would follow him now to the end of his days. He had prayed for some marine note; saltwater or ocean breeze. Some scrap of a lie to hide behind. Instead, he smelled like a godswood. He smelled of the First Men the way that Aegon smelled of the Reach.

Charcoal and sharp black pepper tickled his nose, and he turned to look at Daemon. That was what a Valyrian Alpha smelled of. Exotic spices and fire. Daemon smelled like he didn’t belong here. Like he should still be in the shadows of The Fourteen Flames. Jace and Aegon smelled as they were, two boys whose roots in Westeros ran back a thousand years or more.

”Maybe that’s a good thing. a traitorous part of his mind whispered. A Westerosi King for Westeros. The first in a hundred years.”

He dismissed it. He was a Velaryon. Trueborn. To even consider the alternative was to court treason.

Luke stumbled up from the bowls of the ship, still looking green even though they’d been docked for almost a half hour. ”Trueborn. Anything else is treason.” he reminded himself as he looked at his seasick little brother. It wasn’t a lie if he believed it.

“We’ll be off the ship soon.” Jace assured Luke gently, patting his back. He smelled of sour milk, the stink of a distressed child. His new Alpha instincts clawed at him to protect, even stronger than his instincts as an older brother.

“I don’t want to get off the ship. I don’t like King’s Landing.” Luke said petulantly. Then, more mournfully, “Aemond probably hates me now.”

”Well you did pull a knife on him, little brother.” Jace thought, but he didn’t say it. He simply squeezed his brother’s shoulder. Luke had taken Aemond’s spat insults during and after the fight hard, and nothing Jace said would convince the pup that his favorite uncle had just been angry.

“All you can do is apologize and hope he forgives you.” He told him, ruffling his hair. “He’s always been softer with you, mayhaps he’s already forgiven you.”

“Then why didn’t he answer my letter?” Luke griped, leaning on the railing of the ship with a pout. Luke had written to Aemond as soon as they were back on Dragonstone, but no word had ever come back from King’s Landing.

“It’s been less than a moon’s turn, Luke. For all we know his reply is arriving on Dragonstone right now and we merely missed it.” Jace said, continuing to pet the dark curls under his fingers and sending out his scent to comfort his brother.

Luke turned and buried his face in Jace’s chest, a child seeking comfort in a related Alpha. He’d been doing it more often of late, an instinctive reaction to Jace’s presentation. Jace wrapped his arms around his little brother and squeezed.

“If Aemond doesn’t forgive you, I’ll duel him.” Jace promised with a small smile.

“Knock him in the dirt.” Luke grumbled, muffled by Jace’s doublet. “But only if he doesn’t forgive me.”

“And if he does forgive you?” Jace asked, amused.

“Then help me steal those cherry tarts he likes from the kitchens.” Luke grinned, easy and sweet. Jace wondered sometimes if maybe Luke would be an Omega, and his instinct to feed those he cared about only bolstered that. But there was never any use speculating before a child presented. Look where it had gotten the Hightowers.

Aegon.

The thought of his uncle sent a strange warmth through him. He wondered if he’d be in the royal procession meeting them at the docks, or if the children would have been left at the castle. He wanted to see him so badly, to see his reaction to Jace’s presentation.

Would he be surprised? Would he take him more seriously now? And how would his scent change, now that Jace had a mature nose? Omegas had smelled sweeter since his presentation, especially unmated ones. Would Aegon smell sweeter too? How was that even possible when he already smelled like the richest honey?

“Jace, Luke. It’s time to leave.” Daemon said over the wind and the din of the docks.

He supposed he’d get his answers soon

Aemond still didn’t know how to feel about what he’d seen.

That morning, he’d gone to his mother’s chambers to inform her that he was ready to leave for the procession. That he, at least, was a dutiful and punctual child. Helaena would rather spend time with her beetles than get dressed efficiently, and Aegon had somehow become even more vain about his clothing choices since presenting. Both of them were taking ages, and he’d thought perhaps he could persuade Mother to leave them behind.

When he’d gotten to his mother’s chambers, he’d seen his parents coming out. Both of them. Which was strange enough in and of itself. But then something had happened that still had Aemond questioning everything.

Viserys had leaned down and kissed his wife.

And Mother had smiled and kissed him back.

His first instinct had been to turn away for some reason, like he shouldn’t be witnessing this. Then a warring need to both run away and confront his parents and ask what they thought they were doing. But he hadn’t gotten to do any of those things, because suddenly his parents were turning to look at him with the warmest looks he’d received from either of them in years.

“Aemond, my boy. Are you ready to greet your sister?” Viserys had asked. Aemond hadn’t answered for a moment, just staring at Viserys like a stranger. Faded incense itched in his nose, too strong and too close.

“Yes.” He had said slowly, trying to process. “I’ve come to tell Mother I’m ready to go. Aegon and Helaena are not.”

“I’ll see to Aegon.” Viserys had said, as if it were something he did. As if seeing to his children was a natural part of his day. Aemond had watched his father walk away, perplexed.

“Mother, what’s going on?” He has asked, unable to hold in his confusion anymore.

“Don’t ask questions.” She had said quickly. But her tone hadn’t been sharp, just a gentle warning. As if she was just as confused as he was, but more willing to take part in the farce. He had noticed the necklace she wore, a collar of gold and emeralds he’d never seen before. Was it connected, he had wondered? But Mother had told him not to ask questions, so he hadn’t.

That had been hours ago, before the procession through the city. They were at the docks now, waiting for Rhaenyra and her children to disembark, but still Aemond was puzzling over the events of the morning. He fiddled with the reigns of his pony where they were tied around the pommel, trying to make sense of it all.

Things had shifted since Aegon presented. Father had been overjoyed, yes, but Aemond had assumed that his interest would fade as quickly as it always did. But it had been almost 3 moons since Aegon’s presentation, and Viserys’ newfound investment in his family hadn’t waned. Just a week ago he’d come to the yard to watch Aemond train. It had been off putting and distracting. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Aegon, of course, was eating the attention up like it was a feast and he was a man starved, smelling like a bottle of too-sweet mead. Even now his brother sat excitedly chatting to their father as the old King watched on indulgently, the Omega’s star sapphire choker at his neck as always. He hadn’t seemed to take the damned thing off since Viserys gave it to him.

How could they just forgive him like that?

The thought struck Aemond out of the blue, and a part of him was ashamed of it. Didn’t The Mother command forgiveness? And yet….and yet Aemond didn’t want to forgive. It was one thing to forgive Lucerys for siding with Rhaena, which he was already struggling with. It was another to forgive his father for a lifetime of absence.

Aemond scowled and turned away from his father and brother. He couldn’t look at them anymore. Instead he focused on his mother, who sat straight-backed and regal on a gray palfrey. Unlike Aegon she had the dignity to keep her scent contained, only the faintest brush of lilies and honeydew reaching him where he sat. The picture of royal temperance and grace. Surely she was only accepting her husband’s affections out of duty. Mother had always stressed the importance of duty.

Yes, that must be it.

Suddenly, his attention was taken by the herald’s trumpets as Princess Rhaenyra and her family disembarked from their ship. His eyes immediately sought Lucerys out, and he wondered again for the hundredth time if they could ever go back to how things were before the fight.

He’d received Lucerys’s letter not long after they’d returned to King’s Landing, but he’d never replied. He wasn’t sure how to. It had stung, Lucerys siding with that idiotic scrap of a girl who thought that a dragon was some kind of inheritance a parent could leave to their child. Especially after that stupid pig incident.

But when their eyes met over the crowd and Lucerys gave him a shy, tentative smile, it was hard to stay angry. He didn’t smile back, but he did offer a polite nod. The way Lucerys’ smile grew was worth the slight sting to his pride that forgiveness always conjured.

Maybe he’d finally give him the riding gloves he’d gotten for him before the funeral. Last time he’d seen his nephew, the boy had been wearing gloves that were clearly too small for him. Aemond was familiar with outgrowing clothing faster than your parents could notice it needed replacing, so he’d commissioned a new pair. Fine lambskin things in Velaryon sea green. Nothing special, but they’d make a good peace offering.

“Your Grace. It is good to see you again.” Rhaenyra greeted their father with a soft smile and a bow. Aemond sat straighter on his pony, eyes focused on his sister. “And your family.” She added, jerking a terse nod towards Mother. Alicent, to her credit, merely returned the nod with a more graceful one. Rhaenyra would never be half the Queen Mother was.

“Daughter! Welcome back to King’s Landing.” Viserys greeted, smiling indulgently down at his daughter the same way he had Aegon only moments before. As if how he felt about the two was even remotely the same. Aemond clenched his jaw tight.

“Come, we’ve prepared horses for you to travel back to the Keep.” Viserys said, having some groomsmen bring forward the horses for the Princess’ family. Jacerys, he noted jealously, had transitioned to a horse like Aegon had. He looked down at his own pony and scowled. At least Helaena and Lucerys still had to ride ponies, too. And at least Jace smelled boring.

As the procession turned around to make its way back to the Red Keep, Lucerys fell in beside him. He didn’t look at the other pup, his violet eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. But he could feel his weight at his side like a lodestone.

“Qybor.” Lucerys said. Aemond turned to him then to find the boy looking up at him with those sweet, imploring eyes he always put on when he’d done something. He’d seen them a hundred times after one of Aegon’s pranks landed harder than Lucerys had anticipated. Why must they be so hard to stay angry with?

“Taoba.” He replied neutrally, regarding his nephew coolly.

“Do you forgive me?” The pup asked, sounding truly contrite. Aemond pursed his lips. Of course he forgave him. But Lucerys didn’t need to know that yet.

“Why did you side with Rhaena?” He asked instead, spitting the question at him like venom.

“Her mother died. She was upset, she needed me.” Lucerys said, shrinking back with hurt eyes. Good, let him hurt. He hurt Aemond first!

“And I didn’t?” Aemond sneered. ”You picked her. Why did you pick her?” He thought, anger bubbling up in his chest.

“You had Vhagar.” Lucerys said, fiddling with his reigns. As if a dragon could mend all wounds. Like Lucerys thought that’s all Aemond needed. And maybe Aemond had thought so, too…in the moment. But later, as they were departing for home, the thought that Lucerys might never speak with him again had ached far deeper than not having a dragon.

“You said I didn’t deserve her!” Aemond scoffed instead of saying all of that. Instead of telling Lucerys how much it hurt. How lonely it felt when everyone, even Lucerys, stood against him.

“I didn’t say that!” Lucerys cried, alarmed. The denial stung like a viper’s bite, its effect on Aemond’s emotions just as toxic. He’d set out to forgive Lucerys, but somewhere along the way the wounds had reopened. Or maybe he’d picked the scabs off himself.

“You implied it!” Aemond snapped, deciding that he didn’t care right now. He just wanted Lucerys to understand, to feel his pain. “What else would it mean, that I should have waited for Rhaena to claim her? Other than Rhaena deserving her more than me!”

“That’s not what I meant!” Lucerys protested. “But Vhagar was her mother’s-” Aemond cut him off. He was so sick of that argument. Did no one respect that great ancient beast but him?

“Vhagar is her own creature, not some trinket to be passed down.” He said, the words seeming to cut into Lucerys like a knife as he flinched away from them. “If Rhaena can’t see that, perhaps it is she who doesn’t deserve Vhagar.”

“You’re right.” Lucerys said, the tension escaping his body with his resigned sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Suddenly Aemond felt unsure. He’d gotten what he wanted, Lucerys to acknowledge his perspective. But now what did he do? The gap between them felt as wide as that day on Driftmark.

A beat of silence stretched near infinite between them before Aemond spoke.

“I’m sorry too.” Aemond said quietly, not looking at Lucerys. “For-” Lucerys cut him off.

“It’s fine.” He said, clearly not even wanting to acknowledge what Aemond had said. Maybe that’s why the insults had never gotten back to Father despite Aemond waiting almost a moon’s turn for the reprimand. “I forgive you if you forgive me.”

“I forgive you.” Aemond said with a graceful dip of his head. Lucerys beamed, his little face shining with joy. How did he find it so easy to forgive? Even now, Aemond wanted to hiss and spit like a kicked cat. It was costing him so much of his pride to give in. But Lucerys just…forgave.

“Will you play cards with me?” He asked, brown eyes shining with eager hope. He smelled like the sweet milk of a pup’s contentment, and part of Aemond preened at having done that. Maybe practicing a little forgiveness wasn’t all bad.

“Only if you don’t cheat this time.” Aemond said with a smirk as he spurred his pony into a trot, leaving Lucerys behind. Just because he forgave him, it didn’t mean he had to be nice, he decided.

“Hey! I don’t- get back here!” Lucerys huffed, trotting after Aemond who continued to ignore him despite the slight smile curling his lips.

This was the way it should be. Lucerys and Aemond, not Lucerys and Rhaena. Stupid girl. She couldn’t have his dragon, and she certainly couldn’t have his best friend.

By the Gods, Jace could practically taste the grapes that made the wine of Aegon’s scent, it was so rich and sweet.

The ache in his gums that had preceded his unsheathing was back, his fangs pounding where they were retracted into his skull. He longed desperately to let them out and relieve the pressure, but it was incredibly ill-mannered to reveal your fangs in the presence of unmated Omegas.

Omegas like Aegon.

Gods, why had Grandfather seated him next to his uncle for the feast? It was torture. Sweet, maddening torture. Nothing had ever smelled so utterly delectable as the scent of honeyed wine pouring from Aegon. The wine he was drinking was like so much ash on his tongue in comparison, but he sipped at it anyway simply for something to occupy his aching mouth.

He tried to focus on what Aegon was saying, but everything about him was so utterly distracting. Moonlight hair caught the flickering light of the torches like the flames themselves were tangled in his curls. Violet eyes danced with mirth and mischief, the same that dripped from pretty pink lips.

“Jace?” Aegon asked, head tilting to the side. His pretty silver curls moved with the movement, and the firelight tangled in them moved and shifted, too.

“Hm?” Jace asked, swallowing thickly. “Sorry- You were saying?”

“I asked if your mother had chosen to squire you to someone yet.” Aegon said, brows furrowing. “Are you alright?”

“Oh! Yes. I mean, no. No, she hasn’t. But yes, I’m alright.” Jace said, nervously taking another drink.

“That’s strange. You’ve already presented and yet you’ve never served a knight? How will you become one?” Aegon asked.

The question stung, mostly because of the truth buried in it. Most boys became squires well before their presentation, even those who would later go on to be Omegas. Even Baela, who had presented as an Alpha around the same time he had, was squiring for her father. He was behind even female Alphas his age.

“Mother is just protective.” Jace said, cheeks burning. He would become a knight. Better than the other boys at court who looked at Aegon a second too long. Better than Ser Quentyn.

“I could talk to Father.” Aegon offered, eyes bright and curious. “If you want to be a knight, he won’t deny you. And my sister won’t deny him.”

Jace studied Aegon’s face, eyes narrowed. What was this? Another prank? A chance to humiliate him? But no, Aegon was simply looking at him with those same bright eyes with no hint of emotion on his face except the anticipation of Jace’s answer.

“And what do you hope to gain?” Jace asked slowly, eyes still slitted. Aegon jerked, looking bemused.

“Gain?” He asked, sounding as if he hadn’t even considered it. A first. “I don’t know, what are you willing to give me for it?” A cat’s lazy grin stretched across his face as he regarded Jace mischievously.

’A kiss’ was Jace’s first fleeting thought, and he felt his cheeks burn again. No, that wouldn’t be a reward for Aegon, that was just another thing Jace wanted.

Then he remembered how Aegon had stared in open awe and envy at his mother’s lightly rouged cheeks when they’d met at the docks. Alicent had scolded him sharply, likely something about such things being vain. But Jace had seen the way he’d kept sneaking glances.

“I’ll get you a pot of rouge.” He offered. Aegon went still, his eyes widening a fraction.

“I’ll do it.” Aegon said quickly, his eyes sparkling. Warmth bloomed in Jace’s chest as he realized he did that. He’d put that satisfied little smirk on his Uncle’s face. He’d give him a thousand pots of rouge if it would make him always smile like that.

And whenever Aegon used it, perhaps he’d think of Jace.

Aegon fidgeted as the guard knocked on the door of his father’s solar. He still wasn’t used to just calling on the King casually, even though Viserys never seemed unhappy about his son’s visits. He stood straighter as the door opened, striding into the solar with surer steps than he felt capable of.

“Aegon, my boy. Come in, come in.” Viserys said, ushering his son into the solar. It smelled of old books and ink, papers strewn about on the desk. Above it all the animalic sulphur of dragonsmoke and the absent whisper of incense long faded that still made Aegon feel lonely.

“Good morrow, Father.” Aegon said with a dip of his head.

“What can I do for you, my son? Is this about the proposals? I’ve told them you’re too young-” Aegon cut his father off.

“No, Father. It’s not about that. I came to speak to you about Jacerys.” Aegon said, taking a seat as his father rounded the desk to shuffle through some papers, jotting down a few notes.

“Jacerys?” Viserys hummed absently. “What about him?”

“Well, he’s presented.” Aegon started, not sure how to broach the subject of Jace’s squireship.

“Yes! A fine young Alpha, a good heir for your sister.” Viserys said, voice warm and bright as he spoke of his grandson. “And such a nice boy, he’ll make a fine king.”

’Better than I would, anyway. Aegon thought.

“Should he not be squiring by now?” Aegon asked, pushing past the mix of relief and bitterness that spurred in him. “Aemond does, and Baela. If he’s to earn his spurs, shouldn’t he be in more dedicated training?”

“Is he not yet a squire?” Viserys asked, finally looking up from his papers at his son. Of course Viserys hadn’t even noticed that Jace wasn’t in service of a knight. As much as he preferred his sister and her brood, he’d paid about as much attention to them as he had to his own children.

“No, Father. Princess Rhaenyra still hasn’t allowed him.” Aegon said, picking at his fingernails to stop himself from scowling at the King. His mother would skin him later when she saw, but she had no room to talk.

Get out of your books and models for one day and perhaps you’d see something. Aegon thought maliciously.

“Well that will have to be rectified. In fact, I believe I have just the young knight in mind. Someone not too much older than Jacerys, who might be a good friend for him.” Viserys said, cheerful and buoyant and completely oblivious to the resentment roiling behind the lilac eyes tracking him.

“Who?” Aegon asked, swallowing it all down.

“Oh, what was his name again?” Viserys hummed absently as he picked his quill back up and shuffled through his papers. “The young Stormlander. Ah, yes!”

“Ser Quentyn Swann.”