Chapter Text
Jace chances to find them gathered in one of the smaller tents; weary faces shadowed by the low-lighting of candles flickering intermittently at the corners of his peripheral. They're alone, just the three of them - Daeron and Aegon and the hedge knight who stars at the centre of it all.
It is the knight who sees him first - face twisting into anger and surprise and something else that Jace cannot quite interpret; a passing shadow of disappointment, perhaps.
"Jace!”
It's Aegon who speaks - big eyes shot wide at his presence and a flash of panic at being caught outside the castle walls. Daeron sits beside him, watching Jace carefully as if waiting for what fate he may bring. That his brother thinks him the harbinger of omens is dispiriting.
"Brothers," Jace greets with a smile, lips pursed as he takes in the shadow cast by the hedge knight's tall frame. "Ser Duncan. Well met."
An awkward silence pervades the space between them and Jace might once have felt compelled to shuffle in place as all eyes fixate on him with various shades of suspicion, but he does not. He stands still and firm in the assurance that his presence here is not unwanted. In the belief - and hope - that Aerion's cruelty has not cast too dark a shadow over him yet.
"I will not idle nor waste any of your time - I have come to tell you all that there shall be no Trial of Seven."
Duncan's bewilderment is dwarfed only by Aegon's surprise.
"Truly?" he asks, leaning forward and almost toppling from the table in his eagerness were it not for Daeron's hand shooting out to steady him. "Do you mean it, brother?"
"But I don't understand…" Duncan says with wide eyes. He glances from one face to another, as if to ensure he has understood the words correctly. "I thought I stood accused."
"You do," Jace nods, "But soon, if the Gods give us grace, you shall not."
"How?" Duncan's gaze is searching - shoulders tense as though he expects Jace's words a mockery, or else some cruel joke. The reaction cuts deep, if only because Jace knows it is not unwarranted.
Too many times has he stood beside Aerion's actions in spite of his own frayed morality. But this time Jace will not allow his brother's words to ruin them - will not allow the trial to take place when he feels it's shadow darkening the sky above them all.
Feels that same rush of blood to act, not wait by the wayside, as he'd felt in another life when news of his brother's peril had reached Dragonstone. The same rush that had frightened his mother enough to have her clutching at his arm with dread in her eyes; unrelenting in letting him leave no further than her grasp.
And perhaps she had been right because in the end Jace had died far from her arms. But this time shall be different. Jace faces not strangers, but Aerion.
And Jace knows best what his brother wants.
"Aerion will take back his accusation," he says. "As will Daeron." Daeron who throws up his hands in defence at Jace's pointed look. "And your crime, Ser Duncan, shall be forgiven."
"My crime..." the knight repeats dully, staring at Jace from across the small patch of faded grass and a mountain of misunderstandings. "Which was defending an innocent girl from the hands of your brother."
Jace keeps his smile in place, even as the knight's words prod at a long-exposed wound.
"I would tell you that Aerion is sorry for the mess he has caused but that would not be the truth. I will not lie to you, Ser. My brother is not sorry for what he has done but he will not be allowed to cause further damage."
Dunk laughs, low and a touch bitter. "You mean the damage to your reputation," he surmises. "But what of Tanselle?" Explaining when Jace raises a brow. "The puppeteer. Aerion broke her finger all for some silly show."
"My uncle will ensure she's properly compensated and given treatment by our own maesters," Jace promises, hoping his uncle not mind him promising on his behalf. "As for our reputation... you are right." He laughs at the man's open surprise. "It was our intention to come to Ashford and show the people that our house conducts itself with benevolence." He quirks a smile when Duncan scoffs, shaking his head. "But our brother has thrown that hope to the ground and thoroughly stomped upon it."
He meets another brother's eyes - Aegon looking so innocent in the dim lighting of the tent; hopeful despite the cruelty he's been dealt so casually and it strikes Jace enough that he feels the need to say,
"For what it is worth, I think he was cruel and unjust. I will ensure it is curbed - it must be."
"Why?" Daeron asks, speaking up from where he has otherwise been a silent witness. He's staring at Jace with narrowed eyes, suspicion and disbelief stronger than the others if only because he has witnessed Aerion's cruelty develop since birth. Has lived just as long as Jace beside it. Knows Aerion is not one to submit. "Why is he taking back the accusation? I do not think even you are capable of convincing him of that. He stands to gain too much."
He's right, of course, but while Daeron witnessed their brother's madness fester from the sidelines, Jace has lived within it. Fire is unpredictable but Jace has felt all his life the flames licking at his skin and become accustomed to its patterns.
"I promised to marry him," he says, smiling wider at their incredulous faces. "That is why I am here - I need an officiant. And witnesses, preferably both of which will be family." He meets Daeron's eyes and says, "I do not trust anyone else."
His eldest brother sighs, slumping to the table as if some great weight has been dropped upon him. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for this." His hair is a mess and a sheen of sweat lays atop his skin from too much wine but he is family and for Jace that is enough.
It must be enough because it is all he has.
He knows little of Valyrian weddings beyond what could be gleamed in passing studies - mostly remembers that rainy day on Dragonstone, when he'd stood clutching Luke and Joffrey's hands as their mother married her uncle in a ceremony of fire and blood.
It is not much to go on but Jace hopes it will be all the more authentic for it - that maybe in emulating such a memory of his mother might bring him closer to feeling she is not merely a name in the history books.
That she existed, as he exists in this moment - that she had pockets of time beyond war and betrayal to experience a small chance at happiness.
"Does Father know?" Aegon asks, incredulous and a touch indignant as he stands with hands upon his hips, atop the table so that he may look Jace in the eye as he exclaims, "You can't marry Aerion! He's horrible!"
Jace quirks a smile and pats his brother atop the smooth skin of his head. Mourns the soft, silvery-gold strands that tie him to their house. Jace loves his brother’s hair for the very reason Aegon hates it.
"What is it that our uncle says?" he asks. "When Father tests his patience?"
Aegon pouts - sour-faced and petulant and it's such a mirror of a young Aerion that Jace aches.
"...that we must love our brothers." He repeats the words churlishly, quick to follow up with his own rebuttal. "But that's what the Septons say and they're stupid!"
Jace laughs and pinches Aegon's ear as he used to do to another little brother - snickers when Aegon swats at his hands, looking more a baby dragon than boy. Vermax once did the same, when his exuberance was too large for his small body.
He leans close and takes Aegon's face into his grasp, ensuring the boy meets his stare - wants Aegon to understand clearly,
"Our brother… Aerion is not well. His mind is sometimes not completely his own. That does not excuse what he has done, to others and to us but I love him just as I would love you if you were not well." Aegon frowns, lips pursed tight and Jace smiles, pinching the boys cheek. "Do you remember what I said to you, all those years ago?"
During a night when Aegon crawled into Jace's bed with tears in his eyes and a tale of a brother's threat at knifepoint - a time when Aerion took it upon himself to punish Jace's betrayal by targeting what he held most dear.
'Aerion will never hurt you again. I will not let him.'
A promise which has thus far been kept. Though Aegon is like all dragons and cannot so easily forgive what burns hot in his blood.
"I hate him."
"...I know."
Aegon blinks, eyes glistening. "I don't hate you."
Jace smiles at that. Aegon looks nothing like Luke or Joffrey but stands out as the ghost of two little brothers Jace barely remembers anymore, but whose faces he's grown to know from portraits hung upon the walls of the Red Keep.
Brothers - they are a queer concept to Jace, now. So many he has, both lost to the past and here in the present so that he can scarcely discern which are most important.
Feels only a deep well of love for them all - for better, or for worse.
"That is good," he says. "In fact, I should hope that I am your favourite brother." Jace glances at Daeron and smiles. Says, teasingly, "Not that I have much competition."
Daeron rolls his eyes as Aegon snickers and Jace feels a weight lift from his shoulders. Feels a pride at the smiles curling both his brothers' lips.
"Father will be told of the marriage after it is done. That, I am afraid, is a must."
"Is that wise?" Aegon asks, hands still clutching Jace's shirt. "Not that you seem to be making many wise decisions, this night."
"What is not wise is giving Aerion any room for leverage," Daeron drawls. "It would not surprise me much if he tried having it both ways. A marriage and a trial."
"He won't," Jace says, clipped. "He knows that if he tries, I shall kill him."
"If I'm officiating," Daeron says reluctantly, as if he still wishes this was some dream. Or nightmare. "That leaves only Aegon as witness."
"Ser Duncan can witness, too."
Jace grimaces at Aegon's suggestion, glancing at the hedge knight warily. "I do not think Ser Duncan wishes to be in our company much longer than necessary."
"No," the knight says, dark brows furrowed deep. He glances at Aegon. "I do not wish to impose - any more than I have already, that is."
He attempts an awkward half-bow after speaking, unsure and unsteady in his movements, as if his stature always leaves him off-kilter. Jace often feels stretched thin, as if there were not enough of him to wield as is and so cannot imagine being so big; taking up so much space as Duncan does.
"Ser Duncan is free to do as he wishes. Besides, Aegon will not be the only witness," Jace says, just as the opening of the tent moves aside to reveal two figures.
The prince Valarr wears a sour expression; eyes flicking over each face with an increasing dislike until they land on Jace. Behind him, Aerion wears a mad grin; teeth on show and a gleam in his eyes as he takes them all in.
"Quite the family gathering this has quickly become."
"Be quiet," Jace says, walking across the way to take Valarr by the arm, greeting his cousin with as amicable a smile as he can manage.
That they have not killed one another on the small journey here is beyond him. A fear had when Aerion offered to fetch their cousin himself. Jace had thought it the lesser of two evils - did not think Aerion might have much success convincing their brothers. But now they all stand in the same small space and Jace feels the responsibility fall upon his shoulders to maintain civility.
"I must admit, I am surprised you came."
Valarr's brow puckers at the words. "Your brother says you have need of me." He pauses, as if thinking the words sufficient explanation but recognising Jace's expectation for more. "I assumed you were in trouble..."
So I came.
Never one for verbosity, his cousin. It is what Jace likes about him - and admires - that he is a man of little words but who makes each one count.
"I appreciate it, cousin. More than you can imagine."
Jace glances at Aerion who looms, watchful. Too watchful that Jace sees his cousin's hackles rise. He pulls Valarr forward, over to the side so that he might speak freely. Aerion watches them leave but thankfully is content to say nothing.
When faced with his cousin, Jace takes a page from his book and wastes little time; says plainly, "I need you to favour my request in acting as witness to a marriage."
Valarr's face experiences a spasm of disbelief - Jace realising suddenly that he has not actually been told of why he was brought.
He glances at Aerion to see his brother now smirking.
"You plan to marry him?" Valarr asks lowly, eyes flitting over Jace as if trying to figure out some puzzle in the lines of his face. "Truly?"
"Yes."
"Have you thought this through? To consider such a thing..."
"Do you take me for a fool?" Jace whispers into the space between them, glancing at the others who watch on with curious eyes. Jace leans closer. "What choice have I been given? He would have dragged us all into a trial I fear we may not have come out from unscathed.”
"Be that as it may, you need not sell yourself for his mistakes. You are not your brother's keeper."
Jace smiles, at both Valarr's caring and the ignorance of his words.
"Do not fret yourself on my behalf, I am not some maiden cowering at marriage.” Laughs despite himself, “And it is not as if the bedding will be any new fear to face.”
The look of disgust on his cousin’s face is worth it. Jace continues.
"Truly, I am not putting on a brave front." He bumps their shoulders, smile genuine when he says, "Some part of me has always known it would come to this… there was never going to be anybody else."
"You could have had options," Valarr murmurs, eyes searching. "If you would have spoken to your father, or mine."
Jace cannot help himself. "Would you have taken my hand, cousin? Even used as I was? Broken off your own betrothal to be the chivalrous knight who might save me from the dragon?"
Valarr scoffs, long used to Jace's antics to take the bait of his teasing. "Perhaps," he says sincerely. "If only you had asked." Some humour returns to his eyes when he says, "You are not so bad to look at. I might have managed."
Jace laughs in both surprise and genuine affection. Does not even tease though he wishes to and instead claps his hand against his cousin's shoulder and says, barely a whisper,
"Your willingness to do so is appreciated. I mean it when I say this - thank you."
"...you're welcome," Valarr murmurs, and Jace sees his shoulders finally relax from where they have been tense this whole conversation.
That his cousin's concern has been enough to affect him physically leaves Jace with a pleasant warmth which brings nostalgic memories of his brothers; when they would do something so unexpectedly earnest as to leave Jace confronted with the well of love he has for them, seemingly unending.
Family, he's found, have ways of touching even the innermost parts of him otherwise unknown.
The place they choose has no significance beside it's privacy; an alcove overlooking a lake which stretches far beyond their sight of what lays on the other side. They do not need it to be any more significant than this - Jace knows the location matters little in comparison to what they feel in this moment.
With a fire lit, burning bright in the darkness of the night, he can appreciate the seclusion. Soon enough what they do here will be known but Jace recognises the advantage in controlling the narrative of their union - that doing so will be just as important to how they are remembered as the tourney itself.
Jace finds himself staring into the fire, now, as the few members of his family stand around them; watches the flames flicker and dance freely, unbound and wild. Wonders if he will be closer to them in this choice he makes or whether he has shackled himself.
When he looks up, Aerion stares back; the fire reflected in his eyes. Jace finds himself more so hypnotised by the sight than anything else.
They do not have anything of real tradition but themselves; no ceremonial robes or headgear, no dragon glass to cut themselves with.
Jace holds only the knife given to him on their tenth nameday; Valyrian steel inherited from a member of their family so distant even he does not know of.
It is beautiful; crafted in a modest style, lightweight in his palm and with the distinctive ripples along the surface that remind Jace of both fire and water. He'd laughed when he received it, thinking it fitting that a former Velaryon might hold such a blade; two parts of him that have become cemented even in the worst memories; the fire of his mother's death and the water of his own.
He offers it to Aerion - assumes his brother will want to be the one to direct the blade but he only smiles and pushes it back, the handle steady in Jace's grip. Aerion's own a grounding weight.
It was a gift from their father and Jace hopes the sentiment is enough to quell the guilt which eats at him for doing this behind his back. Hopes it can symbolise that some part of him is here with them, in this moment. That maybe some part of his mother lingers, too; their absence like a wound as he experiences one of the few firsts in either life without them to stand as witness.
He hopes she does not pity him for his decision; hopes she sees that whilst Jace may be stationed here through necessity, it is love that keeps him.
The same kind of love, he thinks, she had for her uncle.
To Jace, Daemon was a cruel, destructive force that brought his mother more misfortune than happiness. But in the end she had chosen him; when given the choice she had returned to Daemon and Jace understands her a little better in this moment. Knows that this kind of love is not able to be ignored.
Just as she once did, Jace has also chosen.
Together they make the first mark; Aerion's hand still wrapped around his brings the knife up to Jace's face, so that for a flash moment he sees his own reflection in the knife's edge; red-cheeked from the heat of the fire before them and the one burning within.
He feels the sharp pinch of the first cut and then a dull ache as his brother's thumb pushes into the wound; essence of his life eager to leave in the presence of it's twin.
Jace thinks he will need to direct Aerion's hand in writing the word but his brother surprises him when he moves his thumb in the perfect motion; drawing the symbol to mark him as he sees fit.
Fire.
Blinking heavy eyes, Jace stares; Aerion’s skin glows so pale as to be marred by the flush of the fire’s heat, but to Jace he really has never looked more beautiful. Otherworldly, perhaps; like some creature not quite human.
A creature with impatience in its eyes - Jace laughs, soft, and lingers no more.
He presses the point of the knife against the skin of his brother's lip and draws blood that matches the flush of his cheeks and the dancing embers in his eyes. Dips a thumb into it and presses a careful mark upon his forehead, right in the divet of his brows, immortalising one half of their being with a symbol that encapsulates all that they are.
Blood.
He expects the kiss to come rough but Aerion surprises him once more when Jace's face is taken in gentle hands and brought close. Aerion licks at the wound as if he cannot allow any of his blood to fall to the ground; as if it must remain in one of two bodies which belong to them.
Jace watches through heavy eyes as his brother licks at the blood about his own lips, too, now smudged in a mess of liquid blush and feels a similar possession swell; takes his brother's jaw and angles his face to lean in and push the blood which resurfaces directly into his mouth.
Hopes Aerion tastes a slither of the devotion he feels in that moment. Let's the blood speak words he cannot begin to form.
His blood is my blood. Mine is your own.
When they pull apart, Jace draws the blade over his palm, eyes tight as it slices flesh easily, like gliding through water; the ripples along it's surface dyed red. He stares at it - royal blood which once ran deep into the sea thought forever lost but which now runs for another purpose.
Jace cuts Aerion's hand slowly; watches the blood well to the surface desperate in it's desire to be free, where, in a crimson kiss, it meets his own as their hands come together as one.
The words from a lifetime ago come back to him, then;
Blood of two, joined as one.
But they are not two, not really. Have always been one blood and one soul, one body split down the middle but in such an unclean manner as to leave the sticky viscera of their joining behind; so that through the trails of blood and sinew and connected vessels Jace is sometimes unsure where he ends and Aerion begins.
Two hearts as embers, forged in fire. With the stars as witness to a vow spoken through time.
Aerion smiles bright, then, and stood opposite him Jace is confronted with the echo of what he thought lost; sees not the malignant smile of a child covetous and spiteful but the smile of the boy Jace loved.
For a suspended moment Jace sees the boy who carved himself into his heart so deeply as to make it impossible to ever think of moving on without him. Even as Aerion grew taller and crueller, even as he dug his claws into Jace so deeply that he became numb to the pain, it is the memory of that boy which sustains him; with the gap-toothed smile and mischievous eyes as they snuck into places they should not be, sharing whispered secrets of shared dreams.
Jace loves him still - perhaps more so, for all it is worth.
They have none of the ceremonial objects he recalls of his mother's union but Jace does remember her face as she spoke words of devotion. He parts his lips to speak but his brother beats him to it.
"Be one with me," Aerion says, the flames dancing in his eyes along with Jace's reflection; wide-eyed as his brother says the very words his mother once spoke - words Jace thought lost to memories and dreams. "Love me, the way only you can."
"Live by my side," Jace continues, the ghost of his mother speaking with him. "The way only you can."
Aerion brings their bloodied, joined hands to his lips and speaks new words; words only theirs, meant solely for them.
"And when we die, wait for me. The way only you can."
It’s a dream - Jace knows this but it does not make the fall any less painful.
He’s burning, not from the warmth of earthly pleasures; of the fire dancing in the hearth or of his mother's arms, not the warmth that comes from family and comfort but burning like a dragon burns from within.
It’s a burning of rejection - of failure. Jace's desperation to keep his brother's safe has failed and with it comes the whip-like feel of sea salt against his cheeks and the weightlessness of falling.
Vermax is silent and it's the lack of sound which hurts Jace most - there's screams and shouts all around them, the sounds of battlement, but all Jace can hear is the rushing in his ears and the silence of his dearest friend.
Vermax is dead. The crossbolt wedged into the vulnerable flesh of his neck, piercing the opening beneath one of his scales, did it quickly. For that, at the very least, Jace is glad. But the failure to keep his dear friend safe sits heavy in his gut, like a stone that weighs them both down faster as they hurtle from the sky towards the cold embrace of the sea.
Jace claws himself out, somehow, clings desperately to a drifting piece of wood blown off some ship even though he’s still weighed down by the certainty that he’s going to die. He chokes on the salt water which quickly fill his lungs and feels the claustrophobia of pressure on all sides.
Death closing in.
His fingers claw at the wood like it will somehow hold not only his weight but also the expanse of his grief - the ship carrying Aegon and Viserys has already disappeared beyond the smoke and Jace's eyes sting from the ashes of burning ships.
There’s a displacement in the air, like before lightning strikes the earth and in a flash Jace feels the blinding pain as he’s sent sprawling back against the wooden raft, clawing at the bolt which found its mark in the hollow of his neck. A futile attempt to stop what fate has already decided.
Like Vermax he has been struck down as a beast, left to desperately try at keeping royal blood from escaping into the sea, where it’s washed away like a spill of commoner’s wine; fingers wet and slippery; the salt a different kind of burn against his wounds.
Jace mouths words but none make it out. It’s useless, anyway, to call out for a mother who does not even know where his body will lay. Will never know that he fought until the end to reach them, his brothers. Only ever tried to do his best -
Mother.
Again and again, he calls for her with silent desperation because there's nothing else he can think of in these moments before death.
He wonders, between the pain and despair, if Luke felt the same just before he died - thinking of nothing but the want to return to the protection of their mother's warmth. Wonders if he called out for her, too, just as Jace does -
Mother, help me.
The words are soundless, mouth opening and closing but all that comes out is blood and saltwater. He's but a wounded animal waiting to die.
Jace's hands have gone stiff and they slip from holding closed the wound at his neck to slip uselessly to his sides, lax against the wood; a broken boy on a broken raft, dying alone.
He might laugh at the indignity of it but only blood pools from his lips; staining the cooling skin red.
As the ships still fighting around him move on and Vermax sinks deeper into the water below, Jace is left there, drifting - sick with the truth that soon he'll be washed overboard and follow his dragon, disappearing to a place nobody will ever be able to find him.
Luke is down there, he thinks.
The sea is endless but so seems land and Jace will be closer to finding his brother down there; closer to Luke and to Vermax. It makes leaving his mother a little easier, knowing he'll soon be with them again.
Jace stares up at the sky but can no longer see the stars.
He isn’t burning anymore, just cold. Has never felt so cold as the sea laps at his feet, clothes sodden and skin already pruning from the saltwater.
It will take every part of him. Swallow him whole. The sea takes and does not give back.
Whatever his soul is made of feels like it's melting; gold burned down into liquid that runs out of his body faster than any hope or desperation to live can keep it inside.
Dying isn't peaceful but he isn’t in pain anymore, and that is a small mercy.
He wakes to the sound of water and the warmth of a body next to his. Still caught in the bitter-sweetness of a dream, Jace thinks of the crashing waves of Dragonstone. Thinks of Luke.
He curls in closer but when opening his eyes reality presents itself in shades of silver-gold and violet.
The sound of water is not the roar of the sea but the calm lapping of a lake.
"Aerion."
His brother stares back; strong brows furrowed at the centre and Jace moves without thought to push his thumb to the wrinkle, smoothing it out.
"You speak in your sleep," Aerion says, words purposefully slow. "You were crying."
I dreamt I was dying again. That I was falling - always falling, were mother's children.
He says nothing, taken silent by the sight of red at his brother's lips. Blood, smeared down his chin and across one half of his cheek; in between his brows like a wine stain on silk. Jace brings a hand to touch that same softness, lets it trail down to the pale expanse of a bare chest.
Aerion catches his hand and Jace remembers.
"You should not think of them anymore," Aerion says.
Jace blinks, fixed on the smattering of light hair along his brother's chest, just as pale as the rest of him. It strikes Jace, then, that the man before him is now something beyond what anybody else has ever been -
This is my husband.
The thought comes with the rushing of those waves at the back of his mind, along with the heartache of what was left behind.
Luke will never know that I have become somebody's husband, he thinks with the distraught truth that there are many things Jace will do that his brother shall never know. Jace will continue to grow but Luke will always stay at that same age; frozen in youth with curls that shone gold in the sun and eyes that only ever looked at Jace with trust.
"I will always think of them," he says, finally, even knowing Aerion will not like his answer.
But rather than anger, his brother's contemplative - eyes searching and Jace wonders what he sees, or what he's looking for.
"You were calling out for him."
Jace keeps his stare. "Is that so?"
When Aerion does not say anything, only watches silently, Jace feels unnerved. His brother is not one for silence; needs always to be heard; can never allow Jace the chance of forgetting his presence which is always at his side.
Aerion’s mind works not like others and Jace knows it is only part possession which makes up his disposition - his tendency to be cruel. He seems always truly perplexed why Jace might still care for others when all that he should need is before him.
Jace has come to understand that Aerion's capacity to love is not enough as to be stretched too thin; hopes only that his own is plentiful for the both of them.
"When I lost Luke," he begins softly, haltingly - the words like shards of glass in his throat but he needs say them - must confront this part of himself which has too long been kept close; hoarded in the fear of losing another part of his brother’s memory. “When he died, a part of me died, too. In that moment when I found out..."
He thinks of Winterfell and the coldness of the North which could not rival the ice in his heart at Cregan's sombre words, 'Your brother has fallen'. The cold which was nothing to the cold irrationality of wishing to die too in that very moment.
"I still feel guilty,” he says. “That I did not somehow already know."
At Aerion's frown, Jace tries to explain. Brings his brother’s hand up to his chest, where it settles on bare skin; warm.
"In the moment of hearing, I was in denial that it could be true. For surely I would have felt it when Luke died? By the time the news reached us it would have already been days since his death… and yet I had not felt a single thing. That haunts me."
Aerion's face is blurred from the tears at Jace’s eyes, and he feels all but fifteen again; returning home to greet not the Queen but a grieving mother. Feels the phantom of her hug, crushing, and tightens his hold on Aerion's hand; pushes it harder against his own chest so that he might be forced to accept it as proof that what he loves is still with him.
"I wonder... in those final moments when Luke was being chased by our uncle, if he thought of me." He swallows back the urge to cry. "I thought of him, at the end. It made it easier, somehow - dying. A little less lonely."
Aerion's face twists itself into a complicated expression; frustration and possession and even a touch of sadness fighting for dominance so that he looks a boy again; one who cannot parse through his own emotions and so turns to anger as the easiest.
It transforms him - makes him seem desperate as he presses closer, crushing Jace's hand between them to say, imploring,
"Your brother did not have this."
He presses a kiss to the pulse at Jace’s wrist; a fast rhythm that his brother no doubt feels against his lips. His words are taunting, but his eyes hold a trace of humility - a child which boasts of their toys yet still fears they may be taken.
”You need not be sad. You need only me.”
Like a dog with its teeth dug deep into flesh. Stubborn. Starved. A pitiful, hungry mutt.
"Luke was not like us,” Jace says, words chosen carefully from what his heart can manage in memory of his brother. “He was good.” Too good.
For Jace. For anybody. Too good for the world so that they had to take him away.
But Aerion frowns. "Why do you do that?" he murmurs, voice quiet with a boyish uncertainty. "You speak of him as though he were some saint but he was only your brother. You have many brothers."
But Luke was the first. Jace does not think one ever truly moves on from their first.
"To try and take him from me, whether by forgetting or damning each time I think of him, only lessens me in return." Jace meets Aerion's gaze, imploring. "Do you wish to live with less of me?"
"I would have all of you." Aerion's grip is tight - unrelenting. His words spoken in one rush of breath. "Anything less is unforgivable."
With laughter at his lips and somehow lighter for it, Jace presses a kiss to Aerion’s jaw. Truly, his brother is as predictable as lightning followed by thunder, and perhaps Jace finds some solace in it.
"You have taken the last thing not already yours and still, you wish for more?" He presses their lips together. "Greedy." Presses again, this time tasting the blood which has always belonged to them both. "Insatiable. You will take all and leave me with nothing, brother."
"Husband," Aerion insists, eyes searching. “I am your husband.”
"Husband," Jace corrects himself, tasting the word on his tongue.
This new, foreign concept which is another layer of theirs; added onto the multitude of layers which coexist, multiplied and shared between them. Says it again, to remind himself that this is his future; their blood come full circle so that once more it lays intermingled; indistinguishable from the other.
It makes thinking of Luke easier, somehow - this differentiation.
Jace smiles and feels it true.
An inquisitive hand trails the muscle of Aerion's stomach, stoking a fire in his gut now familiar when presented with his brother’s beauty; mind remembering coming together only hours ago and aching with the want for more.
Jace wants to feel warm again.
He digs his nails into his brother’s skin, which is taut but flush pink from the attention. Feels his gums ache with the urge to bite down and feed on the sweat-slick skin.
Wishes to devour his brother so that Aerion might live inside him and never leave; where he might remain forever.
His brother truly makes him crazy.
Once, when they were young and Jace could not parse through the grief and love warring within him, this thing they shared felt ugly and twisted; a gnarled root running deep beneath his skin that would not come out no matter how desperately Jace pulled.
But through time and presence - love and loss - a transformation occurred so that now Jace sees only the longevity of the root; sees it's persistence and resilience; sees it's burrowing as devotion.
He lets his hand trail lower, following each curve and swell of Aerion's body until he reaches his cock, hard and heavy in Jace's palm. He curls his fingers around it and squeezes teasingly - laughing at his brother's groan, shifting so that his lips can follow; does not hear his brother's groan of want over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.
It is a sensation like no other, being like this. Many speak as though it is an inherently demeaning act, yet Jace finds himself larger than life when he's able to reduce Aerion to nothing but raw need at the barest touch of his lips. It's hotter here, and Jace hollows his cheeks like he knows feels good.
Aerion's hand pulls impatiently; fingers tangling into the curls and Jace responds by letting his teeth scrape at the base of his cock as warning. Aerion’s hips stutter - pushing forward even as his hand pulls Jace away, as if the conflicting desire to finish in his mouth or inside of him is tantamount to a decision of war.
Jace gasps in a much-needed breath once he's free, licking at the spit gathered at the corners of his lips.
"You have become far too good at that," Aerion mutters, pulling Jace close so that their lips meet in a clash of teeth.
"I do not see that you have any reason to complain," Jace says. "Reaping the benefits, as you do."
Aerion grins wide, all teeth. "You do spoil me."
He says it not as a compliment or even acknowledgement but as a right - as if Jace's love and attention and willingness to strip from himself the flesh off his back for the sake of his brother is expected.
"You have ruined me," Jace accuses; anger and love swelling as that unavoidable wave which will always pull him under.
You have ruined me because you make me expect devotion in every person I meet.
Aerion has always wanted so viscerally that Jace will never know love in a capacity not suffocating. It is true what he said to Valarr; there was never going to be anybody else for him.
"Nobody can love you as I do," Aerion says - both a promise and a threat. "Nobody. Not in dreams or memories - not in this life or the next." He steals any response Jace might have, pushing him further so that he's overwhelmed with his brother's presence. "I will haunt you," Aerion intones, "If you ever think of living beyond me - I will."
Jace believes him. Pushes back to taste the truth of it for himself.
Finds himself revelling in it because he does not ever want to be alone again. Does not want to ever feel the water lapping at his ankles, knowing he'll be swallowed whole; prays that if he must be devoured then let it be by fire - the fire for which his blood sings. A spectacle of his choosing - fiery and bright and turning all eyes so that Jace can die knowing he will not be forgotten.
Aerion presses kisses to the spaces he can reach of Jace’s body; at the skin below his ear and hollow of his throat. Kisses skin that has been remade in his image; invisible scars beneath the surface which preserve every touch laid upon it throughout the years.
Never will Jace escape his brother's imprint.
"You're so warm," he whispers into a crown of moonlight; tastes salt and blood in the back of his throat but it is not at all like dying. It is the taste of being alive; of being remade in this moment.
Jace reaches out to take Aerion's hand - traces the lines etched into the curl of his palm which may represent a different path in their lives or person they love. The new, thicker one which will scar as evidence of their love. Slots their hands together and marvels at how easily they come together, just as their bodies join as one.
Jace captures his brother's lips, bruising, and curls their hands tighter so that they might keep all those moments and people close - keep them safe from the rest of the world, so that they might never leave.