Chapter Text
Summerhall bustled with life, as nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms journeyed far and wide to attend the Spring Festival, declared by the Crown to mark the end of a brutal winter. The long cold had wrought tragedy among smallfolk and highborn alike, as withering crops, empty bellies, and winter chills claimed more lives than any sword. As a reward for months of hardship and a symbol of renewed hope, the Crown called the realm’s nobility to gather at the royal estate in a show of strength and stability. It was a fitting venue; Summerhall was designed for pleasure rather than war. The palace gleamed under the spring sun, its sprawling gardens and open, sunlit pavilions offering the perfect sanctuary to welcome a new season.
It was meant to be a blessed and joyous gathering, but that was true in sentiment only. For the residents of Summerhall, the celebration brought nothing but grueling hardship across nobility and servants alike as they all worked tirelessly through the nights to prepare for the oncoming festival.
Aerion found himself rather peeved as he remained alongside his brothers. Their father, Prince Maekar Targaryen, had sent his own attendants to fetch his sons in the early morning, with the demand that they all assemble near the Ember Gallery.
“This is far too early” Aerion groused, his irritation growing as the fog of sleep still cling to him, “Even that blundering oaf hasn’t crawled out of bed yet, and I am expected to stand attendance?” Noticing Aegon’s annoyed glare, he only smirked, his mood lifting ever so slightly.
“Aerion, have mercy on poor Duncan. I am sure the lack of his presence was not by his own doing.” Daeron, the eldest and the voice of reason in a rare moment of sobriety, sighed quietly, rubbing his temples against a fierce headache.
Aerion huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head; the insinuation not lost on him.
Off in the distance, they heard a heavy rhythm of approaching footsteps, striking the floorboards like the steady thud of a battering ram, and the brothers all stood to attention. Their father had arrived.
They watched as the Lord of Summerhall moved briskly through the hall, barking out orders to ensure all the necessary preparations were in place.
“No, you idiot, where’s the embroidery? This looks like a shroud!” his father seethed. “Are we celebrating a victory, or am I preparing for my own funeral? Send it back!” With a snarl, he shoved the crumpled tunic toward his steward.
From his periphery, Aerion watched as Daeron nudged Aegon with an elbow, casting a pointed look toward their father. Aegon fiercely shook his head, taking a subtle step back to avoid being on the wrong side of their father’s ire.
Aerion rolled his eyes and stepped forward.
“Father,” Aerion drawled. “Dawn has yet to break, so forgive me if I speak plainly, but is there a reason why we’re all gathered at this hour?”
Maekar paused mid-snap, his gaze darting toward his sons as his brow furrowed in disapproval. With a grunt, he dismissed his poor attendant and strode toward his sons, his stern gaze sweeping over each of them before falling on Aerion.
“My boys,” he nodded in greeting, “It would be best for you all to know that your uncle and cousins will be joining us.” Maekar muttered before reaching to gently ruffle Aegon’s silky locks, who preened at the touch, “I trust you understand the implications.”
His gaze passed flickered through Daeron before settling once more on Aerion, “You boys bear the blood of the dragon, and it is only for that reason I have tolerated your misdeeds, but in this capacity, you are a reflection of the royal family.”
His piercing gaze sunk deeper, “You will stand before the entire nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Crown itself. See to it that you conduct yourselves accordingly.”
Aerion remained impassive, refusing to look away. Twin pairs of lavender eyes bore into each other, both son and his sire held their gazes in what seemed like a silent exchange, carrying both a promise and a warning.
Finally, Aerion nodded with a sharp smile, “You have my word father, I promise to not bring you any shame during this joyous occasion.”
Aerion ignored the quiet huffs and chuckles that undoubtedly came from his brothers. Maekar grunted, far too busy to entertain whether the words were laced with sarcasm and dismissed them all with a curt wave.
“The Crown will arrive by nightfall. You will all return by dusk.”
Aerion walked back to his chambers, a quiet rumble of delight stirring in his chest at the thought of who waited behind his door. Before he reached the final hallway leading to his bedroom, a shout of his name cut through the corridor.
“Aerion!”
Tipping his head back, Aerion sighed in deep exasperation. Apparently, this wretched world has nothing better to do than keep me away from what’s mine.
He turned around with a masked smile and acknowledged his younger brother, “Aegon.”
Aegon marched closer, stopping a few paces in front of his elder brother—a severe scowl darkening his childish features as he stared up at him.
“I have not seen Duncan these past several days! I demand to know where you have been keeping him!”
This little rat, Aerion thought.
With a smirk, he crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall, letting the silence stretch between them. Aegon’s scowl deepened with each passing beat.
“Aerion! Where is he?” Aerion didn't blink, his smile only widening as he watched Aegon’s expression crumble. The boy's anger quickly dissipated, replaced by a sudden, quiet fear.
“You…” his voice trembled, his eyes wide. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
Aerion scoffed, rolling his eyes as he jeered, “And what business is that of yours? Children have no place meddling in the matters of their betters.”
With a sharp pivot, he turned on his heel and to make his way back to his bedchambers. He stopped when he felt a sharp tug, glancing down to find that his youngest brother reached out, his fingers desperately gripping the fabric of Aerion’s doublet.
With wide, pleading eyes, the boy looked up and begged, “Aerion, please tell me you didn’t hurt him. Please! Tell me he’s alright!”
A flare of annoyance lit up inside Aerion, “Settle down Aegon, Duncan is fine,” he hissed, prying away from the boy's hold. “Why do you fret over a common servant? He is of no concern of yours.”
Aegon faltered, his hand dropping limply to his side. “I just... I haven’t seen him, is all,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “He’s always at the stables. Thunder has been restless without him, and it's been days since he came to see me. I only thought...” He trailed off, wiping his eyes fiercely.
Aerion stared down at his brother, his gaze aloof as he hummed.
“Well, Egg.” He bit back a chuckle watching Aegon’s face twisted in clear disgust at the nickname. “We have a courtyard full of stablemasters paid to shovel dung and tend to restless beasts; I imagine Duncan's presence is hardly missed."
Smiling back at the boy's glare, Aerion calmly examined his manicured nails. "Regardless, Duncan’s hands are occupied with far more intimate matters. He remains devoted to his duties as my personal attendant. As he should.”
Then, holding the boy's gaze, he let his voice drop. The warmth vanished from his tone, replaced by a cold, dangerous softness that betrayed his pleasant smile.
“After all... a beast always knows the hand that holds its leash.”
He flickered his gaze back towards his brother who only spluttered, outraged with his unmistakable claim, “Duncan is not yours to possess! He duty lies to House Targaryen – to our family!”
Aegon squared his small shoulders, lifting his chin high to meet his brother's mocking stare. “And by that right, he is much as mine as he is yours!”
Aerion’s smile faltered as he felt that black tar of anger bubbling in his gut – a tell-tale sign of a seeping, familiar rage. His jaw clenched, his teeth ground so violently they nearly shattered under pressure, while his fists balled tightly enough for his nails to break skin.
“Control yourself, Aerion. Rein in your temper.” His father’s voice echoed sharply in his mind.
Aerion forced the breath back into his lungs, choking down the wildfire in his chest as he still felt the ghost of a heavy hand come down on his shoulder, gripping tightly enough to bruise, “If you consume yourself with this rage, you will burn it all to ash, including Duncan.”
Aerion stilled. Duncan, that oafish, soft-hearted fool. The thought of him alone cut clean through his anger, dragging old memories of their past to light.
As a child, Aerion would watch from afar whenever his servant tended to the horses, quietly leading them to a clearing away from prying eyes.
One day, Aerion managed to slip away from his studies to secretly trail after him, curious to see what the boy did when his master was out of sight.
It was there he saw him, a giant even then, running foolishly beside the palfrey, his straw-brown hair tousled by the wind and his laughter loud and bright.
It wasn’t a particularly pretty sight; Duncan possessed an unremarkable, plain face and was often clumsy, constantly stumbling on the soft earth and fumbling the reins.
Yet, somehow, the memory of Duncan smiling fondly, his sapphire eyes sparkling with a naïve joy as he gently tended to the horses and reached out to murmur soft, loving praise into their ears, remained forever seared into his mind.
Young as he was, Aerion was entirely enamored by that smile. He was captivated by the purity of Duncan's gentle soul, drawn helplessly to someone capable of such simple, plain love; it stirred something fiercely possessive deep within him—a desperate longing to be the only one who could bring that look to the boy's face.
But as adolescence took hold, Aerion grew into his cruel nature, and the innocent fascination of his childhood twisted into something toxic and possessive. The desire to see Duncan smile curdled into a more sinister craving: a desperate need to see him break.
His tyranny started without warning. He bullied and blamed Duncan for every minor slight, regardless of whether it was within the boy’s control, all to see how small he could force that massive frame to shrink.
Aerion relished the sight, secretly fond of the helpless, apologetic hunch of the shoulders and the soft sniffling whenever he rebuked the giant harshly for the simple crime of taking too much space.
A dark hunger stirred in Aerion's chest at the memory of when that spirit finally fractured into submission. He could still see Duncan trembling, his broken smile straining as those large, awkward hands shook, hesitantly reaching out to offer gentle touches in a desperate attempt to soothe his prince’s volatile moods.
But Aerion knew the truth. Duncan's eyes gave him away every time, the desperation and fear shining through his tears, revealing exactly how much he dreaded the consequences of failing to please his prince.
You fool. Aerion loosened his fists, letting out a quiet huff of laughter.
“My darling little brother,” Aerion cooed, voice dripping with sweet mockery as he moved to ruffle Aegon’s hair. His eyes crinkled at the indignant squawk and flailing swat to bat him away.
“You’re far too young to know.” Aerion caught a silky, silver-gold lock, twirling it idly before tucking it back behind Aegon’s ear.
“Perhaps you were yet to be conceived or maybe you were still suckling a wet nurse’s teat...” Aerion murmured thoughtfully, his expression serene.
“Regardless, I will not fault you for your ignorance.”
Suddenly Aerion fisted a handful of Aegon’s hair, “So let this be your first and only warning.” He relished the startled yelp as he yanked him close, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss.
“That across the realms, both in life and in death, Duncan is mine. He is bound to no laws, tethered to no House, and owed to no Crown—only to me. He will break before he ever serves you, or any craven in all the realms who thinks themselves entitled to what is mine.”
Aegon froze as Aerion’s obsidian eyes bored into his petrified gaze. Leaning even closer, Aerion whispered into his ear, low and sinister, “And if anyone dare tries to take him from me, know that I will tear the realms apart before I drag him into death – by my side.”
He released his hold and shoved Aegon back. “Now, off you go. Your elder brother has matters of his own to see to.”
Without waiting for a response, Aerion turned on his heel and strode toward his chambers, pushing the doors open and slamming them shut behind him.
“M-My Prince. Please, I beg of you… no more… please.” Duncan whispered and fixed his gaze downward, stifling a sob when he glanced at the mixture of seed and blood pooling beneath him.
But Aerion would hear none of it.
“Even half-wit idiots like you should know it’s a crime to deny your prince. I could have you hanged for that.” Aerion purred, a smile tugging at his lips at the faint hitch of breath. His hand shot forward, snatching Duncan’s wrist and dragging him back towards the bed.
Panic seeped in as Duncan pleas grew stronger and louder. He began to resist in earnest.
Through choked tears, he lashed out with frantic hands, swatting wildly at Aerion. “Please stop! No! I don’t want to!”
A sharp blow snapped his head aside, stealing his breath straight from his lungs and leaving nothing but ringing silence. Duncan slowly cupped his cheek, staring up at Aerion.
He was paralyzed with fear, silent tears streaming down his face at the manic gleam in those pale violet eyes.
“Perhaps I have been far too lenient with you.” Aerion sneered. “In all these years, I carved out a place for you in this house,” He continued, his voice dropping, “But I can see that in your stupidity, you mistook this for freedom.”
He watched Duncan with a cold, blank stare. Raising the very hand that had just struck him, Aerion let out a quiet chuckle at the giant’s flinch, only to soothe him by running his fingers through the giant's hair, cooing softly at the stifled sobs and the desperate trembling beneath his touch.
“Back when we were children, I used to mock your foolishness.” Aerion continued, his voice dropping to a low, mocking hum, “What was it I called you? Yes… Dunk the lunk. Thick as a castle wall, and slow as an aurochs.”
A quiet, breathy laugh escaped Aerion's lips as he caught the sharp gasp, “You wouldn’t know, but I used to spend all my afternoons chasing you through the Keep, you’d always run off to hide in some dark corner to cry when you couldn’t bear my teasing.”
Aerion peppered small kisses along Duncan’s face, licking away at his tears, “But you should understand Duncan, as cruel you found those words, they were always rooted in truth.”
Without warning, the fingers brushing softly through Duncan’s hair tightened. Twisting into a vicious fist, Aerion yanked his head back, his quiet tone instantly giving way to a seething hiss.
“Because you have clearly forgotten your place.”
Duncan whimpered, his lips trembling as he tried to pull back, but the tight grip on his hair anchored him entirely. Aerion leaned in closer, his free hand coming up to forcefully cup Duncan's jaw, squeezing until his fingers dug into the bone.
“From the moment you were brought into this house, your sole purpose became to serve me,” Aerion murmured, his hot breath brushing against Duncan’s tear-stained cheeks.
“Your only duty is my command.”
He tilted Duncan's head a fraction higher, grinning at Duncan’s faltering gaze, “If I demand your breath, you don’t draw another until I grant you air. If I ask for your blood, you offer the vein, and if I want you bent over like a common wench,”
Aerion wrenched Duncan close enough to hiss at his ear.
“Then you will drop to your knees and spread your legs.”
Sensing the sudden slump of the giant’s shoulders, and knowing the last of his resistance had utterly withered away, Aerion shoved him onto the bed. Duncan’s massive frame crumpled, falling entirely limp.
Before he could even think to move, Aerion crawled over him, straddling his torso and pinning him trapped in place.
“You should be honored to serve me.” Aerion murmured. “I saved you. I picked you from the slums of Flea Bottom, where you sat in filth and poverty, your dwindling hope attached to a lowly hedge knight who was nearly at death’s door. You had nothing before I gave you everything. So mark my words.”
He began to trail small kisses across Duncan’s sun-kissed chest, his tongue slowly tracing the edges of the lingering wounds his teeth had left behind as he worked his way up toward his collarbone and neck, “Your wants are irrelevant. You never had the right to deny me. You belong to me, and you will take what I give you until I say you’re finished.”
Aerion caught the tendon of Duncan's neck between his teeth and bit down. Hard. He savored the sharp, broken cry that escaped the giant's throat as his teeth punctured the soft skin, finally drawing blood.
Pulling away, his lips smeared with red, Aerion pressed a chaste kiss against the fresh wound.
“Now," he murmured, "spread your legs and show me you know your place.”
There Duncan laid, bruised and bleeding, his body still and his tears spilling quietly into the sheets. There was no fight left in him; his pale blue gaze lifted in absolute, hollow surrender as he moved to comply.
As Aerion settled between his legs, he would never admit it, but only for a single breathless moment, when looking down at the ruin he had left, he felt a faint, phantom ache twinge in his chest.
Aerion let his eyes adjust to the chamber’s darkness before shrugging off his doublet. As he began unlacing his tunic, he drawled lazily, “I don’t suppose you’ll be helping anytime soon?”
He frowned at the silence, letting his gaze sweep the room before narrowing it towards the bed, a faint smirk ghosting across his face when the large lump beneath the covers didn’t so much as stir, undisturbed by the world outside.
Now undressed and bare as the day he was born, Aerion sauntered closer and slipped beneath the covers, sliding next to his sleeping giant.
He reached out to graze Duncan’s cheek. His thumb traced the dried tear tracks while his fingertips brushed lightly over the blooming bruise.
“You’re a wretched attendant,” he mumbled in the silence. “I should have you punished for sleeping in and failing to attend to your duties.”
A delighted shudder ran through him, his thoughts wandering back to the hours before. Those tearful cerulean eyes lifting toward him, the large frame sheen with sweat and shaking with exhaustion as Duncan groveled to the floor, pleading for reprieve.
Aerion could still feel the thrill of holding him down by the neck, choking off his screams when he took him again from behind for the fourth time that night.
“How about it, Duncan? “Aerion whispered. His fingers trickled down Duncan’s naked torso, tracing the edge of skin marred by bloodied bites and fresh bruises.
“Would you like to take your punishment now? For your insolence?” He hovered over the prone figure, carelessly throwing off their shared covers. His hand trailed further downward, shifting between the man’s large thighs to prod the torn flesh, still wet with the leaked mixture of Duncan’s blood and his own spent seed.
“For failing to serve your prince?”
Aerion’s eyes glazed over, hypnotized by the slick, soft squelches of his fingers effortlessly slipping inside the unconscious figure. He dug deeper, lost in a trance of pure fascination as his own spent seed oozed out from the torn, puckered hole. The dragon inside him rumbled in quiet contentment, for this man was entirely his property – thoroughly ruined and marked deep within.
Aerion groaned softly, completely aroused as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against Duncan's own.
“Duncan, please,” he whispered. His gaze poured over the tranquil face, though what exactly he was pleading for, Aerion wasn't entirely sure.
With his eyes still trained on Duncan, tracing every distinct feature of the sleeping man’s face, he palmed at his swollen cock, painfully erect and weeping for release, and slicked his member with their combined fluids.
With a quiet sigh, he reached down and took hold of Duncan’s pliant hand. He guided the giant's large, calloused, limp fingers, folding them over his cock and began thrusting languidly into the loose fist.
Aerion moaned softly, his entire frame shuddering with a sudden shiver when the rough callouses rubbed at a particularly sensitive spot.
“Duncan.” He growled feverishly.
The once quiet stillness of the room began to fill with oppressive heat, consumed by the ragged sound of Aerion’s breathless moans as he approached his climax.
Aerion leaned in, catching the soft flesh of Duncan’s earlobe between his teeth while rutting against the sheets, “How long will you make me wait?” he rasped, his voice ragged and thick with rising heat.
Yet Duncan remained entirely asleep, completely immobile and unconscious to his touch.
A click of annoyance left Aerion's tongue, “Then, when you come to, I will be the first thing you taste.”
Aerion dropped Duncan’s limp hand and shifted his hips so that he was straddled on top of Duncan’s face. He resumed stroking as he gripped Duncan’s jaw, digging his fingers into the flesh, forcing his lips to pucker open.
Placing his cock at the tip of Duncan's lips, Aerion came with a loud groan, spilling his seed into the wet orifice.
Chest heaving, Aerion looked down and grinned cruelly. Duncan looked utterly ruined. The quiet, serene stillness of the giant's features was completely defiled, replaced by the stark, humiliating reality of Aerion’s seed splattered across his skin and dripping copiously from the corner of his parted mouth.
Feeling the blood rush south once more, Aerion groaned, “I wish to have you again.”
Aerion lightly tapped Duncan’s cheeks, frowning when the giant remained motionless, the slow, rhythmic rise of his chest the only remaining sign of life.
He pulled away, letting out a quiet huff, “Perhaps, this was my fault. It seems I wore you out.”
Still hovering over him, Aerion stared down at the gentle face, now battered and defiled.
How can you, of all people, make me feel this way? You’re nothing. Just a foolish servant. You’re clumsy, heavy-handed, and slow. You possess no semblance of elegance. No tact. You’re hardly of any consequence, a worthless daft giant, and an embarrassment to the blood of the dragon.
But he pictured the ghost of a boy with raw, bandaged, and clammy hands, shyly holding out a scrap of embroidery—the threads clumsily stitched by massive, inexperienced fingers that only wanted to please him.
He could still see the radiant grin over a prized catch on the riverbanks, born from a day when Aerion had begrudgingly taught him how to fish.
Most of all, he remembered the crushing, desperate heat of the giant’s embrace when his mother passed, a tragedy that had left Aerion entirely lost and stripped of his usual pride, and how Duncan had squeezed him fiercely as if he could physically hold his fractured world together through the sheer force of his embrace.
And yet... I would rather burn the world and kill you myself before I hand you over to anyone else.
Leaning down once more, Aerion softly lifted Duncan’s chin, his thumb wiping away the excess seed, before pressing a chaste kiss against his lax lips.
"Sleep well, Duncan.”
Aerion slid back down next to his sleeping form, pulling the covers over them both as he followed him into a dreamless sleep.