Chapter Text
When his old master was alive, he taught Dunk three simple rules, that Dunk must follow in life.
They go, somewhat, like this:
If you are born an alpha, you owe nothing to anyone.
If you are born an omega, you own everyone your whole self.
And if you are born a beta, you bow your head and go through life unnoticed.
Ser Arlan of Pennytree was a beta, and he understood the world around him well enough, to warn Dunk about the dangers lurking in it.
Since Dunk was young Ser Arlan lectured him on everything; from the ways on how to distinguish the alphas of high rank, to which omegas better stay away from, especially, if they are close to their heats.
Not all omegas were dangerous of course, Ser Arlan used to say, but most, and particularly those who were already spoken for, were to be avoided at all costs, unless Dunk wanted to fall into trouble and get in between the rival alphas who wished to taste the sweetness between an omega’s legs.
No omega is worth losing your life over, Ser Arlan warned him. Unless they were your fated mate but Dunk did not have to worry about it, because he was a beta.
Dunk doesn’t mind being a beta.
Life is simpler without the worries of strong smells and pheromones following him around, which his older master used to say, could pollute his brain.
Alphas and omegas form attachments, Ser Arlan declared to him once, something that they, hedge knights, could not afford to do.
Betas do not need mates or packs, they don’t stake bonding claims or grow possessive over scented territories.
Dunk’s nose picks up scents but they always seem to him dim, colourless and muted. His senses are not as sharp as those of the alphas. He feels grateful for that. There were times when he saw with his own eyes what craze some alphas and omegas went through when they got hit by a harsh wave of scents, or pheromones that could trigger mindless heats or ruthless ruts.
While his nose works just fine, Dunk is not blind to the obvious: betas are looked down upon by the rest of the high lords and knights. They are not aggressive enough for the battlefield, and they lack the strength most alphas possess.
When Dunk arrived at Ashford he was prepared for all kinds of mockery, and so, he was on high alert since he stepped onto the path leading towards the tourney grounds.
Offending the wrong sort of alpha could cause him to lose his head and Dunk doesn’t want to tempt his fate.
He spreads his camp further away from the rest of the pavilions, and he lowers his gaze when he sees an alpha or an omega approaching him from afar. Dunk thinks it is stupid to cover before strangers but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious before the start of the toruney. Dunk doesn’t want risk his participation on the lists.
The boy who trails behind him, seems to think, that it's funny, how Dunk, with his wide shoulders and towering height, squirms before the alphas half his size.
“You are larger than any alpha I have ever seen!” Egg exclaims, and Dunk blushes from his words. He doesn’t care about ranks. The knights should all be betas anyway. True knights are not blinded by the desire to breed, and they don’t need to form mating bonds, Dunk reminds himself, just live in solitude and be of help to those who need it, the same way his old master used to live.
Dunk ignores the odd tugging in his heart whenever Ser Arlan comes to his mind.
Still, the tourney is close and Dunk is growing excited. He can prove himself to be worthy, even as a beta with no name, and no titles, and not a single golden coin to spare.
The camp is buzzing with anticipation, and Dunk sneaks between the stalls, picking up a late dinner and ale and he is humming distinctively to himself because the music is cheerful and the puppeteers' show is about to start and he is still high on this scent from the afternoon-
Dunk forces himself to snap back.
So what if one of the Princes smelled good? It is none of his concern.
“The pretty ones are always temperamental,” one of the White Cloak’s laughter echoes in his head, and Dunk’s face turns grim at the memory. Yes, the pretty one. The one with mocking purple eyes and a sharp tongue, and tangy, like spiced honey, muscat and smoke scents mixed together.
It is truly a shame that such a mean omega also possesses such a sweet scent clinging to his porcelain skin.
Dunk really needs to stop thinking about the Prince. The recollection of their short encounter makes his blood warm.
The night is young but the spring air turns ripe and heavy with the sweat and taste of wine that Dunk can feel at the back of his tongue. Dunk is pushing through the crowds, two plates in one hand and two cups in another trying to balance it all in his grip.
He and the boy have to eat, preferably before the show. He catches Egg where he left him, guarding what little belongings they had and watching the fire show happening before him, and Dunk joins him with a muffled: “Here, your food.”
He has met omegas before, Dunk reminds himself. Sure, perhaps none of them had the dragon Prince’s grace or his looks, but their scent also smelled sweet and their words tasted ripe and heady, and Dunk always flushed and turned red when omegas spoke to him.
He never covered in front of one before.
Not until today anyway.
He is the Prince, Dunk nods to himself, it is understandable for him to act all high and mighty and look down on someone like Dunk. He has alphas lined up before him since the day he presented, Dunk assumes. He probably has a mating arranged and a collar waiting to be worn by his future alpha, and for some reason the thought makes Dunk’s gums ache.
“What is wrong with you?” Egg’s high voice pulls Dunk out of his thoughts.
“Huh?”
“You have that look on your face,” Egg’s finger makes a circle around his own grimace, and his eyes bulge out comically making him look like a little frog. “I have never seen you make one before.”
Dunk mutters, hiding his face behind a mug of ale. “Shut up and eat your food. It’s nothing. I’m just thinking.”
“Oh,” Egg stretches out the last letter, theatrically. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Hey! Mind your tongue,” Dunk snaps, but the boy is smiling, amused. “It’s just.. The Princes of House Targaryen arrived in the afternoon. I was wondering. About you know. The Royal family.”
Egg looks away and pretends to shrug, slowly sinking his teeth into the fowl, and chewing it quietly after taking the small bites of his dinner.
“What about them?”
“Well,” Dunk clears his throat. They sit further away from the rest of the crowd, but Dunk still feels cautious of the curious looks they get from passersby strangers. Dunk leans closer to the boy, his voice a whisper, “One of the Princes is an omega.”
Egg wipes the corner of his mouth. He hums and stares at Drunk with his massive eyes. For a moment his gaze feels familiar, and an eerie feeling rushes like cold air down the back of Dunk’s rigid spine.
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Which one?”
Dunk frowns. He didn’t catch his name. “The pretty one.”
Egg raises his brows, but then when Dunk simply shrugs, he lets a heavy sigh.
“Aerion?”
“Prince Aerion,” Dunk corrects him, tasting the name at the tip of his tongue. “Silver hair. Purple eyes. Pretty- I mean pink mouth. A little rude,” Dunk frowns to himself, remembering the crude words, a careless “see to my horse, boy” thrown without looking over his shoulder, “No, forget that, very rude. But smells nice. Like wine, and ash. And a bit like honey.”
“Prince Aerion,” Egg nods, in affirmation. “He is Prince Maekar’s son.”
“Yes,” Dunk doesn’t know where he is heading with that conversation, but the words slip off his tongue without thinking, “he is an omega but he is not mated yet. There is no bite on his neck, and no collar to mark someone’s courting.”
“Ah,” Egg squirms uncomfortably. “Perhaps he has not yet decided on a suitor. It is not uncommon for Royal omegas to mate later in life. Until their heats become unbearable that is, then they would usually seek an alpha to mate. I am sure he will find someone soon enough.”
Dunk nods. “He doesn’t look easy to court.”
Egg chews silently on his bottom lip. Dunk finishes the rest of his dinner, and his worries are forgotten momentarily when he hears the familiar sounds of the horn sounding from the distance.
“It’s starting!” he and Egg both shout at each other before rushing to claim the seats inside the puppeteer’s tent.
It is crowded as always, but Egg is small enough to sneak into the first rows, and Dunk is content watching from afar.
He is tall enough to reach over audiences’ heads, and, once he catches sight of the performance nothing can distract him from watching.
Not even when halfway through the play, something sweet reaches his nostrils.
At first, Dunk thinks it is the sweetness of the hard candies, that kids like to sneak in with them inside the tent, to nibble on while watching the show, but, the scent grows heavier and more intense, and, Dunk twists his head around, trying to figure out which direction it is coming from.
“And the man lifted his shield, the reflection of the mighty beast clear in its silver surface.”
Tanselle’s words fly over his head. The crowd is silent with anticipation, excited to see the man behead the fierce dragon but Dunk doesn’t get to see the act.
He is rushing out of the tent, something invisible pulling him back, deeper into the camp.
The night is silent and dark, and Dunk’s path is lighted by the rare flames. He stumbles over his feet, and he is not sure where he is going, until he reaches the grounds of the tourney, where the unusual scent is coiling at its strongest.
Dunk takes a full breath, his lungs taking in the scent, and yet he still feels like he cannot get enough. The heaviness of it makes him drunk and he tries to squint his eyes, looking into the night.
At first, he can’t see anything. The fire pits burn through the darkness but Dunk has to blink a couple of times to adjust to the dimness around him.
He knows he stands amongst the tourney grounds, but he can hardly see the wooden rails which mark them.
The cheering of the crowd is muffled from a distance, Dunk hopes Egg stays too occupied by the play to notice Dunk’s abrupt absence.
Because if Egg asks him where he was, Dunk doesn’t think he can explain himself.
What made him leave so suddenly? What powerful urge was he following to make him stand here, all alone, in the darkness of the night, staring into nothing?
“I told you not to follow me here, Ser Donnel. I am not a maiden to need a chaperone whenever I decide to leave my chambers unaccompanied.”
Dunk’s blood turns cold.
“It is not safe for an omega to be out so late on his own, your Highness.”
He is not alone.
Through the night’s veil, he can distinguish a lone figure standing further away from him.
He is leaning against the rails, and when he hears Dunk’s voice his head turns, in lightning speed.
“You!” It is hard to distinguish Prince Aerion’s features but Dunk is certain he can see a cruel twist of his full mouth and burning rage in his eyes. “I will have your head for following me, you drunken-“
“I was not following you,” Dunk says slowly, and steps back, his arms raised with the palms straight to show he is defenceless. He wonders if Prince’s anger is half embarrassment for mistaking Dunk for a White Cloak.
That one is a first. Dunk can understand that he must have misjudged his size in the obscurity of the night, but, the two king's guards Dunk met in the stables were undeniably alphas.
He had been mistaken for an alpha before in the past. But none of the previous encounters left his cheeks and face aflame like the knowledge that Aerion thought he was of another rank.
Prince hisses almost like a wounded cat. If he had fur, Dunk thinks, it would stand alert and rigid, but instead the Prince flags towards him, his chin raised and his eyes dark and alert.
“I am not scared of you,” Prince spats, angrily. “So leave me alone unless you want to taste the steel of my sword.”
Dunk tries to breathe slowly but he is suffocated by the sweet scent. He wants to hold his breath but then his face will look stupid and he doesn’t need more reasons for the Prince to scowl at him.
“I am sorry, your Highness. I did not mean to spook you.”
“I am not spooked, you idiot,” Aerion’s scent turns heavy and tense despite the rise in his voice. He stands so close, Dunk wants to lower his head and take a deep breath from where the scent is the strongest, weaving off the crook of the Prince’s neck.
He was never urged by such a strong desire before. He feels like his balance is off and he is swaying from the heels to the top of his toes. Prince is watching him, sharply, like Dunk is a foreign animal he is ready to pounce.
Dunk swallows, hard. His tongue is thick and his gaze lingers against the bare skin of Prince’s neck. It is a pretty neck. It is long, and pale, like a stem of a pretty flower.
“What are you staring at, oaf?”
Dunk blinks. He looks up, Aerion’s eyes narrow and suspicious. The Prince doesn’t make the move to step away, but Dunk suspects this is his way of standing ground.
Aerion raises his chin and Dunk almost misses the movement, but, the simple tilt makes his whole body grow rigid and incredibly hot.
He should leave. This is his sign to go back and grab Egg by the nape and go back to his camp, but, instead, he stares at the silent invitation, and thinks that the ground better open up and swallow him whole before Dunk decides to do something stupid, like lean forward and tuck his nose against the soft column of the omega’s neck.
“Nothing.”
It looks so soft. Unmarked and almost pink from the blush that spreads down Aerion’s skin. He wonders if it is from anger, or the heat of the night, or perhaps from embarrassment that he is submitting to a man, who is not even an alpha.
Dunk clears his throat.
“I should go, your Highness.”
“You want to have a taste, don’t you?”
Dunk stills. He doesn’t like the tilt in the Prince’s voice. For the first time during the night, Dunk notices Aerion’s dress, the burgundy silk and the golden hem of the cloak over his shoulders. The shine of rubies on his fingers and the silver of bracelets wrapped around his wrists.
Dunk looks like a peasant, a farmer, the game master’s laughter fresh in his head, standing beside him, and he feels like a worm, crawling under the Prince’s feet.
Dunk lowers his head. “I.. I need to.. The show is probably over by now. I need to go find my squire.”
Almost as a way to get at him, the loud cheering of the crowd erupts behind his back. Dunk squeezes his eyes, to hide his embarrassment.
Aerion hums. He makes a step forward, and Dunk instinctively takes one back.
Aerion makes another and Dunk nearly bumps into the wooden rails behind him. He feels small, slouching uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the omega’s gaze.
“I won’t ask you again.”
“I- I shouldn’t, your Highness, your father- I mean it is not appropriate to scent unmated omegas.”
And Prince Maekar will skin him alive if Dunk tries to even attempt to get close to his omega son. The man didn’t look like he favoured Dunk much, and he doesn’t want to give the man more reasons to get on his bad side.
Prince’s expression goes cold and Dunk thinks it is a good sign. If Aerion loses interest in this little game of cat and mouse he will let Dunk go. Even if the last thing Dunk wants is to force himself to stay away from the mouthwatering scent.
“Do you know how many air-headed fools would crash their necks for even a glimmer of a chance to scent me?” Aerion’s voice is monotone and almost bored, and Dunk shrinks into himself. “I can tell you want to, even a scum beta like you can’t stay away. So go ahead. Take your fill before I change my mind.”
Dunk feels like he is being tested, but he is not sure what, exactly. Aerion is watching him, his eyes burning through Dunk’s rapidly disappearing resolve.
Dunk tries to think but thoughts are always difficult to put together, especially now, standing so close to Aerion that he can practically feel the heat radiating off his body.
Dunk is a beta. He won’t feel the craze of the pheromones if he inhales Aerion’s scent. He also, doesn’t want to offend the Prince by rejecting his offer.
Dunk slowly raises his head and straightens his back, looming over the omega.
“My Prince, it would be the greatest offer to scent you.”
Even in the dark Dunk can see how Aerion’s cheek flushes at the implication. He hopes it is a good sign, because Aerion’s scent turns sweeter, which Dunk didn’t know was possible.
This is his first time smelling the omega’s pheromones so clearly.
Dunk’s mouth is full of saliva, and he swallows it quickly.
“Idiot,” Aerion mutters. “Fine. Get on with you, you large bore.”
Aerion doesn’t tilt his chin, and Dunk frowns. “You have to bare your neck, your Highness.”
Aerion looks like he is a thin thread away from snapping. Dunk doesn’t know why he is acting this way. The little he knows about omegas and scenting is that if an omega truly wanted to offer their neck, they would tilt their chin and barre their mating bond to an alpha.
Or a beta, like Dunk.
Aerion looks like he is dealing with some inner turmoil, but, then, he huffs an angry “fine” and his chin raises up, his eyes defiant almost challenging Dunk to get a taste.
Dunk’s head is heavy. He knows there is no one around, and yet he still feels alert.
“Come on. Don’t make me wait.”
Dunk thinks he hears a sombre plea in the Prince’s voice, but that would be an insane thought and so he pushes it quickly away as fast as it appears.
He lowers his head, while the Prince stands still and a little tense, waiting for Dunk’s next move.
Dunk should make it fast, but he can’t help it, wanting to take his time nosing against the sweet spot behind Aerion’s ear. His hands, limp and long by his side, find their way around Aerion’s waist, which is so small and fits perfectly in the palms of Dunk’s hands. He is sweating, his hair sticking to his nape, but he doesn’t care because all he can think about is the sweet, sweet scent making his head cloudy.
Aerion’s skin turns pinkish from attention and Dunk can’t help the way his nose slides against the column of his neck, tracing the graceful line of the omega’s body. This might be his only chance to be with the omega, and Dunk truly takes his fill.
He can hear, on the periphery of his mind the soft, kitten-like noises coming from the Prince’s mouth but they are so quiet and tender that Dunk thinks he is imagining them. The scent turns sweeter and almost smokier, and Dunk can feel it, quite literally, on his tongue. He doesn’t realize that when he opens his mouth, his lips and tongue taste the swell of the gland on Aerion’s neck and it is when the Prince outright whimpers that Dunk understands the severity of his actions.
“Don’t you fucking dare to stop,” Aerion’s arms hold onto Dunk’s biceps, fingers sharp like claws.
Dunk submits to a deep-rooted desire, his mouth sucking tender bruises on Aerion’s neck, and his teeth grazing the pink skin.
Dunk feels the Prince rubbing himself against Dunk’s thigh which finds its way between the omega’s legs and Dunk thinks he is losing his mind. When he bites, hard, against the swollen gland, he wonders for a moment if he imagines the sticky wetness clinging to the rough fabric of trousers, and, it is only when he looks down that he sees Aerion humping against him, his body hot and rigid, and Dunk’s head is spinning.
“Did you just-?”
Aerion lifts his head. His forehead rises from where it was resting on Dunk’s shoulder and when he looks up, his eyelids are hooded and his cheeks are as red as persimmons.
He is breathing hard through his parted mouth, and his lips are swollen and wet, and Dunk feels a terrible need to know how they taste.
“Get off me.”
Dunk stumbles away, taken aback by the coldness in Aerion’s voice. It is bizarre and unnatural but he moves anyway, almost immediately. Aerion fixes his clothes and his tousled hair, but there is hardly any hiding the marks blooming on his neck and the wet spots between his legs.
“If you tell anyone about what happened here, I will cut your cock off and burn your gruelling body alive.”
Dunk frowns. “I understand, your Highness.”
He is hard, Dunk realizes, almost disappointed in his own body. His breaches feel tight around his groin, but there is no excitement of the flash which usually comes to him when his body acts this way.
He is hard and he misses the warmth of Aerion’s body, but when he realizes that, the Prince is already gone into the night.
Dunk stands stupidly in the middle of the field, and he forces himself to gather his thoughts and go back into the camp.
The show is over, and he is relieved to find Egg sitting with one of the boys his age, talking and laughing. Dunk shakes his head, walking over towards him and Egg takes a sniff of air when Dunk urges him, saying it is time to go back.
“You smell funny,” Egg declares and Dunk frowns.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Egg shrugs. “Just means you don’t smell like your usual self. It is very sweet, and- smoky? Did you wander off to get more food during the performance or something?”
Dunk doesn’t reply. He is tired, and he wants to head to bed, and he wants to forget how good and right it felt to hold an omega in his arms. This is stupid.
He doesn’t care for Aerion. Aerion is cruel, and mean, and says harsh words, and, he is probably already engaged to a high lord who is going to give him jewels and dress him in silks, and feed him rich foods that will taste sweet and ripe for the Prince’s liking.
He doesn’t need a hedge knight sulking over him.
It is that thought that follows Dunk into his dreams.