Chapter Text
Prince Aerion Targaryen was born an Omega. Ever since his first cry when he left his mother's womb as a babe people handled him like one would a particularly pretty vase.
He despised it.
It was a great shame to be born a male Omega in such a powerful house like his, where his only duty would be to marry an Alpha he'd hate with all his rotten heart and bear more pale-headed brat children.
As if there weren't enough of them already.
It was an even bigger shame to be barren as well.
Unable to bear children, now the only thing he was good for was to be a pretty face his father could marry off for power.
But Aerion Targaryen was anything but an obedient Omega. He made himself as nasty, cruel and as monstrous as he possibly could.
He was not delicate, small, soft or loved.
He was rough, muscled, violent and hated.
A killer and a cheater, and yet some folk still looked at him like an enticing berry, not knowing that a drop of his toxin would kill the proudest of beasts that laid their hands on him.
Well, Aerion thought as he pressed his fingers to his aching jaw, all except for one.
The Alpha from Fleabottom. Ser Duncan the tall, he was called.
The only person who had ever hit the Prince. Twice, at that, then thrown and kicked him too.
Aerion should've been more outraged than he was but all he could think of was how good it felt. Someone had fed him the same rage he fed the ‘innocents’. Dragons did not care for innocence.
Aerion was intrigued, he wished to face the large Alpha in proper battle as someone who would not hold back because of what he was.
But he also had to show the people he would not stand down from the disrespect.
He would bare his teeth and rip his throat out.
On his table stood a goblet, green flames licked the rims, calling to his core.
No Alpha would best him.
Aerion reached out, fingertips tickling against the steel, and grasped the goblet in his hand. He couldn't tell if the fiery liquid was burning his palms or not; The wicked green flames pulled him into a thrall that nearly had him salivating.
Once he drank this, every Alpha in the region would fear him what he was- not an Omega, but a scaly beast.
A dragon.
The green flames whispered to him, it pulled out a growl from his throat and dilated his pupils. There was no burn or heat when he tipped his head back and let the wildfire drip onto his tongue before spreading down into his throat.
Maybe his body was resistant to the fire; or maybe he felt no pain because of the adrenaline surging through his veins.
The goblet dropped to the ground with a clang once it was empty.
Aerion stood in the center of his tent, head tipped back, lips parted in a pleased, lazy grin. Heat and power surged through his body, stronger than any wine or ale that he had ever drank. It felt like his blood would boil and his veins pop with the promise of the wildfire.
This is what it felt to be a dragon.
Then something stabbed through the side of his ribcage and the Prince hissed, snapping his head back down and scrambling to lift the chain mail from his bare torso.
Blood dripped down from his torso to his navel in a steady stream. His skin had split open by something sharp forcing its way out from inside of him.
A scale.
White, gleaming and bloody; Slowly emerging from his flesh, and followed by many more.
Aerion stared in horror as reptilian scales grew out of his skin, covering his body inch by inch.
Panicked, he tore off his belt and tunic, exposing pale arms running with fresh blood.
A cry of pain tore from his throat at a particularly strong tear on his forearm and he looked down to see one of the scales clatter to the ground. It had been torn straight from his flesh, leaving an open wound in its wake. It seemed that in his panic to undress he had failed to notice the claws extending from his scaly-hands and had ripped off a fresh scale with one upwards swipe.
Deep gasps of breath sounded from him as he stared at his state in disbelief, not able to process what was happening before something worse changed.
His ribs were growing too large for his chest, stretching the skin and scales painfully, and his shoulder blades suddenly snapped in an unnatural position before they started to grow outwards.
Aerion cried, a pained sound no human could make under any circumstances, and fell forward onto his hands and knees.
He caught a glint of himself in a standing mirror up ahead just as the flaps of the tent were shoved open by a confused guard.
With limbs growing from his back, hands hooked and monstrous and his body growing into something draconic and large.
He did not recognise himself.
The cell was cold. Unbearably cold. Colder than the darkest of nights under the stars.
Dunk had never been bothered by the cold, his body seemed to be able to supply its own heat like a little bonfire. It kept him warm and cozy during the many nights he spent out in the open country, where he liked it.
But now it was like that bonfire in him had been smothered down to weak flames. The chill seeped into his bones, cut into his cheeks and made his fingers and toes numb.
The cell was barren, the stone was uncomfortable to even look at and his only light was the glimpse of stars out the narrow window and the torches outside his cell.
He really wished he could be outside right now, cozying up with his horses and listening to the crickets sing.
But nothing was as he would've liked it right now.
Dunk was stuck in a confined space like an animal because he had tried to protect a woman who was innocent.
He had punched a Prince, and yeah, that is a big deal. He could look past punching a Prince for the right cause, but an Omega?
Dunk was disappointed with himself. He wasn't aware the Targaryen Prince was an Omega until his clouded mind cleared enough that he could smell it on him.
Truly, he never would've laid hands on the man if he knew. No honorable man would, knight or not. Ser Arlan has made sure he knew that.
Didn't matter if the Omega was the devil incarnate himself, there were no exceptions to the rule.
Dunk groaned and hung his head between his legs, hugging his legs like a child would. He felt a bit like a child right now, caught doing something incredibly stupid.
Ser Arlan would've given him a right clout on the ear if he saw him now. The thought made the corner of his mouth perk up in a little smile.
But Ser Arlan wasn't here. And he would face a punishment worse than a light slap.
His smile faded when he heard the distinct sound of an animal in pain outside, followed by frightened yells of folk and the angry barking of dogs trying to scare off a threat.
Dunk stood up and slumber over to the window at the top, peering out into the night. He didn't see much, but the noises grew louder and more panicked and a wave of fear scent hit him like a flail to the head.
Something was going terrible wrong out there.
A loud roar sounded, nothing like he had ever heard, and then a spew of green fire shot up out of the crowds of tents, giving light to the scene.
He nearly stumbled when he saw the giant moving silhouette of something clawing its way out of the crowd, something he could see with his eyes only because it seemed to be white in contrast to the starry night, and because it spewed more bright green fire into the air.
Seven fucking hell's-
Dunk stood wide eyed in horror as he witnessed innocent people be surrounded by fire.
Even a half-wit man like Dunk would know that there was no name for the giant, fire-breathing monster that had suddenly appeared, and that invoked such terror and strife, one that caused such ruckus and swallowed people with its breath; other than Dragon.
The great beast spread its wings and lifted from the ground, vomiting green-yellow waves of fire down below, before disappearing into the heavy smoke.