Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The enormous front door slammed close with an echo that reverberated through the entrance hall. High up reaching the sky on 107th levels, the Summerhall penthouse, owned by the Targaryen group under his father’s name was silent as seconds before an ambush.

Aerion sighed to the ceiling as he felt his silver hair slide down the granite interior of the door. The matching granite walls were imported from an acquaintance from Italy. The floors were not much different. The black, gold, and specks of red polished into perfection, complimenting the pale slate of the walls, every pattern never repeats, as if the granite was cut and made precisely for each square meter. Pale golden lightings were luminous but not blinding to the eyes, gradually illuminating the hallway in parts as soon as the door was closed.

He stepped further and carefully removed his Oxford shoes, the bright red soles reflected into the surface of the shoerack from the gap between the front and the elevated heel made Aerion let out a tiny smirk. The large armoire was pristine saved from boot prints of crumbling dirt that’s clearly not his. Mirror lined with golden metal layered the left walls from floor to the high ceiling, a reminder of that all Targaryens were always to be composed before heading out to the battle field that is the outside world.

Aerion straightened up, decidied to wear his fur coat inside just because he can and he owned the place. His cat-light steps were inaudible even to his own ears as he stepped further into the massive living room. He walked pass the designer sofa and artistic coffee table he won in an auction. His socked feet brushed the soft fur carpet as he was nearing the window. He could walk up to the window a thousand times over and yet the view would still take his breath away.

Underneath the greatness of the Targaryen property was a sight of million dollars, perhaps more. The lights flashed and flickered in the city that never sleeps, always running on and about. The traffic on the west side looked more like meteor storm from the sheer volume of it whereas the east side were dotted and lively like an aurora. The shorter buildings created a constellation that made his chest swell with pride. High above like this, he would imagine himself as a dragon overlooking his hoard, hungry for more and never enough, not letting any of his wealth be taken away by peasants and the likes. But the sight that pulled at him the most was the low building still inside the complex of the penthouse. In the middle of it was his childhood home, a three stories manor with brick walls and dark roofs. The Summerhall manor.

When he’s little, he remembered the high ceiling of the manor were like the sky while the halls and pathways were the forest. Daeron and him used to play hide and seek throughout the rooms and grand staircase, scurrying around the spiraling stairs until they got an earful from their father. Aemon would sit near the hearth with his head on their mother’s lap while listening to her read, his thick Targaryen silver hair brushed fondly by the soft hands of Dyanna Dayne. Daeron would show him shadow puppet and tell him scary stories about the manor while Aerion mantained a dignified outlook in front of their mother but later on would climb into Daeron’s bed and hid beneath the duvet while his older brother held him, not before teasing him about it first.

Their dynamic changed slightly when little Daella was born, their very first princess baby girl. Everyone adores her pretty little face, framed with straight silver hair and made perfect with her deep violet eyes duplicated straight from their mother’s. Apparently that awakened some kind of a father’s softness in Maekar because not long after that Dyanna was with child yet again.

The simple joy and admiration were not lost when Aegon was born, only multiplied. Aemon cried the first time he held his baby brother, said he finally became a big brother, like he was not in Daella’s eyes. That night Aegon was born might be the last time Aerion witnessed the newly older brother Aemon being stupid. Together minus their eldest, the four of them would play board games with intricate decorations and complex rules. But Aerion would prefer they play hide and seek or run around until they lost their breath in laughter or if his father caught them and spank their buttocks for nearing the office. Aemon and Aegon refused as well as Daella, though hesitantly, and Daeron was more interested in hanging out with his ‘friends’. Aerion could no longer seek comfort from his cool big brother when he had nightmares because Daeron’s were worse.

And then Rhae, beautiful, little menace that Aerion saw himself in the most. Together they would pull pranks on everyone including Maekar’s own personal guards. Their father had never fallen into their traps more because the man can see through pretty much everything and less because both Rhae and Aerion had done it half heartedly, both waiting the others to back out first and called the coward out. Both too prideful to do it first. They never pranked their angel of a mother. Aegon and Daella were their favorite target because they would be red in the face and sob. Aemon is no fun to be pranked and he always had his nose buried in the pages of the manor’s library’s finest books. The prank is fun and all until their father was told about it, much like everything else, mostly.

They were happy, truly. At least that was what he was feeling. Happy and whole.

And then lung cancer took his happiness away. Dyanna had been but skin and bone the day she passed. Maekar had forbidden the children to enter her room simply to see her in fear that the youngsters would be frightened by the sight. But the not knowing what happened frightened Aerion even more.

He kept dreaming the same nightmare night after night, even before her death. An indigo dragon so graceful in the flaps of its wings, falling from the sky into a castle’s keep, killing everyone in it and destroyed everything within reach.

Daeron went on a sober streak to prove to their father that he is responsible enough to help taking care of their mother, though the house servants lined up in an endless line. He broke the sobriety only after his dreams—more like nightmares—came haunting a hundred times more violent. Aemon tried harder to excel his study, much to Aerion’s surprise that he could do better than he already did. He even admitted of that when his baby brother came crying to him after he read medical literature about cancer and what it would do to the body. Aerion sticks to the girls like he could protect them from the pain of worrying about their mother.

But none of that would prevent death when the Stranger has been set on its path.

Daella had said to Aerion one morning that Aegon is like a knight, comforting Rhae with soft voice when she would lose a football match and stand up strong for Daella against her bullies.

Aerion saw red.

If Aegon—Egg, the boy demanded to be called, though Aerion ignored him of it—was a knight then what of Aerion? Was he not worthy to be called such or was the title did not quite fit him? In their analogy then Aerion would be the beast, a dragon, trampling the knight and the village.

What was he to them?

Aerion would pick Daeron up, both bodily and with a vehicle, when his friend called Aerion to get his poor excuse of an older brother from a party with too much suspicious paraphernalia. He would hold Daeron’s hair up while he retched into the gutter, and then hand delivered him to their father. Aerion received a sharp backhand after he (half) joked that Daeron was a huge revenue for their family’s physiatrist. His father was so strong compared to him that he was sent sprawling on the floor by the sheer force alone. The pieces of his broken heart on the floor around him was beyond mending, so he got back to his feet and pulled the nastiest sneer he could manage with a split lip.

He was still bitter about it but he needs to be the older brother Daeron had failed to be for his siblings. His impudent little siblings.

Aerion himself would drive Aemon to his competitions while his father wouldn’t even know it existed. Though he did drive back home alone after he saw Aemon struggled with an answer. He knew Aemon knew what the answer was but no word was coming out of his mouth, face looking ashen and voice tight since he stepped into the podium. Later on he would call him a cab and left Aemon’s favorite hot chocolate on the kitchen counter, along with a chocolate bar and a stick note that says you did well enough as a second place. Aemon had moved to Citadel to pursue his study after that. He would never say it out loud but Aerion wished the boy would live a happy life away from this broken family. He conveyed all of that with a single pat on the shoulder then a shove when he had seen him off at the airport.

Aegon was different than the others. While the grief turned his siblings back into weeping infants, Aegon turned cold and acted more mature than his eleven years of age. He would sneak out from his tutoring sessions to do fuck all that Aerion didn’t have half the mind to care. When he came home one day with a clean shaved head, Aerion had slapped the shiny bald head of his and then asked for mercy to Maekar behind closed doors of his office. Said that Aegon didn’t know what he’s doing and the boy needs the freedom since he was the second best children to one day lead one of Targaryen Group’s company.

The number one being Aerion himself.

Maekar had wanted to disown the boy for disowning the little boy’s family pride but Aerion had held Maekar back from confiscating what little possession the boy had in fear that Aegon would actually flee the house and one day become their competitor. Maekar had listened to his nonsense and Aerion was convinced it was the grief’s doing. The old Maekar would never hesitate to discipline his boys himself be it with starvation or countless spanks. Aerion had known that himself. Had experienced it.

With the girls it was manageable but not easier.

Daella would lock herself in her room and would only eat small packets of marshmallow sandwiches Aerion slid into her room from the gap beneath the giant door. In return, she would talk to him in form of a piece of paper she slipped under the door.

Thank you for still being here, brother. I love you so much. One of the papers had said.

Still being here like Aerion would actually give in to the voices inside his head—to defenestrate himself from the attic of the manor or drink bleach the servants left cluttered in the servant’s quarters—just to make the pain stop. But he couldn’t blame her, Daella knows how to read him behind his bark-no-bite bullshit. Only he thinks he would bite one day and that would be the last.

Rhae was… exceptional. She became more fierce than she already was much to his surprise that she could manage it. She would cry all night long and then emerged from her room to go to school, composed as always except for her red, puffy eyes. Rhae would glare at him for suggesting that she should take a sick day and stay at home, saying she had gymnastic practice after school and wouldn’t want to miss that. Aerion picked her up early that day because she had a break down in the middle of the trampoline after landing the most impressive form a nine years old could manage. The coach told Aerion she was perfect one second and the next she was a blabbering mess. Aerion knew she was looking for their mother cheering her on from the side of the tracks to find her nowhere. She would never find her anywhere again. She had let Aerion sleep with her in her bedroom that night but not before insisting that she didn’t want any of it. But Seven above knows they both needed it.

Maekar had turned a blind eye and deaf ears to his children’s suffering, drowned himself in paperworks and business. Even as Aerion begged the broken man to stop and have a proper family dinner with the rest of the broken family.

Had he not been enough as a brother, as a son?

Aerion turned his face from the window. His throat felt like it’s been lined with barbed wire and he wouldn’t want to look like a kicked puppy when Duncan arrived for their rendezvous.

The penthouse was great, he admit, but it’s not the only one the Targaryen Group had owned. One in Essos, multiple in Dragonstone, the massive main one in Kingsland, and the rest he couldn’t recall all were their wealth but Summerhall was Aerion’s home. Maekar had purposefully avoided the penthouse for the pain it caused him walking down the complex. Every corner screamed of the memory of his late wife, Aerion knew.

So he had took it over as his to manage and secretly having an affair in.

Aerion had never thought in the twenty six of his life that he would end up willingly be soft and pliant under a lowborn sod. He was a dragon prince and Duncan was mere hedge knight.

And yet the following days after the Great British Backhand, as Daeron the drunken bitch called it, he had caught Duncan hanging out with Aegon—Egg, Egg-on whoever the fuck he thought he is. Aegon was crying with the giant’s arm around his small frame. The giant oaf had reached out to him too after Aegon’s tears and snot had dried, saying that his injured lip looked swollen and he had an ointment for that.

Aerion almost started a fight after Aegon told Dunk—apparently that’s his nickname, such a stupid nickname—that Aerion is cruel and wouldn’t care if he’s sharp as a knife or looking like a beggar, he would still think everyone less than him. Which he appreciate the judgment since it was not untrue but still he felt like snapping the boy’s finger in half for pointing it at him while sputtering his evaluation of his evil big brother. Him and Dunk didn’t get along well after that.

But that blinding hatred towards the giant, it pulled something incomprehensible in his chest. He wanted the giant’s attention be it a soft smile or wide-eyed stare like he had turned into a dragon and then back again before his very own eyes. Much to Egg’s dismay, Aerion kept finding a way to appear in their weird arrangement. Dunk and Egg and their adventures were absurd to Aerion but his childish desire to be engaged with and to annoy his bald little brother made him do things far more absurd.

That’s when he learned that it was an attraction towards the giant.

Aerion knew he was into everyone regardless of what’s behind their pants. A pussy, a dick, or even a knife, pretty much everything would excite him if he decides they attract him and by Seven, was Duncan severely attractive.

Broad chest, huge arms, even broader back. His brunette hair was neck-length, and it would swing carelessly when he wore it in a bun. Strong legs—he taught me rugby, his weak, frail little brother informed him—strong hands, and even stronger moral compass. He’s everything Aerion is not and Aerion wanted him.

Their first kiss was an accident, Aerion always insisted, even though he’s the one who initiated it. Duncan was simultaneously soft and rough, gentle but savage, and everything Aerion needed. They had a fight about fuck knows what, he couldn’t even remember. All he could remember about that night was that he’s fucked for life.

The second time was a moment of vulnerability. The anniversary of his mother’s passing. Duncan had held him tight that night while he fucked Aerion into the mattress with so much care like Aerion was made from glass. His tears had turned from grief to pleasure-induced. If he was unconvinced before, which he already had convinced, he knew it by then that he’s totally, properly, completely fucked for life.

There was no going back from Duncan, he knew.

The third, fourth, and hundredth times after they spent in this very penthouse. Hiding away from the public eyes like a scandal, which he thought it might as well be. The second son of the Summerhall co. director having a homosexual relationship with a nobody, doing all that right under said director’s nose, while he and his brother, the Targaryen Group CEO is battling an illegitimate child of the late CEO for inheritance. The media would have a field day feeding Blackfyre bastards’ supporters like crumbs to starving fish in a concrete pool.

The dispute was messy. Dirty laundry aired out to the public, past mistake were brought up and old wounds reopened. Aerion tried to stay away from it as best as he was willing just like Maekar had ordered him to. He only helped in form of casual conversation and little nudges. Which to normal people looked like a heated discourse and vengeful words. Ah, the world he lived in. Bask in it, even.

After the last family dinner, which ended up with Maekar finding out about his arrangement with Dunk and Aerion being dragged out of the room by the collar to be lectured by Maekar about responsibility and a Targaryen’s pride, Aerion is sure he would get less percentage of his late grandfather’s inheritance. Why in the seven hells would he think it was a good idea to agree with Aegon to invite Duncan over for a fucking family dinner. Though he couldn’t lie it stirred something in his chest to see his siblings get along with the giant oaf.

“A lowborn like him is no equal for highborn in the likes of us, much less my son’s tutor” Maekar had said to him. Snapped at him.

Was Aerion not his son too? If anything Dunk had taught him more. On how to love, how to live when the world suggests otherwise, how to be a decent fucking human being.

“No? Also who said he’s an equal to me. Truthfully, father, I do enjoyed being pushed around and—“

“That’s enough. You will learn that your actions have consequences” Maekar snapped again. He leaned closer.

“And by Gods, son, you will learn”.

His father’s words echoed through his head. What sort of madness would Maekar do this time? Not that Aerion didn’t have any left behind his sleeve. He would use his father’s own tricks against himself. Would play the game as if it was a dance for two. Would fight fire with fire. Indeed the seeds of madness are sown in the womb. Like father like son.

Aerion swirled the tumbler he didn’t remember pouring himself. Lavish bottles lined up the small bar in the nook of the wall. Each one worth more than a simple man’s lifetime of work. He sipped once, and then twice to erase the picture of a simpler time when he was young enough to be cradled by his mother.

He only remembered the one time his father had held him. He had fallen from the giant elm tree in the garden of the manor. The look in his father’s eyes... He took more sips.

Aerion swept his gaze towards a decorative display next to the mini bar. Standing tall and imposing was a historic white and gold armor of a Kingsguard of his ancestors’ time. The intricate protection was close to Dunk’s height. Cuirass as broad too.

Aerion wondered if he can convince Duncan to wear it during one of their freak play at the penthouse. He supposed he could. Duncan was always willing to please any of his wishes. Aerion always gets what he wants from him.

The cape falling from beneath the gorget into the floor raised only by ten centimeters or so was looking majestic and imperial. The helmet was pretty, but the thing that fascinated Aerion the most was the long sword posed beneath the overlapping gauntlet. It looked almost out of place. Rusted in some parts and dirty with soot in a way no cleaning solution could erase. It looked as if a hedge knight was appointed to protect and serve the royal House of the Dragon. What an honor it truly was, Aerion had imagined. On the ball of the sword hilt, hidden beneath the giant fingers of the gauntlet was a copper coin embedded into the metal. A penny of their time, Aerion had saw on one of the Westeros history books in the manor’s archive. He had read about it too, that a simple tourney had turned into a trial that marked the history towards something bigger. There were less dragons and more political battles that it bored him to death so he’d not really reading into that boring part of history. Old or new, men were always after each other’s throats for power.

All was mattered not for now. He was about to get fucked in an hour. Less if Dunk came home sweaty and musky from his carpenter job.

Home.

Aerion had thought about it. About making it official and held his face up before the legal battle his crumbling family was facing. Better to admit to it now than hide for longer and have it flaunted in court against him. Of course his father would object but Aerion still has connections with the east branch. Close enough that they would cover him if he needed to leave his life behind and elope.

The thought brought a small twitch to his mouth and he realized he was grinning like a love sick sod and he is a love sick sod. There will be nothing to hold him back from getting the life he wanted. On top of the world with Duncan by his side. On Seven above, he will make it happen.

His dazed mind made him almost didn’t hear the chime of the access card and the sound of the front door opening then slowly closed with a click. He didn’t turn. The pause in the steps made him swell with pride. He’d wager Duncan was staring at him in his full Targaryen glory. Bright fur coat that made it looked like he was on fire, sharp trousers that hugged his ass just right, nursing a drink in a crystal glass while staring out towards the night sky. Yes, he knows he’s a narcissist but Dunk loves him for it.

“Took you long enough,” his voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat to began again.

Before he could speak, he noticed something. The steps came closer again. Booted feet. Shoes were not allowed in the penthouse. Steps too short. Not Dunk’s. Wrong.

He jerked around to find the intruder too close for his liking. He looked up to find the intruder’s eyes, violet like his but hair darker than the night sky. Wrong. So wrong.

Standing tall before his eyes was Aegor Rivers.

Between the family drama and the element of surprise, this couldn’t be good. This could be very bad.

Dread and shock punched his gut with an invisible gauntlet. Aerion was quick to recover. He schooled his expression and cranked his brain to look for the exits. A few wide strides towards him from the intruder would turn into a bloodbath. He would trip over the ottoman chair to his left if he tried to escape and he knew his anxiety would make sure he tripped. Unless he’s actually a dragon and had wings, running out of the windows and trying to fly away is out of the question if he wanted to come out of this alive. There was no fucking exit. He’s well fucked and cornered.

“Don’t be so surprised, nephew” the words were like lead to his ears. “I was just here merely to see how great my penthouse was gonna look like”.

Aerion noticed a package behind Aegor’s back. The intruder hide it slightly further behind his back with both hands when he noticed Aerion’s line of sight. He’s up to something and what in the seven hells was it? Think, Aerion, think.

The words hit him then. His penthouse?

Aerion scoffed. “Have you forgotten your place, or are we to give you a reminder again? That a bastard child is still a bastard child regardless of a dead man’s word?” He can hear the tremble in his voice but Aerion Targaryen did not tremble. He faced danger head first and came out laughing. His anxiety and earlier emotion clouded his brain. He began to feel his vintage rings with his thumb. That could be a great weapon if he needed to resort to violence and he would. Only that he decided to wear them on his non dominant hand this morning. Damn it.

“Oh, so you haven’t heard?” Aegor taunted while he took a step to the side. Aerion had bet he was feeling like a predator circling his prey, but Aerion is no prey. What in the bloody hell he’s saying, again?

The silence stretched out for too long and Aerion could only raise his eyebrow in question.

“You haven’t heard” Aegor decided at last.

He began pacing around him again, back and forth while his eyes still trained on him. A drop of sweat came running down his back and suddenly his coat is too stuffy and the room is too narrow.

“Your father, my dearest Maekar, decided to give up this complex,” he gestured a circle with his finger towards Aerion, “and give it to their rightful heir” pointed it at himself.

The words coming out of the intruder’s sneer sounded like a joke. Rightful? Heir? Dearest Maekar??

Aerion scoffed again. More like his lungs seized at the mention of his father’s name and dearest in the same sentence.

“It appears that you have lost your sanity along with the millions you’ve lost from the first settlement. There is no such thing as giving up in a true Targaryen’s book. And the only rightful heir in this room is standing before your pathetic… eyes” Aerion chose his words purposefully. He knew which blow did the most damage.

Aegor’s left eye twitched. Small victory, his monstrous voice mused.

“Listen here you white haired little cunt, your family will lose this one and you lot will pay for it” he jabbed his finger at Aerion, switching from the hand that held the package so abruptly it got knocked down to the floor. It looked like some kind of electronic device by the looks of the box. Thank the Seven it wasn’t a gun.

Both men looked at it for a split second and when their eyes met again, another fire was stoked behind them.

“I came here to claim what’s mine and you better pick your sweet ass up from this place and never dare look back, I warn you” Aegor looked pissed by now. His ruined composure was evident and his breathing picked up. Now is the time Aerion excels at.

He kept his expression skeptical, brat as his father had called it. He shook his head in a manner he knew is infuriating, the one that sent kinks up his father’s neck.

“I don’t see the purpose,” he twisted his lips into a pout. “I own this place, it is you who should be leaving, certainly, not me” he knew his strategy worked the way Aegor’s jaw ticked and his balled fists clenched.

“I’m warning you for the last time, boy, get the fuck out of—“

Aegor’s face collided with a crystal tumbler.

Aerion had put every strength within an inch of his body for the throw. His sharp mind for the precision.

The glass exploded into million pieces as it hits Aegor’s cheek bone at the perfect angle so precise it sent him crashing into the armor display. Metal and chainmail scattered around, adding to the damage he had caused.

Aerion grabbed a switchblade from his back pocket, a weapon for an unwanted situations like this one, and swing as hard as he could. Self defense lesson with Dunk be damned.

Aegor had fallen in an awkward heap, body completely twisted around and landed on his buttocks so his legs were facing Aerion. He stabbed hard like his life depended on it and it was. The first swing caught in the shoulder, second in the upper arm, and the third—

“You Targaryen cunt, you will bleed for this!”

The man scrambled to claw at him and Aerion reared back to put a distance between them.

Aegor swinged at him from underneath. Clatters of metal on marble and a clink filled the room. Thinking he dodged the punch, Aerion used the borrowed seconds to begin lowering himself towards the intruder again before he felt a searing pain from his groin up to his right hip.

His body went rigid.

Aegor Rivers—that cunning bastard—had used the dirty old long sword to return the blow, thinking he would cut through Aerion’s torso but caught him on the thigh instead. Far more dangerous place to be cut.

The sword was embedded there, Aerion felt the cool surface meeting the warmth of his body and the wrongness of foreign objects between his flesh. Blood soared in his ears and distantly he could hear someone was screaming like they’re being butchered. He’s being butchered.

With the shuffle of limbs and deafening clatter of metal against the marble floor, Aegor pushed his body from the ground and shoved the long sword further into Aerion’s thigh before slashing upwards.

Blood splattered everywhere.

Aerion dropped to the ground with a grace that would have his father shook his head. He crashed into the ottoman and landed on his right arm. His breath was knocked out of him and the force of the fall had disoriented him, not even his thick fur coat could save him from it. His head bounced off the floor like a final blow that had him seeing stars. And the pain.

Seven, the pain.

He wished someone would hear his scream but the seven highest floors of the penthouse was to himself all alone. So alone.

He wished Daeron was here to held him through this nightmare.

Aerion clutched his wound, feeling fear and terror creeping up his body, made a void in the center of his guts.

Brother, did you know that a human body will die fast if the femoral artery was cut? Aemon’s voice was ringing through his head. They won’t survive even five minutes!

Seven hells, he would not survive this.

Aerion clutched his thigh. Dread filled his body as he felt his hand soaked in seconds, warmth bleeding out of his wound. His abdomen spasmed as a roll of nausea hit. He can feel the pain from the crown of his head down to the soles of his feet and nothing at all. His arms were heavy as a block of anvil but he refused to not slow his bleeding even just for mere seconds.

To slow down his death. Then after that he’s well and truly fucked in the end.

“Stay down, boy!” Aegor stood over him, his silhouette was blurry as he felt he was fading fast. His left arm came up to vainly protect whatever’s left of his being. Aegor simply kicked the arm and Aerion felt the whiplash through the bones of his shoulder, reverberating through his spine and down to his lower back. He gripped the ottoman chair like it could save him.

Aerion felt the tip of the sword pressing down onto his chest, right where his heart would be. Aegor had grabbed the sword downward with both hands atop of the penny. A mocking image of the giant Kingsguard’s forever post in the penthouse. He slowly pushed the sword down and Aerion could feel it cutting through his coat, down to his silk dress shirt, felt the sickening moment it breaks the skin and inches towards his heart between his ribs. The metal grinds against his bones and penetrates into his flesh while his mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong. Something inside his chest bursts when the sword was deep enough. His left hand clasped the sword edge by instinct when a particular thrust made stars bloomed in his vision. The blunt edge was still sharp enough to cut into the palm of his hand.

Aerion closed his eyes and felt the roar inside his head slowly died down, leaving only a pulsating sensation within his skull in sync with his heart that soon to be pierced.

He gulped. At least he will perish fast. A decorative sword to the heart. Duncan will find him cold and bathed in his own blood by the time he arrived.

Aerion screwed his eyes as he let out a shivering whimper. Oh Seven, Dunk.

“I was never meant to do this but for the gold and the b—“

A chime from the hallway stopped both men at once.

Aegor ripped the sword off Aerion’s chest cavity and scrambled to the inner wall beside the hallway and poised the long sword above his head with both hands. The suddenness of it tore a groan from deep within Aerion’s chest that cut off into a coughing fit. Something sticky and metal tasted surging through his nasal cavity, sending specks of blood to the floor like adding texture into the marble. His eyes stung, he felt like he was drowning. His chest felt heavy when he tried to get some air into his lungs. A foreign sensation of pressure bloomed from the open maw in his chest.

He is going to die tonight right at this spot. Where is his fierce little Rhae when he needed her to protect him?

“Not a word” Aegor mouthed at him with a glare that matched his.

The front door slowly swung open and he knew Dunk would have to witness him dying before his eyes. His little princess Daella would know something was amiss and called their father before entering.

Duncan, the tall giant adorable man that he is, ducked his head in like the tall front door would hit his forehead. “Babe, I’m ho—“

Dunk’s face dropped.

The penthouse was a wreck. The Kingsguard armor of Aerion’s ancestor’s personal guard lay broken in pieces. Helmet, gorget, breastplate, all scattered on the floor. Blood and apparent sign of struggle sent a shiver down his spine. And in the middle of it was his deepest fear.

Across the hallway by the window, Aerion lay sprawled in a puddle of his own blood. His stubborn hand clawing at the juncture of his right leg where his hip meets his thigh. Blood oozing lazily from the gaps of his fingers. And his chest. It rose and fell in a wrong motion, the left side was too still while the right side pinned beneath his body was rattling with each erratic inhale.

He’s fucking dead, Dunk’s mind supplied. But his eyes. There is still that usual bright flame behind those violet orbs.

He crossed the ransacked penthouse in hurried strides. He began to remove his beanie and jacket.

“Aerion?! What’s ha—“ the world tilted away from its axis.

Dunk felt a white hot pain in his fingers where it was still trying to remove his beanie and his head felt like it’s been cracked open like a walnut beneath the force of a nutcracker. His body lurched to the ground and he can hear Aerion screaming his name.

Dunk turned, seconds before he hit the ground and watched the sight before him. It shocked him more than the fall.

A man older than both Aerion and him looked back at him with violet orbs filled with desperation deeper than simple rage. His dark hair was closer in length to his but his stature was less than him. Always less than him.

The man swinged at Dunk the second time and he was ready to parry but not in this attire. If Dunk was the knight in white armor now scattered across the living room, he would have survived the blow with little bruises, but alas, he’s just a simple carpenter from the bottom of this empire.

Dunk swatted the sword with his forearm, sending the man staggering to the side. Pain bloomed from his forearm but still he pushed past the pain and got up to slam his body into the man, sending the sword flying, clanging into the marble.

“Who are you?” Dunk screamed at the man with a blow to his bruised cheek. His wounded hand be damned.

“What have you done to him?!” He landed blows after blows to the head and pinned the man beneath his crushing weight.

The man tried to fight back, his fingers clawing at his face and Dunk felt tiny pinprick of pain along his neck, cheeks, and clenched jaw. Dunk grabbed the offending hands and pinned them under his knees, crushing the flesh and bones until he can feel a satisfying snap.

He continued his attack. A punch to the cheek, one straight in the center of the face, one particular hard swing that sent blood and a teeth across the floor.

Dunk didn’t care. All he could think was destroy. Not letting the intruder yield. The man took something from him and he must take it back.

But then a thought hit him like a truck. What was I worrying about? His violence-addled brain was scrambling on itself as he abruptly stopped the assault. Aerion.

“Aerion!” Dunk got up and threw himself across the space to the other man lying spread out on the floor. The spilled blood made him slightly tumbling his steps but it might have been the tilting ground.

Dunk dropped down next to his lover. Knees cracking with the force of it but he couldn’t care less.

Lying before him was Aerion, paler than ever with his eyes so sunken he looked like a marble statue. His stuttering breath sounded painful and the wound on his thigh wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“Aerion, Aerion, Aerion” Dunk panicked. “Look at me, honey, hey, hey!” His violet eyes began to slid close.

“None o’ that, hey look at me baby” Dunk was panicking and he shouldn’t be panicking in this situation. He was a trained EMT, but all his training went out of the window when the one wounded was the love of his life.

Wound. He could manage that.

“Let me have a look at it, baby” Dunk pried Aerion’s tight grip on his groin. The fingers fell down easily against his nudge, too easy for his liking. His right arm dropped to the crimson pool beneath them and his eyes rolled back into his skull.

“Shite, fuck, okay, fuck” Dunk reached out for his beanie, surprised that it was still on and pressed against the wound.

Aerion screamed. His eyes became clear for a fraction of second before they were closed again. His whole face scrunched up in pain as he bared his teeth, jaw clenched and unclenched, and a soft whimper fall from his lips.

Dunk will have nightmares about the sound alone and the sight would accompany him to his death.

He quickly assessed for more wound. The open cut on his chest made his silk shirt sticking to his body in a wet patch. That could mean anything. A graze, a punctured lung, the heart sliced open with only seconds left to beat. To live.

Dunk gave himself a clout in the ear mentally. He couldn’t be panicking, not right now. He swatted Aerion’s hands from weakly clawing at his arm that was pressing down on the wound. Blood coating his fingers and made it slippery and sticky at the same time. Hurts, Dunk, please, it hurts, Aerion’s weak attempt at talking would haunt Dunk forever but he needed Aerion alive. His stuttering breath made alarms blare inside Dunk’s head. He assessed for more injuries and find none so he focused on the one on the chest.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch but babe, Aerion, listen to me. We need you to cooperate. I need you alive” he whispered the last part. Seven, he was so scared.

Dunk quickly took off his water resistant jacket and balled it into a bunch and warned Aerion one last time.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m really sorry for this”.

Dunk pressed on the wound on Aerion’s chest with both hands, enough force to bruise the ribs but that’s not the worst. He positioned his entire body on top of Aerion and pressed on the smaller man’s hip with his knee.

Aerion cried out. Dunk closed his eyes and prayed to Seven above to forgive him for the pain that he was causing to the only man in this world that he loved.

With trembling hand, Dunk reached for his phone and dialed emergency services. The screen was smeared with blood. His fingers almost slipped on the wrong numbers but when the call was connected, his head cleared just a fraction.

“…Summerhall penthouse, floor 107, just tell the receptionist Duncan asked for you. I’m Duncan. Please be quick, Gods above, please. Femoral artery injury, punctured lung or, or… possible internal injuries and concussion, I don’t know, please send help, quick!” Aerion can hear Duncan from the distance. Who got femoral artery injury and punctured lungs?

“Dunk— Duncan?” Aerion called out. He needed him closer, he needed Dunk’s warm embrace. He’s so cold. So fucking cold.

“Hey, baby” Dunk was inches from his face. His eyes were bloodshot with tears and blood running down his cheeks. Who would dare hurting him? They will answer to him, immediately.

“‘re you hurt?” Stupid question, of course Dunk is hurt. Why else would he be bloody and crying?

Dunk shook his head and dropped them like he regretted it. “No, baby I’m good. We’re good, we’re, uh… we’re okay” he swallowed hard like it was painful to do so. Why was he panicking?

Aerion gupled. The motion made him aware of the skin on his face. The room felt so cold yet he was covered in a sheen layer of sweat. He could feel every exhale Dunk let out in the pores of his skin. His head felt like it weighed a hundred times more and simultaneously like it might get inflated and fly away like a balloon. His ears didn’t work, his eyes might as well popped out of its socket, his mouth dry as a desert and tongue went cramping.

“Y’ve arrived,” Aerion let out before his mind processed it. Of course he’d arrived, he’s right in front of him.

“I’m, uh, yeah I’m here, baby” Dunk attempted to smile but the corner of his mouth turned down into a sob.

“Stop cry’n’,” Aerion tutted. “My knight ‘n shin’ng armor does not cry”. He was rambling.

Dunk only sobbed more. What a crybaby he was.

“Aerion, open your eyes, look at me” when did he close them? “They are two minutes away, please, baby just hold on” what happened?

Dunk groaned into his chest, his body suddenly so heavy on top of him. That’s when the pain hit.

Dunk shifted his knee back into position atop of his hips and stars dotted behind his eyelids. He can hear himself howling through the ringing in his ears.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Dunk cried with him.

It hurts. It fucking hurts. The searing pain traveled through his pelvis and settled as a stone in his stomach. He can feel Duncan’s and his own body moving before he felt his entire torso seized with a violent nausea and he retched into the floor. Blood and bile lined his mouth and sinuses, left a sharp and coppery taste in his throat. Something wet ran down his nose into the floor below his face. Blood.

Thank the Seven Dunk was already moving Aerion into his right side. If not for him he would have choked on his own blood. Death by drowning in a skyscraper.

Their new position shifted his wound on the thigh. He can feel the bone and sinew grinding together at the motion under Dunk’s overwhelming weight. His other knee was behind Aerion’s back, propping him up while wounding his jacket to held the gaping slit in his chest in a makeshift seal.

The movement made him unbearably dizzy, and for a split second he was sure he had left his body and flew into the night sky, witnessing the death of his trembling human body from the dragon’s-eye view. They would probably be in the same position by now if the situation were ideal. Less blood and more lust. But the realm was cruel because Aerion was cruel. It would never give him the life he had wanted. Life he had yearned for. Oh, what a way to die.

When he came to, Duncan had his mangled finger on his face. Their blood smeared as one.

“That’s it, baby, keep your eyes open for me. They’re already here, riding your ridiculously large elevator you used when you wanted to show off your sports cars at a party on the hundredth floor’s deck” Dunk forced out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “By Gods, Aerion please open your eyes” he did, can’t he see?

He was so tired. His muscles felt heavy and his eyelids heavier. Everything hurts. He wanted his mum.

He probably would join her soon.

Aerion had lost consciousness when the paramedics came through the front door. Two EMTs carrying a stretcher from the back and the front. More came bursting into the penthouse. One paramedic that looked like their team captain approached Dunk. He settled a hand on Dunk’s shoulder and yet his instincts were screaming at him danger, must protect.

“Son, let us take a look at him.” His voice was gentle but Dunk couldn’t process any of it. If he let go, Aerion would die within seconds. He didn’t even know if he’s still alive.

“No, we will try to make sure he wouldn’t. So, please, let us take over” Oh, he said that out loud.

“Let one of my people examine you, son” the captain’s voice reminded Dunk of Arlan. He was an EMS Captain too when Dunk joined the service. He had retired just a year before he was due after his sickness had turned into a complication. May the Seven let his soul rest in peace.

Arlan probably won’t if Dunk kept acting like a panicking fool like this.

“Ah, uhm… please handle this wound first,” Dunk gestured at his left knee with a jerk of his head which he regretted immediately. The ground tilted again and he flopped into the pool of blood. Hands were immediately on him as he saw the same with Aerion.

They lay facing each other, just like a few nights ago after Aerion had let Dunk ride a dragon. Aerion thought of himself as a dragon.

Dunk scoffed. Not in the mocking way most people claiming as Aerion’s friends did, but in a way that scares him. If Aerion told Dunk he was a dragon then Dunk believed Aerion was a dragon. A dragon in human form, he was convinced. He had witnessed his cruelty and possessiveness only a dragon would have. Yet he still finds it so endearing.

Dunk reached out to caress his lover’s face when a paramedic blocked his view from Aerion. They worked on his small frame with proficient hands and advanced tools. Don’t panic, they are helping him, his knightly voice supplied.

Hands were still on him when the paramedics hoisted Aerion into the stretcher. A box of monitor was atop of his bare torso beeped in a wrong rhythm while they worked him towards the front door. Dunk rise abruptly.

“Wait, I’m coming with him” his voice sounded rough to his own ears. The captain that had been working on him supported his back when he began to slump.

“You are riding on an another ambulance, son, as well as your other friend” his soothing voice did nothing to calm Dunk’s nerves.

“He’s not my friend, he had done this to us!” Dunk climbed into his surprisingly steady legs. He’s not letting them take Aerion out of his sight.

The captain assessed him with a deliberate look. “Requesting a law enforcement unit, stand by,” the captain relayed into his radio, maintaining eye contact with Dunk throughout the process.

“Son, we’re gonna need you to breathe if you want to ride with him” he finally added.

Dunk nodded. He practiced his breathing method. No nausea rolling down his stomach this time. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug.

Dunk let himself be guided to the front door. As they were passing the other supine body in the room, Dunk saw a young paramedic shaking her head at the captain. He immediately tensed while Dunk relaxed. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and continued his way through the hall and joined Aerion in the elevator.

They were safe. They’re in good hands.

He was worried when the paramedics loaded Aerion into the ambulance, not wanting to cause anymore pain to him. His worry doubled when the body on the stretcher didn’t budge an inch. Soon they were on their way to the hospital and Dunk couldn’t help but stare.

Aerion looked exactly like Arlan had been in the hospital bed some years ago. He was pale and lifeless. His eyes unseeing and if not for the rattling breath through his slightly open mouth, Dunk would have thought he’s actually lifeless.

Tears welled up in his eyes again. Dunk was always got teased by Egg that he’s such a weeper, though Egg had cried with him when they were watching Zootopia 2 together at the cinema.

Oh, Egg. What would he have to say to Egg? Hey so remember your older brother you hated that I was secretly dating? Yeah, think he might be dead or You remember that one time you told me you kind of wished your evil brother was dead? Think a star had fallen that night, you got your wish fulfilled!

Seven, no. He can’t.

How would he go about facing Maekar, now? The man had already disliked him for taking too much of Egg’s time, and now he was about to take his other son’s life.

By Seven above, please have mercy on him. Let Aerion live. Take him instead.

As if the Gods were listening to him, Aerion chose that moment to jerk awake with a coughing fit. The paramedics rushed to his side more than they already did. One of them pulled the stretcher higher so Aerion could lean into the padding as he vomited his entire guts into the emesis bag. It filled with pink fluids that sent a wave of nausea to Dunk’s stomach in solidarity.

Aerion fell back into the stretcher with a long groan. Dunk felt the pain right in the center of his sternum. He immediately scrambled to get Aerion’s hand secured safely around his.

“I’m here, honey. We’re safe, we’re gonna get you help, yeah?” Dunk murmured into the cold palm beneath his. The Aerion he knew was so proud, so strong and powerful and now after two stabs in major areas he was reduced into a withering mess. The lower half of his face was soaked in blood and puke even as a paramedic tried to wipe it away. He looked so frail and weak.

No, he was never weak. The flame in his eyes was still burning like a wildfire.

Those pretty eyes were now trained on his. So focused on him Dunk could imagine they were just relaxing in their—Aerion’s—living room, body soft and relaxed but eyes always intense. Always been and always will be.

Aerion closed his eyes the way he used to when he’s asking the Seven above to lend him patience while facing Dunk and Egg. For a moment they didn’t reopened and Dunk was about to throw himself back into panic when Aerion took a rattling breath and exhaled with a click click click sound coming out of his chest.

Aerion opened his eyes and Dunk cheered inside “Gosh, this is embarrassing”.

Dunk laughed, a genuine, warm huff of breath that made his own heart ache with fondness.

Two intense violet orbs pierced his own. “The dragon ought never lose”.

Dunk smiled. That’s the Aerion he knew and love. He was sure it was love. Love and hate and adoration and obsession and everything in his life that he will experience when he’s with this man, the love of his life. But he celebrated too soon.

Right after the words came out, Aerion choked on a breath and freezes. His jaw was working on a word that he couldn’t finish before his eyes rolled back until the bright violets were gone and his body jerked violently.

Dunk thought they had hit a pothole but then a paramedic was shouting something and they swallowed Aerion in latex-gloved hands and medical equipment. Someone shouted tonic-clonic seizures and hypovolemic shock and Dunk couldn’t move. He was doing just fine.

A true knight always finishes his story, Arlan had said. Hours before his passing.

Seven, please don’t make him go through this twice.

The ambulance came to a stop and Dunk almost got thrown off his seat. The doors opened in a swarm of doctors and nurses alike. Dunk jumped down and sticks along the stretcher. The bed shook with a force that had nothing to do with the smooth linoleum surface of the hospital floor.

“Please make him stop,” Dunk shouted like a rabid animal. He knew he should’ve let them work but he couldn’t help but keep Aerion within an arm’s reach.

“Please—“ the ground swallowed him, held upright only by the captain’s arms around him.

“Some help, here!” He shouted but Aerion needed the help more than Dunk.

He sobbed harder when his legs gave up and betrayed his need to be with Aerion. He was being eased down to the floor while he watched Aerion being wheeled away from him and disappeared behind the emergency room doors. It flapped close until it steadied while his heart treacherously broke.

“Please…” Dunk felt his body began to lost a battle with the conscious world.

Seven above, please let Aerion live. Take me instead.