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The Scent That Clings

A/n: For as long as you can remember, you've been a thorn in your father's side. He'd kept you far from the Red Keep, and now? Suddenly your presence is required.

Warnings: Parental Abuse, A/B/O dynamics (male reader is an omega, Viserys Targaryen is an alpha), Infidelity (Not done to (Y/n)), Smut (bottom male reader x top Viserys Targaryen)(MDNI), (Y/n) gives birth, Angst/Comfort

P.S: Shout out and thank you to @swimmingpainterhandsfreak for this request! I enjoyed writing this! Especially from a Hightower (Y/n)'s POV 🫶🏽

Credits: banners/dividers are made by @/cafekitsune

The carriage jostles and jumps with each rock and near miss on the way to King’s Landing.

“Father, why must I reside in the Red Keep with you and my dear sister?” You ask.

“I am Hand of the King, (Y/n).” Otto responds bored and annoyed.

“I’m aware.” You mutter. “If memory serves, when last I asked you found it amusing.”

Otto stiffens, his scent spikes with fury.

“Your presence provided no benefit.” Otto’s jaw works. “And still it does not.”

You hum.

Otto bristles.

He can’t tell if it’s acknowledgement, or humor.

“If Gwayne is to marry, then he need be free of duties such as seeing to you.” Otto gets out through gritted teeth.

“And why, pray tell, could I not be left to my own? I am man grown, despite your behavior suggesting otherwise.” You ask.

Otto’s hand slams into the carriage wall, mere inches from your head.

“Listen to me, boy.” He snarls. “You will not continue to disrespect me.”

Your throat works.

“I’ve brought you with me because the Seven above know how promiscuous your kind can be.” He sneers

“Right.” You say meekly.

“And your brother deserves respite prior to his nuptials.” Otto adds, his hand dropping back to his side.

“Of course. The favored son requires respite.” You murmur.

“He does.” Otto’s head snaps toward you again. “He is an alpha, my pride and joy, he needs to find a mate and will be severely lacking whilst he tends to you.”

“I wonder why.” You say, leaning towards the window of the carriage. “Couldn’t possibly be their temperament…or their father.”

“Because you are an abomination!” Otto seethes.

Otto leans in close. “Because you are unnatural.”

You laugh, sharp and indignant.

Anything to cover your pain.

“Unnatural…and yet it would seem the Seven made me as I am—“

Your head jerks to the side.

Otto’s hand still raised, almost as if asking for a reason to strike you again.

“You will not engage in blasphemous rhetoric.” Otto’s tone is deathly serious.

Your eyes burn, but you don’t comment.

“Let that be your lesson.” He snarls. “I will not hesitate to strike you again.”

You swallow harshly, eyes low, blinking slowly.

“Do I make myself clear?” He leans in.

You refuse to answer, avoiding his gaze.

Otto’s hand threads in your hair, he yanks your head back.

“Answer me!” He shouts in your face.

You force yourself to still, refusing to give him a flinch. “Yes, father.”

The word is icy.

No warmth in it.

No pretending.

“Good.” Otto lets go of you, turning his attention forward.

You discreetly wipe away the tears that escape.

You can’t— won’t let yourself be weak in his line of sight.

You don’t even register the carriage crossing the threshold into the city.

You don’t even react until you hear the music of dragons high above.

“We’ve made it?” You ask.

“We have.” Otto tersely responds.

As soon as the carriage comes to a stop, you run out.

“(Y/n)—“

You hear Otto’s voice fade into background noise.

“And where are you going lordling?” A knight asks.

“I am (Y/n) of house Hightower.” You say with presence. “I am looking for my sister, Alicent Hightower.”

The knight’s eyes drag up and down your body. “Ah. Well she is with the Princess.”

He steps closer, arousal thickening the air as if to coerce you. “If company is what you need, I myself can provide—“

“No need.” You snap. “Tell me where she is before I inform my father, Lord Hand of your conduct.”

The knight snaps to attention. “They are in the garden, my Lord.”

“Thank you.” You say coldly. “Should you ever conduct yourself in that manner again, I will have your head.”

The knight stiffens.

You can almost hear the rattle of his armor.

“Yes, my lord.” He quickly bows before taking his leave.

You swallow the bile in your throat back.

“In the garden.” You repeat to yourself, walking towards the courtyard immediately.

The flower scent of the garden hits you first.

Then those telltale blood red leaves of the weirwood tree, as they slowly fall.

“—to show her people that they were finished running.” A woman’s voice says.

The sound of a page tearing out of a book follows soon.

“What are you doing?”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

It’s Alicent’s.

“So you remember.” The woman’s voice speaks again.

“If-if the septa sees this book, then—“

“Fuck the septa.” The voice is irreverent.

You gasp, then laugh in shock, stepping closer. “Which septa is getting fucked?”

Alicent gasps louder. “(Y/n)! You can’t—“

Alicent’s eyes gloss over. “(Y/n)?”

She runs over throwing both her arms over your shoulders. “I missed you brother.”

You hug her back. “I missed you too dear sister.”

The woman clears her throat.

It doesn’t make you tense like when Otto does it.

“Ah apologies.” Alicent laughs, wiping her eyes. “(Y/n), this is Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Rhaenyra, this is my brother, (Y/n) Hightower.”

“A pleasure. Alicent has spoken at length about you.” Rhaenyra says.

“All good things I hope.” You respond with a chuckle.

Your eyes widen, your mouth dropping open.

“Princess regarding my earlier question, ‘twas merely a jest, I meant no harm—“

“It’s fine.” Rhaenyra cuts you off. “Please don’t be stuffy like the other courtiers. I have more than enough of them already.”

You stop, taking a breath. “Oh thank the Seven.”

Your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s.

“You’re not what I expected from a Targaryen princess.” You smirk.

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Careful now, Hightower.”

“This is much better.” You clarify. “I rather enjoy brash and bold company.”

“(Y/n) you can’t say that.” Alicent whispers.

Rhaenyra snickers. “I’m brash and bold?”

You laugh with her, nodding your head. “Absolutely, in the best ways possible.”

“Oh I am going to enjoy our friendship.” Rhaenyra says. “Come then. Alicent and I were going to have tea and cake, join us.”

Your eyes go to Alicent’s.

She smiles and nods.

“I’d be honored. Thank you, Rhaenyra.” You fall into step with your sister and the princess.

“Father said the Red Keep was hosting a tourney?” You ask as you pour the tea.

“Yes, we are.” Rhaenyra answers taking a sip.

She hums in delight.

“The heir’s tourney.” She keeps her voice steady. “I pray my father gets the son he’s always wanted.”

“But he has you?” You say confused. “You should be his heir.”

Rhaenyra coughs in surprise. “Pardon?”

“I only mean that he has a firstborn.” You shrug your shoulders taking a sip. “We are all at the mercy to the customs and whims of men much older than us.”

Rhaenyra hides her smirk behind a hand. “That we are…regardless of want, the iron throne will pass to my brother, and I’ll be made to take to husband some lord of this or that holding.”

Your smile tightens.

She makes it sound so…boring.

Being a lord— rather lady of some keep, or castle, having and raising babes.

It sounds like a dream to you.

It reads like a nightmare to her.

“How dreadful.” You murmur.

Alicent’s eyes meet yours.

You subtly shake your head.

“Should we start making way to the tourney?” Alicent asks setting her cup down.

“No.” Rhaenyra murmurs. “They’ll inform us.”

A set of footsteps comes down the hallway. “Princess.”

“My lady, my lord.” The servant bows. “The King has begun to make way to the tourney grounds.”

Rhaenyra sighs, putting her cup down. “It would seem our tea time has come to an end.”

She stands, giving Alicent a hand. “Let us be on our way.”

You follow closely behind.

The sound of steel clashing against steel echoes through the stands.

Alpha and omega pheromones cloud the air in a thick haze.

You watch as Prince Daemon approaches and receives Alicent’s favor.

You watch as Ser Criston Cole receives Rhaenyra’s favor.

For a second you imagine yourself in their spot.

An alpha, tall, strapping, asking for your token.

For you to wish him luck.

You snort, biting the inside of your cheek.

It could never be you.

It would never be you.

None of you notice as King Viserys discreetly withdraws.

With the excitement of watching Criston Cole knock Prince Daemon down, no one knows the price king Viserys is paying inside the Red Keep.

The tourney had begun in earnest.

The tourney would end with a funeral pyre.

“She’s dead.” Rhaenyra’s lips quivered. “My mother…she— she’s—“

You and Alicent sit beside Rhaenyra.

You gingerly place your hand on hers.

Alicent pulls her into her embrace.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. “It’s a terrible loss, one you shouldn’t carry alone.”

Rhaenyra scoffs, her hand pulling from yours like you’ve burned her, rising to her feet.

She spins around, eyes red-rimmed, lips still wobbling. “What do you know?”

“Rhaenyra.” Alicent whispers.

Her mouth opens, but she stops short when you lift your hand.

“Hmm? Lordling? What knowledge could you possibly have to speak as plainly as you do.” She snaps.

You give her an understanding smile. “Our mother passed recently.”

Rhaenyra’s face drops, her next barb dies on her tongue.

“It…” You take a breath, eyes glossing again. “It is a dull ache by now…but an ache nonetheless.”

“I— I didn’t know— I—“ Rhaenyra sputters, eyes welling, tears spilling.

“It’s quite alright.” You pat the spot next to you and Alicent. “You meant no harm.”

Rhaenyra wordlessly sits beside you both.

“Grief…it sharpens the tongue, does it not?” You offer to ease the shame.

Alicent makes a face at that.

She can point to every word she said with intent to harm.

Same for Gwayne.

Her father, your father, had always been cold, grousing for power, for influence.

But the death of Alyrie, his lady wife, had made it more obvious.

As though he had no reason to hide it any longer.

As if when she passed, she took the embers of warmth he carried.

And yet…

She can’t remember a single time you were cruel or unkind in the days following her mother’s death.

Your mother’s death.

You didn’t speak out of turn.

You didn’t become petulant.

It was as if you retreated into yourself.

She knows the why.

Gwayne was allowed to grieve how he pleased.

Knocking squires down, destroying the training field, countless snapped training swords.

Alicent herself dressed in black, tears streaking her face for days after.

She saw you crying once in Oldtown.

It was met with a quick slap.

Sharp words she can still hear.

“Get yourself together. You are a man, despite your other failings, you will act like one.”

After that you seemed unaffected.

Unfazed.

As if your mother’s passing was an inconvenience of time.

It wasn’t until she went to give you a piece of her mind at night that she heard you sobbing to yourself.

When she entered you weren’t crying anymore.

Your face still had the tear tracks, but nothing else gave it away.

“Yes, Alicent?” You asked softly.

“Were—“, her throat worked, she took a few steps closer, “were you crying brother?”

You looked as if caught doing something indecent. “No.”

You scoffed. “Of course not. I am a man. We bear it in silence, or…or whatever it is that Gwayne is doing.”

She didn’t say anything else.

Words weren’t her forte.

She came closer, putting her arms around you.

“I miss her too.” She whispered, voice cracking. “It’s just me, just you, father is in his study.”

She can’t be sure.

She didn’t and still doesn’t know if you cracked.

She swore she felt drops hitting the side of her face, but she never got a good look at your face.

“I know, Alicent. I know.” You whispered back in that calm cadence that betrayed nothing.

“It does.” Rhaenyra says softly.

She leans into your side, placing her hand in yours.

You let her, though she is a Targaryen princess and you the second son of a second son, she reminds you of Alicent.

You can’t help but feel that same brotherly drive to protect her.

“I can’t help but wonder…” she laughs bitterly, “if my father finally found happiness in the few short hours my brother lived.”

“Rhaenyra…” Alicent says softly.

There’s no annoyance or ire in her voice.

“I hope he did.” You say softly. “Or it would make the world all the more unjust.”

Rhaenyra laughs bitterly, swiping at her cheeks.

Everything’s a blur as you all get ready and dressed for the funeral.

You step out when Rhaenyra and Alicent are being dressed.

You yourself are tended to by beta and omega women.

You can feel the way the eyes land on you.

One with expectant eyes.

The other with barely hidden disgust.

Like they’re seeing a wonder of the world.

Or a shadowbinder from Asshai.

You can’t tell anymore.

There’s never been a point in trying to discern someone’s intention when they’ve already decided what they think of you.

The moment you’re alone you squeeze your eyes shut.

You feel your lips tremble as you turn away from the mirror.

The last time you wore black was for your mother’s funeral.

Even now it hurts.

Even now it feels like a phantom limb.

Like she’s waiting for you at home.

Just a stone’s throw from Hightower’s library.

But she isn’t.

She hasn’t been.

And she’ll never be again.

“For Alicent.” You tell yourself. “For Rhaenyra.”

When you open your eyes, you force your face into something sad.

Something kind, something gentle, something that can’t be scrutinized.

“(Y/n), don’t delay.” Otto called out already moving without you.

You don’t run to catch up.

You start moving like the world will with or without you.

Stepping out of the Red Keep just outside the Dragonpit the air shifts.

The scent of iron and heat barrels through the air.

The indignant roars of the very beasts that sit house Targaryen at the top of the world shake the ground.

Another roar splits the sky as a dragon descends, growling as it approaches the funeral pyre.

You stand beside Rhaenyra, ignoring the stares from your father and house Velaryon alike.

She doesn’t notice you until she stops talking to Daemon.

She sees the way you eye the dragon.

Half amazement.

Half fear.

“She’s a beauty, is she not?” She murmurs, her tired eyes landing on her dragon.

“That she is Princess.” You whisper.

“She’s mine. Her name is Syrax.” She says brighter than she’s been in days.

She looks to Alicent, before back to you. “My uncle says I’ll need to be even more present for my father…as he’s grieving too.”

You all wait as Viserys struggles to speak.

He can’t form the words that would take even Aemma’s remains from him.

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours. “What would you do in my stead?”

You take a breath. “Despite how he is…he is your father still…and what’s more than that, he’s also our king.”

“He is.” Rhaenyra says softly.

“Even if you’re unable to stomach the thought…if you’re unable to act on his behalf…then perhaps do it for her.” You say as your eyes drift over to the pyre where Aemma’s body lies.

Rhaenyra’s throat catches as she follows your eyes.

A soft chuckle escapes her. “You speak as if from experience.”

Your jaw tightens. “I’ve been told the same before.”

“Is it?” She whispers.

You don’t answer.

You don’t even react.

Rhaenyra’s eyes scan your face.

She nods slowly like she knows the answer.

*”Dracarys.” She says strongly, eyes red-rimmed.

Syrax roars and coos lowly, her talons digging into the earth as she approaches.

Her yellow flames coalesce and gather in her maw, before jetting forth and igniting the pyre.

Rhaenyra’s breathing catches, she takes a step closer to Viserys.

The days after the funeral continue with a heavy haze.

Rhaenyra is no longer only a princess.

Within the week she was made Princess of Dragonstone.

The heir apparent.

Despite the whispers and murmurs that the council was pushing Viserys to take another wife to secure the line.

You and Alicent stay beside Rhaenyra despite her claims that she’s fine.

Or rather, at least you do.

Alicent tries but more often than not she disappears.

She’ll wear the dress Alyrie gifted her in the morning, and then when she reappears in the evening she’s wearing one of Alyrie’s dresses.

“A change of dress, sister?” You ask softly.

Her shoulders tense.

Her gaze can’t meet yours.

Her eyes flick towards yours before finding the ground again.

“I— I merely wanted to feel closer to her.” Alicent defends herself.

You didn’t ask accusingly.

You didn’t imply anything.

Your eyes don’t narrow, you don’t give her any indication you’re watching her.

But you are.

It was subtle, but you notice another scent threaded into hers.

The scent pulls at your own.

Your omega rises in recognition.

A tug in your loins.

Skin pricking hot.

Something the septas at Oldtown would’ve labeled as shameful, coiling like a snake in your core.

You force it back down.

It’s a heavy, spicy scent.

Threaded with fire and a touch of grief.

You waved it off.

Otto would rather cut his own hand off and feed it to the dragons than betroth his only daughter to Prince Daemon of all people.

You’re walking through the halls of the Red Keep bored beyond belief.

Rhaenyra is in the sky, soaring on Syrax.

Alicent, ever the specter, is missing once again.

You stop as you pass the throne room.

The guards rush to some disturbance in the courtyard.

You look down the hall, then back, making sure you’re alone.

You walk up to the door as inconspicuous as possible.

You gently push the door, eyes widening as it opens with little resistance.

You don’t hear the shuffling footsteps as the door shuts behind you.

The shadow behind the throne dances with each flicker from the torches in the room.

Sharp jagged lines that seem more like teeth than the pile of swords it is.

You scoff softly. “It’s just a seat.”

You draw closer, your hand going out to touch it.

A seat that many would die and break for.

A position you’re sure Otto would gleefully sacrifice you for.

You shake your head, letting your hand fall to your side.

“Everyone knows the legend.” You whisper.

Those that are unworthy of it, will bleed on it.

You’re no Targaryen.

And you’re no alpha.

If you are anything, it is unworthy of such power.

You don’t hear the door open and close.

You don’t hear the footsteps approaching over your own thoughts.

“Bloody seat. Drives men and women alike mad.” You spit.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Viserys says softly.

“Mind your tongue, boy.” He adds with zero bite.

“Y-Your Grace—“ you sputter, “I— I didn’t mean— I was only—“

“Breathe, (Y/n).” Viserys says gently.

Your throat works as you take a deep breath.

“Your Grace.” You say politely.

“My sincerest apologies.” You say already bowing. “I did not mean for you—“

Viserys’ hand lands on your shoulder, he gingerly guides you back up. “You’re Otto’s son, correct?”

You blink rapidly, trying to discern what he gains from being kind to you.

“Yes, Your Grace.” You respond.

“Otto’s son…a handsome one to be sure…some would say.” Viserys thinks as he watches your lips move.

“Tell me, my dear boy, why are you in the throne room alone?” He asks, eyes softening a touch.

You feel heat crawling up your face.

You clear your throat. “Princess Rhaenyra is on Syrax, my sister Alicent is a ghost these days…I was bored, Your Grace.”

He hums softly, taking a step closer. “Boredom can be hard on a growing mind, hmm?”

His eyes dilate as he steps closer.

Your scent hits him.

Honey left in the sun.

Clean linen and lavender, with citrus threaded throughout.

He holds his scent back from responding.

You freeze catching your own scent wafting off of you.

You applied the ointment your father gave you, and somehow you still shine through it.

“Is—“, Viserys’ throat bobs, “is that you?”

“No.” You blurt. “No, Your Grace. That scent is my sister’s.”

“It clings to the cloth, Your Grace.” You lie.

Viserys nods slowly, electing to believe it.

“Of course. It wouldn’t be him. It’d be his sister.” Viserys tells himself.

He tries to ignore the ache in his chest, the nagging feeling that it’s not her.

“Help yourself to the books in my private library.” Viserys says softly.

“I wouldn’t want to impose, Your Grace.” You say.

“You wouldn’t be. I rather enjoy reading, I’m sure you’d find a favorite or two in my collection.” Viserys says as he starts to leave.

“And try not to get caught on your own in here.” He adds as the door closes behind him.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” You say to empty room.

You feel your heart flutter.

You shoot it down before it becomes unmanageable.

“He’s king…twice my age…what’s more than that…he’s Rhaenyra’s father.” You murmur, taking your leave.

Even as you lie in bed, staring at the sheer cloth of the canopy, you can’t stop picturing Viserys.

What his weight in your bed would feel like.

What the warmth of his body would feel like next to yours.

“His hands were gentle…calloused…but soft.” You think as your eyes flutter shut.

“(Y/n).” Otto says sternly.

You jerk forward in bed.

You don’t let your breathing turn erratic, you don’t panic, you force yourself to be calm.

“Father.” You say softly, avoiding his eyes. “My apologies, have I missed an important event?”

Otto scoffs. “No.”

“Get ready.” Otto leans in. “Make yourself presentable.”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

You wait until he leaves before finally getting out of bed and getting dressed.

The council room feels heated.

Like flint and steel striking.

You shift unconsciously in your seat.

There’s something you can’t quite name in the air.

Heavy.

Thick.

Expectant.

Your eyes keep drifting over to Rhaenyra who seems to be unbothered.

Her eyes catch yours, she flashes a small smile that says relax.

But she can’t feel the knife sharpening like you can.

Your eyes flick over to Alicent.

She seems half present, half floating away.

The smile on her face is just a mask, you can see the numbness she’s trying to hide.

You all stand as the doors open.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name. King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” The guard announces.

Viserys walks with purpose, coming to a stop at the head of the table.

When he sits down, so does everyone else.

“I’ve called you all here today with news.” Viserys’ voice comes out controlled. “For long I have heard that the royal line is unguarded.”

He looks around the table. “Men sitting here suggested and put forth their daughters to marry me when Aemma’s pyre had just extinguished.”

Some of the councilmen avert their eyes.

“I have decided on my next wife.” Viserys says proudly, though you can tell by the way his eyes dim, he’d have waited longer. “I have decided to marry…”

You all hold your breath.

You especially.

It was never going to be you.

You knew that.

But the heart can’t help but hope.

“The lovely Alicent of house Hightower.” Viserys finishes, eyes finding your sister’s.

Your eyes widen.

You look over to Rhaenyra.

You catch the way her lips warble.

The way her eyes gloss over.

“No.” She whispers.

Her head whips around to Alicent.

She tilts her head, expectant.

Waiting for something.

Anything.

An ‘I’m sorry.’

Something that would make the sting easier to swallow.

Rhaenyra scoffs before storming out of the council room.

Before you can get up to join her another voice chimes in.

“Your Grace, you honor me.” Otto says bowing.

“In turn, I’d like to put forth my son, (Y/n) of house Hightower to be a member of the Kingsguard.” He adds.

Your heart stops.

You know what the white cloak vows are.

Celibacy.

Marriage was never in your future regardless.

Much less children.

But to know your father’s cravenness knows no limits…

Hurts.

In a way you thought you’d long outgrown.

“I’ve my heir Gwayne to carry on my line, and who better to defend Alicent than her own brother?” Otto asks.

Viserys considers it.

His gaze goes over to you.

You stiffen.

You sit still.

Half praying he says no, half praying he says yes.

Either way, it’s a collar.

Another tie to hold you down.

“Very well. I cannot argue with that.” Viserys finally speaks. “(Y/n) of house Hightower, you will enter formal training and join the Kingsguard.”

You clear your throat, bracing for a crack you’re trying to stop. “You honor me and my house, Your Grace.”

Viserys looks you up and down.

Almost like he— or rather his alpha can tell you’re lying.

“Think nothing of it.” Viserys responds.

“Your Grace, might I be excused?” You ask quickly, before Otto can steamroll you.

Viserys quirks his head.

“Ignore him, my king.” Otto stares daggers into the side of your head. “I shall punish him accordingly.”

Viserys raises a hand before Otto can move. “(Y/n), you may go.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” You say before quickly leaving.

You can still feel Otto’s eyes on you.

You walk briskly, going into your room and closing it behind yourself.

Your hand shoots to your mouth.

You gag, bile rising in your throat, eyes watering.

You barely make it to your chamber pot.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before standing.

You look at yourself in the mirror.

The future you once felt brave enough to imagine flashes again.

An alpha, tall, calloused hands, that hold you gently, stands beside you.

His armor black and red.

The sigil of a three headed dragon on his chest plate.

Children with platinum hair and violet eyes around you both.

Your stomach swollen with another babe.

It melts into nothing.

A new image burns into view.

You stand beside Alicent.

Watching over her brood of children.

Only useful for as long as you can swing your sword.

Your smile hasn’t changed, but you’re deader behind the eyes.

The years are unkind.

But that’s not surprising.

They’ve never been kind.

Not since you presented.

Each day you awoke, sword thrust into your hand.

Each day you were marched into the training yard and made to swing until you couldn’t move your arms.

Each day it seemed like your sparring partners got more and more aggressive as if they had more to prove than you.

Each day you spent with Rhaenyra, both avoiding Alicent when possible.

Neither of you could believe or stomach the fact that she had married Viserys.

The fact that she hadn’t even told Rhaenyra what she was planning.

The fact that she didn’t even tell you.

It made for awkward encounters especially once you were officially a knight of the Kingsguard.

She as Queen outranks you.

She as Queen was no longer the bright eyed girl you grew up with.

She was your charge.

She was the person you were to die for at a moment’s notice if the world demanded it of you.

“Brother.” Alicent whispers.

It seems to echo in her private solar.

“Yes, Your Grace?” You respond monotonously.

She makes a face. “I am your sister still.”

Your eyes meet hers. “Queen Alicent of house Hightower.”

She stiffens, color draining from her face.

“You are my blood still, I have not forgotten.” You say solemnly. “Our stations are much too different.”

She scoffs, eyes burning. “Or is it that you and Rhaenyra will continue to punish me until she’s satisfied?”

You turn to face her.

“Rhaenyra’s well earned grudge aside…she is not punishing you.” You say softly. “You betrayed her.”

Alicent crosses her arms, turning away from you and walking to the window.

“I betrayed her?” She parrots back, offended.

“You were her best friend. Her only friend until I arrived.” You take a step closer. “And mere weeks after they had laid her mother to rest you warmed His Grace’s bed without so much as a word of warning.”

Alicent’s arms drop. “I didn’t want this.”

“And yet you take to it like a fish to water.” You respond.

“You do not get to judge me.” She snarls in your face. “You wear that white cloak well for someone who didn’t want it.”

You laugh bitterly. “There’s a difference Alicent.”

“I am Otto’s omega son. You are his omega daughter.” Your voice is low. “His disappointment would’ve been great, yes, but he would not deign to harm you for saying no.”

You take a step closer to her. “He wouldn’t think twice about killing me for saying no.”

Alicent’s mouth opens to argue but she stops.

She can’t find the words to push back.

She knows it’s true.

“Then why do you keep me at arm’s length?” She pivots.

“You are the Queen.” You stress. “I am your sworn shield. I must give my life for yours the moment the realm demands it.”

Alicent huffs. “Do you hate me so much you can’t stomach being sworn to me?”

You roll your eyes, slowly shaking your head. “No Alicent. I would’ve given my life for yours as your brother. I still would now…but the circumstances are different.”

Alicent steps closer to you, hand between your shoulder blades. “It doesn’t have to be, brother.”

“And yet it is.” You say softly. “And it always will be.”

Alicent’s hand falls to her side.

Her lip trembles.

“I don’t want to be Queen.” She mutters. “I don’t want to be Queen Alicent Hightower if it means you cannot speak to me plainly.”

You turn around, catching the way her eyes gloss and those salt tracks cascade down her face. “Come here.”

She turns away.

You hug her regardless.

“It is an adjustment for all of us.” You whisper.

You can feel Alicent shaking.

“Will— will Rhaenyra ever forgive me?” She manages to ask.

You look to the side. “I don’t know. Time heals all wounds…and it also calcifies rage and anger.”

Alicent tries and fails to hold back a sob.

“Give her time.” You whisper. “She may come around.”

“Does…does she ask about me?” Alicent asks softly.

“On occasion.” You reveal. “When the wine and ale get to her, and her lips loosen.”

Alicent giggles wetly. “She’s always been like that.”

“She has, hasn’t she?” You add with a small laugh.

“How is she?” Alicent asks.

“She’s well. Settling in with her husband Laenor.” You say. “Lucerys and Joffrey are a handful.”

Alicent’s hand goes to the small of her abdomen. “The Mother has blessed our queen to be with strong heirs.”

“She has.” You respond.

“And for my sins, it would seem the Mother refuses to send me children of my own.” Alicent murmurs, hand gently caressing up and down her abdomen.

“Have faith sister. It’s bound to happen.” You whisper, letting go.

“It’s been a year, (Y/n).” She whispers. “Six of my heats have come and gone.”

“At the risk of being vulgar,” you clear your throat, “has His Grace knotted you?”

Alicent sighs. “He hasn’t. And it isn’t from a lack of trying.”

You quirk your head. “What do you mean?”

“He…finishes….inside me every time, but his knot has never once formed.” She reveals. “He’s tried to mark me to make my womb quicken, and yet…his fangs never sink in deep enough.”

You hum. “Have you both spoken to the Grand Maester?”

Alicent nods. “We’ve been seeing him quietly…discretion is of the utmost importance in this matter.”

“I’d say so. What has the maester said?” You ask.

Alicent swallows. “He won’t discuss that with me. Only with Viserys.”

“Only with His Grace?” You ask.

“Yes.” She nods. “I’ve only heard bits and pieces something about incompatibility…scent mismatch…or other.”

“That’s odd.” You murmur.

“Have you asked father?” You begrudgingly ask.

Alicent scoffs, crossing her arms, jaw tight. “He can scarcely look at me.”

“All he does is fret about and say I should’ve provided heirs by now.” Alicent whispers.

“There must be more to uncover, surely.” You offer. “If I may make a suggestion, Your Grace?”

Alicent’s eyes meet yours. “Speak freely.”

“The Kingsguard is rarely sent away. Our oath dictates that our loyalty is to the crown above all.” You say. “If I were in the same room as the maester and His Grace, when they discuss what ails you both…I may be able to bring back knowledge.”

Her eyes widen. “Such a thing—“, her throat works.

She approaches the door, opening it, looking down the hall before closing the door once more and drawing closer, voice even quieter than before, “would be tantamount to treason.”

You lean in, ensuring only she hears you. “Only if the King were to find out…what’s more is I am your sworn shield.”

“My charge, before loyalty, before the king, before the crown, is to safeguard your life.” You whisper.

Alicent’s eyes water. “You’d do this for me?”

You nod.

Quick and sure.

“Not for the Queen.” You take a step closer. “But for my sister, whom I still love.”

Alicent’s lip trembles. “If you’re found out…”

You give her a small smile. “They’ll strip me of my cloak and exile me…or they’ll take my head.”

Alicent huffs through her laugh. “I wouldn’t let them.”

Your eyes dim, your smile tightens. “I value the sentiment.”

Whether she’d let them or not is of no concern.

She is queen.

Viserys would surely take your head.

Especially at Otto’s urging.

He’d rid himself of two burdens in one blow.

Otto’s loyalty to Viserys would be beyond question.

Besides him, what father would ask for the harshest punishment for their son?

“Inform me when His Grace is due next to see the maester.” You utter.

Alicent nods. “Thank you, (Y/n). At times, I think he speaks more freely with you than with anyone else.”

You smile softly, putting your helmet back on and exiting her room.

You stand beside the door, like a sentinel, fulfilling your charge.

The way Alicent spoke still echoes in your mind.

“At times, I think he speaks more freely with you than with anyone else.”

Had she noticed?

Had anyone else?

You were careful…

Or rather careful enough.

You tried not to linger around him.

And yet every time you wanted to be anywhere else…

Somewhere you weren’t Otto Hightower’s son, somewhere you weren’t an abomination…

You found yourself in Viserys’ private library.

Never without permission, you told yourself.

“Help yourself to the books in my private library.”

You still remember the way his eyes softened when he spoke.

You’d never seen anything like it before.

You’d seen gazes turn cold before.

You’d seen gazes harden before.

All after they had learned what you were.

His were the first that didn’t see the abject horror.

It was as if he saw you first and foremost.

It was a private little indulgence you told yourself.

One of two you allowed yourself.

In the quiet of the library, you briefly imagined being his lord husband.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” You say measured.

Not too eager.

Not too soft.

But enough warmth you could sell yourself the fantasy.

“Good evening, (Y/n).” Viserys responds just as kindly.

“How has your evening been, My King?” You ask, smothering the flutter in your chest.

Viserys clears his throat.

Either annoyed or affected by your voice.

Your mind couldn’t tell which it was, but your heart had settled on fondness.

“It’s been well.” Viserys sighs. “Exhausting as usual.”

You snicker softly. “I can imagine, Your Grace. You bear the weight of the realm upon your shoulders.”

Viserys chortles. “You sound like your father.”

Your eyes widen, your face pales just a shade, your throat tightens.

Viserys looks you over once, an emotion in his eye you couldn’t place. “Or rather…you speak as if you’ve years of court experience.”

Your shoulders drop an inch at the correction.

“Your words honor me, Your Grace.” You say with a softness that borders on reverence.

It was a nightly occurrence.

One you looked forward to with a yearning you couldn’t name.

Every blow that landed, every blow you returned tenfold, every welt, every bruise seemed to numb when you entered his library.

You found Viserys in the same spot each time you entered.

Always a book in hand as he stared at the portrait of his late wife.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” You whisper.

“As am I.” He murmurs. “Tell me, (Y/n)…do you think she loathes me?”

You follow his tired line of sight up, resting upon the late Queen Aemma Arryn.

“I do not know, my king.” You answer. “I think in her final moments perhaps she was angry.”

Viserys turned to face you.

“Putting your duty, the crown, the realm, before oneself would wound anyone.” You say softly. “But as anyone with eyes could tell you, she was devoted to you. I think her rage was short lived…she perhaps felt grief most of all, having gone before you.”

Viserys’ breath catches.

Your eyes shoot downward, letting him grieve in as much privacy as could be allowed.

“She was, was she not?” Viserys’ voice breaks, but you don’t linger on it.

You don’t make it bigger than it needs to be.

“You have the best parts of you and her, in the Princess of Dragonstone.” You whisper, taking a step closer.

“My only daughter.” Viserys whispers. “My heir.”

Viserys looks to you.

Something warm, molten, something he shouldn’t feel for you, something he should feel for his wife Alicent.

His fangs seem impotent when he’s in bed with her, and yet here in your presence they ache.

“You and your sister have unique scents.” Viserys whispers.

You stiffen. “We do, Your Grace.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Yours is always so faint.”

Viserys’ nostrils flare as if he trying to breathe you in deeper.

As if trying to find the difference between you and Alicent.

You nervously chuckle. “I am a beta, my King.”

Viserys doesn’t react.

Not anymore.

Years ago he bought the lie once.

In doing so he wed Alicent.

He suspects you’re lying.

But he isn’t sure.

An omega scent he can’t place a face to springs up once a month, around the same time you seem to disappear.

But now standing in front of you?

“I am going mad…he has no scent.” Viserys tells himself.

“I have no scent to speak of.” You add. “What clings to me is merely a veil of Queen Alicent’s scent.”

Viserys nods, but his eyes gently drift across your face.

You feel your heart beat spiking.

Your omega responding to the alpha in front of you.

What you’ve long kept hidden, under steel plates and a white cloak, seems to stir regardless.

Viserys studies your face, before looking away. “And what pray tell, brings you to me at this hour?”

You stand straighter. “May I speak freely, Your Grace?”

Viserys’ lips curl ever so slightly. “I’d be offended if you didn’t, good ser.”

You clear your throat, trying to lessen the heat coiling in your lower belly. “I’ve….I’ve heard things, my King.”

Viserys stiffens.

“Rumors and whispers…commonfolk that forget themselves and speak freely of you and Her Grace.” You elaborate.

“Half say the crown weakens, a virile alpha unable to breed a fertile omega.” You say softly.

Before Viserys can react, you continue.

“The other half curse House Hightower.” You say with a mirthless chuckle. “They say Her Grace is barren…”

“I’ll have their tongues.” Viserys seethes. “Names, Ser (Y/n).”

You lower your head. “I did not see their faces, my King.”

Viserys grinds his teeth. “It matters little and less.”

His steps sound heavier, like he’s venting his anger through motion.

“The realm will get a spare in due time.” He mutters.

“If I may be bold, Your Grace?” You offer.

Viserys looks expectantly towards you.

“For Alicent.” You tell yourself.

“I am no maester…I do not claim to be worldly, but I know enough.” You take a step closer. “Perhaps the next time you see the maester for the…hardship you and my dear sister face…I could be in the room?”

Viserys quirks his head.

He doesn’t love the idea.

He doesn’t hate it either.

The thought of having you in the room when the maester speaks of his knot, his measurements, whether he’s still virile, has something dark and lusty curling in his loins.

“You would do this for me?” Viserys asks.

“I am a knight of the Kingsguard.” You say with a smile. “I would die for you, for Alicent.”

Viserys ignores the last half.

Hearing you’d die for him has his alpha pacing.

It sounds…wrong.

Off.

He should be making such declaration.

Or he thinks at least.

“Very well.” Viserys turns away from you. “You are my most loyal…knight, Ser (Y/n).”

You stand a little taller, ignoring the traitorous little flutter low in your stomach. “You honor me, Your Grace.”

“That’ll be all.” He murmurs.

You silently bow, before taking your leave.

Viserys’ jaw tightens with each creak and clink of your armor.

He sighs deeply once he can’t hear the metal against metal.

“This is rather…” Orwyle coughs, clearing his throat, “unorthodox, my king.”

“What is?” Viserys asks plainly.

Orwyle’s eyes slowly drift to you.

“Ser (Y/n)’s presence.” He answers.

“Ser (Y/n)’s presence is none of your concern.” Viserys says coldly.

“Of course no, Your Grace, I merely—“

“You merely insult him.” Viserys interjects. “I trust him to defend me and my wife with his life.”

“This is paltry compared to that.” Viserys adds.

“If Grand Maester Orwyle finds my presence distracting, Your Grace, I can leave?” You offer.

“Stay, Ser (Y/n).” Viserys says like a command, even with the thread of warmth under it. “I’m sure for all his grand talents, the Grand Maester can handle an audience of one.”

Orwyle’s smile tightens. “Exactly, Your Grace.”

You shift your weight between your feet.

Orwyle draws closer to Viserys. “Your Grace, may I?”

Viserys nods, taking off his overcoat.

Orwyle pats the exam table, waiting as Viserys sits.

Orwyle’s hands stop at Viserys’ belt.

He looks to you, before turning back to Viserys. “Are you sure about this, Your Grace?”

Viserys’ jaw tightens.

He can’t meet your eyes, but he feels you staring intently.

“Go on then.” Viserys tersely mumbles.

Orwyle nods, undoing Viserys’ belt and pulling his pants down.

Orwyle takes a step back, grabbing his tools, as Viserys’ hand grips the waistband of his underwear.

Viserys looks to you.

Your eyes meet.

You cough, heat crawling up your face.

Your eyes dart to the side.

Viserys pushes his underwear down, he shivers as his soft cock shrinks a little in the cold air.

“The issue remains the same, my king?” Orwyle asks, turning back probe in hand.

“Yes.” He manages to say. “I am,” his eyes dart to you before falling again, “currently, unable to knot my wife.”

Viserys’ cheeks turn pinker.

Not enough to be noticeable.

Just enough he feels it himself.

“Not from a lack of trying, mind you.” Viserys adds, trying hard not to wince at how he sounds.

“Gods it is beneath me to try and brag about that.” He tells himself.

“And Her Grace’s scent does nothing to remedy the situation?” Orwyle presses.

Viserys grits his teeth. “No. We’ve tried the usual remedies. She’s gone without…bathing for days to make her scent stronger…she’s worn the same undergarment for days on end…nothing has worked.”

“Let us see.” Orwyle whispers. “Here you are Your Grace.”

Orwyle holds open a box.

Viserys groans internally as he pulls Alicent’s panties from the box.

He holds it to his nose as Orwyle continues.

While they drone on about treatment, and the lack of what has worked, you keep fighting to have your eyes stay above Viserys’ chest.

Every time your eyes drop lower your scent becomes harder to hold down.

Viserys’ scent is stronger now, at this distance.

He doesn’t smell the way one would expect, given the issues he’s facing.

He smells strong.

Virile.

Fertile.

Like an alpha.

All cardamom and amber.

Your eyes flutter, you go to take a deep breath.

You freeze.

Eyes widening.

“The flesh seems healthy.” Orwyle murmurs, gently poking and prodding Viserys’ manhood.

Your scent blooms.

Notes of citrus and clean linen escape before you compose yourself.

Viserys’ lips go to a thin line as his cock gives a little twitch.

“Good response.” Orwyle comments.

Orwyle’s probe moves closer to the base of Viserys’ cock.

He pokes and prods as gentle as can be expecting the same reaction as yesterday, and the day before. Viserys’ pupils dilate as he takes in the new omega scent blooming through the air. “Gods— it’s…it’s Alicent?” Viserys questions to himself. The question doesn’t need an answer.

He can pick the notes apart cleanly.

It isn’t Alicent.

She’s citrus too, yes, but more orange forward.

The scent in his nose is lemon.

Viserys bites his tongue to keep from groaning.

“Still no—“ Orwyle’s sentence dies on his tongue.

The fleshy bulb at the base of Viserys’ cock makes itself more known, more present.

“Your Grace—“ Orwyle mutters as he continues to stimulate Viserys’ slowly swelling knot.

“Orwyle—“ Viserys grits out, “I am an alpha, and I have not properly knotted my wife since I married her. If you continue I fear I’ll disgrace us both.”

Orwyle pulls away, stun apparent across his face as Viserys’ cock reaches full mast.

“My word.” Orwyle murmurs, jotting down the reaction.

“Already reddened at the tip, leaking this heavily…” He murmurs to himself despite Viserys’ mounting anguish.

Viserys hesitates to pull his pants and undergarments up.

His eyes drift over to you again, only to find you staring intently at the ground.

“Ser (Y/n).” Viserys calls out.

He watches as you tremble, before steeling yourself.

“Yes, my king?” Your voice wavers once as it carries.

Viserys bites the inside of his cheek, cock throbbing and jumping.

Viserys’ mouth opens, before closing.

“See yourself out.” Viserys says.

“At once, Your Grace.” You murmur before leaving as quick as you can.

Viserys pulls his pants up, hissing as the material chafes against his cock.

The moment he can’t hear your steps hurrying down the hall anymore he turns to Orwyle.

“Well, it would seem the issue has resolved itself.” Orwyle says proudly.

“I suggest while His Grace is willing and able, to mate with Queen Alicent, such that she can provide you an heir.” He adds.

“Grand Maester.” Viserys speaks, eyes still kept at the door you exited.

“Yes, my king?” He asks.

“What is Ser (Y/n)’s presentation?” Viserys asks, eyes squeezing shut as his cock jumps in his pants.

“Lord Otto Hightower has told us all Ser (Y/n) is a beta.” Orwyle responds.

“And based on your observations?” Viserys finally turns to face him.

“I have none.” Orwyle says matter of factly.

“You dare to lie to your king?” Viserys spits, standing tall as he gets off of the exam table.

“I do not lie, Your Grace.” Orwyle defends. “I have not tended to Ser (Y/n), once.”

Viserys’ brow furrows. “Not once?”

Orwyle nods. “Not once. Lord Hand summons a maester from his holdings in Oldtown to see (Y/n) when needed.”

Viserys quirks his head at that. “Find out who, and summon them. Ensure proper care is taken so Otto does not find out.”

“But Your Grace—“

“That will be all Grand Maester.” Viserys interjects. “See it done, and let me know when he will be visiting us.”

Orwyle’s jaw clenches. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

It took moons, but Orwyle succeeded.

Moons of Orwyle digging into ledgers in the dead of night.

Moons of Orwyle reading Otto Hightower’s correspondence with Oldtown.

Moons of Viserys and Alicent continuing to see him due to their marital problems.

But Orwyle had found the maester, and issued Viserys’ summons.

“The last raven we received suggests he’ll be in the Red Keep by dinner.” Orwyle reveals.

“Good.” Viserys says. “Ensure he’s well fed, well rested, and above all hidden.”

Orwyle nods. “If I may, Your Grace?”

“You may.” Viserys nods shutting his book.

“What do you expect to receive from him?” Orwyle asks. “If he affirms (Y/n) is a beta?”

Viserys scoffs. “I expect the truth. (Y/n) is not a beta.”

“And if he is?” Orwyle insists. “What then?”

“Then I continue as I have without any new heirs.” Viserys snaps. “Rhaenyra is my daughter, she is my heir, and her line is strong enough as is.”

Orwyle bristles under Viserys’ alpha pheromones and rage.

“I meant no disrespect, my king.” Orwyle manages to get out.

Viserys takes a breath. “I know, Grand Maester. I know.”

“I…I feel things in my body…and they each point to the abject truth of Ser (Y/n)’s true nature.” Viserys says softly.

Orwyle doesn’t react. “Very well.”

Viserys stands still until he hears the doors to his library open and shut.

He walks over to the painting of Aemma.

His eyes drag over every inch of her painted form, until his gaze meets hers.

“What am I doing, Aemma?” Viserys whispers. “Our little girl is spoken about as if she is insufficient.”

He hangs his head. “Is it selfish of me to want love again?”

He braces himself against the wall with his hands.

“Is it unsightly of me to claim a new omega?” His voice warbles.

He looks back up, his violet hues wet and slightly reddened. “I chose wrong that day…I shouldn’t have picked the babe.”

“Now you’re gone…and here I stand in a situation of my own making.” Viserys bitterly mumbles.

“He’s like you, you know.” Viserys says softly. “Kind in the eyes in a way no one has earned. Worldly enough he speaks with humility to those who haven’t earned it.”

Viserys sighs deeply. “Wouldst you begrudge me for taking another? Would you direct your ire at me or at him if I choose him instead of the babe?”

Viserys’ laugh comes out broken as he wipes his tears. “Neither I suspect. You’d hold our son closer and smile.”

Viserys takes a deep breath, regaining his composure, before stepping out.

He goes about his day thinking only of the moment he’ll sit across from your maester to ask him directly the question that’s been burning a hole into his head for the last few years.

“Maester Bennard.” Orwyle says warmly. “Thank you for your haste.”

“It’s not a daily occurrence that the King of the Seven Kingdoms wants to speak to a mere maester.” Bennard responds. “Thank you for having me.”

Orwyle takes a step closer. “I assume Otto has no inkling you’re here?”

Bennard clears his throat, his voice drops an octave. “It wasn’t easy. Otto has many eyes and ears.”

“And yet?” Orwyle presses.

“He hasn’t a clue.” Bennard assures.

Orwyle takes a breath. “Good. Let us not keep His Grace waiting.”

Bennard nods, keeping pace with Orwyle as he’s led through Maegor’s tunnels.

“Is such secrecy needed?” Bennard whispers.

“Above all.” Orwyle says, leaning forward as if ensuring the passages are empty before taking another step.

Orwyle stands in front of a wall, hand outstretched. “Maester Bennard?”

He tenses. “Yes, Grand Maester?”

Orwyle grits his teeth. “Do not think to lie to King Viserys.”

Bennard’s eyes widen. “W—why would I lie to His Grace?”

Orwyle stands a little straighter. “I did not mean to imply you would.”

His hand presses against the brickwork, a section carved out slides open. “Merely a warning.”

The light bleeds into the tunnel.

Bennard’s eyes squint as he exits into Viserys’ library.

The Targaryen King stands tall, book open in hand.

“Your Grace.” Orwyle bows. “I’ve brought Ser (Y/n)’s maester.”

“Welcome, Maester Bennard.” Viserys says shutting his book.

He turns to face the man. “I hope the voyage to King’s Landing wasn’t too tedious.”

“Your Grace.” Bennard greets with a bow. “I rather enjoyed the passage, it’s not every day I have reason to come to the capital.”

Viserys smiles, taking another step closer, hands clasped behind his back.

Bennard’s legs tense, almost as if he thought to step back, and decided against it.

“I suppose you’re aware of why I had you brought here?” Viserys asks.

Bennard clears his throat. “Only an inkling, my king.”

Bennard’s hands wring the fabric of his sleeves. “I would venture this is in regard to Ser (Y/n) Hightower.”

Viserys’ eyes sharpen. “It is in fact.”

Viserys steps closer, before circling the maester. “Ser (Y/n) Hightower, proclaims he is a beta.”

Bennard’s eyes widen, his gaze drops to the ground.

“And yet.” Viserys stops right in front of Bennard, but he doesn’t grace him with a single glance. “There are certain effects he has on me.”

“Your Grace, I assure you whatever confusion you’ve—“

Bennard’s breathing hitches.

He trembles as Viserys’ cold rings burn the flesh of his neck.

“Lying to your king is one way to ensure the loss of your head.” Viserys murmurs.

“Ser (Y/n) Hightower is a fine knight. Loyal to a fault. Willing to die for me, for his sister.” Viserys’ holds back a growl.

“S—such qualities are exemplary in knight.” Bennard manages to get out.

Viserys’ eyes dart to meet Bennard’s. “Such qualities are.”

“Willingness to die for your charge, is above all a prized trait in Kingsguard knights.” Viserys admits.

Viserys’ voice drops into ice and steel. “Not something an alpha would desire from their omega, from their mate.”

Bennard’s face twitches in disgust at the word mate. “Ser (Y/n) Hightower is not an omega.”

Viserys draws his Valyrian steel knife.

He drags the blunt edge following the edges of Bennard’s lips.

“Your Grace—“

Viserys raises a hand.

Orwyle shuts his mouth.

“Lie again, and I will have your tongue.” Viserys says candidly.

“Your Grace, if I confirm the allegation—“

“Allegation?” Viserys asks, slowly twitching the knife until the sharp edge almost touches flesh.

Bennard takes a shuddering breath. “Omega men are abhorrent…in Oldtown they’re sent away…given to the Great Sept…only the northern savages treat them as…”

Viserys’ gaze sharpens. “As what?”

“As people.” Bennard spits. “As men. As though they’re not aberrations who’ve escaped the Stranger and his culling.”

Viserys goes still. “You speak of your neighbors, of your patient, with such disregard? You think to demean the northerners for not forgetting the humanity of their brothers?”

Bennard coughs, Viserys’ furious pheromones and acrid scent scald his lungs.

“Your Grace, the realm would fall apart if you continue down this path.” Bennard tries to appeal. “Omega men are touched by devils, by other worldly evil, they corrupt and make a mockery of women and their sacred duties.”

Viserys stills.

His eyes rake over Bennard’s face with cold scrutiny.

“It is true then.” Viserys whispers. “Ser (Y/n) Hightower is an omega.”

Bennard’s eyes widen. “Your Grace, I implore you—“

Viserys flips his knife, sharp end digging into Bennard’s throat, a thin line of blood already beading where the blade lies.

Bennard goes ice cold, the warmth from his neck trickling down.

He licks his lips. “You wouldn’t dare to harm a maester.”

Viserys raises an eyebrow. “You’re right in that regard, at least.”

He sheathes his knife, ignoring the breath of relief Bennard draws.

“Grand Maester Orwyle.” Viserys beckons.

Orwyle stands taller, taking a step closer.

“Bring me Prince Daemon.” Viserys’ voice seems to echo, almost absurdly loud in the quiet of the room.

Orwyle’s throat works, a bead of sweat at his temple. “At once, my king.”

Viserys walks over to his desk, grabbing the pitcher of wine.

He serves himself a cup, then fills another.

He walks over to Bennard both in hand.

Bennard looks down at the cup, then up to Viserys watching, as the king drinks from both.

“Poison is beneath me.” Viserys murmurs.

Bennard takes the wine, it sloshes just a bit from how hard he’s shaking.

“Your Grace, I beg you—“ Bennard stops cold when Viserys raises a hand.

“Enjoy the arbor red whilst you can.” He says pushing Bennard’s cup to his lips.

“I cannot allow you to return to Oldtown, or risk you informing Otto Hightower.” Viserys says pragmatically lips pressed into a line.

“Your Grace I swear to you—“

Bennard’s plea is cut off by Viserys’ laugh.

“Do not think to dishonor yourself further by continuing to lie.” Viserys says, unmoving. “You came in this very room, lying. You answered my question with a lie. Do not fall further.”

Bennard’s throat works.

His teeth chatter as the doors open.

“Your Grace.” Daemon says with a smirk.

“Prince Daemon.” Viserys greets. “Brother.”

Daemon’s face flickers slightly enough only Viserys notices.

“Brother.” Daemon answers. “How might I be of service to the crown?”

“This man here,” Viserys gestures towards Bennard, “has, in essence, committed treason by blatantly lying to his king.”

Viserys walks over to Daemon, standing next to him, his hand on Daemon’s shoulder.

“Ensure it does not happen again.” Viserys adds as he takes his leave.

“Worry not dear brother.” Daemon’s words are punctuated by the sound of his sword drawing. “I will do as needed.”

As the doors shut a scream is heard before it’s snuffed out entirely.

You swallow harshly as you walk to Viserys’ and Alicent’s chambers.

“Surely it’s nothing…” You tell yourself. “I am merely the best suited to protect them…”

You take note of the almost empty hallway.

A maid and servant here and there, but the knights are more sparse than usual.

“Where are the usual guards?” You wonder.

You stop in front of the doors, your hand trembling at your side as you lift it.

Three knocks ring out, almost as if echoing in the hall.

You hear movement behind the door.

Your eyes dilate as Viserys comes into focus.

His features seem softer when bathed in candlelight.

“(Y/—).” Viserys clears his throat.

You blink a little quicker.

His voice seems warmer.

Softer in a way.

“Ser (Y/n).” Viserys corrects.

You feel something in your chest clench.

“Right.” You think. You ignore those thoughts. It’s just the ramblings of a touch deprived omega. It’s just your mind trying to find comfort and warmth in the one alpha, the one man, you shouldn’t. “Your Grace.” You answer. You try not to react as he opens the door wider. “Please come in.” He murmurs, stepping out and looking down the halls. “As you wish.” You say walking in. You look around for Alicent but she’s absent. Even her scent is but a faint whisper. Maybe you should’ve have told her what you witnessed in Viserys’ meeting with Orwyle? You can still picture the way her face cracked vividly. “She’s not here.” Viserys says as the door gently shuts behind him. “I thought privacy might be best for what we’re to discuss.” Your eyes widen. Your jaw clenches tight, until you’ve wrangled the emotion. “What do we have to discuss, my king?” You turn to face him. Viserys eyes you. His gaze warm, unhurried, like he’s drinking you in. “The…marital issues she and I have been having.” He answers moving deeper into his chambers. He pours two goblets of wine handing you one. You instinctively reach for it, before remembering your position. “I shouldn’t, Your Grace.” Your hand falls to your side. “Wine could cloud my mind, Seven above forbid anyone make an attempt on my sister or you.” Viserys’ eyes narrow, a growl rising in his throat before he snuffs it out. He shuts his eyes taking a breath. “Right, Ser (Y/n).” He sets the second cup down.

He stares into the liquid in his, swirling it once, twice, before sinking the cup in full. “As you’re aware Ser (Y/n),” Viserys looks to the ceiling, and further than that, perhaps to Aemma trying to find the courage needed. “Alicent and I have had issues…or rather I have.” He faces you again. “My knot was not working. My fangs would not protrude. I could not do the very things an alpha could for Alicent.” Your throat works. “But, if I may, Your Grace, that day you seemed to be…in full spirits.” Viserys feels heat crossing his cheeks from ear to ear. He looks down. “W—well yes. That day I was.” He slowly brings his eyes up to yours. “That day however…I had someone else’s scent in my nose.” You stiffen, the color draining from your face. “Someone else’s scent in my lungs. Someone whose scent made my body react in ways that Alicent could only hope and pray.” Viserys adds softly. You bristle at the implication. “Your Grace, my sister is your wife, your mate. She is trying.” “The problem is not her fault.” Viserys corrects. “Rather…she is not to blame.” You raise an eyebrow. “Then?” “It is not her fault. But whatever ought to wake in me with her…simply does not.” Viserys adds. “Whose scent then?” You press. You keep trying to bury your anger. You can’t tell if you’re angry he’s speaking about your sister like this, or that he’s setting his sights on another omega. At least with Alicent as his wife you had proximity, even if you never had him. Would his new mate allow this arrangement? Most likely not. “Yours.” Viserys says plainly. You feel the room tilt. Bile in the back of your throat. Your nails dig into your palms. You shakily laugh. “Your Grace, I’m not sure whose scent you had caught that day…but I assure you, it was not mine.” “I am a beta, Your Grace, sure you recall?” You ask.

Even now the lie feels flat. Flatter. Even more flimsy with the way he’s staring at you. As if he knows the truth. As if he knows better now. But he shouldn’t. Your father made sure to bury it as best he could. “Let us keep this as honest as possible, Ser (Y/n).” Viserys says softly. A startled laugh leaves your mouth. “I am—“ The words die on your tongue. The lie you’ve been telling for as long as you lived suddenly feels like lead. “Be truthful with me, (Y/n).” Viserys whispers taking a step closer. “At least now while we’re alone.” You breathily laugh. Viserys’ begging— his plea lands deep. Deeper still. Your traitorous core tightening at his words. You clear your throat. “I am.” The words land like an iron weight in water. Has it ever felt so feeble? Telling anyone you were a beta? “He isn’t just anyone…” You remind yourself. “(Y/n), please.” Viserys says again. You watch as his mouth opens, before his lips press into a thin line. You can see the tension travel up his jaw. “I’ve spoken with Maester Bennard.” Viserys reveals. The air thickens. It feels denser than honey. You laugh, half formed words and gasps falling as you fail to explain. “I—“ Another laugh breaks out of you. “Maester Bennard is almost a century old.” Viserys’ jaw tightens. “Ser (Y/n).” “I’ve spoken with him. He is not nearly as old as you claim.” Viserys’ voice is soft, warm still, low as if more hurt than upset, “Look into my eyes Ser (Y/n), and tell me plainly.” Your gaze meets his. “On your honor as a knight, as my Kingsguard, on your honor as your mother’s son, tell me the truth.” Viserys says. You make a sad sound. Less words than anything. Your jaw clenches tight enough you can feel your teeth almost grind in protest. You take off your helmet, setting it on the ground. You unpin your white cloak, folding it delicately and placing it on the nearest table. You slowly peel off your chest plate. Viserys watches as you strip yourself down. He watches as you peel two cloths from the sides of your neck. “A poultice?” Viserys questions eyeing the greenish hued cream still wetting the cotton. Viserys’ breathing hitches as that same scent he caught earlier comes into full focus again. Honey left to cook and thicken under the golden rays. Clean linen, lavender, and under it all the citrus note he’s been replaying in his head when he tried to consummate his marriage to Alicent. “Maester Bennard did not lie.” You say so quietly Viserys strains to hear it. “The abhorrent thing they say I am…it is true.” You don’t meet his eyes, you don’t think you could withstand the shame they surely carry. “I am an omega…a blight upon my house…an unnatural occurrence the Seven have forgotten to correct.” You murmur. “And now a blight on house Targaryen and the reputation of the Kingsguard.” Viserys says nothing each word landing in him like a dagger. Before he can speak the words are cut up on his tongue as your sword draws. “I have lied to you. I have allowed you to be lied to. My continued living is an insult to you, Your Grace.” You drop to one knee, and hold your sword up high. “Take my head.” The words cut like Valyrian steel, and land just as heavy. “Dispose of my body.” Your voice never shakes despite the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. “Or, if it pleases you, allow me to be of service to the crown one last time, and use this wretched flesh of mine to sustain your dragons.” Viserys breathes harder, eyes glossing over. “I’ve heard old wives’ tales of how purifying dragonfire is…perhaps I could be made clean.” You muse aloud. “Perhaps in that manner the Seven might deign me fit to join my mother.” You say nothing more, waiting to feel the sword in your hand lift. Your breathing hitches when it finally does. “Once my life is extinguished…will I be allowed to rest?” You wonder.

You lean forward hanging your head. “No…most likely not. There is no recourse for what I am.” You remind yourself. You wait for the split second of pain that comes before the end. For the very instant steel cleaves through your flesh and your life concludes. Your eyes flutter shut, you hold your breath, doing everything you can to die with honor. You hear Viserys’ step circling you. You don’t lift your head, you don’t open your eyes. You assume he’s getting a better angle, until you feel your sword’s sheath leave your side. “Rise, Ser (Y/n).” Viserys says, voice rough with emotion. “Do not insult me further by forfeiting your life.” “But, Your Grace—“ “Do not insult me further.” Viserys cuts you off. “I have been driven mad by your scent, by you, I will not bury another love of mine, not while I can still save you.” You look up at him, your eyes find his like muscle memory. “I cannot be saved, my king.” “Yes, you can!” Viserys snarls. His eyes widen when he sees you flinch and struggle not to cower away. Viserys comes closer, dropping to one knee. His hand comes to your shoulder, smoothing down the length of your arm. His hand stops at yours, interlacing his fingers with yours. “Yes, you can.” He says softer. “I have fought harder battles. I have fought harsher emotions.” His other hand goes to your face. “I have fought and lost,” he leans in closer, “but I will not lose you. Not like I did her.” Viserys whispers against your lips. Before you can answer his lips press against yours. Your eyes well with tears, before squeezing shut. Your hands go to him to steady yourself before they jerk back. “Hold me if you desire.” Viserys whispers, before kissing you again. Your eyes open, before fluttering shut again, as your hands tentatively fist in Viserys’ overcoat. It feels like you’re being torn in two directions. Towards home, towards everything that says you’re wrong, that says your desire is an affront. And towards Viserys. Towards something new. Something fiery. Something softer than what you’ve known. And gods above do you want to fall into him. Fall into everything he offers. You push Viserys back as Alicent’s face flashes across your mind. You and Viserys both stare at each other, each uniquely undone by the other. Both your chest and his rises and falls. “You are married to Alicent.” You whisper. Viserys looks down to the side. “I am. I will get the marriage annulled.” You scoff. “And what of my father?” “What of him?” Viserys asks. “He would sooner kill me than allow for me to become your mate.” You say softly. Viserys’ eyes darken. “He may well try, attempt to, and I will have his head.” Your lip trembles. “All of that, risking an uprising in The Reach and the wrath of The High Septon…for me?” Viserys scoffs, drawing closer again, his hand almost magnetically drawn to your cheek. “You say that as though you were a simple passing novelty.” You lean into his hand despite yourself. “Am I not?” Viserys laughs lowly. “You are not simple. You are the reason I can look towards Aemma’s portrait with my head held high. You are my love.” Your eyes gloss over, you blink slowly trying to will the tears away. Viserys drops to both knees right in front of you. “It’s alright, (Y/n).” You bite your bottom lip as your eyes get more watery. One of Viserys’ hands goes to the back of your neck, the other rubs a smooth circle into the middle of your back. He pulls you even closer. “You may cry, (Y/n).” You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s just us, (Y/n). No one else.” Viserys assures you. “You may come apart if you need to.” Your breathing hitches. Tears stream down your face as you throw both arms around Viserys. Broken sobs, sniffles, and half formed apologies all land in Viserys’ neck. “My sweet boy, let it out.” Viserys whispers.

Your breathing slowly evens out. “I’m sorry.” Your voice is hoarse. “Don’t.” Viserys says immediately. “Not to me.” You give him a soft smile. “If we are to do this,” you take a deep breath, “we will do it well.” Viserys raises an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?” “I need to tell Rhaenyra.” You say gingerly. “I remember how distraught she was when your marriage to Alicent was announced…I refuse to be the second person to do that to her.” Viserys doesn’t say anything, but he slowly nods. “And you need to tell Alicent.” You add. Viserys’ mouth opens and closes. “You must.” You press. “Let her hear from your mouth she is not infertile, she is not lacking, let her hear from you directly that you two were misaligned. Do not let her walk away from this thinking she failed.” Viserys’ eyes water, he seems pained, but underneath it is resolve. “Very well.” You look Viserys in his face. You half expect him to be lying. But he isn’t. “Very well, then.” You whisper. “Let me find the Princess.” “Wait.” Viserys calls out. You stop, turning to face him again. “Do not let anyone see you without your armor just yet.” Viserys says, helping you get back into your chest plate. “We need to move quietly for the time being.” He pins your white cloak into place, and hands you your helmet. “As you wish, Your Grace.” You bow. “I do not recall insisting on formalities, (Y/n).” Viserys says with a small smile. You feel that same flutter low in your stomach. “As you wish, Viserys.” You let the door shut behind you, steeling your expression as you immediately walk towards Rhaenyra’s quarters. A few moments later, when you’re down the hall, you hear Viserys’ doors open again. You can tell he’s heading in the opposite direction, right towards Alicent.

You knock on the Princess’ door. “It’s nearly the hour of the wolf.” You murmur. Before you can turn around, you hear steps shuffling behind the door. “Yes?” Rhaenyra says as she opens the door. “Oh—“ Her lips curl into a smile, “Ser (Y/n).” You can’t help but smile at her too. “Hello Princess.” She rolls her eyes. She takes a step into the hall, looking down towards both ends making sure you’re both alone. “You know good and well you don’t need to call me Princess if we’re alone.” She lovingly chides. “I know.” You whisper. “Rhaenyra…may I— may I come in?” Rhaenyra studies your face, her own getting more serious by the second. “Of course, (Y/n).” She opens the door wider, letting you come in, before shutting the door. “What troubles you?” She asks immediately. “And don’t be coy.” You scoff, though it’s more a laugh than anything serious. “Please, I know you (Y/n). You would not come to my chambers this late, were it not important.” Rhaenyra says. You take a soft breath, your face nearly cracking. You refuse to let it. Refuse to force Rhaenyra into tending to you. “I wanted you to hear it from me.” You whisper. Rhaenyra sits down slowly, bracing herself. “Hear what?” You take a deep breath. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, His Grace has had…trouble strengthening the royal line.” Rhaenyra shudders making a face. “Unfortunately, I have.” “As you know he and my sister have been experiencing…marital issues…scent incompatibility…Viser— rather His Grace’s knot woul—“ “I do not need specifics (Y/n)!” Rhaenyra blurts out. When Rhaenyra notices you flinch, she takes a breath. “That is enough.” She says softer. “I would rather my father’s…marital life remain a mystery to me.” You nod softly, clenching your fists to calm your hands, to stop the shaking. Rhaenyra’s confusion becomes more evident. “Why do you speak of this? How do you speak of this?” “Why do you speak of this to me?” She asks exasperated. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Because His Grace has learned it was due to incompatibility.” Rhaenyra’s breathing gets heavier. “Incompatibility?” She laughs bitterly. “That’s certainly one manner of articulating the bond between him and Alicent.” “It is.” You murmur. “His Grace has also found the why.” “I a—am an o—omega.” You reveal. Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. “What does he plan to do?” “As of now nothing.” You grit your teeth. “Because this conversation needs to happen first.” She tilts her head. “And why does this conversation need to happen first?” You shakily blow a puff of air. “Rhaenyra…I love him.”

Her eyes widen, she takes a step back. “He— he loves me.” You press on. She turns around, one hand clamped around her mouth, the other steadying her against her table. “But Rhaenyra…” you take a step closer, one hand stretching out to her, before falling to your side, “you are my closest friend.” Rhaenyra’s shoulders jerk up. “I love and cherish you.” You continue. “And if you tell me this is against your wishes, I will listen.” Rhaenyra’s hand falls, her breathing still quick. “…what?” She manages to get out. “I love Viserys, it is true, but I know what Alicent marrying him cost you.” You place a hand on her shoulder, “I will not make you pay that price again.” “You speak truthfully?” She asks, turning to face you, eyes glossed and burning. “For once, yes. Entirely.” You speak, giving her a small smile. “I am sorry for having lied and concealed my nature from you.” “I do not need an apology, (Y/n).” She scoffs, her hands finding yours. Her throat bobs. “Is…is Otto the one pulling the strings for this arrangement?” You shake your head. “No. Vis— His Grace learned of my presentation from the maester my father enlisted to help hide it…he also is the one who said he would annul his marriage to— to my sister.” You laugh bitterly looking down. “If…if my father knew…I would be gone before first light.” Rhaenyra’s jaw clenches. “You’re asking me to decide if I will allow your happiness?” You shake your head slowly. “No. I am asking if you would be comfortable. If you could bear with seeing me with His Grace. I would not make you responsible should you say no.” You take a step closer, your hands going to hers. “If…if we would remain friends…or if we would also become strangers.” Rhaenyra looks down, squeezing her eyes shut. “Do you truly desire this?” “Yes.” You whisper. “But I do not desire it more than our continued friendship.“ Rhaenyra finally meets your eyes. “It will be an adjustment…but I will…I will bear it. I will try to welcome it.” Your eyes flood instantly. “You swear it?” Rhaenyra’s tears cascade down her face. “Yes. I know this was not easy for you to say, much less for me to hear, but I will honor it. And I will honor our friendship.” You bite your lip, shaking, too overcome. “T—Thank you.” She pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Thank you, for telling me. For refusing to allow me to learn of it during another council meeting.” You laugh, broken and wet. “I would never dream of it.” Rhaenyra laughs, tears burning her eyes as she makes peace, or tries to, with the new shape the court will take.

You pace wordlessly in Viserys’ chambers. Each step measured to make no noise. Each step against stone echoes into his room. Each step has your hand jerking towards the hilt of your blade. You exhale through the trembles. “He doesn’t know. Not yet. Viserys wouldn’t…wouldn’t betray me…” You tell yourself. Though it lands with little comfort. You know alpha men. Or thought you did at least. Alpha men are capable of violence. Alpha men who look at you like an oddity. Like a forbidden fruit they know would not stain their fingers, but irredeemably mark you. Alpha men who look at you like a body, a vessel to unload their desire into. Alpha men who look at you like you’re disposable. They’d seed you and then toss you to the wolves. Crying claims of enchantment, of being led astray. They would be allowed repentance by prayer. Your repentance would be paid in blood, your head held aloft to the offended party and their family while your body still twitched and bled on the ground. But Viserys has never looked at you like that. He only has warmth in his eyes. A desire, yes, but not to ruin. A desire that is soft around the edges, carnal in its expression, but tender in the after. You stiffen as the door opens, hand already wrapping around the hilt of your blade. You take a deep breath, you didn’t even notice you had held it. Viserys walks in. His chest rises and falls, his eyes are red-rimmed. “Ser—“, Viserys shakes his head, “(Y/n).” He says just as softly. You sheath your sword, already moving towards him. Your hand hesitates as it goes to his cheek. Viserys’ hand guides yours the rest of the way. “Is it done?” You ask before wincing. “Does she— does my sister know?” Viserys’ lips quiver. “She does.” He takes a staggering breath. “She knows. She knows she is not to blame. She knows we were incompatible.” You look down, unable to meet Viserys’ eyes. “Does she know…?” “She knows I mean to take you as my mate.” Viserys answers. “She seemed…conflicted…more preoccupied about ensuring Otto couldn’t harm you after.” “Once I assured her he would be handled, her grief came.” Viserys adds. Your breath gets caught in your throat. “I—I should go to her.” Viserys’ hand catches yours, lacing his fingers with yours. “That may not be for the best.” He says softly. “She…she wanted me to tell you she wanted to be alone for the time being.” Your chest aches. “She doesn’t want to see me?” Viserys shakes his head. “Do not take it to heart.” Viserys’ thumb gently rubs the back of your hand. “She will need time before she can speak to you.” Your face cracks, a pitiful sound coming out of you. “She hates me."

“No.” Viserys immediately says. “She is hurt. She is upset. Our issues aside, she was my lady wife…try to put yourself in her circumstances. It is not your fault I love you, it is not hers either, but I cannot imagine how wounded I would be if my spouse was leaving me for my sibling.” You sniffle, leaning into Viserys’ hand as he wipes your tears. “She will speak to you, when she is ready.” Viserys’ hand cups your cheek. Your eyes widen. “I do not think my sister would be so cruel…but she wouldn’t tell our father would she? Did she seem upset enough?” Viserys’ eyes dart to the side. “No, she would not. She’s upset, yes, but she would not risk your life, or her own.” Viserys’ hand almost falls from your face, but you catch it, holding it close. “I need to be honest…” Viserys’ voice is low, afraid, “before we are to start this.” “About?” You gently probe. “Your father.” Viserys answers. Your blood runs cold. A chill shooting down your spine. “What about him?” You clear your throat. “I left Otto Hightower to my brother Daemon.” Viserys whispers. Your eyes widen. You know exactly what he means. Daemon’s dislike of Otto was no secret. The Rogue Prince need only an excuse to carve up the second son, and he was handed one by the king no less. “It’s fine.” Your voice breaks. “It was…it was going to be me or him regardless in the end…was it not?” You draw in a broken breath, tears beading on your lash line. “I shouldn’t cry— he hated me— hated what I am— he could not love me as I was.” Viserys steps closer pulling you into his embrace. “I am sorry, (Y/n). I knew I had to choose between your safety and him…and I chose you.” “I understand—“ your breathing hitches, coming in incomplete pulls, “why do I feel like this?” Viserys’ eyes find yours. “I do not know. I cannot pretend to know your mind, the contours of your soul— yet, but perhaps it is because he was your father still.” The words soothe you, settling in somewhere deep. You sob harder, louder, clinging to Viserys, hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt, as though you’d fall. “Shh, let it out, (Y/n).” Viserys slowly helps you remove your armor, before moving the two of you to his bed. “Viserys— I— I haven’t—“ The thought keeps breaking on another sob. “I know sweetling.” Viserys whispers pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sleep here tonight, I will hold you through the worst of it. We can face the court and my council tomorrow.” You nod against his chest, as he lays you onto his bed. You keep swiping at your tears as the bed shifts and dips under Viserys’ weight. Your sobbing doesn’t stop, only slows, even as Viserys pulls you close. Before you realize your eyes flutter shut, as sleep takes you.

The next morning is hectic, at the very least. Guards swarm the halls. Whispers around every corner. Only the tail ends of gossip reach you. Some say assassinated, others say poor luck. Otto has been found dead in his study. Before anyone could question it in full, Viserys has the silent sisters take the corpse. He loathed to leave you alone in his chambers, but he endures as is needed. “Dress him up.” Viserys utters. “Hide the wound as best you’re able.” Viserys doesn’t flinch as the silent sisters set Otto’s neck in place. “Ready him for transport. His family will be waiting.” Viserys whispers as he leaves them to their work. Viserys summons his council, a quick meeting, a mourning period declared for a fine servant to the crown. “This morning, my Hand, and dear friend Lord Otto Hightower was found dead in his study.” Viserys says softly. The council doesn’t speak. They each look to each other, eyes telling a thousand words. Daemon’s absence is notable, but none comment on it. “I saw to it myself.” Viserys adds. “He appears to have fallen and hit his table.” Viserys paces, hands behind his back. “His parchments were strewn about…a terrible accident to be sure.” One of the residing lords coughs, but it suspiciously sounds like a held laugh. Viserys stops dead in his tracks. “Is something amusing?” The air in the council room chills. “No, Your Grace.” The lord manages to get out. Viserys hums. “Otto Hightower’s body is being tended to by the silent sisters. He will be taken by royal procession to Oldtown, where they may bury him.” “If I may, Your Grace?” Orwyle whispers. Viserys doesn’t answer but he makes eye contact. “I could deliver the body myself.” Orwyle meekly says. “He was a dear friend of mine.” Viserys nods, almost seeming to consider it. “No.” Viserys draws closer. “You are the Grand Maester. You see to my health, to the health of my lady wife. You are needed here.” “I am not so cold to forbid your goodbyes. When the time comes and the funeral is held, we shall both be in attendance.” Viserys accedes. Viserys walks over to the windows that overlook Blackwater Bay, he takes a breath. “There is another matter.” He starts. “Queen Alicent and I are…are incompatible.”

“We have been unable to fulfill the responsibilities of our marriage.” He reveals. The residing lords look to Orwyle who can only nod as he stares at the table. “As such, I am having our marriage annulled.” Viserys declares. The council room quiets immediately, one could almost hear the mice within the walls scurry about. “She is not to blame. Neither am I. We are merely…incompatible. As the gods have made us.” Viserys immediately adds. “I am sending my daughter Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, and my dear cousin Princess Rhaenys, to ensure the matter is seen to directly by the High Septon.” He continues. The present lords all immediately look to each other, calculating. “And if, His Grace, may be so kind, would you elaborate on your next marriage choice? Or if one has been made at all?” One bravely asks. They each wait, nearly salivating at the prospect of presenting their own daughters to the king. “I have made a decision.” Viserys says strongly. “I will be taking Ser (Y/n) Hightower as my mate. He will be Prince Consort.” The air shifts, the men barely hide their shock, some work harder to hide their disgust. “Your Grace, I mean no offense, but, will you truly take to…to husband a male beta? He cannot give you heirs which is the sole purpose.” Lyman Beesbury comments. Viserys doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Ser (Y/n) Hightower is an omega. Should we decide to have children or not, he can provide. My bedroom aside, the line is secure. Princess Rhaenyra has her sons Lucerys and Joffrey, and, Gods willing, more to come.” “What of Ser (Y/n) Hightower’s vows?” Corlys finally speaks. “He is a knight of the Kingsguard. And a fine one at that.” Viserys’ lips twitch at the recognition of your skill. “The white cloak was never his desire. If you all recall he did not ask the honor, his father did. He will be released from his vows with honor, by royal decree.” “Be that as it may, Your Grace.” Lyonel starts, “it is rather unorthodox to…set aside your lady wife for a lord husband.” Viserys turns to face his council. “Unorthodox means little and less. Aegon the Conqueror’s conquest, I imagine, seemed unorthodox at first, and now?” Viserys stands taller as his words settle over the room. “Do not forget who is king.” He stresses. “Do not forget who could climb atop a dragon and bring fire and blood.” The color drains from their faces. “That will be all.” Viserys says sternly as he leaves. His council scramble to their feet as the doors open and shut behind him.

The days are long. The moons even longer. You can scarcely remember the last time you saw Alicent. You can barely remember the brown hue of her eyes. Rhaenyra and Rhaenys have already gone and returned from their excursion to The Reach. You hoped for a heavier hand in diplomacy. Both Princesses returned with the annulment and satisfaction on their faces that the High Septon bent the knee. Whispers have already reached the Red Keep, more specifically your ears. “The Realm’s Delight is a heretic! She accedes to the King’s perversion!” “The Queen Who Never Was may be better than what awaits us.” “I cannot believe you.” You whisper to Viserys. “Believe me, boy.” He whispers, hand trailing up and down your back. You slowly lift your head, thighs tensing around Viserys as you look him in his eyes. You give Viserys a withering gaze. “You’ve threatened the high Septon.” “I did no such thing.” Viserys says defensively. “I merely sent my daughter and my cousin to see the matter done.” “Sent them atop their dragons.” You correct. “Makes the journey easier. It is only a few hours on dragonback.” Viserys shrugs. “That’s your defense?” You scoff with a smile. “No.” He smirks. “This is.” Before you can ask Viserys molds his lips against yours. You gasp softly, eyes fluttering shut before you melt into his arms. You let him kiss you breathless. Your hips jerk against his, your cock leaking and leaving a wet patch in your sleep wear. Viserys is no better, his own cock straining against your ass. Viserys groans as he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “Not yet sweetling.” “Viserys.” You whine, hips still jerking forward like the friction is any good. “It’s only one more day until we are wed.” Viserys reminds. “Then,” his eyes rake over you, “I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been begging for.” His voice sends a spark up your spine. You sigh softly, letting the heat and want ease and dilute itself. You look away, eyes unfocused, as if you’ve been transported somewhere painful. “Prince (Y/n)?” Viserys says gently. You blink a few times, before finding Viserys’ eyes. You laugh gently. “I worry I’ll never grow accustomed to that title.” “What troubles you?” Viserys asks cutting through your deflection. You sigh softly. “Has Alicent said if she’d be in attendance?” Viserys’ eyes soften. “She hasn’t. But she may later.” Your lip trembles. “Seven above.” You swipe at your cheek. “I know, (Y/n).” Viserys whispers. “I know.” “I do not begrudge her.” You whisper. “I understand her position…as much as I am able.” Viserys’ eyes soften. “I am aware, it is one of my favorite qualities about you.” You lovingly scoff. “Viserys.” “‘Tis true, my love.” Viserys whispers. “I know.” You sigh. Viserys’ hands go to your thigh, holding you close and tight. “Viserys—!” You gasp arms going around his neck. He stifles his laughter, rubbing his cheek against yours in apology. “We should rest. We’ve a long day tomorrow.” He places you gently on the bed, lifting your legs up and taking your boots off. “I suppose.” You whisper, getting underneath the blankets. Viserys walks over to his side of the bed, letting his overcoat and tunic fall. You smile warmly, lifting the blankets up for him to crawl in. “Prince Consort (Y/n), of House Hightower.” Viserys says reverently as he slides under the blankets. He pulls you close to his chest, watching your face, and feeling your chest rise and fall as you drift off.

The next morning feels like leaving a battlefield. Dazed is one way to put it. From the moment you awoke, you were dragged to a different section of the Red Keep. Not taken. Rather escorted. All the servants scurry about ensuring you and your soon to be husband are well prepared and dressed. They’ve taken your green and gold clothes, left them to the side as they help you into the black and red wedding garments. “I—“ You huff with a smile, turning in the mirror to look at yourself. “Gods above.” “You look well, My Lord.” A servant whispers, bowing quick. “Thank you.” You whisper. You walk over to the windows overlooking King’s Landing. With the time that’s passed you can’t seem to care that Otto won’t be present. Yet your attention keeps being drawn home— rather to The Reach. To Oldtown. Your teachers have likely heard of your betrothal. Your brother Gwayne as well. Your cousins, uncles, all have learned, you’re quite certain. None of them will be in attendance. To all of them, you may as well have died the day you were born. It was thanks to your father’s harsh hand they acknowledged you at all. Your sister sits somewhere in this very castle, and even she won’t be present. The door opens, as you continue to stare out. “Yes?” You ask softly. The steps come closer, but the person they belong to doesn’t speak. “May I help you?” You ask a bit firmer. “Is that any way to speak to your sister?” Alicent scoffs. Your eyes widen. Your body is a blur of red and black as you whip around. “Alicent?” You murmur softly. She smiles softly, eyes scanning your face. “(Y/n).” You approach her, stumbling over yourself, your eyes welling with tears. You reach out to hug her, but stop just short of it. Alicent laughs softly, stepping forward the rest of the way, right into your arms. “Brother.” She whispers. “My dear sister.” You answer. You both slowly pull away, eyeing each other. “I— I’m sorry.” You whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.” Alicent’s eyes fill with tears. She slowly shuts them, taking a shuddering breath. “I know you are.” She admits. “That has made it much harder for me to simply hate you.” You flinch at the words. “I do not, though.” She continues, hand reaching for yours. “I could never hate you.” You sob softly. “Y—you swear it?” She smiles warmly. “I do.” She sighs. “I…I know Viserys and I were incompatible…the days we…we attempted to do our duty as husband and wife…only worked on days I had seen you.” Her eyes meet yours. “On days where your scent had clung a little tighter to me…Viserys found it in him to attempt to touch me.” “I explained it away constantly, telling myself I was imagining it, or rather that His Grace was simply stressed.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I think I knew for longer than I’d like that there was someone else in our marriage.” She whispers. “I just…I just didn’t expect it would be you.” She says brokenly. “I do not begrudge you, brother.” She sniffles, the heel of her palm wiping away her tears. “I am more than aware if you had more choice in the matter you wouldn’t have chosen Viserys.” You nod quickly. “I wouldn’t have…I love him, yes, but if I could choose I would not have chosen your husband.” “I also realize Viserys likely had to confess his true feelings to you first, and then pry your feelings out of you.” She says with a lilt.

Your eyes widen, before they crinkle as you laugh. “That’s a rather astute observation.” “It is a true one.” She chortles. The laughter slowly quiets. Her thumb lightly drags over your knuckles. “Why did you not tell me about your…your condition?” She asks softly. You tilt your head at her, mouth dropping open, before closing again. “Rather—“ she drags her hand down her face, “not your condition, but that you felt this way towards…towards men, and not women.” “Did you…did you think me untrustworthy? Did you assume I would tell our father?” She asks, voice cracking with ache. You shake your head. “No Alicent. I have never thought you untrustworthy. Not once.” “Then why?” She asks. “Why keep this part of yourself so tightly clutched and hidden?” You look down. “Because…because I am an omega. Father hated me. Hated what I was. Everything he ever taught me, or showed me, was in direct opposition to that…Gwayne was allowed to do as he pleased…but I? I would be beaten…yelled at…humiliated by him.” Your lips quiver. “I was already…wrong in Otto’s eyes. I could not bear to look at these hidden parts of myself too closely because of what it would mean for me…I could not accept it myself, until Viserys.” A tear falls from the corner of Alicent’s eye. “(Y/n)…” She says softly. Your face scrunches up. Your hands swipe at your tears. “Do not— do not think me weak— I have tried for s-so long.” You sob. Alicent hugs you again, tighter. “I’ve never once thought you weak. I only wish I had been stronger, more defiant with our father, such that you could’ve allowed me to grasp the full shape of you.” “T-thank yo-you—“ You manage to get out. “It’s quite alright.” Alicent whispers, hand rubbing a soothing circle into your back. The two of you sit together, waiting for your cue to be escorted to the main hall. “What have you been—“ A knock at the door interrupts your voice. “Come in.” You say turning to the door. “Your Grace.” The servant bows. “My lady.” You both look to her expectantly. “Ser Gwayne of house Hightower has come for the nuptials. He’s requesting a private audience.” She reveals. “Shall I escort him to the main hall?” Your eyes widen, a disbelieving breath leaves you. “Ser Gwayne came because of my wedding?” You ask. “Yes, Your Grace.” The servant answers. You look over to Alicent, a small smile on her face. “Uh— yes. Yes, please bring Ser Gwayne Hightower here.” You answer. “At once, Your Grace.” She bows before leaving. “I can…I can scarcely believe it.” You whisper. “I had not expected to have anyone from the Reach at my wedding.” Alicent puts her hand in yours. “I would’ve been present.” You smile softly, holding her hand with both of yours. “I know. Deep down I think I knew you would be.”

You and Alicent sit as a pair of footsteps approach. Another knock at the door makes you stiffen, before you force yourself to relax. “Enter.” You project. The door slowly opens. The servant and Gwayne enter. “Ser Gwayne of House Hightower.” She announces before bowing and taking her leave. Gwayne’s jaw tightens as his eyes land on you. “Prince Consort.” He says as though the words burn his tongue. “Brother.” You say with a small smile. “I am gladdened to see you.” Gwayne nods tersely. “I’m sure you are.” “I can have the servants put a place for you at the main table.” You say excitedly. “You deserve to be up front with Alicent.” Gwayne’s face quirks as though he’s tasted something bitter and sour. “No need, (Y/n).” He says dismissively. “You’d rather sit with the rest of the guests?” You tilt your head. “No, I’m not staying for whatever perversion you and your mad king pretend to make commonplace.” Gwayne snaps. Your mouth shuts. You sit up straighter. “I have not come because I wish to be a spectacle, I still have my honor and dignity, though it would seem you are lacking.” He adds. Your breathing catches. “I am still your brother, Gwayne.” He rolls his eyes. “And I pray to The Seven daily to atone. I care not for you, nor whatever it is you pretend at. I’ve come for Alicent.” Your tears finally spill over, your constant blinking doing nothing to hold them back. “Ah.” Your throat works. “O-of course.” Your gaze falls to the ground. “I-I’ll take my leave.” “Brother—“ Alicent reaches for you, but stops when she sees you shake your head. “He’s your brother too.” Your face cracks. “See to whatever it is he needs.” Her hand falls to her side. They clench into fists as she watches the heel of your palms drag across your cheeks. “Your Grace, what ails you? You’re crying?” The same servant’s voice asks. “I-I’m fine. I just need some fresh air.” You manage to get out. The words echo into the room as the doors close behind you. “I thought father had corrected that.” Gwayne scoffs. “He always did need a firmer hand to remind him appropriate conduct.” Alicent’s eyes widen, her fury becoming more obvious by the second “How dare you?” Alicent snarls.

“Hmm?” Gwayne turns to her, rolling his eyes. “Please my queen, he’s taken his leave, there is no need to pretend this hasn’t been absolutely humiliating for you. It’s humiliating enough for our House.” “Humiliating?” Alicent scoffs. “What else would you call this?” Gwayne stalks closer to her, hand gesturing to the castle at large. “This is not dignified.” “It is honorable!” She snaps. “Whatever lies you’ve been telling yourself to better survive this, ends now. Gather your things, we’re leaving.” Gwayne seethes. “I am not leaving.” Alicent says defiantly. “This is my home. I am an honored guest of the crown, and the Prince Consort’s sister.” Gwayne walks over, standing mere inches away from Alicent, lording over her. “I did not ask if it was agreeable, as the oldest, I am in charge of our family.” He leans down, face close enough Alicent recoils from the warmth of his breath. “Get your things. We’re leaving.” “I am not leaving!” Alicent shouts, slapping Gwayne hard enough his head jerks to the side. “I am Alicent of House Hightower, and I will not leave the only home I’ve known for the last few years.” She snarls. “I will not abandon my brother the same way you, father, and our own home have.” She adds. The doors slam against the wall as guards rush in. “My lady, are you hurt?” They ask, swords drawn and already aimed at Gwayne. “No.” She says sternly. “I am unharmed, however it would seem Ser Gwayne has overstayed his visit, and needs help finding the stable.” “I am not leaving—“ “You are.” Alicent cuts him off. “You are leaving as you’ve come, empty handed.” She turns to the guards. “See him off at the castle gate. And if he forgets, remind him his wedding invitation has been rescinded, and as His Grace has no business with House Hightower, Ser Gwayne has no business being here.” “Alicent—“ Gwayne starts again. “You heard my lady.” The guard interjects. “Don’t be difficult.” “Or do.” The other says. “I have been idle for too long.” “I would say to have a safe journey, but I care little and less for you.” Alicent states plainly. “Do not think to return. If you care not for (Y/n), you care not for me. If he is not your brother, I am not your sister. Do not think to return.” Alicent’s steps echo in Gwayne’s head. “Alicent.” He snarls. Her stride doesn’t stop. “Alicent!” He shouts. She doesn’t even flinch as she turns down the hall. His voice fades into the background as Alicent heads to the main hall.

Alicent finds you in the solar. She stops a few paces away, watching as the servant takes the wet handkerchief from your hand. “Your Grace.” A servant says finally noticing Alicent. “It’s quite alright.” She says softly. “(Y/n).” She calls out. Her heart aches as your shoulders jump, before watching you force them down. “Sister.” You say guarded. “Have you come to say goodbye?” Alicent takes a step closer. “I am not leaving. I am your honored guest.” She takes another step her hand going to your back. “It is your wedding, I would not miss it for anything.” You turn around eyes still wet. “If you don’t leave Gwayne will not return. You will never be welcomed back in Oldtown.” “I know.” Alicent whispers. “Do not lose your home for someone like me.” You manage to get out. “Gwayne is—“ your breathing hitches, “he’s right.” “No.” Alicent says sternly. “This is my home.” “Gwayne has made himself nothing to me.” She adds. “He is your brother.” You correct. “Even if he wishes I wasn’t.” “No.” Alicent says again, her hand going to yours. “If he does not care for you, he does not care for me. If he does not recognize you as blood, I do not recognize him.” Your face crumples harder. “Alicent—“ “I am staying. I will be seated in front. I will watch with tears in my eyes as you marry the man you love.” She warmly cuts you off. “What if you regret it?” You whisper. “I would regret more hurting you. I would regret more allowing you to believe you have no family left in the world that would love and welcome you as you are.” She answers. You sob harder, throwing your arms around her. “There, there, dear brother.” She whispers, rubbing her cheek against yours. “Cry all you’d like.” She whispers. “I will not forbid it, all I ask is for you to consider if Gwayne deserves them.” Your head lifts, your eyes finding hers. Her thumbs gently wipe underneath your eyes. “You are marrying Viserys. if you are to cry, let it be from joy, not from anguish.” You sniffle, rubbing your eyes, dabbing your tears away with the sleeves of your garments.

The wedding itself is a smear in your memory. You still remember the weight of Alicent’s arm laced with yours. You still remember each step you took forward. The wetness of Rhaenyra’s eyes. The curve of her smile. You can still hear the roar of the room, before it fell silent. The red and black still sat comfortably on you. You remember Viserys’ eyes focusing on you, as if the rest of the world had fallen away. You remember the vows Viserys had spoken. They reminded you of your Kingsguard vows, but these were chosen, not imposed. You remember the hall, full of courtiers. The reception, the decorations, the way the goblets raised in the air. You still remember the weight of Viserys’ hand on your hip, as he led you through a dance. You can still feel the shudder that tore through you when he said “My Prince.” But now? With Viserys’ mouth at your throat, and his hand under your tunic gripping at your chest, you can’t bring yourself to care. “Vis-Viserys—“ You brokenly moan. “I know.” He rasps. “I know.” Viserys’ hands go to your thighs, your arms lace around his neck as he pulls you up. “Mmph.” You groan, hand going to Viserys’ hair. He places you on the bed, his palm flattening against your chest as he pushes you down. “Marvelous.” Viserys whispers, undoing your tunic and pushing the fabric to the side. You feel heat crawl up your face. “Viserys.” “Shh.” He whispers leaning down, mouth at your throat again. “Let me enjoy this.” Each kiss down the side of your throat stokes fire in your gut. Each scrape of Viserys’ fangs against your flesh and scent gland make your cock throb. Viserys hugs your legs to his body, as his hands go to your waistband. You bite your bottom lip, nodding and lifting your hips. Viserys pulls your trousers off, letting them crumple to the floor. Viserys moves lower on the bed, kissing your abdomen. Viserys hesitates for only a moment when he reaches your underwear. You look down, making eye contact with him. You look away, back up to the ceiling. “I— I—uhm know you have only been with Aemma. Do not force yourself—“ Your words break apart into a whorish moan as Viserys mouths at your cock, wetting the fabric. “I am not forcing myself.” Viserys says, before pulling your underwear down with his teeth. “I am merely…recalibrating.” A shocked laugh leaves you. “Recalibrating?” Viserys pulls your underwear off entirely, tossing them into some corner of the room. “Yes.” His hand wraps around the base of your cock, as he lowers himself again. “Forgive me, I am not experienced.” “Neither am I.” You answer. Viserys smiles softly, before his mouth wraps around your head. “Fuck—“ You moan brokenly, hand in Viserys’ hair. Gripping tight. Tighter when Viserys moans around your length. Your breath stutters as Viserys slowly begins to move his head up and down the length of your cock. “Gods Viserys—“ You sob, spreading your legs further. Viserys pulls off your cock, before bringing his free hand to his mouth. You whine softly, hips jerking forward. “Shh, greedy thing.” Viserys chuckles. “I need to prepare you.” He brings his fingers to his mouth, wetting them. Viserys’ head goes back to your cock, lapping and kissing the tip, before taking you down his throat again. His fingers move down to your rim, gently circling, spreading and smearing your slick and his saliva. Viserys buries his nose in your pubic hair, as his fingers push inside you.

He gets to the second knuckle before slowing, his other hand going to your thigh to rub soothing circles into your flesh. “Ngh— Vis— Oh Gods!~ D—Don’t stop!” You sob, back arching off the bed. The moment your insides relax Viserys pushes his fingers all the way in. “Ngh—“ You throw your head back, hand fisting in the bedsheets. Viserys’ hips subtly jerk forward and grind against the mattress as each sound he milks from you makes his cock harder and his tip stickier. Viserys’ fingers pump back and forth before curling ever so slightly. “Ah!” You gasp loudly, hole clenching tightly around his fingers. “Dush ‘hat ‘urt?” Viserys asks, mouth still full of you. “No— Gods no. There, again, please.” You beg, hips pushing back against Viserys’ hand. Viserys lets your cock fall out of his mouth with a wet pop. “Good omega.” He coos. “Viserys…” You whine, spreading your legs farther. “I need you.” “Patience.” Viserys manages to say. “I am trying very hard to not disgrace myself.” “I wouldn’t mind—terribly— if you did.” You murmur, looking away unable to meet his eyes. Viserys’ pupils dilate, his nostrils flare. “You are playing with dragonfire.” Viserys growls. “You haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing to me.” You lick your lips, staring into Viserys’ eyes. “Then why don’t you show me, Your Grace?” Viserys’ breath hitches. “Very well then.” Viserys wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He grips the waistband of his trousers, pushing them down letting them bunch up by his ankles. You watch completely entranced by the bulge and obvious wet spot. His underwear follows, his cock pulls down, before springing up, bobbing, before settling flush against his stomach. He shudders with anticipation as the cold air hits his aching cock. The tip sticky with precum, his member twitching at the sight of you spread out underneath him. Viserys’ hand drags against your rim, gathering your slick. He strokes himself until he’s wet—wetter than before to make sure the push in is easy. Viserys gets closer, his hands move your legs to rest around his hips. You gasp softly, chest rising and falling, as the blunt head rests at your rim. “Viserys…you're rather large.” You murmur, back slightly arching off the bed. “I am an alpha.” Viserys responds smugly. You both laugh softly. Viserys’ eyes soften. “Fret not, I am no beast, I will go as slow and as gently as you require.” You bite your bottom lip, nodding eagerly. Viserys’ hand wraps around his cock, he slaps it against yours, breathing heavier as your thighs twitch, and your cock throbs. He angles the head of cock to your stretched hole. “Deep breath.” You inhale.

“Ngh— mmmmfuck—“ You moan softly, tears sitting on your lash line as Viserys’ blunt head stretches you open. “Gods—you’re tight.” Viserys groans pushing inch after inch into your warmth. “Vis—“ You gasp clenching tightly around what he’s worked in so far. “B—Breathe.” Viserys stutters out. “I— I am trying.” You whimper. Viserys’ expression softens. One of his hands moves up and down your side slowly, while the other wraps around your cock. “Ah—“ You mewl, as Viserys’ calloused hand works your aching cock. He leans down, letting your arms go around his neck. Viserys molds his lips against yours, swallowing every needy sound you make. “Mmpfh—“ You groan. The moment your mouth opens Viserys slides his tongue in. The wet muscle gently caressing your tongue, reverently stroking against every part of you. Viserys keeps his eyes open, even as yours shut. He takes in every detail. The tears slowly beading and falling, the sweat on your brow, the way your brows furrow when he throbs inside you. The moment he feels your grip loosen, he pulls back, before pushing forward again. “Ngh—“ You sob from pleasure. “Gods—“ Viserys grunts. He’s losing his mind. Viserys’ hand never stops working your cock, but his other hand gently grips your ankle and pushes one of your legs further back. Viserys groans loudly as he watches your hand fist in the sheets. “Forgive me.” He murmurs against your lips. Before you can ask for what, you gasp loudly. Viserys’ hips pull back, before he thrusts all the way in. “Fuhck—!” You brokenly moan, cock pulsing in Viserys’ hand as your spend shoots out, coating his fingers in your essence. Viserys moans just as wrecked, as your finger nails rake down his back. “Good boy.” Viserys breathily says, hand still working you through the remnants of your orgasm. Viserys tries to lift off of you, but stops as your arms lock tighter and as your legs wrap around his hips. “Gods, you will be the death of me.” Viserys huffs a broken laugh. “You—you’re so deep.” You manage to get out. Viserys’ pupils dilate. “I know.” “Viserys—Viserys—move—“ You whimper, hand softly smacking against Viserys’ pec. He doesn’t hesitate.

At once his hips pull back before falling forward again. He takes in each of your breathy moans. He grinds deeper when your breathing hitches. He pushes back in with more weight when he feels your hips lift. He fucks you faster when the heels of your feet press against his ass. “Fuck— fuck— fuck—“ You sob, breaths getting faster and shorter. Viserys buries his face in your neck, dragging his tongue against your scent gland. He drags his fangs against your scent gland, relishing how you tighten up in response. He leaves open-mouthed kisses all over the column of your neck. “You’re doing so well for me.” His lips press against your pulse point. “Coming undone so wonderfully for me.” You whine, clenching harder around his cock. “Fuck—“ Viserys groans. “Viserys— harder—! Harder!” You sob, hands fisting into the sheets. Your alpha, your husband immediately starts thrusting in earnest. Each push in feels heavier than the last. Every filthy sound gets louder. Viserys’ breath keeps breaking. His hips stutter. He can’t help but grind deeper in between thrusts. Almost like he has to, or he’ll reach his orgasm too fast. “Ngh— ah! Fuck—“ You sob, walls clutching and squeezing Viserys’ cock harder, as your own throbs and paints your abdomen in white. “Gods— that’s it sweetling.” Viserys murmurs, kissing the tears under your eyes as he continues to grind and lazily thrust into you. He hisses as he feels resistance. Viserys looks down, breathily laughing as he sees why he can’t grind as deep as he could mere moments ago. “Gods— (Y/n)…allow me to knot you.” Viserys begs, still grinding as deep as he can, his knot stretching you just a bit before he pulls back. “Yes— yes, please Viserys.” You whine. “Seven above, I love you.” Viserys whispers. He slowly pulls out, shushing your whining, before he puts you on your knees. His palm settles between your shoulder blades as he pushes until your chest is pressed against the bed. “Just like that, (Y/n).” Viserys groans. One of his hands gently squeezes his own knot, while the other spreads your cheeks.

“Viserys…” You bemoan, heat crawling up your face. “I am admiring my work.” Viserys drawls. “You should instead finish the task.” You answer. Before Viserys can say something clever, the words die on his tongue as you arch deeper. “Never again call this a task.” Viserys sternly says as he comes closer. “This is far too enjoyable to be a task.” He adds, slapping his cock against your rim. You make a broken sound, hole clenching at the contact. Viserys doesn’t hesitate any further, he lines up before slamming in all at once. “Ah—!” You moan whorishly, body moving up the mattress as Viserys thrusts harder and harder. “Too— deep—“ You sob arching deeper. “And yet you open yourself up.” Viserys cockily says. His hand goes to the back of your neck holding you in place as his knot starts to spread you further. “Take it.” Viserys rasps. “Do not run from your alpha. Do not run from the fire you’ve awoken.” You sob, getting pushed higher and higher as Viserys’ knot sinks in deeper and deeper. Viserys nearly roars as his knot sinks in. He falls over you, catching himself but pinning you under him. His mouth finds your scent gland. Viserys’ hips keep jerking forward with each new squeeze around the base of him. “Gods—“ Viserys groans as his spend paints your insides white. “(Y/n)—“ His fangs finally protrude. Viserys drags his tongue across your scent gland one last time before he bites down hard. “Ah—!” You cry out, every nerve alight with pleasure, your own orgasm washing over you again. Viserys’ hips keep jerking and grinding his knot even deeper. “Vis— Viserys—“ Your voice breaks into wanton moans. “I know.” Viserys says muffled, spit leaking out around his lips. “Almost.” Viserys’ fangs sink deeper, his hips slow as each pulse of his cock and knot gets slower and weaker. When the instinct to fuck his cum deeper is finally sated, he slowly pulls back, kissing the new claim mark adorning your neck. “You did so well.” Viserys murmurs kissing your shoulder. You hum, it lands as satisfied and as a question. “You absolutely did.” Viserys assures you. He gently moves you both so you’re laying on your sides.

Viserys buries his nose in your hair and takes a deep breath. You nod sleepily, melting into Viserys’ embrace. The heat of him behind you. The feel of his chest rising and falling against your back. “Gods— (Y/n)—“ Viserys groans as your body clenches and clutches around him. Your face scrunches in pleasure as the aftershocks still rip through you. “There, there.” Viserys whispers, thumb gently caressing your thigh. “Breathe through it.” “Vis— it’s— it’s a lot.” You stutter. “I know.” He kisses your shoulder. “I’m here, I’ll hold you through it.” His hands travel down the contours of your body, one settling on your abdomen, the other on your thigh. One just holding, while the other rubs soothing circles into the gooseflesh of your leg. You hum contentedly, melting further against Viserys. He hisses sharply, when you whine softly, as his knot sinks in just a touch deeper. “How—“ Your throat works, “how long before it settles?” Viserys makes a sound like he’s going to answer before stopping. “Viserys?” You ask. “In truth…I do not recall.” He admits sheepishly. “It’s been…some time since I’ve last knotted…I cannot recall.” You snort, before clearing your throat. “That is…not an issue. It is our wedding night.” Viserys presses his lips to his claim mark on your neck. “We’ve the rest of our life to learn.” You smile softly, bringing his hand up to your mouth. You kiss the back of his hand. “We do.” Viserys’ chest rumbles, the soft deep crooning burrowing its way into your chest. You settle even further against him, your own chest answering in a constant gentle purr. You fall asleep first, Viserys watching, his eyes soft. The moment he feels his knot soften, he pulls out as gently as he can manage so as not to disturb your sleep. Once he’s freed, he slowly turns you around, pulling you close to his chest. His heart cracks wide open as your brow furrows before relaxing once his scent blooms. “Goodnight, my Prince.” Viserys whispers, kissing you one last time before sleep takes him.

The years that follow are surprisingly kind. Each day you felt your breath loosen quicker. Your body tensed with less intensity, until it stopped altogether. Viserys, as your husband, as your alpha, was everything you could’ve ever wanted. Everything you needed. As King? He was loath to allow insults to you. Viserys was known for his temperament, for his steady hand, his judicious nature. When matters concerned you, he reminded everyone he was still Viserys Targaryen. Though his dragon had long passed, he could still bring fire and blood when needed. Lords and ladies alike learned the rhythm. Learned that insults to you, were insults to the Crown. And insults to the Crown were answered with the full weight of the Seven Kingdoms. In the moons after your wedding, you noticed the swell in your lower abdomen. You thought perhaps you had been lacking in training. It was some time you had gone without picking up a sword. As the Prince Consort you carried a blade, but the farthest you’ve ever gone to using it is resting your hand on the pommel. Though you were once a knight of the Kingsguard, you had a sworn shield, someone who would give their life for yours if need be. Regardless, when you did enter the training yard and put your nose to the grindstone once more the swelling did not go away. As the moon continued to turn the swell grew larger. The moment you refused meals you loved, Viserys assumed. The moment your feet and ankles turned swollen, he had evidence. The moment your hand started drifting to your abdomen, Viserys knew. In true fashion he put together a celebration. He had learned— grew from his prior mistakes. He did not call it the Heir’s Tournament as he once did with his late son. “The Crown’s Joy” was the name he settled on. There was food, music, merriment, a tournament in true royal fashion to celebrate. When you did finally go into labor he was present. “If the babe is stuck, save my mate.” He commanded at once. The air about him spoke to his dedication. His posture sharp enough, as if to say “question my decision, and it will be the last time you have use of your tongue.”

The long hours in labor bore fruit when the sounds of a crying babe filled the chamber. Viserys could hardly contain his joy, but he turned pale as ash when he noticed you were sluggish. He nearly tore his own throat screaming at the maesters to save you. He only calmed once the maesters assured him, with their own lives, you were well, just tired. When you awoke, and you held your babe while he nursed, you looked to Viserys with tears in your eyes. “Aegon. Aegon Targaryen.” You whispered. “A name fit for a Prince.” Viserys laughed through his tears. “I’m glad you think so too.” You smiled. Through the years your brood grew. A daughter just two years later. Aegon toddled over, big violet eyes, thumb in his mouth. “Sweetling, look. This is your sister Helaena Targaryen.” You whispered, showing your oldest son his sister. “A beautiful name for a beautiful babe.” Viserys sighed contentedly. Another son came three years after Helaena did. “Another strong boy, Your Grace.” The maester whispered. “Gods we make such beautiful children.” You spoke softly. “We do, don’t we my love?” Viserys answered pressing his lips to your forehead. “Where’s my brother?” Aegon asked storming into the room. “Aegon.” Viserys said sternly. “Lower your voice, your father needs his rest.” Aegon lowered his head. “I’m sorry sire, I’m sorry father.” “It’s quite alright. You’re excited aren’t you? Come here little one, meet Aemond.” You called him over. “Where’s Helaena?” You sleepily asked. “She’s in the garden with ‘Nyra and Aunt Alicent.” Aegon chirped. “She’s playing with bugs.” “Is she?” Viserys put his hand on Aegon’s back. Aegon hummed, nodding. Aegon made a face. “He looks weird.” “Aegon.” You chortled. “He just came into the world, he’s adjusting.” “Helaena looked prettier.” Aegon muttered. “You’re only saying that because she’s your favorite sister.” Viserys chuckled. “S’not true!” Aegon said, face turning red. You laughed softly, hand cupping Aegon’s cheek. “No shouting sweetling, your brother and I need the rest.” Aegon shrank immediately, his bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry father.” Your face softened when you saw the tears collecting on his lash line. “Shhh, none of that. Excitement is not a crime to apologize for, you need only be a little more careful.” Aegon’s hand went to yours, his chest producing the tiniest rumble he could, as he nuzzled into your palm. Life was a dream. One you had long stopped fearing you’d wake from.

“Gods, Rhaenyra I do not know how you’ve managed.” You chuckle. “He looks just like Daemon.” “He does, doesn’t he?” Rhaenyra says softly, hiking her baby higher. “With a name just as fearsome to match.” Alicent adds with a smile. You nod excitedly. “Aerion. A fitting name truly.” “Please, you honor me and my son, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra teases. You gag audibly. “Do not start, Princess of Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra’s face scrunches up. “Titles do not suit us.” “No.” You laugh gingerly. “They don’t.” Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucerys take a tumble. “Gentle, Egg.” You project. “I know father!” He calls out, lending Lucerys a hand. “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright, let’s keep playing.” Lucerys responds, immediately chasing after Aegon and Helaena. Aemond babbles in your arms. “Are you hungry sweetling?” You ask gently, rocking him. “You don’t smell as if you’ve soiled yourself.” “Perhaps he’d like to play.” Alicent suggests. “He’s still too young, and Aegon can be a little rougher than wanted when excited.” You say with a smile and zero reproach. “I can play with Aemond, father.” Helaena says, standing up from the patch of garden she’d been diligently observing. “Are you sure?” You ask. “Mmhm.” Helaena nods. “Very well.” You gently place Aemond down by her side. “Follow me little brother.” Helaena giggles taking slow steps as Aemond toddles behind trying to keep pace. You all watch as Helaena leads her younger brother off on some adventure through the garden. “Do you have plans for the next one, brother?” Alicent asks softly. “In truth,” you hesitate, “I believe I am thoroughly spent.” Rhaenyra and Alicent both soften. “I love them.” A smile stretches across your face as you look to Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. “It is…an enjoyable arduous task raising three energetic babes…but I suppose I would not object to one more.” You look over to Alicent, placing a hand on hers. “And you, sister?” “Yes, please regale us with tales of your Dornish lover, Ser Criston.” Rhaenyra supplies. “Lower your voices.” Alicent says scandalized. She looks around, before leaning in. “We’ve…been trying.”

Her face flushes bright red. “I must say the…marital affairs have been much more enjoyable than when I was with—“ Her eyes widen before darting over to you. “Viserys…no offense is meant.” She finishes. “I take none dear sister, I imagine a proper knotting has done the body well.” You lovingly poke. “(Y—Y/n)!” She nearly squeals. “Enough about the goings-on of my chambers.” Alicent says, eyes shut, before turning to Rhaenyra. “Rhaenyra, what of you and Daemon?” Rhaenyra looks away, smile tugging at her lips. “It is too early to be sure…but I believe we’re expecting.” You and Alicent gasp. “Congratulations.” You both say fondly. “Thank you.” She sighs contentedly. “In truth, I enjoy motherhood sufficiently that I relish the opportunity to bring another babe into the world.” You and Alicent nod in understanding. “It is an honor, is it not?” You ask. “To be blessed so thoroughly by the Mother Above.” “Truly.” Rhaenyra says immediately. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” Viserys’ voice projects, his footsteps getting louder as he heads towards the garden. “My sweet daughter.” Viserys kisses the crown of her head. “Father.” Rhaenyra responds with a smile. “Alicent.” Viserys gives her a warm nod. “Viserys.” Alicent says warmly. “My sweetling.” Viserys presses his lips to your cheek. “My love.” You answer kissing him back on his lips. Viserys laughs against your lips, kissing you again, before settling next to you. “Allyieri.” Viserys says. A servant draws closer. “Yes, Your Grace?” She bows. “Take a few other servants with you, and prepare lunch. We’ll be eating out here.” Viserys requests. “At once, Your Grace.” Allyieri says, bowing once more before turning and leaving. “Have you eaten already, love?” Viserys asks turning towards you. Though time has not slowed, and Viserys is older already, there’s still something steady about him. He has his health, he stands tall in his power, but he is still recognizably yours, despite it all. “Yes, you made sure of that during breakfast.” You lovingly poke, leaning into his side. “One cannot fault an alpha for wanting his mate strong and healthy.” Viserys defends himself. “I cannot argue with that.” You chuckle. “You could argue with a wall.” Alicent mumbles under her breath. “Then I refuse to argue with that.” You correct, laughing in earnest. “That is much more believable.” Rhaenyra snorts. “You as well?” You turn to her, smile stretched wider. Rhaenyra laughs harder, despite your attempts to stay scandalized you laugh with her. As the servants return setting the table, and plates down, neither you nor Viserys could be any happier.

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