Part two of my eldest ‘daughter’ Valarr ramble!! Part one is here.
Also, I refer to Maekar as a ‘gamma’ below and figured I should get ahead of it to explain lmao. In this omegaverse au, a gamma is a dynamic that presents with both alpha and omega traits, and how prevalent both traits are differ from gamma to gamma based on their personality and the corresponding dynamic of their partner. They can be more ‘alpha’ leaning or more ‘omega’ leaning, or somewhere in the middle. In Hammeranvil's case, with Baelor being an alpha, Maekar takes more of the ‘traditional’ omega role: carrying and nursing their children, taking care of the household, being the ‘submissive’ one, etc. He also has more ‘alpha’ traits, and Baelor and his more dominant tendencies can occasionally clash, but they have posturing ‘fights’ far less than they did when they were younger and more unsettled into their dynamics. If they were to take a third partner, one who is an omega (I’m beating you over the head with my subtlety here), then Maekar would take on a more dominant role with said partner, while still being submissive to Baelor. Hope that makes sense! I take questions, feel free to ask!
His wedding is a quiet affair. For all their demands, the Dondarrion party, and his future husband in particular, seem quite ready to get the festivities over and done with so that their return to the Marches may begin as soon as possible. Valarr finds himself agreeing with the sentiment. His siblings are somehow more chaotic than normal, seemingly having collectively decided to act out since they know their elder brother—the current only omega in their household, as their Muña is a gamma and bulk of them are still unpresented—will be leaving them.Â
He understands they will miss him and don’t want him to leave, but he could do without Daeron trying to get into a fist-fight with the omega’s betrothed, and Aerion, Aemon, and Daella seemingly in agreement for once as they ruin decorations, bother arriving guests, and set animals free all over the Keep whenever left unattended. They even have Aegon and Rhae in on it as distractions, Seven help him.Â
His parents are of no help. His Muña helps him and his grandmother with the planning, but he does it with a reserved tightness around his eyes and a clench to his jaw. He fusses over Valarr’s dress for the occasion—argues and argues with the tailor until the neckline covers him to his jaw and the sleeves brush past his fingertips. Valarr does not mind—his Muña has always been particular about his second eldest’s way of dressing, making sure not a sliver of skin besides his face and his hands are visible, and even often insisting on gloves.Â
‘Alphas will want what isn’t theirs either way,’ Muña always says, violet eyes sharp, ‘but this will fucking dissuade the bulk, at least.’ Valarr wonders why that is still a worry at his own wedding—he is getting married, not even to an alpha, for Ser Manfred is a beta, and whatever flesh is hidden will not be when the time for the bedding comes—but he protests not, secretly relishing just a bit in his Muña’s coddling. It will likely be the last time, and it wasn’t very frequent in the first place, so he will enjoy it while it lasts.Â
His Kepa is there too, through multiple fittings and constant discussions on this and that. He makes little comment on flowers or drapery or music—but he does make his opinion known to the seamstress and her entourage of assistants during the fittings. He is in agreement with his mate, firmly directing the fabric not to cling too tight here or there, even occasionally standing from his chair and directing the assistant marking where the dress should fall himself. In those moments, his fingers ghost over the curve of Valarr’s chest and the dip of his waist, never quite touching but felt all the same, and the omega has to conceal a shiver that both the assistant and his Kepa would surely feel. He reminds himself this is why he must marry, that it is a good choice to tie himself to someone so far removed from his family. These feelings, these dark ugly little thoughts that he should not have about his honorable Kepa and caring Muña, will surely fade with time and distance. His brain is simply confused, tangled with how he cares for his pup siblings like his own and how much he admires his parents. He will return in a few years’ time to visit, pups of his own in his arms and his husband at his side and will be able to look his parents in the eye without the shame and pitiful desire that plagues him now. Maybe then they can become close again. He hopes so more than anything.Â
(Hammeranvil watches their son, their baby, their precious Valarr, walk down the aisle towards another man. He is escorted by the King, not his father—Daeron had insisted, that same tight little smile on his face that had been there since he had told him of their son’s betrothal. And so they must stand in the front row, watching the omega that should be theirs join hands with a mere Marcher knight. There is little they can do, especially when Valarr seems content with his match. They will not force him into anything, not now and not ever, and so they must do nothing—even when every part of them screams to object.Â
Maekar holds his alpha’s arm firmly—both to hold back that burgeoning tension he can feel rising in Baelor, and to keep himself upright after a sleepless night of tears. He had wept and sobbed into his brother-husband’s chest in the quiet of their marriage bed, unable to stop picturing Valarr when he had been so much smaller—tiny and perfect, tucked against his chest and nursing, where no one could take him away. But they were taking him away anyway, his sweet boy that never asked for anything but who would blush so sweetly when coddled and praised, who was so brave but so young. He needed his Muña, didn’t the King see that? And Maekar needed him, needed to keep him sweet and innocent and safe, tucked close to Muña where no unworthy Alpha or Beta would ever touch him.
Baelor kept firm hold of where his omega’s hand was tucked into his arm, and tried to let it ground him. He was not one for overt anger or frustration—but he could feel it boiling in his chest all the same, rising with a sort of alpha-induced angry possessiveness that he had not felt in years. There had been no need for it since Maekar had been mated to him all those years ago—his inner alpha knew that the gamma was his and only his, and the scores of children they had sired in the past ten and a half years only cemented it. But that possessiveness had a new target—or perhaps it was not a new target at all, simply one that he had thought would never not be his, and so possessiveness had been unnecessary. But now Valarr would be someone else’s—a beta’s, even, which was an insult that he could barely stomach.Â
His perfect princess, his tiny mirror image with all the Valyrian loveliness in the world in the ivory pallor of his skin and the silver streak in his waves of hair, his composed and sweet-natured omega son—married off to a drunken, whoremongering beta that Daeron the ‘Good’ had chosen for him. And his quiet, dutiful boy had not protested. He had smiled through quick wedding preparations and every awkward courting walk through the garden; had laughed politely at every off-color joke his betrothed slurred his way; had neatly consoled and cajoled his little siblings into better behavior without a hair out of place in the midst of it all. He had all the composure of a Queen—and that thought needled and bit at Baelor all throughout the preparations.Â
He had thought that, surely, with how many children his union had produced, he should be able to keep at least one child by him and his brother-wife’s side. Why not Valarr, who doted on his siblings and was more of a second mother than an older brother, even to his own twin, whom he had always taken responsibility for despite being the younger? Why not Valarr, who had the gentle but firm patience to navigate the day-to-day Court that Maekar had no stomach for? Why not Valarr, whom Maekar was furiously possessive of, both a brooding mother protecting their young and a gamma protecting a prospective omega mate? Why not Valarr, he had asked of his father, who had no answer but a look of more disgust than he had ever seen on the aging king’s face, even in the presence of the late King Aegon IV. Why not Valarr, he had asked, and his father had taken steps to remove his baby from his Kepa and Muña’s loving, possessive hands, the only hands that he should ever need. He had trusted his father, and his father had betrayed him, him and Maekar both, and he knows, as he watches their Valarr give his vows to another man, they would never forget it.)
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instead of dying in the Spring Sickness, Valarr comes to the verge of death, survives, and also in the midst of all of it, presents—as an omega.
so, in truth, this changes very little about canon after that. An omega can’t be king, and so the crown passes to Aerys with Daeron and Matarys dead. Now, instead of the future king, all Valarr is now is a political headache. He can’t stay married to Kiera, a female beta, and so the marriage is adjourned and she is married off to Daeron to keep the alliance with Tyrosh. He can’t be re-married off to just anyone, because he’s the last of Baelor’s line, and who’s to say his future husband won’t try to pull a Blackfyre and put his future children on the throne?
Aerys goes through his options and decides, with the advice of Bloodraven, to get rid of both of his current problems with one stone: marrying off Valarr to Maekar, and sending the both of them off to Summerhall for the foreseeable future, where he won’t have to deal with either of them.
Maekar and Valarr are both slightly shell-shocked by this turn of events, and don’t have much left in them to protest.
Maekar is still roiling over Baelor’s death, and now his father and young nephew are dead as well. One of his sons is drowning himself in drink, another is in Lys, another at the Citadel, and the last off in some corner of the world where he cannot reach him. His daughters are still here, but he struggles with them, foreign to him as they are with no mother to help raise them. And now he is to marry Valarr—a walking, talking remanent of his brother, down to the eyes.
Valarr is, somehow, even worse off in his misery. His father—his dear, loved, perfect father, to whom he could not measure up to when he was alive, and now even less so now that he is dead—is gone, his grandfather is gone, and Matarys, his sweet little brother that he raised like his own after his mother passed in the birthing bed, is gone. He is no longer the heir, and he will never be King—the position he has worked himself to the bone to one day come even close to deserving. He is to marry his uncle—his surly, closed-off uncle, who paid him no mind even when Baelor was alive, who landed the blow that took his father away from him.
On his good days, Valarr wishes the Spring Sickness would have taken him as it had taken his grandfather and brother. On his bad days, he wishes he wore his own armor into battle and died in his father’s place. On both, he curses the new gods, the old gods, and his uncle-husband most of all.
