#dunkerion

i’ve written a lot of angst in my time, but there is something fundamentally unhinged about writing duncan and aerion. like, the vulnerability of this pairing??? unreal. this dynamic is something else entirely. at their core, as the canon characters, they are both defined by a staggering, reckless stubbornness

think about it:

Duncan: refusing to compromise, desperately trying to be an actual honorable knight in a corrupt system that only cares about titles

Aerion: refusing to compromise, white-knuckling his humanity away, trying so hard to convince everyone (and himself) that he’s a living, breathing dragon in a world where dragons already became a myth

For general audiences

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There it is, like clockwork,

The same type of gift, but always with a difference.

Dunk would return home, to find a gift basket on his doorstep. A huge cornflake coloured wicca basket wrapped in starry cellophane. It arrived once a week. With different contents each week. It could be fleeces and gloves one week, a luxury tablet with three different chargers the next. Each hamper contained a valentine card, always with an animal of some sort, as Dunk loved animals.

This time, he carried the large hamper in with a blustering amount of pride before bellowing out his boyfriend's name.

"Aer!"

"What?" The Prince comes down anyway, gripping his Huawei X7 phone with his right hand. "Babe I'm busy!"

"Never too busy for a weekly hamper it seems!" Dunk excitedly picks him up, throwing him up lightly and catching the shorter man under the armpits.

"Ah, the hamper" Aerion glares at it sharply.

"You're so good to me!" Dunk plants a sloppy kiss on the prince's cheek to let him know that he'll be thanked very robustly later. He excitedly unpacks the hamper. His boyfriend makes up a flimsy excuse to leave for a while.

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He obnoxiously knocks on the door, only to get greeted by staff.

"Fuck off! I know you're in there! Coward!" Aerion spits, pushing the staff aside.

Sure enough his cousin comes to the door.  Dressed in casual clothing in Targ colours. Heterochromia hidden in plain sight.

"Good Evening Cousin" Valarr greets him warily. "I'd invite you in, but Kiera and I are planning our duties for the first quarter" 

"Enough" Aerion said simply.

"Of what?" His cousin quirks up an eyebrow.

"The bloody hampers. Enough. They are bothersome and trite!" Aerion snorts. 

"Duncan loves them, so I hear" Valarr shrugs.

"What is this all for? Hundreds of pounds worth of gifts for a quick shag in a motel somewhere?" The Prince rambles. "Dunk doesn't want you"

"You know I'm not a one night stand person" Valarr tugs at his own crew neck. "Gifting one presents is never a bad thing"

"Cousin do not take me for a fool!" Aerion warns.

"I don't" Valarr rocks on his heels. "You're not a fool. Just a shitty boyfriend. You don't deserve Duncan. You never did"

"Have you no shame? Trying to court my boyfriend while engaged!" Aerion yells.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort" Valarr scratches the back of his neck. "Although Duncan may be happier, with Kiera and I" 

He smiles and Aerion bangs the door with the palm of his hand.

"I am warning you, cousin of delusion. Stay away from Dunk" Aerion threatens.

"Or what?" Valarr prods him away from the door with his middle and index finger.

"Or I will show you why our symbol is the dragon! I dare you to screw with me, Valarr!" Aerion roars.

Dark clothing, black on black embroidery, the chapel's half-darkness deepening his eyes to a shade Aerion has never seen before. That flush sits warm across his nose, and his hand is still on Aerion's face, as if he's forgotten to move it.

“We may begin," says the priest, and then adds, after a few pointed seconds: "If the Alpha would be so kind as to step slightly to the side. Away from the groom. Thank you. Now. Let us proceed.”

"He was going to." It comes out broken, a whisper with no strength behind it, because Aerion cannot lie about this and cannot survive much more of what he's hearing. "He told me himself. More than a month ago. He said that you… that you were…"

One of a kind. The words won't come. His lips are trembling too badly to shape them.

"…He would never have let me truly have you." Duncan's head shakes slowly, heavily. "Just being allowed near you—that would have been enough. The bare chance of seeing you would have kept me loyal until I stopped breathing. But your father was killed. And I took every opportunity. Every one." Nearly a snarl. "I knew it was now or never. And that only the strongest Alpha alive could deserve a place beside you, so I had to become that, overnight. Every dream collapsed into one. I wanted everything for myself. And yes—yes, you're the heir of the Targaryens, the most valuable mafia prince—so I wanted everything, because everything is you to me—"