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The skies darken, and two large shadows start to descend. Cregan hears some men muttering furtive prayers under their breaths. It is said that coming face to face with a dragon makes one reevaluate everything they know about mortality; Cregan has never quite believed it until that moment. 

Both creatures are magnificent; one the green of the earth, the other the blue of the sea. The ground shakes like it’s trying to rip itself open as the dragons land. Cregan cannot clearly see the princes from their perches upon their dragons, but one has the famed blond hair of the Targaryens and the other has black hair. King Viserys hadn’t deigned to inform Cregan who he had chosen as his envoys to the North, but it’s certain now that one of them is Crown Princess Rhaenyra’s son. 

Cregan had initially rejected the Tagaryen king’s request to send his kin North for a friendly visit. It was a foolish endeavour. Winter had been coming, and Cregan could hardly be expected to spend his time pandering to the whims of spoiled southern princes or princesses when his efforts were needed for harvest. The winter climate is also far too harsh for any person raised in the south, regardless of their designation.

Viserys had seen sense in that but insisted on a visit when the winter was winter.

They had gone back and forth for several moons with neither willing to budge an inch on the matter until Viserys had replied with a strongly worded letter outlining the unfortunate course of actions he might be forced to take if Cregan didn’t give his acquiescence. Cregan had kindly responded with a reminder that the North doesn’t answer to the Targaryens - they hadn’t since Torrhen Stark had refused to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror, and they never will. In the end, Cregan had permitted the visit on the condition that Viserys reduce the levy imposed upon the North. 

To his surprise, Viserys had agreed.

Perhaps a bit too easily. 

As it stands, Cregan doesn’t want to do this. He wants to do it even less when Rhaenyra’s son slides down his dragon and says, rather loudly, “Ew.” 

Spring is upon them, and the weather has warmed enough to thaw some of the snow. The inevitable consequence of this are the black slushes littering the ground, and the prince had very unfortunately stepped into a particularly disgusting puddle. Still, Cregan would think that a prince would have better manners than to express his disdain so vocally. 

The prince looks up, and Cregan’s irritation evaporates instantly. By the gods, the prince is the most beautiful person Cregan has ever laid eyes on. He almost thinks he isn’t real. 

The prince’s dragon roars, the warm air rushing over Cregan’s face and snapping him back to attention. He looks away from the princes sharply, and his heart swells with pride that not a single one of his men has taken a step back from the ferocious creature. 

The prince turns to his dragon and begins cooing to it in soft whispers. Cregan watches in amazement as the dragon quietens and tilts its head towards the prince. It is not unlike a dog seeking comfort from its owner. 

The other Targeryen prince makes a joke and laughs loudly. He reaches out to touch the dragon only to have to snatch his hand away before the dragon bites it off. 

“Mind your dragon, Nephew,” he says testily.

“Mind your hand, Uncle,” Rhaenyra’s son replies airly, his dulcet voice sending a shiver down Cregan’s spine. He runs a hand along the side of his dragon’s snout. “You know Vermax’s temper.” 

The uncle rolls his eyes. He turns his attention to the Northerners and smiles in greeting. As he strides towards them, a mix of cinnamon and musk wafts through the air. It is a mild smell, nothing threatening, which explains why Viserys chose him as one of his envoys. 

Having soothed his beast, Rhaenyra’s son follows his uncle. There is a distinct lack of any scent from him, and that’s when Cregan notices the scent patches on his neck and wrists. He can’t stop the rush of intrigue. An omega then. And there has only ever been one omega from House Targaryen. 

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. 

Some say it’s a curse because of his bastard heritage. Cregan can certainly see the basis for that rumour, given that the prince’s appearance favours the First Men rather than the Valyrians. Though that rumour was quickly disproven when Rhaenyra’s next two sons presented as alphas despite sharing the same features as their oldest brother. 

The more popular theory is that it’s a blessing, a rare gift bestowed upon the dragon family by the gods. Robard Cerwyn, his closest friend and most loyal advisor, had once speculated the saying was spread by Rhaenyra herself, and Cregan certainly believes that the crown princess had reasons to do so. 

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Cregan says, doing his best to keep his tone pleasant, as he addresses the alpha. 

The blond man’s eyes widen, and he looks at Jacaerys. 

Cregan recognises his blunder immediately. 

Prince Jacaerys might be an omega, but he is the crown princess’ son and next in line to the Iron Throne after her. Presumably. Viserys hasn’t made any official declaration as far as Cregan knows, but there has never been an omega on the Iron Throne. Like most Northerners (and probably Southerners), Cregan had assumed that the throne would pass to Jacaerys’ younger brother, Prince Lucerys Velaryon, instead. 

But then again there has never been a woman on the throne, and the current Princess of Dragonstone is Rhaenyra.

Jacaerys inspects Cregan like he’s one and the same as the mud beneath his shoes.

It makes Cregan’s hackles rise. 

Jacaerys smiles coldly. “I presume you must be Lord-”

A muscle ticks in Cregan’s jaw, but it’s Robard who interrupts. 

“King,” he says, letting his annoyance seep into his words. “You are in the presence of King Cregan Stark, the King in the North.”

“My apologies - it was a slip of the tongue,” Jacaerys says amicably. He must think Cregan a fool if he imagines for even a second that Cregan doesn’t understand it for the slight it was meant to be. “I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and accompanying me is my uncle, Prince Daeron Targaryen. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.” 

Jacaerys drawls Cregan’s title with derision and aggression. 

“I share the same sentiment, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says, letting his tone convey that he does indeed share the same reluctance as Jacaerys about the prince’s presence in the North. 

“It is awfully nice of you to personally welcome us,” Jacaerys continues. He glances at the lords standing behind Cregan and wrinkles his nose. “I’ve long heard wondrous tales of Northern welcomes, and I must say it really does live up to its reputation.”

Cregan’s patience is running low. He does not have the luxury to stand around all day exchanging thinly veiled barbs with the omega. What a waste of his time. 

“Aye, we pride ourselves on our hospitality,” Cregan agrees, because it’s true. Northern hospitality is nothing so frivolous and superficial as it is in the South. It does not mean extravagant welcomes or elaborate dressings; it means taking care of each other; it’s only extended to those who have earned it. 

“What hospitality?” Jacaerys asks.

Jacaerys might be the most beautiful person to have ever graced the Realm, but Cregan already hates his guts.

“Medrick will show you to your rooms,” Cregan says, deciding that he has had enough of this. 

He had meant to personally show the princes around Winterfell as a gesture of goodwill, but he cannot stand another second in Jacaerys’ presence. Medrick can give the princes the tour of the place after they have settled in their accommodations.

Cregan turns his back to the princes without waiting for a response and walks back to the castle. He hears a yelp behind him and an affronted “Jace” but doesn’t turn back. It’s only after he enters the castle and hears hurried footsteps echoing loudly on the stone steps does he realise that Jacaerys has followed him.  

“We do need a place to keep our dragons,” Jacaerys says grumpily. “In case you haven’t noticed, it is cold, and Vermax-”

By the Gods. 

Cregan stops walking, and Jacaerys crashes into his back. 

“Ow,” Jacaerys complains miserably. Cregan turns around and sees Jacaerys holding his nose. Despite that, he still somehow manages to look haughty. “Daemond is right - Northern men are all barbarians.” 

Cregan feels his blood boil. He takes a step towards Jacaerys who, to his credit, doesn’t shrink away even though Cregan towers over him and is easily twice as broad as him. Instead, he glares up at Cregan contemptuously.

“You are in my house, in my lands, receiving the hospitality of me and my people. You will hold your tongue.” 

“Or what, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks, tilting his head. Cregan hates the way his eyes automatically follow the curve of his pale, smooth neck, especially when Jacaerys’ eyes flash with knowing. He hates it even more when Jacaerys licks his plush lips slowly, deliberately. “Or what?” Jacaerys asks again, daring to place a hand on Cregan’s chest. Cregan makes to remove the offending appendage from his body when the prince looks up at him through long lashes and says in a cloyingly sweet voice, “Alpha?” 

Cregan’s brain stops functioning for several seconds, and he’s sure he has stopped breathing as well. 

A nasty laugh snaps him out of it. Jacaerys takes his hand away, and there’s nothing but condescension and hatred burning in his eyes. It’s good to know the feeling is mutual.

Jacaerys steps away just as Daeron catches up to them. 

“Nice of you to finally join us, Uncle.” 

“Vermax bit my cloak and refused to let me leave! I told you to wait for me!” 

Jacaerys’ face is the picture of innocence. “I didn’t hear you, Daeron.” 

“Like hell you didn’t,” Daeron grouses. “They heard me all the way in King’s Landing.” 

Daeron glances around the passage, his gaze sharp as he processes the situation - that Cregan and Jacaerys had been alone here before he had joined them. Daeron casts a suspicious look at Cregan, and Cregan bristles at the unspoken accusation. 

Daeron says something to Jacaerys in High Valyrian. Jacaerys’ reply is curt.

Jacaerys turns to Cregan before Daeron can respond and gives him a smile even colder than the one he had bestowed upon him earlier. “Sorry for the interruption, Your Grace. I believe you were just about to show us to our rooms?” 

Cregan spends the rest of the afternoon holed up in his solar. The final reports of the winter have come in. They are concerning to say the least, and it’s only going to become worse from here on out. It is simply unsustainable to go on like this. 

The numbers bring him nothing but grief. He can feel the beginnings of migraine prickling behind his eyes. And there is still the welcome feast awaiting him in the evening. He doubts he’ll be able to handle the princes with a headache threatening to split his skull in half. 

He decides to take a walk to clear his head. The crisp, fresh air would do him good, and the godswoods always bring him a sense of peace.

As he passes the courtyard, he sees that the dragons have disappeared and makes a note to ask Robard where he had the beasts settled. A distant screech sounds overheard. Two shadows loom in the skies above, and Cregan grimaces at the sight of them. Predators hunting their prey on the ground. The food supply is steady now that winter has passed, but it’s always wise to maintain a surplus. Feeding the dragons adds pressure to the delicate balance, and Cregan is quite unwilling to place the beasts’ needs ahead of his people’s. 

That’s another matter he'll have to deal with.

Thoughts of dragons occupy his head as he makes his way to the godswoods. While Aegon the Conqueror hadn’t managed to defeat the North, Torrhen Stark hadn’t won either. The battle was bloody and long, and the Targaryen kept gaining ground while the North reluctantly ceded territory. It wasn’t until the Northern Army retreated beyond the Wall that the war came to a stalemate. 

The dragons, fearsome and powerful as they were, wouldn’t fly past the Wall. By that point, both sides had lost numerous men. The Northerners’ tenacity was only matched by the North’s unforgiving climate, unyielding and fierce as they were in their resolve. Aegon understood that true conquest required more than just a show of brute strength and imposing his will through bloodshed. What is there to rule over when everyone is dead? 

Aegon proposed to forge an alliance instead.

After two days, Torrhen agreed. 

Thus “The Pact of the Wall” was born, named as such for it was there that the two kings signed the accord. 

Torrhen would remain the King in the North, passing down the Ice Throne to his descendants; in exchange, the North would become a vassal of the Six Kingdoms and pay a yearly tribute to the Iron Throne.

Given the great cost of the war in terms of both lives and resources, Aegon granted the North a grace period of three years to rebuild themselves before the tributes were to commence. Yet his descendants weren’t as gracious as him; each king choosing to increase the tribute amount upon ascending the Iron Throne. Refusals were met with threats of dragon fire, and so the North kept acceding to the unreasonable demands.  

The situation in the North only worsened with the two plagues that ravaged the lands. One happened a decade after the war; the other during Cregan’s father’s reign. Cregan had been but a child when the disease descended upon them, and he had watched it claim the lives of those dear to him. His younger brother was the first to leave them; his grandmother and mother followed shortly after. 

His mother had been an omega, and his parents had been mated. After his mother’s untimely passing, there had been fears that his father would soon follow her into death, leaving the North in chaos. Fortunately, Rickon Stark survived the plague. Unfortunately, he would only live for another two years. Maester Kennet declared he died of natural causes, but after his mother’s death, Cregan had always known that his father didn’t have long. 

The throne passed to Cregan when he was only thirteen. 

Bennard Stark, his uncle, ruled as regent until he had come of age at sixteen. He and his uncle might butt heads frequently, but his uncle had always been loyal, if a little impertinent.

One thing that has been clear to Cregan, even before he had taken up the duty of the crown, is that the North has never truly recovered from the Targaryens’ invasion. A staggering number of women and omegas had perished from starvation or exposure during the war. From what Cregan could glean from the records, essential supplies were being diverted to support the war efforts, leaving the vulnerable populations unable to fend for themselves against the harsh climate. The plagues’ biggest victims were again women and omegas. 

Despites the years that have passed since, the numbers have never fully rebounded. 

And now the Targaryens have come knocking on their doors again. 

Viserys may be known as Viserys the Peaceful, and he might be the kindest king to have ever sat on the Iron Throne, but he is still a Targaryen. 

Cregan would be a fool to trust the words of a Targaryen.

The fresh, woody scent of the weirwood trees pushes those trying thoughts away, and Cregan feels the tension leaving his body as he enters the godswood. 

It is quiet here, as it always is. Cregan rarely has true moments of solitude to himself, and he treasures the time, no matter how fleeting they might be.

The giant weirwood tree soon comes into view. The gentle steam rising from the water mingles with the earthy scent of the forest, but Cregan detects a hint of sweetness lurking beneath it all. He can’t quite place the notes, but it fills him with a deep sense of comfort. He could breathe in this smell all day. He wonders if it’s a new species of flowers that have sprouted and makes plans to arrange for them to be transported to his bedchamber. A flower this sweet could only be as beautiful to gaze upon, and he quite likes the idea of having a reminder to bring him back to this peaceful moment. 

He shrugs off his coat, wishing to soak in the hot waters before the feast tonight. 

It is only when he gets closer to the hot spring that he realises that he isn’t quite as alone as he thought. There’s already someone in the bath. He would be annoyed if he wasn’t feeling so content. As he draws even nearer, he discovers that the sweet scent he had detected is emanating from the pool itself. In fact, it appears to be coming from the person occupying the bath.

The figure is partially submerged, the steam curling around them, creating an ethereal aura that both intrigues and captivates him. He takes a moment to appreciate the unexpected encounter, a mix of surprise and curiosity bubbling within him. Who is this person? Surely Cregan would have noticed them before today if they lived in Winterfell. 

He steps on a branch, cursing himself when the figure starts. 

“Who’s there?” a voice calls out hesitantly. It is familiar, yet Cregan cannot place who it belongs to.  

“I beg your pardon; I was not aware that the bath was already occupied,” Cregan replies. 

The figure moves through the water, and Cregan catches a glimpse of a slim waist before quickly averting his eyes. A fleeting thought crosses his mind - that waist would fit perfectly in his hands - but he immediately feels a rush of shame for it. The unexpected desire surprises him, mingling with his curiosity. He chastises himself for such thoughts, reminding himself of the boundaries that should not be crossed in this sacred space.

As he stands there, heart racing, he tries to focus on the calming surroundings, the sounds of nature, and the gentle steam rising from the spring, hoping to dispel the momentary distraction and regain his composure.

“Hello, Your Grace.” 

It is the disdainful way that his title is uttered that alerts Cregan to who it is. 

He turns his head back to the pool, a blush creeping onto his cheeks when he realises that Jacaerys has opted to remain standing. The steam has parted, giving Cregan a clear view of the prince’s pink nipples and toned stomach. Cregan tears his eyes away from Jacaerys’ body and focuses on his face.

The expression on Jacaerys’ face is one of displeasure, and while a part of Cregan knows that he has crossed a line, the other part of him is indignant. What is the omega doing, bathing out here in public where anyone might chance upon him? What would he have done if it had been any alpha other than Cregan? 

Jacaerys’ damp curls glistens in the sunlight, framing his face like a halo. He’s a sight to behold, and the thought that another alpha might have seen him like this fills Cregan with irrational rage. 

“Do you have no sense of danger or shame?” Cregan snaps, his voice low. “Taking a bath out here in the open where anyone could see you?” 

Jacaerys’ eyes flicker over to where Cregan’s discarded coat lay on the ground. 

“Were you not planning on doing the same thing yourself?”

“You are an omega,” Cregan says, watching as Jacaerys’ expression tightens at the words. 

The prince raises his chin defiantly. “And what of it? Do omegas not have the freedom to partake in the same pleasures as alphas do?”

“You are in a far more vulnerable position exposing yourself like this than I ever could be! It isn’t about freedom, Prince Jacaerys; it is about being sensible. Or are you too spoiled to know the difference?” 

The two of them stand there glaring at each other, neither willing to back down, until a breeze blows past, and Jacaerys shivers. Cregan feels a flare of protectiveness; his instincts urge him to provide Jacaerys with the warmth he needs. He thinks Jacaerys might just dress and leave; instead, the prince slides back down into the waters. 

“Stand guard then, if you’re so concerned about my honour and chastity,” Jacaerys says, before adding mockingly, “Your Grace.” 

Cregan feels a rush of defiance surge within him, and before he fully processes what he's doing, he starts shucking off his clothes, the fabric hitting the ground with a soft thud.

“What are you doing?” Jacaerys asks, a note of genuine anxiety creeping into his voice. 

“Joining you,” Cregan replies. “You are right, Prince Jacaerys - alphas and omegas should have the freedom to do whatever they want. Why should I, an alpha, refrain from indulging in a bath just because you, an omega, are here?” 

Jacaerys’ lips purse, and Cregan is vindictive enough to know that it is twice now that he has managed to silence the prince. He has a feeling that it doesn’t happen often, and he savours the sweet taste of victory. It’s almost as sweet as Jacaerys’ scent. 

Jacaerys’ scent which is quickly souring. 

The victory now tastes like ashes on Cregan’s tongue. 

But he’s already stripped himself bare, and his pride isn’t willing to let him correct his course of actions, certainly not now when he’s made such a big deal of the whole thing. 

He’s here to prove a point; if Jacaerys is uncomfortable, he should leave and refrain from putting himself in such situations in the future. 

“Do as you will,” Jacaerys says. 

His eyes flicker downwards, widening briefly, before he turns away. His scent sweetens again, and Cregan is seasoned enough to know what that means. But he’s also mature enough to not make any comments about it. 

Jacaerys’ cheeks are dusted pink, which only adds to the alluring picture he makes, but he annoyingly doesn’t move away to make space for Cregan to step into the pool. They end up standing right in front of each other, a scant inch between them. Jacaerys really is tiny. That protective instinct once again surges up in Cregan. For a moment, he considers staying put, challenging the proximity, but he fears he might do something he regrets if he continues staring at that beautiful face and tempting lips. 

He walks past Jacaerys, the water sloshing around him as he makes his way to the opposite end of the pool, settling as far away from Jacaerys as possible. He’s trying to make a point; he doesn’t actually want the prince to feel uncomfortable or threatened. 

He closes his eyes and breathes in the calming scent of the weirwoods and hot springs. He can still smell Jacaerys, but he ignores it as best as he can. The leaves rustle overhead, whispering ancient secrets, and the heat of the waters soothes his muscles. 

The water ripples, and Cregan opens his eyes to find Jacaerys much closer to him than before. 

Seven hells.

“Why did you come here?” Cregan asks. 

Jacaerys folds his arms across his chest, and Cregan can see the conflict warring on his face. Cregan doesn’t really expect an answer from him, not really. So he’s surprised when Jacaerys chooses to grace him with one. 

“It’s cold, colder than Daeron or I are used to. Lord Medrick and the other lords took Daeron to the hot springs indoors, but I obviously cannot join them.” Jacaerys’ eyes flicker to Cregan almost petulantly. “It is not that I am spoiled or unaware of the dangers you speak of, Your Grace; it is that I simply wish to seek the same enjoyment that my alpha uncle can so easily access but which is denied to me because of the constraints of my designation. When Lord Robard mentioned a secluded spring in the godswoods, I thought that no one would find me here.” 

Now Cregan feels like an ass. 

His question had also been about Jacaerys’ presence in the North, not the hot spring, but he can see how the prince misinterpreted it. 

Jacaerys pouts and reluctantly admits, “Perhaps that was naive of me.” 

“If you wish to use the hot springs, you need only ask,” Cregan says. “I’ll make sure they are empty for you.” 

Jacaerys looks surprised. “I- Well-” Jacaerys clears his throat. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He seems almost sincere.

Three times now , Cregan thinks smugly.

What a waste. 

Cregan’s stomach churns uncomfortably as he watches the servants carry out tray after tray of different kinds of meats into the dining hall. He had approved of this under Bennard’s advice - it wouldn’t do to make the welcome feast a measly affair lest tongues start wagging in the South. 

Still, this is enough food to feed several villages for several weeks. 

This could have been enough to save some lives that were lost in the winter.

Though Cregan knows better than anyone that that is a moot point. They were only able to hunt these animals down after the winter had passed. 

The doors to the hall open, and a servant announces the arrival of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Prince Daeron Targaryen. 

It has only been an hour since Cregan parted ways from Jacaerys in the godswoods; yet, he finds himself equally as enthralled by his beauty as if it were the first time he had seen him. Their eyes meet, and for a fleeting moment, the world around them fades. Cregan feels a rush of emotions, finding himself wishing that they were back in the godswoods, just the two of them. It’s a ridiculous notion, and Cregan reminds himself just how much of a pest the prince is. He’s under no illusion that their encounter in the godswoods has done anything to redeem his character in Jacaerys’ eyes, and the same can be said for him about Jacaerys. 

A servant leads them to Cregan’s table at the front of the hall and gestures politely to the seat to the right of Cregan, reserved for honoured guests.

“Please take your seat, Prince Daeron.” 

Jacaerys’ lips press together in a firm line. 

“That’s Prince Jacaerys’ seat,” Cregan says.

The confusion continues to linger on the servant’s face. Daeron sighs and mutters underneath his breath. 

“Prince Jacaerys is further up in the line of succession than Prince Daeron,” Robard explains to the poor servant whose face has turned a deathly shade of white. 

“I’m- I’m s- sorry, Prince Jacaerys!” the servant says. 

“It’s quite alright,” Jacaerys says primly, taking the seat next to Cregan. In a much quieter voice only meant for Cregan, he continues, “I understand that the North is quite unaccustomed to the delicacies of courtly behaviour.” Then he has the nerve to cast a sideways glance at Cregan. “But of course the shortcomings of these men are but a reflection of the insufficiencies of their lord.”

If Cregan could strangle Jacaerys without repercussions, he would. Gladly and enthusiastically. 

Instead of responding to the prince directly, Cregan stands and raises his cup, the rest of his bannermen following suit. 

“A toast to our esteemed guests from the South,” Cregan says. He smiles at Jacaerys, delighting in the way the prince’s eyes narrow. “It has been over a century since House Targaryen has stepped foot in the North, and House Stark is beyond honoured to host Prince Jacaerys and Prince Aegon in Winterfell. May your stay here be comfortable and fruitful.” 

With that, Cregan drinks. 

Mostly because he needs it to get through the night. 

Especially if he’s expected to converse with Jacaerys. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jacaerys replies and takes a sip from his own cup.  

Cregan resumes his seat and turns to Jacaerys who immediately returns the favour. There’s a challenging glint in his eyes that Cregan both dislikes and relishes.  

“And what exactly brings you to our humble abode, Prince Jacaerys?” Cregan asks, phrasing his question to be more specific this time. “Your grandsire was remiss in sharing that information.” 

Cregan had questioned Viserys’ intentions several times in his letters but had never once received a straight reply. 

“King Viserys is never remiss in anything,” Jacaerys says. 

“Do enlighten me about the purpose of your visit then.”

“As I’m sure King Viserys has mentioned in his letters, we’re merely here for a friendly visit, Your Grace; as you’ve said in your speech, it has been over a century since someone from my House has visited the North, and we both know that those were less than ideal circumstances.” 

Funny way to describe a way, but Cregan lets it slide. 

Jacaerys tilts his head. “Unless, of course, you find our presence to be an imposition?” 

“Of course not; you’re free to stay as long as you wish.”

Cregan only spoke those words on the assumption that Jacaerys would love nothing more than to fly back to King’s Landing as soon as possible, if only to part from Cregan’s company. But the way Jacaerys smiles widely makes Cregan think that he had perhaps been too hasty in assuming the prince’s intentions. 

“Such generosity, Your Grace - I suppose I’ll have no choice but to take you up on it.” 

It is too late to rescind the offer. Cregan can only smile, flashing Jacaerys his teeth and hoping the prince knows that he’s wishing him nothing but ill. Jacaerys looks smug, and Cregan is almost certain the prince would have tried to pull something inappropriate again had they been alone. 

He is thankful that they are not. 

The feast goes by with little fanfare, much to Cregan’s delighted surprise. Jacaerys has questions about the North, and it’s clear that he’s done his homework. Cregan answers them with a healthy dose of suspicion, though it slowly fades when he realises that the prince is sincere in further educating himself about the North’s affairs. The conversation is pleasant, but Cregan knows better than to let his guard down. 

Viserys has no lack of sons and grandsons; he could have sent any alpha offspring of his choosing - he could have even sent his brother, Daemon, if he so wished it - and yet he chose to send his sole omega grandchild to the North.  

There’s more to this visit than a simple courtesy call.

And the Targaryens have another thing going for them if they think they can pull the wool over Cregan’s eyes.

Before Cregan retires for the evening, he drops by the nursery to spend some time with Rickon. The same melancholy fills him when he steps into the room, every detail reminding him of Arra and her excited laughter as she decorated it. But the pain isn’t as acute anymore, the stabbing behind his ribs now dulled to a mild ache. What affects him more is the guilt that a year after her death, he might finally be moving on. 

Cregan approaches the crib. Rickon is fast asleep, but even the sight of his peaceful face is enough to send a rush of affection rushing through Cregan. He hasn’t seen his son the entire day, and it’s only now that he realises how much he misses him. He doesn’t touch him for fear of disturbing his rest, and he’s happy to simply gaze upon his son. 

“What do you think, little one?” Cregan murmurs. “Do you think it’s time for me to find happiness again?”

Rickon babbles in his sleep. Cregan thinks that’s permission enough. 

A strong, sweet scent assaults Cregan the moment he steps into his solar. Saliva floods his mouth, and he finds himself snarling, his senses overwhelmed by a primal need to locate the source of the intoxicating aroma. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves through the room, drawn towards the smell like a moth to a flame. He follows its trail with a singular focus, the world around him fading to a blur as he approaches the open doors of his bedchambers.

Cregan pauses for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as the soft, dulcet sounds of pleasure reach his ears, setting his entire body aflame. He can’t wait any longer. He tears into the room, and what he finds within is both unexpected and thrilling. 

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon is sprawled across his bed, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth slightly parted. His legs are lewdly spread, and Cregan stares hungrily at the wide expanse of skin on display. His eyes rove up a pale thigh, and that’s when he realises that Jacaerys has a hand shoved in between his legs. The robes hide his hand from view, and Cregan makes a strangled sound in his throat when the robes shift and he realises what the prince is doing.

It is all too easy to imagine those lithe fingers buried in a wet, clenching hole. 

Heat pools in the pits of his stomach, and a growl tears itself from Cregan’s throat as another wave of that sweet smell hits Cregan. 

Jacaerys’ eyes snap open, and he scrambles into a sitting position against the headboard when he sees Cregan. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands loudly. 

Blood is pounding in Cregan’s head, and he barely registers the question. Every instinct in his body is urging him to jump into the bed and take what is rightfully his. A lesser alpha would have, but Cregan is a Stark; he is the King in the North. With the last vestiges of his sanity, he reins in his baser instincts and forces himself to speak.

“This is my bedchamber. What are you doing here?” he says, impressed with himself for not even stuttering. 

Jacaerys glances around the room in confusion. Shame and horror fill his face as he makes the conclusion that he is the one intruding. He slides off the bed and onto the ground slowly. His legs wobble unsteadily, and Cregan has to smother the alpha inside him screaming at him to go to the omega and hold him. 

Down against the bed. 

And ravish him. 

He wants Jacaerys on his knees and- 

Jacaerys takes a deep breath and says, “I apologise, Your Grace. I had mistaken this for mine own bedchamber.” 

“It’s fine,” Cregan says gruffly.

Jacaerys shifts uncomfortably. “Could you pass me my breeches, please?”

Cregan follows Jacaerys’ gaze to where a pair of pants lies haphazardly on the floor next to Cregan. His brain conjures images of Jacaerys shoving his pants off urgently. Of Jacaerys tumbling onto his bed with uncoordinated steps. Of Jacaerys- 

Cregan stops the line of thought. 

He grabs the offending piece of article off the ground and almost drops it when he realises it’s wet with omega slick. He is so hard it hurts, and he barely manages to cross the room to get to Jacaerys. 

The omega’s scent sharpens with the proximity, and Cregan very nearly kneels over when he breathes in and all he can smell is the heady mix of peony, peaches, and vanilla. It’s a concoction of sin, one designed solely for Cregan. If he could only have a taste-

Cregan holds out the pants, and Jacaerys takes it carefully. 

“Uh, Your Grace? Please let go.”

Cregan didn’t even notice how hard he is bunching the fabric between his fingers. He has to pry his fingers open one by one to let it go. 

He swears he hears a low chuckle from Jacaerys, but, frankly, it’s hard to hear anything above the pounding of his heart. 

Cregan turns and faces the opposite direction to give Jacaerys some privacy while he redresses. Because he is a Stark. And the King in the North. And he is not a lesser alpha. He trains his eyes on a spot on the wall and tells himself to focus, focus, focus. 

He almost jumps out of his skin when a hand taps his shoulder. 

There’s an amused smile playing on Jacaerys’ lips when Cregan turns around, but Cregan refuses to be embarrassed. It is Jacaerys who had so rudely trespassed into his private chambers. It is Jacaerys who should be ashamed for engaging in such depravity. Southern omegas are truly as promiscuous and debauched as the books proclaim them to be. They lack the proper sensibilities and delicate nature of the Northern omegas. It is Jacaerys- 

Jacaerys who peers at him in worry. 

“Are you feeling quite alright, Your Grace? Your face is red.” Jacaerys reaches up to cup the left side of Cregan’s face, and Cregan’s blood boils even hotter than before. “Oh my,” Jacaerys says, removing his hand. “You’re so hot, Your Grace. Should I fetch the maester?” 

There is sweat trickling down the side of Cregan’s neck, and his cheek where Jacaerys has touched his skin is damp. He wants to tell Jacaerys to return to his own bedchamber, but he seems to have lost the ability to form words.

“Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks, taking another step closer. This close, Cregan can practically taste his tantalising scent on his tongue.

He swallows thickly. Beneath the thick haze of arousal, right at the bottom, he finds rage. What the hell does Jacaerys think he is doing? He’s no fool; he can clearly see how affected Cregan is by the situation despite Cregan doing his best to not let it show. Jacaerys must know that Cregan’s control is hanging by a thread, yet he continues to provoke Cregan. 

There’s a playful smirk dancing on his lips now, and Cregan is both the angriest and most turned on he has ever been in his life. 

Cregan chokes as Jacaerys suddenly grabs his cock. 

“You’re so hard, Your Grace,” Jacaerys purrs. “Is it because of me?” 

“You-” Cregan growls, and he tries to grab Jacaerys only for the prince to deftly slip past him. Cregan’s steps are clumsy, and he ends up crashing onto the ground in an ungraceful heap. 

“I bid you a pleasant night, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says, and then he is gone. 

The sound of the doors opening and closing reaches Cregan’s ears, and he screams in frustration, swearing he can hear Jacaerys’ mocking laughter echoing in the hall. He has half a mind to chase the omega down and show him the consequences of his reckless antics - the little brat has clearly never been disciplined in his life. Some rulers Viserys and Rhaenyra are, letting the omega run around unchecked, doing whatever he pleases. 

Cregan scrubs a hand across his face as he tries to calm himself down. That smell accosts him again. For a moment, he thinks that Jacaerys has returned. 

It is trepidation and not anticipation that accompanies that thought. 

And then it hits him. 

The wetness on his left cheek is not sweat. 

Seven fucking hells.

Cregan now recalls vividly exactly which hand Jacaerys had used to touch him. 

He storms back into his solar and grabs a washcloth, wiping his face furiously. The utter nerve of that omega. The impudence. The disrespect. The audacity. Cregan tosses the washcloth away without any regard for where it lands and marches back into his bedchamber with every intention to throw open his windows and rid his room of the pungent odour. 

His fingers still on the latches. 

He glances back at his bed, the image of Jacaerys writhing upon it still fresh in his mind. 

Jacaerys’ flushed face as he loses himself in the throes of his pleasure.

Jacaerys’ warm hand around his cock. 

Cregan slowly drops his hand away from the windows. He makes his way over to the doors of his bedchamber and slowly closes them as well, shutting away the outside world. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. Deep down in his soul, he knows that he shouldn’t indulge in this. He is a Stark; he is the King in the North. An alpha greater than his primal needs. Duty and honour should guide him, not this tumultuous desire that threatens to unravel his carefully constructed resolve. Yet, as the weight of silence envelops him, he can’t help but feel that the lines between duty and desire are blurring, pulling him closer to a path he knows he shouldn’t tread.

He sinks into the soft sheets of his bed, groaning loudly as Jacaerys’ scent assails his senses. Cregan is past the point of caring. There is a wet patch on his bed, and Cregan sinks his finger into it greedily. He brings it to his lips and tastes it, feeling euphoric at the taste that bursts on his tongue. He wants more; he needs more. 

Cregan turns his head into his pillow. It’s damp with Jacaerys’ sweat, and it smells so strongly of the prince that Cregan can almost imagine that Jacaerys is right there with him. He shuts his eyes and can picture that beautiful, infuriating smile. 

He kicks off his breeches with an impatience entirely foreign to him and takes himself in his hand. He imagines that it’s Jacaerys’ soft, slim fingers around his cock and whimpers pathetically. He recalls the image of Jacaerys pleasuring himself on this very bed, imagines Jacaerys fingering himself while he strokes Cregan’s cock. The image threatens to throw him over the edge, but it’s the soft, condescending “Your Grace” that does it. 

Cregan spills and spills in his hand. He is certain that he has never come so hard in his life, not even when he was a teenager experiencing his first rut with an omega.

When he comes down from his high, Cregan is flooded with a sense of embarrassment and shame. With the pleasure gone, the only thing that remains is the heavy weight of regret and self-loathing that crushes his chest. He feels as if he’s betrayed everything he has stood for. How could he have so easily succumbed to his desires like a lesser alpha? 

Yet when he inhales the combined smell of his and Jacaerys’ scents, the shame and regret disappear, and he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of hunger and possessiveness. The feelings are so intense that he fears he might go mad. 

Cregan rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His chest heaves as he takes in deep breaths to try and anchor himself. 

The realisation hits him like a bolt of lightning, and he sits up so fast that his head spins. 

His bedchamber smells like him. His sheets smell like him. 

There is no way that Jacaerys had set foot in here and mistakenly thought that it was his own. 

“Jacaerys Velaryon!” Cregan howls. 

The mocking laugh echoes in his head. 

Chapter Text

Cregan spends the next two days sequestered in his solar, perusing the last of the winter reports, reading petitions, and making plans for the coming year. If he leaves Robard and Medrick in charge of hosting the Targaryens, it is out of his obligation to his duties as king and most certainly not because of any personal desire to avoid Jacaerys Velaryon. 

Someone knocks on his door. 

“Come in.” 

To his relief, it’s Sara who enters. He doesn’t think he has the capacity to handle another stack of petitions or an emergency seeking his attention. A sympathetic look crosses her face when she sees the papers sprawled all over his desk. 

“You’ve received the last winter report?” she asks. 

“A few days ago,” Cregan says. 

“How many?” she asks, settling in a chair on the other side of the desk. 

“Almost three hundred in total,” Cregan replies, running a hand through his hair. “Mostly omegas and beta women. As usual.”

“How many can we attribute to-” Sara cuts herself off, but Cregan knows what she wants to ask. 

“About twenty percent died during childbirth,” Cregan says, brushing his finger over a ring on his table. His own wife, Arra Norey, had been one of those beta women who had passed in a similar fashion just the year before. Now she’s but another statistic added to the North’s growing problem. “About half of those babies did not survive long outside their mothers’ wombs.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“If I wasn’t-” Sara hangs her head. “You could’ve betrothed me to a lord.”

“The mistakes of our father aren’t yours to bear,” Cregan says, rising from his seat and making his way to his sister. He takes her hand in his. “You’ve been invaluable all these years as my counsel, and I would’ve been lost without you after Arra’s death. I rely on you as much as Rickon relies on you. Your worth does not lie in your ability to produce children nor in the circumstances of your birth.”

“You’re a good man, Cregan,” Sara says. There’s almost a plea in her eyes. “You deserve someone who can look after you.”

“I have you and Rickon; it is enough,” Cregan says, though they both know this not to be true. 

As the King in the North, his duty is to his people, and part of that duty requires him to have more children to secure his line. But he alone cannot give the North the numbers it needs to survive. 

But he should have married an omega. 

He had been young and afraid of tying his life to a single person, had been as terrified of the bond his parents had shared as much as he had admired it. Arra had been his closest friend, and when she had offered her aid, he couldn’t refuse. He had condemned her to death the day he had married her. Beta women aren’t made to bear alpha children; being pregnant with Rickon had taken a toll on her body, and birthing him had killed her. 

Cregan wonders how many similar stories he would find in those numbers. 

Though the lowborn had little say in the matter of their autonomy. Most omegas are usually sold to the highest bidder the moment they present, either to noblemen desperate to have alpha heirs or pleasure houses. Rickon Stark had tried to root out this barbaric practice, and Cregan has followed in his father’s footsteps, but it is challenging to foster change on something so deeply ingrained in their society. 

Sara soothes a thumb over the wrinkles in Cregan’s forehead. “You are not to be blamed for what happened to Arra.”

“Aren’t I?” Cregan asks quietly, allowing himself a moment of weakness in front of his sister.

“No,” Sara says fiercely. She urges him to look at her, and he finds solace in the strong determination on her face. “You and I both know that she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. She loved you, Cregan; she would have committed to the same path again if given the choice.” 

“Thank you, Sara,” Cregan says. The words do not do justice to the gratitude he feels for her. 

Another knock comes at the door. Cregan steps away from Sara and composes himself. 

A maid enters fretfully. 

“Your Grace, Prince Rickon has come down with a fever.” 

Rickon’s cries are ceaseless, and each sob further breaks Cregan’s heart.

“Is there nothing you can do?” he demands. He shouldn’t take his anger out on the maester, but it’s endlessly frustrating that he’s the king and yet can do nothing to soothe the aches of his child. 

Maester Kennet shakes his head regretfully. “I’m afraid there’s little we can do for the prince until his fever breaks. All we can do is make him comfortable.”

Rickon’s nurse maid, Mary, is bouncing him gently on her knees, but her efforts are in vain. Cregan holds his arms out, and Mary passes him his child. Being in his father’s arms doesn’t calm Rickon in the least, and the baby continues to wail away. His face is already red from the effort, and Cregan would do anything to take his pain away. 

Cregan spends the rest of the day in the nursery, coddling and looking after his child. He was optimistic that Rickon would tire out quicker than him, but Rickon is a Stark alpha through and through, and he does not let up his crying for even a second. Cregan is as proud as he is exasperated. 

The physical weariness of hunting and physical combat are vastly different from the mental fortitude and stamina required to cater to a child’s needs, and Cregan is quickly worn down. He finds a newfound respect for Mary and Sara, and his own mother - may her soul rest in peace. According to Benjen, he had not been easy as a child. 

When Cregan relinquishes Rickon to Mary for a quick break, the exhaustion that he’s left with is one he feels deep in his bones. 

Cregan sinks into the soft couch, watching Rickon despondently. His child’s predicament is a stark reminder that it is not just for his own sake that he needs to find a mate. Mary is lovely, but Mary has her own family, and Rickon needs a mother. 

Cregan closes his eyes, giving himself leave to rest for a few minutes. 

He’s enveloped in a mildly sweet scent. It brings him back to the lake in the godswoods, except he finds himself swathed in sheets. Dark curls fall over his face, and soft brown eyes stare down at him. Nothing exists in the world except for the two of them. Jacaerys’ mouth part slightly, and Cregan devours the sight of those plush lips hungrily. He leans up to- 

He jerks awake, immediately on guard at realising he’s not in his bedchambers. Rickon and his illness come back to him quickly, but it’s blissfully quiet. Cregan spots his son and is not sure that he’s not still dreaming. 

The sight that greets him is both lovely and confusing. Rickon is sitting docile in the arms of none other than Jacaerys Velaryon. He’s still crying, but his loud wailing has been reduced to soft sniffles. Cregan stands up and makes his way over to them as quietly as possibly. 

Jacaerys is cooing to Rickon. 

“I know. I know it doesn’t feel pleasant, darling,” he’s saying as he rocks Rickon gently. “And I know that this concoction is disgusting and that Maester Kennet is a bad, bad man.” 

Maester Kennet makes a face but doesn’t comment. 

“But drinking it is the only way you’ll feel better.”

There’s a vial in Jacaerys’ hand. When Rickon stops sniffling, he lifts it up to Rickon, but the baby wrinkles his nose at the smell and starts crying again. A protective instinct rises up in Cregan, but a hand stills his approach. Sara shakes her head. Against every instinct in his body, Cregan listens to her but watches Jacaerys like a hawk. 

He doesn’t trust the prince, especially not with his precious son. 

Jacaerys pulls the vial away and begins cooing at Rickon again. A calming scent fills the room, and Rickon quietens. He rubs at his eyes and burrows his head against Jacaerys’ chest. Cregan’s heart melts at the sight. Similarly, the tension leaves his body, only to return with a vengeance when his loins at the memory of Jacaerys’ naked torso in the lake and the last vestiges of his dream.  

There’s only one other alpha in the room besides him, and Medrick is gazing at Jacaerys like he’s a gift from the Old Gods. Irritation spikes in Cregan. Friend or not, Mdedrick needs to get the hell away from hi- the omega. Cregan’s agitation translates into his scent, a warning to the other alpha. Medrick’s attention is immediately on Cregan, a frightful look on his face. He bows in submission before exiting the room. 

Rickon screams loudly. 

Cregan turns back to his baby only to be met with a pair of furious brown eyes. 

Jacaerys has no reason to be mad at Cregan. Why should Jacaerys be mad with Cregan? 

Cregan straightens and opens his mouth to defend himself; he refuses to be cowed in his own castle. 

He’s silenced before he can even speak. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Jacaerys says to Rickon, raising his voice to be heard over the loud crying. “Some alphas just don’t know how to control their tempers, but you’re not like that, are you? No, of course you’re not. And we were so close to getting you to drink your medicine too, weren’t we? How unfortunate.”

Jacaerys’ eyes flicker over to Cregan in annoyance. 

Mary and Sara are both making valiant attempts to keep the exasperation off their faces.  

Cregan grits his teeth and has half a mind to take his baby away from that conniving little harlot. The thought leads to an ill-timed image of Jacaerys pleasuring himself atop Cregan’s bed, and he has to think about his dead parents to stop himself from popping a boner right there and then in front of his kid. 

Cregan is mortified at himself. 

Jacaerys Velaryon is going to be the death of him. 

“I think your father wants to take a walk outside to cool that hot head of his, don’t you think so?” 

Rickon warbles in response. 

“I-” Cregan begins.

“Don’t you think so?” Jacaerys repeats loudly, not even bothering to look in Cregan’s direction. 

Cregan grumbles beneath his breath and walks out of the room. He is doing this for Rickon’s sake, not because Jacaerys is ordering him to. 

He almost runs straight into Daeron, who holds his arms up and moves out of his way with a laugh. 

“Got thrown out of the room by Jace?” he asks. Cregan takes offence. This is his castle, and if there is anyone dictating where others ought to be, it is him. But Daeron continues, “Don’t worry; you’re not the first, and you most certainly won’t be the last alpha to be thrown out of a room by Jace. He was always chasing Daemon away when he took care of Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya. Says the scents of alphas make it hard for the babies to relax.”

“I’m Rickon’s father,” Cregan points out.

Daeron laughs. “He was just messing with Daemon.” 

“Spoiled,” Cregan grits out before he can hold his tongue. “I mean no offence.”

Daeron shrugs. “Jace is spoiled.” 

Cregan wasn’t quite expecting Daeron to agree so easily, and his disbelief must show on his face. 

“He is the only omega in our family, and he’s Rhaenyra’s first child; of course he’s going to be spoiled.” Daeron considers his statement and chuckles. “Though definitely not as much as my sister. But he has a good head on his shoulder.” Daeron jerks his head towards the nursery. “He didn’t have to go in there to help with your son now, did he?”

No, Jacaerys didn’t, but can he really claim the credit when it is his omega instincts that refuse to let him ignore a babe in distress? Before Cregan can respond, Jacaerys is bursting out of the room, a delighted smile on his face. Cregan’s heart beats wildly at the sight. 

“He drank it, Dae! And he’s asleep!” 

The triumph on Jacaerys’ face disappears the moment he sees Cregan in the company of his uncle.

“What are you doing here?” Jacaerys asks flatly.

Cregan’s annoyance returns in full force.

“This is my castle,” Cregan reminds him. 

Jacaerys hums and stands next to Daeron. “Yet we’ve hardly been graced with the pleasure of your company.” 

“I’ve been busy with state affairs and preparing for the Spring Hunt,” Cregan says dismissively. It’s the truth, so he doesn’t understand why he feels like he’s lying. 

“The Spring Hunt?” Daeron questions, an interested gleam in his eyes. 

“It is an annual hunt to celebrate the end of the winter season,” Cregan says. “You should join us tomorrow, Prince Daeron.” 

“I would love to,” Daeron says excitedly.  

Jacaerys clears his throat. “Can I come too?” 

It is only right to extend the same invitation to Prince Jacaerys, but nothing gets Cregan’s blood pumping like the thrill of a good hunt, and he doesn’t want to spend the time looking after the omega. 

“It is dangerous, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says.

Daeron opens his mouth to speak, but Jacaerys places a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. 

He flutters his eyelashes at Cregan and practically purrs when he says, “I’m sure Your Grace will protect me.” 

“You will be safer within the castle walls,” Cregan says.

Jacaerys pouts. “But I want to learn, Your Grace.”

And I do not have the time to tend to you!

“I’m sure your uncle is more than happy to teach you when you return to King’s Landing.” 

Jacaerys just smiles and touches Cregan’s shoulder, making all thoughts flee his head. “I look forward to hearing your pointers on the morrow, Your Grace.” 

Murmurs of surprise spread across the crowd gathered in the courtyard when Jacaerys and Daeron show up the next morning. Robard runs his hand over his horse’s mane as he and Cregan watch the stable hands bring two horses for the princes. Cregan had hand selected the beasts himself the night before. 

“Is this a good idea, Your Grace?” Robard asks, nodding his chin in Jacaerys’ direction. “Animals do not react kindly to omegas.” 

Cregan’s eyes are trained on Jacaerys as the stable boy hands him the reins of Quicklight, the only white horse owned by the Stark Family. Cregan had specifically set him aside for Jacaerys due to his docile nature. There is still no telling how he would react to an omega, but he seems to accept Jacaerys’ touch readily. 

“He insisted on coming,” Cregan says. 

“If anything happens to him-”

“Nothing will; I’ll make sure of it.”

It is the last thing Cregan wants to do, but no harm can befall Jacaerys, and he has unfortunately made it Cregan’s problem to ensure his well-being. 

Cregan mounts his horse and rides over to Jacaerys. He finds the prince frowning at Quicklight.

“Is the horse not to your liking, Prince Jacaerys?” Cregan asks, hoping Jacaerys would say yes and decide to not participate in the hunt. 

“He is,” Jacaerys says. He gestures at the horse, opening his mouth and then closing it again. Pink dusts his cheeks, and Cregan tries not to think about how pretty he looks like this. Squaring his shoulder, he asks, “Do you not have a step stool, Your Grace?” 

Now that Jacaerys has made the request, it seems pretty obvious that he is not going to be able to mount the horse without help. Jacaerys is at least a good head shorter than Cregan and the other Northern lords. Daeron, despite favouring the slim build of the Targaryens, is closer in height to the Northerners than his nephew. 

Cregan makes a valiant effort to stifle his laughter. Jacaerys’ glare is less effective with the blush still on his face, and Cregan decides to be merciful as he gives quiet instructions to the stable boy to fetch a step stool from the stables. 

Once everyone is seated on their horses, Cregan leads the way to the forest. Jacaerys rides by his side with Robard and Daeron behind them. It is customary for honoured guests to ride beside the king, but Cregan is worried about having Jacaerys up front with him. He doesn’t know if the omega can keep up, and he doesn’t want any delays to the hunt. 

This is a day for the men to take a well-deserved break. It is the time for them to let loose and fully indulge in their alpha instincts; a chance for them to forget about the harrowing winter and their duties to the kingdom. Although servants accompany them, their only job is to bring the kills back to Winterfell. After that, Cregan and the lords are left to do everything by themselves, from setting up camp for the night to preparing their dinner. They spend the evening revelling under the stars, expressing their gratitude for surviving another winter, for being alive. It is a sacred time for bonding among the alphas. 

It is no place for a fragile omega. 

But Jacaerys did help Cregan with Rickon, and so Cregan supposes that it’s only fair that he returns the favour, as reluctant as he is. 

The men leave their horses in a clearing and proceed on foot. Cregan explains the basics of hunting to Jacaerys - the locations where different animals can be found, the ways to kill an animal, the importance of paying attention to the wind, and so on. Jacaerys listens intently, nodding and humming. Cregan can begrudgingly admit that Jacaerys isn’t so bad when he is taking things seriously and not laughing at everything Cregan says. 

“Shh,” Torrhen says, holding a finger to his lips. 

Cregan follows his gaze to see a deer grazing by a lake. The men slowly approach the animal, keeping their steps light and careful so as to not make any sudden noises that could send their target fleeing. They crouch down behind the shrubbery, letting it conceal them from view. 

The men nock their arrows, and Cregan can see that Jacaerys is struggling to do so with his. Doe eyes turn onto him, and Cregan doesn’t like what that expression on Jacaerys’ face does to his stomach. 

“Could you help me, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks.

Someone snickers down the line, but Cregan doesn’t pay the lord much mind. It doesn’t appear as if Jacaerys had heard the mocking laughter anyway. 

“You just have to ensure that the arrow stays in place,” Cregan says. 

Jacaerys frowns. “I’ve been trying to do that, but it’s nowhere near as easy as the way you make it look, Your Grace.” 

Pride rumbles in Cregan’s chest. 

“Here, let me show you,” Cregan says. He places his arrow and bow on the ground and situates himself behind Jacaerys. 

He places his hand over Jacaerys’, and the prince’s hand is so small that Cregan’s own completely covers it. His inner alpha hums in approval, and Cregan has to force down the primal instincts that demand he pledge Jacaerys his protection. 

He leans forward slightly so that he can speak into Jacaerys’ ear and not risk spooking the deer. “Just like that,” he whispers, guiding Jacaerys’ hand and arrow to the bow. 

With his chest practically pressed against Jacaerys’ back, Cregan can feel the small shiver that runs through Jacaerys’ body at the sound of his voice. It feels good to know that Jacaerys is as affected by him as he is by the omega. And maybe he’s feeling a little vindictive about what Jacaerys did in his bedchamber, because he presses forward against Jacaerys’ back just the slightest bit more. 

“Like this, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks. 

Cregan nods, then realises that Jacaerys cannot see him. 

“Just like that.”

“And how do I shoot, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks. He shifts to get a better look at the deer, and his bottom inevitably brushes against Cregan’s dick. Cregan’s mouth is suddenly dry. Jacaerys doesn’t move away, and Cregan cannot ascertain if he’s doing it on purpose or not. 

“Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks when Cregan doesn’t respond. 

“I’ll show you,” Cregan barely manages to get out. “All you have to do is focus on the target. And then slowly pull the string back,” he continues, guiding Jacaerys’ hands into following his instructions. 

The string is taut, the arrow ready to be let loose at any moment that Jacaerys chooses. 

“That’s right,” Cregan says encouragingly. “Just like that.”

He removes his hand from Jacaerys’ and is impressed when the arrow stays where it is. 

“And then when you feel like you can hit it - remember, we want to hit the vital organs and not cause it any undue suffering - when you feel like you have it, you can let go.”

Jacaerys isn’t going to hit the deer. Jacaerys isn’t even going to hit anywhere near the deer. His attempt is going to frighten the animal and send it running deep into the woods. They’re just going to have to let it go and look for another one. 

“Go on, try,” Cregan coaxes gently. 

The other lords are watching Jacaerys too; they know as well as Cregan does that this is a lost cause, but they’ve all silently agreed to indulge the omega. It is what good alphas do. 

Jacaerys lowers the bow and turns his head over his shoulder. 

“Your Grace, please remove your hand from my body,” he says in a chilly tone, soft enough that the other lords cannot hear it. 

Cregan’s hand is resting snugly on Jacaerys’ waist, and he immediately pulls his hand away. 

“I- I didn’t realise. I apologise,” Cregan says. He does not stutter. 

Jacaerys smiles, and it does nothing to set Cregan at ease. 

He nocks the arrow again with ease, and Cregan is impressed that he is such a quick learner. He raises the bow up and the way he tracks the deer’s movement is with a familiarity that can only come with experience. 

The realisation is a slap in the face. 

Jacaerys pulls the arrow back and lets it fly.

It hits the deer right in the forehead, and the animal drops to the ground. 

“Seven hells,” Robard mutters, taking the sentiment straight from Cregan’s mouth.

Daeron applauds loudly. “Even Aemond would have been impressed by that shot,” he says.  

Jacaerys sniffs. “I’m a better shot than Aemond.” 

Daeron does not respond. He surveys the lords, all with varying degrees of shock and disbelief on their faces. He is smug when he asks, “On to the next one, shall we?”

“You deceived me,” Cregan says, keeping his voice low so that only Jacaerys can hear him.

They’ve found themselves bringing up the rear of the group, and while Cregan would usually loathe to have to spend more time with Jacaerys, he needs to set things straight.

“Whatever do you mean?” Jacaerys asks, blinking guilelessly. 

“You led me to believe that you’ve no experience in hunting when you’ve clearly been on many expeditions.”

“I did no such thing, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says. “It is you who assumed that I lack the skill.” 

“You told me to teach you,” Cregan says.

“You only invited my uncle to join you and not me; naturally I thought I had to do something to earn myself an invitation.”

Cregan has never hated anyone more than he hates Jacaerys Velaryon. If the prince wasn’t an omega, Cregan would've put him in his place. 

“You made me look like a fool in front of my men.”

Jacaerys snorts disdainfully, shedding all pretence of innocence. “You were all fools. They have no right to judge you when they underestimated me just the way you did.”

“You could’ve been forthright with the truth,” Cregan said, on the verge of snapping. 

“And be subjected to your derision?” Jacaerys asks. Cregan almost feels bad, but Jacaerys continues, “Either way, how could I have possibly passed up on the opportunity to see you blubber like an idiot?” 

“Let’s have a match,” Cregan says, deciding that he will put the prince in his place after all. Jacaerys eyes him sceptically. “To decide who possesses the better affinity with the bow and arrow.”

“Are you so desperate to embarrass yourself again, Your Grace? Losing to an omega - oh, the horror and shame!” 

“You’re good, Prince Jacaerys; I’ll concede that, but you’re not as good as me.” 

Jacaerys bites his lower lip, a frown on his face. He’s looking down at a patch of grass on the ground and so doesn’t notice the way Cregan stares hungrily at his lips. Cregan wants to pull that plush lip out from under the abuse of those teeth, wants to suck it into his own mouth. Cregan tears his gaze away as he feels himself start to harden. 

The old gods take him! 

Cregan has never before lost control like this. This is unbecoming of an alpha of his stature. 

“Fine,” Jacaerys says. “Lay out your terms, Your Grace.”

“The biggest animal,” Cregan decides. “With the cleanest kill.”

Jacaerys holds out his hand for Cregan to shake. 

When Cregan grasps it, an electrifying spark courses through his body at the contact. Except Jacaerys’ face remains impassive, and Cregan cannot be sure that he hasn’t imagined it after all. 

With each kill Jacaerys makes, he earns the respect of the Northern lords. While some are still apprehensive, others have warmed up and are speaking to him with the same sense of camaraderie usually reserved for one another. Jacaerys laughs at something Torrhen says, and Cregan is struck by the sight. 

Robard nudges him in the side. “You’ve been staring at the prince an awful lot, Your Grace.”

There’s no judgement in his voice; of all people, Robard is the last one who would cast aspersions on him. Yet Cregan cannot help the pull of indignance at what the lord’s words imply. 

“I’ve not been able to ascertain the purpose of their visit,” Cregan says, settling on the truth. Or part of it. “There is more to this than a simple courtesy call.”

“It is curious that King Viserys chose to send Prince Jacaerys, given the delicate nature of his position.” 

“Prince Jacaerys is in line for the Iron Throne. It is not illogical to think that he means to use this visit as a test of the prince’s diplomatic skills.”

If so, Viserys would be disappointed. Jacaerys has done nothing but get on Cregan’s nerves ever since he arrived, which leads Cregan to believe that there is something else at play. Jacaerys is intelligent - anyone who’s even had a single conversation with the prince would agree. A lack of diplomacy is not what he suffers from, but what does he want from the North? 

“Perhaps we are reading too much into it,” Robard says. “Perhaps it really is just a simple visit.”

The words hang terse and uncertain between them. Neither of them believe it.

“Let’s put those matters aside for now,” Cregan says. “The Spring Hunt is no place for such talk.” 

It is at the onset of twilight that the group comes across the most majestic elk that Cregan has ever seen. It stands almost two metres tall and is covered in a thick coat that shimmers under the fading sunlight. An impressive set of antlers sits atop its head like a crown, with several tines branching out. It pauses and turns its nose upwards, as if sensing their presence, but doesn’t bolt.  

Cregan makes eye contact with Jacaerys, and they both know that this is the prize. 

Daeron and the lords watch the elk with bated breath as Cregan and Jacaerys nock their arrows and lift their bows. They have one chance to get this right. Cregan’s right next to Jacaerys, so just before they let their arrows go, he’s the only one who notices Jacaerys shifting his position slightly out of the corner of his eyes. Cregan’s arrow strikes true, while Jacaerys’ arrow whistles past the elk, grazing its fur but missing it. 

The animal drops dead. 

The lords proclaim Cregan the winner, clapping him on the back and cheering loudly. Even Daeron is nodding enthusiastically. Cregan accepts their congratulations, but his victory lacks the sweet sensation of satisfaction that cements it as true. The bitterness only grows when Jacaerys smiles at him and admits defeat, offering his hand to shake. Cregan might have put a little too much force into his grip, but he ignores Jacaerys’ flinch and accusing eyes. 

It is ridiculous that Jacaerys feels maligned when it is he who had wronged Cregan. By missing the elk on purpose, Jacaerys has robbed him of a victory that is rightfully his. Cregan does not know if Jacaerys means to boost his ego or if it’s Cregan’s gratitude he seeks, but his actions are a betrayal of honour and fairness that leave Cregan feeling insulted. 

Yet Cregan knows better than to create a scene in front of the lords and spoil the festive mood. He’ll allow it, because his men deserve a night of celebrations, but Jacaerys is wrong if he thinks that Cregan is going to let the matter go. 

The men split into groups, taking charge of setting up the tents, preparing the fire, and cleaning the deer for dinner. Jacaerys and Cregan help with setting up the tents and when Jacaerys leaves to wash up in the lake, Cregan announces that he’ll look for more firewood. 

Cregan catches up with Jacaerys easily. 

To Jacaerys’ credit, he spins around before Cregan even touches him. The suspicion on his face turns into a coy smile when he sees who it is that has followed him. 

“Do you wish to take a bath with me again, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks, frowning when Cregan grabs his wrist before he can lay his hand on his chest. 

“What are you playing at?” Cregan asks, unable to keep the fury out his voice. 

“What are you talking about?” Jacaerys asks. 

Cregan takes a step forward, crowding Jacaerys into a tree. “You lost to me on purpose - why? Does making a fool out of me truly bring you so much joy?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widen. “That was not my intention.”

“Then why?”

Jacaerys averts his gaze, and Cregan growls. 

“Look at me,” he says.

It takes several seconds, but Jacaerys eventually looks up and meets Cregan’s eyes. “I was awed by the elk’s beauty and thought it was a waste to kill it - that’s all.” 

Cregan doesn’t detect any hints of a lie in Jacaerys’ eyes, but his words do not sit well with him. “Do you think me callous for killing it then?” 

“Why should my opinion mean anything to you?”

“It doesn’t.” 

Jacaerys stares at him for a few seconds before saying, “Those were the terms of our challenge, and I understand that while setting animals free is of no consequence in the South, you do not share the same luxury in the North.” 

Cregan was not expecting this depth of understanding and acceptance from Jacaerys. “People of your stature in the South would not hesitate to label me a barbaric brute for that.” 

“I’ve never said otherwise, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says teasingly, punctuating his statement with a light laugh, but they lack their usual mirth. His eyes dart around uncomfortably, and it dawns on Cregan that Jacaerys is scared. 

He’s confused until he realises that he still has a tight grip around Jacaerys’ wrist and is practically pinning the prince to the tree. He lets go immediately and takes a step back, appalled that he had let his anger take over him. 

“I deeply apologise, Prince Jacaerys,” he says. Jacaerys watches him carefully, confusion in his brown eyes. “I should have had a better grip on my temper. I’ve only embarrassed myself with my behaviour and actions today.”

Jacaerys purses his lips. 

“You’re a vexing man, Cregan Stark,” he says. He pushes himself off the tree, shoving past Cregan and stomping towards the lake.

Cregan looks after him in bewilderment, wondering exactly what he has done wrong now. 

He means to return to the camp, but a thought comes to him, that Jacaerys might not be safe all alone in the wild. Alas, it is his responsibility to ensure his guest’s well-being. Cregan stays near the lake, out of Jacaerys’ sight, and directs his men to other areas to wash themselves when they try to approach it. 

It is how Jacaerys stumbles upon him.

“Thank you for doing me this favour, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says. Cregan’s men shoot him nasty looks, but he ignores them. 

“Go on then,” Cregan tells them. He waits until they are out of earshot before addressing Jacaerys. “You did not have to do that. You did not ask this of me.” 

Jacaerys smiles at him, for once appearing completely sincere. “Tis precisely why I did it, Your Grace. Besides, their ire is of no consequence to me.” 

Later, when everyone has cleaned themselves, they sit around the fire to eat, sharing drinks and laughter. The firelight dances on Jacaerys’ face, casting warm shadows that accentuate his features, and he has never looked more alluring. More than once, Cregan finds himself staring at the prince. 

Jacaerys finally catches him in the act. 

“Do you see something you like, Your Grace? You can stare at me openly. I don’t mind.” 

Cregan almost chokes on his next breath. He looks around to make sure that no one else has heard Jacaerys and is relieved to find them all engaged in their own conversations. “You jest, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys pouts. “I am not. I like you looking at me. I really do.” 

Cregan takes a swig of his drink instead of answering. Jacaerys laughs, and it’s such a pretty sound that Cregan wants to bottle it up and listen to it on moody days. He is glad to be the cause Jacaerys’ joy, even if it’s at his expense. Jacaerys’ face is flushed from the wine, and Cregan’s senses are all but teetering on the edge as well. 

An unbridled image of Jacaerys underneath him flashes in Cregan’s mind. It’s a tantalising vision that makes it hard to breathe. Another image comes to him - Jacaerys holding Rickon in his arms. The vision of a family, his family, is too much to bear, and Cregan’s heart is so full it feels like it’s going to burst. 

It’s just a fantasy and will never be real. He’s only just met Jacaerys and hardly knows him. But the picture is a pretty one, a fleeting glimpse into the life he has never envisioned possible for himself, not after Arra’s death. It stirs something deep within him, a longing that threatens to overwhelm. 

“Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks, leaning forward to touch Cregan’s arm. Cregan only then realises that he has been staring at Jacaerys this entire time. He wonders what expression Jacaerys had seen on his face. “Are you quite alright? You seem a little…” Jacaerys trails off, a frown on his face, and finally settles with, “Distracted.”

“Thank you for taking care of Rickon,” Cregan says. Surprise flits over Jacaerys’ face. “It is an oversight to not have expressed my gratitude.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Jacaerys says cheerfully. “He’s an adorable little boy, and he reminds me of my siblings when they were still babies, especially Vis.”

“Rickon doesn’t usually allow strangers to carry him. I was surprised that he took to you so quickly.”

“I’m very good with children,” Jacaerys says with a grin, and it’s adorable that he thinks this to be a point of pride. 

Cregan imagines the two of them with children of their own and cannot help laughing at his own silliness. Perhaps this ought to be his last cup of wine. 

Jacaerys frowns, taking Cregan’s amusement the wrong way. “I am!” 

“I know you are,” Cregan murmurs. For some reason, this makes Jacaerys blush. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Prince Jacaerys, only myself.” 

Jacaerys peers at him curiously. “And what is about yourself that is so amusing, Your Grace?” 

Cregan is saved from having to answer by raucous laughter and Torrhen dragging him into their conversations. 

As the night draws to a close, Cregan mandates a minute of silence for the people lost to the winter. 

“Before we retire for the night, I’d like to make a toast to our guests,” Robard says, raising his cup. “Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daeron, it has been a pleasure to have you join us on our Spring Hunt. I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that this has been one of our most exciting expeditions yet.” 

Cregan and his lords toast to that, taking a hearty drink from their cups. Jacaerys beams, laughing when Daeron nudges him in the shoulder playfully. 

There is a pleasant buzz in the air and in their bodies. Childishly, Cregan wishes that the night would never end. Childishly, he wishes he could keep Jacaerys by his side.  

Chapter Text

Cregan wakes up in the middle of the night. He’s not sure what prompts him to exit his tent, but he finds Jacaerys lying on the ground. He rushes over, thinking that the prince is hurt, but Jacaerys sits up at the noise, looking perfectly fine. 

“What are you doing up at this late hour?” Cregan asks. 

“I could ask you the same, Your Grace.” 

“I had been roused from my sleep and decided to come out for some fresh air.”

Jacaerys looks down, mumbling under his breath. 

“I cannot hear you, Prince Jacaerys.”

“I said that I just wanted to look at the stars.” Jacaerys flops back down onto the ground, and Cregan moves closer. “They’re not so visible in King’s Landing.” 

“If you enjoy gazing upon the stars, let me take you somewhere you can truly enjoy them.”

The words are out of Cregan’s mouth before he can stop them. But before he has time to regret them, Jacaerys lights up. 

“Right now, Your Grace?”

“Is there somewhere else you have to be, Prince Jacaerys?” 

Jacaerys laughs, accepting Cregan’s hand and pulling himself up. “Lead the way then.” 

They mount their horses, crossing clearings and lakes, and finally up a hill. Jacaerys has the widest smile on his face the entire time, and he giggles as he dismounts. 

“I haven’t even shown you the stars yet,” Cregan says, though he is pleased that Jacaerys is so happy.

“I’ve never felt this free in my life,” Jacaerys says. “Mother doesn’t like it when I leave the Red Keep, and there’s always an entourage of servants with us on the rare occasions we do venture out.” 

“I’m surprised she allowed you to travel all the way here,” Cregan says. 

The smile falls away from Jacaerys’ face, and Cregan kicks himself mentally for opening his mouth yet again. It seems that he is doomed to always pick the wrong words. Jacaerys turns back to Quicklight and strokes her mane. The smile is back on his face when he turns back to Cregan, but it is practised and measured.

“Mother’s only concerned for my safety,” Jacaerys says as if that justifies everything, but he only sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself of it. 

“Come, we’re almost there,” Cregan says instead, deciding not to call Jacaerys out on it. The prince’s relationship with his mother is his business and none of Cregan’s.  

They have to travel the rest of the narrow path by foot, but it is a short ascent. Cregan pushes aside branches after branches, and then the forest opens up into the night sky. 

Jacaerys gasps at the sight. 

The sky is a smattering of twinkling lights, as endless as the eyes can see. Cregan shrugs off his coat and spreads it over the ground. He lies down and gestures for Jacaerys to join him. 

“Won’t you be cold, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks. 

“The spring-” Cregan cuts himself off as Jacaerys presses close to his side. 

“We should share body warmth,” Jacaerys says, laying his head on Cregan’s chest. 

“This isn’t appropriate, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says tightly. 

Jacaerys lifts his head and looks down at Cregan, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Stealing me away in the dead of night is hardly appropriate either, Your Grace.” 

“I-” Cregan stops talking. He clearly did not think this through, because Jacaerys is right. From anyone’s point of view, he did , in fact, steal Jacaerys away in the middle of the night. 

What would people think if they found out? What would his men think? And not only that. He was sullying Jacaerys’ reputation, and- 

“You’re thinking too much,” Jacaerys says, lying back down and snuggling into Cregan’s chest, robbing all his thoughts. “We’ll be back before anyone even notices we’re gone, and I promise to not say anything if you won’t.” 

Despite his better instincts, Cregan finds himself relaxing. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he finds himself with an arm wrapped around Jacaerys, the prince’s head nestled comfortably on his shoulder. In the quiet of the night, he can admit to himself that it’s nice to gaze at the stars like this with Jacaerys pressed against him. The rest of the world falls away, and the only things that exist are the two of them and the starry night.  

They don’t speak, but it’s a comfortable silence. Cregan could stay here forever, but all too soon, Jacaerys sits up. Cregan follows him instinctively. They stare at each other for a moment, and a smile appears on Jacaerys’ face. It could be Cregan’s imagination, but he thinks it looks sad. 

“I think it’s time to go, Your Grace.”

Call me by my name, Cregan thinks. Instead, he nods. 

They walk back to their horses with unhurried steps and ride back to the camp at a similarly leisure pace.  

“Rest well, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says when he sees Jacaerys to his tent. 

“Good night, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says. 

He stares at Cregan almost expectantly, but Cregan has no idea what he wants from him. When Cregan doesn’t say or do anything else, Jacaerys simply nods and enters his tent. 

Cregan is certain that he imagined the look of disappointment on Jacaerys’ face.

Cregan is swamped with work the moment they return to Winterfell and hardly sees Jacaerys or Daeron for a whole week. The time for relaxation and play is over, and he has to focus on his duties as king. Maester Kennet has given him the population estimates based on the latest reports, and the situation is dire to say the least. 

The castle is asleep by the time Cregan finishes for the day. He ponders retiring for the night, but his feet lead him to the nursery. The guards bow their heads when they see him. 

“Prince Jacaerys is inside, Your Grace,” one reports. 

Cregan stills his footsteps, wondering if he should just return to his bed chambers after all. But it’s a ridiculous notion. Why should he be prevented from seeing his son just because Jacaerys is in there? In fact, what is Jacaerys doing in the nursery at such a late hour? 

Not wanting to startle Rickon, Cregan pushes the doors open quietly and steps inside with the full intention to interrogate Jacaerys. However, as soon as he crosses the threshold, a tender warmth settles over him like a blanket and smothers any annoyance. The room smells sweet with an undertone of burning embers. It’s a cosy fireplace in the midst of a harsh winter, and Cregan wants to sink into it and take it all in. 

Jacaerys is singing quietly in High Valyrian, Rickon slumbering peacefully in his arms. It’s a peaceful scene, one that calms the turmoil in Cregan. His brain conjures unbridled thoughts of them together as a family, and he dismisses the nonsensical notion with a chuckle. 

The sound catches Jacaerys’ attention, and he stands up when he sees Cregan in the room. The hesitation on his face is wholly uncharacteristic, and it makes Cregan concerned about what could be causing him to behave that way. 

“Your Grace,” Jacaerys says quietly. “I- Uh- I- Rickon’s been having trouble sleeping lately, so I thought I’d check in on him.” 

Cregan frowns. “Mary didn’t say anything about that.” 

“It was about a week ago. Mary asked for my help, and I just started coming here out of habit,” Jacaerys says quietly. He doesn’t meet Cregan’s gaze as he walks past him to the cot and settles Rickon in it. 

Cregan should be angered that Mary enlisted the help of a stranger instead of him, Rickon’s very own father, but he sees the sense in it. Jacaerys had been the only one to sooth Rickon when the baby was under a fever after all. 

And, if he were to be truthful to himself, he isn’t the least bit angry at all. If anything, the idea of Jacaerys taking care of Rickon weirdly sets him at ease. 

When Jacaerys turns back to look at him, his usual self-assured expression is back. “I haven’t seen you at all since we’ve returned from the Spring Hunt, Your Grace. You seem to have a tendency of disappearing.” 

“I’ve been busy with work,” Cregan says. 

“Yet you’ve had time to visit the marketplace?” Jacaerys asks. His tone is casual, but his gaze is sharp. 

Who does he think he is, challenging Cregan like this? “Tracking my movements now, are we, Prince Jacaerys? What I do with my time is up to my discretion.”

“And I’ve never said otherwise, merely pointed out that you do not seem to be as busy as you claim to be.”

“Visiting the marketplace was for work,” Cregan says, lying through his teeth. It was not; he had simply been bored and decided to take a trip outside the castle, but Jacaerys doesn’t have to know that. “I do not need to explain my actions to you.” 

Jacaerys eyes him for a second before moving closer. Cregan stands his ground and looks down at Jacaerys when the prince comes to stand before him. 

For some reason, Cregan is prompted to say, “I’ve simply been busy, Prince Jacaerys. It is no slight to your honoured presence within my halls.”

“I didn’t say I was insulted; were you trying to offend me?” Jacaerys says, blinking slowly. 

“Of course not,” Cregan says, perhaps a bit too quickly. “My work has kept me from you is all.”

“It pains me to think that anything could have kept you from me, especially after the night we shared.” 

Cregan doesn’t know which night Jacaerys is referring to - the night he had so inappropriately trespassed into Cregan’s bed chambers or the night beneath the stars. He doesn't know how to respond either for that matter. Jacaerys is content to let him stew in his misery for several long seconds before deciding to put him out of it. 

“Lord Manderly was going to show us the Winterfell crypts today, but he said that you should be present for the tour,” Jacaerys says. “Would you deign to spend your precious time in our company tomorrow, Your Grace?”

An excuse forms at the tip of Cregan’s tongue before he even fully processes Jacaerys’ question, but he stops himself when Jacaerys’ gaze turns accusing, which is ridiculous. It’s not as if he has been going out of his way to avoid Jacaerys, and he’ll prove it. 

“My affairs for the week have been settled. I’ll be more than happy to take you.” 

Jacaerys’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Will you now?” 

It takes Cregan an extra two seconds to pick up on the accidental innuendo he made. It sets his face aflame. 

“To the crypts,” Cregan says quickly. “I’ll take you to the crypts if you wish to see them.” 

Jacaerys smiles at him sweetly. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Your Grace.”

He pats Cregan on the chest twice before leaving the room. 

Cregan stays in there longer than he cares to admit, basking in the soft scent that lingers behind.

The crypts are a sacred place, second in importance only to the godswoods. Cregan lights a torch and leads the way into the chambers. His family’s legacy resides within these walls, and as always, he’s filled with humility and reverence. The flickering torch light casts shadows on the walls, and Cregan can feel the weight of his ancestors’ gazes upon him, reminding him of his duty as the head of House Stark.  

Cregan turns his head over his shoulder and catches Jacaerys’ eyes, seeing the awe in them. 

“It is a magnificent place, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says. 

“Aye,” Cregan says, stopping in front of his parents. He looks upon their effigies and recalls the days he spent crying in front of them, pleading them to come back to him. The worthless desires of a little child. 

“Are these your parents?” Jacaerys says, coming to stand beside him. 

“They are,” Cregan says. 

“You look like your father,” Jacaerys says, his voice full of sorrow. “It must have been hard, losing them so early.” 

Cregan is reminded that the prince too had lost his father when he had been but a child. 

“I believe you weren’t much older yourself when you lost your father,” Cregan says. 

Jacaerys smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was young, yes,” he says. “But my brothers were even younger. They never got to know him like I did.” 

Cregan remembers the rumours surrounding Jacaerys’ parentage and wonders which father Jacaerys is referring to. Perhaps both. Laenor Velaryon and Harwin Strong had died within months of each other, the circumstances of both their deaths shrouded in mystery. At least Cregan is aware of exactly how his parents had passed. It is a small mercy.

“Who is this?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan’s heart squeezes with pain. He brushes his fingers over Eddard’s effigy. “My brother.”

Jacaerys makes a sound of surprise. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“It’s not common knowledge,” Cregan says. “He died young. The plague took him when it took my mother. There is some solace to be found in knowing they were not alone.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jacaerys says. “I can’t-” He swallows thickly. “I can’t imagine losing any of my siblings.” 

“It is not a pain I’d wish upon even the worst of my enemies,” Cregan says. They share a look, a mutual understanding passing between them. It is somehow more intimate than everything else that has occurred between them. 

“Are these your grandparents?” Daeron asks.

Cregan and Jacaerys both jump at the sound; Cregan had completely forgotten about the other prince’s presence. 

Daeron casts them a bewildered look. 

“Yes, they are,” Cregan says, recovering his composure. “The plague took my grandmother too. I regret to say that I never knew my grandsire; he passed before I was born.” 

Cregan leads them further down the chambers, pointing out notable rules and answering any questions the Targaryens might have. He pauses in front of Torrhen Stark, The King Who Stood. Stood against the bloodthirsty conquerors; stood up for what the North stood for. Cregan doesn’t think much explanation is required for this particular ancestor. 

“And here is where the fates of our families collided,” Jacaerys says. There’s something playing in the prince’s eyes that Cregan cannot discern. “Don’t you sometimes wonder how things might have played out if Torrhen Stark chose a different course of actions?”

Cregan raises an eyebrow. “Torrhen Stark ensured the independence of the North.” 

“At what cost?” Jacaerys asks softly.

“War always comes with a cost,” Cregan says stiffly. The numbers of the dead are all too fresh in his mind, and he cannot help the hostility in his voice. “And it was not a war that we began.” 

“There were lives that could have been saved, had he chosen to bend the knee.” 

“Those lives would not have been in danger had Aegon not set his greedy gaze so far North.” 

“I imagine the aftermath of the plagues would not have been quite dire had it not been for the numbers lost during the war.” 

The words Jacaerys uttered are nothing that Cregan hasn’t thought of himself. Yet hearing the words from the prince only serves to enrage Cregan. 

“I would suggest that you keep such presumptuous speculations to yourself, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says coldly. “You know nothing about us, and business in the North doesn’t concern you or your family.” 

Jacaerys meets Cregan’s eyes. Whatever shared understanding they had gained has all but dissipated. “It does when you struggle to maintain payment.”

Cregan shouldn’t be surprised that Jacaerys is privy to the contents of his letters with Viserys, but he is. 

Jacaerys mistakes his shock for something else entirely. “Don’t look so stunned, Your Grace. I’m my mother’s eldest child, and make no mistake - I might be an omega, but I’m next in line to the throne after her.” Jacaerys turns away. His shoulders relax, and his expression is perfectly neutral when he looks back at Cregan. “I apologise for my rude remarks, Your Grace. I meant no offence.” 

Cregan eyes him for a moment, trying to figure out what game the prince is playing. “I overreacted as well, Prince Jacaerys.”

Cregan shows them the training yard next. A group of soldiers are training under the watchful eyes of Roderick “Roddy” Dustin, the commander of the Northern Army. Roddy was supposed to have joined them on the Spring Hunt, but he had unexpectedly taken ill on the very day. He notices them and comes over to greet them, first Cregan then Daeron. He nods at Jacaerys but doesn’t say anything. 

Jacaerys’ face falls for a brief second before he schools it into nonchalance. 

Roddy is an old-school alpha, the kind who thinks omegas and women belong in the kitchen. When news reached Winterfell that King Viserys had declared Rhaenyra as his heir, Roddy had proclaimed that he was glad that Torrhen hadn’t bent the knee and subjected the North to the folly of the Southerners, despite the fact that Rhaenyra is an alpha. 

Cregan shares many of Roddy’s views, but he himself has been the benefactor of Sara’s guidance, and he would have gladly given his sister a position in his court had she been a Stark. He doesn’t have any problems with Rhaenyra being Queen of the Six Kingdoms either. A woman or not, she is an alpha, and she’ll have the correct instinct to lead her people as her ancestors did. 

Roddy is a good man who loves his wife and children. He wants the best for them; it’s just that his idea of what is beneficial to them might not be the same as what they want for themselves. In the same vein, he doesn’t mean to be disrespectful to Jacaerys; it would just never cross his mind that he would ever need to answer to an omega. 

Cregan realises that this whole situation is due to his negligence. He should have made it clear to his men that they were to show Jacaerys the same respect they extended to him on that very first day, especially after the servant had made the mistake during the welcome feast. He’ll make sure it’s done by the end of the day. 

“Roddy, this is Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” Cregan says. “He’s next in line to the Iron Throne after Princess Rhaenyra.” 

Roddy rears back in surprise. He looks Jacaerys up and down with critical eyes. Jacaerys stiffens under his inspection, probably aware that Roddy is judging him for his slim build and delicate features. 

“Huh,” Roddy eventually says. Jacaerys’ eyes narrow, but Roddy simply bows. “Apologies, Prince Jacaerys. I was unaware of your status.” 

“It’s quite alright,” Jacaerys says tightly, but Cregan can tell from his tense posture that he isn’t sincere. 

“I heard you were instrumental in calming our dear Prince Rickon when no one else could manage it,” Roddy continues, completely oblivious to Jacaerys’ annoyance. “Leave it to an omega to know how to settle babies.” 

Cregan knows that Roddy thinks he is offering Jacaerys praise. When Jacaerys inhales deeply, his hands clenching by his sides, Daeron laughs extra loudly and marches forward, gesturing to the soldiers. 

“What are you having them practise, Lord Dustin?” he asks, successfully drawing the commander’s attention away from Jacaerys. 

Cregan suspects the fact that it is so easily commandeered by someone else is yet another slight on Jacaerys’ pride. He watches Jacaerys out of the corner of his eyes. Jacaerys’ eyes track Daeron and Roddy as they stroll over to the soldiers, Roddy gesturing as he answers Daeron’s question. 

“Lord Dustin doesn’t mean any insult. He’s an old fashioned man, but he has a good heart,” Cregan says. 

The expression on Jacaerys’ face turns sour, and Cregan regrets opening his mouth. 

“Would you like to spar, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks, catching Cregan off guard.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” 

Jacaerys raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Cregan says, realising too late that is the wrong thing to say when Jacaerys folds his arm across his chest. 

“You’ve seen me hunt, and you still think so little of me?”

“Hunting is not the same as sparring.” 

“You think me weak, then? Just like Lord Dustin?” 

Cregan does not know the purpose behind Jacaerys’ question - the prince is well aware that he isn’t going to like any answer that Cregan would give him, yet he continues to press him. Alphas are stronger than omegas; it is biology and not Cregan’s whims that dictate so. Besides, as far as Cregan knows, Rhaenyra hasn’t trained in combat. Why should her omega son be treated any differently? 

“It is no insult to your abilities. It is merely that I wish to avoid hurting you.” 

“You won’t,” Jacaerys says flippantly. 

“See reason, Prince Jacaerys. You are a guest in my home - it is out of respect and not contempt that I refuse to spar with you.”

“Would that same respect extend to Daeron? Or if my brother Lucerys were here instead of me?” 

“There are differences in etiquette regarding how alphas and omegas are treated.” 

“Are you afraid that you’ll lose to me? Would it be a stain on your honour?” The thought is so ludicrous that Cregan snorts before he can help himself. Jacaery scowls. “If you’re not going to spar with me, I’ll ask someone else.”  

“If this is your wish, then I shall comply,” Cregan says in frustration. 

It is a good opportunity to teach the spoiled prince a lesson just like Cregan has been wanting to anyway. And, in truth, the idea of another person sparring with Jacaerys doesn’t sit right with him. Northerners are hot blooded men. They might not remember to restrain themselves in the heat of battle, and as much as Jacaerys deserves to be taken down a peg or two, Cregan truly does not want to see him hurt. 

Eyes track them across the yard as they walk to the selection of weapons on display. Cregan chooses two wooden swords and holds one out to Jacaerys only to find the prince inspecting the row of real swords. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says sternly, holding out a wooden sword. 

Jacaerys looks over and scoffs. “Your Grace, you must be jesting. I’ve not trained with a wooden sword since I was a child.” 

“Neither have I, Prince Jacaerys, but I thought that using these swords would be more prudent lest we become too invested in the fight.”

“I believe you and I both have more control than that, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says. There’s a playful smirk on his face, the same one he graced Cregan with that night in Cregan’s bedchamber. It is almost knowing, but there is no way he knows how Cregan had caved and gave in to his desires that night. 

There are more people watching them now, and the last thing Cregan wants to do is create a scene. He knows that Jacaerys has no qualms about doing it to get his way, so Cregan grits his teeth and smiles. He puts down the wooden swords and selects a sword. 

They don their armour, and Cregan doesn’t miss the disapproving look Roddy gives him when he walks past him. Cregan isn’t surprised that everyone has put their own training on hold to watch their king and his honoured guest spar. While he is used to the attention, he knows he is not the centre of attention this time. His people are more curious about the omega prince who dares challenge their king to a spar. Expressions vary from disbelief to concern to dismissive. The only one who looks completely unbothered by this turn of events is Daeron. 

Robard says something to Daeron, probably a word of advice to persuade Jacaerys to abandon this foolish quest, but Daeron waves his concerns away. 

Cregan can’t help but feel bitter towards him. Daeron should really be taking better care of his nephew. 

“Ready, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks.

“Ready when you are, Prince Jacaerys.”

They watch each other carefully, neither rushing to throw the first strike. Cregan intends to let Jacaerys make the first move. He needs to go easy on the prince and make sure that he doesn’t accidentally hurt him. Honestly, a real spar would probably be easier. 

When Jacaerys realises that Cregan isn’t going to strike first, he decides to do it. Cregan blocks his blows easily. He can sense the boredom emanating from the crowd and almost feels sorry for Jacaerys.

Jacaerys falls back. “Is this how you want to do it, then?” 

“What?”

Jacaerys doesn’t reply. He rushes at Cregan instead. Cregan prepares to block his strike again and is taken by surprise when Jacaerys ducks low and slips under his arm. He taps the side of his sword against Cregan’s exposed side. 

The silence rings loudly. 

Cregan can hardly believe what had just happened. 

Jacaerys straightens and tilts his head. “Are you going to take me seriously now, Your Grace?”

Cregan had been trying to be merciful, but if this is how the little prince wants to play…

“Just remember that you’re the one who asked for this.” 

Cregan plans to finish the spar quickly. He’ll drag the fight out long enough that Jacaerys isn’t embarrassed but finish it quickly enough so that there’s no question who the better fight is between the two of them. That’s already more kindness than Jacaerys deserves. 

Cregan charges first this time. It’s going to be easy to land a blow on Jacaerys now that he’s serious. But Jacaerys, lean and quick, dances on the balls of his feet, evading each and every one of Cregan’s attacks. It goes on like this for longer than Cregan anticipates, and it begins to frustrate him. 

There’s an electrifying spark in the air now. The onlookers are watching the two fighters eagerly, heads snapping from Cregan to Jacaerys and back again. 

“You can’t keep running forever,” Cregan says. 

“Tired, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan has started to pant, but Jacaerys is as composed as he was at the start of the fight. He realises that Jacaerys is trying to wear him down. It’s a good tactic, but Cregan doesn’t tire so easily. And between the two of them, Jacarys is going to run out of stamina first. 

Cregan advances again, but Jacaerys has gotten bored of being on the defensive. He launches a series of jabs aimed at Cregan’s shoulders. Cregan deflects all of them, but Jacaerys’ speed is a whirlwind, and it’s hard to keep up with him while maintaining his balance. 

With a growl of frustration, Cregan thrusts his weight forward behind one of his blocks. It’s enough to knock Jacaerys off his momentum, and the tide once again swings in Cregan’s favour. He launches attack after attack, fueling each blow with raw power, knowing that Jacaerys doesn’t have the strength to meet them head on and has no choice but to keep dodging. 

Jacaerys narrowly escapes Cregan’s swing and isn’t fast enough to avoid the next one. He drops to the ground, rolling away, and springing back onto his feet. 

Cregan cannot help but feel a growing sense of admiration for him. 

Jacaerys darts in close, but Cregan has already seen him attempt this once, and he twists his body away from Jacaerys’ sword. 

“Fast learner,” Jacaerys says. Cregan tries to grab him, but he’s already sprinted away. He flashes Cregan a grin. “But I’m faster.” 

Jacaerys is right - Cregan is not going to win this fight with speed. Jacaerys is not only quick on his feet, he’s quick at reading Cregan’s moves as well. If Cregan wants to win, he has to overwhelm Jacaerys with sheer strength. 

He rushes towards Jacaerys with a loud roar. Jacaerys’ eyes widen briefly before he’s on the move again. He turns his body sideways, but Cregan’s sword manages to rip a hole in the sleeve of his robes. 

Cregan knows he’s made a mistake then. Jacaerys has just been waiting for him to close the gap so that he can attack Cregan from behind. Cregan spins on his feet at the last second, and his sword clashes into Jacaerys’. 

The prince lets go of his sword immediately and grabs it before it can hit the ground. He wrings his wrist, and Cregan knows that he has the upper hand. He doesn’t give Jacaerys any time to recover before he’s on him again. He raises his sword above his head, intending to end this with one final strike. There’s no time for Jacaerys to run; the only thing he can do is try to block Cregan’s blow with his sword. 

Jacaerys drops down and sweeps his leg across the ground. Cregan’s feet fly out from under him, and he crashes onto the ground. He feels before he sees Jacaerys’ sword and rolls to his side, narrowly evading the attack. 

Jacaerys is already halfway through his next attack. Cregan reaches out to grab Jacaerys’ ankle. Jacaerys’ eyes widen when he notices what Cregan’s about to do, but it’s too late. Cregan’s hand wraps around his ankle and yanks. Jacaerys crashes onto the ground next to Cregan, and Cregan rolls on top of him to pin him to the ground. 

The crowd erupts in cheers for the King in the North, and satisfaction sings in Cregan’s veins. 

“Do you yield?” Cregan asks. 

“I yield.” Jacaerys grins up at him. “Do you like me being under you, Your Grace?” 

Cregan rolls off of Jacaerys immediately, ignoring the chuckles coming from the prince. He offers his hand to him, and Jacaerys takes it. A jolt of electricity runs up Cregan’s arm at the contact, and he knows that Jacaerys feels it too when the prince’s gaze drops down to their joined hands. Without thinking, Cregan entwines their fingers together and brushes his thumb softly over the back of Jacaerys’ hand. Jacaerys’ head shoots up, his lips parted, and Cregan tears his eyes away from Jacaerys lest he kisses him in front of everybody. He lets go of Jacaerys’ hand as if he has been burned.  

“That was a challenging match,” Cregan says sincerely. At some point, he had thought that he was going to lose. “I apologise for underestimating you, Prince Jacaerys.” 

“You put up quite a fight yourself, Your Grace.” 

Roddy and his men run up to congratulate Cregan, and Jacaerys steps aside to let them do it. 

Roddy looks at Jacaerys, respect glinting in his eyes. “Perhaps I was wrong about omegas, Prince Jacaerys. You are quite the fine warrior.” 

Jacaerys beams. “Thank you, Lord Dustin.” 

The men make plans to go to the hot springs, and they invite Daeron to join them. Cregan promises to catch up with them. He runs after Jacaerys, hoping to catch a private moment with him. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” he calls.

Jacaerys pauses, waiting for him to catch up. “What is it, Your Grace?” 

“I wish to train with you, if you’ll allow me the honour of doing so.” 

Jacaerys’ eyes widen in surprise, and he blinks a few times before responding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Tomorrow at dawn.” 

Jacaerys straightens, looking like he’s biting back a smile. “Tomorrow at dawn.” 

Chapter Text

Jacaerys is under him, his face flushed and breathing heavy. They’ve been at it for hours, and Cregan is surprised he hasn’t called for at least a break. 

“Still wish to continue, Prince Jacaerys?” Cregan asks. 

Jacaerys smiles, wriggling beneath him, and Cregan feels something hard poking against his stomach. “Do you think you can continue, Your Grace?” 

Cregan’s eyes widen, and when he lifts himself off Jacaerys, he sees a sheathed dagger in the prince’s hand. 

“Sneaky,” Cregan comments, getting to his feet and offering Jacaerys a hand.

“You ought to be more observant, Your Grace,” Jacaerys replies, grabbing Cregan’s hand and pulling himself up. 

They’ve been sparring at the crack of dawn the past three days, and it’s refreshing to be able to spend time with Jacaerys without the presence of others. When they are tousling in the dirt, they’re not King Cregan Stark and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon; they can just be Cregan and Jacaerys. 

Cregan thinks about asking Jacaerys to address him by his given name again for the umpteenth time. He usually discards the thought as quickly as it comes to him, but he lingers on it that morning. It wouldn’t be so inappropriate for Jacaerys to call him that when it’s just the two of them. 

“You really enjoy staring at me, don’t you?” Jacaerys asks. His tone is playful as usual, but his cheeks are red, and Cregan cannot tell if it’s from exertion or embarrassment. 

Jacaerys has become softer towards Cregan when it’s just the two of them alone. His teasing is underlaid with shyness, and his gaze is more gentle than sharp. 

Or Cregan is just delusional. 

“You’re a sight to behold - why should I not enjoy looking at you?” Cregan asks. 

Jacaerys’ expression flutters with surprise and amusement. He settles on a coying smile. “You’re not so bad to look at yourself.” 

Cregan turns away and busies himself with adjusting his clothes. He is absolutely not blushing like a maiden. Jacaerys’ giggle indicates he thinks otherwise.

“I’m impressed with your stamina,” Cregan says when they return the weapons to the rack. 

“I have Daemon to thank for that. He always pushed us to do better.” In a quieter voice, he added, “Even me. Especially me.” 

“Prince Daemon sounds like a good man,” Cregan offers.

Jacaerys smiles somewhat forlornly. “He's a good father.” 

It is deep in the night once again when Cregan finishes his work for the day. He decides to go to the hot springs. Training with Jacaerys has proven every bit the challenge he thought it would be, and his body needs the comfort. He sinks into the hot water, groaning loudly as the heat massages his sore muscles, easing away the fatigue. 

Cregan closes his eyes and leans his head against a rock, replaying the last fight from earlier that morning in his head. Where did he slip up so that Jacaerys had the chance to pull the dagger on him? He remembers knocking Jacaerys to the ground and climbing on top of him. He remembers the smell of Jacaerys’ hair and the feel of his tiny waist in his hands-  

Warm air rushes over his face. 

Cregan opens his eyes in alarm and comes face to face with a large, gaping maw. 

The green dragon releases another huff, and Cregan’s life flashes before his eyes. 

He should’ve asked Medrick where he had placed the dragons. 

He should’ve told Rickon he loves him.  

He should’ve told Jacaerys- 

“Vermax,” a sharp voice calls out. It’s followed by a string of words that Cregan doesn’t understand. 

The dragon growls but backs away from Cregan. It disappears into the darkness, and Cregan hears a loud thud as it settles itself onto the ground. It huffs again, sounding almost disappointed that it was denied a meal. 

A familiar chuckle draws his attention. Jacaerys waddles across the hot spring to him and settles himself next to him, their shoulders a scant inch apart. 

“I apologise for the scare, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says. “Vermax can be a tad bit too protective.”

“I wasn’t aware you were here,” Cregan says. 

“It’s usually unoccupied at this time,” Jacaerys says with a shrug. “I thought about what you said in the godswoods and saw the sense in it. Figured it’d be safer here with Vermax around.” 

“I wouldn’t have come if I had known,” Cregan says. 

“It’s alright,” Jacaerys says. “It’s a pleasant surprise.” 

“You should’ve told me that you wanted use of the hot springs. I told you that I would’ve ensured it was empty for you.” 

Jacaerys shrugs. “I didn’t want to bother you.” 

Cregan raises an eyebrow. “When have you ever cared about that?” 

Jacaerys laughs and moves closer to Cregan ever so slightly, his scent mixing with the sulphuric smell of the hot springs, and Cregan feels lightheaded as he breathes it in. 

“Your Grace,” Jacaerys says, his voice prying.

Cregan hums in response, not trusting his voice.  

Jacaerys doesn’t answer, so Cregan turns to him and finds warm, brown eyes trained on him. His heart beats faster in his chest, and he knows that he has stayed in the hot springs for far too long. The heat is getting to him. He should really get out.

He doesn’t.

Droplets of water cling to the ends of Jacaerys’ pretty curls, and Cregan’s eyes track one of them as it slides down a naked neck. When he looks back up, he finds the familiar knowing look in Jacaerys’ eyes. 

“Do you want to fuck me, Your Grace?” 

Cregan sputters and blurts out a loud, “No!” 

“You smell like you want to.” Jacaerys tilts his head and meets Cregan’s eyes. “All the time.” 

Cregan makes an unbecoming, strangled sound. “I- You- We- It’s just- I’m not used to having an omega around all the time. I meant no offence.”

Jacaerys laughs, the sound both comforting and annoying. Cregan wants to drown himself. 

“I take no offence,” Jacaerys says. He pauses and corrects himself, “I used to take offence but not so much anymore.” 

Before Cregan can ask or even try to comprehend what Jacaerys means by that, Jacaerys moves again. The prince curls in on himself, appearing even smaller than before. 

His voice is soft when he continues speaking, “But it’s not just you, Your Grace. The castle is choked full of alpha pheromones.”

A growl is ripped from Cregan’s throat. The idea that other alphas have entertained the idea of fucking Jacaerys while in his castle causes anger like he has never known before to surge through his body. 

“Who?” 

“It matters not, Your Grace. There are too many to count. And I’m not just talking about arousal. Your alphas’ anger, bitterness, disdain - I’m made to be aware of all of it.” Jacaerys’ voice drops even lower, and Cregan leans in to hear him, inevitably closing the gap between them, pressing their arms together. The contact would’ve sent Cregan into a frenzy, but he’s more interested in listening to what Jacaerys has to say. “Rickon brings me comfort. He smells like my younger siblings, and his nursery is the only place in the whole castle where I can breathe freely.” 

Jacaerys’ voice becomes bitter. “Yet I’m forced to always wear my scent patches.” 

“It is for your own-” 

“For my own good?” Jacaerys interrupts loudly, brown eyes caramelised with anger. “So it’s my fault if an alpha decides to assault me just because he likes the smell of me but I’m supposed to silently endure the lecherous looks and noxious scents?”

Cregan wishes he could take back his words. He hadn’t meant to say them, not really, but they had fallen out of his mouth without control. It just makes sense that Jacaerys should take the precautions needed to protect himself. He has thought this way his whole life, that of course alphas and men should keep their hands to themselves, but that omegas and women ought to equally be as responsible by dressing and acting modestly and, in the case of omegas, covering up their scents. 

It’s not as if they don’t know what their scents can do to alphas. Why wave a red flag in front of a bull? Why show blood to a wolf? 

Jacaerys stands for everything Cregan hates in an omega. Immodest and insolent with his words and actions. If Cregan were a lesser alpha, he couldn’t say that Jacaerys’ modesty would’ve still been intact with the way the omega keeps pushing him and tempting him. Cregan would’ve taken him that very night he dared pull that stunt in his bed chamber, and, if Jacaerys had been anyone else other than Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, he wouldn’t be held liable for his actions. Jacaerys had snuck into his room; Jacaerys had been asking for it. 

But despite knowing all these, Cregan cannot help the uneasy feeling in his heart. His chest is bloated, and he feels like he needs to prick a hole in his body to relieve the suffocation. 

Because Jacaerys isn’t wrong either. Why should he be subjected to the alphas’ unrestrained pheromones? Yes, he has been extremely inappropriate with Cregan, and that is entirely his fault, but he certainly hasn’t been inappropriate with other alphas. 

If Jacaerys has, then Cregan supposed that it would indeed be his fault. But if Jacaerys has, then Cregan would rip out the throats of all those alphas who thought for even one second that Jacaerys would deign them worthy of his time, who dared to think that they could lay their hands on what belongs to Cregan. 

But Cregan is certain - mostly certain - that Jacaerys has only behaved so indecently towards him. And so why should Jacaerys have to bear responsibility for being seen as an object of desire for these alphas? 

But omegas are made for alphas, and-

A hand cups his cheek.

“Your head is about to explode, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says, the corners of his eyes crinkling, but Cregan can see the sadness shimmering beneath molten embers. Has it always been there and Cregan just hasn’t noticed it before? He vows to rectify it. 

He grasps Jacaerys’ hand, and Jacaerys jerks, trying to pull his hand away instinctively, but Cregan holds it there.

“My men and I will wear scent patches as of the morrow,” Cregan swears. “Any alpha who doesn’t will be denied entry into Winterfell as long as you remain within my walls.” 

Jacaerys’ hand goes slack, and his eyes are wide with disbelief. He doesn’t respond for the longest time. He all but melts into Cregan when he finally says, “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Cregan sees Jacaerys back to his bedchamber after they leave the hot springs. Jacaerys returns to his usual terrorising and menacing behaviour on their walk back. He chats Cregan’s ear off, letting his hand linger on Cregan’s arm longer than he should each time he touches the king, and then straight up just holding onto it as they ascend the stone steps. 

Cregan should be bothered; he should shake Jacaerys off, but, in all honesty, he’s gladdened to see Jacaerys so happy, and he enjoys the weight of Jacaerys’ hand on his arm. It’s a grounding touch, like he would be lost if Jacaerys wasn’t there to anchor him down. 

They come to a stop in front of Jacaerys’ bedchamber. 

“Here we are,” Cregan says. “Have a good night, Prince Jacaerys.”

“Here we are,” Jacaerys agrees. 

“Sleep well, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says again. 

Jacaerys nods but doesn’t enter his room. Cregan should take his leave; he’s already said good night twice like an idiot. There’s no reason for him to continue standing in the hallway. 

“Would you perhaps want to come in, Your Grace?” Jacaerys asks, placing his hand on Cregan’s chest, right over his heart. He bites his lower lip and looks up at Cregan in clear invitation. 

Cregan Stark might be the King in the North, but even an alpha of his stature has his limits, and Cregan has been holding back his impulses ever since Jacaerys Velaryon had slid off his dragon and trampled all over Cregan’s self-control. 

Instead of answering, Cregan takes a large step forward. He places one hand on Jacaerys’ waist and uses the other to open the doors. They fall into the room, their coats falling onto the ground. Cregan shuts the door with a kick of his leg and finally, finally claims Jacaerys’ lips. 

Jacaerys gasps into the unexpected kiss, and his lips are as delicious as Cregan has imagined them to be. They crash into a wall, Cregan cushioning the back of Jacaerys’ head with his hand as he deepens the kiss. Their tongues meet in a heated frenzy, and the sound that Jacaerys makes goes straight to Cregan’s cock. 

He mouths his way down Jacaerys’ jaw, saliva filling his mouth as he nears the scent gland. Jacaerys whimpers when Cregan licks it but doesn’t pull away. Even in this state, Cregan is acutely aware of how dangerous it is to linger there, and he moves his head to the other side of Jacaerys’ neck before he does something both of them regret. 

He sucks a kiss into Jacaerys’ skin and rips the tunic off Jacaerys. He steps back only to toss his own off, and then he places his hands on Jacaerys’ body, groaning at the warmth beneath his fingers. He latches on to Jacaerys’ neck again, adding another bruise to the one he’s already made. He pulls back, grinning at the sight of the two purple marks marring the prince’s otherwise unblemished skin. 

Jacaerys whines, tugging Cregan back up for a kiss, and Cregan is helpless to refuse him. Jacaerys moans when their tongues meet again, and Cregan slides his hands down to grip Jacaerys’ round ass. It feels thick and firm, and Cregan gropes it shamelessly. Jacaerys jumps up, wrapping strong, lean legs around Cregan’s waist. 

Cregan breaks the kiss so that he can manoeuvre them safely to the bed, while Jacaerys takes the opportunity to kiss a bruise into Cregan’s neck. Cregan deposits Jacaerys onto the bed carelessly and follows him onto it immediately, covering his body with his and swallowing the squeak that escapes his lips. 

“Your Grace,” Jacaerys pants.

“No,” Cregan growls. “Call me Cregan. When we’re like this, call me by my name.” 

“Cregan,” Jacaerys whispers, and the sound is sweeter than any music. 

Cregan kisses him roughly, gripping his waist so tightly there’s bound to be marks left behind. He runs his hand up a smooth, toned stomach and brushes his thumb over a nipple, eliciting a sweet moan that’s immediately muffled by Jacaerys throwing an arm over his mouth. 

Cregan can’t have that. He pulls Jacaerys’ arm away, revealing a flushed face and swollen lips. The sight makes him moan, and he dives in to have another taste of those salacious lips. He pulls back, pinning Jacaerys’ arms to his side. 

“I want to hear you,” he says.

Jacaerys’s cheeks turn even redder. 

“You’re so pretty, so beautiful. There should be statues made of you, songs sung about you, poetry written about you,” Cregan says fervently. 

Jacaerys’ face turns redder with each word that leaves Cregan’s mouth, and he bites down hard on his lower lip, stifling another sound.

Cregan grins. “Do you like me calling you pretty, darlin’?” 

Jacaerys whimpers helplessly as he nods. The room floods with the tantalising scent of his pheromones. Beneath the flowery tones that Cregan has become well acquainted with is a thick and smokey scent, like burning cinders. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more. Needs more. 

Cregan closes a mouth over a perk nipple, reducing Jacaerys into a moaning mess. He bites down onto it harshly, and a loud cry tears itself from Jacaerys’ throat as the prince arches his back. 

“Cregan, Cregan, Cregan,” he says endlessly like a prayer. 

Cregan is faring no better. He removes his mouth from Jacaerys’ skin. “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” he says, the words falling from his mouth like a confession. “Ever since I saw you, I’ve wanted you beneath me like this. Seven hells, Jacaerys, you don’t know what you do to me.”

Jacaerys cups his cheek. “Jace,” he says. “Call me Jace.” 

“Jace,” Cregan repeats, holding the word in his mouth like a cherished heirloom. 

Jace buries his fingers into Cregan’s hair and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s slower than the others, more intimate. As much as Cregan enjoys it, impatience creeps up on him. He kisses his way down Jace’s body again, pausing every now and then to add another mark to the growing collection. Jace’s body is the night sky, and Cregan intends to fill it with constellations and show everybody who the prince belongs to. 

There’s a wet patch on Jace’s trousers, and Cregan touches it, pushing his hand against Jace’s cunt. His hand is soaked instantaneously, and Cregan groans at the thought of Jace’s sex on his tongue. 

He brings his hands up and grips the edges of Jace’s trousers, ready to yank it off him. But Jace places his hand over his, stopping his movement. 

“Do you really think I’ll let you fuck me so easily, Cregan?” Jace asks. 

“I- You- I- Uh- What?” 

Jace chuckles, bringing Cregan’s hand up and away from the most coveted part of himself. Cregan wants to tug his hand back down, but the instinct to do as Jace desires wins out, and he lets himself be guided on his back. 

Jace swings his legs over Cregan, mounting him like he would his dragon. And much like Vermax, Cregan is obedient under Jace’s touch. Though his self-control is severely tested when Jace sits on him, pressing his dripping cunt against Cregan’s skin. 

“Do you want to fuck me, Cregan?” Jace asks. “I didn’t get an answer the last time.” 

Cregan groans in frustration. “You pose a question to which you already know the answer.” 

Jace tilts his head. “Did you really think I’ll let you fuck me so easily?” he repeats. His eyes glitter with mirth. “I’m not one of your omega whores, Your Grace.” 

“Cregan,” Cregan corrects automatically, because as much as he loves the way Jacaerys says his title, it fills him with unease when he uses it in bed. “And I don’t fuck whores.” 

Jace leans forward, bracing himself on his arms as he stares into Cregan’s eyes. “You think me a fool, Cregan? Am I to believe an alpha in his prime doesn't have omegas serving him during his ruts?”

“They’re not whores,” Cregan says. Then realises that he doesn’t actually know if there are. His advisors have always taken care of the logistics for him. He doesn’t remember their faces. He isn’t even given their names. And he has never cared before, though he’s wise enough to not say any of this to Jacaerys. “Not to my knowledge anyway.” 

Jace sighs and leans down to kiss Cergan. 

Cregan should be ashamed at how eagerly he accepts Jace back into his arms. He holds Jace’s hips, anchoring him against him. He rolls them over so that he’s on top again and pins Jace’s wrists to the bed, his body heating up when Jace allows him to do it. 

“Let me fuck you,” Cregan says into Jace’s ear, not caring how close he sounds to begging. 

Jacaerys giggles, the little demon. “No. Not today.” 

Cregan brings his head up and stares down at Jace hungrily. The same heat is reflected in Jace’s eyes, and Cregan is pleased to know that he isn’t the only one affected by the haze of arousal and desire. 

“One day then?” he asks. 

“Eventually,” Jace says, sealing the promise with a sweet kiss. 

Cregan flops onto the bed next to Jace and groans loudly. “You’re killing me.” 

Jace runs his fingers down Cregan’s side, and his hand slips into Jace’s trousers. 

Cregan turns his head to the side to see a mischievous grin on Jace’s face. 

“What are you doing?” he asks tightly. 

“I only said that you can’t fuck me,” Jace says. He grips Cregan’s cock, and Cregan moans, bucking his hips into Jace’s hand. “Everything else is on the table.”

“You’ll let me taste your cunt then?” Cregan asks.

Jace blushes like a maiden. “So crude,” he says, but Cregan can taste his excitement in the air and knows he’s not against the idea. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” Cregan says, moving to tower over Jace. 

He misses the warmth of Jace’s hand around his cock, but he forgets all about it when he presses his mouth to the damp patch on Jacaerys’ trousers. He hums appreciatively at the decadent taste of omega slick. The flavour is muted by the fabric, and Cregan wants to drink the nectar from its source. He tries to tug Jace’s trousers down again, but Jace plants a foot on his chest and kicks him off. 

“Patience, Cregan,” Jacaerys purrs. 

Cregan lets Jace push him onto his back again but lets his reluctance be known by smacking Jace’s ass when the prince crawls on top of him. Jacaerys gasps sharply and bites his lower lip. Cregan grins, grabbing a handful of the round butt and thrusting up against Jace’s cunt. Jace presses his lips together, muffling a moan.

“You like that?” Cregan asks. 

“Shut up,” Jace replies, leaning down. 

Cregan bites at his jaw in retaliation, and Jace squawks indignantly, pulling back. “You’re worse than Rickon!” 

Cregan’s eyes widen in horror. “Do not bring up my son when we’re like this!” 

Jace laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and Cregan knows, just knows, that he did it on purpose. He buries his face in the crook of Cregan’s neck, his body shaking. Cregan rolls his eyes, carding his fingers through Jace’s hair. He massages his scalp, and Jace lets out a content rumble. 

Jace pushes himself up and murmurs against Cregan’s lips, “Don’t be mad; I’ll make it up to you.”

He tugs at Cregan’s trousers, and Cregan shoves it off, letting his hard and leaking cock spring free from its confines. Jace licks his lips as he stares at Cregan’s cock reverently. He wraps a hand around it, and Cregan pushes up into his hold, relishing in how his cock barely fits into Jace’s hand. 

Jace swirls a finger around the tip, spreading the precum across the head. Then he brings his fingers up to his mouth and lets out the most obscene moan as he suckles on them. Cregan imagines Jace’s lips wrapped around his cock and has to fist himself to stop from coming right there and then. 

Jace bats Cregan’s hand away, a knowing smile on his lips, and resumes stroking. 

“Oil,” Cregan says when his cock feels like it’s starting to chafe in Jace’s hand. He rises to get up, but Jace pushes him back down. 

Jace thrusts his hand into his trousers and moans endlessly as he pleasures himself. Cregan stares at his movements ardently, and it’s so unfair that Jacaerys is concealing this view from him. 

“Let me see,” Cregan begs, past the point of caring about his useless pride. “I promise I won’t touch you.”

But Jace simply shakes his head. His hand is soaked when he removes it from his trousers, and Cregan almost loses his mind when Jacaerys wraps his fingers around his cock. The lubrication makes it feel so much better; the fact that it’s Jace’s slick intensifies the pleasure so much more. Cregan thrusts his dick into Jace’s warm and wet hand like an animal. 

“You’re so big,” Jacaerys says in marvel. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to fit you in my mouth, much less in my cunt.”

Cregan squeezes his eyes shut as he comes with a loud shout. He’s never had an orgasm where he’s blacked out, and he hasn’t even fucked Jace yet. When he comes back to himself, Jace is still stroking him, prolonging his pleasure. Just as it’s about to become too sensitive, Jace moves his hand to the base of Cregan’s cock but continues stroking it gently until he’s fully milked. 

Cregan would be embarrassed at how easily he came if Jace didn’t sit on his thigh and hump it, orgasming just as quickly as Cregan did. After he comes, he lifts his hand, the one covered in Cregan’s cum, and licks it till it’s clean. Cregan’s cock gives a valiant jerk at the sight. He’s a young alpha; he could most definitely go again. He could go all night.

He cups the back of Jacaerys’ head and pulls him down for a kiss that Jace responds to greedily. They kiss for a long time and eventually only break apart for air. Jace flops down onto the bed and snuggles into Cregan’s side. Cregan fits an arm around Jace’s waist and tugs him even closer. 

It’s nice and cosy and warm. It’s been a long time since Cregan has ever felt so relaxed, and his eyelids start to droop. 

“No, Cregan,” Jacaerys says, smacking at his chest. 

Cregan opens his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You need to leave.”

Cregan blinks at Jacaerys in confusion. “What?”

“You can’t fall asleep here,” Jacaerys says with a huff, rolling away from Cregan. “What will people say?”

“Who cares what they say?” Cregan asks, sitting up and grabbing Jace around the waist and pulling him back against his chest before he can go far. “I’m the king. I can do whatever I want.”

Jace purses his lips. “And I’m an unmarried omega,” he says, swatting Cregan’s hand away. He gives up when Cregan refuses to let go. 

“Fucking double standards,” Cregan grouses. “Fuck them.” 

Jace presses a light kiss to Cregan’s lips. “It’s true, and I hate it, but it’s the way it is. You need to leave, Cregan. Now.”

Cregan sighs, removing his hands from Jace reluctantly. He might be the king, but Jace is right - it does neither of them any good if anyone were to find out that he spent the night in Jace’s chambers. 

“At least let me wash up first,” Cregan says. He eyes Jace’s body greedily, giving away his true intentions.  

Jace folds his arms across his chest. “Wash up in your own room.” 

“Fine,” Cregan says. He steals a quick kiss from Jace before getting out of the bed. 

Cregan finds a spare cloth and wipes himself down before getting dressed. Jace is staring at the sheets, worry creasing his brows. Cregan leans down and kisses the frown away. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take care of it. No one will know.” 

Jace smiles at him conspiratorially. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Sweet dreams, Prince Jacaerys.” 

Chapter Text

Cregan is relaxed. He’s relaxed and happy. He’s smiling so much these days that both Robard and Medrick have enquired more than once whether he’s alright. The concern is so absurd that he can only respond with laughter, which only concerns them more. Cregan’s alright. He’s more than alright. He’s perfect. He’s ascended to heaven and is floating on a cloud of endless bliss. Each night spent in Jace’s chambers brings him peace and contentment like he has never known before.

The petitions don’t give him as much grief, and the reports don’t cause him so much stress. The problems are still there, and they still loom darkly over the future of the North, but Cregan doesn’t feel the crushing pressure anymore. He feels like he can handle them without a problem. He feels like he can do anything. 

Except fuck Jace. 

Because Jace still hasn’t allowed him to, hasn’t even allowed him anywhere near his cunt even though he knows how desperately Cregan craves it. 

But Cregan is alright with it. It’s not a matter of it; it’s a matter of when, and he intends to prove to Jace just how worthy he is. 

He’s so relaxed that he completely forgets that his uncle and cousins are scheduled to return from their expedition to the Wall and far North that day. 

He’s rudely reminded when Bennard storms into the throne room like he’s the King in the North with his three sons in tow. Benjen and Brandon wear the same look of righteous indignation as their father, while the youngest, Elric, looks like he wants to disappear.  

“Cregan, what is the meaning of this?” Bennard demands. 

“Mind your manners in the presence of the king!” Robard says. 

Bennard sneers. “I am the king’s uncle! You ought to mind your manners around me!” 

“No one is allowed to address the king by his name, not even his uncle,” Medrick says. His hand tightens on his pommel in clear warning. Roddy takes a clear step towards Bennard, his expression neutral but intentions clear. 

Bennard’s face turns red with rage, but Cregan interrupts him before he can start spewing his anger all over the place.

“What has upset you so, Uncle?” he asks. He already has an inkling what it is, and he’s proven right when Bennard raises his arm so that everyone can see the scent patch slapped over his wrist. 

“This!” Bennard exclaims. “We are Northerners, Cre- Your Grace! Why should we wear these marks of shame as if we are no better than collared dogs?”

“As you should already know-”

“I’m speaking to my nephew, Lord Cerwyn.”

Robard grits his teeth but doesn’t argue. 

Cregan swallows as sigh. “As you should already know, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and-”

“Jacaerys Velaryon? You’re doing this to please an omega prince?” Bennard asks in disgust. He rips the scent patch off his wrist and throws it onto the ground, stomping on it for good measure. “I am a Stark, and I refuse to bow to the unreasonable demands of a cunt struck king!” 

“How dare you!” Robard says. 

The other lords begin shouting, and Roddy would have drawn his sword if it wasn’t for Cregan’s shake of his head. Bennard, Bengen, and Brandon respond in kind, yelling and pointing at the lords. Poor Elric looks caught in the crossfire as usual, and he looks at Cregan helplessly. Brandon cuffs him over the back of his head harshly, and Elric apologises profusely.

“Enough,” Cregan says, his voice carrying through the room loudly despite him not raising his voice at all. 

Everyone falls silent at once. Bennard looks like he still wants to continue arguing, but his mouth clamps shut when Cregan sets a steely gaze on him. 

Cregan’s eyes don’t leave Bennard as he says, “My uncle is exhausted from his trip. See him and my cousins to their rooms.”

“I-”

“Now.” 

Bennard bows stiffly, but his eyes are blazing with anger. “Your Grace.” 

As he makes to leave, Cregan says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Bennard frowns at him in confusion until Cregan’s gaze drops pointedly to the patch on the ground. Bennard opens his mouth to protest but appears to think better of it. With gritted teeth, he bends down and rips the patch off the floor. He slaps it back onto his wrist and storms out of the throne room the same way he had entered. His sons scurry after him, and Benjen shoots Cregan a dirty look just before he disappears through the doors. 

“The nerve of him!” Robard says. 

“My uncle is a fool; there is no need to spare him any further thought,” Cregan says.

Bennard’s reaction is nothing surprising; the man has always held a high level of disdain for omegas, even for his very own mate. The truth is that Bennard’s behaviour is well-justified. Cregan knows that his order was not well-received by the lords either. They obey because they will do anything he commands them to do, but he knows that there are several of them who are unhappy. The ones who had been on the Spring Hunt are the only ones to have accepted the order readily, having grown to respect Jace as much as Cregan has. 

As much as Cregan cannot find himself regretting mandating the use of scent patches, he has caught himself wondering at times if he has made the right decision. As impertinent as Bennard had been, his words held truth. Alphas in the North do not wear scent patches; these items are reserved for omegas, lest they pose a distraction to the alphas. How emasculating it must be for an alpha of Bennard’s status to be forced to wear one. How shameful it must be for his lords to be reduced to the position of an omega. 

But Jace is no ordinary omega. Jace is a prince of the Six Kingdoms, the Crown Princess’ heir. That, at least, his lords can agree with. 

“What is it?” Cregan asks when he feels Roddy’s gaze trained on him.

“Prince Bennard was out of line, but I share his concerns,” Roddy says. 

He had been among those who had been most unhappy with the decree. Loyal as he is, he had been so upset that he had refused to be in Cregan’s presence for two days straight. 

“And what concerns might you have, Lord Dustin?” Cregan asks. He has been expecting the commander to speak up; he’s just surprised it’s taken him this long. 

“I’ve served your family for a long time, my King, and you know that I will lay down my life readily in defence of you and your rule, but-” Roddy gestures at the scent patch on his neck in disgust. “-you’ve asked me to debase myself in ways that no self-respecting alpha would ever do. I respect you immensely, Your Grace, but it seems that you do not hold the same respect for me.”

Cregan exhales through his nose steadily. 

“You speak of respect, Roderick, so answer me this - is Prince Jacaerys not worthy of your respect?” 

Roddy’s face twitches with confusion. “Of course, I respect the prince. He is a prince.” 

“Aye, but he’s an omega,” Cregan says.

Conflict wars in Roddy’s expression. “Aye.”

“And?” Cregan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He shouldn’t sit on the iron throne,” Roddy says stiffly. “I respect him and his royal status and will do as he commands as long as you too have sanctioned it, but that is different from becoming a ruler of a kingdom. He does not have what it takes.” 

“I beg to differ, and when the time comes for Prince Jacaerys to rule the Six Kingdoms, the North will send him our sincerest congratulations as we have for all the monarchs that have come before him. But I’m not asking you who should sit on the Iron Throne. I’m asking you, as the commander of my army, about what kind of Northern hospitality we should extend to him.” 

Roddy’s nostrils flare. “Northern men are honourable. We are not slaves to our baser instincts like our counterparts in the South. Certainly none of the men in this room would cause any concern for Prince Jacaerys!” 

More than a few lords shift uneasily. For the sake of his kingdom and because Cregan knows his men are nothing but loyal to him, Cregan doesn’t look at any of them to confirm their identities lest he butchers them. 

Roddy rears back in disbelief, and he lays reproachful eyes on each of the guilty lords, the contempt clear on his face. “Disgraceful,” he says. 

“We are in agreement then,” Cregan says. 

“Aye, Your Grace, we are.” 

There’s a knock on Cregan’s door, then Jace is kissing him furiously. Cregan allows himself to be pushed against a wall. He has no idea what is happening, but he is incredibly happy that it is. He grips Jace’s waist and deepens the kiss, relishing the feel of Jace’s tongue against his. It’s been less than a day since he’s last seen Jace like this, but he feels as if it has been forever.

“What’s happening?” Cregan asks, stroking Jace’s side gently. 

“You defended me today,” Jace says as if that explains everything, then kisses Cregan again like he can’t help himself. He sinks to his knees, and Cregan’s eyes widen when Jace starts tugging at his trousers. 

“Are you sure?” Cregan asks quietly, deathly afraid that Jace might change his mind if he sounds too pushy.

“Yes,” Jace answers, yanking Cregan’s trousers down. He nuzzles Cregan’s cock, and all thoughts flee Cregan’s mind. He bites his lower lip coyly and looks up at Cregan beneath long lashes. “Do you like me like this, Your Grace?” 

Cregan cards his fingers into Jace’s hair and rubs his head. Jace leans into it like a pet seeking affection from its master. 

“Very much, Jace,” Cregan says. 

Jace’s eyes darken, and the fact that this dynamic arouses him only arouses Cregan more. 

Cregan guides Jace’s head forward. “Why don’t you give it a kiss?” 

Jace obliges, pressing his lips against Cregan’s cock. “Like this, Your Grace?” he asks, his breath fanning over the sensitive head. 

“Just like that,” Cregan coaxes, pushing Jace’s head forward again.

Jace takes hold of Cregan’s dick with a hand and lays gentle kisses all over it. Precum pearls at the tip, and Jace laps it up with small licks. Cregan watches him, enraptured by the sight of his tongue on his cock. Jace wraps his lips around the tip and suckles on it. He alternates between sucking on Cregan’s cock and kissing it, driving Cregan wild with desire. Cregan tugs on his hair, testing the waters. When Jace moans approvingly, he pushes Jace’s head further down his shaft, making him take more of his meat. 

With half of Cregan’s cock in his mouth, Jace bobs his head up and down, running his tongue over the ridge and twirling his tongue around the tip. He cups Cregan’s balls with a hand and massages them. Cregan groans, bucking his hips up and forcing more of his dick into Jace’s mouth. Jacaerys tries to pull away, but Cregan holds his head in place. He pauses for a second, waiting for any signs of protest. When none comes, he slowly feeds more of his dick into Jace’s mouth. 

He feels the prince struggling to accommodate his girth, and he pets his head encouragingly. “You can do it, darlin’. Take all of me into your mouth. Yes… that’s right… just like that… by the old gods, you take me so well, darlin’.” 

It’s adorable the way Jace determinedly sucks down more of Cregan’s dick. It feels so good that Cregan inevitably thrusts forward, causing Jace to choke. He slaps at Cregan’s thigh, and Cregan relaxes his grip in his hair, allowing him to pull off. Jace coughs a few times, and Cregan feels bad, he really does, but it’s hard to truly feel any regret when Jace looks so pretty with his lips all swollen and red, his expression so fucked out. Cregan runs his thumb over Jace’s puffy lower lip. 

“You did well, darlin’; you did so well,” he says. 

Jacaerys gives him a pleased smile before taking him into his mouth again. It takes some effort, but he manages to fit all of Cregan into his mouth, his nose pressed against Cregan’s hair. 

Cregan strokes Jace’s face tenderly, and his hand slips lower to touch the slight bulge in Jace’s throat. He imagines touching the same bulge in Jace’s womb, and his hips thrust forward involuntarily, causing Jace to gag on his cock. Jace doesn’t try to pull off this time, and Cregan holds his head to keep him in place while murmuring apologies. He looks up at Cregan submissively with tearful eyes, and Cregan almost loses it. 

Cregan pulls back so that only his tip remains in Jace’s mouth and begins thrusting shallowly. His grip is tight in Jace’s hair, anchoring him in place so that he can thrust freely. Jace doesn’t protest. He simply braces his palms against Cregan’s thighs for balance.  

“Do you like this, Jace?” Cregan asks, his voice low and gravelly. “Do you like being nothing more than a hole for me to fuck?”

Jace moans his agreement, and it turns Cregan on more than it should. 

“Mind your teeth,” Cregan says, then he begins shoving his cock into Jace’s willing mouth more harshly. 

He feels himself on the verge of coming and slows his movements, choosing to bury his cock in Jace’s throat instead. The constriction around his cock feels like heaven, and he only manages a few more deep thrusts before he’s coming down Jace’s throat, barely managing to resist popping his knot, especially when Jace swallows around his cock, his throat contracting even tighter around it. Only when Cregan has finished unloading all his cum does he let go of Jace’s hair. 

Jace scrambles onto his feet and presses his lips against Cregan’s, letting Cregan taste himself on Jace’s tongue. 

“Next time come on my face, Your Grace,” Jace whispers into Cregan’s ear, and Cregan’s cock jumps in interest.  

His voice is hoarse and wrecked, and anyone who hears it will know that he has had a thick, long cock shoved down his throat. Cregan reaches down to stroke his cock to full hardness and pushes it against Jace’s abdomen. 

Jace grins at him.

“Now’s good too,” he says, dropping to his knees once again. He presses little kisses all over Cregan’s cock like he can’t get enough of its taste. “I love it when you get hard for me, Your Grace.”

“I’m always hard for you, Jace,” Cregan says. He pushes his dick into Jace’s mouth, and Jace takes it all in obediently. “Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

Jace hums appreciatively.

Cregan doesn’t even last half as long this time. Jace lets him hold his head and thrust freely again. Cregan pulls out when he feels the tightening in his stomach and releases all over Jace’s face. It’s hard to keep his eyes open, but he manages it, watches as his cum paints Jace’s face, landing on his lips and even his eyeslashes. It’s the most obscene thing he has ever seen, and Cregan’s cock spurts a little more at the sight. 

Jace licks his lips clean of Cregan’s cum and tilts his head.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Cregan’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, and he collapses onto the ground in front of Jace.

“No, thank you,” he corrects and leans forward to kiss Jace.

They cuddle in bed after cleaning up. Cregan presses a kiss atop Jace’s head and complains loudly when Jace pulls away from him and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Cregan watches him mournfully as he adjusts his robes. 

“Must you leave so early?” he asks.

“I’ve lingered long enough,” Jace says in amusement. 

Cregan wishes Jace could stay. He wants Jace to be the last thing he sees at night, the first view that greets him in the morning. It’s foolish to be thinking this way. What they have can never amount to anything more than stolen moments in the nights and secret glances in the day. 

They should be especially careful now that Bennard and his sons have returned. 

Remembering his uncle makes Cregan sit up. “We have dinner tomorrow with my uncle and cousins.” 

“I’m aware.”

“Bennard is-” He’s the type of alpha that Jace would hate. “He’s worse than Roddy.” 

Jace stares at him in confusion.

“Roddy, however traditional he may be, has good intentions. Bennard, on the other hand, thinks omegas are beneath alphas and that they’re only good for breeding.”

The way Bennard treats his mate is appalling, and Cregan is always amazed at how kind his other uncle still manages to be despite living in such severe circumstances. That, to Cregan, is true strength. Instead Bennard sees it as weakness and blames him for making Elric soft. 

“Ah,” Jace says, his expression turning sullen, though he smiles when he meets Cregan’s eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Your Grace. I know how to deal with his kind.” 

“Do you now?” Cregan can’t imagine it. He’s sure no one in their right mind would dare to offend Jace in the Six Kingdoms. 

Once, Jace would’ve taken offence to Cregan’s question. Now, he knows that Cregan is concerned and not questioning his capabilities. It endears him to Cregan even more, but Cregan wishes he could be more articulate with his words. 

“My Uncle Aegon is the very same sort,” Jace says dryly. “He sees me the same as he sees any omega. He’s made remarks about fucking me more than once. One time, Daemon almost castrated him, and the last time, Mother almost fed him to her dragon.” 

Cregan doesn’t know who this Aegon is, but he hates him with every fibre in his being. He’s already plotting how he’d accidentally punch the man if he ever meets him. 

Jace walks towards the bed, and Cregan moves to the edge to meet him. He stands in between Cregan’s legs and leans in to press a chaste kiss to Cregan’s lips. 

“Don’t look so murderous now, Your Grace,” Jace says cheekily. “Aemond does a good enough job of keeping him in line.” 

“I am glad you have Aemond and Daeron,” Cregan says.

“They’re nothing compared to Luke,” Jace says with a laugh. “He might be a complete pushover when it comes to himself, but he becomes a monster when it comes to protecting family.” 

Cregan can’t follow Jace back to the South, so it heartens him to know that Jace has people looking out for him. 

“I should like to meet Prince Lucerys one day,” Cregan says without thinking.

But he doesn’t regret it, not when Jace’s lips split into the widest smile. “Luke would love to meet you too. I have a feeling that the two of you will get along.” Jace rests a hand on Cregan’s chest. “Perhaps you have to come visit me in the South in the future, Cregan.” 

Cregan pecks Jace on the lips. “I will go if you will have me.” 

They kiss for a long time, and Cregan wishes he could always have Jace encircled in his arms like this. 

The dinner begins well enough. Bennard talks endlessly about his expedition, with Benjen and Brandon chiming in ever so often, while Elric smiles awkwardly, only speaking when Cregan asks him questions directly. Elric is a good man, soft spoken and gentle; it’s only a pity that he’s born to a man who views these traits as weaknesses rather than strengths. 

Cregan had struggled with deciding whether to place Bennard or Benjen next to Jace. His uncle, rightfully, ought to be seated next to Jace due to his seniority, but Bennard might take offence at being seated next to an omega. However, Cregan didn’t like the idea of Benjen next to Jace. While they both have the same views of omegas, at least Bennard didn’t possess the lecherous nature of his son. 

Cregan hadn’t wanted to upset Bennard further given he was still angry about the scent patches, but in the end, his desire to protect Jace won out. Bennard had frowned when the servant had shown him his seat but had thankfully realised that he was, in fact, sitting in the second most important seat at the table. 

And Cregan knew that he had made the correct decision keeping Benjen away from Jace when he caught his cousin leering at the omega more times than he could keep count. 

(That was the tenth time Benjen’s eyes had lingered on Jace’s lips, and the Old Gods help him if he did it one more time because Cregan has no qualms about blinding him with his cutlery.) 

“Lord Dustin tells me that you are getting along well with Rickon,” Bennard says. “He’s famously fussy, but caring for a baby must come naturally to an omega.” 

Jace nods enthusiastically. “Just like how being riled up so easily comes naturally to an alpha!” 

Bennard is halfway through baring his teeth and almost proving Jace’s point, but he quickly schools his expression into a neutral one. 

“Interesting opinion you have there, Prince Jacaerys.”

“Is it?” Jace frowns in confusion. “I thought everyone knew that about alphas, just like how everyone knows that omegas are great at childrearing. Must be the difference in education between the South and the North then.” 

“I wouldn’t know what you teach in the South.” 

“Oh, what a pity. I'd love to have a discussion about education, but I guess half your population isn’t educated.”

Jace’s words are a slight on Cregan too, but they give him pause instead of angering him like it clearly does Bennard.

“Our omegas are educated, just not in the same way as omegas are in the South,” Benjen says. He grins widely. “They’re taught how to please their alphas and how to be good mothers to their babes.” 

“That’s an interesting use of funds when omegas are already naturally good at raising children,” Jace says. He pauses long enough for Benjen to open his mouth again before blinking his doe eyes. “Are you saying Southern omegas don’t know how to please their alphas, Prince Benjen?” 

He licks his lower lip slowly. Benjen follows the swipe of his tongue with rapt attention, completely forgetting all about the topic at hand, and Cregan’s fingers inch towards his knife. Something brushes against his leg, and he looks to Jace to see the prince’s subtle shake of head. 

Fine. 

Cregan will behave if that’s what Jace wills.

For now. 

Bennard shoots Benjen a quick, conspiratorial glance before addressing Daeron. “Three decades of peace in the Six Kingdoms is an impressive feat. What do you think are the most important policies that have served King Viserys’ reign?”

“I don’t sit on the Small Council,” Daeron repeats yet again. “Jace would be more suitable to answer your questions.”

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys,” Bennard says, turning to Jace. “Your robes are exquisite. You have quite an eye for details with these things.”

Jace beams widely. “Thank you, Prince Bennard. They’re made from silk and Myrish lace, and I hand picked them myself. Of course, I also gave my input on the designs and stitches.”

Cregan expects Jace to follow that up with how the ending of tariffs on imported goods caused the trading sector to boom, but the prince simply continues to smile guilelessly at Bennard. 

Bennard smiles condescendingly. “What a privilege it must be to be you, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace laughs, covering his mouth daintily. “It really is. All this talk of clothes is very exciting. Perhaps I shall ask my grandsire to commission me a new wardrobe of clothes when I return. I have been very inspired by the style here in the North. Oh, one wardrobe won’t do actually! Perhaps two or three.”

“I am concerned about what such expenses will do to the people of King’s Landing. Though, of course, I mean no offence.”

Jace’s eyes widen, and he turns to Daeron. “Oh no, Daeron,” he says. Daeron hides his laughter behind his wine glass, but Cregan catches it from his seat and has to suppress his own mirth. “If I spend money on all these clothes, are the people going to suffer?” 

“I really wouldn’t know,” Daeron says. 

Jace shrugs. “If the people wanted to riot, I guess they would have by now. I don’t see why I shouldn’t have my clothes.”

Daeron raises his glass. “I’ll toast to that.” 

“Forgive my eagerness,” Bennard says, his voice turning impatient. “Southern politics have always been an intrigue of mine. Imagine the North’s shock when King Viserys named a woman his heir.” He laughs boisterously along with his sons. To Cregan’s displeasure, several of his lords join in. Bennard tilts his head towards Daeron. “Alarming especially when he has no lack of sons.”

“My sister will make a fine queen,” Daeron says tightly. 

“Of course,” Bennard says with innocence so fake that it’s to anyone’s guess why he even bothers putting up the pretence. “Do not misconstrue my words, Prince Daeron; I merely expressed my shock. I said nothing about Princess Rhaenyra’s ability to lead.” His eyes flicker to Jace pointedly. “She is, after all, an alpha. Speaking of, Prince Jacaerys, your brother, Prince Lucerys, will make a fine king after your mother.”

“Luke will be Lord of Driftmark,” Daeron says. 

“Ah, so Prince Joffrey will be king then? Curious that they wouldn’t make the elder brother the heir.” 

“They would. I am my mother’s eldest, and I am her heir,” Jace says. 

“Aye, that would be the most natural assumption, but that hasn’t been officially decreed, has it?” 

“My father sat the throne before he named my sister heir,” Daeron said. “It is hasty and presumptuous for Rhaenyra to officially proclaim Jacaerys her heir when the king is still well and alive.”

“Of course. Like I said, I’m curious is all. And you mustn’t blame me for my assumptions, given that King Viserys chose to send Prince Jacaerys on this visit despite knowing full well what he is. I’m inclined to think he did so precisely because of what is between Prince Jacaerys’ legs or lack thereafter.”

“Uncle,” Cregan says loudly, the warning clear in his voice. “Mind your manners. Prince Jacaerys is an honoured guest in my castle.”

“Apologies,” Bennard says to Cregan, making a show of putting his wine glass down onto the table. “I should pace myself.”

“It is not me to whom you owe an apology.”

“Apologies, Prince Jacaerys,” Bennard says disarmingly. “You must forgive me. It is rare to see an omega of your status. My manners escape me.”

“It’s alright,” Jace says, somehow still managing to sound pleasant. “I am used to sharing my insights on matters which others have no expertise in.” 

Bennard’s smile falters but doesn’t disappear. “Still, curious King Viserys sent you…” 

Jace doesn’t take the bait, cutting into his meat instead, but Daeron does. 

“And why is that?” he asks, affronted on Jace’s behalf. 

“Why,” Bennard says delightedly. “One would not be remiss to think that the purpose of your trip was a marriage proposition. Our king is in his prime and in need of a fertile, young omega to take as his mate. Prince Jacaerys fits the bill quite nicely.”

“Show some respect, Bennard,” Cregan says. 

“I am being very respectful, Your Grace. It is only the North I think of. Prince Rickon is a healthy and strong alpha, but you need more children. Such is the duty of the King in the North.”

“I am aware of my duties, Uncle. It is not your business to be concerned with them.”

Bennard’s expression is cold, and Cregan knows that his uncle would have challenged him harder on the issue if it weren’t for the presence of their guests. “Of course.”

“But one must admit that you’d make a fine omega to our king,” Benjen says, staring at Jace openly with hungry eyes. “Might be hard to push out pups with how thin you are, but you’re real easy on the eyes, and I bet your cunt tastes as delicious as any fruit.” 

“How dare you!” Daeron shouts. 

Cregan stands up so quickly his chair topples to the ground. 

“Apologise,” he growls. “Apologise, or I will have your tongue ripped out with pincers.” 

Benjen is white as a sheet, and he trembles as he stutters out an apology to Jace. 

Jace picks up his wine glass and takes a languid sip. His smile is full of teeth when he looks at Benjen, and even Cregan feels a trickle of fear down his spine. Benjen looks like he’s about to wet his trousers, remembering too late that he’s dealing with a dragon. 

“Prince Benjen, if you ever speak so coarsely about me again, I will feed you to my dragon.” 

He looks at Bennard for good measure, extending his threat, and Cregan’s chest rumbles with pride and satisfaction when Bennard stiffens. 

They have hardly crossed the threshold into Jace’s bed chamber before Cregan is kissing him passionately.

“You were unbelievable,” Cregan says against Jace’s lips.

Jace laughs, pulling Cregan back down for a longer kiss. “And you were so chivalrous, defending my honour like that. Would you really have pulled his tongue out?”

“And stab his eyes out,” Cregan says, gripping Jace’s waist possessively. “I hate the way he was looking at you.” 

Jace shivers, running his hands up Cregan’s back. “I’ve never wanted you to fuck me more.” 

Cregan groans, dropping his head onto Jace’s shoulders. “Don’t say that,” he says weakly. “Not if you don’t mean it, because, I swear to the Old Gods, Jace, a man can only control himself so much, and you are driving me crazy.” 

Jace tugs Cregan back up and kisses him, chaste and sweet, his palm hot and firm on Cregan’s chest above his heart. It isn’t an answer, but it’s good enough for now. 

“I should like to see the Wall,” Jace says later when they’re lying in bed together. 

“The Wall?” Cregan turns onto his side, propping an elbow onto the bed so he can lean on it and look down at Jace. 

“It is where our ancestors treated,” Jace says. “And I hear it’s an incredible sight.”

“It is,” Cregan says. The Wall is also an essential part of the North; it isn’t a wonder Jace desires to see it. He lifts their entangled fingers and presses a kiss to the back of Jace’s hand. “If you wish to see it, I will show it to you.” 

Chapter Text

Cregan has every intention to start planning the trip to the Wall the very next day, but he wakes up feeling hot and feverish. He’s been through enough ruts to know when one is starting, but he shouldn’t be having one now, not when his last rut was only two months ago. 

His doors open, and his sharpened senses do not like what he is smelling. He snaps at the guard who comes too close and then hears the doors closing mere seconds later. 

Fuck. 

He usually knows when a rut is approaching. It gives him time to settle his affairs and hand over the urgents tasks to Bennard and Robard while he’s indisposed for the next three to five days. They’ve been through this enough times that neither men should have any trouble taking over, but Jace- 

The thought of the omega almost sends Cregan into a frenzy. It takes every ounce of self-control for him to not run out of his rooms and look for Jace.

If Cregan had wanted Jace before, it is nothing compared to the raw desire coursing through his veins right now. He wants - no, needs Jace like he needs air to breathe and water to survive. He doesn’t think he can physically survive this rut without fucking Jace. The need to stuff Jace full of his knot is so overwhelming that he curls in on himself in agony. But no matter how much pain he’s in, he won’t allow himself to seek Jace out. He’d rather chain himself to his bed than force Jace into something that he doesn’t want. 

The rejection hurts more than Cregan thinks is possible. The last rational part of his brain knows it’s only the rut that’s making him feel this way, but every other part of him is upset that Jace isn’t here and submitting to him. It’s a lot worse when he picks up the omega’s sweet lingering scent on his sheets. He presses his face into them, searching desperately for more of that elusive smell. 

It’s not enough. 

A pathetic whine escapes Cregan, and he’d be more embarrassed by it if he wasn’t so out of his mind. He recalls the taste of Jace’s lips, and his hips buck instinctively. He wants nothing more than to bury his face in Jace’s cunt and make the omega wet and ready for his knot. He wants Jace to beg him to fuck him hard and to breed him. 

The thought of impregnating Jace has Cregan getting to his feet before he realises what he’s doing. The bed is right next to him but feels a million miles away. He turns his face up to the air and sniffs the air for traces of Jace. His inner alpha is urging him to step out of his chambers. Once he’s outside, it’s going to be so easy to track Jace down. Even now he swears he can smell Jace’s scent in the air, and it beckons to him like sirens calling out to sailors. Cregan would gladly drown. 

It takes so much out of Cregan to slowly turn his body around, and he’s sweating by the time he forces himself back into the bed. He wraps a hand around his cock, and while it provides some relief, it doesn’t even feel enjoyable. Nothing is going to satisfy him but Jace’s delicious, tight hole. 

Minutes might have passed. Perhaps even hours. It certainly feels like it has been days at this point.

Cregan is miserable, and his body is in torment. 

The doors creak open, and a sweet smell fills the air. 

“Your Grace,” a voice purrs.

Cregan is on his feet and crossing the room in a heartbeat. He grabs the omega by the back of his head and kisses him while pushing their bodies together, pressing his hard, weeping cock against Jace’s cunt. 

Jace giggles into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Cregan’s neck and deepening the kiss. He lets Cregan push him onto the bed and spreads his legs. His pheromones hit Cregan in the face, and Cregan breathes it in deeply, and-

It’s wrong. 

It’s all wrong. 

Cregan stumbles backwards, knocking over a chair in his haste. 

The omega - not Jace - sits up, confusion on his face. 

“Your Grace, is there something wrong?” 

“Get out,” Cregan mutters. 

His inner alpha is screaming at him to take the willing omega, to plunge his knot into what is surely a welcoming, tight cunt, but Cregan won’t have it. 

The omega tilts his head in confusion. “I don’t-”

“Get out!” Cregan bellows. 

He barely registers the smell of fear in the air, nor the omega dashing past him to escape the room. 

He doesn’t remember storming out of his bedchamber into his solar, but he finds himself wrenching open the doors and shouting, “No omegas!” into the hallway before slamming the doors shut. 

His whole body is vibrating with discomfort, and Cregan has never experienced such a thing in his life before. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out from inside him, and he wants to rip his clammy skin off. If he wasn’t a Stark, he might have collapsed right there in the solar or have had to crawl his way back to his bed. 

He does eventually make it back to his bed on foot, but it feels like he has climbed a mountain instead of taking twenty paces. He pulls his comforter over him, and it’s a furnace. But he kicks it off, and it’s like being out in the cold naked. He settles for covering the bottom half of his body with it.   

He is shaking when he takes himself in hand, but he closes his eyes, and it’s like Jace is right there in bed with him. He imagines it’s Jace's hand around his cock instead, and when he presses his face into his pillow, he recalls Jace’s soft skin beneath his lips. He climaxes to the memory of his cum all over Jace’s face.

He finally stops shaking, but he doesn’t feel better at all. His body craves to pop a knot, but it’s not going to happen outside an omega’s body. 

Cregan drags the covers over himself and curls up beneath it, feeling like a little boy living through the plague again. 

But he’s Cregan Stark, the alpha King in the North. 

And if there’s an alpha who can survive a rut without an omega, then it is him. 

The next time Cregan is aware of his surroundings, there’s a hand stroking his sweat-damped hair. He thinks he’s died, and it’s the old gods welcoming him back into the embrace of nature. He turns his head to seek out more of that comfort, and the familiar chuckle that caresses his ears warms him like a thick blanket on a freezing winter day. 

Cregan’s eyes shoot open. 

This must be a dream. 

For Jacaerys Velaryon is lying in his bed next to him, looking ethereal bathed in the moonlight. Anyone who has ever dared call him common or plain-featured for not possessing Valyrian features must be blind. Cregan has never seen anyone more beautiful, more divine.   

“Hi there,” Jace says. He’s still threading his fingers gently through Cregan’s hair, and Cregan doesn’t dare respond for fear his voice will disrupt the dream and Jace will ripple away into nothingness. 

“Are you really here?” Cregan finally whispers.

Jace laughs. “Of course I am, silly.” His face softens. “Are you feeling better?” 

It’s only then that Cregan realises how sore he is. His rut must be over or at least nearing its end if he’s not jumping onto Jace immediately. He’s never felt so drained after a rut before. Usually, he comes out of his ruts feeling refreshed and satisfied. Now he just feels like a broken shell of himself. It’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. 

Though he feels less so when Jace places his head on his chest and cuddles up to him, stroking his chest. 

He wraps an arm around Jace and pulls him closer, pressing his head into his hair. He inhales deeply, and being able to smell Jace after days of chasing his scent sends a rush of gratification through him. He feels like an addict taking his drug of choice again after a long, long time. 

“I heard you turned the omega away,” Jace says. 

His fingers still on Cregan’s chest, and he looks up at Cregan. There’s a mischievous glint present in his eyes. There’s something else on his face, but Cregan can’t decipher it in the state he’s in. Cregan also can’t stop the truth from spilling out in the state he’s in. 

“I didn’t want anyone but you,” he says, brushing his hand gently over Jace’s face, which warms beneath his touch. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Jace casts his gaze downwards. “I don’t want to hurt you, Cregan.” 

Cregan nudges Jace until he turns his face up and lets Cregan place a soft kiss on his lips. “You could never hurt me.” 

Jace cups Cregan’s face, and his smile is sorrowful. “Nothing can come of this, Cregan. You’ll hate me.”

Cregan frowns. “I could never hate you.”

Jace kisses him again, tenderly and slowly. Cregan relaxes into it. The ache leaves his body, and just having Jace in his arms like this is more than enough to make up for going through his rut without once popping a knot. 

Cregan feels himself slipping back into sleep. Jace’s fingers return to his hair, and he sinks into the bed. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Cregan asks drowsily. 

Cregan’s room is bright when he next regains consciousness. The last thing he remembers is chasing the omega out of his room. There’s something else tugging at the strings of his memories, but he doesn’t remember it. 

His throat is parched, and he is ravenous. Thankfully, there’s already a tray of food waiting for him on the table. He wolfs it down and rings the bell to ask the guard to bring him more. The food is delivered to his room personally by Robard. 

“How many days?” Cregan asks as he always does after a rut. 

“Five,” Robard says. 

No wonder he’s so hungry. Cregan’s ruts usually only lasts three days. He’s only ever had a five-day rut once prior to this. 

Robard is silent in the way that means he wants to say something to Cregan but isn’t sure how to broach the topic. 

“What is it?” Cregan asks.

Robard hesitates. “Is everything alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your rut came two months early, and it lasted longer than usual.” 

“What are you trying to say?” 

Robard is silent for a long time before he speaks again. “Is it because of Prince Jacaerys?” 

“It’s not uncommon for an omega’s constant presence to trigger an alpha’s rut,” Cregan says with a shrug. He’s come to the same conclusion after he had his first helping of breakfast and his brain started working again. It’s the only natural answer given how much time they spend together and, more specifically, what they do during that time together. 

“It isn’t, but we’ve all spent an equal number of time in Prince Jacaerys’ company, yet no other alphas’ ruts have been triggered.”

The idea that Jace’s presence could set another alpha’s rut off makes Cregan lose his appetite, and his displeasure must translate in his scent, because Robard bows his head deeply. 

“I apologise, my king,” he says. “I did not mean to cause any offence.”

“I’m not offended,” Cregan says and takes a big bite out of his bacon to make his point. He knows he’s not fooling Robard, what with the way his anger must still be permeating the air. “What else did you have to say?”

“You threw the omega out. The poor boy was terrified.” 

Cregan feels bad about that now that he isn’t in thrall to his rut. “Make sure that he’s adequately compensated for his troubles.”

“They always are, Your Grace.”

The information startles Cregan. “Always?”

The beginnings of a frown develop on Robard’s forehead, but he smooths it out before it can take shape. “For their services to the Crown, Your Grace.” 

“Services to the Crown,” Cregan repeats. He knows this description to be true, and it’s so obvious that he’s ashamed that he has never given it any thought before. “Are they all whores?” 

“Not all of them.”

“And where do the others come from?”

“The queen, that is, Queen Arra, didn’t want any omegas serving you more than once, and sometimes the pleasure houses don’t have any available whores readily available, so we sometimes source them from common families.”

The truth is he has never found this matter important enough to warrant any thought at all, and Cregan feels sick to the stomach. So he has been using his own people for his own comfort, and he isn’t even aware of the fact. 

“They are always rewarded handsomely. And the people are most happy to serve their king.”

“Are you saying this just to spare my feelings or are you speaking the truth?”

“I will never lie to you, Your Grace. Everything I share with you is true to the best of my knowledge.” 

And yet even so, is Cregan not exploiting his people’s situation? Who else would volunteer to sleep with a stranger, even if that stranger were the king, if not for the money tied to it? 

“You are a good man, Your Grace,” Robard says, as if sensing his thoughts. “But this is the world we live in.”

And must I settle for this world that sees me as lesser? 

Jace’s voice rings clearly in Cregan’s mind. 

He remembers having this conversation one night when they were tangled in bed together. He used to be frustrated by these topics of inequality and discrimination whenever Jace brought them up, thinking they spoiled the mood, but more and more, he finds himself wanting to listen and to understand and to learn. 

But now that he’s presented with the very same situation that Jace has been talking about in reality, he realises that he doesn’t know what to do to make things better. 

“If I may say something, Your Grace.”

Cregan takes his time chewing his bacon. He’s pretty certain that he isn’t going to like whatever is coming out of Robard’s mouth, but his friend has always had his best interests at heart. And Cregan doesn’t want to be the kind of king who isn’t willing to hear the hard truths and bad news. 

“Speak your mind, Rob.”

Robard relaxes at the use of his nickname. “You’ve been awfully attentive to Prince Jacaerys.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow. 

“You mandated the use of scent patches. Don’t get me wrong; I am in agreement with your decision. It is the correct diplomatic move, and I only wish we had done it sooner.”

“You and me both,” Cregan says. He wishes it hadn’t taken Jace telling him how it was bothering him for him to take action. He should’ve known from the start. He should’ve had all his alpha men wearing scent patches the moment he knew it was Jacaerys Velaryon that Viserys had sent. 

Robard clears his throat. “You also threatened Prince Benjen in front of everyone.”

“It was necessary to be hard-handed given what that fool Benjen said. He’s not the brightest, but even an uneducated peasant understands that you do not spew such lewd comments about a royal guest to his face or otherwise, especially not when the guest is a Targaryen.” 

“I understand that, and, again, I agree with your actions.”

“So what is the problem?” 

“It’s the way you said it, Cregan,” Robard says seriously. Cregan can count on one hand the number of times Robard has referred to him by his name ever since he ascended the Ice Throne. “I am worried for you.” 

“Worried?” Cregan laughs at the incredulity of the statement. “What for?”

“I fear… I fear you may be falling for the prince.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rob,” Cregan says even as his heart starts beating quicker at the thought of it. 

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

Cregan frowns. “You know I have. Arra-”

“You weren’t in love with Arra.” 

“I-”

“You loved her, but you weren’t in love with her. There’s a difference.” Robard pauses. “She was in love with you - you did know that, right?” 

Of course. Of course Cregan knew that. Arra married him because she loved him as a friend, but she gave him Rickon because she was in love with him. And so of course Cregan was in love with her too. How could he have been anything but? 

“What is your point?” Cregan asks, starting to feel weary of this conversation. 

“It’s the way you look at the prince,” Robard says. “You don’t look at someone the way you look at Prince Jacaerys unless you’ve fallen for them.” 

“Who else bears the same opinion as you?” 

“No one, as far as I can tell. We alphas are not the most observant bunch.” They share a laugh before Robard turns sombre again. “If you say you’re not in love with Prince Jacaerys, then I believe you. But even so, I feel the need to caution you not only as your advisor but also as your friend - you must not fall in love with Jacaerys Velaryon. You have no future together.” 

“I know,” Cregan says. His heart opens up and is a gaping wound, but nothing Robard has said isn’t anything he hasn’t thought about before. Jace is the future king of Westeros, and Cregan is the King in the North. Their story starts and ends here. No, it doesn’t even start. “I know.” 

Despite Robard claiming to believe that Cregan holds no affection for Jace, he still offers him a sympathetic smile when he stands. He clasps Cregan’s shoulder before taking his leave

“Robard.”

He pauses and turns back around. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“How do you know?” At Robard’s confused look, Cregan elaborates. “How do you know if you’re in love with someone?” 

Robard stares off into the distance, and his face breaks into a wide smile that softens his features. “It’s when you’d do anything to make them happy.” 

Cregan knows that Robard is in love with someone. He even has a strong inkling about who that person is. 

They are perhaps as doomed as he and Jace are. 

Cregan begins making arrangements for travelling to the Wall later that day. He’s in the middle of working out the logistics with Robard and Medrick when Sara enters his solar. 

“Cre-” she stops short when she sees the lords, and Cregan clocks the way her eyes linger on Robard for just a second too long. “Your Grace, I apologise. I wasn’t aware that you had company.”

“You’ve come at the right time, Sara,” Cregan says. “I would like to seek your input on this matter.”

Sara blushes, as she often does when Cregan openly seeks her counsel in front of his men. He doesn’t know why the attention would make her so flustered when she has always been giving him advice behind closed doors anyway.

“What is it?” she asks, drawing nearer to the table. 

Cregan doesn’t miss the way Robard watches her move, attentive to her every action. 

“Prince Jacaerys has requested to visit the Wall,” Cregan says. “My uncle will be in charge in my absence, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to bring Rickon along as well. I can take him to be blessed at the Sacred Tree.” 

As per tradition, all Starks are anointed with the sap of the Sacred Tree, the biggest weirwood tree in the North. It stands before the Wall, and it is said that Bran the Builder chose that exact spot to begin its construction. The ritual usually takes place after the child has survived their first name day, and Rickon would soon be a year and two moons old. It is time.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Your Grace,” Sara says. 

“I would like you to come along. I need your assistance with Rickon,” Cregan says. He knows that Sara would understand that he means for her to come see the Sacred Tree as well. 

Sara stares at him in shock. “I’d- I’d be honoured.”

She turns to Robard, and Cregan sees the small smile they share. He looks down at the map, concealing his own grin. 

“It’s settled then. We’ll set out a week from now. Have the men make the preparations.” 

Cregan decides to visit Rickon first before dropping by Jace’s bed chambers to share the news with him. He can’t remember the last time he’s gone so long without seeing his son, and he misses him terribly. He opens the doors to the nursery and is greeted by the sight of Jace playing with Rickon on the floor. 

“Isn’t this a lovely surprise,” Cregan says. 

Jace looks up and smiles brightly when he sees Cregan. He turns back to Rickon and says, “Look who it is, Rickon. Your dada’s here to see you.”

“Dada,” Rickon agrees happily. He lights up when Jace directs his gaze to Cregan, and Cregan’s heart melts when his baby reaches for him. 

He sits down next to Jace and lets Rickon crawl to him before picking him up. 

“How are you, my boy?” he asks, unable to contain the grin that spreads over his entire face when Rickon babbles happily in response. He turns to Jace who’s looking at them in contentment, and his heart skips a beat. They feel like a family, the three of them, and Cregan has to push those sappy thoughts out of his head before he gets carried away. “Where’s Mary?”

“Oh, she had a family emergency, so I told her that I could watch Rickon for the day.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Cregan says. “We have other nursemaids that we can call.” 

“I don’t mind. Besides, Rickon loves spending time with me, don’t you, Rickon?”

Rickon replies in squeals and squirms in Cregan’s arms. Cregan lets him go, and he crawls over to Jace. Jace picks him up and flashes Cregan a triumphant grin. 

“It seems like your son prefers me, Your Grace,” he says. 

“It just means that he has good tastes like his father,” Cregan says. He freezes when he realises how his words can be misconstrued, but Jace laughs, taking them to be a joke, and Cregan rests easy. “It is good I found you here; I have news for you. I’ve begun preparations for our journey to the Wall. We’ll set out next week.”

“Already back to work so soon after your rut?” 

“I’ve already missed five days. It is abhorrent to miss more.” In a softer voice, Cregan says, “I’ve missed you.” 

Jace smirks. “I’ve missed you too, Your Grace, but we only just saw each other.”

“It’s been five days,” Cregan says. “It is hardly considered a short period of time.”

Confusion appears on Jace’s face for the briefest of seconds. “Right. Five days.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

Cregan doesn’t want to pry if Jace doesn’t want to share, so instead he says, “Rickon’s coming with us.”

Jace brightens up considerably. “Did you hear that, baby? You’re coming with us.”

He blows a raspberry on Rickon’s belly, and the baby squeals delightedly. He grabs the ends of Jace’s curls and yanks them, causing Jace to wince. 

“Come now, let go of his hair,” Cregan chides softly, gently prying the little fingers open.

“Dada!” Rickon fusses, shaking his head. 

Cregan shushes him, but he starts pouting, his lower lip wobbling.

“Mama!” he screams, turning wide eyes onto Jace.

Cregan and Jace both freeze. Cregan recovers first, turning to Jace who’s staring at Rickon with a mix of wonder and fear on his face. He turns to look and Cregan, a panicked look on his face.

“He’s never called me that before, and I swear I’ve never told him too,” Jace says.

“It’s alright,” Cregan says. He doesn’t mind Rickon calling Jace ‘mama’ at all. He probably likes it a little too much. 

“It’s not,” Jace says fretfully. 

“Hey,” Cregan says. He leans in to kiss Jace softly, and Jace must be really out of it if he’s letting Cregan touch him so freely outside their bed chambers. “It’s alright. Rickon doesn’t know what he’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t worry; you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Mama,” Rickon says again, and Jace lets out a sound of distress. 

“I’m not your mama,” he says, though he sounds reluctant saying it. 

It makes Cregan grin more widely than he probably should. 

Jace adjusts his hold on Rickon and asks, “Will Mary be coming with us then?”

Cregan shakes his head. “Mary has her family, and I wouldn’t want to take her away from them for so long. I’ve asked Sara to come with us instead.” 

“Aw, that’s so nice of you,” Jace says. 

Cregan has told Jace about the Stark’s tradition with the Sacred Tree before; he’s surprised that Jace remembers. 

“I’m only doing what my father should have done,” Cregan says. 

“Not many people would do for their bastard siblings what you are doing for her.” 

“Bastard or not, she is my sister.”

“I can’t imagine Bennard being happy about your decision.”

Cregan snorts, remembering the offended look on Bennard’s face when he had told him that Sara would be joining them on their journey. “He was happy enough when I told him that he would be in charge while I was away.”

Jace worries his lower lip. He stands and moves towards the windows but changes his mind at the last second and retreats back into the room. 

“What is it?” Cregan asks, standing to his feet and resisting the urge to draw Jace into his arms. 

“It’s nothing,” Jace says, but Cregan can see the tension in his shoulders and the distress lining his forehead.

“Tell me,” Cregan says softly.

“I don’t want to overstep,” Jace says.

“You know that you can tell me anything.”

Jace resumes chewing on his lower lip. His eyes flicker between Cregan and Rickon, and they harden in resolve when they land on Rickon for the final time. “It’s about your uncle. I have a bad feeling about him.”

“I understand your concerns. He isn’t the best man, and he behaved poorly during the dinner, but he is family.”

Jace shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean, Cregan.” Hearing his name fall so naturally from Jace’s lips outside their bedchambers sends a happy thrill through Cregan. He almost misses what Jace says next, especially because Jace lowers his voice. “I worry that he covets your throne.”

Cregan barks out a laugh, and Jace pouts at him. 

“I don’t mean to belittle your worry, darlin’,” Cregan says, delighting in the way Jace blushes at the term being used outside the bed. “But that is something you don’t have to worry about. Starks do not betray their own.” 

Cregan can see that Jace still doesn’t believe him.

“You can trust me, Jace,” Cregan says. “After my father passed, my uncle ruled the North as regent before I came of age. He handed the throne over to me as soon as I turned sixteen without a word of complaint. For all his flaws, he will never betray me.” 

“I hope you are right, Cregan.” 

“You still look worried.”

“I do not doubt your words, but my fears are not so easily assuaged.” 

Jace’s eyes fall to Rickon again. The baby has begun dozing off in Jace’s arms, and Cregan never ceases to be amazed at how his son trusts Jace so readily. It took him a whole month to get used to Mary and another month before he readily sought her out. 

Jace inhales deeply and sighs loudly. 

“Otto Hightower, my grandsire’s Hand, is the ambitious sort. He longs for nothing more than to see his flesh and blood sitting on the Iron Throne.” Jace looks at Cregan, and Cregan can see how apprehensive he is about sharing this sensitive information with Cregan. Cregan’s heart soars at this open display of trust, and he wants nothing more than to set Jace’s mind at ease. “My mother and I stand in the way of that.” 

“Does he mean to dispute the succession?” Cregan asks incredulously. “King Viserys would never allow that.”

“You’ve seen how your alphas have reacted to a woman being on the Iron Throne even though my mother is an alpha,” Jace says bitterly. “I told you I’m in line after her, and I know this because she has been openly insistent on naming me her heir even despite all the voices counselling her to make Luke her heir instead. My claim… My claim isn’t as… strong… as hers…” 

Jace looks at Cregan meaningfully, and Cregan understands immediately what he’s trying to say. Jace is an omega and an alleged bastard. Rhaenyra’s position would be severely weakened if she made him her heir, especially when she had trueborn alpha children. By any measure, Aegon II would be a safer choice for heir. 

But King Viserys loves his daughter and first grandson - everyone knows this. He will always stand for their claims if they are ever challenged. 

“You are the true heir to the Iron Throne; no one can dispute that,” Cregan says, knowing that he’s speaking out of his depths but needing to assure Jace anyway. “Anyone who questions you is committing an act of treason, and I know that the South and North disagree on many things, but how we treat traitors is not one of them.” 

“It’s not treason if they have proof.”

“What more proof do they need when your grandmother has dark hair and you ride a dragon hatched in your very own cradle? And is anyone to deny that Princess Rhaenyra gave birth to you? I’d venture to say that you have the most legitimate claim of all monarchs, for you came directly from her.” 

Jace smiles at Cregan, and it’s a special kind of torture to be so near Jace and not be able to take him into his arms. “Thank you, Cregan. I’m sorry about the accusations towards your uncle. I might have been projecting my situation onto yours. If you truly trust him, then there is no reason to be worried.”

Chapter Text

Cregan prides himself on being a patient man. He doesn’t rush into decisions. He thinks things through, weighs the advantages and disadvantages, listens to the advice and opinions of people who have more expertise and experience than him, and then makes a well-informed decision. Most importantly, he has been exceptionally patient in waiting for Jace to allow him even a glimpse of his cunt, which makes him the most patient alpha to have ever lived. 

But Bennard is an expert at testing that patience. 

His uncle has been extraordinarily trying ever since he returned from his excursion, and Cregan doesn’t know if it is because the trip has given his uncle many strange new ideas or if he’s still frustrated about having to wear the scent patches and is taking it out on Cregan. 

Knowing his uncle, probably both. 

Cregan has never been happier for a council meeting to end, but Bennard, very unfortunately, requests to speak with him in private. Robard gives him a sympathetic look before shutting the doors behind him. 

“What is it, Uncle?” Cregan asks, doing his best to not let his irritation show.  

“I’ve heard a rather unsettling rumour, and I thought it best to keep it between ourselves for now. Though I must confess that I’m not sure if it’d be prudent to share it with you, given how fond you seem to have become of Prince Jacaerys.”

Cregan’s interest is piqued immediately, but he doesn’t let it show, knowing that Bennard is watching him carefully. He’s annoyed that his uncle is scrutinising his relationship with Jace so closely, but he understands why after his outburst during their meal. 

“Rumours are but a fool’s way of entertaining himself,” Cregan says. “I have no interest in matters with no basis in truth.”

“It is about the purpose of the Targaryens’ visit. Whatever the verity of the rumour, I find myself concerned.” 

“It is a courtesy call. The princes have said as much.” 

“It is an unusually long courtesy call.” 

Cregan sees Bennard’s point. Jace and Daeron have been at Winterfell for close to two moons now, and it doesn’t seem that either plan to leave anytime soon. Cregan knows the reason for that; it is just that he cannot nor is he willing to disclose his nightly activities to Bennard. 

“House Targaryen has not set foot in the North for over a century,” Cregan says. “It is natural to be curious about life here. I doubt their books paint an accurate picture.” 

“Be that as it may, I do believe it is pertinent that I share what I’ve learned with you.”

“Go on then,” Cregan says, a bit of his impatience seeping into his voice. If Bennard needs to get it off his chest to leave Cregan alone, then Cregan will allow it. 

“I thought King Viserys was angling for a marriage pact between you and Prince Jacaerys, as I mentioned during the dinner,” Bennard says.

Cregan snorts. He would be lying if he said that he was opposed to the idea, but he knows that Jace will have his head for even suggesting he ever gives up his claim just to become Cregan’s consort in the North. 

“I assure you that isn’t that case,” Cregan says dryly. “Prince Jacaerys is in line for the Iron Throne, and I sit on the Ice Throne. It is ludicrous to think that King Viserys would demand his grandson to give up his rightful inheritance. It is almost as laughable as the North bending the knee.” 

“That is precisely my point, Your Grace. I thought it was a marriage pact.” Bennard leaves his words hanging in the air and looks at Cregan meaningfully. Cregan tries not to roll his eyes. Always one for the dramatics, his uncle. 

“And?”

Bennard’s eyes are knowing, but there is an uncharacteristic anger in them. Cregan is alert all at once. Bennard might be a pain in his side, but he takes matters concerning the North very seriously. In this regard, they are alike. If something has angered Bennard so, it surely warrants Cregan’s concern as well. 

“Is it so laughable? The North bending the knee?” Bennard asks. “Torrhen Stark came close once.” 

A chill goes down Cregan’s spine. It’s a most unpleasant and rare feeling. “Speak plainly, Uncle.”

“I believe that Prince Daeron and Prince Jacaerys’ purpose is to get the North to bend the knee. It is why they’ve overstayed their welcome. They are gathering intel and want to force us to submit to the Iron Throne.”

“Where did you hear such a thing from?” Cregan demands. He feels unnaturally hot. His tunic is sticking to his skin uncomfortably, and he wants to rip it off his body. 

“Elric overheard the princes talking the other day when they thought no one was around. As you know, my youngest son understands a bit of High Valyrian. He’s always been interested in the oddest thing, that boy. But he might be wrong. I just thought it best that I share it with you. After all, we Starks always look out for one another.”

Cregan doesn’t believe it. There is no way. Jace would not lie to him. 

“I know it’s hard to believe me based on hearsay,” Bennard continues, “And I must say I do not find it convincing myself, so perhaps it is best you investigate the matter yourself before drawing a conclusion, Your Grace.”

Cregan intends to get to the very bottom of the matter, if only to prove Jace’s innocence. Because if Jace wants the North to bend the knee, there’s no way he’d do it by fooling Cregan into believing that he actually cared about him and his son. Jace is not so cruel. 

Elric must have misheard - that is the only logical conclusion, and Cregan is determined to set the record straight. But he knows better than to directly question Jace. It’ll only earn him the prince’s ire and push him further away from his goal. 

Cregan summons Robard and Medrick to his solar and questions them about Jace and Daeron’s whereabouts. 

“If they’re not in Winterfell, they either frequent the marketplace or take their dragons out for rides,” Medrick says. 

“When in Winterfell, they’re usually in their chambers or the library,” Robard says. “Why are you asking about this, Your Grace?”

“My uncle has brought me some… peculiar news pertaining to the purpose of the princes’ visit.”

Robard shifts his weight from one foot to the other, while Medrick purses his lips. 

“They said it was a visit,” Robard says. “Do we believe there is cause for them to lie?”

“That is what I intend to find out.” Cregan gets to his feet. “I think it’s time we pay Maester Kennet a visit.” 

Kennet’s in a jovial mood as he serves them tea and biscuits. Robard and Medrick exchange bewildered looks - Kennet has never welcomed anyone into the library so warmly before. He’s usually more interested in chasing people away so that he can return to his research. 

“Biscuits, Maester? Surely you’re not using us to test a new drug?” Medrick jokes as the four men settle around a table. 

Kennet laughs, a real laugh and not his usual one of conveying his disdain, as he moves the books to the side. It all adds to the strangeness. “You jest, Lord Manderly. These biscuits are a treat, and I thought to share them is all.” 

Robard nibbles on the treat and hums in approval. He takes a bigger bite. “It’s delicious, Maester Kennet. You must tell me where you got them.” 

“From Prince Jacaerys,” he says, grabbing a biscuit for himself. “He made them himself.” 

Jace made biscuits and gave them to Kennet? Instead of Cregan? It’s fine. Cregan is not jealous of his maester at all. 

He picks up a biscuit and plops it into his mouth. He tastes honey, apple, and cinnamon. It’s the appropriate mix of chewy and crunchy, and Cregan finds himself reaching for another one. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Your Grace?” Kennet asks. 

Cregan waves the biscuit. “I was going to ask you about the princes’ activities in the libraries.” 

Kennet practically glows at the mention of the princes. “They spend many hours reading and are very interested in my research as well.”

“On our burial methods?” Cregan asks.

Kennet nods enthusiastically. “They have so many questions!”

For some reason, that makes Cregan uncomfortable, though it is irrational. Information about the North is hard to come by in King’s Landing, and Jace has always been open about being curious about things unfamiliar to him. He has posed many questions to Cregan himself, so it’s not as if he’s hiding anything. 

“What books do they read?” Robard asks. 

“Oh, a variety of topics, but mostly history, politics, and society. They really are quite studious, these southern princes. Not only do they diligently take notes as if they were preparing for exams, but they also ask me so many questions.”

“What type of questions?” Medrick asks.

Kennet hums. “Just clarifying things that are in the texts but also about current affairs that aren’t found in the books.” 

“Such as?” Cregan asks.

“Prince Jacaerys is particularly interested in omega rights, which isn’t surprising given that he’s an omega himself. He was also asking about the populations and the demographic breakdowns in different cities.” Kennet taps his chin. “Ah, and he wanted to know about marriage in the North as well.” 

“Marriage,” Cregan repeats slowly. 

“I suppose it’s related to omega rights, but he was asking about inheritance rights, reproduction rights, annulments-”

“Annulments?” Cregan interrupts. 

“Whether omegas can seek annulments or is it only up to the discretion of alphas,” Kenneta explains. 

“How can a mated omega seek an annulment?” Cregan asks.

“I posed the same question to him, but he still sought an answer,” Kennet says with a shrug. “I suppose they must do things quite differently in the South. He was also asking when an alpha is supposed to claim his omega bride and whether an omega could decide when they want to be mated after marriage. What a silly question! They’re obviously supposed to mate on their wedding night when they consummate their marriage.” 

“And how did Prince Jacaerys take that answer?” Cregan asks.

“He didn’t say much, just accepted it,” Kennet says. “But I don’t see why his reaction should be anything but that. It is the way things work.”

“Anything else?” Cregan asks.

“Laws aside, he also asked about wedding ceremonies, mating rituals, dowries, and the sort.”  

“Right. Thank you for your time, Kennet.” 

The three men are silent as they make their way back to Cregan’s solar, each lost in their own thoughts. 

The doors have barely shut behind them before Medrick asks, “Are we of the same mind, Your Grace? Lord Cerwyn?” 

“Prince Jacaerys seems particularly interested in our marriage customs,” Robard says slowly, his eyes on Cregan. 

“He does,” Cregan agrees. Could Bennard’s initial conjecture be right? Could Viserys be seeking a marriage proposal between him and Jacaerys? The thought makes his stomach flutter, and he is not as opposed to the idea as he thought he would be. “But if King Viserys is truly seeking a match between us, why not send an official offer? And why not send a guardian to negotiate the terms?”

Daeron might be Jace’s uncle, but they’re the same age, and Cregan cannot see Jace allowing Daeron to make any decisions on his behalf. 

“Perhaps he sent Prince Jacaerys here so that he may judge for himself whether the North is to his liking,” Robard says.

“Not just the North,” Medrick mutters under his breath. Cregan raises an eyebrow. Medrick stammers. “I- I mean- Prince Jacaerys might also want to judge for himself whether Your Grace would be a suitable husband for him.” 

Cregan supposes that is a fair assessment, but he’s also comfortable to let Medrick squirm for a few moments. 

“King Viserys has arranged a matching ceremony before, but the lords who showed up apparently kept getting into fights, and King Viserys had to end it earlier than planned,” Robard says. “Perhaps he was disappointed and wanted to cast a wider net, so to speak.” 

Cregan tries not to smile. He is almost certain that it is not Viserys but Jace who was disappointed by the whole affair and the alpha lords seeking his hand in marriage. 

But if it is a marriage pact that Viserys seeks then what of Jace’s claim to the Iron Throne? He cannot marry Cregan and become the King of the Six Kingdoms. 

The answer dawns on Cregan then. 

But of course. 

Jace doesn’t want to marry him. 

He’s staying in the North for so long and dragging out his visit only to be able to tell Viserys that he had given Cregan a fair chance and that it didn’t work out. For some reason, the realisation hurts. But Cregan understands. Jace would never give his claim up just to marry Cregan - he’s made it very clear from the start that he is in line to the Iron Throne and that being king is what he wants. And Cregan would never ask him to give it up for him either. 

Their shared nights have never been anything more than two royals seeking comfort and pleasure in a world that offers them so little of either. 

Jace has never promised Cregan anything beyond that, much less pledged any commitment to him. 

“The princes have gone to the marketplace today as well,” Medrick says suddenly. “Would you like to see what activities they are engaged in, Your Grace?” 

Cregan doesn’t want to create a spectacle of going to the marketplace, but there are certain precautions that must be adhered to when it comes to the king’s safety. But he negotiated with Roddy and manages to do away with the carriage. He rides into the marketplace on horseback with his guards behind him. 

His presence is announced, and the people are excited to see him as they always are. The Starks have always been beloved, and it is a point of pride for Cregan, although that pride has been recently blunted with shame. With each winter that passes and takes away more of his people, the more he feels that he has let them down. 

It takes him almost no time at all to spot Jace and Daeron in the crowd, and Jace smiles when he meets his eyes. It is a curious thing, how his heart feels full and his body feels warm all over when he sees Jace. Cregan pulls his horse to a stop and dismounts, making his way to him. 

He greets his people along the way, stopping to make conversation every now and then, and finally reaches Jace. 

“Your Grace,” Jace greets. “What a surprise it is to see you out here.”

“The same can be said about you, Prince Jacaerys, but it is no coincidence. I heard that you were visiting the marketplace today and thought that I would join you. I had neglected to show you around before - I apologise.”

“No apologies are needed, Your Grace. I’d love for you to show us around.” 

Cregan brings Jace and Daeron to his favourite restaurant, Ned’s Pies. He declines Ned’s offer to clear the shop out for his use, though he appreciates the efforts to seat them at the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes and ears. The guards stand in front of them, a physical barrier between them and everyone else. 

“My father used to take me and my brother here,” Cregan says. Jace’s smile is poignant, and he reaches out to touch Cregan but catches himself and pretends to brush a strand of hair out of his face instead. “I’d like to bring Rickon here when he’s able to eat solid foods.” 

“It’s an honour to be here, Your Grace,” Jace says sincerely. “Thank you for sharing it with us.” 

The pie is served piping hot. The crust is crispy, and the insides are savoury, a perfect blend of meat and potatoes topped with spices. The taste, as always, is one of nostalgia, reminding Cregan of a time when his family was whole and well. For the longest time, he hadn’t been able to come back here for fear of the emotions the taste would stir. But now there’s a shield of happiness around him, insulating him from the worst memories and feelings. Whenever Jace looks at him, it feels as if nothing in the world could ever hurt him. 

“This is delicious!” Daeron says. “This might be the best pie I’ve ever had. We simply must make this available in King’s Landing too.” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s possible. The recipe is passed down within Ned’s family, and I’ve tried asking for it on many occasions to no avail,” Cregan says. 

“It is the only thing I will ever deny you, Your Grace,” Ned says, and the men share a laugh.

“And who is that?” Cregan asks, noticing a little girl hiding behind Ned.

“Ah, this is my niece, Barba,” Ned says. He urges her forward encouragingly. “This is King Cregan Stark. Say hello.”

Barba bows awkwardly, a shy smile on her face. “Greetings, Your Grace.”

“Hello, Barba. It is nice to meet you.” Cregan looks at Ned. “Are your brother’s family here to visit?”

Gloom shadows Ned’s face. “Unfortunately, my brother and his wife passed this past winter. We’ve taken custody of their children, Barba here and her older brother, Gaven.” 

“The baby died too,” Barba says, hanging her head. “The baby killed mommy.”

“Barba!” Ned says, aghast. 

“It’s what Gaven said,” Barba says. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Cregan says solemly. It is one thing to read the statistics of these stories, quite another to watch them play out before him. 

Ned shakes his head. “I know you are doing the best for all of us, Your Grace, as the Starks always have for the North. The people believe in you.” 

It is an honour to bear such expectations, and Cregan swears that he will make this right. 

Jace is quiet on the ride back to Winterfell and remains so even after they’ve relocated to the council chamber. Daeron’s excused himself to visit Tessarion, and so Cregan and Jace are left alone together.

“What’s on your mind, Jace?” Cregan asks.

Jace looks at Cregan, uncertainty shimmering in brown eyes. Cregan leans forward, resting an arm on the table. 

“I was just thinking about the little girl,” he eventually says.

“Barba?” Cregan asks, surprised.

Jace nods. “And what she said, about her mother dying in childbirth. Is that- Is that a common occurrence in the North, Cregan?” Cregan’s expression clouds over, and Jace continues, “I’m only asking because of mine own experience. My grandmother died in childbirth, and my great-grandmother died from complications related to childbirth.” 

Cregan relaxes. Jace is merely asking from a place of concern. “It’s a problem that plagues the North as it surely does all over the realm.” 

“And is it not a problem that you seek to solve?”

“Of course it is.” 

Jace smiles tightly, but he changes the topic before Cregan can probe further. “The people love you. They respect your family.”

“Aye, they do,” Cregan says. 

“But I suppose there are those that resent you.”

“My family is beloved by all.”

Surprise flickers across Jace’s face. “There are those who aren’t happy,” he states as if it should be obvious.

Cregan clenches his hands. “You speak of that which you know nothing about.”

Jace tilts his head. “I do know what I’m talking about. I’ve spoken with the people in the marketplace during my visits, Cregan. They are not as happy as you are led to believe.” 

“I spoke with Maester Kennet today,” Cregan says. Jace looks taken aback at the sudden switch in topic, but Cregan continues, “He tells me that you have quite a keen interest in our marriage traditions and laws.”

Jace looks away. “I’m just curious about how things are done here is all.” 

“Are you here for a marriage pact between you and me, Jace?” 

“What?” Jace asks in bewilderment, turning to Cregan so quickly that his hair flies across his face. He brushes it out of his eyes and asks, “Where did you get that idea?” 

There’s a faint blush on Jace’s face, and Cregan is certain that he is right, that even if marriage is not what Jace seeks, it is something that Viserys has put him up to. 

“I heard Viserys held a matching ceremony for you, but you didn’t find anyone suited to your tastes.”

“Alphas are the same everywhere,” Jace says flippantly. Before Cregan can respond, Jace slips out of his chair and plants himself on Cregan’s lap. He wraps his arms around Cregan’s neck and purrs, “Why? Do you want to marry me, Your Grace? Were you hoping that I was seeking a marriage pact?” 

When Cregan doesn’t answer immediately, the amusement falls from Jace’s face. He tries to get up, but Cregan’s arm is tight around his waist and holds him in place. 

“I’m only jesting, Cregan,” he says, cupping Cregan’s face. “You need not look so tortured.”

“And what if I said I do?” Cregan asks, placing a hand over Jace’s hand.

Jace’s breath hitches, and he drops his gaze. It’s his turn to be speechless, but Cregan is patient. He lifts his head and meets Cregan’s eyes hesitantly. “Do you?” 

Cregan stares into Jace’s brown eyes. He can do this all day, every day, for the rest of his life. He thinks about holding Jace’s hand and kissing him in public. He thinks about Jace wearing his mark on his neck. He thinks about Jace becoming Rickon’s mother, about them having children of their own. He thinks about ruling the North with Jace by his side. 

And that’s where the fantasy breaks.

“I do,” he says, and it’s the easier answer of his life. Jace’s lips part, but he doesn’t say a thing. Cregan brings Jace's hand to his lips and kisses his palm. “But I won’t.” 

Confusion and hurt appear in Jace’s eyes, and he tries to pull his hand away but stops. “Why?”

“Because I’d never ask you to give up the Iron Throne for me,” Cregan says. “You are meant for great things, Jacaerys Velaryon. You’re going to change the world, remember?” 

Tears fill Jace’s eyes. He brings their hands away and leans forward. “I-” he says but cuts himself off and kisses Cregan. Jace’s lips are salty, and Cregan gently kisses his tears away. 

“It has been almost two moons since you’ve arrived, darlin’. Is your family not the slightest bit worried about you being away for so long?”

Jace sniffs. “They’re aware that I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“And I’m not trying to insinuate otherwise - you know that. The thought of being away from Rickon for even a week is too much for me to bear. I assume your mother feels the same pain at being parted from you for so long.”

The mention of Rhaenyra casts a shadow over Jace’s face, as it did the last time Rhaenyra came up. Cregan is baffled by Jace’s reaction. He doesn’t know the intricacies of their relationship, but the crown princess’ affections for her children is well-known across the realm. Her insistence in naming Jace her heir is proof that she loves him. 

So why does the thought of her upset Jace so much? 

“My mother is fine,” Jace says. “She has her husband and her other children.” His voice drops. “If she really wanted me back in the Red Keep, she would’ve come to get me back by now.” 

“Jace-”

“I no longer wish to talk about this. Is that okay, Cregan?” 

“Of course,” Cregan says. He would do anything Jace wants. 

The next day, Bennard asks to speak with Cregan again after the council meeting. 

“I’ve talked to the princes. I see no reason to be alarmed,” Cregan says, seeing no need to share that he’s confirmed that Viserys intends for Jace to marry him. It doesn’t change a thing. Jace will eventually leave, sooner rather than later, and Cregan just wants to savour every moment they have left together. “Like I said, they are here for a courtesy visit and nothing more.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Your Grace,” Bennard says. 

He places a piece of paper down on the table. Cregan glances down at it, and the words on it makes his blood run cold. 

“Where?” he demands, standing up. “Where did you get this?”

“I took the liberty of searching Prince Jacaerys’ rooms when he was away from Winterfell yesterday.”

“You searched his rooms?!”

“Your Grace! Cregan!” Bennard pleads, the expression on his face desperate and anxious. “Respectfully, I don’t care! You don’t have to condone my actions; punish me if you like! But I do not regret my actions, not when it leads to the truth. You wanted proof, and the proof is before you, Cregan. What more do you need?”

Cregan grips the paper tightly, but it’s nothing compared to the vice-like grip around his heart. “I will deal with this.” 

Chapter Text

Later that night, Cregan visits Jace’s chambers. He opens the doors without knocking, and Jace straightens up from where he’s crouched before the fireplace. The annoyance on his face falls away when he sees Cregan.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, sounding so pleased that Cregan almost believes he’s truly happy to see him. 

Jace walks over and tiptoes, greeting Cregan with a kiss on the cheek. Cregan usually responds by kissing or touching Jace back, but he can’t bring himself to do any of that. Jace pulls back with a frown, a question forming on his lips, but Cregan beats him to it. 

“What were you doing?”

“Just making the fire warmer. It’s so cold,” Jace says. He wraps his arms around Cregan’s body, a devious smile on his face. “Do you want to warm me up, Your Grace?” 

This is usually more than enough of an invitation for Cregan. He’d usually be halfway through ridding them of their clothes by now. Jace cups Cregan’s face. The action is so tender and hurts so much that Cregan almost shoves his hand away. “Is everything alright, ñuha ōños ?”

My light, Jace likes to call him. It used to bring him warmth; now there’s but dying embers. 

“I’m fine,” Cregan lies. He walks to the couches and sits down. Jace settles down next to him, folding his legs beneath him as he watches Cregan with worry. “I’m just tired. There’s a lot of work to catch up on, and I want to finish as much as I can before going to the Wall.” 

“Oh,” Jace says. He shuffles closer to Cregan, and Cregan allows him to rest his head on his shoulder, resisting the urge to move away. All he can think about is that wretched paper hidden in his robes. “I apologise. I wouldn’t have asked to see the Wall if I had known that it would increase your workload.”

“It’s not your fault. None of us expected my rut to come.” 

“I feel responsible for that too.”

Cregan looks at Jace, and it is a mistake. The omega is chewing on his bottom lip, and Cregan wants nothing more than to comfort him. Before seeing that piece of paper, that would’ve been the only thing on his mind. Even now, he so badly wants to believe that the regret on Jace’s face is real, but he doesn’t trust what he’s seeing anymore.

“That is not your fault either,” Cregan says, surprised that words fall out of his mouth so easily, but he realises that’s because it’s the truth. He doesn’t blame Jace for his rut or for his request to see the Wall. Those might be the only two things that Jace bears no blame for. 

“I heard that you turned the omega away,” Jace says. “The one who was brought in to help you through your rut.”

“I thought it was rude to do so when I was hosting you and Prince Daeron,” Cregan says.

He doesn’t like the way Jace is looking at him almost like he’s scrutinising him and trying to catch him in a lie. The thought sends an explosion of fury in his chest. If there’s anyone who’s a liar between the two of them, it is Jace. But he doesn’t let any of it show. He keeps the muscles in his face relaxed, not allowing even a bit of his anger to seep into it. 

“There’s no other reason?”

“What other reason could there be?” For some reason, he feels compelled to add, “If I were not hosting any guests, I’d have gladly welcomed the omega into my bed.”

Jace’s expression sours, and he pulls away from Cregan, who has to fight the urge to close the gap between them. He’s the one who didn’t even want Jace so near to him in the first place. 

“Of course,” Jace says bitterly. “It is your right after all.”

Damn right it is. 

“You cannot be angry at me for this,” Cregan says in disbelief, his annoyance mounting. “An alpha needs an omega to help him get through his rut. It is torture otherwise.” 

Jace folds his arms, his lower lip starting to jut out in a pout, but he says nothing. 

Cregan shakes his head. “Omegas have alphas serving them during their heats. Why is it a crime for omegas to serve alphas during our ruts?”

“You cannot seriously think that omegas regularly have alphas in their beds during their heats! And I did not say that it was a crime! You are wearisome tonight!” 

Cregan’s patience snaps. “Well, if the idea of me bedding another omega displeases you so much, you should’ve offered yourself!”

Cregan regrets saying it the moment the words leave his mouth, but Jace jumps to his feet before Cregan can take them back.

“Oh is that what this is about? You’re not happy that I haven’t allowed you to fuck me?”

“Allow?” Cregan repeats. He knows, absolutely knows, that he’s choosing the absolute wrong thing to focus on, but he can’t help it. The word sends a rush of frustration through him just when he thought he could not get any angrier. “I am the king. I can do whatever I want; I don’t need your permission.”

Jace’s eyes blaze with fury. “Then fuck me right now, Your Grace.” 

Cregan’s temper propels him to his feet, and he glares down at the impudent omega. “You think I won’t? I’ll bend you over this couch and fuck you right now if that’s what you want.” 

Jace shoves Cregan in the chest, his irritation only growing when Cregan doesn’t show much as flinch. His advantage has always been in his speed and not strength. In such close quarters to each other, there’s nothing much Jace can do. 

“It’s not about what I want though, is it?” Jace asks, shoving his furs off his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” Cregan says. 

Jace pulls his tunic over his head and throws it at Cregan. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Jace reaches for his trousers next, and Cregan grabs his wrists, halting his movements. 

“Stop this madness, Jacaerys!” 

Jace stops struggling and glares at him. 

“I did not ask for this,” Cregan says. 

“But you don’t have to ask, right? Because you’re an alpha and the king, and you can do whatever you want!” 

Cregan takes a deep breath and swallows the retort he knows he will regret saying. Jace’s glare becomes even more venomous. 

“I was wrong,” Cregan says in a measured tone. “I didn’t mean to imply what I did. You don’t owe me anything, least of all sex.” 

Jace’s glare fades, and he stares at Cregan with a mixture of confusion and sadness. Cregan doesn’t understand why. He’s already apologising. What more does Jace want from him? 

After everything Jace has done, Cregan still managed to find it in himself to admit that he’s wrong. Jace hasn’t even spared him half that consideration. It becomes clear to Cregan that Jace doesn’t even care about him half as much as he cares about Jace. 

Jace sees Cregan as a fool and nothing more. 

“Damn you, Cregan Stark,” Jace says.

He slips out of Cregan’s grasp only because Cregan allows him to. He snatches his tunic off the floor and runs into his bedchamber. Cregan starts to follow him instinctively but pauses. He watches the doors carefully just in case Jace comes bursting through them. Slowly, he reaches into his robes and retrieves the paper. Then he lets it fall to the ground and pushes it into an inconspicuous corner. 

He spends several moments to calm himself before he enters Jace’s bedchamber. 

There’s a lump on the bed, hidden from sight by the covers. 

Cregan sighs heavily. He climbs onto the bed and gently tugs the covers down, using more force when he faces resistance. Jace eventually loses the fight, and he glares up at Cregan with red eyes. The tears on his face breaks Cregan’s heart. Fresh ones appear, and Cregan brushes them away. 

“Don’t cry, darlin’,” Cregan says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Jace scrambles to his knees. “No, you didn’t. It’s not you.” 

“Then what has upset you so?” 

Jace rubs away his tears. “It’s nothing. I just get like this sometimes.” 

Cregan nods and holds his arms open for Jace to collapse in. Jace buries his face into the crook of Cregan’s neck, mumbling something that gets lost in Cregan’s skin.

“What did you say?”

Jace removes his face from Cregan, avoiding Cregan’s eyes. “I don’t deserve you being so nice to me.” 

The words twist Cregan’s heart. Is it an admission of guilt? He waits for Jace to say something more, but Jace chooses to keep lying to him. 

Cregan kisses Jace in lieu of answering verbally. They fall onto the bed and spend a long time kissing and touching each other. Cregan wants to memorise the taste of Jace’s lips and the shape of his body. This might be the last time he can be with Jace like this. He doesn’t want the moment to end, and he feels the stirrings of arousal soon enough. The desire only grows when Jace palms his cock through his trousers.

“Do you want my mouth or my hands?” Jace asks with a grin. 

Cregan groans. He wants so badly to give in but knows that he shouldn’t. He can’t let this cloud his judgement. With much reluctance, he pulls back. The hurt on Jace’s face hurts him more than Jace could ever know.

“I want you,” Cregan assures him, entangling their fingers and kissing Jace’s hand. “I really do, but I’m exhausted, darlin’, and I have a lot to do tomorrow. We only have a few days left before we set out.”  

“So I won’t see you before then?” Jace asks sadly.

“Unfortunately not,” Cregan says. 

“Alright,” Jace says.

Cregan kisses his pout away and laughs at the distraught look on Jace’s face when he gets off the bed. He laughs, because otherwise he fears he might start crying. Because Jace is a much better actor than he would have given him credit for. 

Jace is so much more cruel than Cregan could have ever thought. 

“Why are you and Daeron here, Jace?” Cregan asks, praying to all the old gods that Jace tells him the truth.

There’s a beat of silence, and Cregan thinks that Jace might actually put a stop to this charade, might decide that Cregan is more important than his ambitions. 

But Jace laughs. “I told you - it’s not for a marriage pact, Cregan.”

Cregan smiles back, his heart shattering. “Sleep well, Jace.”

Cregan gives Jace the next two days to come to him. Jace must have found the piece of paper by now. He probably doesn’t know that Cregan is the one who returned it to his room. More likely than not, he probably just thinks that he had accidentally misplaced it. Either way, he’s had two days to sit by himself and come to a decision. 

The second night rolls around, and Jace still hasn’t shown up. Cregan shouldn’t be surprised. He has only been fooling himself. Jace has had a lot more than two days to make his decision, and every single day, he has chosen to continue lying to Cregan. Why would an extra two days change anything? 

Why would Cregan change anything? 

Cregan decides to go to him instead.

He slams open the doors to Jace’s chambers, and Jace jerks violently from where he’s curled up on the couch. Cregan closes them behind him just as loudly and stalks over to Jace.

To Cregan’s disbelief, a smile appears on Jace’s face. He places the documents he’s reading on the table, and Cregan doesn’t miss the way he slots them underneath other papers. How many times has Jace done this right in front of him and Cregan didn’t notice at all? How could he have been so blind this whole time? 

“I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight,” Jace says, practically running over to Cregan.

Is he excited to see Cregan or is he just trying to distract Cregan?  

“What were you reading?” Cregan asks. 

“Just some documents. Boring stuff,” Jace says. He pauses in front of Cregan and wrinkles his nose. “You smell rancid. Why are you so angry?”

He tries to put his arms around Cregan, but Cregan grips his arms, stopping him. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Jace asks. He tries to pull his arms away, but Cregan doesn’t let him go. “Cregan, what the fuck.” 

Cregan stares at him for a moment before he lets him go and stalks towards the table. Jace follows him, his footsteps frantic. Cregan sweeps away the paper on top, looking for that wretched paper that he knows is in that stack somewhere. Jace grabs his arm, but he shakes him off. 

“Cregan, stop. I-”

Cregan finds what he’s looking for and snatches it off the table. He holds it up to Jace. There, right at the top, written in bold lettering - 

NORTHERN INTEGRATION PLAN.

The piece of evidence that Bennard had given to him. 

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” Cregan demands. 

Jace stares at him evenly. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence, Cregan.”

Cregan throws the papers down, and they scatter all over the table and floor. He takes an aggressive step forward, closing the distance between them. He grabs Jace’s wrist and holds on to it tight when Jace tries to free himself. “So it’s true then. You’re here to force the North to bend the knee.”

“I’m not trying to force the North to do anything!” Jace tries to pull his arm out of Cregan’s grip to no avail. “Let go of me, Cregan!” 

Cregan grabs his waist instead, ignoring his squirming and pulling him closer. He bends down and growls in Jace’s face. “You lied about your purpose in coming here!” 

Jace struggles in his hold. “Let go of me!”  

“You’ve been lying ever since you’ve arrived!” 

“Not about everything,” Jace says. He stops struggling and plasters his body to Cregan’s instead. He looks up from Cregan beneath long lashes. “This isn’t a lie.”

And despite everything, despite all the lies that Jace has fed him, Cregan wants to believe this is real. 

Even if everything else is a lie, please at least let this be real.

He captures Jace’s lips with a vicious desperation, and Jace responds eagerly, throwing his arms around Cregan’s neck and deepening the kiss. Cregan grabs Jace’s ass and groans into the kiss as he gropes those perfect, round globes shamelessly. 

They part for air, and Jace looks so beautiful with his swollen lips and messy hair that Cregan’s diving in for another taste before he even catches his breath. 

When they part again, there’s a hesitant look in Jace’s eyes. He trails his fingers down Cregan’s chest. “Is it so bad?” he whispers, then licks his bottom lip. “Bending the knee?”

Anger wells up in Cregan’s chest, but Jace’s rhythmic stroking keeps him from flying into a rage. 

Jace leans in to kiss him again, and Cregan lets him even though he doesn’t respond.

Jace flattens his palm against Cregan’s chest, and Cregan feels lightheaded and warm when he breathes in the calming, sweet scent of Jace’s pheromones. The air is filled with it, and with each inhale, the anger starts to slip away. 

Is it really so bad? 

“The situation in the North is not ideal,” Jace says, his voice a hypnotic whisper. He rubs his thumb across Cregan’s chest. “You need us. As the Seven Kingdoms, we could be so strong. Together.” 

Cregan takes in a deep breath. Jace’s scent and words are like smoke in his brain, muddling his thoughts and creating mirages. 

The situation in the North is bad. Assistance from the South could just be the answer to all of his problems. Jace is offering a solution. Jace is trying to save the North. 

“The North will still belong to you, to House Stark,” Jace continues. He scrunches up Cregan’s tunic in his hand, and Cregan’s peeling it off his body before he even registers what’s happening. “Your people will still listen to you. You’ll still be the ruler.” 

House Stark will still be the leaders of the North. Isn’t that what’s most important? 

Jace guides Cregan into a sweet, tender kiss. Their lips are a scant inch apart when Jace breathes out, “Won’t you bend the knee for me, Cregan?”

Cregan’s breathing is ragged, and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He’s confused, and he doesn’t know what to do. He wants to submit to Jace and do everything Jace asks of him; all he wants is to keep Jace happy, but there’s a part of him resisting. It’s the primal, alpha part of him that wants him to stay angry. He’s an alpha; he’s the head of House Stark. Why should he of all people bend the knee? 

The North is strong. The North has endured much worse. The North doesn’t need the South. 

They have survived for so long, and they will continue to survive for a long time to come. 

The Nor-

The rustling of fabric distracts Cregan from his thoughts. A heady, aromatic scent fills the air, and Cregan’s cock hardens instantaneously. His inner alpha roars with desire, and there’s only one thing, one person who matters in the entire world.

Jace takes a step back and lets his trousers fall to the ground, revealing to Cregan the most precious gem in the Six Kingdoms, the most exquisite sight in the North. 

His cunt. 

Cregan falls to his knees, his eyes locked on his prize. Jace steps several steps back and falls back on the couch, spreading his legs wide open like a common whore. Saliva fills Cregan’s mouth as he devours the sight, and he is more than ready to feast on Jace’s sweet, delicious cunt. 

Finally. 

Finally. 

Jace drags a finger between his folds and then holds it up. The slick gathered on it shimmers in the candlelight. 

Cregan doesn’t even remember moving, and he must have fucking crawled for he’s still on his knees when he reaches Jace. He’s insane with want, but he won’t touch Jace unless Jace says he can. 

He thinks he might die when Jace shuffles forward and presses his cunt against his lips. 

“Won’t you bend the knee, Your Grace?” he asks around a moan. 

Cregan’s answer is a growl. He places a hand on each thigh, pushing Jace’s legs further apart, before he shoves his face into Jace’s cunt. 

He moans unabashedly as the sweetest taste in the universe soaks his tongue. Jace moans, and Cregan laps it up as greedily as he laps up Jace’s slick. He’ll never get enough of it. He won’t be able to go a day without it, not anymore now that he knows what it’s like. He needs more. He grabs Jace’s firm, round ass and pulls the omega up towards him, pushing his face further into Jace’s cunt. Jace yelps as his legs land on Cregan’s broad shoulders and screams when Cregan’s nose nudges against his clit. Cregan inhales the divine liquid like a parched man. 

He pulls back, the haughty grin on his face only becoming bigger when he takes in Jace’s flustered face and the drool on the corner of his mouth. He continues staring into Jace’s eyes as he reaches for his clit again. Once he finds it, he brushes over it teasingly, making Jace whimper and buck his hips. He does it a few more times, milking more sounds from Jace before pressing down on it and rubbing it with more force. Jace moans and pants, his body jerking uncontrollably. Cregan wants to see him lose control and submit to his alpha. When Jace starts to tense, Cregan covers Jace’s clit with his mouth and sucks noisily. Jace screams in pleasure, hips undulating as he comes, and Cregan heartily drinks his fill. 

Jace is a quivering mess when Cregan’s finally done. His eyes slip shut as he pants heavily, but Cregan is having none of that. 

“No,” he snarls, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Jace’s eyes fly open, and he shrieks when Cregan throws him over a shoulder like he weighs nothing . He kicks against Cregan’s chest. 

“Let me down, your barbarian!” 

Cregan smacks his ass. “Your scent tells me you’re enjoying this, princeling.” 

Jace continues his performative protests and squawks when Cregan throws him onto the bed unceremoniously. Cregan pushes Jace down onto his back and wastes no time returning to his cunt. He drags two fingers between Jace’s sensitive folds slowly, relishing in how wet Jace is for him. Jace tries to swat his hand away, but that only makes Cregan push down harder, causing him to cry out. 

“No,” Cregan growls. “You’ve kept this from me for so long. I’ll decide when I want to stop playing with it.”

Jace’s blush reaches the root of his hair. “It’s not a toy.”

“Aye,” Cregan says, lowering his mouth to it and placing a kiss on it, earning a squeak from Jace. “It’s a gift from the gods to mankind, and it’s all mine.”

Then Cregan is slurping down more of the delicious, addicting slick. 

“I’ll eat you out every morning.” Cregan says in between broad licks. He sucks Jace’s clit into his mouth. Jace thrashes on the bed, but Cregan’s hands pin him in place. “You’ll leak for me the whole day, missing my mouth on your cunt, and you’ll be wet and ready for me when I return to feast on you at night.”

“You’re so crude,” Jace complains, but his scent is overwhelmingly sweet, and Cregan knows that he likes it more than he admits. 

Cregan pushes a finger into Jace, who jerks violently at the sudden intrusion. It’s so warm and wet inside, swallowing Cregan’s finger ease. Cregan pulls his finger out and slides in with two fingers this time. Jace’s body clenches around his digits, begging to be filled with cock. 

“Cregan,” Jace gasps, grabbing onto Cregan’s shoulder, his grip tight. 

“You feel so good,” Cregan says as he pumps his fingers in and out. He leans up to kiss Jace, not ceasing his movements. 

Jace is tense, but Cregan isn’t surprised. He’s been in the North for so long; it must have been a while since he has been fucked. Cregan increases the pace of his fingers, rubbing his thumb against Jace’s clit ever so often as he coaxes Jace’s body to open up for him. When he feels Jace finally relaxing, he adds a third finger. Jace jerks against him and presses a hand against his chest, a warm weight against his skin. 

“Cre-” Jace begins, breaking the kiss, but Cregan continues to kiss him, swallowing his moans and pleas for more.  

Cregan pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in, relishing the feeling of Jace’s hole stretching around them. Jace already feels so good around Cregan’s fingers, and Cregan cannot wait to have that tight heat snug around his cock. The room is filled with the wet, squelching sound of Jace’s pussy, and Cregan keeps up a brutal pace, forcing Jace to take more, because he knows that Jace’s body is built for this, built to take an alpha knot. 

Jace’s scent is-

There’s a slight tang in the air. It’s stale as if it has been there for a while, but it’s only now that Cregan smells it. The next thing he notices is the pressure of Jace’s hand against his chest. Jace is trying to push him away. Cregan rears back in horror when he sees the tears on Jace’s face. He pulls his fingers free, and Jace cries out, his face squeezing in pain. 

He’s scared. 

Cregan’s insides shrivel, and his hardness wanes. 

“Jace,” he coaxes softly. “Look at me, darlin’.”

It takes a while, but Cregan is patient, and Jace eventually looks at him, a petulant pout on his face. 

“What?”

Cregan strokes his cheek with his knuckles tenderly. “Have you done this before, Jace?”

“Of course I have,” Jace says, crossing his arms over his chest, but the way he moves away from Cregan says otherwise.  

Of course he’s lying even now. 

“Jace, have you been fucked before?”

Jace resolutely doesn’t answer. 

“Are you a virgin?” Cregan asks. It dawns on him then that not only is Jace a virgin, Cregan might also be the only alpha to have ever touched him before. His inner alpha is pleased and proud, but all Cregan feels is a sense of alarm. “Jace, have you done any of this before?”

Jace doesn't do anything for the longest moment, and that is answer enough, but Cregan still wants to hear the truth from Jace’s mouth. Jace eventually gives a quick, short shake of his head. 

And even though it is exactly as Cregan suspects, the admission throws everything Cregan knows into disarray. He scrambles off the bed to put distance between him and Jace. 

When Jace had come onto him so strongly, he had assumed that Jace is an experienced lover. He hadn’t questioned it at all. Of course a Targaryen prince wouldn’t be held to the same standards as other omegas. Cregan has omegas serving him during his ruts; he had thought that Jace must have had alphas servicing him during his heats as well. But if Jace is still a virgin, then it must be because Viserys expects him to save himself for marriage. 

Or for this very purpose. 

Everything clicks into place.

Viserys wants the North to bend the knee, and he chose to send his only omega grandson to Winterfell.

Not his heir, Princess Rhaenyra. 

Not any of his alpha sons or even his alpha grandsons. 

Daeron is here, but Cregan sees him for what he is now, a witness to ensure the deed gets done. 

For if an alpha deflowers an omega, it is an alpha relative who has the authority to demand a marriage for the omega’s honour to be restored. 

It is the way things are done here in the North.

No wonder Jace was so interested in Northern marriage traditions and customs. 

To think that Cregan thought that Jace might have actually sincerely wanted to be with him. 

No wonder Jace had been so overly friendly with him from the start despite harbouring such a clear dislike for him. 

The Targaryens want the North, and they have no qualms using the only omega at their disposal to get it. 

Disgust wells up in Cregan. At himself but mostly at Viserys. To think a king would resort to making use of his grandson like he was nothing more than a glorified whore. The same feeling doesn’t extend to Jace, because Cregan is acutely aware that Jace is a victim, a pawn in Viserys’ grand scheme to conquer the last kingdom standing in the way of total conquest. 

But just because Jace is a victim doesn’t mean he isn’t complicit. 

Jace might have been scared of finally going through with the act, but he had every intention to bed Cregan and then force him into marriage. House Stark’s reputation for honour is renowned even in the South; there is no house more honourable than House Stark. 

If Cregan had taken Jace’s maidenhead, he wouldn’t even need Daeron to demand that he marry Jace. He would’ve done it voluntarily. And once they are tied, the North would have had to submit to King’s Landing or face dragon fire. It is the way of the Targaryens. 

Jace’s goal this whole time has been to trick Cregan into bedding him.  

Cregan runs through every single interaction between them and realises that they have all been carefully orchestrated with this goal in mind. Jace had put up the best performance of his life, and Cregan had bared his heart like an idiot. And he truly is an idiot, because Cregan shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. None of this should be a revelation. He knows, knows , that Jace had snuck into his room on purpose that very first night. Yet, despite being armed with that knowledge, he had still so stupidly allowed himself to be tricked.

And when Cregan had found out the truth and gotten mad at Jace’s deception, Jace simply tried to use more deceit to get his way. Jace loves talking about respect, but he doesn’t respect Cregan, not in the slightest bit. He knows that all he has to do is drop his trousers and Cregan would fall to his knees, and he has been playing Cregan like a fiddle the entire time they’ve known each other. 

The greatest tragedy of it all is that it would have worked. If it had only been Cregan at stake, it would have worked. He would have bent the knee just to keep Jace happy. If Jace had just asked, Cregan would have given him anything. But he had instead chosen to lie to and trick Cregan. 

And this matter goes beyond Cregan. It concerns his house, his son’s legacy, and the entire Kingdom of the North. The fact that Jace thought he could worm his way into Cregan’s bed and manipulate him into giving up everything his family had laboured so hard for was… 

It was painful. 

Cregan’s heart squeezes tightly in his chest, and with each breath he takes, it rattles in his chest like broken shards of glass. It’s a pain he has never experienced before, not even when Arra had died in his arms. The only thing holding the pieces of his heart together is a molten rage that threatens to consume him. He inhales deeply and exhales noisily, trying to get his temper under control. 

Jace hasn’t looked at Cregan once this entire time. His gaze is fixed on the bed sheets, and he’s fiddling with a stray piece of thread. 

He seems a stranger. 

“Who even are you?” Cregan whispers.

Jace looks up, and tears gather in his eyes. It’s just another act. 

“Cre-”

“I don’t know you,” Cregan says, shaking his head.

“I-”

“This was all a ploy.” 

“Wha-”

“Don’t lie to me!” Cregan shouts. Jace jumps, but Cregan’s too far gone to reel his anger back in. He doesn’t want to hear Jacaerys talk, doesn’t want the honeyed words poured into his ears, clogging his ability to judge properly and be rational. “You plotted this from the very beginning. You wanted to trick me into fucking you so that I’d have no choice but to wed you, which would give your family the leverage they need to pressure the North into finally bending the knee after all this time.”

“Cre-”

“Shut up,” Cregan growls, and Jacaerys does, looking stricken. Even now, with everything laid to light, he’s still playing the part of a rejected omega so well. But Cregan knows the truth now - Jace has never been his. “I won’t be fooled by your pretty words anymore. I should’ve known better than to trust a conniving omega slut from the South. You might be a dragon, Jacaerys, but I am a wolf, and you will not pull the wool over my eyes.” 

Jacearys’ eyes harden. He pushes himself off the bed and stands toe to toe with Cregan. He has to look up to meet Cregan’s eyes, but his gaze is filled with dragon fire. And Cregan is a weak, weak man. Despite the fury coursing through him, despite the hurt grounding his heart into dust, there’s still the desire to wrap his arms around Jacaerys and hold him close. 

But he stands strong for the North. 

“You think too highly of yourself, Your Grace,” Jacaerys says coldly. “I’m too valuable. My family would never wed me to some barbaric king in the North.” 

Cregan has never before had such a strong urge to slap someone as he does in that moment. He turns and storms out of the room instead. 

The moment the doors of his bed chambers slam shut behind him, Cregan lets his frustrations out in a loud scream. He grabs the item nearest to him, a chair, and smashes it into the floor. It breaks upon impact, splinters flying everywhere, and Cregan repeats it until it’s reduced to a pile of wood. 

Even then he’s still wound up. 

He punches the stone wall, relishing in the sharp pain that scraps his skin and runs through his bones. He does it again and again, not even stopping when his knuckles turn bruised and bloody. He only stops when the tension leaves his body, leaving him drained and broken.

Chapter Text

As furious as Cregan is with Jacaerys and as much as he’d rather stab himself than be in Jacaerys’ presence, he isn’t going to shirk his duty. They will be travelling to the Wall that day as planned, and Cregan is going to be courteous and responsible.

He almost loses it when he steps into the courtyard, and Jacaerys takes one disdainful look at him before turning his nose up and head away. 

Cregan reminds himself that he’s the King in the North, and an alpha of his stature does not so easily lose his composure just because the omega he has been obsessed with for the past weeks has decided that he wants nothing more to do with him. 

Most importantly, Cregan’s the one who’s in the right here. He’s the one who’s angry with Jacaerys. The prince is just throwing a temper tantrum because he can’t handle being wrong, and Cregan refuses to engage in this childish behaviour.

He almost gets into a fight with Jacaerys when the prince refuses to take the carriage and insists on riding Quicklight.

“It’s going to get colder further up North, especially when we get closer to the Wall,” Cregan says through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll be fine,” Jacaerys says. 

Seven fucking hells. Why couldn’t Jacaerys see reason? It is not him who has to bear the consequences if he gets gangrene. Rhaenyra will ride her dragon to Winterfell the moment she catches wind of anything untoward happening to her precious baby and burn it to a crisp. But, of course, Jacaerys is too selfish and inconsiderate to think of anyone but himself.  

“Your constitution is not as strong as you think it is,” Cregan says, and perhaps with a bit more venom than intended, adds, “You’re an omega.”

Jacaerys’ eyes narrow, but he catches sight of Cregan’s hand, and they soften, his gaze lingering on the bandages wrapped around Cregan’s knuckles. Cregan fights the urge to hide his hand from view. 

Jacaerys looks up and shrugs. “Then I will ride in the carriage when the weather becomes unbearable.”

“You-” 

You’re unbearable! Cregan thinks to himself heatedly.

Jacaerys narrows his eyes as if reading Cregan’s mind.

“Suit yourself,” Cregan says instead and stomps away before he loses his temper. 

He is not going to give Jacaerys the time of the day. If the princeling wants to catch a cold, then it is his problem. What concern is it of Cregan’s if he suffers as a result of his stupidity? It’s not as if Cregan is the one who has to endure the chills and fitful, uncomfortable sleep. 

He’s storming back to his bedchamber before he realises where he’s going. There, still right where he had left it earlier that morning, is the winter coat that he had commissioned to be made for Jacaerys when the prince had first requested to see the Wall. Cregan doesn’t think too much about why he’s ended up back here when he made the decision that morning that the coat will never see the light of day. 

He grabs the coat and stalks back outside. It’s a waste of the people’s time and precious resources if he burns the coat. Even if Jacaerys doesn’t deserve it, it’s not for him that Cregan is doing this. He’s doing it so that the omega doesn’t fall ill and inconvenience him. He’s doing it to do justice to the time and effort spent on making the coat. He’d give the coat to one of his men, but it was made to Jacaerys’ exact measurements and wouldn’t fit any of them. He thrusts it in front of Jacaerys and can’t even be sorry that he startles him so badly that he almost loses his balance. 

“It gets colder the nearer we get to the Wall,” he repeats, emphasising each word heavily to get it through to Jacaerys’ thick skull. “This coat is more suitable to the climate there. Wear it if you insist on riding.”

Jacaerys takes the coat from Cregan tentatively. He brushes his fingers over the soft fur, and Cregan is only watching his reaction so attentively because of the resources that went into making it, not because he cares about whether Jacaerys likes it. Who cares if Jacaerys doesn’t like how the fur is lined or the way the coat closes? It’s not as if Cregan spent several hours each night on the designs because he knows how particular Jacaerys is about his clothes and wanted him to like it. He only did it because he felt bad for issuing the sudden request to his staff and wanted to help as much as he could. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jacaerys says quietly, meeting Cregan’s eyes hesitantly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The tension leaves Cregan’s body, and he hums in response. He doesn’t care that Jacaerys thinks it’s beautiful. He only cares that his staff is getting the recognition they deserve.

“Cregan-” Jacaerys begins, and Cregan growls, taking a step forward.

“Don’t,” he says. 

Jacaerys drops his gaze and takes a step back. 

Daeron saunters over and gasps at the new coat in Jacaerys’ hands. He plants himself in between Jacaerys and Cregan, and Cregan steps back to give him space. He lifts the coat up and nods appreciatively. 

“It’s a style that you like, Jace,” Daeron says. He turns around and says, “Only worried about Jace freezing in the harsh climate? That’s a little unfair, don’t you think, Your Grace?”

“There’s one for you too,” Cregan says, though there absolutely isn’t.

Daeron had clearly been jesting, so Cregan doesn’t know why he even said that. Now Daeron is looking at him excitedly like a child during that Sevenmas holiday they celebrate in the South.

“Thank you, Your Grace!”

Belatedly, Cregan realises that he hates Daeron, but it’s too late to take his words back. Daeron’s as bad as Jacaerys. He’s in on the scheme, and his purpose in the North is considerably more insidious than Jacaerys, considering he doesn’t have to do any of the dirty work. How can he plaster on a mask of innocence and speak with Jacaerys in such friendly tones when he’s here to whore his nephew out? Fuck these Southernors and their pretences. Cregan hates them all and can’t wait to be rid of them.

“Lord Manderly,” Cregan calls, spotting the lord nearby.  

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Bring Prince Daeron his new winter coat.” 

Medrick stares at him for a few seconds before nodding. “At once, Your Grace.”

How and from where Medrick produced a brand new coat in such short notice, Cregan doesn’t know. But he is immensely relieved and makes sure that his friend knows how much he appreciates it.

“It’s nothing, Your Grace,” Medrick says, though he pointedly keeps his eyes trained on the road and doesn’t look at Cregan. “My lady wife made it for me, but she can always make me another one.”

Cregan feels like the biggest jerk in the North. “Lady Manderly will be handsomely compensated for her work.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

If Cregan had been anyone other than Cregan, he suspects that Medrick would have knocked him off his horse. 

The journey to the Wall is mostly uneventful. Cregan manages to get by with speaking to Jacaerys as little as possible, and it is not suspicious at all as no one has any time to talk. It is only when they have meals and settle down for the night that Cregan is forced to engage with Jacaerys, but he’s pleasant and gracious, every bit the alpha king that he is. 

No one suspects a thing.

“Is everything alright with you and Prince Jacaerys?” Robard asks a few days later. 

“Why would you ask that?” Cregan asks, not sounding the least bit defensive, though Robard is eyeing him as if his reaction is bigger than it ought to be.

“I’m just asking,” Robard says. “You seem… distant lately.”

“Distant? He is a foreign emissary; distant is the only way it should be.” 

As the words leave Cregan’s mouth, he realises that he is right. The time spent in Jacaerys’ embrace had been nothing short of blissful, but how long did he realistically expect it to last? He is the King in the North; Jacaerys is his mother’s heir, future Prince of Dragonstone and then King of the Six Kingdoms. Their lives are only meant to converge at a single point and split forever, like their ancestors. 

Maybe every century or so a Stark and a Targaryen will meet again. 

But Cregan hopes a Stark never meets a Targaryen again. 

Their meetings only ever end in bloodshed or heartbreak. 

And neither are worth it. 

An arrow whistles through the air, striking a soldier in the chest. He topples off his horse and throws the entire royal guard into a flurry of panic. 

“Protect the king!” 

Cregan doesn’t give a fuck about his safety, not when Rickon’s life is in danger as well. He pulls the reins on his horse and turns it around, trying to get to the carriage, but the guards block his way. 

“Please stay with us, Your Grace!” 

“Get out of my way!” he yells when he sees most of the bandits approaching the carriage, but the guards are relentless. “Forget about me, you fools! Protect my son! My heir! Protect your prince!” 

That gets their attention and through their thick skull. They turn their horses around and race towards the carriage with Cregan, whose heart very nearly stops when the bandits reach the carriage. The man reaches for the handle, but the door flies open, hitting him in the face and knocking him out. 

Jacaerys jumps out of carriage with his sword drawn and looking so fucking beautiful it takes Cregan’s breath away for a second. 

A woman screams loudly. 

Sara!

Daeron reaches Jacaerys first, and he fights the bandits who try to stop his nephew from running to the other side of the carriage where Sara and Rickon are. Seeing Cregan and his men approach, a group of bandits break away from Daeron and Jacaerys to meet them instead. Cregan slices through them with little care, his eyes fixed on where a man has gotten hold of Sara. Rickon is crying in her arms, and Cregan has never known fear as he does in that moment when another man reaches for his child. 

But Jacaerys thrusts his sword in between them, making the bandit quickly retract his hand. He turns on Jacaerys instead, and Daeron is too preoccupied with his own fight to lend any assistance to him. 

Cregan and Robard break through the barricade of bandits with the help of the soldiers, who stay behind to prevent the bandits from going after them. 

“Help Prince Daeron!” Cregan barks, and Robard rushes to obey, though not without one last look back at Sara and Rickon. 

Cregan jumps off his horse and charges towards the bandits surrounding his child. 

A man reaches out to grab Jacaerys from behind, but Jacaerys pivots his attention to him and shoves his sword into his chest. He doesn’t have time to pull his sword out before another bandit slams into him from behind. He lets go of his sword to stop himself from falling and turns around, coming face to face with a dagger. 

Jacaerys’ hand is hidden in his cloak, and he pulls out a dagger as the bandit surges forward. Catching sight of the blade, the bandit changes focus to Rickon at the last moment. 

“No!” Cregan yells as the man brings the dagger down. 

Jacaerys throws himself on top of the man, knocking him to the ground. But the bandit is quick to roll them over. Cregan rips the man off Jacaerys before he can do much else. He doesn’t even give the man a glance before slitting his throat and tossing his lifeless body aside. His guards run past him to fight off the remaining bandits, protecting Sara and Rickon. 

Cregan helps Jacaerys sit up, and when he sees the large, nasty gash on Jacaerys’s arm, he wishes to resurrect the bandit just to kill him again slowly and more painfully. 

“Are you hurt elsewhere?” Cregan asks.

Jacaerys shakes his head. 

Rickon’s cries reach his ears, and Cregan stands up, striding over to his distressed son. 

“Dada, dada,” Rickon wails, flailing in Sara’s arms. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Cregan says, taking his son and hugging him close to his chest. He pats his back soothingly and feels the fear gradually seep out of his tiny body. Rickon is so frail and so small. The fact that the bandits almost got their hands on him- 

Cregan can’t even bear the thought of it. 

“Mama,” Rickon whimpers, soft enough that only Cregan hears. Cregan can feel Jacaerys’ presence at his side and is thankful that Jacaerys doesn’t try to come any closer. 

“Mama hurt,” Rickon insists, but Cregan rocks Rickon in his arms, murmuring soft words of reassurance to him until he calms down.  

When Rickon has calmed down, Cregan turns around to see Jacaerys watching the baby with a pained, longing look on his face. The expression breaks Cregan’s heart, but he can’t bring himself to hand Rickon over to Jacaerys. When Jacaerys catches Cregan looking at him, he turns away, shielding his face from Cregan.

“Jace!” Daeron exclaims, rushing over. “Your arm! Someone get me bandages!” 

“I’m fine, Daeron. It’s only a scratch.”

“Only a scratch?” Daeron repeats, sounding near hysterical. “Rhaenyra is going to kill me!” 

“Yes, she is,” Jacaerys says sympathetically. 

Cregan’s smiling before he even realises it, but he wipes it off his face. He orders for the medical supplies to be brought over. As the guards look in the carriage, Robard creates a small fire. A guard hands him a bottle of wine, and he heats it carefully over the flames. Robard kneels before Jacaerys. 

“It’s going to hurt,” he says apologetically.

“I’ll be fine,” Jacaerys says, holding his arm out. 

Daeron looks away as Robard pours the wine over the wound, but Cregan cannot tear his eyes away from Jacaerys. Pain spreads over Jacaerys’s face, and he bites down hard on his lower lip, but he doesn’t make a single sound. 

“Sorry,” Robard says.

Jacaerys shakes his head, his face pale.  

Medrick hands Robard the poultice to put on the wound. Cregan’s about to volunteer to do it when Daeron does so instead. 

“Are you sure you know how to do this, Uncle?” Jacaerys asks, moving his arm away from Daeron. “I don’t want it to scar.”

“It’s going to scar anyway. You should be thankful that you don’t require stitches,” Daeron says, rolling his eyes and ignoring Jacaerys’ offended gasp. “And I learned how to do this in Oldtown, so you can put your doubts to rest. Now give me your arm.” 

As soon as Jacaerys’s arm is bandaged, Cregan gives the order for them to set out again. Night is soon approaching, and Cregan doesn’t want to spend any longer in the wild lest the bandits come back with reinforcements. 

Cregan opts to sit in the carriage with Sara and Jacaerys, wanting to be with Rickon, and Daeron is happy to take the horse instead. Jacaerys ends up opposite Cregan, and he spends the entire ride with his eyes on Rickon, who Cregan is sure is looking right back at him adoringly. Rickon squirms a few times in his lap, attempting to get to Jacaerys, but Cregan holds him tight.

“No,” he says in a low voice. 

Rickon quietens, but his impatience grows each time he’s denied until he’s finally had enough. 

“Mama!” he screams, pointing at Jacaerys. 

All three adults freeze, and Cregan is acutely aware of Sara’s bewildered eyes on him. 

“Stop it, Rickon,” Cregan says sternly in a louder voice this time.

Rickon begins to cry, struggling in Cregan’s hold, kicking and screaming. 

“Mama! Mama!” 

“Enough of this,” Cregan says angrily. It is unbecoming of the next King in the North to behave in such a manner. 

“He’s just a baby,” Jacaerys says in annoyance. 

Cregan looks up to meet fierce, defiant eyes. 

“He’s not your son,” Cregan says. “Stay out of it.” 

Jacaerys’s eyes flutter in irritation, and he turns his head to look out of the carriage.

Sara is doing an excellent job of pretending that nothing out of the ordinary is happening. She coos at Rickon and offers him her embrace instead. Rickon clamours for her immediately. The rejection stings, but Cregan passes him over to Sara. 

“Don’t be sad, Rickon,” Sara says. “It’s alright.”

“Mama,” Rickon says again.

“Your mama’s not here, Rickon,” Sara says, and Rickon frowns in confusion, looking at Jacaerys.

“Mama!” he insists.  

“She’s not here, my dear. We all miss her too,” Sara says. She moves Rickon to her other arm so that he’s closer to Jacaerys, and Rickon grabs Jacaerys’s sleeve. 

“Mama! Want mama!” 

Jacaerys turns to Rickon, the expression on his face softening, but he doesn’t reach out to touch him. Rickon isn’t the least bit happy by this, and he reaches out for Jacaerys again, accidentally brushing against the bandages. Jacaerys lets out a hiss of pain, and Cregan’s leaning forward before he can help it, though he stops himself and pretends to adjust his position.

Rickon’s eyes are wide and shocked. 

“Mama hurt.” His brows furrow. “I hurt mama. Sorry.”

“No, darling, you didn’t,” Jacaerys says, finally addressing him directly. “I’m alright. Don’t worry about it.” 

He brushes his hand atop Rickon’s head, and even that slight touch calms Rickon down immediately. The baby settles in Sara’s arms and smiles at Jacaerys happily, soon beginning to doze off. At some point, Sara’s arms begin to ache, and she hands Rickon back to Cregan. 

When they pull up to the inn, Sara gets out of the carriage first, helped by Robard, their hands lingering for just a beat too long. Cregan carefully hands Rickon to her before getting down the carriage and finds himself in a situation he doesn’t want to be in. He wants to walk off and leave it to Roabrd, but Sara’s gaze is piercing, so he turns around and offers his hand to Jacaerys. 

Jacaerys eyes it for a second before taking it tersely. He winces as he exits the carriage, and Cregan feels a swell of protectiveness in his chest. 

“Does it hurt?” he’s asking before he can stop himself. 

Jacaerys snatches his hand back and folds his arms into his cloak with care. “I’m fine, Your Grace.” 

“We owe you our thanks, Prince Jacaerys. Who knows what harm might have befallen Rickon and me if not for you,” Sara says. She gives Cregan a meaningful look.

“House Stark is in your debt, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says, making the mistake of looking into Jacaerys’s eyes as he says this. 

The prince’s brown eyes are wet, and Cregan feels an immense sense of guilt even though he doesn’t know what the cause for his sadness is. Jacaerys shakes his head and blinks his tears away. 

“You owe me nothing, Your Grace,” he says quietly.

Cregan’s settling Rickon into his crib when he hears a light crash coming from the room next to his. He grabs Rickon and marches to Jacaerys’s room, knocking on the door loudly.

Jacaerys pulls open the door, and it’s crazy how time slips away when Cregan looks at his face. He must have been staring for seconds, because Jacaerys starts to frown. “How may I help you, Your Grace?” 

Rickon stirs at the sound of Jacaerys’s voice. He looks around but can’t see Jacaerys with his head turned away from him.

“I heard something crashing,” Cregan says, noticing the way Jacaerys’s eyes keep flickering to Rickon. “Is everything alright?”

Cregan looks into the room to see the toppled bottles and medical supplies on the desk. Jacaerys shifts to block his view. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

Cregan looks down and sees the blood seeping through the bandages. “Let me help you,” he says, barging past Jacaerys into the room. Cregan almost stops dead in his tracks when he breathes in the omega’s scent that has settled into the room. It’s a balm for his soul. It’s a punch to the gut.  

“I don’t need your help,” Jacaerys says almost petulantly.

Rickon giggles with joy when he sees Jacaerys. 

“Mama!” he says. “Come!” 

Jacaerys’ face melts into happiness, but he quickly schools it back into neutrality, watching apprehensively as Cregan sets Rickon on the bed. Rickon reaches for Jacaerys with both hands.

“Mama!” Rickon says insistently, slamming his tiny fists against the bed. “Come! Come!” 

Cregan walks over to the desk and starts righting the bottles, needing to do something with his hands or he fears he might go crazy. “Are you going to ignore him?” 

He hears footsteps shuffling, the sound of the bed creaking, and then Rickon’s delighted laughter. 

“Mama, mama.” 

“Hi, baby, how are you?” Jacaerys asks, his voice so sweet and gentle that it threatens to pull Cregan’s heart out from his chest. There’s a smattering of kisses, and Rickon’s delighted squeals. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“Miss mama,” Rickon agrees.

Jacaerys laughs, and it’s a dagger to Cregan’s heart. He’s hurt. He’s angry. How is Jacaerys able to be so happy after everything he’s done to Cregan? But the biggest mystery is why he’s still here trying to help Jacaerys. He should’ve called for Daeron or even Robard the moment he realised what was wrong. He’s the biggest fool to have ever lived. 

Cregan grabs the poultice and fresh bandages off the table with more force than he intends. He turns around and stops in his tracks. Rickon is laughing, his hands clutched around one of Jacaerys’s fingers, and Jacaerys is smiling serenely at him. The picture is so lovely that it hurts. And the more the hurt grows, the more the anger festers. It doesn’t matter that he and Jacaerys could’ve never had this in the first place; Cregan still feels like Jacaerys has robbed this shot of happiness from him. 

The smile falls from Jacaerys’ face, and he looks up. He eyes Cregan warily, shifting backwards with each step Cregan takes. But he suddenly stops as if catching himself and fists his hands in the sheets instead. Cregan doesn’t know the reason for his cagey behaviour, nor does he care to find out. 

“Give me your arm,” Cregan says, his voice rough. 

Jacaerys bites his lower lip before extending his arm gingerly. He’s trembling a little, and Cregan is affronted. What? Is Jacaerys scared of him? Does Jacaerys think that he would hurt him? 

The thought angers Cregan even more, and he has to take several deep breaths to calm himself. When has he ever given Jacaerys cause to worry about him striking him? The only times he has attacked the omega are during their training, and Jacaerys had explicitly consented to that. 

It’s another act, that’s all it could be. Jacaerys knows that he’s not going to get away with seducing Cregan again, and so he’s falling back onto a well-known omega stereotype - the meek omega who’s ever so fearful of an alpha’s wrath. He means to incite pity in Cregan. He will not succeed.

Cregan takes Jacaerys’ arm with extreme gentleness just to make a point and unwraps the bandages. It is a superficial wound like Daeron has said, though it is still deeper than Cregan would’ve expected of one. The sight of it makes Cregan’s heart clench, and an overwhelming sense of failure rises up in him. He didn’t protect Jacaerys. But why should he? After everything Jacaerys has done. After all his lies. After he so callously played with Cregan’s heart. 

Had he knocked down the medical supplies on purpose to get Cregan’s attention? Knowing that Cregan would immediately come over to check on him? 

Cregan slaps the poultice onto Jacaerys’s wound with more force than he intends, and Jacaerys jerks sharply. He bites back a shout of pain, but tears spring to his eyes. Guilt wells up in Cregan, and he pulls his arm back just as Jacaerys pulls his arm away. 

“Fuck,” Cregan says and immediately curses himself for cursing in front of his infant son. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jacaerys says softly, his eyes on Cregan’s lap. 

“Mama,” Rickon says, his brows pinched. He grabs Jacaerys’s sleeve in a show of comfort. “Mama hurt.” He glares up at Cregan. “Bad dada!”

“I’m not the one-”

“It’s alright,” Jacaerys cuts in. He smiles at Rickon brightly, all traces of pain erased from his face. “Your dada isn’t hurting me. It doesn’t hurt at all.” 

But Rickon refuses to let go of Jacaerys anyway. 

“Can I try again?” Cregan asks.

Jacaerys gives a curt nod and extends his arm again. Rickon is watching him like a hawk (traitor), and Cregan is a lot more careful as he applies the rest of the poultice onto the wound. He knows it hurts a lot more than Jacaerys is letting on. The omega has a higher threshold for pain than Cregan thought he would, and somehow the thought makes him sad.

Slowly and gently, Cregan wraps the bandage around Jacaerys’s arm and tightens it when he’s done. 

“Thank you,” Jacaerys says.

“I’ll come by in the morning to help you change it again before we set out,” Cregan says, deciding to be the bigger man and to make up for inadvertently hurting Jacaerys. 

“I can ask Daeron to do it,” Jacaerys says, refusing to look at Cregan.

“Jace,” Cregan says in frustration.

“What?” Jacaerys says, turning around to face him. 

His jaw is clenched, but Cregan spots the wobble of his lower lip, and he cannot deal with this right now. He can’t handle being manipulated again. How has he never seen the signs before? The shimmer of tears in Jacaerys’s beautiful eyes, the slight trembling of those plush lips, the casual aversion of his gaze - all these are but carefully constructed little actions meant to rouse Cregan’s protective alpha instincts so that Cregan won’t question a word he says or the things he does. 

And Jacaerys not only knows how to manipulate Cregan’s heart, he knows how to manipulate Cregan’s body too. How many times has he silenced Cregan with a kiss or changed the topic with a hand on Cregan’s cock? 

Cregan cannot believe that he has been so dumb. 

He looks away from Jacaerys and doesn’t say a word as he picks Rickon up.

“Mama,” Rickon protests, clinging onto Jacaerys’s sleeves. “Mama!” 

Jacaerys’s fingers twitch, but he buries them in the sheets. 

“He’s not your mama,” Cregan says harshly. “You only have one mama, and she is dead, Rickon. He’s nobody.” 

Rickon starts crying as Cregan pries his fingers off Jacaerys. His son’s pain is his fault. He should’ve never allowed Jacaerys to get so close to Rickon in the first place. But it’s better to put an end to it sooner than later. Jacaerys will fade into the past, and Rickon won’t remember him.  

Tiny fists pound onto Cregan’s back, but the pain is emotional and not physical. Cregan shushes Rickon as he walks towards the door and doesn’t spare another glance backwards. 

Chapter Text

Cregan takes to riding his horse again but makes sure he is near to the carriage in case they are ambushed again. Jacaerys is stuck in the carriage now because of his injury, and as much as Cregan loathes to have Rickon spending more time with him, he can’t help it if he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he and Jacaerys are not on speaking terms. 

He’d ask Sara to keep Rickon away from Jacaerys, and she’d do it, but she’d also want an explanation, and Cregan doesn’t want to talk about it. It would mean that he would have to explain everything that had happened between him and Jacaerys, and he doesn’t want to talk about that either. 

I fear you may be falling for the prince.

Cregan hopes that Robard has kept that nonsensical notion to himself. 

Cregan hardly interacts with Jacaerys during the journey to Last Hearth. He takes Rickon from him and helps him out of the carriage out of duty, and they don’t speak except for exchanging pleasantries. No one seems to notice anything out of the ordinary except for Sara who keeps looking at Cregan as if she’s expecting him to do something. 

He ignores her too. 

Cregan has just settled Rickon in the nursery and is readying himself for sleep in his own chambers when a knock comes at his door. He opens his door, expecting the late night supper he rang for and is dumbfounded when he sees Jacaerys there, his body turned halfway as if to leave. Jacaerys straightens himself and stands awkwardly in the doorway without saying a thing. The scene is so familiar, and Cregan doesn’t know whether to tell Jacaerys to go or pull him into his arms. 

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Jacaerys finally says.

“Good evening,” Cregan says. There’s a stack of papers in Jacaerys’ arms. “What’s that?”

Footsteps sound upon the stone grounds. The supper that Cregan has rung for is here. He pulls Jacaerys into his chambers without thinking just as the servant rounds the corner. The man looks surprised to see Cregan at his doors.

“Your Grace, your supper,” he says. 

Frankly, Cregan no longer has an appetite for it. “I’ve changed my mind,” he says. “I will do without it.” 

“Understood, Your Grace.” The servant bows and walks away. 

Cregan closes the doors behind him and brushes past Jacaerys without looking at him. 

“Apologies,” Cregan grunts. “I did not think it appropriate for you to be seen at my doors at such a late hour.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Your Grace.” 

Jacaerys doesn’t say anything else, and Cregan makes the mistake of looking at him. He’s painfully beautiful, and beneath all the anger is a deep sense of yearning for Jacaerys’ warmth and touch. It is a mistake to drag Jacaerys into his chambers, for now the yearning has now clawed its way to the surface. 

Cregan crosses the distance between them and cups Jacaerys’ head, drawing him into a kiss. Jacaerys jerks at the first touch of their lips, and Cregan almost pulls away, but then Jacaerys is kissing him back, and Cregan loses himself in the sensation. He’s missed this terribly. He hooks arm around Jacaerys’ waist and presses their bodies together, but Jacaerys’ arm is in the way, and Cregan is reminded of the thick stack of paper in his arms. He breaks the kiss abruptly and steps away. 

“I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Jacaerys says quietly. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Cregan sighs and nods at the papers in his hands. “What do you want?” 

Jacaerys grips the papers tightly, looking like he wants to flee, but his expression hardens into determination. “You said you didn’t know who I was,” he says. “These papers will tell you who I am.”

Despite his confident tone, Jacaerys’s actions betray his false bravado. Ever so slowly, Jacaerys pulls the papers away from his body and holds them out to Cregan. His arm is tense to the point where it’s almost trembling, and Cregan takes the papers carefully, aware that they’re extremely important to Jacaerys. He scans the first few sentences of the papers and almost throws them in Jacaerys’ face.

“This does show who you are,” Cregan says coldly. For in his hands are none other than the pages of the wretched Northern assimilation into the Seven Kingdoms. “You apologise and then shove an insult in my face in the next breath. Am I supposed to believe your apology is sincere?” 

“I am sorry for hurting you, but read it,” Jacaerys says, the nerve of him. “At least read it. And if you don’t like what you see-” Jacaerys pauses and takes in a shuddering breath. Tears well up in his eyes that he blinks away rapidly. “Or burn them for all I care.”

He turns and strides away.

“I want you gone,” Cregan says, the anger pushing the words out of him. “When we return to Winterfell, I want you and your uncle to leave. Return to King’s Landing and never come back.”

There is a short silence in which Cregan thinks that Jacaerys might protest, that he might fight for them, but he says, “You have my word.” 

He leaves the rooms, and Cregan slams the door shut. He strides over to the fireplace, ready to toss the papers into the fire. The disrespect! The audacity! Cregan ought to burn the paper to ashes. Yet, something stops him from tossing them into the flames. 

Maybe it had been the shimmer of tears in Jacaerys’ eyes. 

Maybe it had been Jacaerys’ fear that was so palpable that Cregan could practically smell it even with the scent patches on the prince.

Maybe it had been the way he had practically fled as if he wouldn’t be able to resist turning back and snatching the paper out of Cregan’s hands otherwise. 

The papers carry a whiff of Jacaerys’ sweet, smouldering scent. With a pang, Cregan realises just how much he has missed it. 

He brings the papers to his face but stops short.

Are those tears not another manipulation? Was Jacaerys’ trembling form not just another trick meant to make Cregan do his bidding? He wants Cregan to read these papers; he’s willing to employ any trick in his arsenal to get him to do it. 

Cregan yanks open a drawer and throws the paper in there. Jacaerys must think him an idiot if he truly believes Cregan will even give those papers a chance. But that isn’t anything new; Jacaerys has thought him an idiot this whole time. If he had even respected Cregan a little, he wouldn’t have played with him so callously. 

Cregan reaches for the drawer again, but his hands still before he can pull it open.

It’s all a lie.  

He knows this. 

Yet he still can’t bring himself to destroy those papers.

It gets colder the closer they get to the Wall. Daeron has taken refuge in the carriage as well but decides to complete the last leg of the journey on horseback. As the magnificent structure comes into view, he gasps loudly. 

“It’s bigger than I ever imagined,” he says. He looks sincerely touched when he turns to Cregan. “Your ancestors were remarkably skilled, Your Grace.” 

“Aye, they were, Prince Daeron.”

No matter how many times Cregan sees the Wall, he feels a sense of awe and admiration. This was the birthplace of House Stark. It contains the history of everyone in his family before him, and it still stands tall and mighty even when they’re all gone. One day, Cregan won’t be around anymore either, but the Wall will endure till the end of ages. It puts everything into perspective and reminds him of what is truly important. 

As they pass through the gates of Castle Black, Cregan recalls the time his father had taken him here when he had been but a child of nine years. He remembers thinking how foreboding the place was, with its high walls and the coldness that seeps through them. It is, of course, neither as impressive nor as big as Winterfell, but Winterfell is home and could never scare Cregan. 

The Lord Commander, Gareth Mormont, greets Cregan at the entrance of Castle Black with a retinue of men from the Night’s Watch. 

“Your Grace,” he greets warmly, “You honour us with your and the young prince’s presence.” 

“Lord Commander Mormont, it has been a while. It pleases me to see that you are doing well.”

“It is all due to your support of Castle Black, Your Grace.” Gareth turns to Jacaerys and Daeron, a deep distrust in his eyes. “Prince Jacaerys, Prince Daeron, I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance. It’s been more than a century since a Targaryen has arrived at Castle Black.” 

He doesn’t express how he feels about them being here again after so long, but the contempt on his face says it all. 

Jacaerys smiles, diplomatic and perfect. “Lord Commander Momornt, it is a pleasure to meet you, and it is an honour to be here and come face to face with our histories.” 

“Where your ancestors’ Conquest met its end,” Gareth says gruffly. 

“Where fire met ice,” Jacaerys replies, not taking the slightest offence to Gareth’s insult. “Not many men can face dragons, much less stand up to them.” 

“Not many men are Northerners,” Gareth replies, to which the Night’s Watch men react by shouting with pride.

Cregan grins. This, right here, is the might of the North. These are the descendants of the men who stood up and fought for the North against Aegon the Conqueror. These are men who will uphold their ancestors’ dignity. The North will never bend the knee. Jacaerys’ ambitions will meet their end here. 

“The Northern might is impressive, and it is something I have long admired,” Jacaerys says. Cregan must be going mad for he feels Jacaerys’ eyes on him, yet when he looks at Jacaerys, he sees that Jacaerys is looking at Gareth. “Our history teaches us of how the North never waned in its defence of its territory against Aegon. It is not only military might but resilience and honour that encapsulates the North. The South has much to learn from you.” 

To Cregan’s genuine surprise, Gareth’s face twitches into a smile as if out of instinct despite his reluctance. 

“I am honoured that you hold us in such high regard, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys hums contentedly and walks further into the castle, observing the room with interest.

“I only accord you the respect which you deserve. The Night’s Watch does such a great service to the entire realm too, manning the Wall and keeping out that which threatens us all.”

“It is but our duty,” Gareth says, but he sounds pleased. 

Cregan is both impressed and annoyed at how quickly Jacaerys has Gareth, a staunch proponent of Torrhen not bending the knee, eating out of the palm of his hand. 

“Do omegas serve in the Night’s Watch, Lord Commander?” Jacaerys asks.

Gareth frowns. “Of course not. Only alphas and beta.” 

“Alpha and beta women?”

“Only men.”

Jacaerys hums again. He turns around and smiles at Cregan, but it’s a practised, polite smile, unlike the saccharine ones he bestows upon Cregan when they’re alone together. 

But those are practised too. 

“I would like to see the place where the “The Pact of the Wall” was signed, Your Grace,” he says. 

Cregan nods. He instructs Sara to wait in Castle Black with Rickon. The winds are frigid atop the Wall, and Cregan doesn’t want to risk Rickon to them when the boy was already shivering when he exited the carriage. 

“Dada,” Rickon says when Cregan steps away from him. 

Cregan pats his head. “I’ll be back soon.” 

“The prince will be in good care, Your Grace,” one of Gareth’s men says. 

Jacaerys smiles and waves goodbye to Rickon, though the smile promptly drops from his face when he notices Cregan watching him. 

Gareth leads them out of Castle Black and to the lift that will take them up the Wall. 

“It only carries two up at a time,” he says. 

Cregan doesn’t want to be confined in a tight space with Jacaerys. The disrespect Jacaerys showed him the previous night is as fresh as the snow around them. But Cregan will do his duty.

“This way, Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan says, holding the lift door open for Jacaerys. 

Jacaerys brushes past him and enters the lift. Cregan takes a deep breath and steps into the lift after him. The lift doors close, and it is torture to be in such close proximity to the omega. Cregan wants to kiss him, and he hates himself for it.

It is Jacaerys who breaks the silence.

“Did you burn them?” 

He’s trying to sound tough, but his voice trembles.

“And what if I did?” Cregan asks. He doesn’t let himself look at Jacaerys; he knows that he will be undone by the sadness on that beautiful face. 

Jacaerys sniffs, and Cregan can’t be certain if it’s from the cold or his emotions. “Might as well,” is all he says.

Cregan doesn’t respond, and they don’t speak until Gareth, Daeron, Medrick, and Robard join them at the top of the Wall. Cregan leads them down the path while giving the princes an explanation of the Wall. 

Jacaerys keeps sniffling next to him, soft enough that he’s the only one who hears it, and it is a struggle to not look at him. At any rate, it’s only a manipulation tactic. He wants Cregan to feel bad for doing something any king would do, and Cregan is done with being controlled like a puppet.

Cregan leads the Targaryens up the steps and to the edge of the Wall, his men waiting behind them. As he stares out at the endless white landscape, his mind is finally silenced. His guests are also quiet as they take in the sight of the majestic North. 

“It is quite the view,” Daeron says. 

“It seems a lot to guard against wildling and weather,” Jacaerys says, his voice firm and revealing none of the unsteadiness from before, cementing Cregan’s belief that it had all been a play at getting his sympathy. He’s only abandoning the ploy now after not garnering the reaction he wanted. 

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan asks, letting his bitterness seep into his voice.

Jacaerys looks at Cregan, meeting his eyes for the first time since they had left Winterfell. “What does it keep out?” 

Cregan melts into those warm brown eyes, and each beat of his heart feels like the organ is being pushed into a thousand needles. Is this how his father felt after his mother passed? Is this how it feels when a heart dies? 

“Death.” 

Their next destination is the Sacred Tree, and as they trek towards it, Cregan explains its significance to the Targaryens. It’s really only for Daeron’s benefit. Jacaerys already knows all about it. He heard it firsthand from Cregan himself while they were tangled in bed together. The memory only hurts Cregan, and he focuses on his son in his arms. Here he will anoint Rickon with the sap of the Sacred Tree and blessings of the ancestors of House Stark. This is the beginning of Rickon’s legacy, as it was the beginning of his and his father’s before him. 

Cregan hands Rickon over to Sara and walks over to the weirwood tree. He places a palm on it and says a quick prayer to the old gods, asking them to protect his son. He speaks with his ancestors, asking them to look over Rickon as they have done for all their descendants. 

Rickon begins fussing. 

Cregan feels a pang of sorrow as he looks at him. Arra should be here with him. It is custom for both parents to place the sap on their child’s forehead. It feels incomplete that the task is to be borne only by him. 

Rickon twists around in Sara’s arm as if looking for something. When he sees Jacaerys, he stretches out his arms and cries even more when Jacaerys makes no move to take him.

A pained look crosses Jacaerys’ face, but he keeps his feet rooted to the ground. 

Cregan can feel Sara’s burning stare on him, but he doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to make the decision. 

In the end, Sara decides for him. She passes Rickon to Jacaerys, who looks to Cregan for permission. When Cregan doesn’t look at him, he accepts Rickon into his arms. He coos at the baby who continues his tantrum for several minutes before finally settling down. 

“He’s cold,” Sara says sympathetically. “The temperature is harsh for a baby.” 

It makes sense that Rickon would seek Jacaerys’ warmth. The prince has the blood of dragons, and their bodies run hotter than the average human even in the coldest of winters. 

Jacaerys kisses Rickon atop his head, and Rickon cuddles closer to him for warmth. Cregan can’t tear his eyes away from them even though he desperately wants to. He only manages to do so when Robard presents him with a dagger. 

“Shall we begin, Your Grace?” he asks, pressing the dagger into Cregan’s hand. 

Cregan pulls his arm back and thrusts the dagger forward, piercing the tree. The crimson sap erupts from the hole and flows down the trunk. The blood of the old gods. The blood of his ancestors. 

Jacaerys approaches him slowly, and Cregan makes the split second decision to include Jacaerys in the ceremony. Arra might not be here, but Rickon deserves to have two people anoint him. Cregan can put his grievances and anger aside for the sake of his son. Besides, it no longer matters what Jacaerys does or doesn’t do. He’ll be gone in a matter of days. 

“Would you help me, Prince Jacaerys?” Cregan asks.

Jacaerys hesitates, trying to meet Cregan’s eyes, but Cregan refuses to look into them. 

“Of course,” Jacaerys says. 

“We need to place the sap on his forehead,” Cregan says, pressing his thumb into the sap. 

Jacaerys adjusts his hold on Rickon and does the same. It is then that Cregan accidentally looks into Jacaerys’ eyes. He feels a soothing warmth and a frigid hollowness all at once and tears his eyes away to focus on his son. 

Rickon stares up at him with a look of wonderment on his face, as if he understands the significance of this moment even at his young age. Cregan feels a rush of affection for him. He doesn’t need a mate or anything else. He has everything he needs right here. Rickon is a strong babe and will grow up to be a strong alpha just like his father. There is no need for other children. 

Cregan positions his hand over Rickon’s face, and Jacaerys mirrors his action. Together, they smear the sap on Rickon’s forehead as Cregan recites the words of blessings and protection in the tongue of the old gods.  

The anointing is completed.

Rickon gurgles happily and grabs Jacaerys’ finger before the prince can take his hand away. Jacaerys laughs, the sound pins and needles in Cregan’s guts, and lets Rickon play with his hand. 

“Sara,” Cregan says. 

“Your Grace?” 

Cregan dips his thumb in the sap again. Sara’s eyes are wide and filled with unshed tears. 

“Cre- Your Grace, you can’t mean to…”

“I do.” 

And he has ever since he had asked Sara to come with them. 

Robard gives her an encouraging smile, and she takes small, uncertain steps until she’s standing before Cregan.

“I am a bastard,” she says, a tear falling down her cheek. “I am not worthy.” 

Cregan presses the sap onto her forehead, repeating the same words he had uttered for Rickon. Sara trembles under his touch, and he clasps her shoulder with his other hand. 

“I am the king, and I say that you are,” he declares. He knows that his words and even this act mean nothing; Sara is still a Snow and will never be a Stark. But the blood of House Stark runs through her veins as surely as they do Cregan’s and Rickon’s, and so she deserves the blessings and protections of their ancestors as much as they do. 

Sara cries, and Cregan draws her into his arms. 

“Thank you, Cregan,” she sobs. “Thank you.” 

Cregan makes the mistake of looking up. He catches sight of Jacaerys’ red rimmed eyes, and his heart snags on the familiar desire to hold the prince. Jacaerys turns away the moment he notices Cregan watching, holding Rickon closer to his chest, and Cregan returns his attention to Sara. 

The journey back to Last Hearth is quiet and solemn. Something has shifted within him during those moments under the Sacred Tree. What exactly, Cregan cannot tell, but by the time Cregan is settling into bed, his heart has settled into a strange calm. He doesn’t think he has yet accepted everything that has transpired between him and Jacaerys, but his heart is full from what he has done for Rickon and Sara. And moments like this are what’s going to get him through this. 

It will be hard adjusting to life without Jacaerys. It feels like the prince has completely taken over already aspect of his life despite them having only known each other for such a short time. Already, his heart clenches painfully at never seeing Jacaerys or hearing his laughter again. He wishes he could kiss him one last time. 

But it is what must be done. 

Cregan refuses to live in a lie, no matter how beautiful that lie may be. 

Loud banging dissipates the peace. 

“Your Grace! Your Grace!”

Cregan throws open his doors in a hurry. It is unlike Robard to be in such a panic. The man’s face is filled with fear.

“What is it?” Cregan demands, heart already pounding. 

“Prince Rickon and Prince Jacaerys are missing.”

Chapter Text

Last Heath is in an uproar. Cregan wants every single person questioned, and no one is to leave. The gates have been barred, and the guards are rounding up everyone. Jon Umber looks stricken with fear, as he should be. He keeps glancing at Cregan every so often and jumping at the slightest sound. 

Cregan is furious with him. How could this have happened under his roof? 

If Rickon isn’t safe, Cregan will have his head. 

If any harm comes to Jace too-

Cregan might become mad with rage. 

More than Umber, Cregan is angry with himself. Rickon and Jace had been stolen away from right under his nose. He is the alpha King in the North, the protector of the Northern lands, and it had been so easy for the perpetrators to kidnap his son. 

Upon hearing the news, with the anger at Jace still so visceral, Cregan’s mind had jumped to the idea that the Targaryen might have taken his heir to force him to bend the knee. But Daeron had rushed to his bedchamber shortly after Robard’s arrival, fear and panic all over his face, and Cregan knows that this isn’t their doing. In truth, he hadn’t needed to see Daeron’s panic to know that Jace will never do such a thing. 

Daeron fiddles with his fingers as he paces the length of the room.  

“Who? Who would do this?” 

Sara sits in an armchair, her face wet. Cregan hasn’t had the capacity to comfort her. He knows that it isn’t her fault, but a part of him still blames her as much as he is relieved that she is safe. If it hadn’t been Jace who had been taken, it would have been her. Yet it should have been her. She is supposed to have been looking after Rickon; it is her entire purpose on the trip. Yet, she had left him in Jace’s care and went to who knows where. 

Cregan has an inkling, but he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think he can keep himself from mauling Robard otherwise. 

The only thing keeping him sane is the knowledge that Jace will do whatever it takes to keep Rickon safe. He knows in his heart that he will.

He tries not to think about what that means for Jace himself. 

Cregan looks at Umber who flinches under his ferocious gaze.

“Your G- G- G- Grace,” he cries, throwing himself to the ground and grovelling. “I- I have no idea! But it was not the doing of anyone in my house! I swear this to the old gods and upon mine very own life! The Umbers are loyal to House Stark!” 

The doors fling open. Robard and Medrick march in, their faces sombre and despondent. Cregan swipes his hand across the table, and the items fall onto the ground with a loud crash. 

Everyone is silent. Even Daeron stops his pacing. 

Cregan slams his hands on the table and balls his fists, the table cloth bunching underneath his fingers. “Keep questioning everyone. I want a detailed account of everything from when we first arrived back here from the Wall. Where they were, what they have been doing, and who’ve they seen. And send out another search party! I want my son found by first light.”

And if Jace isn’t safe with Rickon, they wouldn’t have to wait for Rhaenyra to burn down the entire realm to find him. 

The ground is shaking beneath him, and Jace is so cold. He doesn’t know what’s happening or where he is. He remembers walking into the nursery at Last Hearth, having had a sudden desire to see Rickon before going to sleep, and seeing Sara there. 

“Good evening, Sara,” he had said. 

Rickon perked up at the sound of his voice, twisting his way this way and that to look for him, and Jace wanted nothing more than to hold the baby. Sara turned around, and he immediately noticed the conflicted and forlorn look on her face. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” she greeted. 

“What has made you upset?” he asked, walking up to where she was standing by the window.  

“Mama,” Rickon said excitedly and started squirming in Sara’s arms. He pointed at Jace. “Give! Mama!” 

“Hi, baby,” Jace cooed, opening his arms.

Sara passed Rickon to him. “He’s gotten really attached to you.”

Jace ignored the judgement in her voice. He hugged Rickon close and pressed his nose into Rickon’s hair, inhaling his scent deeply. Rickon giggled and wrapped his arms around Jace’s neck. It hadn’t even been that long since Jace had last seen Rickon at supper, but he already missed him so badly. The entire trip to the Wall was nothing short of torture, being so close to Rickon and not being able to hold him. 

Being so close to Cregan and not being able to touch him. 

Jace swept thoughts of Cregan from his mind. Thinking about the man was too painful, and it made it hard for him to breathe. He breathed in Rickon’s scent again, letting it calm him down. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” Sara said. 

Jace had almost forgotten that she was here. “Yes?”

“Are you- Do you- What happened between you and Cregan? He seemed unhappy with you.”

“We got into a disagreement,” Jace said with a shrug. 

“What’s Rickon going to do when you leave?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Jace asked even though he knew exactly what she meant.

But he didn’t want to leave Rickon. 

He didn’t want to leave Cregan. 

There was still so much he had to say to the man, so much he had to explain. 

But Cregan needed time. Giving him the papers was a last ditch attempt to mend the rift quickly, but perhaps he had been too hasty in doing so. But he knew, he knew that Cregan would understand everything if he only read it, but he had chosen to burn them instead. It broke Jace, knowing everything that he had worked so hard on was but ashes now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at Cregan. He had pushed too hard, and Cregan had snapped. Everything was just a consequence of his actions. 

Jace was at his wits’ end. He didn’t know how to fix what he had broken. He fucked everything up and hurt Cregan badly, and now Cregan wanted nothing to do with him, much less entertain the idea of forgiving him.  

“You’re going to have to leave someday, and I reckon that day is approaching soon,” Sara said. “Rickon’s going to miss you when you’re gone. It is cruel, don’t you think? To make someone so attached to you and then to leave them behind.” 

Jace tightened his hold on Rickon, a rush of anger sweeping over him. “It was not my intention to do that. It is natural for bonds to form between people who spend time together; I cannot be blamed for a constitution so inherently human.” 

“I didn't mean to cast any blame on you. I simply worry about the pain that Rickon will have to go through in your absence.” 

Jace pouted as he stared at Rickon. He hated the thought of that. If he could, he would take Rickon back with him to King’s Landing and raise him as his own. 

“Mama, no. No sad,” Rickon said, touching his face as if he could wipe the frown away. 

Jace’s heart melted. Perhaps if he couldn’t have Cregan, he could have Rickon. Of course, it was a foolish thought but one that brought him some comfort. 

“I’m not sad, baby,” Jace said. “How could I be sad when I have you?” 

He heard his own words. With a jolting sense of awareness, he realised that Sara was right. His actions were cruel. He was forming a bond with Rickon only to tear that bond apart when he left. But he also wanted to spend whatever remaining time he had left with the boy. And there wasn’t much time left. 

He intended to honour his word. He told Cregan that he and Daeron would leave when they returned to Winterfell, and they will. 

“What would you have me do?” he asked despondently. 

“It is perhaps easier for Rickon to let go if he doesn’t get so used to your presence,” Sara said.

Jace laughed dryly. It was perhaps a little too late for that if the boy already saw him as his mother. 

But he saw the sense in what she was saying.

“At least allow me this last night,” Jace said. As much as he hated it, he continued. “I promise I’ll make myself scarce from tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Prince Jacaerys.” 

Sara looked out the window. Jacaerys followed her sight and made out a figure waiting below a tree. It was too far away to identify the person, but Jace knew that it was Robard Cerwyn. Jace notices everything around him, and he’s clocked their feelings for each other the very day he landed in Winterfell and spotted Cerwyn’s hand lingering on Sara’s back a little too long to be considered friendly when he had escorted her into the castle. 

“I’d like to spend the night alone with Rickon if you don’t mind,” Jace said. “I wouldn’t want to bother you either, especially if you have somewhere to be.”

She spun around to face him, a furious blush on her face as she spluttered useless denials.

Jace laughed, sitting down on a couch and placing Rickon on his lap. “I’ll take care of him, Sara. You need not worry. We only live this one life; allow yourself to be selfish sometimes.” 

There was still conflict on Sara’s face, but it slowly faded away as the minutes ticked by. She suddenly headed towards the doors as if she couldn’t help herself, and Jace smiled as he watched her go. She paused at the doors and turned around. 

“Please take care of him, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace bopped Rickon’s nose, grinning as the boy laughed in delight and tried to catch his finger. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Sara said, and she was gone. 

Jace remembers playing with Rickon. He remembers telling Rickon a story and settling him in his crib when he became sleepy. 

And then everything went dark.

The ground jerks, and Jace’s eyes snap open. Pain explodes in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut again, cradling his head in his arms. He thinks the pathetic whimpering is coming from him, but he can’t stop it. Shouting cuts through the haze in his head.  

“Shut up!” 

A smack.

A baby starts wailing, and the pounding in his head means nothing anymore. 

“Get your fucking hands off him,” Jace growls, opening his eyes immediately to level a glare on the man in front of him. 

Rickon’s eyes are red from crying, and his cheek is swelling with the colour as well. Jace decides that whoever that man is, he’s going to lose his hand for that. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” the man says dispassionately. 

His eyes drop to Jace’s exposed shoulder, and Jace realises that he’s still in his nightclothes. No wonder he’s freezing. There’s a coat before him, and he adjusts his robes before covering himself with it. The man is still staring at him, and Jace pushes down the disgust and fear. 

“Give him to me,” Jace demands. 

The man sneers but shoves the baby into Jace’s waiting arms. 

“You better keep that brat quiet. I’ll bind his mouth if I have to.”

“Sherrit!” another man says, aghast. 

Jace’s focus is on Rickon and soothing the babe, but he promises himself that he’ll make Sherrit pay for that threat. Rickon continues crying despite Jace’ best efforts to quell his tears; the poor thing must be terrified out of his mind. Who knows what else Sherrit had done to him while Jace had been unconscious? Jace contemplates taking off his scent patch but decides it’d only do more bad than good when there’s an aggressive alpha in the carriage with them. 

Jace pats Rickon’s back and peppers his face with kisses; he coos at him softly and assures him that he’s safe with him. Rickon’s sobs eventually cease when he recognises Jace. He buries his head in the crook of Jace’ neck with a gurgle, and the overwhelming affection Jace feels threatens to implode his heart. He thinks of his siblings, from Aemma who was just born and Luke who’s already so big now, and feels a pang of longing for them. 

What if he never sees them again? 

He doesn’t spend another second on that thought.  

He settles into a comfortable position as Rickon’s breathing begins to even out. He doesn’t like the way Sherrit is eyeing him. Gone is the lecherous leer, but in its place is a possessive and almost hungry gaze. It sends a spike of fear through Jace, and he’s glad Sherrit can’t smell it on him. Jace knows alphas like that - fear only excites them. 

“Omegas are rare in the North, especially one as pretty as you,” Sherrit says, his voice raspy and making Jace’ skin crawl. “Oh, the things I would do to you if I wasn’t on a job. I’d fuck you till you couldn’t tell left from right and keep you on my knot all day. You’d give me many pups. You’d do your duty to the North.” 

Jace grits his teeth. The only thing stopping him from launching himself at Sherrit and literally clawing his face off is the baby in his arms. 

Once Rickon is safe, Sherrit had better start running fast and far. Jace is going to hunt him down with Vermax and feed his limbs to his dragon one by one. 

“Sherrit!” the other man says again. 

“Shut up, Kyle!” Sherrit snaps. “I don’t even know why I brought you along, you good-for-nothing.” 

Kyle’s lips thin. He turns to Jace. “I apologise. My cousin-”

“Shut your blubbering trap!” Sherrit sneers. “He’s a nobody. Alphas like you are an embarrassment to the North. Sucking up to omegas and acting all genteel . Omegas are meant to be fucked and bred. It’s the natural order of things, and I don’t see why anyone should complain about it.” 

Kyle falls silent, but he bites his lower lip harshly. 

Jace can still feel Sherrit’s eyes on him, but he refuses to give him the pleasure of a reaction. 

“Tell me - has the king fucked you?”

Jace refuses to dignify that with an answer.

Sherrit chuckles meanly. “Oh, I know he did. An alpha like King Cregan would definitely fuck an omega like you. It’s probably why he hired you to be his son’s nursemaid. Tending to his kid in the day and tending to him at night. I bet he’d love to put a pup in you if it weren’t for the stain of having a bastard running around.” 

Sherrit’s words make Jace want to choke him, but he’s more focused on the fact that these people have absolutely no idea who he is.  He can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. He contemplates telling them his identity, but it’s likely they wouldn’t believe him. In the worst case scenario- 

Jace doesn’t even want to think about that. 

“What do you want?” Jace asks. 

Sherrit smiles, showing all his teeth. The carriage rattles, and Sherrit’s pungent scent of leather and grass becomes stronger. Jace doesn’t cringe away even when Sherrit leans into his space, though he cradles Rickon closer to him. 

“Feisty,” he comments, his breath fanning over Jace’s face. “The king and I have the same type.”

“He’ll kill you,” Jace says simply. “You took his heir - that’s treason.”

Sherrit’s smile doesn’t wane. He returns to his seat and leans against the wall, stretching his legs out. He folds his arms behind his head. “Only if he finds out.”

Jace turns his gaze to Kyle, who ducks his head immediately. Whatever immunity Sherrit thinks he has, Kyle clearly doesn’t believe in it. Sherrit starts humming an off-key melody, and Rickon squirms uncomfortably in his sleep. Jace swallows the insult about Sherrit’s humming and resumes patting Rickon’s back until he settles down.  

It doesn’t matter how safe Sherrit thinks he is. Cregan and Daeron must have discovered their absence by now. It’s only a matter of time before they find them, and when they do, Sherrit is going to learn why people don’t cross Targaryens. 

The carriage rolls to a stop. Sherrit heads out, and Jace tracks Kyle’s movements with his eyes as the man moves around. He grabs a piece of cloth and raises it up like a peace offering. 

“Look, I don’t want to do this either, but you’ve seen Sherrit’s temper. It’s a lot easier if you cooperate.”

“Alphas are all the same,” Jace sneers.

Kyle’s eyes harden. “Do not put me and Sherrit in the same categories. Most alphas are decent folks like me - you know that. We do not see omegas and women only as broodmares; we respect them.”  

“Then why are you doing this?” 

Kyle hesitates. He casts a careful glance backward before turning back to Jace. “It’s not like you don’t know how dire our situation is. We’re still hanging in there, but our food stock runs lower and lower every year, and people like us are the first to go.”

“So you’re doing this for money?” Jace asks, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice.

Kyle’s face hardens. “You’re in the king’s employment and live in his fancy castle, so maybe I was wrong - maybe you don’t know what it’s like. But there’s a lot people like me would do for money. And maybe if I make enough, maybe my sister-” Kyle cuts himself off and releases a shuddering breath. “I have a little omega girl. I’m not going to make her proud, not with what I’m doing. But I have to do what I have to do for her survival.” He holds up the cloth. “You can bind your eyes yourself, or I can do it for you.” 

Jace glances down at Rickon. 

“I’ll take him,” Kyle says.

Jace doesn’t trust him with Rickon, no matter how much better he is than Sherrit, no matter what he says his reasons for doing this are. But he can see the remorse in Kyle’s face as the man stares at the baby and figures that at least he wouldn’t hurt Rickon. Reluctantly, Jace hands Rickon over. Rickon stirs uneasily, his nose scrunching up.

“Please don’t cry,” Kyle says worriedly, frowning at the door of the carriage. 

As if understanding him, Rickon breathes out noisily but returns to slumbering. 

Jace spares the child one last look before tying the blindfold over his eyes. It’s unnecessary. Jace wouldn’t recognise where they are, but he’ll play the part. The door swings open, and he hears Kyle getting out. Heavy footsteps ascend the carriage steps, and Jace is assaulted with Sherrit’s scent before he’s grabbed roughly by the arm. 

Sherrit practically drags him down the stairs, and when Jace almost loses his footing, takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around his waist. He squeezes it and moves away quickly when Jace tries to elbow him in the stomach. He laughs, and Jace’s blood boils. It takes all of Jace’s self-control to not rip the cloth from his eyes and tackle the man to the ground. The only thing that stops him is Rickon. 

Sherrit takes him by the arm again and drags him along a path. The ground beneath him turns from dirt to stone. They’ve entered a building of sorts, and Sherrit leads him up several flights of stairs. Jace counts three. The hinges of a door squeaks, and then he’s shoved inside a room. Jace takes the blindfold off, not bothering to ask for permission. He’s in a simple inn room, with a bed in the centre and a table at the side. 

Jace searches for Rickon immediately and finds him still sleeping in Kyle’s arms where the man stands in the corner next to the door. Jace holds out his arms expectantly, and Kyle places Rickon back into his care. 

Sherrit sneers.

“The king isn’t here. You can drop your pretence. We all know that you don’t really care about that brat. If you’re hoping he’s going to be so thankful to you that he’ll marry you after this, you can stop dreaming. He’s not going to marry you just because you’re an omega who’s good at looking after his son; he’s going to marry a noble lady.” Sherrit waggles his eyebrows. “You should start looking for options elsewhere.”

“If you were the last alpha in the realm, I’d castrate you and let the human species die out.”

“You,” Sherrit growls, taking a step forward, but Kyle steps into his path. 

“Forget it, Cousin. This is a waste of our time. We have things to do.” 

Sherrit continues glaring at Jace for a few seconds, and Jace can smell his mounting anger when he doesn’t so much as even glance his way. Eventually, he turns and storms out of the room, muttering about “bitch omegas” and “fucking cunts”. Jace rolls his eyes. And omegas are the emotional ones? 

Jace looks down at Rickon and only then realises that his hands are shaking. His annoyance with himself only increases tenfold when he sees Rickon’s tiny hand clenched into a fist as if he’s trying to defend himself even in his sleep. It breaks Jace’s heart, and he swears he’s going to make the people responsible for this pay a thousand times over. He places the baby in the crib and starts pacing the room. 

But he still has no idea who they are. 

Sherrit and Kyle are clearly hired goons, but they must have had help from the inside. It must have been someone who knows the layout of Last Hearth. Jace doesn’t think it’s Jon Umber. The man is loyal to Cregan, and he’d be foolish to carry out such an operation under his own roof. A servant working for him then? Jace couldn’t possibly know who would do such a thing but why? 

The Starks have always been well-loved by their people, and Cregan is no exception. Certainly, times have been hard, and there is resentment among the people, but the people Jace met in the marketplace and nearby villages still spoke highly of their king. It also seems unlikely that a disgruntled peasant would retaliate by kidnapping the king’s son. 

It is treason, and the punishment for that is death. 

No, this is personal. 

Jace arrives at the answer just as the door swings open. 

It isn’t quite who he expected, but it’s close enough. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Benjen says with a wide grin. 

“Usurpers are hardly an originality,” Jace says. 

Rage crosses Benjen’s face. He strides across the room and grabs Jace by the hair. Jace winces. 

“Let go of me,” he demands, but Benjen only pulls his hair harder. 

“Audacious little omega,” he spits. “It’s high time a real alpha puts you in your place. You-”  

Jace steps on Benjen’s foot hard, and he hollers in pain. He doesn’t let him recover before he rams an elbow into his stomach. Benjen doubles over, and Jace plants a foot on his shoulder and kicks him. Benjen collapses onto the ground, groaning in pain and calling Jace every name under the sun. Though he very quickly shuts up when Jace places his foot over his cock and steps down on it with just enough force for it to hurt.

“Do you think you can still use it if I stomp on it?” Jace asks, applying pressure. 

Benjen screams for help. Sherrit and Kyle come running in. Jace lifts his foot off Benjen and steps back, raising his arms. They rush to help Benjen off the floor, and Jace doesn’t miss the look of renewed interest in Sherrit’s eyes, though he ignores it in favour of making his way to Rickon who has woken up and started crying from all the commotion.   

He turns around and faces Benjen who’s being held upright in between Sherrit and Kyle. He raises his chin and stares straight into Benjen’s eyes. “If you touch me again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Benjen huffs, pushing his men away. “Like I want Cregan’s spoiled goods! I’ll get more pleasure from a whore than you.” 

He storms out of the room, and Jace turns away, rocking Rickon in his arms. His face is burning with anger, and he has never felt a greater urge to burn everything down. How he wishes Vermax were with him. 

The door closes behind him, and he makes his way to the window. They’re on the third floor like he suspected. He could probably make the jump on his own, but he won’t risk Rickon like that. 

The baby has quieten down, and Jace thinks he’s fallen asleep only to find curious eyes staring up at him. Rickon smiles when Jace meets his eyes, and Jace smiles back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He inhales the baby’s calming scent and tries not to think about what would have happened if Benjen had gotten his way with him. 

“Poor baby,” Jace murmurs against his head. “You had so many scares today.” 

“Dada?” Rickon says suddenly. He cranes his neck. “Dada. Where?” 

The pain that accompanies the thought of Cregan almost cripples Jace. He wants to shove all thoughts of the king out of his head, but it’s impossible. Try as he might, he hasn’t spent a second not missing Cregan. 

“We’ll see your dada soon,” Jace says. “I’ll get you back to him. I promise.” 

“Mama,” Rickon says, grabbing Jace’s finger. “Mama. Here.” 

Jace’s heart skips a beat. His entire body flushes with happiness, as it does every time Rickon refers to him as his mother, and even though he knows it’s so, so stupid, he lets himself enjoy it. He and Cregan will never be together, especially now that Cregan hates him. It’s his fault. He has ruined everything. If he had handled everything better, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. In another life, maybe Rickon could’ve been his child 

“Yes, I’m here, little one. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to protect you better,” Jace says. “I love you so much.” 

In truth, as angry as Jace is, he has also never been more terrified in his life. He understands now why his mother keeps him so closely tucked under her wing. She and Viserys have both made the Red Keep so safe for him, but danger lurks even there. It is so much worse out in the world, and for the first time, he realises just how reckless he was coming to the North like this. 

It is so terrible to be born an omega. It is worse to be born an omega who doesn’t have the same privilege as him. It reminds him why he’s in the North, why he needs to accomplish what he set out to do. 

He wishes Rhaenyra or Daemon or Aemond or Daeron or Luke or even Cregan to come bursting into the room to save him. But he knows that no one is coming. What scares him the most isn’t what might happen to him; it’s what might happen to Rickon. He doesn’t know what Benjen has planned, but it can’t be anything good. Jace would gladly give his life to save Rickon’s, but he hopes it doesn’t come to that. 

“ Kepa , Father,” he says in an anguished whisper, thinking of both Laenor and Harwin. “Please, please watch over us. No harm can come to him.” 

Chapter Text

The first rays of the sun fall across the carpeted floors. There is still not a word about Rickon or Jace’s whereabouts. Cregan is just about ready to tear the whole building down. 

“Your Grace-” Sara begins, but he holds up a hand to silence her. He doesn’t think either of them will like what ends up coming out of his mouth if he has to talk to her at this moment. 

Eyes follow him as he walks out of the room. Umber takes a trembling step towards him, but the man is at least wise enough to not say anything. 

Cregan returns to his rooms. With a roar, he takes Ice to the table in front of the fireplace and hacks into it until the worst of his anger passes. 

He wants to blame Jon Umber. He wants to blame Sara. He wants to blame Robard. Umber failed his king, and the two people closest to him betrayed his trust. They are all responsible for Rickon being missing. 

But, at the end of the day, the person Cregan blames the most is himself. 

Rickon is his son.

Jacaerys- Jace is- 

He doesn’t know what Jace is to him anymore. 

All he knows is that he’ll never forgive himself for being so cruel to Jace if they never meet again. 

The thought is too much to bear, and Cregan strides to the desk. He pulls open the drawer with so much force that it flies out. He slams the entire thing onto the desk and grabs the paper in it and throws it carelessly onto the ground. He presses the papers to his face, and though it is very, very mild, he finds the traces of Jace’s scent.

He sits down at the desk and lays the stack of paper before him. 

He stares at the words on the very first page. 

NORTHERN INTEGRATION PLAN

The words mock him. But the familiar flare of anger doesn’t come. All Cregan feels is emptiness. 

These papers will tell you who I am, Jace had said.

Cregan didn’t know what he meant then, and he still doesn’t know what he means now. 

Cregan runs his fingers through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

He picks up the stack of paper and turns to the second page. 

It is a proposal after all - Cregan isn’t sure what Jace means to tell him by showing him something he already knows. 

He leafs through the pages and rolls his eyes at all the grand plans that the South has for the North when it becomes part of the Seven Kingdom. But he soon realises that he’s looking at a draft and not the final iteration. There are notes scrawled all over the pages and scratches across lines and sometimes even across whole paragraphs. There are several wet patches on many pages, and Cregan knows that Jace enjoys working with a hot cup of tea. Careless of the prince to have spilled his drink. 

The ink is still fresh on some pages, meaning Jace must have added those comments recently, but some of the ink has already faded. Cregan can only wonder how long Jace spent on this. Did he work on this every moment he didn’t spend in Cregan’s company? 

Kennet mentioned Jace scribbling down notes furiously in the library, and it is within the sheets that Cregan finds those notes. As Kennet shared, there’s information about the Northern population. But written right next to them are the numbers of the Southern population. The difference in the numbers is staggering - while the North struggles with an ageing population that’s rapidly declining, the South suffers from the exact opposite problem. 

There’s a housing crisis in the South. Development can’t keep up with the increase in population. Generations of families are squashed together in houses meant for a maximum of four occupants. Rising poverty levels mean that sometimes several families share the same space. Jace goes further into the details, listing causes and solutions. He has drawn a line next to this part with two notes next to it -

Fuck the Lannisters. 

No need to include this part in the final proposal. 

Jace’s plan is to move twenty percent of King’s Landing residents to the North on a voluntary basis. What catches Cregan’s attention is the section on omegas. The South has no lack of omegas, and he wants to wed these omegas to Northern alphas. 

With a start, Cregan realises that’s why Jace had asked Kennet so many questions about marriage laws and customs in the North. It was for this. It didn’t have anything to do with him and Cregan. 

The discovery is a blade through the heart. Was he wrong then about Jace’s intentions? Did the prince not mean to trick him into marriage? 

As Cregan reads on, he realises that Jace has a full-fledged plan for how he wants to go about this. He doesn’t want to marry random omegas off to random alphas and be done with it. He wants the alphas vetted by a panel - there’s a list of names, some with lines over them and question marks behind some. He wants the alphas to properly court the omegas, and he wants the omegas to have the power of choice, something which has never been granted to them. 

He wants to buy out every single prostitute, omega or not, who wants out (he wants to do this by taxing the Lannisters. Cregan can’t help but laugh and wonder what the Lannisters have done to make Jace hate them so much) on the condition that they agree to start a new life in the North. 

The page after this are all his notes on specific Northern marriage laws that he’s singled out and wants amended. They are reasonable, and, frankly, most of them are changes that Cregan has been wanting to implement as well - banning child omega brides being one that he’s particularly in agreement with.  

It’s a practice Jace wants stopped in the South as well. Instead, he wants to send these families as a whole to the North. And he wants to punish the men who have taken child brides by sending them to take the black at the Wall or be exempted by paying a hefty sum of ten thousand golden dragons, which would be allocated to the relocation budget. 

But it isn’t just these men he wants to send to the Wall. He wants to send other criminals to take the black as well, to ease the overcrowding in the prisons. 

The idea sits uncomfortably with Cregan. Taking the black is an honour. It is something that many men in his family did. Younger sons of noble houses willingly volunteer their services. For something that’s a point of pride to be turned into punishment… The thought makes Cregan’s blood boil. 

There are tiny scribblings on the page, and Cregan lifts the paper to read it. The ink is old, so Cregan knows that Jace must have written these words before he had arrived at Winterfell. 

The North might see this as an insult, sending criminals to a place which they hold in such high esteem. But a lot of these people became criminals because of circumstances. From my conversations with them, I believe they would turn over a new leaf if given the chance. 

It is the hardened criminals that worry me. But perhaps reform is possible under strict leadership? And what better place than the North? I hear Lord Commander Mormont is a good leader and has a tough hand. Perhaps the Northerners can beat some sense into these cretins. There’s always the sword for the incorrigible. 

Of course Jace had put thought into the very thing that irks Cregan. Of course Jace knows about the importance of the Night’s Watch and the reverence the North has for them, and of course he cares about it. Wasn’t it Jace who spent countless hours silently listening to Cregan talk about the history of the Night’s Watch? When has Jace ever shown Cregan that he’s someone who only cares about himself and the things that directly affected him? 

Why did Cregan ever believe that he is? 

With his anger mollified, Cregan is able to see Jace’s rationale. The Night’s Watch numbers have been severely affected. Men are volunteering to join if only to ease the burden on their families, but it is not a long term solution, and more men joining Castle Black doesn’t solve the crisis of the unsustainable population. If anything, it worsens it. 

He continues reading, and his heart starts pounding when he spots his name. It is a newly added paragraph from what Cregan can tell of the dark ink. 

Cregan speaks highly of the Night’s Watch. He’s taught me so many things that cannot be found in books. Hearing him speak about taking the black, I cannot help but feel that this idea sullies the sanctity of a longstanding tradition of which I know nothing about. It was presumptuous of me to think I had the solution. While sending criminals to the Wall solves the scarcity issue, is practicality more important than symbolism? 

I don’t want Cregan to be angry with me. 

The line tugs at Cregan’s heart, and he reads it again and again. 

He flips through the pages, now actively looking for mentions of his name and is stunned to find them in almost every page. 

Jace has added everything Cregan has ever told him to these pages. He’s shelved entire plans that he no doubt spent many hours, perhaps even days or weeks, working on just because of something Cregan said. 

Cregan pauses when he comes across the section on maternal mortality. It is a big problem in the South as well, but their rates are still lower than the North’s. The Southern maesters are more advanced in reproductive care for omegas and women, and Jace intends to bring them North so that they can share their expertise with the Northern maesters to decrease the rate of maternal mortality. Jace thinks that it’s going to be easy to recruit maesters to his cause, because there have already been plenty who have expressed their interest in learning more about the North. There is a list of names, several of which have checks next to them, and Cregan has to admit that it is an impressive list.  

Cregan moves on to Jace’s notes next.

Queen Arra died in childbirth, so perhaps this point would be the most appealing to King Cregan. But who knows what kind of man the king is? Perhaps he’s just a Northern brute like Daemon says, the kind who only sees omegas as good for breeding and nothing more. He’s an alpha, so I suppose it’s pointless to expect otherwise.  

Below that, in darker ink and clearly added after Jace has met Cregan - 

I was right. Daemon was right. Cregan Stark is a brute and the scum of Westeros. I hate him!! He intruded on me taking a bath in the hot springs in the godswoods today, and he dares lecture me on propriety as if I haven’t had those stupid rules shoved down my throat my entire life? Who does he think he is?? I was almost fooled when he talked about clearing the indoor hot springs for my use, but he started smirking like he did something revolutionary instead of something extremely rudimentary. I hate alphas!! 

Cregan snorts with laughter. Jace’s unfiltered thoughts are as amusing as he expected them to be, even if they are at his expense. 

But why does he have to look so good! 

Cregen grins victoriously.  

I got my revenge. Fuck him. All alphas are the same. 

Cregan stops short right there. From the way the paragraphs are written, he has no doubt that they were all written on the very day Jace arrived at Winterfell. 

But what does he mean he got his revenge? 

As realisation dawns on Cregan, his shoulders start to shake with laughter. 

Of course. 

Of course Jace snuck into his room that very first night just to teach him a lesson.

Cregan’s laughter abruptly stops. 

Of course Jace was doing it just to teach him a lesson. 

He knows that. He knew that. 

Yet it was only a few days ago that he decided that it was all part of an elaborate scheme Jace cooked up to put him in a position where he would be forced to bend the knee. 

He continues reading, unable to just yet face how wrong he has been about the entire thing. 

The next part proves a great distraction, and a smile spreads over his face. 

Rickon Stark is the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen, which is saying something when all my siblings have been nothing but! It is so unfair that Cregan Stark has such an adorable baby! The poor boy was sick and crying and no one could do anything about it! What a bunch of inept fools! They’re almost as bad at taking care of children as Alicent is! Cregan Stark was the worst! He was asleep when I entered the nursery! I managed to get Rickon to drink the medicine in the end, but the poor thing didn’t like it at all. Just thinking about it hurts my heart. But not more than knowing he’s Cregan Stark’s baby. It is so unfair! 

What’s unfair is Jace’s assessment of Cregan as a father! Cregan is very aware of his failings as a father, and he’s been trying his best to remedy it, but it is not his fault that Rickon is docile and obedient with Jace while constantly throwing a tantrum with him. 

Cregan misses his son so badly he wants to rip his heart out. He swears he hears Rickon’s laughter and stands up so abruptly the chair almost topples over. He expects to see Rickon on his bed, safe and sound, but there’s nothing atop the sheets, and all he hears is his own breathing. 

Cregan collapses back into the chair. He hasn’t slept a wink in the past day, and the exhaustion must be getting to him. He should rest, but the thought of sleeping when Jace and Rickon are in danger is abhorrent. Yet he’ll go mad if he does nothing, and so he continues to read what Jace has written. 

Maybe Cregan Stark is not that bad. He took me to see the stars, and it’s the most beautiful sight in the whole realm. Nothing in King’s Landing comes close. I really think the North could be a perfect start for my people. I’ve never felt so free in my life. And it was nice lying next to him. Very nice. Maybe too nice. 

Cregan remembers it too. It was nice, and he suddenly misses the warmth of Jace next to him. He can’t bear the thought of never feeling it again. 

He doesn’t want to think about it. He keeps reading. 

But he thought I didn’t know how to hunt. What an idiot. I put him in his place, and he deserved it. He was worried about being embarrassed in front of his men. As if they’re not all equally embarrassing. Alphas are always so concerned about what other alphas think about them. Perhaps they should be with each other if they care about each other so much. Why should we omegas have to endure them? 

-

I don’t understand Cregan Stark. He’s nice one moment and a complete jerk the next. 

Cregan snorts. He could’ve said the same thing about Jace. 

He’s been avoiding me, I’m sure of it. But just as well. I’m not sure I understand how I feel about him either. He makes me so angry, but I find myself looking forward to seeing him and being disappointed by his absence. What is wrong with me? 

-

I broached the topic a little at the crypts today. Cregan Stark wasn’t happy about it. Perhaps I was hasty coming here. Perhaps I was naive in thinking omegas could have a better life here. Alphas are the same everywhere. They look down on us. Cregan Stark certainly did when we sparred. He doesn’t want to hurt me? What a joke. As if I haven’t spent my entire life training. As if I wasn’t brought up to sit the Iron Throne. As if I wasn’t brought up as an alpha my entire childhood. But he did beat me. He’s a great swordsman - that much I can admit. He’s asked me to train with me, and despite everything, I am flattered. There are many things I can learn from him, and if I get nothing else out of this trip, at least I get this.

Cregan flips through the next few pages and sees that Jace had taken to penning down his thoughts about his experiences in the North. It is almost like a diary, and Cregan finally understands what Jace meant when he said that these papers will tell Cregan who he is. His plans show how much he cares and that he holds the North in high regard. And Cregan is grateful that Jace is allowing him access to his most private thoughts and feelings as well. He wishes he talked to Jace directly instead of having to find out through these papers. 

Training with Cregan Stark is exhausting but so rewarding. This might be my best decision yet. 

-

I was wrong. I just had Cregan Stark in my bed. This is the best decision I’ve ever made.

Cregan scoffs, shaking his head, but his inner alpha is growling with pride. 

Oh. I need to stop telling Vermax to eat him. She was a little too excited to see him at the hot springs just now. 

“I knew it!” Cregan says aloud, feeling vindicated. He knows that the dragon was eyeing him a little too eagerly that night, and it feels good to have hard evidence in his hands. 

I wish Alicent were here so I can tell her all about the things Cregan and I did in bed. I hope she dies of a heart attack. 

Cregan chuckles. 

On the next page - 

Cregan’s ordered all alphas to wear scent patches in Winterfell. I still don’t believe it’s real. I cannot believe that he would do such a thing for me. He keeps proving me wrong. Maybe there’s a chance that this could all work out. 

-

Fuck Bennard Stark and Benjen Stark!! I hate alphas!! I am going to ask Vermax to eat all the alphas in the North!! Except Cregan. And Lord Cerwyn. And Lord Manderly. Maybe not Lord Dustin too. I heard he stood up for me. Never mind. Vermax can eat those two first.

“I’m glad you’re sparing my men, darlin’,” Cregan says dryly. 

I cannot get enough of Cregan’s body. Fuck me. I am doing things that even shock myself. I certainly didn’t set out to do any of this when I decided to come to the North, but I also never expected Cregan Stark to be such an alpha, and I say that in the best way possible. He threatened his own cousin for me. Violence really shouldn’t be that attractive, but I finally understand what Mother sees in Daemon. I do not condone senseless violence, but it is quite another thing when it’s born from a place of protection… I’ve never wanted Cregan to fuck me more. 

Despite everything, the knowledge that Jace wants Cregan as badly as he wants Jace has his pants tightening. 

What if Alicent is right? What if omegas are just whores who cannot control themselves around an alpha’s knot and therefore need to be disciplined strictly? No. Fuck her. Alphas are cunt crazy, and she doesn’t have anything to say about that. Cregan is literally the only man I’ve ever wanted to sleep with. Fuck Alicent and her internalised sexism. She’s the reason Aegon turned out like that. Fuck Aegon too. 

Queen Alicent. Jace has never brought her up to him, but Cregan’s heard tales about her purity and devotion to the Faith. He isn’t surprised that a woman like that would have such harsh views about omegas and an endless well of forgiveness for alphas. 

Cregan’s taking me to see the Wall. I can barely contain my excitement. He’s told me so much about it, and I want to see the place that clearly means so much to him and his family. He told me about the Sacred Tree too. Perhaps he means to bring Rickon on the trip with us. That’ll be perfect. I’ll miss Rickon so much otherwise. I miss him even as I’m writing this. What is wrong with me? It is not normal to be so attached to someone else’s baby. But who could look at that face and not immediately be smitten?  

Cregan flips the page. 

Cregan’s entered his rut. Lord Cerwyn says that it’s too early, and I feel somewhat responsible. Our nightly activities most certainly brought it on. 

They’re bringing in an omega for Cregan. Why does the idea of that hurt me so? Cregan’s mentioned this to me before. It’s only to be expected. All the alphas in my family do the same thing. I’d have an alpha serve me too if it weren’t for Alicent’s stupid misconceptions. 

This really shouldn’t be so painful. I wish I could be with him. I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t for the fact that I’m still a virgin. In truth, I’m scared about how my first time will go. Apparently it’s supposed to hurt. And apparently ruts are painful even for experienced omegas. But I want to do this for Cregan anyway. If I weren’t a virgin, I would. This is another thing Alicent has robbed from me, and I will never forgive her. 

-

I heard he asked the omega to leave. I don’t want to be presumptuous and think that it’s because of me, but I cannot help but wonder…

-

It was probably not the smartest thing I’ve done (honestly everything I’ve done in the North has me questioning my intelligence), but I snuck into Cregan’s room again. 

Cregan frowns, gripping the paper as he rereads the line. Snuck into his room again? When was this? 

Sara said that it was near the end of his rut, so I figured it should be safe. And of course it was. I’ve never felt anything but safe in Cregan’s presence. 

Warmth spreads throughout Cregan’s body as he reads the line over and over again. But then a chill runs through him when he remembers his last interactions with Jace. The omega had been scared, and yet he still hadn’t shied away from Cregan’s presence. 

He wasn’t exactly coherent, but I’ve missed him terribly, and even if I could only stay for a short while, it was good to see him again after so long. 

Seven hells, Jacaerys. It’s been five days. Get a grip of yourself. 

I asked him about the omega. He said that he didn’t want anyone but me. I thought those words would make me happy - the gods only know how I’ve longed to hear them, but it was painful. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to hate me. He’s a good man. He deserves a good, Northern omega mate. I cannot give him what he wants.

Cregan doesn’t remember this at all. He racks his memories for clues of it but comes up short. No wonder Jace said that it hadn’t been that long since they had last seen each other when he had run into him in Rickon’s nursery. Is that why Jace brought up the omega again that night? Was he hoping that Cregan would repeat the same words to him? Yet Cregan had told him that he would’ve fucked the omega if he hadn’t had guests in Winterfell. 

By the old gods, he’s the stupidest man who has ever lived. 

Rickon called me mama. Rickon called me mama!! I shouldn’t be so happy about this. I should feel guilty. He has his real mother, and I don’t want to take her place. But I am so very happy. I didn’t tell him to call me that, so I don’t know where he learned it from, but I’m not complaining. He’s so adorable. I love him so much. He’s coming to the Wall with us after all, and I cannot even begin to describe how happy that makes me. I don’t think I could survive being apart from him for so long. What am I going to do when I go back to King’s Landing? 

Maybe I can bring him home with me. Of course I’m only jesting. I’ll never take Cregan’s son away from him. I’ll contend myself with my siblings. I’m sure Mother will have another child soon. 

Cregan’s heart clenches in guilt. Even if he had thought Jace’s affections for him were nothing but a lie, his affections for Rickon were obviously not. Babies are sharper than adults are; if Jace had been false in any way, Rickon would have picked up on it immediately. Rickon had the answer all along. He had given it to Cregan when he decided that Jace is his mother, and Cregan had still been so blind to the truth. 

I don’t trust Bennard Stark. Cregan’s a good man who doesn’t want to think the worst of his family. There’s something about the man that doesn’t sit right with me despite Cregan’s reassurance, but perhaps I am just seeing too much of Otto in him and letting it cloud my judgement. If Cregan trusts him, that’s good enough for me. 

Cregan turns the page. 

Cregan brought me and Daeron to Ned’s Place today. I could tell the place means much to him. He looked so sad, and I wanted nothing more than to draw into my arms and comfort. It is torture, being so close to him and being so far away at the same time. 

He says he wants to marry me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy in my life before. Maybe it isn’t so bad, giving up my claim and marrying him. He makes me happy, and the Iron Throne has given me nothing but grief. I’ll be able to raise Rickon. I can really be his mama. 

With the situation in King’s Landing now, perhaps I should just marry Cregan and never return. 

But Cregan says he’d never actually marry me. He says he’ll never ask me to give up the Iron Throne for him. He says I’m going to change the world. Does he not understand that saying those things only makes me want to marry him even more? I almost told him I

How could I ask him to give up the Ice Throne? I should tell him about the proposal. Our feelings aside, it is still a good idea. The South needs the North as much as the North needs us. This is the only way to save us both. I should tell him everything. Perhaps he’d read it and agree with me. 

I should tell him.

He deserves to know the truth. 

I’ll tell him. 

I’ll tell him everything, and maybe he’ll understand why I’m doing this.

But what if he hates me? 

I can’t bear the thought of it. 

I  Maybe I can be selfish for a little longer. I just want to be with him and not have to think about anything else. Everything is so perfect when it’s just the two of us, and I’ve never known peace or happiness as I do in his arms. I’ll tell him everything eventually. I have to anyway. But for now maybe we can just be two people in happy to be in each other’s company. 

Cregan wants that too. Cregan wants that so badly. He wants to turn back time to before Bennard told him about the Northern assimilation plan. But he also wished that Jace had told him all of this earlier, because he is right - Cregan would’ve understood once he read Jace’s proposal. It might’ve taken him some time to come around to the idea, but they could’ve talked through it instead of Cregan having to find out the truth on his own and thinking that Jace had set out to make use of him. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Cregan asked, his heart clenching. Had he not proven that he valued Jace’s opinions? Had he not proven that he’s someone who could see reason and be reasoned with? 

He flips the page. 

I was going to tell Cregan everything tonight, but I couldn’t do it. We fought just now, and I cannot make sense of it. I cannot make sense of him. I thought I knew who he was, but I don’t. Perhaps I had wanted so badly to believe in this illusion I had constructed of him that I failed to see the truth that has been right in front of me this entire time. 

I know he doesn’t remember the night I visited him in his chambers at the end of his rut, so I asked him about the omega again, because I need to know for sure what his true thoughts are. I guess I just needed to hear him say the words again to have the confidence to tell him about the proposal. And not just about the proposal, but about Grandsire and Mother and Aegon, and the entire reason why I had come to the North. I wanted to tell him everything. But I was wrong in what I had assumed. 

He was angry that I didn’t spend his rut with him, but he also apologised for it. I cannot discern what his true intentions are anymore. Yes, he apologised, but he also blamed me in the same breath. Do all alphas just end up seeing omega as property? In the end, am I just another pretty omega for him to fuck? I don’t want to believe this. He has been so patient with me, and he still is, but what if it’s all an act? What if all he wants is to fuck me? Am I just another conquest in his eyes? Am I just a prize? I’m the heir to the Iron Throne - is that what’s appealing to him? Fucking a powerful omega? I don’t want to find out. I don’t think I could survive it if he uses me and abandons me. 

“No,” Cregan cries, anguished. How could Jace think this? How could Jace think that Cregan has been anything but true? 

But I cannot help but feel guilty, because I know that I am deceiving him despite it not being my intention to do so. I should’ve been honest about my purpose in coming to the North from the start. I should’ve told him that I wasn’t as experienced as I'd led him to believe. But I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do. It really wasn’t my intention to deceive him, and it most certainly wasn’t my intention to become as entangled with him as I have become. 

All I wanted to do was get to know him better as a person first before sharing my plans with him, but I let my feelings get in the way. I decided not to follow the rules for once and made a mess of everything. Now I don’t know what to do. Should I just pretend that this really was a visit and nothing more? Should I just savour the time I have left with him - a lie though it may be - and just return to King’s Landing and accept the fate that awaits me? 

Maybe I shouldn’t have come North at all. Maybe Otto and Alicent are right. Maybe I’m not suited to be king, omega or not. 

“No,” Cregan says again. Jace is worthy to be king; of course he is. He’s smart, kind, and courageous. There is no one more worthy of the Iron Throne in all of the realm, Cregan included. 

Cregan reads the entire passage again, once and then twice and then three times. 

He fucked up. Reading Jace’s perspective of what happened that night, he knows that he fucked up. He should’ve just confronted Jace and been plain with him. He should’ve said that he already saw the piece of paper from the proposal instead of letting his anger get the better of him. He wanted to force Jace to come clean, but what was the point in doing that? They should’ve just talked. 

More than that, Cregan should’ve just been honest with Jace. He should’ve told him how much he meant to him. He should’ve told him the truth - that Cregan wants him and no one else and that if he can’t have him that he’d rather be alone for the rest of his life, because nobody, nobody can compare to him. 

Cregan flips the page. 

I fucked up. I should’ve told him everything sooner. I should’ve known that he suspected something when he asked me about it so many times. Now he doesn’t even want to see me, much less talk to me. 

He hates me. 

He should. I ruined everything. 

The page is wrinkled at the bottom, and this page has more wet patches than any other. With a start, Cregan realises that they are tear stains. After Cregan had stormed out of Jace’s bed chambers, Jace must have sat over these papers and cried. 

Jace’s tears are all over this proposal. How many times had he wept while working on it? 

These papers mean the world to Jace, and Cregan told him that he had burnt them?  

Cregan hugs the paper to his heart, feeling gutted and remorseful. Jace must have been in agony thinking that everything he had worked so hard on was destroyed. He must have known that there was a high possibility of it happening; he had been the one who had told Cregan to burn it. That he was willing to risk everything just for a chance of getting Cregan’s forgiveness… 

Jace is right. Cregan really is the scum of Westeros.

Cregan’s overcome with a wave of sudden exhaustion. He gathers the papers, holding them to his chest, and walks to the bed. His head touches the pillows, and he falls asleep with the papers in his arms. 

He jerks awake what feels like only a moment later when Robard runs into his room shouting. 

“The dragons are in the sky!” 

Chapter Text

The Red Keep, 122AC

“What was it like?” Jace asks. “Your first rut.” 

He and Daeron peer at Aemond curiously while Luke naps quietly next to him. Aemond just presented as an alpha a fortnight ago, while Aegon has already been an alpha for three years.

“It’s technically a pre-rut,” Aemond says with a frown. “You don’t get your first actual rut until you’re fifteen or sixteen.” 

“Okay,” Jace says, rolling his eyes. “But what’s it like?”

Aemond grimaces like he just smelled something putrid. “Awful. Painful. It’s like being struck by lightning and plunged into freezing waters at the same time.”

Jace shudders, and Daeron makes a disgusted face. 

“But they’ll get you an omega to fuck during your first actual rut, and it’s the best thing in the world,” Aegon, who’s just had his first actual rut, says with a lewd grin. 

“Aegon!” Aemond says sharply, his face a bright red. It’s so funny that Aegon, Jace, and Daeron burst out laughing. 

“It’s nothing Maester Mellos hasn't taught us,” Aegon says.

Aemond sighs, burying his face in his hands and murmuring some things under his breath. Aegon laughs again, nudging Jace in the side. 

“Except Maester Mellos isn’t so crude about it. Don’t listen to him, Jace, Daeron,” Aemond says, and Jace stops laughing. 

“You do get to fuck omegas!” Aegon says in an offended tone. “It is the truth, Brother! Don’t be such a prude.”

“I am not a prude,” Aemond says, turning his nose up and missing the knowing look that Aegon and Jace exchange. “Being an alpha means you get the urge to mate with omegas - what Aegon says is right, but that is not the only thing that happens.”

“It’s the only thing that happens that matters,” Aegon says.

Aemond ignores him. “You already know about scents and biological changes from our lessons, so I won’t go into that. What you need to know is that life as you know it changes.”

Aegon scoffs loudly. “You are so dramatic.”

Aemond ignores him again, and Aegon pouts. 

“Nothing you learn in the books can prepare you for how overwhelming it is to suddenly be able to smell everyone around you or how easy it is to lose all sense of rationality when you get angry. It is on you to learn how to manage those base, primal urges. That’s what makes us noble alphas different from the common alphas in Flea Bottom.” 

Jace nods, listening to Aemond attentively and soaking up everything he says. His words make sense. Ser Harwin Strong is the strongest alpha in all of the Six Kingdoms, but he’s never been anything but gentle, unlike Ser Criston Cole, who’s also an alpha, but displays all the unbecoming traits that Aemond is illustrating. 

Jace has a lot to think about after Aemond’s lecture. Even though it’s still going to be four years before Jace presents, he can already start preparing to become an alpha worthy of the Iron Throne. From what he understands, self-control is the single most important aspect to being a respectable alpha, and so Jace is determined to master that. He will start by no longer allowing himself that extra slice of lemon cake after dinner. 

Aegon slings an arm around Jace’s shoulders after Aemond leaves with Daeron. 

“Don’t listen to a word he says,” Aegon says. “Like I said, the most important thing about being an alpha is fucking omegas. Once you experience the feeling of a tight cunt around your knot, nothing else will ever feel as satisfying.”

“Knot?” 

Aegon grins happily. “Now that you’ve heard Maester Mellos and Uncle Aemond’s boring version, it’s time to hear all about the fun, interesting things from your Uncle Aegon.”

When Jace relays everything that Aegon told him word for word to his mother later that night, Rhaenyra flies into a fit of rage and spends the better part of the night chasing Aegon around the Red Keep, screaming curses and insults at him while Aegon begs for his life. At one point, he mounts Sunfyre to run away from his sister, but Rhaenyra gets on Syrax just as quickly and chases him in the skies in the middle of a thunderstorm, ignoring Viserys’ cries behind them.

“Rhaenyra! Aegon! Cease this nonsense and get back here!” 

Viserys then demands that Daemon takes Caraxes up to stop them, but Daemon only does so to be nearer to the action. He cheers Rhaenyra on and jeers at Aegon. 

The chase lasts into the early morning, when the rain has stopped and the clouds have parted. People on the streets stop in their tracks and stare in awe and trepidation at the sight of three and then four dragons circling one another in the skies. Rhaenys has arrived on Meleys and manages to force Daemon into helping her break up the fight. 

The incident becomes what is later known as the “Dance of the Dragons”.  

No one knows the real reason for it, but there are plenty of rumours in the streets. Some speculate it’s because Aegon tried to make a claim for the throne. Others think it’s because Aegon asked for Jace’s hand in marriage. There are also those who think that Daemon orchestrated the whole thing for fun. 

Rhaenyra is still fuming when she lands, and Aegon is still a trembling mess. Rhaenys is exasperated, and Daemon cannot stop laughing for the life of him. 

“Apologise, Rhaenyra,” Viserys says sternly.

“Why should she?” Daemon asks, finally ceasing his laughter to be offended on her behalf. 

Rhaenyra folds her arms.

“I do not need an apology, merely my life to be spared,” Aegon says, shivering in Alicent’s arms. 

The queen is glaring daggers at Rhaenyra, though her eyes widen in horror and her face pales as Rhaenyra relays the things that Aegon said to Jace. 

She slaps Aegon on the head and says, “Have I taught you nothing?!” 

As punishment, Viserys orders Aegon to be confined to his rooms until he finishes copying ten selected scriptures of The Faith.

(Jace is certain that Aegon still holds a grudge against him for this till this day.)

After all the commotion dies down, Laenor takes Jace aside.

“Forget everything that Aegon said. He’s a useless rascal. Omegas are not only good for sex, and alphas are supposed to protect them,” Laenor says. 

“So alphas are protectors then?” Jace asks, tilting his head.

Laenor ruffles his head. “Exactly, my dear boy.”

“But there are no Targaryen omegas, Father,” Jace says. “So who do we protect?”

“Alphas are protectors of everybody, Jace,” Laenor says. “And Targaryens are protectors of the realm.”

“So we protect everyone?” Jace asks, lighting up. 

“Yes, and that includes the Velaryons! When you become a Targaryen and take your seat on the Iron Throne, remember that!” Laenor says jokingly.

“I’ll always be a Velaryon, Kepa ,” Jace says, wrapping his arms around Laenor and snuggling into his warmth when Laenor hugs him back tightly. Laenor always gives the best hugs, wrapping his whole body around Jace and keeping him safe and warm. This must be what alphas are supposed to make others feel. “And I’ll always protect you.”

Laenor smiles, his eyes crinkling with pride. “I know you will.” 

(What a joke then, that Jace doesn’t manage to protect anyone. Definitely not Laenor.) 

The Red Keep, 125AC

When he turns eleven, Jace is more than ready to become the alpha he has always aspired to be. He’s already become a great swordsman and has bested Aegon in many, many fights under Ser Harwin Strong’s guidance. He’s fluent in High Valyrian and has a far more advanced understanding of his studies than is necessary at his young age. 

He has accomplished all these, and he still has a year to go before his presentation. 

He’s with Aegon, Aemond, and Luke one night when he suddenly feels a sudden intense heat all throughout his body. Aemond is the first to notice something is wrong and also the first to notice exactly what is happening.

“But he’s only eleven!” Aegon says in bewilderment. He starts pacing the room frantically. “Fuck, what do we do? Mother just hauled me to my room and locked me in there. Is that what we should do? Lock Jace up? Aemond, tell me!”

But Aemond isn’t paying attention to Aegon, his focus is on Jace. 

Despite the heat coursing through his body, Jace feels the strong urge to bury himself in pillows and blankets. He’s already thrown a blanket over himself and grabbed several pillows before he even registers what he’s doing. 

Jace moans uncomfortably as he feels a gush of liquid between his legs.

“Jace, are you okay?” Luke asks, running to Jace’s side. 

Aemond’s eyes widen. “Fuck, Aegon, I-” he cuts himself off with a choke and scrambles away from Jace.  

Jace looks at Aemond helplessly, feeling panic bubbling in his chest. “Aemond, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

Aemond shakes his head, moving even further away from Jace, and Jace cries out when he feels an intense cramping in his abdomen. He doubles over and wraps the blanket tighter around himself. Someone touches his shoulder, and he looks up in confusion. Aegon’s eyes are dilated, and he’s breathing heavily.

“You’re an omega,” he says almost accusingly.

“What? I can’t be!” 

Aegon inhales to respond but ends up growling. He advances on Jace, but Aemond tackles him and pins him to the ground. Aemond is a better fighter, but Aegon is bigger and stronger. He easily flips them over and bares his teeth at Aemond. They roll around on the floor, wrestling for dominance, and Jace has no idea what is happening. 

Another gush of liquid runs down his legs, and he whimpers, the sound making both his uncles freeze. 

“Jace,” Aemond wheezes from under Aegon. “Run.” 

Jace can barely move, let alone run, but he can hear the desperation in Aemond’s voice and can smell a heavy, oppressing scent in the air, and it is the smell that gets him stumbling to his feet. The blanket falls from his shoulders, and Aegon turns to him with a snarl. He makes his way towards Jace but lands flat on his face when Aemond grabs his ankle and pulls him down. 

“Jace, go!” 

Jace trips over his feet, his steps uncoordinated as he makes his way towards the door.

The footsteps are loud behind him, and he cries out when someone pounces onto his back, and he crashes onto the floor.

“Hey! Get off him!” Luke screams. 

Jace is roughly turned around. Aegon’s eyes are wild and hungry, and he reeks of a desperation that smells like curdled milk. Jace wants nothing more than to get away from it. Luke runs over and tugs on Aegon’s arm, and Jace screams out when Aegon pushes Luke away. 

Aemond rams into Aegon, knocking Aegon off Jace. There’s the sound of things crashing, but before Jace can breathe a sigh of relief, Aemond is on top of him. 

“Aemond?” he asks fearfully.

But it doesn’t seem like Aemond can hear him. His eyes are the same as Aegon’s, dark and full of lust. Jace has never seen him so out of sorts before. Jace’s body ejects more of that strange liquid, and Aemond growls, sounding more animal than man. 

“Get off him! Get off him!” Luke yells, pounding his tiny fists onto Aemond’s back.

Aemond gets off of Jace, and Jace hears Luke screaming in pain. It is the need to protect his younger brother that gives Jace the strength to get to his feet. He can hardly stand without wavering, but he slams his entire body into Aemond. They both fall to the ground. Aemond gets to his feet while Jace writhes on the ground in pain, both from the fall and from the strong stabbing sensation within him. 

Aemond approaches Jace slowly, and Jace’s eyes widen when he sees his dagger in Aemond’s hand. It must have fallen from his robes when they had been tousling about. Aemond unsheathes the dagger and continues advancing on Jace, his eyes feral. 

Jace sees Luke coming from the corner of his eyes. He reaches out blindly for something, anything, and grabs the nearest pillow. He throws it at Aemond. It catches him by surprise, making him drop the dagger but also making him angrier. With a shout, he advances towards Jace with angry steps, but Luke jumps in front of him and slashes the dagger upwards. Aemond stumbles backwards and screams, clutching an eye with one hand. 

“Jace, Jace!” Luke says, running to his brother’s side with tears streaming down his face. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Jace says, hugging Luke tight to his chest and shielding his eyes from Aemond’s writhing form. There’s so much blood, more blood than Jace has ever seen in his life, and he prays to the Seven that Aemond is alright. He’ll never forgive himself otherwise, and he knows that Luke won’t either.

“What is going on in he-?” Alicent’s screams pierces the air. “Aemond!” 

“Jace! Luke!” 

“Mommy,” Jace whimpers, and her comforting scent is all he smells before he passes out.

He spends the next several days in agony, locked up in his room and all alone. He calls out for Rhaenyra and Laenor and even Harwin sometimes, and while they all assure him they are with him from beyond the doors, none of them enter his room no matter how much he cries and begs. 

His body aches, and it feels like his skin is melting off his bones. He has never felt so awful before, not even when he had been confined to bed for a week when he had been down with a fever. 

His bed is constantly damp from his sweat and the slick that his body won’t stop producing. The cramps in his abdomen are perpetual, and nothing makes them go away until he accidentally rubs a pillow between his legs. 

By the time his heat is over, he feels like an entire year has gone by. 

When Rhaenyra finally enters his room, he breaks down all over again and cries in her arms while she holds him tight, pressing kisses into his hair and apologising over and over. They cry together for a long, long time with Laenor and Harwin standing to the side. Laenor weeps with them, while Harwin’s eyes never leave Jace. 

“What does this mean, mommy?” Jace asks later when their tears have all dried up. 

“Nothing,” Rhaenyra says firmly. “This changes nothing, my sweet boy.”

“I’m an omega,” Jace whispers frightfully. It feels like an omen, a judgement from the gods. It feels like they’re telling him that he isn’t worthy to sit on the Iron Throne. 

Rhaenyra cups his cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb. “Yes, you are, but your secondary gender means nothing. You are a Velaryon. You are a Tageryen. You are my heir, and you will sit the Iron Throne after me.”

“Omegas don’t rule; only alphas do,” Jace says, hanging his head, but Rhaenyra won’t have that. 

She tilts his head up and looks him in the eyes. “Then I will change the world for you.” 

The moment Jace is able to, he tries to visit Aemond with Luke. Alicent throws a fit, refusing to let them anywhere near her son despite Viserys’ assurances that they only want to apologise. In the end, it is Aemond’s request to see his nephews that finally gets her to relent.

Luke is trembling next to Jace, and Jace holds his hand tightly before the doors are opened. They take timid steps to Aemond’s bed, and the sight of the white bandages around his left eye causes Luke to burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry, Aemond!” he wails. His next words almost give Jace a heart attack. “I’ll take my own eye-”

“None of that!” Aemond snaps. He pets the spaces next to him, and Jace and Luke crawl into the bed and lay on either side of him. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke says, looking up at Aemond with regret and sorrow.

Aemond shakes his head firmly. “I’ll accept your apology if that’s what you need, Luke, but you are not at fault. You did what any alpha should have done - you protected your family, and you should be proud of yourself.” 

“But you were trying to protect me too!” Jace says, his own tears falling. 

“I failed,” Aemond says simply. 

Jace shakes his head furiously. “You stopped Aegon.”

“Only to turn around and attack you,” Aemond says dryly. “If anyone is to apologise, it should be me.” 

“You don’t need to,” Jace says.

“Will you- Will you recover?” Luke asks quietly.

“The maester says I won’t be able to see out of this eye again,” Aemond says, his wobbly voice betraying how he truly feels. “But it’s alright. I don’t need two eyes to see.” 

Luke buries his face in Aemond’s chest and sobs. Aemond wraps an arm around him in comfort and offers Jace his other hand. Jace grasps it tightly. 

“I know this is all very scary for you,” Aemond says to Jace later when Luke has fallen asleep. “You were never prepared to become an omega, and no one in this family has any idea what to do with one, but it’s alright. We’ll learn. As a family. We’ll be alright.”

Jace nods, hanging onto Aemond’s words like a lifeline. 

“How are you doing, kid?”

Jace looks up from Vermax to see Harwin approaching him. He isn’t worried about Harwin being so close to his dragon. Vermax might hate everyone except him, but she makes an exception for Harwin. For some reason, she seems to like him, even going so far as to allow him to pet her. Any other person who attempts the same thing can say goodbye to that hand.

“Ser Harwin,” Jace greets. 

Harwin settles down next to him and wraps an arm around him. Jace sinks into his side, grateful for the empty dragon pits. Harwin is always so distant whenever other people are around. 

“How are you doing?” Harwin prompts again.

Jace looks down at the ground, and Vermax screeches, nudging his arm. He smiles, rubbing her head. 

“Not good,” Jace eventually says. “Mother is trying her best, but to her, that means pretending like nothing is wrong and acting like I presented as an alpha. I’m not an alpha.” 

“You’re still a prince of the realm, the future Prince of Dragonstone and King of Westeros.”

“Am I?” Jace asks quietly. In truth, he would give all those things up just to be able to curl up with Harwin like this every day. What is the point of having all those titles and having all that power when they didn’t give him the thing he wants the most? 

“Of course you are, dear boy. That is your birthright, and no one can take that away from you.” Harwin places his hand under Jace’s chin and tilts his head upwards. “Do you hear that?”

Jace stares into the brown eyes that are so much like his, stares at the dark, curly hair that is much like his. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Jace says helplessly.

“You continue doing what you’ve always done,” Harwin says. “You continue to train, you continue to study, and, most importantly, you continue to be the kind, loving person you have always been. Your secondary gender is not what you expected it to be, but you’re still the same person that your mother and I have always been so proud of. No one and nothing can take that away from you.” 

“Will you be with me?” Jace asks hesitantly.

“Of course,” Harwin says.

“Always?”

“Always.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Jace makes him hook his pinky with his to seal it.

He stands up and throws his arms around Harwin. With his mouth next to Harwin’s ear, he says quietly, “I love you, daddy.”

Harwin holds Jace tightly, his voice watery when he says, equally as quietly, just a secret between the two of them, “I love you, son.” 

(But Harwin isn’t here with him anymore.) 

The Red Keep, 127AC 

Laenor and Harwin pass one after the other in quick succession, and Rhaenyra marries Daemon. Jace doesn’t know what to make of Daemon at first, this man who is his great-uncle and now suddenly his step-father. It isn’t this change in status that Jace is confused by; they are Targaryens, after all, but he doesn’t know what to do with Daemon suddenly being in his life. He mostly feels resentment. If Daemon thinks he’s going to be able to fill the giant, gaping hole that Laenor and Harwin left behind, he is wrong.

“I’m not trying to replace your fathers, nor am I trying to be your father,” Daemon says, cutting straight to the point as usual. Jace tenses at the plural form of the word, but there’s no one around, and Daemon isn’t trying to issue him a thinly veiled threat. “But I love your mother, and that love extends to you and your siblings, so that means you’re under my protection now, whether you want to be or not.” 

Jace nods but doesn’t believe him. He’s learnt by now that words mean nothing without actions backing them up. 

Daemon is a liar. He’s a lying bastard and a tyrant, and Jace doesn’t know what was running through Rhaenyra’s mind when she decided to marry him.

“Again,” Daemon snaps. 

Jace doesn’t want to go again. He wants to lie here in the mud, in the rain, and never pick up a sword again in his entire life. This is so unfair. Daemon gave Luke and Joffrey the day off. It’s embarrassing too. Jace is the oldest. He’s had more practice than his brothers. Daemon is only doing this to teach him a lesson because Jace talked back to him the other day when he made a stupid comment about Rhaenyra’s pregnancy. 

“Get up,” Demon says, then smacks him in the leg. “Now.” 

“No,” Jace says petulantly. 

Daemon is silent for a moment, and Jace thinks he’s given up when he hears footsteps squelching on the ground. But Daemon is getting nearer and not further away. Jace looks up to see a sneer on Daemon’s face. 

“I wonder what Harwin Strong would think if he were here,” he says.

That has Jace jumping to his feet and shoving Daemon. “Shut up! Keep his name out of your mouth!” 

Daemon throws his head back and laughs. The audacity. Jace picks up his sword and runs at Daemon. If he wants a fight, that’s what he’s going to get. 

Jace is so angry that he’s just thrusting his sword in Daemon’s direction without any finesse or skill. He knows that he looks like a raging barbarian whose only intention is to destroy everything around him. It’s also a joke, because Daemon is sidestepping him easily, and none of his blows are landing. He swings his sword down hard, a crucial mistake. Daemon avoids it, and the momentum throws Jace off balance. Daemon grabs his shoulder to keep him from falling but also takes the opportunity to knock the sword out of his hand. 

“You can’t fight like this, Jacaerys,” he says. “You’ll never win.”

“What?” Jace asks. He’s barely registering Daemon’s words. His mind is a whirlwind of fire, and all he wants to do is burn everything down. 

Daemon’s laughter cuts through the flames but pisses him off even more. He shrugs Daemon’s hand off and turns around.

Daemon hums in approval.

“You have the fire of the dragons - that’s good.”

Jace hates how Daemon’s words make him feel good. It’s not like he cares what Daemon thinks about him. He doesn’t care. Not one bit. 

Daemon places a hand on his shoulder, and Jace resists the urge to shrug it off.

“Strong taught you all the right things, and you’ve mastered them well,” Daemon says, and Jace’s chest bursts with pride. “But that’s how an alpha fights. You will always lose if you try to use brute force.”

Jace’s heart sinks as quickly. “Shut up.”

“You can be mad at me; it’s fine. But you need to listen to me. You can’t continue to fight like this. You are still winning against Luke and Joffrey now, but they’re going to become bigger and stronger than you soon. You cannot rely on strength, Jacaerys, you need to rely on speed.” 

“I-” 

How is Jace supposed to explain that this is all he has left of Harwin? He knows Daemon is speaking the truth, and it’s to his detriment to not heed his words. But he doesn’t want to let go of Harwin. 

Tears fill his eyes, and Jace is suddenly glad for the rain. 

“Strong would’ve taught you the same thing if he were here,” Daemon says quietly. “It’s only a pity that he isn’t.” 

Tears pour down his face, and Jace is mortified. He hadn’t even cried when he heard the news about Harwin’s death. He didn’t even cry when Rhaenyra had sat with him all night and asked if he was doing alright. He hasn’t shed a single tear since Harin had passed away, and now he’s breaking down in front of Daemon of all people? 

“He- He-” Jace hiccups, struggling to get the words out. He doesn’t want to say this to Daemon, but he feels like he’ll explode if he doesn’t say it. “He told me he’ll always be with me, but he lied!” More tears fall from his eyes, and Jace wrings his arms in front of him, unsure of what to do to make them stop. “He lied to me! I hate him! Kepa left me too! And everyone just keeps leaving me!” 

He buries his face in his hands and cries. He tenses when he feels Daemon wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a hug, but then he accepts the comfort and sobs into Daemon’s armour. 

“Your mother’s still here, isn’t she?” Daemon asks.

Jace nods. 

“I won’t promise you that I’ll never leave you,” Daemon says, pulling away from Jace, and Jace reluctantly lets him go. “But what I can do is teach you how to fight for yourself, son.”

Jace’s eyebrows pull together as he looks up at Daemon. “You said you weren’t trying to be my father.”

“Because that’s your choice. But I’ve never said you weren’t my son. Are you ready to learn?”

Jace inhales deeply and nods again. He picks up his sword. “I’m ready.” 

In the mist of the rain, he thinks he sees a large silhouette watching over him. 

Despite Otto Hightower’s objections, Viserys makes Jace his cupbearer, and this decision speaks louder than anything Viserys could’ve said. He’s affirming Jace’s position as the future king. He proclaims Jace’s new role in front of all the lords and ladies of the court, and Jace takes great pleasure in the irritation that grows bigger and bigger on Otto’s face. 

“I once sat you upon my knee and told you that this would be your seat one day,” Viserys says. Jace remembers that day. He remembers looking out at everyone below him and thinking that it is such a privilege and such a large responsibility to sit on the Iron Throne. Viserys beams at him now as proudly as he did on that day. “You may be an omega, Jace, but this will still be your seat one day. When you become the crown prince, your mother, the future queen, will have all the lords swear fealty to you, as I once had them do for her.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jace says. 

He can hear the fervent mutterings and feel the disdainful looks but doesn’t let himself acknowledge them, at least not yet where everyone can catch the slightest shift in his expression and make up stories about it. When he voices his worries to his mother that night, Rhaenyra cups his cheek and smiles brightly at him.

“It matters not what they think,” she says, sounding so sure that he believes her immediately. “You are a Targaryen, and that is all that matters.” 

Still, despite Rhaenyra’s certainty burning as bright as the sun, a sliver of doubt still creeps into Jace. 

“But what if they disagree?” he mumbles.

“Those who choose to misalign themselves with us will find that they’ve made a terribly wrong choice,” Rhaenyra says. “We need not concern ourselves with the feeble minds of the masses. Besides, who will dare to challenge us when we have dragons?”

Jace’s chest rumbles with pride at the thought of Vermax. She may still be a young dragon, but she’s thriving and growing larger with each year that passes. It is only time before she becomes a fully-fledged adult. 

“I understand, Mother.” 

“Omega lessons,” Jace repeats slowly. 

Alicent nods sagely. “Since House Targaryen has had no omegas, I shall take it upon myself to teach you.”

Jace looks at Rhaenyra, and she places a hand on his arm protectively. 

“That is quite unnecessary,” Rhaenyra says. 

Alicent sneers. “You don’t know what it means to be an omega. I can actually help him.”

“Help?” Daemon repeats with a laugh. “If you really think we’re going to let you poison our boy’s mind, you can think again.”

“Is that what you think?” Alicent demands. “That I’ll poison his mind? I’m doing him a favour.” 

“Jace is to be king; those are the only lessons he needs, and that is the only thing you need to remember,” Daemon says. He stands up, Rhaenyra and Jace following suit. “This is the end of the discussion.”

Alicent rises to her feet as well. “I did not say that he shouldn’t continue those lessons,” she says, but Jace didn’t miss the grimace on her face when Daemon said he would be king. “It would do him well to understand the intricacies of his designation.” When Daemon turns away without a word, she turns to her husband instead. “Viserys, you must know that I’m only doing this for Jacaerys’ sake.”

“Of course, Alicent,” Viserys says, quick to placate his wife as always. 

“Father,” Rhaenyra starts, but he silences her with a hand. “Alicent is right. How is Jace to be a proper king if he doesn’t even understand his own designation? You and I are most certainly not going to be of any help. It is decided - Jace shall have lessons with Alicent once a week.” 

Alicent smiles triumphantly, and Rhaenyra’s fingers twitch uncontrollably at her side. Jace suspects that if Viserys weren’t here that his mother would’ve dived across the table and wrapped her hands around Alicent’s neck. 

Jace smiles pleasantly and says, “Lovely. I look forward to our lessons, Grandmother.”

That wipes the smug look off Alicent’s face, and Daemon laughs loudly. 

Jace smiles even brighter when Alicent scowls at him. She’s brought this upon herself. He is going to make her regret ever proposing this stupid idea. He sees it for what it is, of course - Otto’s retaliation for Viserys making him his cupbearer. 

Alicent has never had an original thought, and it shows in the way she echoes her father’s words and does whatever the realm expects of her. She only thinks she’s a perfect omega because she’s moulding herself to the desires of others, and it’s pathetic that she doesn’t see that. 

She wants to make Jace like her, but she’ll find that he’s not so easily malleable. She’s a queen only because of the ambitions of her father and the decisions made by the alphas around her. In truth, she is nothing more than a pawn and a broodmare made to push out children for the crown. And despite all her efforts, her children still don’t have a claim to the throne.

At the end of the day, Alicent is a Hightower, and Jace is a Targaryen through and through.

Omega or not, he’ll show her why people don’t fuck with Targaryens. 

And when Vermax is bigger, he’ll ask her to- 

Never mind. Alicent can live. 

If only because he loves his uncles and aunt so much.  

Except Aegon.

Fuck Aegon. 

Chapter Text

The Red Keep, 127 AC 

Jace and Alicent both have their hands on the table and are scowling at each other from across it. 

“Being a mother is the most important thing for an omega,” Alicent says through gritted teeth. “This is common knowledge! How can you dispute it?”

“For most omegas maybe,” Jace says. He straightens and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m going to be king.” 

Alicent grips the edge of the table so hard her nails dig into the wood. He knows what she wants to say, and he looks at her in challenge. 

“Say it,” he goads. The moment she does, Rhaenyra and Viserys will hear about it, and he’d like to see her struggle her way out of that one. 

“Even so,” Alicent bites out, and Jace smiles at her sweetly. “Even so, you still need to birth heirs.” 

Jace shrugs. “I’ll do my duty to the throne. As my mother did.” 

“Rharnyra never wanted to have children, you know,” Alicent says. 

This is news to Jace, and it must show on his face, because Alicent starts grinning like she just upended his world. But she’s mistaken about his shock. Rhaenyra is such a good mother that Jace assumed she had spent her entire life wanting children. Though, in that case - 

“And she’s still a much better mother than you?” he asks incredulously. 

If looks could murder, Jace would be long dead. 

“You know nothing about parenting.” 

“I know you don’t treat people like shit, whether they’re your children or not.” 

“I love my children!” Alicent snaps, and Jace flinches from the raw emotion in her voice. He’s seen her lose control many times but never in this way. It’s an anger that comes from somewhere deep within. All her other outbursts feel superficial in comparison. 

Alicent composes herself, and it’s eerie how her expression changes to a perfected neutrality. 

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling too well today, Prince Jacaerys. Let us end our lesson here today. I will see you next week,” she says, and even her voice is different - soft and deferent. She walks out of the room before Jace can say anything else. 

He’s heard her use this voice before when she’s talking to Viserys or Otto. Being on the receiving end of it makes the hair on his skin stand. It’s so obviously an act that he doesn’t know how they believe. Or maybe they don’t.

They just don’t care about her true feelings, only that she reacts how they want her to. 

And now she wants to force him to become an obedient, weak-willed omega wife like her. It is ridiculous. Just because she’s content to conform to the expectations of the alphas around her doesn’t mean that he’s willing to do the same. He is to be king! He will be the one who makes decisions for all of the realm when the time comes. And she’s trying to train him to submit to an alpha? 

Jace is still fuming when he returns to his bed chambers, and he decides right there and then that he hates children. He shall never have them. Luke will eventually get married, and he can make Luke’s first born his heir. Kings can designate any heir they want, and Jace can do whatever he wants. 

And he will not have children. 

When Aegon III is born six months later and placed in Jace’s arms for the first time, he melts and falls completely in love with his youngest brother. And when Aegon blinks up at him with wide eyes full of wonder, Jace knows that he will die for him. His heart is so full that he can barely contain it. 

Maybe he will have children after all. 

He had let Alicent get under his skin. He should look to his mother instead. Rhaenyra is an alpha and a woman, and she embraces both sides fully. Jace can do the same as an omega and a man. 

“Hello, Aegon,” he says. “I’m Jace, your older brother.” 

The Red Keep, 128 AC 

“There you all are,” Joffrey says, entering Daeron’s bed chambers. “Daeron! It’s been a while!”

“Joffrey! You’ve gotten so big! You were just a little squirt when I last saw you,” Daeron says with a smile. 

Daeron’s recently returned from Oldtown and has spent the last few days unpacking. They’ve taken to spending time in his room to keep him company. His eyes light up whenever he talks about his time away, and Jace wonders if he would have been happier staying in Oldtown with his uncle Gwayne rather than coming back to the Red Keep on Alicent’s order. 

“Hello, small Aeg, small Vis!” Joffrey says. He grabs Viserys II off the floor where he’s playing with Luke, Rhaena, and Aegon and spins him around. 

“Joffrey!” six voices ring out, but Viserys’ laughing happily, hands and legs in the air. 

“Me too! Me too!” Aegon demands, stretching his arms upwards. 

“No, Aegon,” Luke says, thrusting an arm forward of him protectively and glaring up at Joffrey. 

Halaena looks up, startled from the voices. She smiles when she sees Joffrey and returns her attention to the bugs crawling across the floor. 

“He’s enjoying it,” Joffrey protests when Jace takes Viserys from him and holds their youngest sibling protectively to his chest. 

Baela smacks Joffrey across the head, and Joffrey whines as he trails behind Jace, complaining that babies are stronger than they all think. 

It’s been a while since they’ve all seen Joffrey as well. His first pre-rut started a week ago, dashing all of Jace’s hopes that he won’t be the only omega in his family; Aegon and Viserys are definitely going to be alphas - Jace just knows it. But he’s gotten over it. So he’s going to be the only Targaryen omega. So what? At the end of the day, Joffrey is his brother, and he loves Joffrey. 

“How are you feeling, Joff?” Jace asks, returning to his seat at the desk. 

“I’m sorry, Jace,” Joffrey says, hanging his head low. 

Luke’s eyes widen so much it would be comical if Jace was in the mood to laugh. He slashes his hand in front of his mouth to tell Joffrey to cut it out, but Joffrey doesn’t see him with his eyes cast downwards. Instead, it’s Jace who catches him acting like a fool, and Luke promptly stops, fear filling his eyes. He turns away and buries his face in a hand. Aemond sighs next to him. Daeron frowns in confusion, while the twins shake their heads. Halaena is blissfully unaware.  

Jace pauses from his reading and looks up. “What are you sorry about, Joff?”

“For being an alpha,” Joffrey says, sighing and sitting down next to Jace. 

Aemond discreetly takes the letter opener off the table and passes it to Baela for safekeeping.  

Joffrey slumps against Jace, resting his head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Jace.” 

Jace reminds himself that he loves his brother very, very much. He will literally die for his brother, and he will most certainly kill for his brother. He practically raised Joffrey after all. His true blooded sibling. His beloved younger brother. Joffrey is a kind, young man. He’s not doing so well in terms of intelligence, but everyone has their flaws, and he’s doing his best. He’s a little piece of-

Jace clenches his hands and inhales deeply, forcing a smile when Viserys looks up at him curiously. 

Joffrey is blissfully unaware of his older brother’s turmoil. 

Which goes to show how big of an idiot he is when a literal baby can pick up on it better than him. 

“It’s alright, Joff,” Jace says.

“Are you sure?” Joffrey asks, sitting up and frowning at Jace. “I mean being an omega-”

“Joffrey!” Luke says loudly, making Aegon jump. He strides over, grabs his younger brother by the back of his neck like he’s a little animal, and pulls him away from Jace. “We must go outside! Now!” 

“Why?” Joffrey whines but lets Luke pull him away anyway. 

The doors close behind them, but their voices cut through it with how loud they are yelling. 

“So you can stay alive, you idiot!” 

“What?” 

“Jace was one second away from tearing your throat out!”

“What!” 

Jace glares at the doors. Both his brothers are stupid. 

“Right,” Daeron says. “So Joffrey’s an idiot, but-”

“Don’t,” Jace says warningly.

Daeron mimics closing his mouth. Viserys taps against his chest as if trying to calm him down, and it works. Jace kisses his little brother on the head and returns to his book. 

He loves Joffrey. 

(He still does.)

(Even if Joffrey is as aggravating as ever.)

(Idiot.)

Jace has survived a year of Alicent’s nonsense, and he’s been successful in whittling down the number of lessons to once every two weeks and now once a moon. But Alicent is now more aggravating than ever. Because she can’t torture him every week, her aggression is all accumulated and released onto Jace in that one hour they have together. 

Sometimes, Jace thinks that who she’s really angry at is herself, but she doesn’t have anyone or anywhere to direct that anger at, and so she takes it out on him, someone she thinks is the same as her. Jace has emphasised many times that they are completely different - 

1. He’s a Velaryon/Targaryen; she’s a Hightower
2. He has a dragon; she has nothing
3. He’s a skilled fighter and hunter; she’d died within an hour in the forests 
4. He’s respected by all, even the people on her side; she’s ridiculed by all, even the people on her side 
5. He’s smart; she’s stupid
6. He’s in line for the throne; she’s a queen in name
7. He has had three fathers who love him; her father loves the Iron Throne more than he could ever love her 
8. He’s privy to the affairs of the realm; she does not 
9. He’s the most desirable omega in the whole realm; she’s just another omega 
10. One day everyone will bow down to him; she will lose all her power 
11. He will be remembered as a king in a long line of kings; she will become a footnote in history, only remembered as the queen who could never replace Aemma’s place in Viserys’ heart 

Jace can go on and on about how they are different, but Alicent is delusional enough to still see them as the same. 

She takes great joy in telling Jace the should’s and should-not’s of being an omega but hates him challenging her every claim. It is not his fault that her logic is so weak that it collapses under the slightest prodding. He had thought, rather naively, that she would call a stop to these lessons altogether, but she has a lot more tenacity than he would’ve given her credit for. 

“You honestly think that you are so different from me,” Alicent says, looking at him with pity. 

He wants to punch her in the face. He wants to feed her to Vermax. 

“Ever heard of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism?” Jace asks, knowing it’s a sore spot for her. 

As expected, Alicent’s face pinches. “You Targaryens do have queer customs,” she says. “But that doesn’t exempt you from being an omega.” 

“All that matters is the blood that runs through my veins,” Jace retorts. “Omega or not, I’m a Targaryen.”

Alicent’s jaw ticks. Honestly, Jace is impressed by her self control. Not once in their lessons has she ever accused him of being a bastard or that his claim to the throne is illegitimate. 

“You keep saying,” Alicent says, sounding tired as she collapses onto the chair. “You are an omega at the end of the day, Jacaerys. Your family name and position protect you from the worst of it, but you cannot change how the world sees you.”

“And how do they see me?” Jace asks, tilting his chin up.

“A broodmare, a hole for alphas to fuck.” 

Jace is startled at her vulgar choice of words. It’s quite possibly the first time he has ever heard her speak like this. 

Alicent rubs her face and picks up her wine goblet, taking a sip from it. She never used to drink in their lessons, but it is becoming a more common occurrence. Aemond has also once confided in Jace about his mother’s increasing reliance on the substance. 

“They don’t see you for who you are,” Alicent continues. She smirks lazily. “How you see me - your contempt for me, your judgment of my actions and behaviour - that’s how they see you.” 

Jace clenches his hands into fists. “We’re not-”

“The same.” Alicent laughs dryly. “Would that it were so.” 

“Otto Hightower sent you to seduce a man who just lost his wife and son, and you willingly went along with it. You have no character or moral - don’t ever equate us.” 

Alicent’s eyes flash with anger. “You have no right to judge me for what I had to do.”

“Easy, isn’t it? Painting yourself as a victim and blaming everyone around you, not once taking accountability for your choices.” 

“Choices?” Alicent slams her cup down with so much force that the contents sloshes over the rim. “Enlighten me, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, future Prince of Dragon and King of the Six Realms,” she says, voice dripping with more and more derision with each title that falls from her mouth. “What choice did I have?”

“You did not have to prey on a vulnerable man in the depths of his sorrows,” Jace says. “You did it because you wanted power, because you wanted to be queen. And don’t get me wrong - I’m not judging you for that. It’s your hypocrisy that’s sickening. You claim that omegas should orient themselves around their families and that their most important role is to be a mother, and yet you sought power for yourself. It’s the only respectable thing about you, and you can’t even admit it.”

“You think that I wanted that?” she asks slowly, her voice low. “I did it for family. And aren’t you the one who constantly points out how my power is but an illusion? And what power does an omega have compared to an alpha? He is the king, but more than that, he is my husband! Do you know the power alphas have over their omega mates?” 

“Grandsire-”

“Is an alpha at the end of the day.” The bitterness seeps into her voice as she continues, “And you are lucky. You are so very lucky. You are the only omega in the entire fucking realm who’s lucky - do you know that? All the alphas around you spoil you, but have you ever wondered how they treat other omegas? You sit at the apex of all privilege, but have you ever once considered what it is like for other omegas?” 

Jace doesn’t want to admit it, but he has seen it before, how his family members regard Alicent. He knows it’s because of the person that she is, but he’s not stupid; as much as he turns a blind eye to it, he knows some of that disdain stems from the fact that Alicent is an omega and nothing more. 

He even hears it in the way that Luke and Joffrey talk about her. When they dismiss her opinions as foolish or when she does things just because “it’s in her nature” (whatever the fuck that means) or when they laugh at her for being too emotional, it’s not because she’s Alicent Hightower, it’s because she’s an omega. He doesn’t even think they’re aware of it, and he’s wanted to speak out against it several times, but they look at him expectantly, and all he can do is laugh and agree with them. 

“If you were not Jacaerys Velaryon, you would not think that you are so different from the rest of us.”

“But I am Jacaerys Velaryon,” Jace says, perhaps a little too haughtily. 

Whatever shred of humanity Alicent found disappears, and her face freezes over once more. 

“Velaryon, huh,” she murmurs, staring at him straight in the eyes. “A strong claim.”

A familiar anger rushes through Jace, but he’s since learned to not let it show on his face. “The only thing that matters is I’m a Targaryen.” 

Alicent runs her finger over the rim of her cup, “If your mother had behaved better, those rumours that have plagued you all your life would have never happened.”

Jace glares at her, and her lips twist into a smirk. He hates that he’s given her the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“My mother is an alpha,” he retorts. 

“And yet she is still a woman and subjected to the people’s scrutiny. Imagine how much worse it would be for you if you were to follow in her footsteps.”

“And exactly what footsteps would those be?” 

“Cosying up to the Lord Commander of the City Watch,” Alicent says, watching Jace closely for another reaction. “Ser Harwin Strong seemed like such a perfect alpha - loyal and honourable. Yet, in reality, he was but a man deprived of morals, lusting after a married woman and siring not one but three children with her.” 

Jace’s hands tighten into fists by his sides. “You dare accuse my mother of such a thing? You dare question my legitimacy?”

You dare sully Ser Harwin Strong’s name? 

Jace has never felt more angry in his life. 

Alicent shrugs a shoulder. “I’m merely repeating what I’ve heard. You want to know what people think of you, don’t you? I’m telling you that’s what they think of you - a bastard and an insult to the sanctity of the throne. They think you shouldn’t inherit the throne. They think that you being an omega is a sign from the gods. You’re a curse, a reminder that not even Targaryens are exempt from the wrath of gods. Terrible, isn’t it, what they think? Let it be a lesson for you. You can learn from your mother’s mistakes or follow in her wanton ways.” 

Jace forces himself to relax. He tilts his head and smiles sweetly. “Should I be more like you instead?” He stands up and walks over to Alicent, looking down at her. “It’s a sin to sleep with a married person, but it’s completely within reason and moral to fuck a mourning widower just because it’s for family? You call my mother wanton, but you’re the biggest slut in the whole realm.” 

“You-” Alicent rises to her feet and raises her hand. 

Jace lifts his face up in defiance. “Attacking the line of succession is treason. Hit me, and I will see you hanged and your body fed to the dogs in the street.” 

“I am the queen!” 

“Go on then.” 

Alicent glares at him. For a moment, Jace thinks she’s really going to hit him, consequences be damned, but she has more restraint that he gives her credit for. She drops her arm to her side and sneers in his face. 

“You are an embarrassment to omegas,” she says. 

“Why? Because I dare to take what’s mine?” 

“The throne is not yours!” Alicent yells. She just as quickly drops her voice in her next breath, likely knowing her words are treasonous yet not caring enough to stop them. “You reach beyond your station, just like your mother. Women and omegas do not belong on thrones!”

“Where do we belong then? On an alpha’s knot?” Jace asks, enjoying the way Alicent’s face flushes angrily. “You certainly enjoy taking my grandsire’s, what with having sired him so many children.” 

She backs away from him as if his words could taint her, shaking her head. “You and your mother think yourselves better than everyone else, that you are exempt from the rules which govern us all.” 

“We are better than everyone else,” Jace says, voice dripping with contempt. 

“You are no Targaryen; you are a bastard,” Alicent says coldly.

“Yet I command a dragon,” Jace says. “Do you remember when Grandsire said he’ll cut off the tongue of anyone who questions me or my brothers’ parentage? Shall we see whether his wife is exempt from punishment?”

Alicent’s eyes blaze with fury, but Jace doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in them. He won’t actually go running to Viserys and complain, but he intends to plunge the knife deep into Alicent and twist it until she’s screaming in pain. And he knows exactly where it hurts. 

“But I won’t,” Jace says airily, waiting a few seconds to let Alicent savour the relief before striking. “For Aemond’s sake.” 

Alicent stiffens and crosses the room in large strides. If she had wanted to hit him before, it’s nothing compared to the way she glares daggers at him now. “Leave my son alone, you whore!” 

Jace shrugs, letting the insult roll off him like water off a duck’s back. “I can’t help it if my uncle enjoys my company. Besides, my uncle isn’t married, is he? Perhaps I’ll ask Grandsire to betroth us. You know he will consent to it most happily.” 

“I will kill you,” Alicent promises fervently. “He’s a good man, a good son. He deserves better than the likes of you. Stay away from him or I will kill you.”

Jace flutters his eyelashes. “I can’t promise anything - like my mother, I find the idea of marrying my uncle extremely appealing. It is perhaps the most Targaryen thing about me. Now that I think about it, I should do it if only to put those senseless rumours to rest. Any children we produce would have a strong claim to the Iron Throne, wouldn’t they? Since my uncle-”

Alicent lunges at him. It is so unexpected that Jace crashes onto the ground. Alicent climbs on top of him and wraps her hands around his neck. She squeezes tightly, and he chokes, caught off guard by how strong she is. 

“Leave my son alone!” 

“Mother, what are you doing?” a horrified voice comes from the doorway.

Alicent releases her grip on Jace as if she had been burned and jumps off him. Almond rushes past her and helps a coughing Jace sit up. 

“Jace, are you alright?”

“I’m going to kill her,” Jace splutters. He leaps for Alicent, but Aemond grabs him around the waist and holds him back. “Aemond! Let go of me this instant! I am going to fucking kill her!” 

And that would be a mercy. Because he could just as easily tell Daemon what she had just done, and his stepfather would do more than end her miserable life. 

“Aemond,” Alicent says, her voice thick with emotion. “Get away from him.”

“Mother,” Almond bites out, struggling with holding Jace back. “You attacked the line of succession - this is treason.” 

“He shouldn’t be king! It’s not his place, just like it’s not Rhaenyra’s place to be queen!” 

“Mother!” Almond snaps. He lets go of Jace but plants himself firmly between him and Alicent, barring an arm in front of Jace to stop him from reaching Alicent. With his other hand, he grabs Alicent’s arm. “Mother, please stop this at once. You are going to be in trouble if someone overhears you.” 

Alicent cups Aemond’s cheek, a sob escaping her lips. “My dear son, what has become of you? How have you become so wrapped around his fingers? You would choose him over your family?”

“He is family too, Mother,” Aemond says quietly.

That is apparently too much for Alicent. She backs away from her son, shaking her head. She spares one last vile glare at Jace before departing the room in a flurry of footsteps. Jace starts to chase after her but is pulled back by Aemond.

“Let me go!” 

Aemond sighs, and it’s the tired look on his face that stops Jace from taking off after Alicent. 

“What did you say to her?” he asks. 

“It’s not my fault!” Jace says, bursting into tears. This is so unfair! Everything is so unfair! Alicent said such vile things to him and even attacked him, but Aemond is blaming him? “She was going on and on about how I’m a bastard and that omegas don’t belong on the Iron Throne!” In a softer voice, he says, “And she insulted Ser Harwin.” 

Aemond rubs the top of the bridge of his nose and lets out another sigh. He walks over to Jace and pulls him into a hug. Jace lets Aemond’s familiar patchouli and woody sense calm him down before pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, sniffing. He is sorry for Aemond always getting caught in between him and Alicent; he’s not sorry at all for the things he said to her. 

“I know she can be aggravating at times, but she’s still my mother,” Aemond says. 

“Tell me it’s alright!” Jace yells. 

“It’s alright,” Aemond says, exasperated. “You know I don’t blame you for these altercations. My mother has an uncanny ability to bring out the worst in people.”

Jace’s mouth falls open. “She strangled me!” 

Almond glances at his neck, and Jace winces when he touches the skin there. It’s starting to bruise, and he’s sure it looks as painful as it feels. 

“She shouldn’t have done that,” Aemond says sternly. “I’ll speak with her. And I’ll put a stop to these lessons.” 

“Really?” Jace asks excitedly. 

Aemond nods. It is done then. Alicent would not deny Aemond if he were to ask. 

Satisfied, Jace sits in a chair and points to the marks on his neck. “Help me cover them up if you don’t want my mother to go after your mother.”

Aemond is putting the finishing touches on his neck when Aegon saunters into the room. He takes one look at Aemond’s face so close to Jace’s neck and snorts loudly. 

“And I’m supposed to believe you two aren’t fucking,” he says. 

Aemond draws back and levels a glare on his brother. “You would do well to refrain from speaking such accusations and risk sullying Jace’s reputation.” 

Jace stands and tugs Aemond’s sleeve. “Forget him. Let’s go, Aem.” 

Aegon rolls his eyes, mocking Jace under his breath. “Let’s go, Aem.” 

“You’re so childish,” Jace says in annoyance, crossing his arms. 

Aegon opens his mouth but snaps it shut. His eyes glint with suspicion, and he walks over to Jace. He presses down onto Jace’s neck none too gently, and Jace yelps, jerking away from him. 

Aegon shakes his head. “And you two are still pretending to be so innocent!” He sneers at Jace, disgust written all over his face. “Mother is right - you are a slut.”

Jace blinks back the tears that spring to his eyes. What Alicent said was far worse, but Aegon has a way of getting under his skin. Perhaps it’s because they were once so close, and Jace had admired him so much. Whatever it is, Aegon’s words always hurt him like no one else’s. 

“Go to hell, Aegon,” he says, then spins on his heels and leaves. 

A large ball is thrown for Viserys’ silver jubilee. Lords and ladies from all the realm are invited to attend, and they show up with gifts and praises. Westeros has never flourished better than under Viserys the Peaceful, and they wish him a long, healthy reign. 

While many of the lords are most eager to speak with Rhaenyra, the future alpha queen, Jace notices that just as many are clamoring for Aegon’s attention, notably Lord Unwin Peake and Lord Jon Roxton. It is insulting how no one even spares him a second glance. Luke, future Lord of Driftmark, has more people surrounding him than Jace, and Jace is so angry that he could set the entire Red Keep on fire. 

He ought to have a feast for Vermax with these people. 

“With eyes that burn so brightly, it’s stupid that there are even people who doubt that you are a dragon.”

Jace startles and turns around, finding a woman watching him with interested eyes. She has a braid down her shoulder, and while Jace has never seen her before, he immediately knows who she is just from the way she speaks. 

“Lady Sabitha Vypren,” he greets. She is one of the few alpha noblewomen in the realm, and he’s heard people praise her prowess with the sword. Even Daemon speaks of her highly. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Jacaerys,” Sabitha says, walking over with two glasses of wine. She offers one to him, and it’s such a mundane but kind act that Jace finds himself speechless for a few seconds. “I’ve heard many things about you.”

“There are many strong opinions, I’m sure,” Jace says dryly. 

He immediately regrets saying it, but Sabitha throws her head back and laughs loudly. 

She raises her cup to him. “A man who can poke fun at himself - I like it.”

They drink to that. 

Sabitha sweeps her gaze across the room and shakes her head. “These lords show astounding audacity, but I’m not surprised.”

“They don’t think I have the right to sit on the Iron Throne. They even doubt my mother, and she’s an alpha.”

“Alphas have it better than omegas, but alpha women are still never as good as their male counterparts. Alpha men are still smarter, stronger, braver.” 

“And what do you think, Lady Vypren?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. The king has declared Princess Rhaenyra as his heir, and my house has sworn fealty to her. But if you are genuinely interested in my thoughts, I think a female ruler has been a long time coming. Between the princess and Aegon, one is a clearly superior option. And you, my prince - I hear you are to be credited for the improvements in the sewage systems as well as mediating the conflict between House Blackwood and House Bracken. These lords have their heads too far up their asses, but even they can admit that even though your fifteenth nameday is still half a year away that you’ve already proven yourself a worthy heir to the Iron Throne.” 

Jace has heard people saying that as well, but Sabitha is being kind. She doesn’t add the last line usually tagged on to that claim - “If I were an alpha.”

“They are idiots.” 

Jace bursts out laughing, not caring that more than a few heads turn. 

“Oh, there you are.” 

The widest smile blossoms on Sabitha’s face at the sound of the voice. She moves to the side, revealing Alysanne Blackwood, whom Jace recognises from his visits to the Riverlands. 

Her face brightens in recognition. “Prince Jacaerys, pardon my manners. I did not realise you were here.”

“It’s good to see you again, Lady Blackwood.” 

“I was just telling Prince Jacaerys what scoundrels these lords are, Aly,” Sabitha says. 

Alysanne folds her arms. “And so they are. I wish Benjicot was here to set an example. He was looking forward to the silver jubilee for moons, but the poor lad fell sick the day we set out.” Alysanne smiles at Jace teasingly. “He was, of course, most excited to see you again, my prince.” 

Jace flushes despite himself. He isn’t oblivious to Benjicot’s affections, but Benjicot reminds him too much of Joffrey, and it doesn’t help that they are the same age as well. 

“What’s this about?” Sabitha asks, waggling her eyebrows.

“Benny has been smitten since the moment Prince Jacaerys arrived on Vermax and put all the squabbling alphas in their places with just two sentences.” 

“A pity he isn’t here,” Sabitha says. Her voice softens. “I’m happy you were able to make it, Aly.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Alysanne says, and Jace has a feeling that she isn’t talking about the ball. 

It is possible, of course, for alpha and omega women to wed, but it is still customary among the noble houses for an alpha woman to marry an alpha man. Jace is pretty certain that it is their families standing in the way. The last he heard, House Vypren was seeking a marriage alliance with House Frey. 

Jace spends the rest of the night chatting with Sabitha and Alysanne. He learns so much from both of them, both about being an alpha woman and omega woman. It reminds him of Alicent saying that he’s the only lucky omega in the whole realm. Listening to Alysanne speak,  he can’t help but think it’s the truth. 

Alicent was a highborn lady from a noble house before she became queen. But despite growing up in luxury, her father still sold her off as if she were no better than cattle. The same fate awaits every noble omega.

“I can only hope my father does not find me a terrible match,” Alysanne says. She doesn’t sound resigned or upset. It’s just the way things are. Omegas don’t choose. Though she does spare Sabitha a meaningful look, which the alpha returns with a tight smile.  

At the very least the noble omegas will be provided for even if they have no say in who their matse are. The lowborn do not fare as well. Some are sold to pleasure houses while others are kept as mistresses on the side, existing solely for the use of an alpha lord. 

“Maybe things will change when Princess Rhaenyra comes into power,” Alysanne says, but it’s only when she looks at Jace that the hope comes alive in her eyes. “And maybe things will truly turn around for the better when you become king, my prince.” 

For the first time in his life, Jace feels the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He had never thought about what him becoming king could mean to other omegas. He had never thought about it beyond it being his birthright. He loathes the thought that Alicent might be right, that he has been so privileged and doesn’t even know it. 

It comes time for Viserys’ speech, and he gives thanks to the kings that come before him. He talks about alpha strength and alpha determination and alpha perseverance. 

“And this great legacy will one day be carried on by my alpha daughter, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen!” he says, grinning brightly at her before continuing with his speech.

It is the tenacity of Targaryen alphas that keeps the realm strong. Alphas are protectors, and no one protects the realm better than Targaryen alphas. 

In all this celebration of alphas and their greatness, he makes no mention of Alicent, the omega who has been by his side for the past two decades, who had given up her youth to give him heirs. The person who has served him tirelessly, who continues to take care of him even now as he grows ill and who raised his children. 

As if sensing Jace’s gaze on hers, Alicent glances in his direction and meets his eyes from across the room. The corners of her mouth lift, but her smile is not wicked as it usually is. It’s tired and perhaps even sympathetic. She tilts her head towards Viserys and tilts her glass towards him as if saying see, history has no place for omegas.

But the future will. 

Jace will make sure of it. 

It doesn’t even take Jace that long to have an epiphany. He’s tucking himself into bed when the answer comes to him. 

The North. 

The North is the key to everything.

Including and not limited to his personal success.

He knows all the problems that plague King’s Landing and Westeros as a whole, courtesy of being Viserys’ cupbearer and being privy to all conversations in the council room. 

He knows Viserys is complacent at best, happy enough that things are peaceful. His speech earlier that night says as much - he’s happy with the way things are and wants them to continue for decades if not centuries. He’s not interested in change, not in any meaningful way. He made Rhaenyra his heir yet does nothing to show that he’s serious about his decision. He’s content to keep her by his side, a momentum of his late wife, and hasn’t even sent her to Dragonstone to rule.

The council members are equally invested in maintaining things the way they are. Why would they rock the boat when the current situation allows them to line their pockets and advance their interests? As Master of Coin, Tyland Lannister has kept taxation low for the noble houses, offsetting it by suggesting they increase the North’s tribute money instead. All the while the Lannisters grow richer and richer. 

Jace jumps out of bed and heads straight to the library, too excited to fall asleep despite the long day. He reads up everything he possibly can on the North. He reads and reads and reads…

A hand shakes his shoulder, and he jerks up, swatting it away. 

“Ow, Jace,” Luke whines.

“Oh, it’s you,” Jace says. He wipes the drool from his mouth and stares down at the heavy tome. Ah right, he was reading about the history of the North before falling asleep. “Shoo. I need to work.”

“Have you been here this whole time?” Luke asks incredulously, taking a seat opposite him. 

“Yes,” Jace says. “What do you want?” 

Luke stares at him. “Do you even know what day it is?”

Jace rolls his eyes. “It’s the night of Grandsire’s silver jubilee.”

“That was two days ago!” 

Jace frowns. His stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, shocking Luke who straightens like an arrow. 

“That would explain why I’m starving,” Jace says. 

“The maids said you snapped at them when they tried to talk to you.”

“I do not remember that,” Jace says. He does, thankfully, remember everything he has read. 

Jace looks at his brother pointedly.  

Luke drags himself out of the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll ask the kitchens to make you some food.”

“Can you ask them to make me-”

“Walnut bread with honey, yes.”

Jace grins. “That’s why you’re my favourite sibling.”

“I know.” 

After eating and taking a quick nap in his bed, Jace is reinvigorated. He might have stayed up for another night or two - he isn’t sure - but he finishes the first draft of his proposal. It’s rough and contains a lot of information that needs to be checked again. Most of his plans probably aren’t even realistic, but Jace is pleased with it. 

This is the beginning of something big - he can feel it in his guts.

He’s holding the future in his hands. 

Chapter Text

The Red Keep, 129 AC

The proposal becomes Jace’s life. 

He can admit that when he first embarked on this endeavour that it was more (mostly) about himself. Viserys’ speech had rubbed him the wrong way, and he felt an overwhelming need to prove himself. And what better way to do that than achieve what no other Targaryen rulers have done?

The North has remained out of their reach, and it is a failure that looms over their legacy. Aenys I didn’t have the leisure to do it, Maegor I had too many problems of his own to contend with, Jaehaerys I was too busy restoring peace to the realm, and now Viserys I didn’t want to do anything that could threaten that peace (including ensuring his daughter becomes the next ruler). 

Jace doesn’t want a war either, of course not. But there are other means to persuade the North, and he has them all listed down in his proposal. 

It has also become clear to him that omega rights were not a concern for his ancestors, much less something of priority. The Good Queen Alysanne made several reforms, and they certainly were the first step in the right direction, but things have stagnated since she passed. And as queen, no matter how much Jaehaerys loved and respected her, she still didn’t wield as much power as him. If he had really valued her counsel, Rhaenys would be sitting the Iron Throne now instead of Viserys. 

This has grown into something bigger than himself. No doubt he still stands to personally benefit greatly if his plan were to be enacted, but it would improve the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, both in the South and in the North. Granted, he isn’t aware of the true situation in the North now, but he knows they struggle to make their yearly tribute payment. That would go away the moment they bend the knee. 

He talks to the omega maids, exchanges letters with Sabitha and Alysanne about his ideas, and probably becomes the person with the most knowledge of the North outside of the North. Baela is his eyes and ears in King’s Landing, keeping him updated of everything that happens, because Rhaenyra doesn’t like letting Jace out without a retinue of soldiers, and he needs to be discreet. It is a miracle he managed to let him fly out to the Riverlands to mitigate the Blackwood-Bracken conflict. 

In recent affairs, King Cregan Stark has just married Queen Arra Norrey, a beta noble lady. Jace had helped select the gifts sent by the crown, and he hopes that they appreciate just how much thought he had put into them. 

He ensures the robes are in House Stark’s grey and white, not Targaryen black and red, like Otto had suggested. The idiot wanted to make a show of Targaryen supremacy and all that. Jace also makes sure the dire wolves sewn onto the clothes are actual dire wolves and not the pathetic small wolves they see in the South. 

He knows that wool is valued more than silk and Myrish lace and so vetoes Jasper Wylde’s suggestion to send only them. The man is taking a cut of the profit, and he’s stupider than he appears if he thinks Jace doesn’t know that. Can Jace actually veto him? No. Did he do it and Viserys let him anyway? Yes. And of course he still sent them some silk and lace. It is criminal to not share such comfortable materials when Jace knows firsthand how good they are. He can’t sleep in anything but silk.  

He pens them a heartfelt letter congratulating them. He wishes them a long and happy marriage and that the old gods bless them with many children to continue the lineage of House Stark. See how he mentions the old gods and not the Faith of the Seven? He’s respecting their religion. 

This is also the tiny first step in letting them know the crown sees them for who they are and appreciates them. 

Politics aside, he’s sincere in his wishes for the King and Queen in the North. 

He even hassled Tyland Lannister into reducing the North’s tribute payment for that year by twenty percent. Twenty! 

He might or might not have suggested that Vermax had developed a taste for human flesh when he had refilled Tyland’s drink. But to be fair, Tyland left him with no choice! All he had to do was say ‘yes’, but he kept opposing Jace. What an idiot. 

Unfortunately, the most important thing that Jace learns from working on the proposal is that he’s surrounded by idiots. 

It takes a year before he’s confident enough to even show it to anyone. The first person he shows it to Baela, of course, and she has nothing but praises for it. Her reaction makes him happy, but she’s biased. She’s the only one who has been privy to his and knows first hand how hard he has laboured over it, but her approval gives him the courage to show it to Aemond.

“Well?” Jace asks nervously. “What do you think?”

Aemond hums, leafing through the pages of the proposal again. His face is painfully void of any expression, and Jace is forced to guess what he is thinking. Aemond finally sets the papers down and smiles at Jace. 

“It’s a good proposal, if a little too ambitious.”

“Too ambitious?”

“Your plans cost a lot of money, and you can’t take all of it from the treasury.”

“Oh,” Jace says. He indeed did not consider that. They’re the rulers of the realm; what’s a little money? “Well, I can ask Grandsire Corlys for it.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to bankrupt Driftmark?”

Good point. Jace is going to have to find other means. 

He corrals Daeron in the dragon pit one day when his uncle is coming back from a ride on Tessarion.

“You Hightowers are a religious bunch, aren’t you?” Jace asks. 

“As religious as any other House,” Daeron replies, shifting uncomfortably from where Jace’s backed him up against a wall despite being a whole head taller. 

“Right,” Jace says flippantly. “And are the Hightowers willing to put their mouth is and provide financial aid to the needy?”

“We’ve always done that,” Daeron says indignantly. He narrows his eyes. “What’s this about?”

Jace finally takes a step back and allows Daeron some room to breathe. “I have a plan, but I lack the money to carry it out properly.”

“And what plan is this?”

Jace grins. “The Northern integration plan.” 

Daeron agrees to talk to his uncle, Ser Gwyane Hightower, once Jace has finalized his plans and has the backing of the small council. 

“But between you and me, my uncle’s probably going to agree,” Daeron says with a shrug. “He’s always been concerned about the situation of the smallfolk, and you have a good plan. If it becomes reality that is.”

“It will.” 

Jace doesn’t care how long it takes to convince the small council - he will. (Or he will feed them to Vermax when he becomes king or perhaps even when Rhaenyra becomes queen; unlike her father, she holds no fond feelings for the existing members.) He doesn’t even if he has to go to the North himself to talk to King Cregan and Queen Arra - he will. (He, unfortunately, cannot feed them to Vermax. The proposal, unfortunately, hinges on them bending the knee, so their continued existence in the realm is essential.)

Rhaenyra once promised him that she would change the world.

He will. 

The next people he seeks out are his grandparents. He needs the adults’ opinions. He needs to know if what he’s proposing is ambitious or simply unattainable. He’s more nervous than he expects to be while waiting for them in their chambers, and he almost knocks the entire tea set over in his rush to greet them when they arrive. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Corlys asked. “Are you feeling quite alright?” 

Jace nods, waving his worry away and greets both him and Rhaenys with a hug each, letting their familiar scents calm his nerves. Corlys rubs his wrist against his neck before he lets him go, clearly sensing just how distressed Jace is.

Rhaenys’ eyes narrow. “Did that wretched boy Aegon try to do something to you again? If he did, you can tell us. We will deal with him.”

“No,” Jace squawks. “Nothing like that! It’s this!” 

He practically shoves the papers into their faces, and while they read through it, he spends the whole time pacing the room and watching their faces carefully. Corlys nods and smiles here and then, but Rhaenys’ expression is inscrutable. Jace resists the urge to whine and make them comfort him. It might work with Rhaenyra and his uncles, and perhaps it’d work on Corlys, but Rhaenys will not tolerate that nonsense.   

You’re an omega, Jace, not an invalid. 

So harsh. 

He was twelve. He had fallen and scraped his knees. It had hurt. 

“Well?” Jace asks, trying his best to not snap when they finally finish reading the proposal.

“It’s excellent,” Corlys declares. “As a concept, I fully support it, but you need to flesh it out more. You want to move King’s Landing’s residents to the North? How? You need to sort out the logistics. The devil is in the details, my boy.”

“It is a good plan, Jace,” Rhaenys says. “But I fear you may face opposition regardless. You want to be careful in how you go about this. Secure your allies first before officially bringing it up. You want to recruit maesters to your cause - do you already have a list of names in mind?”

Jace shakes his head, so grateful that he decided to seek his grandparents’ counsel first.

Rhaenys smiles, taking his hand in hers and patting it. “You might want to start there.” 

Jace tracks down the maesters specialising in the North and wonders why he never thought to seek them out in the first place. He’s quickly humbled by the gap in their knowledge, and when he casually inquires what they thought about visiting or even staying in the North, they light up like Sevenmas has come early. 

Next, he looks for Ser Harrold Westerling. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is no less loyal to Rhaenyra as Viserys, and so that loyalty extends to Jace as well. He also has a soft spot for Jace given the prince’s omega status. Jace usually hates it when people treat him differently because of his secondary gender, but he’s fine with it when it’s Ser Harrold because he knows it comes from a place of genuine concern and condescension. Jace asks him about the prisons and their criminal justice system and starts to wonder if taking the black might be an option. He makes a note to ask the maesters about the Wall the next time he meets with them. 

The proposal is shaping up to be something grand, and Jace grows prouder of it every time he works on it. 

“Look,” he tells Vermax, lifting the papers up to her. “If I can move twenty percent of King’s Landing’s residents to the North, it’ll probably eradicate homelessness! I have to do something about home ownership though…” 

Vermax growls in response, and Jace snatches the papers back down before she can get her wet snout on it. 

It’s becoming increasingly clear that the main thing that stands in his way might be the North itself… 

“I wonder what kind of person King Crega is…”

Vermax roars in response, shaking her tail. 

“Yes, you’re right… he’s still an alpha after all… So nasty…” 

The Red Keep, 130AC 

At sixteen, Jace has had five years to contend with being an omega. It’s not so bad. Not really. He would even go as far as to say that he enjoys it. Coming from a family full of alphas, there’s only so much Jace can learn from them about being an omega. He’s had to figure out a lot of things for himself, but he’s always been a quick learner, and there are books on all sorts of subjects.

He’s just come from a meeting with the maesters and is feeling really good about it, but his day is promptly ruined when Criston Cole steps into his path. 

The audacity to show his ugly mug and ruin Jace’s mood. 

“Get out of my way, Krispin,” Jace says. 

Cole is the reason Harwin is dead. If it wasn’t for stupid Cretin Colon, Harwin wouldn’t have been dismissed from the City Watch, he wouldn’t have had to return to Harrenhal, and he wouldn’t have died. Aemond tells him Larys Strong is the one responsible for Harwin’s death, but it doesn’t lessen Crispy’s crime. They both have to die. 

Cole turns his nose up, something he would never dare to do even to Luke and Joff for all that he despises them. Jace considers clawing his eyes out, but that’ll only get him labelled as hysterical, and that won’t do when his entire styling is sweet and rational. Besides, there can only be one hysterical omega in the family, and he has no interest in unseating Alicent. 

When he kills Cole, it’s going to be long and painful. 

And Vermax is going to have a treat! 

“The king requires your presence in the council chamber,” Cole says. 

Jace sweeps past him and stops him from overtaking him.

“I know the way,” he says, taking satisfaction in knowing that Cole hates to let him take the lead. 

The guards announce his presence, and he walks into the room to find the adults deep in discussion. It doesn’t seem to be a regular meeting, for of all the council members, only Grand Maester Mellos and Rhaenyra are present. What raises Jace’s eyebrows is that both Daemon and Alicent are there too. They loathe to be in each other’s presence and tend to do everything they can to not have to breathe in the same air, so to see them willingly be in the same place is nothing short of alarming. 

“What’s going on?” Jace asks. 

“My dear, sweet boy,” Rhaenyra says. Her eyes turn cold when she sees Cole standing at the door. “You may leave, Cole.” 

“Respectfully, I am sworn to the queen, and I am to remain wherever she is.”

Alicent fidgets with her fingers, and Rhaenyra levels a hateful glare on her. 

“This is a sensitive topic, Your Grace.” 

“Get the fuck out, Cretin Cunt,” Daemon says, not even looking in Cole’s direction. 

“You may leave, Ser Criston,” Alicent says, sparing him a fleeting glance. 

“As you command, my queen.” 

Jace tries not to roll his eyes, but Daemon has no qualms doing so openly and enthusiastically. 

Jace notices that there are no other guards in the room as well. He turns to Rhaenyra who’s watching him with fretful eyes. 

“Mother?” 

“Your first true heat is coming. You need an alpha,” Daemon says without preamble. 

Rhaenyra opens her mouth but shuts it. Alicent lets out a mortified squeak, and Viserys sighs heavily.

“Oh,” Jace says, taking a seat next to Daemon as he wonders what’s the best way to go about this. He hasn’t even thought that this required a discussion. The alphas have had omegas serving them during their ruts for years. Why should anything be different for him? “And?”

Daemon smirks, nodding at him approvingly. 

“And?” Alicent repeats, giving him a thunderous look. Jace shifts slightly closer to Daemon. Truly deranged, that one. Aemond did not only save his sanity when he put a stop to the useless omega lessos; he saved Jace’s life too. Alicent places both hands on the table and pushes herself up, all the while glowering at Jace. “Do you have any idea about the severity of the matter of which you speak? Do you understand that what you seek to do is an offence to the gods? Have you learnt nothing from our time together?” 

If Jace thought that she wasn’t all there before, he’s convinced that she’s lost all her marbles now. He scoots even closer to Daemon, and her eyes follow him like a hungry predator. 

“What is the problem?” Daemon asks, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

Alicent directs her ire to him. “What is the problem?” 

“Are you going to be repeating everything we say all day?” Daemon asks. 

“He is an omega! It is improper for him to bed anyone who is not his alpha!” Alicent snaps. 

Jace’s mouth falls open. He turns to Rhaenyra, offended. Rhaenyra walks over to him and strokes his hair in comfort. Jace looks at Viserys and does not like the conflicted look on his grandsire’s face. What is there even to think about? Viserys should be on his side and shut this down immediately. 

“Father, the queen’s concerns are not valid,” Rhaenyra says. “It is as natural for omegas to have alphas assist them during their heats as it is for alphas to have omegas serve us during ruts.”

“Alphas and omegas are different,” Alicent says through gritted teeth. “Alphas do not run the risk of being impregnated by an omega. What are we to do if he becomes with child?”

“Moon tea exists,” Daemon says. “We administer them to the omegas who serve us.” 

“It is highly inappropriate,” Alicent says. “No lord will want to marry a soiled omega.” 

“Soiled?” Jace squeaks in a very unrefined manner, but he couldn't care less about how he sounds when the things he’s hearing are so ludicrous.  

Alicent scowls at him for daring to open his mouth. “An omega’s virtue belongs to their alpha. Any lord you marry will expect you to be pure and untouched.” She doesn’t let him speak, turning to Mellos. “Grand Maester, I believe you have some insights into the matter as well.” 

Mellos looks highly uncomfortable to be the centre of attention. He clears his throat and says, “Chastity is a virtue, and-”

“And doesn't apply to alphas the same way it applies to omegas?” Jace asks angrily. He is so sick of the double standards that he has been forced to endure for an entire lifetime. 

Mellos clears his throat again. Jace hopes he chokes on air and dies. 

“Omegas are expected to keep their innocence until they are married,” Mellos says. “I would have to agree with Queen Alicent that it is most unbecoming to allow Prince Jacaerys the company of alphas during his heats.” 

“This is ridiculous!” Rhaenyra shouts. 

“You’ve always thought yourself above any rule, but I will not allow the same audacity to be extended to your son!” Alicent screams.

Daemon joins in the shouting, and Mellos starts defending himself. Jace tunes them all out. None of them matter. The only person whose words actually matter is Viserys, and his eyebrows are scrunched together in a way that Jace doesn’t like. Viserys meets his eyes and offers him a small smile that has no warmth. Jace feels a sense of foreboding. 

“Enough!” Viserys says. 

They all fall silent and turn to him. 

“Father-” Rhaenyra begins, but he holds his hand up to silence her. 

“Queen Alicent and Grand Maester Mellos’ concerns are valid.”

“Father, you cannot-”

“Quiet, Rhaenyra! Let me finish.” 

Rhaenyra shuts her mouth but shoots daggers at Alicent with her eyes. The queen doesn’t seem too bothered, smiling victoriously as Viserys continues. 

“Alicent is an omega, and she knows best about what is suitable for omegas,” Viserys says. “As alphas, we should defer to her on this matter. And there is of course the matter of the Faith and Jace’s future prospects to think about.” He locks eyes with Jace. “I am doing this for you, my boy.”

Jace forces himself to smile. “Thank you, Grandsire.” 

Viserys nods, beaming at him with pride. Jace has never felt a stronger desire to trash a room. He wants to shove everything off the table and throw a chair out the window, and Alicent and Mellos after it.

Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak, but Daemon touches her arm and gives a slight shake of his head. 

After Viserys dismisses them, it takes all of Jace’s will to keep everything in and wait until he’s in the confines of his room to throw a tantrum. 

“It’s not fair!” he yells, whirling around to face Rhaenyra and Daemon. “Fuck Alicent!” 

“Oh darling,” Rhaenyra says sympathetically. Daemon has a contemplative look on his face, and Rhaenyra frowns at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Viserys mentioned no alphas, but no one said anything about toys,” he says with a shrug. 

“It’s not the same,” Jace whines even though he has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Maybe a toy and a knot will feel exactly the same, but that’s not the fucking point. The point is how unfair everything is. Jace is on the verge of bursting into tears. “Isn’t there something in the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allows me to have an alpha? Mother, this is so unfair! I want an alpha!”

But he knows there isn’t. There have been no Targaryen omegas, so there’s nothing in that doctrine that is useful for him.

“Oh my darling boy.” 

“We could try smuggling an alpha in,” Daemon murmurs. 

Rhaenyra snorts. “We won’t succeed.” 

Jace hates to admit that she’s right. “Maybe I should just use the alphas already in the Red Keep,” Jace says darkly. “Aemond will help me if I ask him.”

He can already imagine the horror on Alicent’s face, and the idea becomes even more appealing to him.

“Absolutely not!” Rhaenyra says. 

“What? You prefer me to bed Luke or Joff then?” Jace asks, folding his arms. The thought disgusts him, but the only reason he says it is because he knows Rhaenyra hates it even more than him.

“No,” Rhaenyra says firmly, looking slightly green in the face. 

Jace crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the ground. “Toys it is then!”

He doesn’t even get his toys during his first heat, because Alicent the bitch finds them and confiscates them and then explicitly tells Viserys that this isn’t allowed either. And his grandsire agrees to it, because of course he does. This is clearly Alicent’s retribution, and Jace wishes he could - well, he wishes he could do a lot of things to her, none of which can be repeated in polite company. 

The only thing that gets Jace through his heat is his anger.

At least Vermax commiserates with him and screeches well into the night, doing her best to disrupt everyone’s rest. It sets off a chain reaction with the other dragons joining in. He hears this later, but on day three of his heat, which was also the worst of it, Vermax escaped the dragon pit and chased Alicent on the castle grounds when she had returned from the sept. Aemond and Daeron had to jump on Vhagar and Tessarion to guide her back into the dragon pit.

When he finally emerges from his bed chambers five days later, everyone looks as haggard and tired as he feels. 

At their family dinner later that night, Joffrey lays his head on the table and stomps his feet. “Can’t we just get Jace an alpha next time? I can’t take this every time he goes into heat!” 

No. The answer is no. 

Because Alicent is a bitch. 

“Jace, my darling,” Rhaenyra says, greeting Jace with a hug and kiss the day after his heat. It’s his first council meeting after his heat, and he knows it’s because of that that the council members refuse to meet his eyes when they enter the council chamber. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he says. He wants to shrug her off, but his anger fades when he feels her stomach bump against him. He feels guilty for disrupting her rest when she’s pregnant, but she doesn’t mention one word of complaint. He makes a note to tell Vermax to tone it down until after Rhaenyra has had her baby. “How’s the baby?”

Rhaenyra strokes her stomach contemplatively. A tentative smile blooms across her face. “I have a feeling it’ll be a girl this time.”

“You’ll name her Visenya then?” Jace asks.

Rhaenyra nods happily like a little girl herself. Jace’s anger fades away, replaced by his love for his mother. He wishes for her to have the daughter she has longed for for so long. 

He hugs her and wonders what it would be like to have a child of his own. It’s both terrifying and exciting now that it’s a possibility. But he wouldn’t have to worry about that for a long time. There’s no one he’s interested in, and he wants to focus on learning how to properly run the realm before even entertaining thoughts like finding a mate, much less having children. 

“There is one more thing I’d like to discuss,” Tyland says at the end of the next council meeting. To Jace’s astonishment, he turns to him. “Prince Jacaerys is of marriageable age now, and as the Targaryens’ only omega, I believe that Your Grace is most concerned that he’s wedded into a good family.”

Rhaenyra clears her throat. “Prince Jacaerys is the heir to the Iron Throne, and, as such, anyone who marries him marries into our family.”

Viserys clasps his hands together. “What Rhaenyra says is correct.”

“Pardon my mistake,” Tyland says, and even though Jace knows he didn’t mean to cause offence in that way, he still hates him. Because it’s even worse when they so blatantly disregard his claim for the throne. “As the Princess Rhaenyra says, Prince Jacaerys is the heir and should only marry a man who’s most suitable to be the future king consort.” 

“That is indeed an important matter,” Viserys says, stroking his chin. 

Jace looks at Rhaenyra in a panic. 

“I myself was only wedded at seventeen years of age,” Rhaenyra says. “There is no rush. We must be most strict in our picking of a mate for Jace.” 

Viserys nods, much to Jace’s relief. 

“I would actually like to put forth my nephew, Loreon Lannister, as a match for Prince Jacaerys,” Tyland says. “He’s two years older than the prince and has already become a worthy knight.”

Viserys hums, and Jace can see that he’s seriously considering the proposal. It’s no secret that he wanted Rhaenyra to wed Jason Lannister, and now he might sense another chance to join their houses with Jace and Loreon. 

But Jace knows Loreon Lannister. If Jace marries him, there is no way he would be willing to give up his inheritance and play second fiddle to him. He would expect Jace to give up the throne and be the Lord Consort of Casterly Rock. That is clearly what Tyland Lannister is angling for, but Jace doesn’t know what he thinks he’s playing at.  

Eventually, though, Viserys shakes his head. He laughs, low and mocking. 

“Aren’t we being a bit eager now, Tyland?” he asks. “Do you really think your nephew is the best match, nay, even worthy of Jace?” 

“My grandson’s hand is not so easily given,” Corlys says, offering Jace a wink. “It is to be earned.” 

A wide grin spreads over Viserys’ face. “I have an idea.” 

One moon later  

Jace slides off Vermax, patting her head and laughing when she pushes into his touch. He leans his head against her and sighs. 

“I don’t-”

“Where have you been!” 

Jace winces as Rhaenyra storms into the dragon pit. 

“Mother,” he says, “I took Vermax out for a ride.”

“On today of all days, my darling?” she asks, opening her arms for him to walk into. 

“Especially today of all days,” he mumbles against her shoulder. 

It is the day of Viserys’ great idea - the royal selection. Despite Viserys being the one who brought it up, Jace has no doubt that Alicent was the one who put the thought in his head. And that Otto was the one who put it in hers. The day Alicent has an original thought is the day pigs fly. 

Rhaenyra pulls away and cups his cheek, her gaze sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Jace. I tried to talk him out of it.”

“I heard you weren’t successful in talking him out of your own,” Jace mumbles. 

“No, but at least you won’t have to tour the lands looking for a suitable consort,” Rhaenyra says. She beams with pride and delight. “No, any lord seeking the hand of my precious son must travel to King’s Landing. It is the least they can do. You’re the only Targaryen omega, a blessing bestowed upon us by the gods.” 

Jace forces himself to smile. If there’s one thing his mother is good at, it’s bending reality to her will. How she had managed to convince the entire realm that his designation is not only a good thing but a divine ordination, he would never know. And while he’s no longer ashamed of who he is, he’s not naive enough to believe the words she impresses upon him either. He’s acutely aware of the world they live in, and it is not one built for omegas. 

It remains to be seen if the people will truly accept him on the Iron Throne. 

If they will accept Rhaenyra herself as queen. 

Jace understands Viserys’ concerns. Finding a suitable match is not only for his benefit; it is for the stability of the realm as well. If he marries a lord from a strong house, it would help to secure his claim and that of his mother’s. 

He thinks it’s all so stupid. They have dragons. Who the fuck is going to oppose them?

They can feed all dissenters to their dragons. It’s honestly not a hard matter, much less a problem. 

Luke is waiting for them outside the dragon pit, and he looks as glum as Jace feels. 

“Must we go through with this?” Luke asks. “It is disgusting. I’ve seen some of the lords who have arrived, and they’re older than grandsire!”

It’s adorable that Luke is so appalled by this. It also shows Jace just how sheltered he is. Jace might be a prince, but despite his mother’s overprotectiveness, he’s ventured outside the Red Keep and visited enough places to know what it’s like to be the object of lust. To the alpha lords, he will always first and foremost be an omega before a prince. 

When they see him, they want to fuck him, not pledge fealty to him. 

Jace spares Luke the truth of it, but Rhaenyra’s lips thin, and he knows that even being an alpha doesn’t completely shield her from the woes of being a woman. 

Jace links his arms with hers, not needing to say anything to let her know that he’s there for her, and she smiles at him gratefully. She pats his hand, and they both watch Luke fondly as he rants about the indecency of it all.

“They should've at least capped the age!” 

Luke fumes all the way to the throne room, where Viserys and the rest of his family are already waiting. Jace is surprised to see Aegon there as well. Usually that particular uncle has much better things to do than participate in boring family affairs. Viserys must have demanded his attendance. 

“This seems like a lot of fuss for a small thing,” Alicent remark, eyeing the decorations with disdain. 

Rhaenyra drapes an arm over Jace’s shoulders. “Jace is the only omega from our family,” she says as if that is explanation enough.

“Indeed,” Viserys says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. He grins at Jace. “Nothing but the best for you, my boy.” He gestures to where he has set up another chair before the Iron Throne, and Jace takes great joy in Alicent’s face souring. “You will sit there, Jace.” 

Once everyone has taken their seats, Viserys issues the command to let the lords in. 

There are a lot of people, much more than Jace or even Rhaenyra expected. When the first geriatric man steps up, Rhaenyra puts her foot down immediately.

“No,” she says simply. 

He’s sent away without even being allowed to utter a single word, and anyone over the age of thirty are also asked to leave. Daemon takes Luke and Joffrey with him to pull them out of line, and Joffrey does it with great enthuasiasm, showing them the door and the finger. 

Jace hides his laugh behind a hand. 

Loreon Lannister is next, and he approaches Jace with a self-important swagger. He’s probably one of those alphas who think they’d be better at dragon riding than Jace if only they had a dragon. Unfortunately, he is good looking, and Jace feels something stir inside him when Lorean smiles. 

He spreads his arms wide open as if Jace has been waiting for him this whole time. “And so we meet again, Prince Jacaerys.” 

And just like that Jace’s attraction to him disappears. 

Jace flutters his eyelashes. “Who are you again?” 

Loreon rears back in indignation. “I am Loreon Lannister!”

“Who?” 

“I’m the son of Lord Jason Lannister.”

Jace makes a confused face. He looks questioningly at Luke, who mirrors his confusion and shrugs exaggeratedly. Joffrey turns away and chokes on his laughter. 

Lorean is almost red in the face now. “I am set to inherit Casterly Rock after my father!”

“Oh, Lord Lannister!” Jace says, letting fake delight appear on his face. “It’s been so long. I couldn’t recognise you. You’re so grown up now.” 

He rakes his eyes appreciatively over Loreon’s body, and Loreon puffs his chest up, completely forgetting that he’s angry at Jace. He smirks victoriously as if Jace bestowing him a bit of attention already means that Jace has given him his hand. 

All alphas are the same when they’re trying so hard to impress an omega. 

It’s pathetic. 

“And you’ve grown even more beautiful, my prince,” Loreon says.

Jace giggles shyly, letting his gaze fall to the ground. “That’s so kind of you to say.” 

“If you choose me as your consort, my prince, your days will be comfortable and swathed in luxury. I will give you the finest goods the realm has to offer, and you will lack for nothing,” he says.

While he’s speaking, Jace looks up and surveys the room, and he lets his eyes linger on the person standing to the left of Loreon. As expected, Loreon picks up on it immediately; the idea that Jace’s attention could even for a second be on someone other than him is too unimaginable. When he sees that it is Sabitha Vypren , an alpha woman, his frown only deepens. Jace picks the exact moment Loreon turns back to him to cast an appreciative look at Sabitha and bites his lower lip. She grins back at him, and he pretends to be flustered, looking back at Loreon.

“Sorry, what did you say, my lord?” he asks.

“Don’t bother with the likes of him, my prince,” Sabitha says, stepping up and ignoring the protests from the lords in line. “He can offer you all the riches in the world, but that’s merely overcompensating for something he lacks between his legs. He won’t be able to serve you as well as I can.”

“Oh my, Lady Vypren,” Jace says, fanning his face and doing his best to look flustered. 

“How dare you!” Loreon says, drawing his sword. 

Sabitha reaches for hers immediately, as if she has been waiting for a moment like this all along. Their swords clash loudly, and Otto steps forward, yelling at them to stop. His words fall on deaf ears, and it takes the guards to pull them apart. 

Sabitha raises her arms in surrender and makes a show of sheathing her sword. She throws Jace a wink as she’s escorted from the room, while Loreon continues to protest and calls for Jace to reconsider. Tyland slams a hand over his face and shakes his head. Jace waves to Loreon in faux sadness before suppressing a sigh and turning to the next man. 

“I’m Benjicot Blackwood, my prince.” He rubs his hands nervously together, and Jace offers him a smile. He likes Benjicot even if he doesn’t return his affections. “It is such an honour to meet you again.”  

Jace is gracious with Benjicot, telling him that he’s a good man and that he’ll make his omega wife, whoever they are, very happy someday. It’s a clear but kind rejection, and even though Benjicot looks crushed, he accepts it with grace.

“Thank you, my prince,” Benjicot says. And then loudly, for everyone to hear, he adds, “I would have been more than honoured to serve as the king consort by your side when you become king, Prince Jacaerys, but whoever you choose as your mate is the luckiest alpha in the realm.”

Thank you, Jace mouths to him, and Benjicot beams brightly before excusing himself. 

In another world, perhaps Jace would’ve picked him, but he’s already decided that he isn’t going to pick anyone today. Benjicot is really the only suitor whose feelings Jace cares about, and so he employs the same tactics that he used with Loreon on the rest of them. The day is not even halfway through when Viserys calls a stop to the whole affair. There have been too many fights, too many injuries, and now even one dead. 

So sad. 

When the room has cleared out, Jace pouts and gets to his feet. “I’m sorry, grandsire,” he says. “I can’t help but feel that it is my fault.”

It is absolutely his fault. He incited every single fight with a lingering gaze or a lick of his lips. However, it is not his fault that alphas have such large but frail egos. He chances a glance at Rhaenyra and bites back a smile at the sight of her beaming with pride. He’s certain he’s never seen her look so proud of him before in her life. 

“You are not to be blamed, my boy,” Viserys says. 

“He was making eyes at the men!” Alicent says. “It was most inappropriate.”

Jace gasps, offended, and Rhaenyra draws him protectively into her arms. 

“How dare you!” Rhaenyra says. “Father, the queen makes a vile accusation.” 

“Cease your ramblings, Alicent,” Viserys says angrily. “Do you not know the harm that your words can cause? I will not allow you to put Jace’s reputation at risk like that.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Alicent insists.

Aemond takes his mother by the arm and gently tugs her to him. 

“Please, Mother,” he says quietly. Alicent opens her mouth to protest further but falls silent when Aemond shakes his head. 

Helaena and Daeron approach her from the other side, looking at her pleadingly too, while Helaena takes her hand. 

“Let us take our leave,” Aemond says. 

Alicent sighs heavily and nods. 

As they turn to leave, Jace says sweetly, “Thank you, Uncle,” and maybe he shouldn’t have, because he did think that there was a chance that it would set Alicent off, but he also didn’t expect her to lunge at him again, this time in full view of everyone. 

“Hey!” Luke says, shoving Rhaenyra and Jace behind him, while Joffrey stands defensively at Jace’s side. 

“You stay away from my son, you whore!” Alicent screams.

“Alicent!” Viserys and Otto cry in horrified unison. 

“No,” Alicent says, shrugging Helaena and Aemond’s hands off. “No! He has all of you wrapped around his finger, and you don’t even see it! This is why omegas can’t be trusted. Such conniving and promiscuous creatures should never be allowed to sit the Iron Throne! It will throw the realm into chaos!” 

It is the first time Jace hears what Alicent truly thinks of omegas, and he can’t say that he’s surprised. Even apart from the nonsense she spouts during their lessons, she’s been trying to dispute both Rhaenyra’s and his claims for years, insisting that a woman and omega could never rule. Jace is pretty sure that it is her and her loyalists who started the rumour that he and his brothers are bastards. He feels a mix of disgust and pity for her but ultimately can’t be bothered to care. She has always been responsible for the shackles around her wrists. 

“You’re just like your mother,” Alicent says, venom dripping from her voice as she addresses him again. “But I won’t let you sink your claws into my son just like she did into her uncle’s!” 

“I was perfectly happy with it, and I think Aemond would be too,” Daemon chimes in, unhelpful as ever, though he’s standing near enough that he’d be able to stop Alicent before she even gets anywhere close to Rhaenyra or Jace. 

“Uncle!” Aemond protests. 

“Cretin!” Alicent yells. 

“Enough, Mother!” Aemond says. “Come with me. Please.” 

Alicent glares at Jace and Rhaenyra hatefully but eventually allows her children to pull her away. He’s going to have to apologise to Aemond for that later. He’s told him many times to not rattle his mother, but it is hardly Jace’s fault that Alicent is so easily riled up. 

Aegon follows his family quietly, but not before shooting Jace a cryptic glance. Jace ignores the chill crawling down his spine; Aegon is just trying to get under his skin as usual.

“It’s been a long day,” Viserys says tightly. “Let’s get some rest and reconvene for dinner.” 

“You are horrible, and you absolutely did everything on purpose,” Baela says later, wagging a finger, but her proud smile conveys her true feelings. 

Jace grins at her. “Oh, it is not over yet, my dear Baela, and I need your help.”

Her eyes shone with excitement. “And how can I help you, dear cousin?” 

Baela keeps a look out for him while he secretly visits the lords, telling them how sorry he is that things turned out the way they did, and that he would love to see them again sometime soon. A drawn-out touch here, a promising smile there, and Jace has made sure that they all had nothing but praises for his beauty and wit by the time they leave King’s Landing. 

“I must thank you for your assistance earlier, Lady Vypren,” Jace says. 

“No thanks is needed, my prince,” she says. “I am more than happy to serve you.” 

“I hope Lady Blackwood wasn’t upset,” Jace says. 

Sabitha grins broadly. “Trust me - Aly was more than amused. She said that I should’ve been more forward with you, if only to watch Lannister lose his fucking head.”

They share a laugh. 

“There are those who wish for nothing more than to see you and your mother sit on the Iron Throne,” Sabitha says, her voice turning solemn. Jace straightens, attentive to her words. He’s heard the whispers all his life, but this is the first time someone is saying them directly to his face. “House Vypren and House Blackwood will always be behind you. You need only call, and our banners will answer.” 

Jace clasps her arm. “Thank you, Lady Vypren. Your loyalty will be remembered.” 

By the time Jace has finished talking to the last of the lords, the sun has begun making its descent. It was tiring, but it was a necessity. An alpha with a bruised ego is the most dangerous being in all of the realm, and Jace has to ensure that each and every one of them are soothed. 

And there’s also another reason why he has to do this. 

His suspicion is confirmed when he spots Otto talking to the lords as they board their ships. He has no doubt that Otto is trying to undo Rhaenyra’s efforts, trying to spread the idea that he’s a cursed Targaryen - first for being an omega and then for causing bloodshed wherever he goes. 

It’s a good strategy. Otto has the right idea, as always. If only he wasn’t using it for evil. Being a beta, he’s more level-headed than the alphas. But he’s not an omega. While Alicent might be a bitch, she’s right about this - Jace does know how to wrap alphas around his fingers.

Otto wants to make him the least worthy contender to the Iron Throne; Jace has just ensured that he’s become the most desirable omega in the whole realm. To be fair, he already is, but this makes him even more so. Word is going to get out that the lords lost themselves over his beauty, that they were all so enamoured by him that they fought for his death with one person even losing his life for it. Even if Loreon Lannister, the one person he didn’t visit, spreads vile rumours about him, he’s only going to look like a spurned alpha who was rejected. 

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter that the alpha lords don’t see a warrior when they look at him; it is to their own peril for being so blind. Either way, they will bend the knee, and that is all that matters. 

Baela shakes her head as they watch the last of the ships sail off. Jace expects a sardonic remark, but she takes his hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. 

“It’s unfair,” she says quietly. “That you have to do so much.” 

Jace’s breath hitches, and he doesn’t realise how utterly draining the entire day has been until then. He leans against her, suddenly feeling exhausted. 

“Thank you, Baela.” 

Things calm down after the royal selection is over, and Jace is more than happy to return to working on his proposal. It is the one thing that brings him joy these days, and he spends all his free time in the library. He’s heading back to his rooms after spending a whole evening there one night when he hears Luke and Joffrey’s voices. The doors to Luke’s bed chambers have been left ajar, and the chattering leaks into the hallway.

“- might even be able to do it tonight,” Joffrey is saying as he pushes open the door. 

His brothers freeze when they see him, and Jace notices that they’re both dressed to go out despite the late hour. 

“And where are you two going?” he asks, folding his arms. 

“Just hanging out with the others in tow-“ Joffrey yelps when Luke elbows him in the stomach. 

Jace frowns. “Others?”

Joffrey opens his mouth to answer, but Luke elbows him again. Jace turns his glare onto Luke who stiffens. 

“You want to answer then?” Jace asks.

“It’s nothing,” Luke says. “Joff and I are just heading out into town for some fun, that’s all.” When Jace’s eyes, Luke quickly tacks on, “Not that kind of fun.” 

“What kind of fun?” Jace asks.

Luke begins to squirm, so Joffrey answers again. “You know drinking, watching fights, entertainment - alpha sort of- Why do you keep hitting me!” 

Joffrey crosses his arms, fuming at Luke, who looks like he wants to murder him. 

Jace understands the situation immediately. He knows who the others are. The other alphas. Baela, Rhaena, Aemond, and Daeron. Halaena would also go with them if she were interested in those kinds of things. She would most definitely get an invitation at the very least. 

“Have fun,” Jace says tightly. 

“Jace,” Luke says. Jace wants to ignore him and go back to his room, but he’s always had a soft spot for his siblings, especially Luke. It makes him feel worse when he sees the absolutely devastated look on Luke’s face. “It’s just- Mother’s always said- We worry about your safety.”

A retort is on the tip of Jace’s tongue, but he swallows it and consumes the fire instead. He even manages to smile. “Of course. Good night, Luke, Joff.” 

“Why do you look like that? Jace is fine,” Joffrey says, doing a terrible job of whispering. 

“You idiot,” Luke hisses. 

Jace quickens his steps and turns the corner, unwilling to hear more. He doesn’t know which of his brothers he’s angrier at. Joffrey for being so utterly clueless about everything and not even trying for one second to imagine what it must be like to be in Jace’s position, or Luke who’s aware of Jace’s feelings but who wants to avoid hurting those feelings by keeping things from him. Neither of them think to invite him along to their clearly frequent outings. What? Do they think Jace can’t handle violence? Do they think their roguish alpha activities will offend Jace’s delicate senses? 

Jace’s tears are blurring his vision, and he doesn’t even notice Alicent until he almost runs into her. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” she says, startled. 

Great. Just the person he wants to see. No doubt she’s going to use this opportunity to ridicule him and get her revenge for what happened during the royal selection. Jace looks to the side and quickly wipes his tears away. 

“Queen Alicent,” he returns. 

She stares at him for an unnervingly long moment. He resists the urge to wipe his eyes again and steps aside to let her pass when she starts walking again. She presses something into his hand as she does so, and he’s too surprised to do anything but take it. It’s her personal handkerchief. 

Jace dabs at his eyes with it. Her lavender, caramel scent, which he usually finds too sickeningly sweet and overpowering is muted and calming. A feeling of comfort and security wraps around him, reminding him of the way Harwin used to make him feel, which is ridiculous because their scents are nothing alike, but Jace spins around, overcome with the urge to call out to her. Alicent pauses, as if waiting for him to, but he can’t find it in himself to do it, and she starts walking again, disappearing around the corner. 

He washes the handkerchief and returns it the next day, and they never once speak of the matter.

Chapter Text

The Red Keep, 130 AC

“Goodnight, sweet girl,” Jace says, kissing Vermax goodbye after a night flight.  

He’s passing through the throne room when Aegon comes stumbling in, reeking of alcohol and whatever whores he’s fucked that night. Unlike the other alphas who dutifully obey Viserys’ order that they are all to wear scent patches at all times in the Red Keep, Aegon constantly flouts the rule. That’s hardly the only rule he regularly breaks, but it is the only one that Viserys will definitely punish him for. Still, he flounces around without it.  

Jace wrinkles his nose and plans on ignoring Aegon, but Aegon snatches his arm when he tries to walk past him.

“Nephew,” he slurs, his alcohol infused breath hitting Jace in the face and making him grimace. “My favourite nephew. It’s my birthday! Won’t you celebrate with me?”

Jace holds his breath and breathes out through his mouth noisily. “It seems like you’ve already celebrated, Uncle.” 

Aegon places an arm around Jace and slumps onto him, and Jace grunts under the heavy weight. “That doesn’t count! I want to celebrate with you! At least wish me a happy nameday.”

“Happy nameday. Get off me.” 

“Jace,” Aegon whines, and it’s so jarring to hear his name from Aegon’s mouth when he’s called him nothing but “bastard” or “omega” for years. More recently, it’s been “slut” and “whore”. 

“Aeg,” Jace returns with a huff.

Aegon grins. “I knew a part of you still cared about me! Now, let’s go celebrate!” 

He starts dragging Jace in the direction of the gates, but Jace digs his feet in. “You’re drunk. I’ll get you back to your room. Come on.”

Aegon whines and complains all the way, but at least he lets Jace lead him back to his bedchamber. He collapses face first onto his bed, and Jace rolls his eyes. He feels bad leaving Aegon like this, so he yanks Aegon’s boots off his feet before leaving. Except Aegon’s hand circles around his wrist and stops him from doing so.

Jace turns around to find Aegon looking at him sadly.

“Jace.” 

“What is it, Aegon?”

“Why did you stop talking to me?” Aegon asks. Jace blinks in surprise. “You spend all your time with Aemond and Daeron and hardly even spare me a glance. Why do you hate me so much?”

Jace is flabbergasted. “I don’t hate you, Aegon.” 

“Don’t you?”

Jace sighs and sits down next to Aegon, sighing when Aegon drops his head onto his shoulder. 

“No, I don’t. I thought you hated me. You’re the one who’s always calling me names.”

Aegon mumbles something under his breath.

“What?” Jace asks.

Aegon lifts his head, looking so much like a kicked puppy that Jace feels sorry for him. “I- Mother says- Omegas are- You- You weren’t supposed to be an omega.”

Jace looks down at his lap. “Yeah,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s admitting this out loud and to himself. “I’m not supposed to be.” 

Things would be so much easier if he were an alpha. He’d marry Baela, and they’d rule the Six Kingdoms together. He could see it. They would have been happy. Maybe it is still possible. 

“Jace,” Aegon says again, bringing him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

Jace blinks in surprise. “Pardon?”

“I’m sorry,” Aegon says. Jace wonders if he’s dreaming. Aegon leans in close to him, looking more sober than he did even just a few seconds again. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I wish we could go back to the way it was before.”

Jace doesn’t want to forgive Aegon - does Aegon really expect him to forgive him so easily after all the years of name calling and bullying? - but he’s always had a soft spot for this uncle. He sighs and leans against him. “Fine. I’ll forgive you, Aeg.” 

Aegon pulls back and grins. 

Then he leans forward and kisses Jace. 

Jace sputters and pushes him away. “What the fuck?” he asks, wiping his lips. 

“What do you mean?” Aegon asks, sounding genuinely confused. He tries to kiss Jace again, but Jace pushes him away. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jace demands. 

“You were the one throwing yourself at me,” Aegon says accusingly. 

Jace squawks indignantly. “I was not!” 

“Why did you come into my bedchambers then? You know it’s not appropriate for omegas to be alone with alphas.” 

“I was trying to help you, you ingrate!” Jace gets to his feet. 

There’s an angry glint in Aegon’s eyes now. “Mother’s right - all you omegas do is play with alphas’ feelings.” 

“I said that I would forgive you, not that I would sleep with you! What’s wrong with you? And I take it back! I don’t forgive you! I don’t even know why I bother with you. Honestly!” 

Jace takes a step towards the door and yelps when Aegon yanks him back by his hair and throws him onto the bed. His scalp stings, and Aegon crawls on top of him when he tries to get up. Aegon’s eyes are wild and full of lust, making Jace recall his first pre-heat none too fondly. 

“Get off me,” Jace says. 

Aegon takes a wrist in each hand and pins them to the bed. 

“Everyone else was too blind to see it, but I saw it too. Mother was right - you were making eyes at every alpha in the room during the royal selection,” Aegon says with a sneer. He presses against Jace, and Jace feels him growing hard with increasing fear. 

“Get off me!” Jace yells, struggling futilely beneath Aegon. It should be easy to push Aegon off him, especially since his uncle is inebriated, but Aegon’s pheromones are overwhelming his senses and making him feel disoriented. 

“None of those swines deserve you!” Aegon caresses his cheek, his touch surprisingly gently. “Don’t you see, Jace? You belong to me.” 

Aegon leans down and claims his lips again. Despite his instincts yelling at him to give in to the alpha, Jace bites down on Aegon’s tongue when he shoves it into his mouth. Aegon pulls back with a curse. 

“You bitch,” he snarls. “I’m going to put you in your place, bastard. You don’t belong on the Iron Throne; you belong on my knot. You’re my whore, Jace, just a hole for me to fuck whenever and wherever I want, and it’s high time you learn that.” 

Aegon’s heavy scent of tobacco and rum spice presses down on Jace as insistently as his hard cock pokes into Jace’s abdomen. It is the first time in Jace’s life that he’s felt scared of an alpha. 

“Get off me! Please! Aegon! Stop this!” 

“Not so strong now without your daddy or Aemond here to protect you, huh,” Aegon goads, taking a nipple between his fingers and twisting it harshly, causing Jace to cry out. He groans. “I can’t wait to fuck you. You say you haven’t been fucked before, have you? Your cunt is going to feel so good and tight around my knot. I’ll break you in, make you a real omega.” 

The doors slam open. Aegon looks up with a growl, and then he’s thrown off of Jace. 

“What are you-” Aegon’s voice is cut off, and there’s the distinct sound of a fist colliding with his face. 

Jace sits up and sags in relief when he sees who it is, though the feeling is short-lived. His stomach drops; of all people, he never wants his younger siblings to see him like this. 

“Luke!” Jace yells. 

Luke looks up at Jace’s voice, and Jace’s eyes widen in horror when he sees that his knuckles are bruised and bloody. Aegon’s face is a mess, and he can barely form words as he warbles helplessly on the floor. 

Luke stands up and kicks Aegon in the ribs before climbing onto the bed and gathering Jace in his arms. He looks at Jace, Jace tenses, knowing that he looks like a mess. He can’t see himself, but his lips feel swollen, and his curls are out of place. He hates to imagine what Luke is seeing - a frail omega who can’t protect himself. Jace waits for the disgust to show on Luke’s face, but there’s only anger and concern. 

“Fuck,” Luke says, and Jace doesn’t know if he’s still feeling disoriented from the remnants of Aegon’s pheromones lingering in the air or Luke using such language. “Did he-” Luke cuts himself off and doesn’t meet Jace’s eyes. In a lower voice, he says, “Did he touch you?”

When Jace doesn’t respond immediately, Luke curses again. “I will castrate him.”

Jace grabs Luke’s arm before he can approach Aegon; he is genuinely afraid that Luke might kill him. He doesn’t care about Aegon; Aegon can go to hell, but he doesn’t want Luke to be punished. 

“Nothing happened,” Jace says firmly. 

“Don’t lie to me, Jace,” Luke says angrily. “You might think that you have to protect me because I’m younger than you, but I’m only a year younger than you! And it’s an alpha’s job to protect an omega.” 

Jace smiles, remembering Laenor’s words that he had imparted to Luke. He brushes Luke’s hair away from his face, and the anger slowly fades from Luke’s face. 

“You’ve protected me my whole life,” Luke says hoarsely. “Why won’t you let me protect you too?”

“What are you talking about?” Jace asks, pulling Luke into a hug and stroking his hair. “You protected me when I first presented, and you’re still protecting me now.” 

Luke hugs Jace around the waist and rests his head on Jace’s shoulder. He’s so big now, towering over Jace and twice as big as him, but when Jace looks at him, all he sees is still his little baby brother. 

But Luke’s all grown up now, and he needs to start treating him like an adult. 

“He kissed me,” Jace says quietly. Luke growls, but Jace holds him to him tightly and doesn’t let him go. “It didn’t go any further than that - I promise. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.” 

Luke wrenches himself free this time. “Jace-”

“For my sake,” Jace says quietly but firmly. “I don’t want to talk about what happened tonight ever again. You know that it is not alphas who bear the blame in such situations.”

Luke looks confused, and- oh , he doesn’t know. 

He shakes his head. “Mother and Daemon-”

“Don’t tell them.” Jace grasps Luke’s hand, and Luke stares at their joined hands with an uneasy expression on his face. “For me, Luke. Do this for me. Please. Promise me.”

Luke exhales noisily but eventually gives a curt nod. “But if he touches you again, you tell me straight away, and I will fucking kill him - do you understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Luke.”

Luke sighs again and gets to his feet. “Can you stand?”

Jace nods, though his legs are wobbly when his feet touch the floor. He holds onto Luke and takes a few moments to ground himself. Luke checks the hallway to ensure that it’s empty before gesturing to Jace to follow him. They use one of the many secret passageways to get back to Rhaenyra’s wing of the Red Keep, and Luke sees Jace to his chambers. 

“Good night, Luke,” Jace says, but Luke remains standing at his bedside worriedly. “What is it?”

“Can I sleep with you tonight, Jace?” he asks. “Just like when I was younger and had nightmares.” 

Jace rolls over, and Luke smiles, climbing into bed with him. For a moment, they were just two small boys again, sharing a bed and exchanging secrets, talking late into the night. Luke snuggles close to Jace, and it’s a little ridiculous given how big he’s gotten, but Jace still wraps an arm around him and holds him close. 

“Sleep well, Luke.”

“Good night, Jace.” 

Aegon’s fight with Luke reaches the adults, and Alicent throws a fuss, demanding that Luke be punished. First it was Aemond’s eye and now it’s Aegon’s face. Who’s next? Daeron? 

More than once, Luke appears to be on the verge of breaking down and telling everyone the truth, but he stays true to his word and makes no mention of Jace’s involvement that night. Aegon, surprisingly, keeps his mouth shut too. He doesn’t defend himself, nor does he refute Luke’s claims that it was just an argument that became too heated, never mind that Aegon has a broken nose, swollen eyes, and multiple bruises on his face while Luke doesn’t even have a scratch on him. 

Both Aemond and Daeron defend Luke, saying that Aegon probably said something to instigate him, but the quarrel between Alicent and Rhaenyra becomes so bad that Rhaenyra declares that she can no longer live in the same place as Alicent and moves their entire family to Dragonstone. 

“It is time for me to do my duties as Princess of Dragonstone,” she says when Viserys protests. 

Jace is happy to move far, far away from the Red Keep. He wants to wipe the incident clean from his mind and ensure that it never sees the light of day. 

Living at Dragonstone becomes the most peaceful two years of Jace’s life. He’d live there his whole life if he could and finds comfort in the fact that he would at least be able to move back here when he becomes Prince of Dragonstone. 

It makes recruiting allies to his cause harder, but he flies to King’s Landing once a moon with Rhaenyra and Daemon to attend the small council meetings so he’s kept abreast with the affairs of the court and realm. He spends two years covertly doing this, and the number of people who have expressed an interest in helping him is honestly more than he thought it would be. 

He knows that he has to tell Viserys, Rhaenyra, and Daemon his plan sooner rather than later, but he’s spent so long working on it by himself (with Baela, Aemond, and Luke’s occasional help) that the stakes have become too high. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to take it if they say no now. 

And even if they agree to it, there’s still the biggest challenge of all - convincing the North that this is a good idea. 

News about King Cregan Stark is sparse. All Jace really knows is that the alpha king is six years older than him and has already been sitting on the Ice Throne for eight years. The only letters he’s received from King Cregan is a thank-you note for the wedding gifts and another one informing the crown about the death of his wife, Queen Arra Norrey. She had died giving birth to their son, Rickon Stark. 

The thought sends chills running through Jace, as it does every time he hears news of maternal mortality. He knows that he’s expected to give birth to heirs, and he will because it’s his duty, but the prospect of it frightens him immensely. He wonders where and how his mother ever found the courage to bear children of her own after what happened to her own mother. 

Dragonstone, 132 AC

“Well, what do you think?” Jace asks hesitantly. 

Rhaenyra looks up from the papers, unshed tears in her eyes. She stands up, having to use the table to get to her feet with how big her belly is getting, and walks over to him. She hugs his head close to her chest and peppers kisses on top of his head. 

“Mother,” he complains but doesn’t have the heart to push her away, definitely not in her very pregnant condition. 

“It is perfect, really,” Daemon says. “I have nothing to say.” 

“My perfect boy,” Rhaenyra says, still pressing kisses into his hair. “My brilliant, smart, perfect boy.” 

“How long did you spend on it?” Daemon asks, holding the papers up. “This is clearly not your first draft.”

“I started it during Grandsire’s silver jubilee,” Jace says. Dryly, he adds, “I was inspired by his speech.”

Daemon snorts in amusement, and Rhaenyra gasps as she finally pulls away from Jace. 

“Four years, my darling?! I am in constant awe of you,” she gushes. 

“Mother,” Jace says, but he can’t help but smile widely. 

She cups his cheek. “I am so proud of you.” 

“I had help,” Jace says. “I talked to Grandsire Corlys and Grandma Rhaenys, and also several maesters and omega maids. Lady Sabitha and Lady Alysanne were most instrumental as well.” He looks up at Rhaenyra hesitantly then at Daemon. “Do you think Grandsire will agree to it?”

Daemon at Rhaenyra, and Jace turns back to his mother. Her lips curve into a smile, and she pats Jace’s hair gently. “You’ve done all the hard work, my darling. You can leave the rest to mommy. I’ll make it happen for you.” 

Jace sighs and leans into his mother’s touch, feeling like a large weight has been finally lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, Mommy.”  

It is a peaceful morning in Dragonstone when the raven arrives. Jace knows it is bad news from the thunderous expression on Rhaenyra’s face.

“What is it?” he asks, holding a sleeping three-year-old Visenya to his chest. 

Joffrey looks up worriedly from where he’s holding Aemma who has only been born a moon prior. 

“It’s a letter from the queen. Apparently, Luke’s legitimacy as Heir of Driftmark has been called into question.”

“This is treason,” Daemon says, slamming his hand on the table and startling Aegon III at the table. 

“And personal,” Joffrey says. “That bitch has had it out for Luke since forever!” 

“Language, Joff,” Jace and Luke say at the same time, and Joffrey rolls his eyes. Aegon pats his arm and tries to comfort him, and he offers his younger brother a smile. 

Viserys II clutches Jace’s robes, looking up at Jace with big, worried eyes, and Jace smiles down at him, brushing a comforting hand across the top of his head. 

“We will go to King’s Landing then,” Luke says. His demeanour is aloof, but Jace knows him better than that. He can tell that his younger brother is more affected than he appears to be by the tight grip he has around his cup.  

Rhaena grasps his hand, offering him a smile. “We will go, and we will defend your claim, my love.”

He smiles back at her, and Jace finds himself smiling at them. They’re so young and so in love, and he wishes them to be like this forever.  

“I fear it is not only Luke’s claim they wish to challenge,” Rhaenyra says, now looking at Jace.

“It’s been a long time coming,” Jace says with a shrug. 

“Did that cunt say so in her letter?” Daemon asks.

Rhaenyra shakes her head and hands her husband the missive so that he may read it for himself. He scowls, his face darkening with each word he reads. He mutters under his breath. Aegon crawls into his lap, and Daemon holds him with one hand while pointing out everything he finds offensive, which is practically every other line, to his son. Aegon nods attentively, and Jace shakes his head affectionately. Aegon is every bit Daemon’s son, and Jace adores him all the more for it. 

“Even her handwriting is appalling!” Daemon says, and Aegon agrees, even though Jace is sure that isn’t the case. There are many things Alicent does wrongly; her penmanship is not one of them. Daemon shakes his head and hands the letter to Joffrey who passes Aemma to Luke before taking it. “Look at this nonsense!”

“A challenge to Luke’s claim is an indirect challenge to Jace’s claim,” Rhaenyra says. “She could’ve done this at any time, and she waits till Lord Corlys and my father are both abed with illnesses before choosing to do this. If Alicent is taking the trouble to invite us to King’s Landing, it will not be solely for the matter of Luke’s inheritance.”

“I’ll burn them all,” Joffrey says, rising to his feet. Aegon jumps to his excitedly as well, looking up at his big brother in awe. “Anyone who challenges either of my brothers’ claims will face Tyraxes’ flames.”

“That’s my boy,” Daemon says proudly while Baela nods approvingly and Aegon cheers. 

“And Stormcloud’s!” Aegon says. Stormcloud looks at his rider from where he’s prowling on the table and lets out a tiny screech.

“We have eight dragons,” Baela says. “They’re foolish to challenge us.”

Viserys counts to four on his fingers and pouts. “Twelve! We have dragons too!”

“We do!” Aegon confirms, pointing at Stormcloud.  

“Your dragons are too young to count,” Rhaenyra says with a laugh.

“Aemma’s is literally still an egg,” Joffrey points out.

“But they’ll grow up to be very strong,” Luke says, much to Aegon and Viserys’ delight. 

Visenya stirs awake and blinks blearily up at Jace. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Jace says.

She rubs her eyes and stretches with a yawn before slumping against Jace’s chest again. “Why is everyone so noisy? What’s happening?”

Jace meets Rhaenyra’s eyes, and she nods. 

Jacaerys brushes Visenya’s hair away from her eyes and smiles. “We’re going to King’s Landing, my dear.” 

The doors to the throne room open, and their arrival is announced. Jace meets Aemond’s eyes from across the room and smiles back when his uncle bestows a warm smile upon him. He immediately feels Alicent’s scowl and suppresses a sigh. The queen has always thought it his quest to seduce his uncle and that he has specifically chosen Aemond because he is her favourite son. 

The truth is that Alicent has nothing to worry about. And Jace might enjoy watching her squirm and tormenting her with his “crass behaviour” as she so loved to label it, but he has assured her multiple times since then that he and Aemond harbour no feelings for each other. For some reason, the idea that they might have a purely familial bond is so beyond her that she would rather choose to believe in the lie she had conjured for herself. 

The hair on the back of Jace’s neck stands, and he knows that Aegon is watching him even without having to look in his direction. He makes a point of it actually and places a hand on Luke’s arm when Luke growls low in his throat. 

Otto stands atop the dais, looking down upon Jace and his family as if the Hightowers were the rulers of the realm and not them. Joffrey scoffs loudly, and Jace places his other hand on his arm to calm him. He did wonder if it was better to leave Joffrey in the nursery with their younger siblings but knew that Joffrey would never consent to it. 

“So arrogant,” Joffrey says. 

Otto opens his mouth to speak. “Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” 

Vaemond Velaryon, of all people, comes forward. It makes sense in an instant why Otto assumes he has the upper hand, if he has the support of House Velaryon.

Luke stiffens, but Rhaena touches his arm gently. 

As Vaemond lays out the case for his claim to Driftmark, the look of superior righteousness on the Hightowers’ faces become more and more apparent. They hold themselves with the gait of victors even when the outcome has yet to be decided. Joffrey is right - they really are arrogant. 

Rhaenyra is about to make her statement when the doors open again, announcing Viserys’ entry. He appears even more frail than when Jace had last seen him a month ago, but even though his steps are slower with a heaviness to them, he still walks with his back straight, looking every bit of the regal king that he is. 

Surprise flickers across Alicent’s face, but Otto does not seem perturbed by the king’s sudden appearance. 

Viserys pauses to greet Rhaenyra with a hug and pats Daemon on the back before ascending the steps to the throne. He almost trips over his own feet, a sign of his failing strength, and the crown slips from his head. Daemon is by his side in the next second, picking up the crown and returning it to his brother’s head. Viserys nods to him in thanks before making his way up the rest of the steps and sitting on the throne. 

“It is to my understanding that this matter has been settled a long time ago,” Viserys says, the annoyance thick in his voice. He shoots Alicent a withering glare that has the queen straightening up and opening her mouth to defend herself, but he silences her with a wave of his hand. “Prince Lucerys Velaryon is the heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” 

Vaemond objects immediately, spewing insults to both House Targaryen and Rhaenyra directly. He points at Luke, practically foaming at the mouth as he yells, “That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine.”

Joffrey’s hand has been on his pommel this entire time, and he would’ve drawn it had Daemon not stepped forward, goading Vaemond to say what is on his mind. 

“Her children are bastards, and she is a whore.” 

Gasps ring out in the throne room. Aemond and Daeron both take a step forward in outrage, but it is Daemon who swings his sword, cutting off Vaemond’s head. Aemond moves immediately to block Helaena from the gruesome sight, while Joffrey edges past Jace to get a closer look. Bloodthirsty, that one. He’d already proclaim that he’ll be the Lord Commander of Jace’s Kingsguard, and Jace knows he’ll fight him if he tries to deny him the position. Not that he would. 

“Disarm him!” Otto yells, but Aemond and Daeron casually step in front of the guards while Daemon makes a show of wiping and sheathing his sword.

The guards carry the body out of the room and quickly wipe the floor. There’s a look of deep disappointment set in Viserys’ features. He raises his hand, about to call the meeting to an end when Otto clears his throat and steps forward.

“Since we are all gathered, there is one matter I’d like to bring up.” 

As he says this, his eyes flicker to Jace. Rhaenyra moves closer to him protectively. 

“What is it?” Viserys asks. 

“While the succession of Driftmark is clear, I fear that the succession of the Iron Throne is not.”

Viserys frowns, creating a deep crater between his brows. “Whatever do you mean? The Princess Rhaenyra will inherit the Iron Throne after me, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon is to inherit it after her. The succession has never been clearer, nor has it ever been so secure.” 

Alicent scoffs silently at that, but Jace catches it. Aemond murmurs something to her, but she snaps at him, and he falls silent. 

“Can I please kill her?” Joffrey asks.

“Of course, my boy,” Daemon says at the same time Rhaenyra says, “No, my dear.” 

Rhaenyra shoots Daemon a scolding look, and he shrugs. 

“In time,” he relents. 

“The Princess Rhaenyra is an alpha and will no doubt lead the realm well,” Otto says. He turns and looks at Jace, and Jace feels the eyes of everyone in the throne room land on him. “But it is Prince Jacaerys’ claim that I worry about. There has never been a Targaryen omega, much less an omega ruler. All the lords of our great houses are alphas, and I have my concerns about whether they’d be willing to pledge fealty to an omega king.”

“Are you implying that the lords will commit treason, Lord Hand?” Rhaenyra asks, narrowing her eyes. 

“I am merely expressing my concern for the stability of the realm,” Otto says. 

Jace had hated being an omega once upon a time. Of course he was going to, having spent his whole life preparing to be an alpha. But he’s now spent more of his life being an omega, and while that means he now has actual proof that life is, in fact, easier as an alpha, that doesn’t mean he wants to be one. 

He knows everything there is to know about being omega. 

And, more importantly, he knows everything about being an alpha too. 

He knows their self-control is weak at best, and he knows exactly how to exploit that to his advantage, especially when he learns that most, if not all, alphas will do whatever he wants just by pushing out his lower lip or fluttering his lashes. 

If that fails, he knows they’re aggressive and territorial, and so knows exactly what to say or do to make them think whatever they’re doing is their own idea. 

He knows alphas have egos bigger than their inflated knots and knows how to stoke their flames to pit them against each other. He doesn’t have to destroy them; he can just watch them destroy each other. 

But at the end of the day, no matter how smart he is, no matter how worthy he is of the Iron Throne, and no matter how much he’s able to bend alphas to his will, this world still belongs to the alphas. Rhaenyra might have once promised to change the world for him, but she still has her own fight as a woman. So he’s always learnt how to pick his battles and how to accept his losses. 

Alphas will always be bigger and stronger than him, so he’s had to learn to be fast and use his surroundings to his advantage. But their egos are also a very convenient weapon for him. They tend to underestimate him, and when they realise he’s as good as them if not better, they lose their temper and subsequently control of the fight. 

Alphas will always reserve the right to not use scent patches and put the responsibility of propriety onto omegas. Though it doesn’t actually matter if an omega dutifully places scent patches on all their scent glands and dresses modestly. If an alpha wants an omega, there’s nothing stopping them. The air is always filled with alphas’ pheromones despite Viserys’ best efforts to ensure a safe environment for him, and so Jace has trained his nose to detect the subtlest shift in their moods and pick out the most malleable alpha. 

Alphas will always think they’re more important than him and that they know more than him, even if they’re aware that he’s a prince and next in line to the Iron Throne. So he lets them talk and talk and talk, all the while steering the conversation in the direction he wants it to go and collecting the information he needs from them. 

Alphas will always see him as a sex object first and foremost, and so he learns how to arch his back prettily, jut out his lower lip cutely, and bats his eyelashes teasingly. He’s mastered the art of walking the fine line between innocent and seductive and knows which way to tip depending on the alpha he’s talking to.  

He’s a prince, so he doesn’t think he’ll ever have to resort to actually seducing someone, but he’s nothing if not prepared, and so he sneaks out to the pleasure houses and learns from the best. He studies the sounds they make and tries to replicate them in his room. He observes the way they move their bodies and speaks with them directly to learn the techniques they use to drive an alpha insane. It’s too risky to practise with another person, so Jace secretly purchased sex toys and practises on them - he’s careful not to get caught by Alicent and her goons. Things became a lot easier once they moved to Dragonstone.

It’s not fair. It’ll never be fair this way, but Rhaenyra will change the world for him eventually, and if she fails, he will do it. 

And even if he fails, there’s one thing he will never compromise on, and that’s his ability to choose for himself. 

But even now that’s compromised when Otto opens his wretched mouth and utters those wretched words. 

All eyes are on Viserys. His brows are still pulled together, and he gazes past everyone at a presence that only he can see. 

Look at me , Jace thinks desperately. How can Viserys be making a decision about his entire life and not even bother to spare him a single glance? Look at me, Grandsire, please.  

Viserys’ face breaks into a smile that reaches his eyes. 

“A judicious proposition!” 

When the throne room breaks out in applause and Otto grins smugly, Jace knows there’s only one thing he can do.

He must fly North and treat with King Cregan Stark. 

Chapter Text

It is in the middle of the night when Jace is roughly shaken away. He sits up, and a hand clamps over his mouth to stop him from screaming. It takes him a few seconds to remember where he is, and the fear changes into annoyance when he looks into Sherrit’s amused eyes. Jace would bite his hand if he isn’t so concerned about where that hand has been. 

“Don’t go waking up the whole inn now,” Sherrit says, letting Jace go. 

Jace makes a show of wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and Sherrit’s smile fades. He hauls Jace to his feet, throws a coat at him, and pushes him towards Rickon’s cradle. 

“Get the brat and keep him quiet if you know what’s good for you.”

Jace puts the coat on, deciding that it’s best to play along for now. He considers screaming for help, but despite Sherrit’s warning, he has a feeling that Benjen has bought the silence of every occupant in the place. Most importantly, he can’t risk Rickon’s safety in any way, and who knows what Sherrit will do if he tries to pull that stunt. 

Gently, Jace wraps Rickon up in another blanket before picking him up. Rickon stirs in his sleep but seems to recognise Jace’s touch and settles down quickly. 

Sherrit leads him down the stairs, where Kyle is waiting before the carriage. 

“Where are you taking us?” Jace asks. 

“And if we say we’re taking the kid and selling you off to a brothel, what are you going to do about it?” Sherrit asks. 

Jace bares his teeth and growls. “Try taking him away from me - just fucking try it.” 

Jace doesn’t miss the barest flicker of fear in his eyes, and it is that sliver of fear that broke through that has Sherrit taking a large, threatening step forward towards Jace. “You are all bark and no bite, pup.” 

“You will be begging me to spare your life when Cregan finds us,” Jace says. 

“Cregan, huh,” Sherrit says, and Jace curses himself for slipping up. “I guess that answers my question.” 

Jace decides to play along. “If you let us go now, I’ll ask him to spare your life.” 

Sherrit holds his stomach and laughs loudly, only quieting when Kyle snaps a warning at him. 

“You- You really- think the king cares about you?” Sherrit wheezes. “I knew omegas were delusional, but you might be the craziest one I’ve ever met.”

“Enough,” Kyle says, holding open the door to the carriage. “We mustn’t be delayed.”

That sobers Sherrit up quickly. He shoves Jace in the back and herds him into the carriage like sheep. Jace only allows it to not wake Rickon up, but he’s so angry he could rip Sherrit’s face off. 

Sherrit and Kyle exchange harsh whispers, and it is a small relief that it’s Kyle who climbs into the carriage instead of his cousin. 

The carriage launches into motion, and Jace stares at Kyle until he finally looks at him. 

“Where are you taking us?” Jace asks.

Kyle hesitates. He opens his mouth but shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” is all he says. 

“You will be,” Jace says. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the way he says it or if it’s that he even dares to utter those words, but Kyle takes a second look at him as if seeing him for the first time. 

“You’re no ordinary omega,” Kyle says, but Jace doesn’t know what he means. 

He knows that Cregan didn’t publicise his and Daeron’s visit to the North, but he and Daeron have been to the marketplace and surrounding villages, so there are people who know that they are here. But it doesn’t seem that Kyle is suspicious of his identity, for he merely goes back to being quiet. 

As the ride progresses, the air grows noticeably colder, and the only places north of Last Hearth are Castle Black and the Wall. Jace can’t imagine that Benjen would want to keep them there; the Night Watch is loyal to Cregan. 

So that leaves only the wilderness beyond the Wall. 

Free Folk territory. 

His stomach drops. From what Jace knows, the Free Folk both fear and revere House Stark, but it doesn’t change the centuries of animosity between them. At the end of the day, the Free Folk don’t answer to the Starks. 

“You’re taking us beyond the Wall,” Jace says. 

Kyle starts at his sudden voice. He doesn’t say anything but gives a quick jerk of his head. He twists his fingers but continues to hold his tongue. 

The carriage rolls to a stop. They must have arrived at Castle Black. Benjen will get them in and through - Jace has no doubt about it. At the end of the day, he’s still a Stark. 

The success of Jace and Rickon escaping severely decreases the moment they’re beyond the Wall. It’s now or never. Jace closes his hand around the candle stand that he had snuck into his robes before leaving the inn and inches closer to Kyle. It’s hard to be stealthy with Rickon in his arms, and he almost loses his balance when Kyle suddenly looks at him. 

He startles when he notices Jace much closer than before, and his face lights up in understanding when he sees Jace’s hand hidden in his robes. There’s a split second of hesitation before he schools his face into determination. 

“You can save that for someone else,” he says, nodding to Jace’s concealed weapon. “I don’t know what they plan to do beyond the Wall. Our instructions were to just bring you here.” 

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I was wrong. I should have never gotten involved in this.” 

“What about your daughter?”

“I want her to be an omega like you,” Kyle says simply. 

He opens the carriage door and exits it. Just as he’s helping Jace out, someone turns the corner. 

Jace’s heart thumps in trepidation as he comes face to face with Elric Stark whose eyes widen 

“Pr-” 

“What the hell is going on back there?” a loud voice demands. 

Elric starts to panic, and Kyle pushes Jace. “Go!” 

Jace doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off into the night, tucking Rickon close to his chest and running as fast as he can. He hears shouting and the distinct sound of someone’s bones breaking but doesn’t turn back. The ground thunders behind him, and Jace might be fast, but he’s no match for a horse. Benjen cuts off his path. 

When he hops down, his eyes are blazing with fury. Jace knows that alphas are controlled by their temper; he’s seen them acting out over something as ludicrous as the weather not being what they want it to be, has seen them break tables and chairs when the tea is too hot, and beat up whoever they deem to have crossed them.

He’s still caught off guard when Benjen backhands him so hard that he falls to the ground. He bears the brunt of the impact, making sure that Rickon isn’t hurt, and somehow manages to keep the baby sleeping.  

“Prince Jacaerys!” Elric says, dropping down next to him. “What are you doing?”

“This fucking bitch has given us nothing but trouble the moment he arrived,” Benjen says. 

“Why is he here? I thought it was only Rickon!” 

“Shut up.” Benjen shoves Elric aside and drags Jace up to his feet. Jace is too stunned to react, but he’s still acutely aware of Rickon in his arms, and the baby is starting to awaken. Benjen grabs Jace’s hair roughly and yanks his head backwards so he can look him in the eyes. “Try this again, and you’re going to regret it.” 

Jace spits in his face. It earns him another slap, but it’s worth it. 

“Benjen! He’s Prince Jacaerys Velaryon! What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing!” Elric says. 

Benjen’s lips curve into a vicious smile. “Well, he won’t be a prince for long.”

Jace realises with crackling clarity that it’s no coincidence that he was captured too; Benjen wants both him and Rickon. Sherrit and Kyle may have no idea who he is, but he has no doubt that Benjen left them instructions to kidnap Rickon and “his nanny”. 

“What are you talking about?” Elric asks. 

Benjen doesn’t respond. He rips Rickon from Jace’s arms. 

“No!” Jace says, but Benjen holds him at arm’s length. He cradles Rickon precariously in one arm, and Rickon shifts uncomfortably. 

“Look, I can knock the kid out if I need to,” Benjen says, and Elric pales. “It won’t kill him, but it probably won’t be good for him either. Whether I do that or give him to you is up to you, so what’s it going to be?”

“I’ll go back to the carriage!” Jace cries. “Just give him to me!” 

“Now that’s a good little omega.” He leans down to pat Jace on the head, and Jace resists the urge to knee him in the crotch. When Benjen pulls back, his face is split into the biggest grin. “Not so violent now, are we?” he says mockingly. “Just need an alpha to put you in your place.” 

Assured of his place in the hierarchy, Benjen places Rickon back into Jace’s arms. Jace forces himself to calm down and focus on Rickon. He’ll deal with Benjen and Sherrit and every single fucking person involved in this scheme later, because now he knows for sure that it’s a bigger operation than he initially thought. For now, all he cares about is making sure Rickon is alright. 

“I will knock him out if he wakes up,” Benjen warns. 

Jace rips the scent patch off his neck and holds Rickon’s face close to him, patting his back. He glares at Benjen whose eyes have become dilated, daring him to take a step closer. He knows that he’s not fooling anyone. The alpha can smell the fear in his scent as clearly as Jace can smell the arousal in his. Elric takes a step forward, and Jace quickly shifts his attention to him, but Elric is simply placing himself in front of his brother. 

When Rickon calms down and returns to sleep, Jace places the scent patch back on and turns around, heading back to the carriage. He sees Kyle on the ground next to the carriage, and his blood freezes when he catches sight of his bloody face. Sherrit stands next to him, his fists bruised. 

“He’s your cousin,” Jace says angrily.

“Maybe he shouldn’t have betrayed me,” Sherrit says. He straightens up when Benjen and Elric approach. “What should we do with him, my prince?”

“What can we do with him?” Benjen snaps, and Sherrit lowers his head. “Put him in the fucking carriage and let’s go.” 

“Is everything alright, my prince? Are you sure you don’t need our assistance?” someone asks from beyond the carriage. 

“These pesky criminals are no problem for me,” Benjen says loudly, striding forward and disappearing from view.

Sherrit clamps a hand over Jace’s mouth, and Jace bites back a cry, his bruised cheek throbbing painfully. He shoves Jace and Rickon back inside the carriag, then tosses Kyle’s unmoving body into it as well. Elric enters after, and Sherrit takes Rickon from Jace and puts him in Elric’s arms despites Jace’s protests. He then rips part of Jace’s robes off, securing it around Jace’s mouth and tying Jace’s hands behind his back. 

“You look so much better like this,” Sherrit says with a pleased gleam in his eyes. He pats Jace’s cheek before exiting the carriage. 

The doors barely close before the carriage starts moving again. 

Elric kneels down onto the ground next to Jace. “I didn’t know that Benjen was going to take you too, Prince Jacaerys,” he says, sounding close to losing his mind. “Gods, what have we done, what have we done…”  

Jace glares at him hatefully. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know about Jace; he still knew about Rickon, and he still went along with it. Brandon might not be here, but if Benjen and Elric are involved in this ploy, then Bennard must be pulling the strings from behind the scenes, and Brandon can’t be all innocent either. 

The carriage pauses every now and then, probably waiting for the gates to be opened. Jace knows from the way the carriage starts jerking more abruptly that they’ve entered the lands beyond the Wall. He feels all hope leaving him, especially now that he knows that he’s here for a reason and just accidentally caught in the crossfire. 

Bennard thinks that Jace is here for a marriage pact between him and Cregan. Can it be that he’s so against the idea that he means to get rid of Jace? If so, that’s incredibly stupid and short-sighted. Viserys and Rhaenyra would never forgive the North if anything happened to him. It would start a war. Did Bennard just assume that they wouldn’t care because he’s an omega? 

Or would they try to pin the blame on Cregan? 

The thought that Cregan might be in danger makes Jace feral. An overwhelming need to get back to the alpha, to his alpha rips through Jace, but he takes several deep breaths to calm himself down. He can’t let his emotions get the best of him, not when he still doesn’t know the full picture. The only thing that matters is getting himself and Rickon out of here. 

He tries his darndest to not think about what they have planned for him and Rickon. 

Elric is clearly uncomfortable with this whole ordeal - he looks one breath away from wetting himself. If Jace could just loosen the gag, maybe he could talk some sense into his head. He doesn’t know what good that will do. More likely than not, Elric will just end up like Kyle, and then Jace will be stuck with Benjen and Sherrit. 

Jace nudges Kyle gently with his foot, relieved when Kyle groans feebly. 

At least he’s alive. 

The carriage comes to a stop, and Elric whimpers. “I’m so sorry,” he says just before the doors open. 

Sherrit enters. He walks past Kyle as if he doesn’t exist, even trampling on his hand on his way. Elric looks at Jace hesitantly before exiting the carriage, taking Rickon with him.

“No,” Jace cries, lunging forward, but his voice is muffled, and Sherrit grabs his shoulder and stops him from proceeding. 

The doors close behind Elric, locking Jace in the carriage with Sherrit. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me, omega,” Sherrit says. 

Jace refuses to move away from him despite the fear coursing through his body; he refuses to give Sherrit the satisfaction. He doesn’t think that Sherrit will actually try anything, but his confidence wavers when Sherrit approaches closer and closer. Jace doesn’t even realise he’s backing away until his back hits the wall. 

It dawns on him that the only reason they kept him around was because of Rickon. Now that they’ve taken Rickon, they have no need for him anymore. Even though Benjen is aware of his identity, Jace wouldn’t put it past him to allow Sherrit to have his way with him before subjecting Jace to whatever he has planned for him.  

To his immense relief, the doors slam open. Sherrit whips his head over his shoulder, growling in annoyance. 

“There are still people here,” someone says. Someone else responds, but Jace can’t make out the words. The first person speaks again. “Come out.”

“What?” Sherrit snaps.

“Do as he says,” Benjen says. “Hurry up!”

Sherrit doesn’t question the prince. He kicks Kyle. “What about him?”

“Leave him,” the first person says. “But both of you - out.” 

Sherrit makes a show of dragging Jace out of the carriage, but it’s wholly unnecessary. Jace is more than eager to leave the carriage and look for Rickon. He finds him awake and crying in Elric’s arms, while Elric is trying to sooth him to no avail.  

“Rickon!” Jace calls, but his voice is distorted by the gag. 

It catches Rickon’s attention anyway, and he twists in Elric’s arms. “Mama! Mama!” 

Someone grabs Jace’s arm, and Jace tries to shake them off until he realises they’re trying to free him. When the bonds loosen, he rips the gag off and runs over to Rickon. Elric gives Rickon to him without a fuss. Jace closes his eyes, releasing a sigh of relief as he cups Rickon’s head and holds him close to his chest. 

“It’s alright, baby, I’m here now.” 

“Is he the child’s mother?” a voice asks.

Jace opens his eyes and realises that they are not alone. A group of people dressed in the attire of the Free Folk stand before them, holding torches. Judging by the way they’re behaving, they’re not here by accident. This meeting is premeditated and set up by Benjen. 

“He’s not, and who he is is not important.” Benjen says. “You wanted a strong alpha boy, and here is one as promised. Can you hear how loud he’s crying even in this cold? Strong lungs! He’ll grow into a strong alpha.”

“What do you-” Jace starts.

“Shut the fuck up,” Benjen says. He gives Elric a look, but when Elric doesn’t do anything, he nods at Sherrit.

Sherrit reaches out towards Rickon but yelps when Rickon bites down on his hand. 

“You little-”

“Good boy, Rickon,” Jace coos happily, and Rickon looks up at him with watery eyes, sniffling. Jace wipes his tears away. “I’m here, baby; don’t be scared. You did so well.”

“Mama,” Rickon says, clutching the front of Jace’s robes. 

“Are you sure he’s not the child’s mother?” the leader asks again, frowning at Benjen. 

“The child’s just grown attached to him,” Benjen says irritably. “Do you want him or not? Let me tell you that a strong alpha baby like this isn’t easy to come by even in our lands.” 

“And the omega?” the leader asks, looking Jace up and down like he’s a piece of meat.

“He’s not part of the deal,” Benjen says. 

The leader shrugs. “We’ll take the baby.” 

He nods to one of the women. She walks towards Jace, and Jace backs away from her, holding Rickon protectively to him. 

“I won’t let you take him,” he says.

“Don’t be difficult,” Benjen snaps. “Sherrit.”

Sherrit grabs Jace by the shoulders, holding him in place while the woman tries to take Rickon from him. Rickon screams, holding on to Jace just as tightly as Jace holds on to him. 

“Let go of him!” Jace yells at the woman. He can see the conflict on her face, but she doesn’t let Rickon go. 

“Give us the child,” the leader demands. He turns to Benjen, agitated. “This is a done deal, is it now?” 

“Do you know who he is?” Jace shouts, knowing his assumption is right when panic washes over Benjen’s face. “This is Prince Rickon Stark, son of King Cregan Stark!”

Recognition and fear flash over the leader’s face, and Jace continues.

“The king isn’t going to stop looking until he finds his son, and he’ll kill every last one of you to do it.” 

The wildling turns to Benjen furiously. “We don’t want the crown prince! How did you even manage to kidnap him?”

“You asked for a strong alpha boy! They don’t come stronger than Stark men! It is for the survival of your tribes!” 

“A strong alpha boy, aye - one who’s orphaned! Not the king’s son!” 

“The man you’re talking to is Benjen Stark!” Jace adds helpfully, feeling pleased with himself when Benjen glares at him hatefully. 

The leader is shaking his head and taking steps away from Benjen now. 

“I want no part of whatever family feud you have,” he says angrily, but there’s a hint of fear in his voice when he continues, “We have no intentions to offend King Cregan.” 

Benjen growls at Jace. “You cunt!” 

“Cregan is going to skin you alive,” Jace says acidly. And he’s going to feed him to Vermax, but Jace doesn’t think revealing his identity as a Targaryen to the wildlings is the prudent move here. The wildlings do not hold the Targaryens in as much regard as they do the Starks. 

An arrow whistles past them and lands in the chest of one of the wildlings who drops dead. 

A horn soon sounds loudly, and the wildlings exchange looks of fear. 

“You’ve brought the wrath of Cregan Stark down upon us!” the leader says.

“Take the boy and go!” Benjen says anxiously. “You might as well. Cregan is going to kill you either way!” 

“No,” the leader says. “The king only wants his son back. He won’t bother himself with the likes of us once he’s ascertained his safety.” 

“No, wait-” Benjen says, but the wildlings have already started to retreat. 

Benjen turns his fury on Jace and Rickon. “You’ve ruined everything!” he yells, pointing at Jace. “I was going to be merciful. If you had just given Rickon over to the wildlings, at least the brat might have had a chance to live. I told Father it was just easier to kill him! I’ll just have to do it then!” 

Benjen lunges forward. Jace moves to avoid him and slips on the ice. He turns as he falls to brace Rickon from the impact, and a sharp pain jolts through his just recovered arm. Benjen rips Rickon from him. Jace grabs onto his arm, but he shakes him off easily. 

There’s a dagger in his hand. 

He raises it. 

“No!” Jace yells, scrambling across the ice to get to Rickon. 

A shadow falls across Jace, and Jace would recognise that strong, broad back anywhere. 

“Cregan,” he whispers, feeling so overwhelmed at seeing the man again that tears slip from his eyes. 

The dagger is knocked out of Benjen’s hand. 

The terror is palpable in Benjen’s voice. “Cousin, I-”

Cregan punches Benjen in the face so hard that Benjen crashes onto the ground. He moans in pain, and Cregan leaves him there. 

Cregan turns around, Rickon safe in his arms, and Jace starts crying, feeling so relieved that Cregan found them. All the fear that he has been keeping at bay rushes up, and he starts shaking because what if Cregan had not shown up in time? What if Benjen or Sherrit had managed to have their way with him? What if the wildlings had decided to steal Rickon away anyway, consequences be damned?

Cregan kneels onto the ground before him, and Jace so desperately wants to touch him but knows that he has no right to. He covers his face with his hands and sobs. 

A large coat is placed over him, then Cregan wraps an arm around him, drawing him into his arms, and Jace cries harder. He doesn’t deserve this kindness from Cregan. He doesn’t deserve Cregan. 

“It’s alright, sweetling,” Cregan says, rubbing his back gently. “I’m here.”

“Cregan!” Jace cries out, giving in to his desires. He knows that Cregan is only comforting him because of the situation they’re currently in, but he wants Cregan so much that he’s willing to accept whatever Cregan is offering. 

Cregan presses a kiss into his hair. Jace tries to stop crying, but he can’t. His body shakes with the force of his sobs, and he whimpers when Cregan pulls away. But all he does is remove his scent patch from his neck before tugging Jace back to him. 

Cregan’s scent floods Jace’s nostrils, and he inhales it greedily. His woody scent is accentuated with the spiciness of cardamom and cinnamon mixed with a whiff of fresh snow, and it makes Jace feel so safe and at home. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion washes over him, and he wants nothing more than to surrender to the warmth of Cregan’s strong hold, surrounded by his soothing scent. 

“Jace!” 

Daeron’s voice pulls Jace out of the gentle lull, and he has enough sense to pull away from Cregan even though he really doesn’t want to. But Cregan’s scent is thick on his coat and wraps around Jace as he gets to his feet. 

Daeron skids to a half in front of Jace, almost slipping on the ice. He hugs Jace tightly. “Jace! Thank the Seven that you’re alright, Jace!” 

Jace hisses in pain and flinches away. 

“Are you hurt?” Daeron asks, letting go of him immediately.

“I landed on my arm when I fell,” Jace says. 

“Your face,” Cregan says, the anger barely concealed in his voice. He grazes his knuckles against the bruise on Jace’s cheek, and Jace winces. “If the wildlings did this to you, I will hunt down every single one of them down and-”

“It was Benjen,” Jace says. “The wildlings didn’t know who Rickon was. If there’s anyone to be blamed, it’s him.” 

Cregan’s eyes harden. “I’ll deal with him when we get back to Last Hearth.”

“After you let me deal with him,” Jace says. 

Cregan chuckles. “Of course.”

Cregan’s hand is still on Jace’s cheek, and Jace is acutely aware of Daeron’s eyes on him, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Cregan. 

“Mama!” 

Jace’s eyes drop to Rickon tucked cosily against his father’s side. 

“Rickon,” Jace breathes out. “My sweet boy, I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

He realises a beat too late that he shouldn’t be acting so familiarly with Rickon in front of Cregan; after all, the alpha has made his feelings about their relationship very clear. But Cregan simply smiles and gives Rickon to Jace.

Hesitantly, Jace takes Rickon into his arms. 

Cregan’s men have rounded up the wildlings, and Cregan makes his way over to the group. Jace watches him go forlornly, wishing that he could hold him in his arms once more. He’s being greedy, but he doesn’t care. He just wants Cregan. 

Why is that so hard?

Hot tears rush into his eyes again, and Rickon peers up at him in concern. Jace blinks them away and kisses the top of Rickon’s head. 

He catches sight of the terrified look on Sherrit and Elric’s faces. He can’t wait to get his hands on Sherrit, but he’s content to let Cregan deal with them for now. 

He turns around and startles when he finds Daeron watching him closely.

“What?” he asks defensively. 

“What are you doing, Jacaerys?” he asks in High Valyrian.

Jace doesn’t answer, lowering his gaze to Rickon. 

He doesn’t know either. 

After a few moments, boots crunch on snow. Cregan’s men are marching Benjen and Elric back to their horses. Jace catches Benjen’s eyes as they pass him and Daeron. A bad feeling erupts in his chest, and even before it has time to fully form, Benjen’s bonds somehow come loose. He grabs a sword from one of the guards and races towards Jace- no, towards Rickon. 

Daeron jumps in front of them immediately, but four men suddenly come out of nowhere and attack him. Jace recognises them as the bandits from before who had attacked them on the road. Of course the ambush was planned by Benjen too; of course it was. 

Benjen runs past Daeron and makes a beeline towards Jace and Rickon. Jace has no weapons, so the only thing he can do is run, but he’s not used to running on the icy terrain whereas Benjen is unencumbered by it. 

Benjen grabs him and spins him around, the motion sending Cregan’s coat sliding off his shoulders and onto the ground. There’s a crazed look in Benjen’s eyes, the determination of a man with nothing to lose. Jace tries to push him off, but his grip is inhumanely strong. He raises his sword, his eyes fixed on Rickon, and thrusts it forward. Jace does the only thing he can do - he drops Rickon and squeezes his eyes shut. The boy’s shocked and fearful yelp breaks his heart, and he can only hope that he lands safely on Cregan’s coat. 

It’s a pity he’ll never know. 

The tip of the sword grazes his robes but doesn’t pierce his skin.

Jace waits for the pain that never comes. 

He slowly blinks open his eyes. 

Benjen’s face is pale, and his eyes are bulging. There’s a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place, and Jace slowly lowers his eyes to see a large sword sticking out from his abdomen. 

Cregan yanks Ice out and tosses Benjen’s body to the side. 

Jace’s knees wobble, and he collapses onto the ground next to where Rickon had thankfully landed on Cregan’s coat. 

“Mama, mama,” Rickon says, looking so tiny as he flails amongst the thick furs. 

Jace gathers Rickon in his arms and checks him for any injuries, hugging him close when he finds none. For some reason, he feels none of the fear from earlier, just a numb detachment and mild relief that Rickon is unharmed. 

That’s all that matters. 

A hand touches his shoulder, and Jace doesn’t even jerk at the contact. 

Cregan doesn’t say anything as he carefully helps Jace to his feet. He picks his coat off the ground and brushes it off before draping it over Jace again. He puts an arm around Jace and escorts him to the carriage. Jace vaguely registers the dead bodies scattered across the ground and Daeron watching him. There’s a warning at the back of his head that he perhaps shouldn’t be in such close proximity with Cregan where everyone can see them, but it’s muted, and he can’t bring himself to care. Cregan climbs into the carriage with him and remains firmly by his side throughout their journey back to Winterfell. 

Chapter Text

Cregan is angry. He’s so angry that he can barely speak. The only thing that keeps his anger at bay is Jace safe in his arms, and Rickon safe in Jace’s. He looks down at his precious son and smiles when he sees the boy napping in the cradle of Jace’s arms. Jace hasn’t uttered a single word ever since Cregan saved him, and he’s worried about the prince’s state of mind. He’s deliberately left his scent patch off, letting his scent diffuse steadily into the carriage to help keep Jace calm. Daeron purses his lips but doesn’t say anything, just keeps a watchful eye on his nephew. 

“So what are your intentions with Jace?” Daeron asks suddenly, startling Cregan. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cregan says, feeling stupid when Daeron raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly as his arm around Jace. “I’m King of the North-”

“Did you read the proposal?” Daeon asks at the same time. He pauses. “Pardon, Your Grace. You were saying?”

“I’m the King in the North,” Cregan repeats tiredly. “Yes, I’ve read the proposal, but I cannot come to a decision so easily. I have many things to consider, Prince Daeron. I’ve a duty to my people.”

“I understand,” Daeron says. His lips twitch into a smile. “You read the diary too then, I presume?”

Cregan blinks, surprised that Daeron even knows about its existence. “I- Yes. How do you know about it?”

Daeron stares at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Who do you think planted it with the proposal?” 

At Last Hearth, Cregan summons the maester to give Jace and Rickon a thorough examination. They’re both physically alright except for Jace’s arm, but the maester has reasons to believe that their emotions might be a little frail in the weeks to come. 

“They’ve suffered a huge fright,” he explains to Cregan and Daeron. “Prince Jacaerys has yet to speak, and it even seems as if he’s not fully aware of his surroundings. It’s a little harder to tell with Prince Rickon given his age, but it might develop into something more serious in his adulthood if not treated properly.”

“What are we to do then?” Cregan asks. 

He feels like a failure for not being able to protect his son. And his omega. Because that’s what Jace is. It’s a terrible time to be having this realisation with so many eyes on him and the one whom it should matter to the most being completely unattuned to Cregan’s feelings. Cregan wants nothing more than to gather Jace in his arms and scent him and make sure he knows that he’s safe with him. 

The maester nods at Jace who’s holding Rickon securely in his arms. “What Prince Jacaerys is doing - create a calm and soothing environment for him.” 

Sara nods, sniffling. She hasn’t said a word since Cregan and the others returned, but she started crying when she saw that Rickon was safe, and she hasn’t stopped crying since. 

Cregan dismisses the maester and draws Sara into his arms. She tenses in his hold, and he feels guilty for taking out his anger on her. 

“I forgive you, Sara,” he says, and she trembles with the force of her sobs. “It could’ve happened to anyone, and I know that you would have given up your own life to keep Rickon safe.” 

Just like Jace had done. The thought that if Cregan had even just been a second too late that Benjen would have stabbed Jace is too frightening, and Cregan lets go of Sara to turn around and look at Jace, to remind himself that Jace is safe and alright now. 

Daeron is kneeling before Jace and speaking to him in soft tones. Jace nods here and there, but it isn’t clear that he’s actually listening to what Daeron is saying. Daeron stands up with a sigh and makes his way over to Cregan. 

“I’m worried about Jace, but I think we just need to give him time.”

“Do you think he’ll feel better seeing Vermax?” Cregan asks. The dragons have followed them back to Last Hearth from the Wall and are currently residing outside the residence. 

“Quite possibly, but it has been a long day. Maybe we can do that tomorrow.”

Cregan agrees. Rickon is yawning and looks close to falling asleep. 

“Sara, could you put Rickon to bed?” Cregan asks.

Sara looks surprised but nods, a determined look on her face. Except when she approaches Jace and tries to take Rickon away from him, Jace snarls and bares his teeth at her. Rickon becomes upset by this, but Jace immediately turns his attention to him and comforts him. 

Sara returns to Cregan’s side and says, “I think it might be best to leave Rickon with Prince Jacaerys for now.” 

Cregan wishes he’d ask the maester about this before sending him away, but he supposes that it makes sense. Jace has spent the last two days protecting Rickon, and Cregan knows just how strong their bond is; of course Jace wouldn’t want anyone near Rickon. 

“Robard,” he says. 

“Yes, Your Grace?” 

“Escort Prince Jacaerys and Prince Rickon to their chambers, and make sure they are guarded at all times.” 

“At once, Your Grace.” 

“And where are you headed off to, Your Grace?” Daeron asks, looking at Cregan quizzically as he heads towards the doors. 

“I have prisoners to interrogate,” Cregan says.

Elric and a group of men kneel before Cregan in the hall of Last Hearth. They all look terrified out of their mind, as they should. Cregan wants to execute every last one of them but not before getting to the bottom of the issue. 

“Ben- Benjen,” Elric manages to stutter. “Is he dead?”

“Aye,” Cregan says. “He tried to kill my son - his future king - twice. Death by Ice was a kindness he did not deserve.”

Elric hangs his head and sniffles. “I- I told them not to do this. I said it was treason. I didn’t want to do this.”

“Who are they?” Cregan asks, although he already knows. Who else can it be but his dearest uncle and remaining cousin? He wishes he took Jace’s concerns more seriously when Jace first brought them up. No, instead, he believed Bennard like a fool. 

“M- My father a-and Brandon,” Elric says. 

“And your mother?” 

Elric looks up fiercely. “No,” he says firmly. “My mother has nothing to do with this. Leave him out of it.” 

Cregan believes him. He even believes Elric when he says that he didn’t want to do this. 

“Why did you do it then?” Cregan asks. 

“I- He’s my father,” Elric says miserably. “What can I do?”

“I am your king,” Cregan reminds him, not unkindly. 

“Aye, you are right, Your Grace, and you are family too; yet, somehow, I found myself doing things that are against my conscience. All I wanted to do was make my father proud, and I ended up doing the wrong thing.” He looks up, tears of anguish and remorse in his eyes. “I didn’t know the extent of their plans, and I never meant to cause you or Prince Rickon any harm. I swear I didn’t even know Prince Jacaerys was involved. If I had known-” 

“If you had known?” Cregan presses.

“I-” 

Elric cannot continue his sentence, because he knows as well as Cregan does that nothing would have changed. He would still be a slave to his father’s whims and risk the Targaryens’ wrath upon them. 

Cregan instructs Medrick to send a raven to Winterfell, asking Roderick to capture Bennard and Brandon. They are to await their trials, pending Cregan’s return. 

Elric slumps forward but doesn’t protest.

Cregan scans the rest of the men. He recognises those who are dressed up as the bandits, but the one that catches his attention is the man dressed differently from the rest of them and who’s trembling so badly that he looks like he might wet himself at any moment. Cregan points at him.

“What’s your name?”

“She- Sherrit, Y- Your Grace.” 

“Sherrit,” Cregan drawls. “You do understand that what you did is treason, and that the punishment for treason is death?”

Sherrit throws himself onto the ground and starts begging for his life. “I had no choice, Your Grace! Prince- Prince Bennard and Prince Benjen pro- promised me- My family! I did it for my family! My cousin, Kyle, he has an omega daughter. My poor niece! If we didn’t have enough money, we would have had to sell her, and- and she’s only five, Your Grace!” 

Cregan’s heart stirs in pity for the man. This, this is exactly the problem that Jace strives to eradicate with his proposal. Yet, despite Cregan sympathising with the unfortunate plight the man has found himself in, treason is still treason. He doesn’t need to hear the rest of men’s confessions, but he does, because he won’t let himself be accused of not giving everyone a fair chance. 

In the end, the answer is all the same. They did it for money. Life is hard, and it gets harder every year. If they had a choice, they wouldn’t do it. They beg Cregan for mercy, but Cregan informs them that it is not solely his to give.

“Even if I were merciful, understanding of your situation as I am, Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daeron might not be so forgiving. He is, after all, the heir to the Iron Throne, and I will not risk the wrath of the Targaryens upon all of the North for the sake of your wretched lives. Nay, your fates lie in his hands, and you better pray that the dragons are not as merciless as they are portrayed to be.” 

His words strike a fear in the hearts of the men, and he relishes in their suffering. It is but a fraction of what they have inflicted on Jace and Rickon. Once Jace is back to his usual arrogant, demanding self, Cregan will serve these men up to him on a platter and let him do whatever he deems fit. 

He has a feeling that it involves feeding them to Vermax, and the thought makes him chuckle. His amusement only serves to frighten the men even further. Cregan’s just about had enough of them. 

He stands and orders them to be thrown into the prison. They are to be brought back to Winterfell where their final judgment awaits them. They will suffer and torture themselves with endless possibilities of what their fate may be, and they deserve every second of it. 

There is one other man that Cregan doesn’t quite know what to make of - the injured man they found in Benjen’s carriage. From what he gathers from his men, the injured man is Kyle, Sherrit’s cousin. The one with the omega daughter. He’s been beaten to within an inch of his life, and no one has confessed to the crime, but the maester is confident about saving him. 

Jace would know the best, and Cregan intends to seek his counsel as soon as he’s well enough to speak. 

For now, there is nothing to do but allow Jace rest and recuperate. Cregan cannot wait until Jace is back to his former, usual self - aggravating, entitled, and judgmental. 

Cregan loves him for all of it.

The journey back to Winterfell passes in a haze. Jace does everything automatically, as if his body is moving without any awareness from his brain. He remembers interacting with people, sometimes even having full conversations with Daeron, but he can’t remember exactly what they talked about. He also remembers tending to Rickon, though he can’t quite recall anything specific. 

He vaguely remembers Vermax flying above them when the carriage rumbles past the gates of Castle Black and he even thinks he hears her sometimes, but that can’t be. Vermax is waiting for him in Winterfell. 

Most of all, he remembers Cregan’s constant looming presence by his side. The man was like a guard dog, growling at anyone who dared to approach Jace. But he didn’t talk to Jace once, nor did he touch him. 

It is only when he’s back in Winterfell does his awareness slowly come back to him. 

The first thing he does is seek his dragon out, of course.

“Where are you going, Jace?” Daeron asks.

“To see Vermax,” he replies. 

Daeron stares at him in confusion. “Jace,” he says, slowly taking Jace’s arm. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, perfectly,” Jace says, impatience seeping into his voice. “I’d like to see Vermax as soon as possible, Daeron. I’m sure she misses me, since I’ve been away for so long.”

Oh, and he has to pack up and leave too. 

That’s what he promised Cregan. 

He should tell Daeron. They ought to leave at first light the next day. But before he can do so, Daeron starts speaking again. 

“Jace, Vermax has been with us this whole time. She’s the entire reason we even knew where to look for you.”

Jace stares at him, perplexed. So he hadn’t imagined Vermax’s presence then? As if reading his mind, Vermax roars loudly, and he looks up to see her and Tessarion circling them overhead. 

“My sweet girl,” he mutters, wanting nothing more than to run his hands over her scales. Belatedly, he realises what Daeron said. “What do you mean she’s the reason you knew where to find me?”

“She suddenly appeared in the sky with Tessarion the day after you went missing. We followed her to the Wall. The dragons wouldn’t go past it, but she kept roaring in its direction, and the guards told us that Benjen had brought some prisoners past it. King Cregan figured that it was probably you and Prince Rickon.”

“Benjen,” Jace says. The image of the man toppling to the side flashes across his mind. “He’s dead.” 

He tried to kill Rickon. 

He was about to kill Jace. 

And then Cregan killed him. 

“Jace!” Daeron suddenly yells. He rips his scent patch off, and Jace doesn’t even realise how badly he’s shaking until Daeron wraps his arms around him. His uncle’s scent is mild and calming as always, but it does nothing to soothe him. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Cregan’s familiar timbre reaches Jace’s ears, and he instinctively seeks the alpha out, though he immediately buries his face in Daeron’s chest when he realises what he’s doing. Cregan’s angry at him; he doesn’t want anything to do with him. The reminder is so painful that he almost collapses to the ground. He would have if Daeron isn’t holding him up. 

“Hey,” Cregan says softly, but Jace refuses to look at him. He doesn’t want to see the hatred on his face. His alpha doesn’t want him, and Jace doesn’t know how he’s supposed to cope with that. 

Cregan and Daeron exchange words, but Jace isn’t listening. He doesn’t need to hear Cregan again telling him that he never wants to see him again. He’s probably telling Daeron that they need to get out of the North and never set foot here again. Jace doesn’t even care about his proposal anymore; he just wants Cregan’s forgiveness, but pathetic as he might be, he’s still a Targaryen, and he refuses to allow himself to beg.  

Their conversation ends, and Daeron gently urges Jace to let go of him. With an arm around Jace, he guides Jace into the castle and to his guest chambers. Being back here reminds Jace too much of what had transpired the last time he was here, and he whimpers, refusing to enter. 

“Jace, you need to warm up,” Daeron says helplessly. “You’re shivering.” 

“Bring him to my chambers,” Cregan says. 

His voice startles Jace. 

Jace hadn’t expected Cregan to follow them. Why would he? 

Perhaps he means to keep a close eye on them; after all, he can’t trust them. 

Jace doesn’t particularly want to enter Cregan’s rooms either, but the alpha’s scent is strong and inviting, and Jace follows Cregan into it. Daeron settles him in a chair. Cregan appears a while later with a blanket in hand and drapes it over him, bundling him up carefully. 

Jace’s fingers twitch, but he keeps his hands to himself. He wants to throw himself in Cregan’s arms and remain there for as long as possible; it is all that Jace has been wanting to do ever since he found himself and Rickon in that carriage, but he doesn’t want to face Cregan’s rejection or his wrath.  

He sniffles, tears slipping from his eyes. 

And, oh, Rickon! 

He stands up abruptly, the blanket falling from his shoulders. He looks around the room in a panic. 

Rickon! Where is Rickon? 

Seven fucking hells. Jace doesn’t even remember the last time he has seen the baby. How could he have been so careless and let the boy out of his sight? 

“Jace, Jace!” Cregan is suddenly in front of his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Rickon! Where- Where is he?” Jace bursts into tears. “I’m sorry! I tried to protect him. I swear I did! He-”

“He’s fine!” Cregan yells. “He’s with Sara in his nursery! The journey was rough for him, and Kennet said it’s better for him to be in a familiar place.”

“He’s alright?” Jace asks, his lower lip wobbling. “He’s safe?” 

“Yes, yes, he is.” Cregan touches his cheek gently. “You protected him - thank you.”

Jace nods, fat droplets of tears rolling down his face. 

Cregan gently draws him into his arms, and Jace wraps his arms around him. It doesn’t matter that Cregan is only doing this out of pity or gratitude. He never wants to let Cregan go. All too soon, Cregan pulls away, and the rejection stings. As reluctant as Jace is, he lets Cregan sit him back down in the armchair and lets him drape the blanket over him. 

“You need to eat,” Cregan says. “You haven’t been eating well these past few days.” 

Now that he’s mentioned it, Jace can feel the hunger. His stomach growls loudly, and he hides his face in embarrassment. Cregan chuckles. The sound is so foreign, and Jace peeks at him hesitantly through the gaps in his fingers. 

“You- You’re not mad at me anymore?”

A shadow crosses over Cregan’s face, and Jace regrets ever opening his mouth and asking that dumb question. 

Of course Cregan is. 

But before Cregan can say anything, the doors open, and Daeron walks in with a tray of food.

“Prince Daeron,” Cregan says. “You could’ve asked a servant to do that.”

“I wanted to get the food to Jace as soon as possible,” Daeron says, putting the tray down. He picks up a plate with bread on it. “Look, Jace! They had walnut bread in the kitchen.”

“There’s honey too,” Cregan says, taking the jar from the tray. 

He spreads the honey over the bread and gives it to Jace. 

By the time Jace finishes eating, he starts to become drowsy. He yawns and snuggles into the chair…

When Jace wakes up, it’s dark. He sits straight up, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

Rickon!

He stumbles as he gets off the big bed and grabs onto the curtain to keep himself from falling. He’s hit with a strong, spicy scent and finds himself relaxing. 

Cregan.

He steadies himself and realises that he’s in Cregan’s chambers and not a random inn in the middle of nowhere. Rickon is in his nursery, and they’re both safe. 

But Jace is only going to believe that when he sees it with his own eyes. 

He throws on a sleeping coat and makes his way to the nursery. 

There are four guards stationed outside, double the usual number. When they see him, they greet him and let him in. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” Sara says, surprised. 

“Mama!” Rickon says happily. He’s in his cot, holding on to the barrier to keep himself upright, and he removes one hand from it to wave at Jace. 

“Hi, baby,” Jace says, rushing over to him and picking him up. He holds Rickon close to him and inhales his sweet, warm scent. “How are you?” 

There are no injuries as far as he can see, and he’s glad to see that Rickon is back to being his happy self. He hopes that the boy never remembers anything that he has had to go through. 

“Sara,” Jace says, belatedly realising that he hasn’t said anything to her. 

She smiles at him instead of scolding him like he thought she would. “I’m glad to see you well, Prince Jacaerys.” 

“Thank you,” he says. Despite not saying anything, she keeps staring at him in a funny way that he doesn’t appreciate. “I know I promised you to leave Rickon alone, but we’ve just been in a life or death situation, and-”

“No!” Sara says, flustered. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“You’re- I- You’re in Cregan’s bathrobe.” 

Jace looks down and sees the robes pooling around his feet. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the way it’s way too big for him - it hangs off his frame, and he flushes. Thank the Seven only Sara and the guards outside saw him in Cregan’s clothing. It is most unseemly and inappropriate. 

“Goodnight, my sweet,” he tells Rickon, placing a kiss atop his head. He places Rickon back in the crib and tucks the baby in. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Promise.” He straightens himself and tries to look as imposing as he can in the robes that are practically drowning him and offers Sara a polite smile. “Have a good night, Sara. I will take my leave now.”

“Rest well, Prince Jacaerys,” Sara says, biting back a smile. 

Jace pointedly does not look at any of the guards when he exits the nursery. He starts running the moment he turns the corner but quickly drops his pace to a brisk walk when he almost trips over the ends of the robe. He wants to die when he enters Cregan’s bedchambers and sees a maid preparing a hot bath. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” she greets pleasantly and gestures to the bath. “I’ve prepared your bath.” 

“Thanks,” Jace says, pretending that this is completely normal. Are these his bed chambers after all? He doesn’t remember hitting his head, but maybe he did. No, but the scent lingering in the rooms is clearly Cregan’s. Then why is the maid preparing a bath for him? 

Jace is so confused, but he doesn’t want the maid to think that he’s crazy when she’s just going about her daily duty, so she waits till she leaves before entering the bedroom and dropping the bathrobe. He intends to return to his bedchambers right away but pauses by the bath. 

Steam drifts up from the waters, curling in the air invitingly, and it’s so cold - Jace gives in. He can always return after taking a bath. It would be an egregious mistake to let all that hot water go to waste. Who knows when Cregan would be back? He is doing this for the environment. Jace slips out of his clothes and steps into the hot water, curling his toes when the heat seeps into his body. 

When the water starts to become tepid, Jace grabs the towel and gets out of the bath. He dries himself off and is in the middle of redressing when the doors open. 

The most undignified squeak leaves Jace’s mouth, and he snatches the towel off the side of the tub and holds it in front of him. 

“Cregan,” he whispers when he realises who it is. His heart pounds furiously in his chest. He prepares to be yelled at and be ordered to get out, but Cregan’s face splits into a smile. 

“Jace,” he says. “You’re awake.” He closes the door and makes his way over to Jace but pauses when he notices Jace’s state of undress. “I apologise,” he says, turning his back to Jace.

It’s kind of ridiculous that now is the time they’re choosing to abide by propriety when they’ve seen each other naked countless of times, but things have changed, and Jace appreciates the privacy afforded to him. He quickly dresses himself and walks towards the doors. 

“I apologise,” he says, forcing himself to not look in Cregan’s direction as he walks past him. “I’ll take my leave. I’ve imposed on you long enough. My uncle and I will-” 

Jace stops speaking when Cregan holds his wrist, stopping him from leaving. 

“Jace,” Cregan says again, and the way he’s saying his name is so soft and loving that Jace can’t help but turn and look at him. Jace bites his lower lip as tears spring to his eyes. He doesn’t understand why simply looking at Cregan brings up so many emotions within him. Cregan tugs him towards him gently. He brushes away the tears at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. “Don’t cry, sweetling. I just want to talk.” 

Sweetling. 

He remembers Cregan calling him that when they were in Free Folk territory. He was convinced that it was just his imagination, but here he is calling him by that sentimental name again. 

“Cregan,” Jace says, not knowing what else to say. But then it hits him. He knows exactly what to say - it’s something he should have said from the start. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I most certainly didn’t mean to hurt you. I- You- I- You mean much to me, and I-”

“I know,” Cregan says, cupping his face with both hands. “I know.”

Jace finally dares to look Cregan in the eyes, and he’s surprised by the warmth in them. There’s not a trace of that dreadful animosity that’s now become so familiar to him. Jace has never been so glad to see it gone. 

“I read the proposal,” Cregan says.

Jace inhales sharply. “I thought you said you burned it,” he whispers, hardly daring to believe that the papers are still around. 

“I wanted to,” Cregan admits quietly, “But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and I’m happy I didn’t. You spent so long on it. It must have crushed you to think that I had destroyed it.” 

Even the thought of it now feels like a knife stabbing Jace through the heart. A few tears slip free, and Cregan swipes them away as quickly as they come.

“I’m sorry, Jace,” he says. 

“You’re not mad at me anymore?” Jace asks, hardly daring to believe that this is real. 

Cregan shakes his head, but unmistakable hurt flashes in his eyes. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?” 

Jace doesn’t have the answer for that. Or he does, but he doesn’t dare to verbalise it. How is he to tell Cregan that at the end of the day he’s still an alpha and that he was scared of how he would react? 

“I want you to tell me,” Cregan says, his voice firm. “I want to hear everything straight from you. Why did you come to the North?”

Jace licks his lips. “You read the proposal?”

Cregan nods. 

“You read everything I wrote?”

Cregan nods again. “You wanted Verma to eat me,” he says.

Jace can’t help but giggle. “You were horrible to me!” 

“I was,” Cregan says, laughing, the low timbre of his voice making Jace’s knees weak. 

Then Jace stops short. He does not remember writing that in his proposal. He knows he wrote that in his diary. “Wait- How- How do you know about that?”

“Your uncle slipped me some of your personal writings too,” Cregan says, holding back a laugh.

Jace shrieks, making his way to the doors. He cannot believe his uncle. What an invasion of his privacy! How dare he! Everyone else will have to get in line, because Vermax is eating Daeron first! “Daeron! When I get my hands on you!” 

Cregan’s laughter breaks through Jace’s anger, and Cregan tugs Jace back gently. 

“It was most interesting to know about your thoughts, sweetling,” Cregan says. 

Jace stops short, his cheeks pinking. “It’s so embarrassing, Cregan. I- Those thoughts were not meant for consumption!” 

“I apologise for intruding into your personal thoughts, Jace. In my defence, I thought you gave them to me. Though I cannot say that I blame Prince Daeron for it. It helped me understand where you were coming from. I only wished I had heard those things straight from you instead. I’ve only ever wanted the truth from you.” 

“Everything I wrote in the proposal is true - I really think that our kingdoms will be better as one. We can help each other, and I won’t bore you with the details now that you’ve read everything, but…” Jace bites his lower lips. He’s been making mistakes after mistakes, and he doesn’t want Cregan to have a low opinion of him. “But that’s not everything. I- I did have ulterior motives coming to the North.”  

“I want the truth,” Cregan says firmly. “No more lies, half-truths, or even omissions.”

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything. Please, Jace.” 

And how could Jace ever deny him anything? 

He inhales deeply and tells Cregan everything - from when he thought he was going to be an alpha to the omega lessons with Alicent to the royal selection. He tells him about Aegon and what Aegon had tried to do.

Cregan growls. “I’ll kill him.” 

Jace cups his face. “Nothing happened. Luke stopped him.”

“I’ll still kill him for daring to lay a hand on you.” Cregan takes his hand and kisses it. “No one will hurt you again - not while I’m around.”

How is it possible to feel happiness and sadness at the same time? Jace doesn’t doubt Cregan’s sincerity, but their time together is limited, and how can Cregan protect Jace when he’s in Winterfell and Jace is at the Red Keep?  

They don’t have a future. 

But Jace is starting to realise that he’s alright with that. He doesn’t have to be with Cregan and Rickon physically. As long as they’re happy and safe, he’s alright with never seeing them again. 

“We moved to Dragonstone after that,” Jace says. “It was peaceful until we got the summons from Alicent. She wanted to challenge Luke’s claim to Driftmark…” 

“Are you implying that the lords will commit treason, Lord Hand?” Rhaenyra asks, narrowing her eyes. 

“The Princess Rhaenyra is an alpha and will no doubt lead the realm well,” Otto says. He turns and looks at Jace, and Jace feels the eyes of everyone in the throne room land on him. “But it is Prince Jacaerys’ claim that I worry about. There has never been a Targaryen omega, much less an omega ruler. All the lords of our great houses are alphas, and I have my concerns about whether they’d be willing to pledge fealty to an omega king.”

“I am merely expressing my concern for the stability of the realm,” Otto says. Before Rhaenyra can speak, Otto makes a show of turning to Viserys and addressing him directly. “My king, if I may speak my mind.”

Viserys gestures for him to continue. 

“Same as Your Grace and everyone present in this room, I believe that Prince Jacaerys will make a fine king,” Otto says. Viserys nods proudly, and Jace wonders how his grandsire can believe that Otto is being sincere. “But considering the stability of the realm and that the alpha lords might have concerns about an omega ruling, I believe the best and only solution is to betroth the prince to a strong alpha.”

Viserys frowns. “I agree, Otto, but we’ve already held a royal selection two years ago. I suppose enough time has passed to attempt it again…”

Jace would rather die than go through that again. But before he can protest, Otto continues. 

“Why look so far when we have the best option right in front of us?”

“Oh?” Viserys leans forward, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“I propose to marry Prince Jacaerys to Prince Aegon,” Otto says. 

Jace snaps his head to Alicent, but she pointedly avoids his gaze. He looks at Aegon next and is surprised to see the shock on his face. When he notices Jace looking at him, he scowls and turns his head away. 

“Prince Aegon is your firstborn son, and there are many who believe that he should be your heir,” Otto continues. 

Rhaenyra bristles, and Daemon looks ready to spill blood for the second time that day. Joffrey takes a step forward excitedly, but Luke holds him back and gives him a firm shake of his head. Joffrey drops his head in disappointment, and Daemon lays a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.  

“Soon,” he mouths to him. 

“However,” Otto says loudly, his voice carrying over the stir his proposition has caused. “Princess Rhaenyra is the rightful heir, and no one means to dispute her claim. It is treason! But marrying Prince Aegon and Prince Jacaerys will no doubt put the lords’ minds at ease and soothe anyone who may be disgruntled with an omega king.” 

Viserys strokes his chin thoughtfully, and Jace almost bursts out laughing. There is no way that Viserys is considering Otto’s suggestion seriously! 

Jace looks at his mother, expecting her to look as incredulous as he feels. He is appalled and betrayed when he sees the contemplative look on her face. She schools her expression back into neutrality when she catches him looking at her, but it is too late - he has seen her true thoughts. 

Jace stares at Viserys, and he feels his world collapsing around him when Viserys claps his hands together and grins brightly. “A judicious proposition!” 

He finally looks at Jace, but it’s too late.

Jace spins on his heels and walks out of the throne room. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Marry Aegon? He’d rather die. He’d rather give up his claim to the throne. But why should he? Why should he have to give up anything just because he is an omega? If he were an alpha, this wouldn’t even be a question. It wouldn’t matter who he married. 

This is unfair.

This is so fucking unfair. 

“... Jace!” 

Rhaenyra grabs his arm, and Jace stops walking. 

“I won’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I won’t marry him, Mother!” 

“I know, I know, darling,” she says. “And you don’t have to if you don’t want to… But…” 

“But?” Jace practically shrieks. 

“Marrying Aegon - it’s not ideal,” she says slowly. Jace’s blood is boiling, but he forces himself to remain calm to hear what his mother has to say. “As vile as Otto is and as despicable as his intentions are, he has a point. Aegon is an alpha, and he will help to secure your claim.” 

Jace cannot believe his ears. Such words coming from Viserys is one thing, but how can his mother, whose claim has also been disputed on the basis of her gender, say such things to him? 

He yanks his arm out of her grip. 

“Jace- Jacaerys!” 

Rhaenyra rushes after him, and he only stops walking because he loves his mother, and he doesn’t want to make him chase after him when she’s just given birth and has already had to make the journey to King’s Landing. 

“Jace, darling, listen to me - I know how it feels. It happened to me too, but marrying Daemon has solidified my claim, and marrying Aegon will do the same for you! I am only thinking about you.”

“Aegon is a drunkard and a rapist, Mother!” Jace yells. He sees Aegon behind his mother as he says this. He sees Aegon’s face fall and a shadow cross it before he glares at him angrily and leaves. Jace could give two fucks about how Aegon feels. “He’s not the same as Daemon!” 

“It doesn’t have to be a love marriage, my sweet,” Rhaenyra says, cupping his cheek and rubbing it gently. Jace feels the anger slowly leaving him. There is reason in his mother’s words. “It can be a political alliance. And you could always look for love and secure an heir elsewhere.” 

Jace’s blood freezes. If he was horrified by what his mother said before, it is nothing compared to what he feels now. Rhaenyra is still speaking, but he isn’t listening anymore. 

“How dare you,” he whispers, cutting her off.

A stricken expression crosses her face, and that’s usually enough to make him feel guilty and apologise, but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

He turns and runs away, ignoring her voice calling his name.

He races to the dragon pit, calling for Vermax. She comes out roaring, sensing his raging emotions. 

Tears are blurring his vision. Cries leave his mouth, and sobs wrack his frame as he leans against her for support. 

She whines, nudging him. 

He tries to speak but can’t form words. 

How dare his mother? How dare she? 

How could she? 

And then it hits him. 

The North. 

Jace shakes his head and wipes his eyes furiously. Viserys had written to King Cregan Stark a few moons ago, informing him of the crown’s intention to visit the North. It was Otto’s suggestion - for Aemond and Daeron to visit the North and inquire about the tribute payments. He wants to put pressure on them and force them to bend the knee. 

Jace had protested vehemently, saying that they need the North’s assistance as much as the North needs them, that if the North were to become part of the Seven Kingdoms that it has to be on their terms. Four out of the nine council members - Rhaenyra, Corlys, Daemon, and Harrold - know of the Northern Integration Plan and agreed with him, but the other four disagreed just to be on the opposite side of him. 

Eventually, Viserys agreed to ask Aemond and Daeron to go for a visit but to not apply any pressure on the North to bend the knee. 

It was good enough back then, and Jace let it go, but now he sees a better opportunity. 

His plan is almost complete - the only thing that stands in the way is the North itself. 

If he can persuade them that his plan is a good idea, then - well, the remaining five members of the small council are not going to be a problem. 

And if King Cregan Stark would rather the North perish than bend the knee - well, Queen Arra did pass away a year ago, and he might be looking for a new mate. 

“I’ll marry Cregan Stark,” Jace declares to Vermax. He mounts her, determined and inspired. 

If things fall through, he’ll marry Cregan Stark and stay in the North forever. If Cregan Stark doesn’t want to marry him, he’ll sleep with him and have his baby. Cregan Stark will marry him then. 

They can crown whoever the fuck they want after Rhaenyra, and it would be none of Jace’s fucking business.

“Jace! Jace! Where do you think you’re going?” Daeron yells frantically. 

Jace looks down at him and harrumphs. “None of your business!” 

“Jace!” 

Jace commands Vermax to move forward. Daeron whistles, and Jace hears loud thudding on the ground - the sound of Tessarion making her way towards her rider. There’s no way he’s going to let Daeron mess with his plans. 

“Jacaerys! Tell me where you’re going or I’m going to tell your mother! They’ll come after you with Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys! Vhagar might come too! Jace!”

“Fine!” Jace screams, resisting the urge to ask Vermax to stomp on Daeron. It’s because he loves his uncle and not because he’s scared of Tessarion. The blue dragon is a baby; Vermax can take her no problem. “I’m going to the North!”

“What?” Daeron squawks. “Jace-”

“They won’t be able to catch up to me if I leave now and I am leaving now! You can shut up and come with me or stay here!”

“I- What- You- Fine! Fine! I’ll come!” 

“Good,” Jace says. 

He doesn’t wait for Daeron to get on Tessarion before taking to the skies. 

It’s Daeron’s problem if he doesn’t manage to catch up with him. 

It’s Rhaenyra’s fault if Jace never returns to King’s Landing. 

“And so I came to the North,” Jace finishes. They’ve relocated to Cregan’s bed and are lying on their sides, facing each other, except Jace doesn’t dare to look at Cregan, afraid of what he might find there. 

Yes, in retrospect, he can admit that he was being a brat. 

Maybe throwing a tantrum and running away from home to a foreign country isn’t his brightest idea, but his family forced him into that position! 

He is a victim, and he did the best he could with the resources that he had. 

Cregan makes a sound, and Jace stiffens. Then he makes it again, and Jace snaps his head to him, gasping in offence when he sees Cregan trying and failing to hold back his laughter.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jace shrieks, sitting up. 

“So-” Chortle. “Sor-” Snort. “Sorry.”

“You are not sincere at all!” 

Cregan laughs as he sits up as well. He tries to draw Jace into his arms, but Jace fights him, only giving up when it becomes clear that he’s not going to overpower Cregan. He slumps in Cregan’s arms and huffs, turning his face away from the man. 

“So you did come here to marry me, sweetling,” Cregan says, nosing at his ear. 

Jace turns around in Cregan’s lap. “That’s not what I said!” He smacks Cregan’s chest. “Did you listen to my story?” 

“I did,” Cregan says. He grins. “You wanted to marry me before you even met me.” 

“Cregan Stark! You did not listen to the story! You-” 

Cregan cuts him off with a kiss, and Jace kisses him back eagerly. It’s been long, too long since he’s had Cregan’s lips upon his, and he intends to take his time to savour every second. Cregan pulls away all too soon, and Jace whines, leaning forward to chase his lips. Cregan doesn’t disappoint him, meeting him again halfway. They kiss for a long time, and Cregan’s hands travel from his waist to between his legs. 

Jace gasps into Cregan’s mouth as Cregan rubs his clit. He can feel Cregan hardening against his abdomen, and he sighs happily as Cregan kisses down his jaw and sucks at a spot on his neck, right next to his scent glad. 

“Cregan,” Jace whispers. Cregan continues kissing bruises into his skin. “Cregan,” he says again more insistently. 

They can’t continue like this, not until Jace apologises properly, not until Cregan knows that he has never meant to use him in any way, at least not truly. And he most certainly never meant to force Cregan to bend the knee. He needs Cregan to know that. 

Cregan stops and pulls away. “Yes?”

His gaze is heavy and clouded with lust, and Jace forgets what he means to say for a moment. 

Jace cups his face. 

“I want you to know that I truly am sorry. Even if it was just an impulsive thought that lasted for but a moment, it did cross my mind to sleep with you and trap you with a baby. But that was just because I didn’t want to marry Aegon!” Tears spill down Jace’s face. Cregan wipes them away, not saying a thing. “You must believe me when I say that I never intended to force you into marriage or bending the knee! And I’ll do anything I have to to prove that. Honestly, when I met you, I thought you were as bad as Aegon so I really did not want to sleep with you at all! I just wanted to fuck with you that first night because you made me so angry! I hated you! But then I got to know you, the real you, and through knowing you, I-” 

Jace hiccups and turns away, trying to hide his face, but Cregan takes hold of his chin and gently turns his face back to him. 

“Hm?” Cregan prompts softly.

Jace’s lower lips tremble. “I fell in love with you,” he says, the confession breaking the dam, destroying all falsehoods and illusions between them. Jace has never felt fear more visceral than in this moment; he’s never felt so vulnerable before. He’s opening himself up to a world of hurt, but the confession still leaves his lips. “I love you, Cregan.”

Cregan kisses Jace. “Say it,” he says against Jace’s lips. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” Jace says, confessing his feelings again and again between kisses. “I love you. I love you…” 

A tear falls from Jace’s eyes, and Cregan kisses it away. “I love you too,” he says. 

Hearing Cregan say that sends a rush of warmth coursing through Jace’s body, pooling in the depths of his stomach and between his legs. Jace’s kisses become desperate, and he’s never wanted Cregan more. 

“Take me,” Jace pleads, already pushing his trousers off. “Cregan, please, take me. I won’t make you marry me. You don’t owe me anything - I want this. Cregan, please.” 

Cregan helps him remove his tunic and undresses himself. They lie in front of each other, naked and vulnerable. Cregan has never looked more beautiful than he does at that moment, so strong and open, looking at Jace as if Jace is the most precious thing in the realm. 

“Cregan,” Jace whimpers.

Cregan rolls Jace onto his back. He kisses down Jace’s body and presses his mouth to Jace’s cunt. Oh how Jace has missed this. He gasps, bucking up into Cregan’s mouth and yelping when Cregan grabs one of his legs and hooks it over his shoulder. Cregan fucks his tongue into Jace’s hole, and Jace moans uncontrollably, screaming in pleasure when Cregan sucks his clit. He’s never been wetter in his life, and he thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t have Cregan inside of him soon. 

“Cregan, Cregan, please, please, please,” Jace babbles. “Take me, take me. I can’t wait anymore. Please.” 

Cregan pulls away slowly. Jace pushes himself up on his elbows, and his mouth waters at the sight of Cregan’s large cock straining against his hard abdomen. He wants it in his mouth, but he needs it in his body more. 

“Alpha, please, I need your knot,” Jace says. 

Cregan’s eyes darken. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” Cregan says. 

Jace is so wet that Cregan’s first finger slides in with no resistance. He falls onto his back and pushes down on the digit. 

“Yes, yes, thank you, thank you,” Jace says, opening his legs even wider. 

Cregan shoves a second finger in alongside the first, and unlike the first time this happened, Jace feels nothing but anticipation. 

“More. I need more. Cregan, Cregan, please,” Jace begs.

Cregan obliges, pushing in a third finger. Jace gasps sharply, not expecting the sudden sting, and Cregan stills, waiting patiently for Jace to get used to the intrusion. When Jace nods, he begins to move, pumping his fingers in and out slowly. The pain fades, and Jace starts moving his hips, wanting to feel Cregan deeper. 

“Cregan, Cregan, give me your knot,” Jace whines. He can take it. He’s more than prepared, and he can’t wait anymore. 

“Bear with me a little bit more, sweetling,” Cregan says, leaning up to press a kiss on Jace’s forehead. 

The new angle has Cregan crooking his fingers, and Jace inhales before letting out a shuddering breath. Cregan continues fingering him, and then he hits something that has Jace keens and moaning loudly. He loses all coherence when Cregan prods that spot continuously. 

“Come for me, Jacaerys,” Cregan says, punctuating his words with a flick against his clit, and Jace can’t do anything but obey. Cregan kisses his forehead. “You did so good, sweetling.” 

Jace smiles, blissed out and content. But there’s still the burning need in him, and he knows that only one thing can put it out. He pulls Cregan down and kisses him hard on the mouth. 

Jace pouts up at Cregan, widening his eyes pitiably. “Alpha, please, won’t you take me now?” 

Cregan growls, removing his fingers, and Jace whines at the loss. His hole clenches desperately around nothing, and he needs Cregan to be in him now. 

“Cregan,” Jace whines, embarrassed, when Cregan does nothing but stare at his hole for a few moments. 

“I got you,” Cregan says, then he lines his cock up against Jace’s entrance.

Jace is so wet that the tip slips inside without Cregan even doing anything. Jace gasps, grasping Cregan’s arms as Cregan begins to push in. With a grunt, Cregan sheaths himself all the way inside Jace in one thrust, breaking right through his maidenhead. Jace screams loudly, his nails digging into Cregan’s shoulders as he’s forced to accommodate all of Cregan. The hurt lasts for a brief moment, quickly replaced by tingling shots of pleasure down his spine. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Cregan says.

Jace opens teary eyes and shakes his head. “No, no, it feels good. It feels so good, Alpha. Fuck me, please, fuck me.” 

Cregan listens, and he starts fucking Jace at a relentless, almost brutal pace. His hands are on Jace’s waist, holding him in place as he thrusts repeatedly into him. Jace pushes back against him eagerly, loving the way Cregan’s knot is stretching him and filling him with pleasure that he has never thought possible. A knot is better than toys. It’s so, so much better than toys. 

Cregan reaches down and rolls Jace’s clit between two fingers. Jace arches his back, unable to do more than squirm helplessly with one of Cregan’s hand still pinning him to the bed while Cregan keeps fucking him and rubbing his clit. He comes for the second time that night, and as his orgasm wracks his body, Cregan’s thrusts become quicker and more forceful. Jace can feel his hole stretching more and more with each thrust as Cregan’s knot starts to expand.

He protests when Cregan suddenly pulls out. He wants his alpha’s knot! 

“It’ll be more comfortable this way later,” Cregan says as he settles himself behind Jace, who sighs in relief when Cregan pushes back into him, his body accepting the knot readily. 

As Cregan continues to thrust into him, Jace feels a flicker of fear at taking a knot for the first time. As if knowing what he’s feeling, Cregan entwines their fingers tightly and presses his lips against the nape of his neck. Jace feels the fear fade away, and it’s slowly replaced by eagerness. He wants this. He wants Cregan’s knot. And he wants Cregan’s baby. It makes him sad for a brief second, but then Cregan pushes into him deeper than ever before and erases all thoughts from his head. 

Jace pants harshly as Cregan’s knot begins to catch on his rim, stretching him beyond what he thought was possible. Cregan’s knot is expanding so much that Jace can practically feel him in his stomach. He looks down and inhales sharply when he sees the bulge there. He grabs Cregan’s hand and places it over the indent of his knot in Jace’s stomach, and Cregan groans when he feels it. He pushes down against it, and Jace makes a choked sound. 

Cregan lifts his head, and Jace can only imagine the expression on his face as he stares down at the bulge. 

“Fuck,” Cregan grunts, shoving his knot deeper and harder into Jace, making Jace’s breath hitch. 

Cregan fucks into him a few more times, and then there’s an intense pressure when his knot pops inside Jace’s cunt, locking him to Jace. The pressure is so overwhelming that it threatens to tear Jace apart, but it quickly blossoms into pleasure when Jace feels a warmth exploding within him, Cregan’s seed filling him up. He feels himself clenching around Cregan’s knot, milking him dry, and he wants it all, wants to make sure not a single drop is wasted. 

Cregan grips his waist tightly as he continues to thrust lightly. “I love you, Jace, by the old gods, I love you so much.” 

Jace closes his eyes and leans back against Cregan’s chest, more drained but also more satiated than he has ever been. His brain is blissfully void of any thought, and his body is completely relaxed. There are no unreasonable double standards to contend with, nor does he need to be perfect. 

He can just exist, and it’s enough. 

“I love you too,” he says. 

I want to be your mate, he doesn’t say.