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Fathers should be punish with death by dragon fire, thought Aerion.
The discomfort of pregnancy during his seventh moon was so excruciating, he thought he would have a cry if he had to endure another sleepless night. He can't see pass his distended stomach. His slender fingers, usually adorned with rings and other times safely tucked inside an armor, now could barely reach inside a jar for another cookie to satisfy his cravings. His legs, which according to Dunk was exquisite as always, actually swollen in the ankles when he managed to see it if his lover was too passionate in his love making. His entire body required a whole new wardrobe to matched the growth of the goliath inside him. The royal seamstress fussed about him every few days, seemingly needing to adjust one tunics after another in a rather soon manner. The measters both assessing over his series of marvellous development and worried that the baby might just burst out without warning with how audacious its movement can be at times. Aerion felt like he was conceiving a wild bull. Not that his sire is any different.
Speaking of his sire, Dunk was a virtue to be envied by the whole castle. Always on beck and call, my prince this, my prince that. As if his world has narrowed itself into that of Aerion's and the little one he carried. Nobody would dare to say it out loud, the truth, yet nobody would dare deny it either. For the love and devotion were true and pure. It stood through near death moments, hatred, and immense anger. Its trials now a numerous of songs sung softly in tavern and in houses by mothers to their daughters who dreamed of a chivalrous knight to come and sweep them off their feet. The knight could be seen roaming around the castle on his way to the kitchen to retrieve whatever "the babe says it wants" straight to Aerion's chamber. A bunch of maids and cooks would laugh behind their hands at his innocent willingness, not sure whether the man was truly as thick as they say or just genuine in his nature. Anyway, they surrender eventually when the begging eyes and hands of said gigantic man was too hard to say no to. Who would dare?
Another time, one might find Dunk guarding the prince within a very intimate proximity. A hand almost dwarfed Aerion's entire small back, while Aerion's could only occupy a small portion of Dunk's forearm. The courtiers said they made quite the picture. The feisty little dragon and the gentle giant, though if Aerion had heard what they referred to him as he would definitely and quite immediately reintroduce the age of man-like dragons. Another thing people in the castle gossiped about, how feisty he is. Truly a dragon like man in gestation period, hoarding and nesting in his chamber while not letting just about anyone come through. One occasion even his father and uncle were forbidden to enter when they caught the news of his especially painful stomach and back cramp. Not only did they raged against the wooden door, they also had a shouting match through it. Well, Maekar and Aerion did. Baelor simply smiled his soft dignified ones like he knew about what little he currently witnessed. Aerion coveted rolls of premium textiles that provided warmth and comfort, for familiarity and token of affection, he had whatever small possession Dunk has in his name. His chipped and full of dents armor he no longer use from the time of his life as a hedge knight, his threadbare coat, his see-through shirts that he usually wore for sparing— which would reek of sweat and musk and something uniquely Dunk afterwards. Nobody would know, not even the owner of said clothing, how Aerion would rubbed them in between his aching chest and sniffed it so the aroma pierced deep his very soul. And how, at the end of it, he chased his own pleasure with it. Aerion would have it no other way and so did Dunk.
However, the man was now nowhere to be seen. He has made himself scarce these last few weeks. Missing their joined dinner and only coming back to guard Aerion's chamber during the hour of ghosts. Now, Aerion was never above admitting what kind of man he is, a jealous one. A needy one. One that would demand your whole being and still asked for more. However, admitting to himself and saying it to Dunk were to different matter. His absence had brought about an ugly suspicion, that Dunk had been bored of his playful ire, that Dunk has sought for another. A gentler, accommodating lover. Perhaps a womanly woman whose name was not tainted with curses and bad omen, whose body was lithe with even more delightful curves, whose eyes shone with tender worship and not like Aerion's consuming love, whose soft hands fit just right inside his palm without the feeling of callous from one's days with a sword, whose hair flows freely and beautifully and not cropped short at the nape.
Aerion sat in his solar, the sun was carefree and his mood sour. His nail beds red from worrying and his babe sensed his distraught.
"I know…. I know… I literally carry his babe yet here I am, wondering if he's seeking pleasure from another," he murmured so nobody would hear. His palm moving back and forth to steady his son (he's sure it's a boy). "Though don't you think that's common? Highborn lords do that all the time…," he wondered.
"What is common for lords?" the source of his souring mood was there in the flesh. Unknowing to Aerion who has steeped deep in his fear.
"Fucking others while their lady wife is carrying." Aerion blurted out.
"WHAT?!" Dunk had screamed with all his might. The huge bundle, which now Aerion has just noticed, dropped soundlessly to the floor. The man marched forward, each step sure and careful. As if not wanting to alarm Aerion with his intent. What he did next, perhaps would have Aerion forgive his absence in an instance if not for his stubborn arse, he kneeled right in front of his swollen belly.
"My love, my prince, my whole dream made real— not a single time i go to bed without you in my mind. Not a single waking thought that you don't appear in. Not a single day and night when I don't feel like my heart leaping out of my ribcage at the thought of merely looking at you. You who carries my babe, the proof of our love. First, I am no highborn lord. Second, why would I seek another when I have heaven in the grasp of my hands? You're the one for me, Aerion. I hope you would remember that." Dunk had placed both of his huge hands on the span of Aerion's belly to feel the warmth of new life in the making. His little world.
Touched by Dunk's confession, Aerion is moved to offer the same to his lover. To have him bear the weight that he had been shouldering on his own for the past couple of weeks. He could feel every fibre of his being screaming in denial, for to hand him this much intimacy was to let himself be seen completely. Close and real and naked for Dunk to feast in his gore or if he's the kind of man he truly claimed to be, to delight in the honesty.
"Then, where have you been all these weeks? I had never seen you unless it's close to midnight and I'm close to sleep so I cannot enjoy your presence for i am too tired. Did y— did you truly look for another, Dunk?" Damn it, Aerion thought, his voice had broken down.
"No, no, no, never! My love, never ever! Not even if my life depends on it! I had only planned to spare some time to hand made something for you, though it seems my project did more harm than good." Dunk had shaken his head so hard, some strands of hair fell across his face. "I had made this on my own for you."
Only now did he raised from his worship and walked across the room to retrieve the huge green sack that contains who knows what in it. Dunk had unlaced the tie and pull out…. A doll?
"A doll? You had made me a doll?" Aerion asked in disbelief.
"What? No! Hear me out for once, love. This is my own idea made to creation. A pregnancy pillow! I had noticed your growing discomfort ever so early in your gestation so i had gathered some coins to purchase a roll of a soft velvet fabric flexible enough for you to twist this and that way to suit your comfort, made a pattern, and sew it myself, and filled it with feathers! Let me tell you, a sword is so much easier to wield than a needle. The royal seamstress would be a fierce knight if given the chance, I'm sure. Here, take a look." Dunk had offered the stuff to him in the end of his rambling.
The stuff looked like a ladle with two heads. The entire thing was long and soft, like Dunk had promised. It touched the ground with how big the size truly was. Aerion ran his hand throughout the fabric, feeling the seams that Dunk had painstakingly sewed up himself, and the fluff of feather inside. Along with that, something inside him softens. Until it breaks in its entirety. Aerion felt drops of big fat tears running down his face, his hands scurrying up to hide his face behind it causing the pillow to drop to his lap. He had heaved a breath with an ugly gasp sounded out of his throat; his shoulders shook with the force of his sadness. Now he felt like a villain.
"Oh gods, oh, you have made this for me. Tiredly so. And all I have done is thinking of you cheating on me. What have I done?"
"Ah my prince, my lovely fiery prince…. Don't take it to heart. I'm also at fault for neglecting you. I did have neglected you, haven't I?"
"Yes, yes, you have. No matter that, though. This invention of yours is an apology enough." Aerion said quitely as he felt Dunk caressing his tears away.
"No, it's not. I am sorry, my beloved. I should have told you where I am instead of sneaking around like a faulty lover. I have no intention of seeking another, and by the gods, you may have my life should that ever crossed my mind." Dunk got back to his previous worship, on his knees in front of the keeper of his life. The love of his world.
"Promise?"
"On my life."
"Then, we shall try this invention of yours as soon as possible." Aerion had reached a hand for Dunk to help steadied him so he could stand up.
"What, now?" Aerion looked at him like he just grew dragon head, "Why, yes. Not a moment too late."
Aerion dragged his lover with all his pregnant might toward his bed chamber where his other trinket awaited to be added another one. The room was what one would call a controlled chaos. Only Aerion knows which is where and what's it for and calamity would befall anyone who touched it without his permission. The one time it happened, a maid almost lost her hands had it not been for Dunk begging his lover to be merciful. Aerion had let her go with much temper tantrum; his scream shook the castle walls for days after. Now, the pair of lovers were on their way to settle into the bed. Though looking at it now, Aerion had no idea how to use the pillow. And maybe Dunk had sensed his confusion and was kind enough to help him.
"Here, let me help you." Dunk gently ushered Aerion to fall into the bed, the long body of the pillow he positioned behind his lover's back for support and the ladle heads he used for where he rested his head and one of his thighs. "There you go. Do you feel fine? Should I adjust better?" Dunk had asked for pointers.
"Yes, something is amiss." Aerion seemed to run his palm on top of the bed cover as if tracing the place for the missing thing.
"What is it? I'll get it for you as soon as possible."
"Well, the sire of my child is not here in bed with me. Hadn't been for weeks actually. And I might or might not miss him." Aerion pointed his vibrant violet eyes at Dunk, peering at him through his lashes, as if to challenge him to deny Aerion this one long since hoped for request.
"But I should guard you in your sleep, Aerion. It's my duty."
"You can guard me in this bed, right where I won't leave your sight. I’ll vouch to others that you have truly outdone yourself as my personal guard." Aerion patted a place beside him.
"Is that it?"
"That is it."
"Alright, how can one ever deny you anything, my love."
"Nobody can, that's the secret." Aerion had spoken softly in the night.
It was told that the prince had peaceful sleep that night and was noted by the castle dwellers that he had rose that morning with a smile on his face and his lover right beside him. Right where he belonged, at last.