The Stag and The Direwolf
This is mostly unedited because I really just wanted to get this posted. Apologies for the long wait. Between college and mental health issues, I haven't been able to really sit down and finish this chapter until recently.
Warning: Super brief gloss-over of a sexual encounter between two men towards the beginning of the chapter.
Chapter Two: Duncan
Sounds of heavy breathing, masculine grunts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin in a frenzied rhythm filled the room of a brothel. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and exotic spices. Slowly, but surely, the sounds coming from the two men in the room escalated until the final cries of pleasure sounded out. All that remained was heavy breathing.
"Seven Hells, Prince." The blond-haired man said in a breathless voice, a tired grin forming easily on his face. "My shoulders are going to be bruised come morning, I can tell you that right now."
The Prince smirked unapologetically before he pulled out and tenderly kissed the older man's shoulders. "Apologies, my dearest Olyvar."
Olyvar snorted, "Apologies, my sore arse. You love it when I get marked, you sadistic litt-" The Prince was quick to turn Olyvar over onto his back, straddle him, and capture the man's lips with his own in a passionate kiss.
Pulling away, The Prince gave a small, cheeky smile as he tangled his legs with Olyvar's. "To be honest I don't know what it is, perhaps it's an instinct of wanting to show that someone is mine."
Olyvar resisted rolling his eyes at the young Prince. "But I'm not yours, my Prince. I can't ever be just yours. In this moment maybe, but after? I belong to the next cock that comes calling."
The Prince frowned for a moment before placing a chaste kiss on Olyvar's chin and nuzzling the side of his face. "I know. I do. This is your livelihood. I respect that. I just can't help but get territorial. I'll try to restrain myself next time. However, for now, can we just lay here? I have awhile before I must get back to the castle, and… I'll pay you for your time, of course."
Olyvar sighed heavily. The Prince had it bad for him. He knew this. To be honest, Olyvar was quite fond of the Prince as well but there was nothing that could be done about it; the Prince was one of his highest paying customers and Olyvar simply could not afford to say no. Not to mention the fact that Littlefinger would skewer him alive if he didn't use these opportunities to spy on the Prince.
Finally rolling his eyes, Olyvar forced a grin, "Oh, come here, you big lout." He said before wrapping his well-toned arms around the Prince and leaning his head against the Prince's black-haired head. 'Might as well go all in, Littlefinger is getting anxious about the Prince…' thought Olyvar, as the Prince grabbed a blanket to cover them before cuddling closer to the blond-haired whore.
Hours had passed. The setting sun turned the clouds above orange and red and purple, the colors changing as time went on. It was around this time that Ser Merlon Crakehall entered his Prince's favorite whorehouse. The Prince could often be found at this brothel when he couldn't be found elsewhere.
Merlon knew of his charge's affection for a certain blond whore named Olyvar and he was not one to stand in the way of a Baratheon or a Lannister's affection. Especially since his Prince was both a Stag and a Lion, and thus doubly stubborn. The Crown Prince wasn't as careful as Merlon would like with these brothel visits, however. Spies were everywhere, especially in a whorehouse owned by Littlefinger of all people. Secrets could not be kept in a brothel.
Seeing the Prince so blinded by his affection for Olyvar worried the sworn sword. Especially tonight. It was almost dark and long after supper. Did he fall asleep? If so, the Prince will have to pay triple what he usually pays and that's quite a lot since Olyvar is such an expensive whore. If he fell asleep, can Olyvar be trusted to look after the Prince and keep him safe?
No, Olyvar could not be trusted. Merlon knew he should have gone with the Prince to the brothel, but Duncan convinced him to stay at the keep and to take a day off. That he deserved it. Merlon agreed quickly knowing that Duncan was off to see Olyvar. There's only so many times you can stand outside a door and listen as your Prince and best friend fucks and gets fucked by that smarmy blond prick.
Merlon sent three sharp knocks to the door that Duncan could often be found behind as he stood quietly. The sound of someone starting awake, and knocking a platter over in the process, filled Merlon's ears as he rolled his eyes. Olyvar. A minute later and the blond whore himself opened the door to reveal the man partially undressed. No shirt, his trousers hastily pulled on and left untied, and his short blond hair a mess.
Blue eyes met green and immediately a smirk met a frown. "Ser Merlon, what a pleasure!" Olyvar greeted, blue eyes twinkling with mischief and his signature smirk ever growing.
"Where is he, whore?" Ser Merlon asked, his voice low and deep with a hint of unsaid threats should Olyvar not produce the Prince immediately.
"Oh, calm yourself, Crakehall. You know how he is... Duncan is a heavy sleeper. Not even a boar could wake him." Olyvar gave a pointed grin towards the sworn sword before opening the door wider to allow the man to enter the room.
In the middle of the private room, a large circular bed upon a stone base drew Merlon's eyes. The figure of his Prince could easily be made, his naked body barely covered by a silk sheet. Soft snores could be heard coming from the man. It took a second longer than he would have liked, but Merlon came to his senses and moved to wake up his friend. "Prince Duncan, it's time to come home now!" He spoke loudly, but he knew that it would do nothing to wake the man. "Olyvar, fetch me a pitcher."
The blond man scrunched up his nose as he closed the door and walked to the other two men. "You are not getting the bed wet! There must be something else you can do to wake him up?"
Merlon rolled his eyes again, "What do you suppose I do?"
"I don't care what you do, so long as you don't ruin the bed." Olyvar spat at him, arms crossed over his chest. 'If the bed gets ruined, Littlefinger will take it out of my wages…'
Merlon groaned in annoyance before moving away from the bed to look around the room. There were draperies with various shades of red, a stand with a pitcher and a bowl of fruit, and… wait. The platter he heard being knocked over earlier.
"Since I can't pour wine over him, can I make noise? Is that allowed, whore?" Merlon asked, but he didn't wait for an answer before circling the bed, grabbing the rectangular silver platter, and unsheathing one of his daggers. Several loud bangs against the platter made near the Prince's ear later…. And he was finally stirring awake.
"Hm? Ollie, what's… Merl?" Duncan asked, sleep heavy in his voice as he woke from his slumber, "What… What are you doing here, I told you to take the day off."
Merlon shook his head at the Prince, "My Prince, the sun has fallen and you've missed supper." He frowned as if he were disappointed. "You worried me, Dunk."
The Prince chuckled at his friend before pushing himself up into a seated position on the bed. "Well, I'm fine, as you can see. Ollie and I fell asleep after our… activities. It's nothing to worry over, friend."
"That's not the point, My Prince. If I didn't come collect you… when you woke up you would have walked home unguarded in the middle of the night. You need to be more careful." Merlon stressed, frowning as he sat at the end of the bed.
"Merlon, I'm a man now. I can take care of myself. The people love me, and the ones that don't love me wouldn't dare touch me so long as my father is King." Duncan gave a small, reassuring grin aimed at his close friend and confidant. "Besides, if you hadn't interrupted, I probably wouldn't have awoken 'til morning."
"Not to interrupt this lovely conversation, but I'd have to side with Crakehall on this one… as much as it pains me. I've been trying to wake you for hours now, my Prince, and as much as I enjoy our time together, I do have other clients that prefer our private rooms." Olyvar said pointedly towards his lover.
Duncan frowned but nodded in understanding. "Yes, you're absolutely right. I apologize, I should have left as soon as we were finished... but you know how I love lying next to you after." He paused for effect before pulling the sheet around his waist as he stood from the bed to gather his clothes and belongings.
Merlon sent an annoyed but grateful look towards Olyvar before helping Duncan collect his things.
When the Prince awoke the next morning, he found himself in his chambers in the Red Keep. He scarcely remembered returning to his chambers the previous night, with the help of Ser Crakehall, but couldn't recall getting in bed. Despite that, he awoke in his bed in his usual sleeping state: bare to the world.
Duncan muttered to himself as he blinked away the light shining through his balcony door and the windows on either side. "Ugh…" He groaned, tempted to bury his head into his pillows and return to the darkness. But as the sound of knocking filled his ears, Duncan groaned again before rolling himself off the bed and righting himself up. "Who is it?" He called out, pulling a sheet to cover the lower half of his body.
"Ser Crakehall, my Prince. Here to drag you to the dining hall." Merlon responded, a slight grin on his bearded face. "Are you decent?"
The Prince hopped up from the bed and made his way to his wardrobe. "No, but you may come in anyway. Nothing you haven't seen before." He said as he pulled out a set of trousers and a simple linen tunic.
The door cracked open as the Prince's sworn shield walked into the room before closing behind him. "Sleep well?" He asked, staying close to the door as he watched the Prince drop the sheet to get dressed. Merlon forced himself to look away. 'Gods… Give me strength.'
"Aye." Duncan nodded as he pulled on his trousers. "A good roll in the hay helps me sleep soundly," He grinned at Merlon.
Ser Crakehall forced a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sure." He said, subtly admiring Duncan's form as the man pulled on a tunic. "What are your plans for the day, Dunk?"
The Prince hummed for a moment, recalling what he had to do today as he turned to face his friend. "I have tutoring with Pycelle after my morning meal, then sparring with Santagar after midday. After that, I'll likely visit with Jon in the evening and see if I can help him with anything before I dine with Tommen and Myrcella."
Merlon nodded, "Sounds like a full day. Let us go eat then."
Later that evening, after training with the master-at-arms and cleaning himself up when he was done, Duncan headed towards the tower of the hand to check in on Jon Arryn – the hand of the king and practically Duncan's grandfather. Jon fostered King Robert in the Vale, alongside Eddard Stark, long before he became King.
He nodded his head in acknowledgment towards guards and servants alike, making sure to hold eye contact for several seconds and giving a small smile. Duncan did his best to present himself as friendly as he could, for he believed that if the people didn't like their rulers then those rulers could be overthrown. Hell, his father was a Usurper himself. A rebellion was always a possibility if the people weren't content with how their countries were being ruled.
Walking up the steps of the tower, he dragged his hand along the stone walls. The texture helped ground him to the present, helped him breathe and collect his thoughts. It was something he's always done for as long as he could remember. One time his father saw him and laughed because he and Stannis would do the same when they were younger.
Duncan had many things on his mind: his fling with Olyvar and how he knows it won't last but how he wishes it could; how he spotted his mother and uncle kissing like lovers a few weeks prior and how he wish he could tell someone, anyone, but knows that his father would likely murder them both if he found out; how he knows he'll need to be married off soon, but he's absolutely terrified of the notion of marriage considering that both of his parents are unfaithful to one another and have a loveless marriage.
Shaking his head with a heavy sigh, Duncan pressed his hand harder against the stone walls and hurried his speed up the stairs. 'Better not to think about any of it. Train, learn, fuck, eat, sleep, repeat. Leave no time to wandering thoughts.'
As he finally reached the top of the stairs, Duncan heard mumbling behind the door. 'Jon's here, good.' He thought before raising his right hand to rap his knuckles against the wooden door three times.
"…Huh? Who… Who's there?" The older man called out from behind the door.
"It's Duncan, wanted to see if you needed any help with anything before I dine." The prince responded, a friendly grin making its way onto his fair skinned face.
"Oh! Dunk, m' boy, come in!" Jon cried out in a hurried voice. Duncan could hear the latch unlock and he watched as the wooden door was pushed open for him.
The young man's smile slowly fell off his face as he took in the sight of the Hand of the King. Jon stood before him with his broad shoulders hunched, his fair skin turned red and clammy, dark circles under his blue eyes. "Jon… are you alright?" Duncan asked, his voice low and careful as he walked into the room.
Jon shut the door behind him, before scurrying over to his desk. "'m fine. Well, no, that isn't exactly true. I feel… ill. But, that doesn't matter right now." The older man pauses briefly as he searches through the papers in front of him. "Dunk, listen to me."
The prince shuffled from one foot to the other. 'I should alert his Maester…' He thought before walking over to the other man. "Jon, here, let's sit down for a minute and you can tell me what you need to tell me."
The older man looked away from his desk, gave the prince a long look, before nodding. "Yes, alright." Jon paused, letting out a string of awful coughs. "But you must listen closely! This is important, m' boy."
Duncan gently helped the other man sit in his chair by the windows, his brows furrowed with worry. "I promise. Just tell me, whatever it is, I'll listen."
Nodding, Jon gripped the prince's arm and whispered, "Your uncle Stannis and I were suspicious of many things, but they were ultimately of your mother and her closeness to her brother Jaime." He paused, gauging Duncan's reaction. The prince steeled his expression. Jon sighed, continuing, "Then, it was how three out of four of her children bore only Lannister features."
Duncan pulled Jon's hand off his arm. "Are you trying to tell me that my mother and uncle…"
"Please, let me get this all out. I will explain it all." Jon interrupted, gripping the prince's arm again. Duncan swallowed his protests, giving a shaky nod. "We went digging into the Baratheon pedigree, to see if there were other Baratheon and Lannister unions. There were."
"And?" Duncan asked, his mind swimming with the thought that the kiss he saw between his mother and uncle went deeper than just a kiss. "What did you learn?"
Jon paused, releasing the other man's arm upon recognizing that he wouldn't run away. He cleared his throat of phlegm and continued speaking in a hoarse whisper. "In every Baratheon and Lannister union recorded, the children born were black of hair. In fact, every legitimate Baratheon born was listed as black of hair."
The prince's eyes widened as the information sunk into his brain like molasses. "Black of hair… So, does that mean… Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen…. They're…?"
"Bastards," Jon replied immediately and without hesitation, leaning further back against the chair. "And considering how close Cersei and Jaime are, they're likely his."
"Gods." Duncan raised one hand to cover his mouth while his other arm crossed over his chest. "Jon, I… I should tell you. I saw… A few weeks ago, I saw my mother and Uncle Jaime kiss."
"You saw them kiss? Are you certain?" The older man asked, leaning forward in his chair once more. "It wasn't a familial kiss?"
Duncan shook his head, stepping backward and allowing himself to sit in the chair across from Jon. "No, no, it was not a familial kiss, Jon. They looked more like lovers instead of brother and sister. I… I didn't want to say anything. I know how father is, and… I worry about what he would do with this information."
"Duncan… I'm sorry, but this cannot be kept from the King. He- He…" Jon paused to cough, one that wracked his body almost violently. "Your father must… He must…" His words became slurred as he continued to cough.
The prince looked at the older man, his brow furrowed with concern. "Jon? Are you alright?" He asked as Jon continued to cough. "Should I call for Maester Colemon?"
When the coughing man nodded his assent, Duncan stood from his chair and hurried out of the room. He took the steps down two by two, his eyes peeled for Jon's Maester. 'Hold on, Jon.' Duncan thought to himself as he left the tower of the hand, his hands shaking slightly and his brows still furrowed deep with concern. 'Just hold on.'
