Hi hope you’re doing gooddd. This is a bit of a throwback but I’d like to start this off by saying your blog got me into TKOSK! I was following you for your Nightwing x Talia’s daughter!reader story first. You’ve always produced and reblogged amazing stuff. Also currently following a dark!aerion story you reblogged ages ago too lol. Your Dick Grayson story is something I still can’t get out of my mind so I was just wondering if you could tell us some quick bullet points of what was going to happen next etc. No pressure at all! Just always wondered where’d it go, it was a great story and Ive never been good with cliffhangers 😂 Any crumbs plz 🫶💓✨
Hey, that’s really thoughtful of you to reach out and tell me that. It genuinely means a lot to know the story resonated with you and that you somehow found your way into tkosk :) Thenightwing fic has always stuck with me too. I went back and forth on rewriting it so many times because I never felt like it became what I wanted it to be. There were moments I loved,but overall it just didn’t have the care or depth I’d imagined when I started writing it and that’s ultimately why I ended up taking most of it down…If I ever did go back to it, though, it definitely wouldn’t end with them separating. I don’t think I was ever interested in writing that kind of ending. It would’ve been happy, or at least bittersweet, but they would’ve found their way back to each other! Without spoiling too much in case I ever pick it back up,I always wanted to spend a lot more time on reader’s family, especially her relationship with her mother. I felt like there was so much there that I barely scratched the surface of. I also really wanted to get to a point where things with her brother actually felt…okay. Dick and reader would need to relearn a lot about each other and heal together. I’m still figuring out how I’d write that…
Thank you so much for this ask :) I really appreciate you reaching out. I hope you’re doing well and I hope life has been treating you kindly💕
to take one of the most calculated intelligent villains in the entire history of Westeros and debase her by turning her into a child bride who is continuously assaulted and humiliated her entire screen-time Hotd writers get the fuck out of my face fr this time
Yess we want vaelys and maelor smut 😁 make it extra smutty
okay 🩷 yay 🩷
vaelys thought she would be happier.
she hated her uncle. he was a murderer, a kinslayer. he had forced himself on her time and again, his will and his aims and his children. she thought she would dance on his ashes when his life finally drew to an end.
but there was no laughter, no joy, no bitter triumph. just... widowhood.
she lit the pyre herself, thrusting the glowing torch into the underlayer of tinder and holding it there until it caught and ignited, until the bed of fine oudh the body lay upon was aflame.
vaelys stood there at the head of the pyre, watching blank-faced as it burned, as he burned. there was but little wind buffeting her veil and her gown, naught to hamper the progress. the smoke was thick and fragrant from the oils releasing from the oudh planks, and even with the screen of her veil, it stung her eyes.
that was why she cried, she would tell herself later. the smoke. she did not weep for her uncle, for her husband.
as she watched him burn away, she felt a presence step up to her side. a hand slide into hers.
"mummy."
vaelys did not turn at the voice. maelor was twenty now, not two. he oughtn't use such childish terms or cling to her like some cringing babe.
"you must be all you are not now," she said, not looking away from the pyre. "i need you to be all you are not."
"i will," maelor swore, grasping onto her forearm, "mumm — mother. your grace. i will serve you."
"i need you to be strong," vaelys went on like he hadn't spoken. "i need you to be firm. i need you to be all your father was. more — the anvil is gone. for some, even that name was enough for them to hold back their treachery. the memory of his glories on the redgrass. you have earned no such glories."
she finally looked at maelor. her son was tall, and broad, and handsome. she would be blind or stupid to deny that. he kept his waving silver-gold hair cropped short, unlike his younger brother who wore his longer even than his sisters. try as he had in the past, he could not sprout much of a beard, though his jaw was strong and proud. he looked much like what she imagined a twenty-year-old version of her uncle looked like, sans the pitted-pox scars that had marred his cheeks since he was a boy.
but he lacked the fire, the firmness, in his gaze that his father had. that fierce, ugly bite that he gnashed at everyone, servant and queen alike. her mild-mannered, cringing little heir — how would he protect her, how would he defend their rights?
"and my enemies will take advantage of that. our enemies, now — you must be the sword behind my crown. i don't have the mace anymore."
her gaze dropped down to the sword he wore at his hip. blackfyre. he had accounted himself well worthy of wielding it, she would acknowledge. she looked back at the pyre and was struck with some strange urge to climb up onto it and cling to her uncle's burning body one last time. a laugh nearly burst from her at the impulse, which was so strong she might have even stepped forward, if her son wasn't still clutching onto her arm. it was a new drive; she had not felt it when she put matarys to the flames, or her grandsire. not even valarr. part of her was certain that if she had been there to bear witness to her father's pyre, she might have wanted to throw herself onto that, but she wasn't there, so she couldn't know for sure.
"i will, mother," maelor said, holding onto her so tightly that she thought she might bruise. he had always done that, clinging to her and grasping for her, wanting her to hold him, to praise him. he stepped closer yet, uncaring that the court would see, and pushed his face to her neck. vaelys wrinkled her nose in distaste under her veil, but she did not pull away. "i will be all father was to you," he mumbled against her neck, his breath warm on her skin. "i will be more."
~*~
true to his word, maelor threw himself into his new duties. she named him her hand. she thought her uncle would enjoy that; her father had been hand and heir her whole life, learning how to rule while his father still lived. ruling himself when grandsire grew too weak to tend to the realm as diligently.
he sparred at the council chamber as diligently as he did in the training yard, stepping up against her councillors and pressing hard for her will. he scarcely ever denied her or fought her, but he did not roll over and acquiesce like her first hand had, but spoke of it like he had conceived of whatever matter himself, fierce and pointed. mayhaps he even thought it was his notion. was he not an extension of herself? her son, her heir. her warrior. he had always been dutiful and obedient — when she bade him wed his sister, he wed her. when she bade him to sire sons on her after years of leaving rhaena ignored, he had done his best; it wasn't his fault she had given him a daughter to start with, and only just borne him a son three moons before their father died.
six moons into her son's tenure as hand, a half-year of second widowhood, vaelys found herself sleepless and morose.
she was... lonely. she longed for something warm to sleep next to. she yearned for the weight of someone pressing over her, pinning her down. she wanted the ache and pain of...
it was only natural to miss a man one spent more than two decades married to. to miss her blood, her uncle, the last thing of her father. that was what she told herself as she shook her head and stared out the window of her bedchamber. she had ladies in waiting, of course, and sometimes she would make them sleep with her. she thought that if she told them to, they would even fuck her, for she undeniably missed that. but it would prove more hassle than any sorry, passionless tumble with one of her ladies would be worth, once they giggled and whispered about it to the rest of the court, giving them more fodder to sneer at her with. nor did she want to trouble herself with a lover.
a knock on the door drew her from her thoughts.
"come," she called, and the door swung open.
"prince maelor, your grace," said the kingsguard standing there. before she could reply, her son strode into view.
"i've come to bid you goodnight, your grace. i — is ought amiss?"
"why do you say that?"
"the hour is late. you are not abed."
"i could not find sleep," vaelys looked back out the window. she heard his tentative steps behind her, then the slosh of wine filling a cup.
"you need to sleep, mother," his voice was soft as he held out the wine. the words made the ache in her grow — her uncle would chide her for her restless nights sometimes, though she rarely had them when he was around to warm her sheets. but it was always gruff and long-suffering, as much of her uncle's speech had been to her. not this considerate, concerned little lilt her son used.
she took a sip of the wine, still staring out the window.
"is there... is there anything you would want to discuss with me?" maelor asked. vaelys started to roll her eyes when he went on hastily: "as your hand, i mean. if matters of the crown keep you awake, then i ought to hear of it, should i not?"
vaelys finally looked up at her son.
"it is not matters of the crown," she said softly, "they are not matters that would be appropriate to share with my hand."
he nodded slowly and looked down at his boots. then, after a pause:
"and as your heir? your... your son?"
she laughed, bitter and sad, and looked away again.
"it would be even less appropriate."
"i see," maelor was quiet for a long time. then he stepped closer again. "get some sleep, then, mother."
he bent down and kissed her cheek. she closed her eyes. her uncle had shaved his beard for a while — once, saera gripped onto it too tight as a babe and ripped a fistful of the fine silver-gold hairs out of his cheek; he kept it shaved until their youngest had grown out of her penchant for pulling hair, much to her chagrin. maelor's lips on her cheek felt much the same as her uncle's had for that awful year.
"do you miss rhaena?" she asked suddenly. she didn't know why she had asked it. maelor was quiet for a long time, then he scoffed. why would he miss the woman who had cuckolded him for years, who he had himself banished to dragonstone to live under close guard as soon as he had a son in hand?
"i never even think of her."
"your daughter looks a great deal like her."
"vaella looks like you, mother. why do you think i named her as i did?" he was still bent over her. he took a piece of her dark hair in his fingers and touched it lightly. "i... sometimes i pretend she is yours."
"another sister?" she laughed drily, "you have had poor luck with them."
"not as a sister. a daughter still."
he was silent for a time, then leaned down and kissed her cheek again. it seemed closer to the corner of her mouth. without thinking, vaelys turned her head to him just as he pulled away, and their lips brushed.
maelor froze over her. she blinked her eyes open and stared up at him. this close, she could only see his eyes, brow, and nose. the mention of his errant-sister wife had stoked some flame in his usually mild gaze, and —
she kissed him.
she moved before she was completely aware of what she was doing, and she didn’t have to move much at all before their mouths were flush, close as their faces were.
when she realized what she’d done, vaelys started to move away. but maelor mumbled in objection, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head as he brought her in and kissed her back.
“maelor,” she murmured as his tongue lapped at her bottom lip, “we…”
he kissed her harder, sitting down beside her on the window seat. he grasped at her elbows, then her waist.
“mother,” he mumbled, over and over. “mother, mother. please. please. let me — i will be as father was. please. i swear it. i’ll be good.”
his hands curled into her skirts as he nuzzled down her throat, desperately wild with the need for her.
"i told you i would be all father was. more. let me keep my word. please. i only — i only want to keep my word."
vaelys swallowed thickly and glanced at the door into the corridor.
"go tell ser rogers he is dismissed," she said, thinking of the kingsguard posted without. her voice emerged sticky-sweet as honey, "and bolt the door."
maelor rushed to comply, nearly tripping as he went over and opened the door, repeating the order. she heard the white knight's reluctance, then:
"my lady mother has given the word herself. worry not, ser. i will guard her for the night." he habitually wore blackfyre at his waist — he always did, ever since his father had knighted him at seven-and-ten and bestowed the ancient blade on him. he touched the hilt idly, as if to say and i'll do a fine job of it.
ser rogers excused himself, and as maelor closed the door and slid the bolt home, vaelys reached behind herself and began to unlace her gown. before she could get the laces through more than the first two rows of eyelets, however, maelor was back at the window seat. he took her by the arms gently and sank to his knees at her feet.
"mummy," he mumbled, rubbing his cheek against her knees. she knew she ought to be objecting. throwing him from her chambers, barring the door, screaming down the guards. this was simply not done, not even in the interconnected branches of the tree of their house.
but why not? he was part of her, after all. an extension of her — he was her heir, her legacy. to mount him, well... it was no different then when she slipped her fingers between her thighs and brought herself over the edge. better, even — her self-pleasure actualized in another.
she pulled her soaked shift over her head and dropped it onto the floor when she entered her bedchamber. then she climbed into bed, sitting up against the headboard.
so when he climbed onto the seat beside her and mouthed at her throat as he unlaced her gown, she did not push him away.
maelor got her gown unlaced and tugged it down around her waist. he took her stays off next, but stopped before he took off her shift, nosing at the neckline of her shift. he whined softly. needily, clinging to her waist.
"mummy," he mumbled, mouthing at her chest through the linen, "mummy."
she shushed him, sliding a hand through his hair as he licked at her breast through her shift, soaking the linen as he suckled at her. he had never done so as a little babe — she had always handed all of them off to wetnurses and nannies when they hungered. he was hungry now, she thought idly as he palmed at her other breast.
then he switched sides, and the linen soaked up his spit, soaking the entire region of her chest.
when maelor was satisfied, he pulled away and tugged her shift up her hips. he slid off the seat to kneel at her feet. he nuzzled his cheek against her knee.
“mummy. i — i’ve wanted — i love — you are — “ he seemed incapable of forming a full sentence. vaelys shushed him and drew to her feet, earning a whine as she stepped over him and started to the bedchamber. as she passed, she touched the back of his head. his face was still bowed, and from the back… he had his father’s hair.
“take this off before you join me, princeling,” she murmured, tugging at the neck of his black velvet doublet.
maelor wasted no time joining her, and when he did, he was as naked as the day he was born. the day he had emerged from her, bloody and screaming.
vaelys tilted her head and considered him for a moment. he was strong, her son. all that time he’d spent in the training yard, honing his skills and his blade and his skills at the blade had left him well-muscled and broad and tall.
her gaze dropped to his cock.
his hand came up at first to cover it, but then maelor remembered himself and let it drop back to his side. he was already hard, standing proud and dripping. his cock was thick, red with need.
she motioned for him to approach with a flick of her head, and maelor hastened to her side. he climbed into the bed and kissed her like an overeager pup, sloppy and wet. his hand went to her breast, then her stomach. while she had been mindful of her figure, after five children, she was no trim little maid. she was soft there, her skin still loose and sagging, never having quite returned to the tautness she had enjoyed before pregnancy. maelor groaned softly as he grasped at her there. that was where he was made, she supposed. home to him as much as the red keep was.
“you’re so beautiful, mummy. i’ve always thought so. the most beautiful woman to ever grace this sorry coil.”
vaelys shushed him halfheartedly. he settled in her lap then, situating himself like he might have settled against her when she fed him from her, had she ever disgraced herself in such a manner. he nosed at her breasts again, then drew one into his mouth, kneading at the other.
the swell of maternal adoration that rose was new and utterly unfamiliar. she flinched from it, then cupped the back of his head.
“good,” she said softly, carding her fingers through his hair. it was soft and thin, like spider’s silk. “good boy.”
maelor whined around his mouthful. vaelys reached down and took his cock in hand, stroking it, and the whine turned into a high, muffled moan as he lurched into her touch. she smiled despite herself.
he switched breasts while his other hand snaked down awkwardly to feel at her hips, her thighs. under her touch, he jerked uncontrollably, wildly, scrabbling at her smallclothes.
“mummy,” he mumbled, “mummy, i — “
vaelys shushed him, petting his hair again. his hand slid between her thighs, seeking her cunt at once. the angle of how he lay across her thighs made it awkward — nor did she think he much utilized the street of silk or even the maids of the keep as his brother did — so his ministrations were ill-made and moreso annoying than pleasurable.
vaelys grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away, earning a whine of dismay.
“i know, princeling,” she cooed, "just take your supper."
she stroked at him while his mouth worked over her breast. one of her ladies in waiting would feed her babes herself instead of engaging the service of a wetnurse. she remembered how horrified she was when the woman would pull out her breast in the middle of tea and let one of her squalling brats feed as if she were some common beggar in the street, and not a daughter of a noble house, not the companion of a queen. her lady had smiled serenely when she’d asked why she’d not used a wetnurse, and said something to the effect of how close it made her feel to her children, how at peace the babes were as they ate. vaelys had been flummoxed then, but now, looking down at her heir and the way his eyes were closed in contentment as he suckled at her, letting out the occasional moan as she stroked his cock, she saw a little more of the wisdom in it.
“mummy,” he whined, seeming reluctant to pull off her. “i’m close — i — “
“good,” she cooed, brushing his hair from his eyes. how very much he looked like his father, with that hair. she remembered how she loved to muss her uncle’s carefully combed hair; to see him undone. now, she smoothed her son’s hair back into careful array. “come, princeling. come for me.”
her son pulled off of her with a little sob, looking up at her plaintively
“mummy — y-your grace, i want — “
“and you will,” she assured him, her hand sliding through his hair again, “but i want you to come for me first.”
maelor groaned and pressed his face against the swell of her breast. he tried to resist, she could tell — his fingers curled and pressed bluntly against her stomach as he lurched away from her hand with a choked little sound. vaelys traced her thumb over the head of his cock in a slow, purposeful drag, gathering the precome that leaked there in a steady drip.
he came with a shout, lurching off her lap as he clawed at her stomach, seeming desperate to clamber right back in to her. he’d sat high in her ribs, she remembered, and would kick out at her seemingly constantly, as if demanding that she pay ceaseless attention to him, even when he was still warm and snug in her body.
his seed spilled out in several generous spurts, flying up into the air with surprising height before falling over the back of her hand, dripping down her knuckles and the curve of her wrist.
he whimpered pathetically as his hips jumped and twitched through his orgasm, the movements seeming to be completely beyond his control. vaelys stroked him through it, even when the spurting abated and his whimpers morphed into pained gasps as he shied from her touch.
“mum — mummy. it — ah — it hurts. please — “
“i’m just making sure you’re sated, princeling,” she cooed, “have you anything else to give me?”
he whimpered and squirmed desperately under her touch, latching on to her forearm to try and pry her hand away.
she relented when his poor cock gave a weak little twitch in her grip and a paltry squirt of come dribbled out onto his stomach.
when she released him, his cock was still half-hard and bright red, and would twitch every so often from the abuse she had levied against it.
“poor thing,” she cooed, dragging her pointer finger along the vein that webbed up the underside of his spent cock. maelor whined and gripped harder at her wrist. “do you much go to brothels?”
“n-no, mummy.”
“no?” she knew the answer, though she still feigned surprise, squeezing his cock lightly until he actually pushed her hand away with a sob. “poor little cock. no wonder it’s so sensitive. you’ve neglected it. have you been pining away for your whore wife? no other whores would do?”
"no," maelor said, more fiercely this time, "i never think of my wife at all."
she hummed and rested her soiled hand on his stomach.
"then why deny yourself so, my little prince?"
he averted his gaze for a moment, cheeks colouring, then mumbled:
"i only wanted you, mummy."
vaelys hummed again and lifted her soiled hand up, inspecting it. she considered licking it clean, but then a better idea arose — she held it over his mouth and gave him an expectant nod. without a word of complaint, maelor set about the task of eating his own come.
when her hand was clean and soaked with spit, vaelys pulled away, extricating herself from beneath her son's weight.
he made a weak noise of dismay at her departure.
"mum — your grace. where are you — ?"
"don't you worry. i'll be back."
she went back into the solar and filled two goblets with wine. it was her turn to ply him with drink — she returned to her bedchamber and held out one of the goblets.
maelor sat up on his elbow and knocked the wine back happily, eagerly, even spilling some in a thin trickle out the side of his mouth. when the cup was drained, he set it aside on the bedside table and looked up at her, his chest heaving.
vaelys reached down and wiped at his chin with her thumb.
"messy little thing," she murmured, taking a sip of her own wine. "you've always been a messy eater. as a babe, you would be a right terror to feed." not that she ever made herself go through that trial herself. it had still set her head to aching to watch the nurses wrestle pease and mashed neaps into him.
maelor caught her thumb in his mouth and sucked at it, his eyes huge and fuck-drunk — half true drunk, too, she'd wager — as he stared up at her.
"i'd sup from you," he said, eager as a pup, "i'd be so neat then. i'd be good."
vaelys squirmed a little at the thought. the notion brought her uncle to the forefront of her mind — she did not want the ache in her to grow more insistent, so she shook her head to clear it and looked away, drawing her hand free.
she climbed back into bed and lay back on the pillows. maelor seemed to take that as invitation, for he moved over her, kissing a trail down her body as he tugged her thighs apart.
"don't," she said, making the sort of refusals she was used to having ignored — it would feel good, a part of her thought, to be pinned down and taken from again. but instead of ignoring her, maelor pulled away at once, much to her annoyance.
she scoffed and looked aside, though not before catching the look of confusion that crossed his face. he did not press her, though, and instead put his hand to her cunt and not his tongue.
"can i fuck you, mummy?"
the question was so earnestly boyish that a short laugh left her, dry and long-suffering.
"what do you think i'm letting you hang around here for? shall we have tea and chatter at one another?" she rolled her eyes, though he looked genuinely hurt.
"i — i would not complain... i would be your companion, if you allowed me. not just your... your sentry. i would be your consort."
his father had ever butted against the title, unless it suited him. to hear it embraced so readily made her melancholy.
"i don't need a consort," she said, again shaking away the stinging grief, "you are my heir. that is all."
her eyes dropped to his cock. it didn't seem to have recovered, but she let her thighs drop open.
"be quick about it. i'm tired."
"mummy — "
"don't you want to fuck me?" she cut him off peevishly.
"of course i do — "
"then fuck me. don't waste time clucking like some nagging woman."
he hesitated for a moment longer, then raised up onto his knees and took himself in hand to stroke himself back up to readiness, grimacing all the while.
vaelys looked at his cock again. it was bright red and twitching, though she didn't think from need.
when he was hard again, he climbed between her thighs and lined himself up, then sheathed himself in her in a single thrust.
part of her was certain he would take her command of brevity to heart and come right then and there — he let out a strangled shout as he plunged into her, his head dropping back as his face contorted in pure ecstasy.
but he held on for a little longer, establishing a jerky pace.
"harder," she ordered. "faster." he tried his best, hips speeding up, but it wasn't to her liking. "fuck me like you hate me, princeling."
that so stunned him that he froze, staring down at her.
"i — i can't."
"you said you pretend your daughter is mine own. surely you pretended that your wife was me, time and again." he averted his gaze, declaring his guilt as loudly as if he'd agreed. "so you are a skilled mummer. pretend i'm your wife," she went on softly, knowing that he most likely did — just not in the way she wanted. "pretend you want to see me punished. i cuckolded you, derided you, hated you. pay me in kind."
"i can't do that — " he whispered, ashamed, "i can't pretend to hate you, mummy. i love you."
she sighed, making her disappointment clear.
"very well. finish what you started, then."
he did, his face pink and full of self-loathing that he could not grant her what she wanted. his hips moved in jerky thrusts as he whimpered and winced above her.
then he came a third time, and she could tell it was as paltry as the second even without having to see it.
he was crying by the time he was done, slumped down over her with his full weight, his face wet against her breast. from the pain, from the embarrassment, from it all.
she shushed him as he went soft in her, slow to pull out though she was sure he was eager to end the stimulation. she carded her fingers through his hair in her best estimation of motherly comfort and kissed his temple.
"there we are," she said gently.
"you didn't — "
"no. but you did. and how well you did, my little prince. three times, all for me. such a good try."
"i want — i want to make you feel good, mummy."
bring my consort back to me, and he would show you how to make me feel best.
but she nodded and kissed his temple again. maelor reached down and rubbed at her clit, still not easing from her. his inexperience was clear, and she wished he was more like his younger brother and availed himself more of the city's whores and their services before coming to her bed.
when she tired of his boyish rubs, she keened and moaned like he had brought her to her peak, making a good show of it for his contentment. she would do it herself later, when he'd taken his leave of her.
maelor rolled off her, but did not depart in haste like his father sometimes did. she let him look up at her all moony-eyed for a time, then patted his arm and closed her eyes.
"very good, sweet prince," she murmured, "i'm proud of you. now let me rest."
— Synopsis: You are once again in King’s landing after the death of your father king Daeron, come to see your elder brother crowned king. The new king has no heirs and has begun to seek a wife. In his eyes you seem the safest choice. He cannot afford uncertainty when it comes to the line of succession…
— Warnings: Widowed & Depressed Reader, Divergent from canon, Timeline?
King Baelor held you as you wept before the pyre. Nay, not the king. Your brother held you, whilst the last of your father burned.
The mourners had long since departed. Lords and ladies,knights and septons, all had taken their leave, but you could not.
You had tried. More than once you had thought to follow them back to the red keep, yet when the moment came your feet refused to move. It was as if they had been rooted to the ground before the pyre.
“Come now, sweet sister,” he said, reaching to wipe your tears away beneath your black veil.
You had worn it for months now since the death of your husband and all your gowns were black as well. You had once liked bright colours: oranges and reds and deep purples, but you had no use for them anymore.
After your husband died, in a fit of anger, you had burned every last one. You had seen your goodmother wearing colour again not long after and it had made your blood boil.
There was too much death in your life now for colour.
“I am sorry for weeping so, brother,” you said into his shoulder, your voice breaking. “How can I be of use to you? How have you been since-”
Your words failed you and you broke into tears again, thinking of your nephews.
“I am so sorry I was not there for you!” you cried, clutching his hand.
He hushed you gently, his hand steady on your arm. “You could not have been. You had your boys to look after and…Garlan’s passing.How is regency treating you?”
Baelor did not want to speak of your late lord husband. He feared it might set you off, for he had heard talk from the reach of you. They painted a grim picture there, of a scornful woman dressed always in black, a frown fixed on her face beneath her veil.
But when he looked at you, he did not see that. Only his younger sister, weepy and worn down by grief, as so many were these days.
You groaned. “I am reduced to the mother to the lord of highgarden, waiting for my sweet boy to grow a few hairs on his upper lip. They do not take me seriously there. My goodmother is a pain as usual. I miss my husband.I miss being lady of highgarden and not lady bloody regent.”
“Princess regent,” your elder brother corrected. “They should not forget that.”
You smiled at that, looking up at him with your tear reddened eyes and baelors heart broke a little more. You had always had a sweet smile, he remembered. It only needed drawing out of you and even now he was not truly trying.
A strange thought came to him. I could make her happy.
“I quite enjoyed being called just lady, ruling mine own household by my husband’s side. I was…very much content…” you said,your mind drifting as it so often did to the past.
—
I could make her happy. I could…
“I quite enjoyed being called just lady, ruling mine own household by my husband’s side. I was…very much content…” you had said, with a wistful smile.
The words lingered with him
I could make her a queen, Baelor thought.A queen instead of a sullen woman dressed all in black.
And it would not be solely for my own sake…
His councillors droned on around him, speaking of taxes and harvests and the endless business of the realm. Baelor listened or tried to.
He was not a man to neglect his duties, especially not so early in his reign. A king must listen.
Yet this, too, seemed a matter of duty.
The realm needed an heir and all the realm knew it. Since his coronation, ravens arrived daily bearing offers and proposals. Lords sent letters singing the praises of their daughters. Others simply sent the daughters themselves back to court, hoping the king might take notice.
Baelor had taken notice of none of them.
How could any of them compare to sweet Jena? Or to the sons she had given him, both taken from him before their time?
Nay…he had no use for maidens and their pretty smiles.
What he needed was an heir. What he needed was certainty. And who better than his own sister, a proven mother already blessed with healthy sons?
I am not doing this for myself, he told himself. I have a duty to the realm. To my subjects!
The talk turned to marriage soon enough, as it always did when a king had no sons. And it angered him. He had done all that was expected of him. He had wed, fathered two sons and still the gods had seen fit to take them away.
If he had his way, there would be no more springs. Let it be summer forever, or winter if the gods insisted. He would sooner empty the crown’s coffers feeding northerners than suffer another spring.
“Your majesty needs an heir.” one of the councillors said, as though it were a thing easily said and just as easily done.
“Aye,” Baelor answered at once, a touch harsher than he meant. “I am not deaf to it.”
“Then your grace has given thought to the matter?” asked the grand maester, lacing his fingers together to hide their tremor.
“I have…” said the king, his thumb turning the ring upon his finger.
“And?” came the inevitable question.
Baelor leaned back in his oak chair, looking them over one by one before he spoke. “I have someone in mind.”
That set the lords blinking at one another.
For baelor had never been a man for courtly flirtations, not as a prince and not as a king. He had wed when it pleased him and afterward there had been no talk of other women, not even when grief might have excused it.
“A lady of the court?” one of them ventured.
“Mayhaps” Baelor said, but gave nothing more.
They were already turning names over in their heads, weighing houses, alliances and dowries the way men do when they think only of profit, but Baelor let them think what they liked because his mind was far from their lists of eligible ladies.
He was thinking only of a black veil, tear rimmed eyes and lips made pouty from biting them too hard. He remembered the piteous voice that had told him she had once been content, before everything fell apart
It was like killing two birds with one stone. He needed an heir, but more than that, his sister needed to be happy again and he was entirely certain he was the only one who could make her so.
He would have none of the council's plotting, because if he was to wed a second time, it would be his choice.
“Your grace?” the grand maester asked, breaking the silence.
“My sister…” the king said at last.
The shocked stares from his council made Baelor’s face burn with shame and the thought of how he must look to them only made his body betray him further.
His cock had stiffened in his breeches and his hand itched badly to reach down and grab it like some lowborn lout. He forced the hand up instead, cutting off the lord who tried to speak.
“There will be no debate,” Baelor said flatly. “My word is law.”
Rarely did he raise his authority against the respected lords of his council, but when he did, it sent a thrill through him.
—
You reclined upon a chaise in your chambers. It felt strange to be back here, in the rooms where you had spent your girlhood. You could still remember the day your father had all but dragged you from them to be wed.
“What a fool I was.” you whispered, letting out a small laugh.
You had married in king’s landing. That was not unusual in itself, though it had never been the plan. Time and again, whenever the day came for you to depart for the reach, you found some way to delay it. Once you rode off in the night and ended up drunk in a tavern, forcing your guards to haul you back to the red keep. Another time you tumbled down a flight of stairs and sprained your ankle.
What a fool you had been.
For when the party from highgarden finally arrived and your betrothed stood before you for the first time in his finest, you felt something close to peace. Golden brown hair framed his comely face and his hazel eyes looked at you as though highgarden itself, for all its beauty, had never given him anything quite like you…
When Garlan’s cloak settled over your shoulders, you had expected the weight of marriage to crush you. Yet it did not. Instead you felt strangely lighter and for the first time in your life you rejoiced in it. You blossomed!
Your lips began to quiver and your throat tightened.
Why had the gods seen fit to take him from you? The man who embodied spring itself: young and beautiful like a seedling growing into a rose bush.
“and it was the spring that took him from me!” you seethed, shoving the desk beside you with all your strength. It crashed to the floor and an empty vase shattered into pieces.
—
“What if you decided to stay here for a while and put your feet up?” Baelor said, though the words felt foreign on his tongue since he had barely known peace and quiet himself.
Except for late at night right before he slept or very early in the mornings, any quiet he found was usually shattered the moment he stepped into his halls and the courtiers began circling him like vultures, each with some demand to press upon him.
So it was a pleasant surprise to find you, his dear sister and soon to be bride, out in the gardens and it was even more pleasant to break fast with you so early without any of the prying ears and eyes of the court.
“How could I?” you yawned into your hand, while the other was occupied picking at the bread on your plate.
Baelor bit his lip at the pitiful sight, watching the way you turned the food over without taking a bite. “You need to eat, for I am afraid you will pass out if you keep on like this.”
“It is far too early to eat and you know I get nauseous in the mornings…” you grumbled, setting the bread aside entirely.
“What, still?” Baelor laughed. “I always thought that was because you were hungover in our youth.”
You opened your mouth in shock, offended by the accusation. “I was not!”
Your brother shook his head with a faint smile, but it faded when he looked you in the eyes.
“I want you to stay here for a while to support me. I need a womanly, dare I say motherly touch in my reign.”a
You furrowed your brows, scoffing slightly at the notion. “What am I supposed to be, your hand? I fear my sex would not allow it.”
“You would still have my ear and I would listen to your advice while you live at court at ease,” he said, putting his hand over yours. “As the king's favored sister.”
“A very fortunate position,” you laughed, though the humor quickly faded as you thought of home. “But what of my sons? I could not leave them to fend for themselves, they need their mother to look after them.”
“Your Gaemon will soon be old enough to rule for himself and your youngest may live at court if you like.” he answered diplomatically.
“I would not separate them, for Alyn is so very sensitive and clings to his older brother,” you countered, shaking your head. “And what am I supposed to do here? I have a purpose at highgarden and you know I am not the same girl I used to be…being a mother changed me and I fear I won’t enjoy court the way I used to.”
I thank the gods you are no longer the same girl, Baelor thought.
“I admire you, sister, but I am also concerned for you,” he said, lifting his hand to point toward your dark attire until you looked down.
“Do not tell me you are also one of those who reproach me for grieving my husband…” you muttered.
“You forget that I am a widower myself, so I would never make light of your grief,” he said, his tone softening. “I understand you, but you need something, or someone, to pull you out of this, because your mourning period is over.”
“Is that an order, my king?” you asked, looking up at him as your eye twitched.
“Do not paint me as the villain, as you have painted so many others,” Baelor said. “I am your brother foremost and I would never order you around. I just want you to be happy.”
A tear slipped down your cheek, despite yourself.
“Think it over, dear sister,” he said, standing up to kiss your cheek. The lace over your skin was rough against his lips, but he could still taste the salt of your tear. “Ease your weary bones.”
—
1/2
Thank you, anon:) I swear on my honour, I’m going to write a second part!
A very quick, by my standards anyway, drawing where I mostly found myself playing with the shapes rather than focusing on putting any meaning behind it. Most of my pieces tend to end up like this.
