Dark! Valar Fic (hopefully) dropping this weekend or sometime next week, I’m so sorry for the delay and the fact I’ve just casually disappeared
My life has been hectic lately, I’ve been sick for almost two weeks with fever and a throat that drier than the desert, while still trying to move to a new apartment and preparing for my new studies so I’m so sorry I havnt been posting or responding. As soon as the Valarr fic is out I’ll get to posting the two other requests I’ve had, by now my life should have calmed down a bit!
Yess I also write Hotd! I do have some ideas and plans for Hotd I would love to write, it’s been a hectic month so I’m going to start getting on track with my writing again and as soon as I’m done with the requests I already I have I would love to write for Hotd!!
Also thank you so much for the compliment!!
hey!! just read "a brother's forgiveness" and its amazing, thank u for writing it and sharing it with us
Hiiii, thank you so so so much, I’m so glad you liked it!! It still feel sort of surreal to hear that people like what I write so I’m so happy that you enjoyed it!!
Hi! I just wanted to say that your writing has really gripped me in a way that surprises me, as this isn’t a genre I usually read, but the way you write is so captivating. Can I ask, is it difficult to write the moments of supposed tenderness from the abusers? It must be a difficult line to walk between showing how they romanticise it whilst managing to not actually romanticise it at all for the reader. You seem to find the best places to include these little ‘tendernesses’ in a way that makes them anything but. The kisses or soft touches are more horrifying than the more violent acts in a way. Is the behaviour there to make the abusers feel better about themselves, or is it a hope that their victim will eventually submit to them in a way that makes them feel wanted? You write it so well! Apologies if this comes off wrong, I am not being derogatory in the slightest, I think you are a marvellous writer and am just curious about your thought process
This is genuinely such a sweet message, thank you so much! I feel so honoured that you enjoy my writing despite it not being your usual genre
I find it a little harder to write the soft parts for characters in terms of where to place the tenderness.
It’s a hard time to place them in a way that doesn’t seem forced, but I find it that when they are correctly written they hit so hard. Like you said, it’s utterly horrifying situation and when they force the tenderness it just hits hard.
It’s also a bit of both in why they do it! Mostly, they do it for themselves to be honest. They think of themselves as romantic and loving, and want to show that. The way I write dark characters is that I write them with the mindset that they “love” the reader, but it’s such a dark and twisted love it gets all wrong. And that’s why they try to be kind and tender, because in their mind they are. They are the loving and caring husbands/ partners and they just need to show it enough times for it to actually hit home.
It’s also a lot due to the manipulation of it all, switching between tender and cruel can often be so confusing and in the end just force the Stockholm Syndrome to kick in faster. Hope this answers your question!
You did not come off as wrong or derogatory in the slightest, it was a very good question!! Once again thank you so much for your kind words, means so much to hear!
How long would it take you to write my request?😭 ik you have said it took you time to write but still...
_🎀
I would guess another week, or something close to that? I am trying to write as fast as I can, but I’m also in the middle of moving and have a full-time job, as well as some personal stuff going on, so I’m trying to find time to write in between. I’m also very careful about my writing and I don’t Want to put something out that’s half-finished or not as good as I would like it.
I’m still happy to write the request but I can’t give an exact-timeline due to my life at the moment
How aerion would react if he finds out his step mother reader has been sleeping with baelor. I think he'll know it's forced and maeker had been pimping her out.
But why do I think only aerion's crazy ahh would be brave enough to like stand up for reader😭daeron is drunk all the time and others are kids. Soo what do you think??
_🎀
I mean while I do agree he would be the only one to actually do something, he is away in Lys in exile after the Trial
Even if Baelor didn’t die, he was still wounded and that was enough for Maekar to send him away so he’s doesn’t actually know what’s going on
heyy, are u still taking requests for hotd and kotsk? :)
Hellooo, yea I do!!
As I’ve stated before I’m not the fastest at writing them but I do still take requests and try to put them first in my writing list
warnings: This is a Dark/ Yandere work that contains dead dove do not eat, non-con/ rape, manipulation, toxic marriages (not with Baelor) (but everything with Baelor is also toxic)
I obviously do not support nor encourage any of this behaviour nor these actions, this is simply a fictional work.
PLEASE DO NOT READ if any of this triggers you. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: waking up to the new reality of your marriage, you try your best to avoid both your husband and the new future he has built up for you. Sadly, it’s not going very well
word count: 7616
requested; yes
A/N: once again a work that took so much longer than I planned, life got in the way with a lot of things but finally it’s done!! I hope it’s worth the wait! I do want to write some more Dark! Baelor at some point, got some other works I hope on posting soon
Feedback is appreciated :)
~~~
The gods were cruel. That’s a known fact. A known fact.
They did what they wanted, threw the dices and let fate befall as it was. They did not care much for prayer or offerings, nor for the begging or pleading of people below. They did not discriminate between the low peasants nor the high royalty.
Ashford has proven that.
The fateful trial that had taken place on the muddy ground of a minor Lord. The birthday celebration of a thirteen year old girl, turned into the most tragic turn of fate for House Targaryen. The moment the honourable Baelor Targaryen almost died.
The blow to the head that could have killed him. Has the maze graced him slightly more to the left, the back of his head would have been crushed. But for once, the gods seemed to have been merciful.
The blow hadn’t killed him. Wounded him gravely, yes, but he was alive. He was awake and breathing, slowly but surely recovering from everything.
Someone who didn’t seem alive, was Maekar.
Ever since the trial, Maekar has been more or less a shell of himself. Anger and bitter, worse than before, snapping at servants and councilmembers. Daeron, the poor boy, had been training from the first rays of sunlight until late evening, not a single ounce of alcohol permitted within his surroundings.
Only you, his wife, seemed to have been saved his new ire. At least that’s how the servants saw it. They didn’t see the truth. The didn’t see the way he practically fell at your knees that first day after his return, explaining that it wasn’t his fault. He had never meant to strike his brother, never meant for the injury to be so grave.
Each time you had held him, told him he wasn’t at fault. Told him that it was a fight, he could not be at fault for Baelor not wearing the right armour. Everything was going to be alright.
Your marriage had not been one of love, it was born out of political duty, and had stayed that way for the first months. Slowly, though, you had been able to coax him out of his hard outer shell, forcing him to warm up to you. While it wasn’t yet love, it was at least a friendship. A deep companionship you held closely to your heart. One you hoped he also held dear.
Which is why you find yourself arm in arm with your husband, walking down the dwindling corridors of the Red Keep to visit the recovering Baelor.
“It’s a bad idea. He doesn’t want to see me”
“Yes, he does” You assure him, letting one hand rest on his forearm in an attempt to reassure him. “You haven’t visited once since he was injured. If you keep away any longer, the rumours will fester further. Baelor is your brother”
He knows you are right, and still, he feels the anxiety sneak in as they approach the door. He wants to turn around, but you are one step ahead. The door opens, and you usher him inside before he can refuse.
The fire in the room was warm, throwing a comfortable heat across the room. To Maekar, it was a stifling heat, causing a cold sweat to break out over his skin. His doublet suddenly seemed to tight and thick, his movement slow and sluggish. It was only when you rushed forward, a flimsy of silk and soft hair, Maekar found it within himself to move forward.
Baelor was resting against the pillows of the bed, propped up with a book in his hands. He looked too small in the vast bed, far frailer than he had seemed just a weeks ago. His dornish features were still there, but he looked pale, and his eyes were matt.
Maekar felt a wave of nausea roll through him. This was his brother. The heir to the iron throne. His oldest friend, and he was resting like a cripple because of him. The through was awful, absolutely horrifying as it tore through his very flesh and soul.
“Brother…” Baelors voice was gentle and even, as he shut the book and put it aside. “… and my good sister. How lovely of you to visit me”
Maekar tried to answer, he really did, but the words were stuck in his throat. He could barely breathe as it was, and speaking did not come easier. You saved him once again.
“Of course, good brother. We have been eager to visit earlier, but the Maesters advice was to wait. They said you might be exhausted from the journey from Ashford”
You turn to Maekar, giving him a soft encouraging smile. His gaze flicker between you and Baelor, his throat still dry and unsure. You gently place a hand on his arm, desperately for him to add something, and finally he relents.
“I… I hope everything has gone well. We didn’t get to assist with anything. The Maesters…”
His voice trailed off, but Baelor still smiled.
“Naturally, brother. I am eternally grateful. Please sit” he gestures to the chair beside the bed.
He sounded happy. Content and genuinely grateful for the visit. Somehow that made Maekar feel worse. Maybe if he had been angry, sent him away or casted cruel comments on him, he could have defended himself. Something he deserved. But now he was left with this unsure, shallow feeling residing in his chest.
“I have some wine” He gestures to a table in the corner “I cannot fetch it myself I’m afraid…”
“I will do it” you are quick to leap over to the drink table, pouring two glasses of sweet Lyseni wine.
You return, giving them a glass each. Maekar drowns his in almost one go, and you smack him on the arm for it.
“Calm down, we are in no rush”
“He has always been this way, I’m afraid Lady Y/N. You should have seen him as a teenager”
“I was never so bad” Maekar retorts, lowering his glass to glare at his brother. “I could argue for plenty other who were worse”
“And yet not one of them was annoying as you, brother”
You can’t help but let out a soft laugh, trying to hide it behind your hand. Maekar hears you all the same, and scoffs before he once more tries to retort.
As soon as the conversation starts, its flows easier and easier. Even Maekar lets up and starts to actually speak to his brother, and Baelor responds with jests and well-planned answers. He truly seemed like he was happy about the visit.
You spent most of it sat on the edge on the bed, or flitting about the room. Filling wine-cups and fetching books or pillows, trying to be helpful. You weren’t there to talk, you were there to help them reconcile.
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. A maid, young and round-faced, entered nervously, her hands carefully folded in front of her.
“Your grace, I apologise for the interruption. I… Daella seeks Her grace” she nods towards you.
You rise from the place on the bed, nodding. The young girl had grown attached to you in her fathers absence.
“Of course. I’ll be there right away” you turn back to Maekar, putting your hand on his shoulder. “If you’d like to have supper with me later, I would be happy, and if you happen to linger here, that is more than alright” You turn to Baelor before curtsying. “Good brother, I wish you’d become better quickly. I’ll return soon for another visit, if you’ll have me”
He nods immediately, a graceful smile on his face.
“Of course. I would like nothing more”
With that, you turn and follow the maid out, your skirts flowing behind you. The door clocks shut and leave the brothers in silence.
“Your wife is very sweet”
Baelors voice was still even, but something about it felt different now. Something colder, as if the emotions were slowly draining out. Something that put Maekar back on edge.
“Yes, she is. She is growing on me, I suppose”
“I can understand that. She is hard not to like”
Maekar responds with a mumble, something hard to understand. He opens his mouth to ask something, perhaps about Valarr, anything to keep the conversation flowing, when Baelor interrupts him.
“Why?”
The question hangs in the air. Maekar furrows his eyebrows, looking over at Baelor with a confused face. The question came out of nowhere, and it was hard to understand. Maekar doesn’t have the time to answer before Baelor continues by himself.
“Why did you want me dead, brother? I thought we were friends”
Maekar freezes up, every muscle in his body now tense and hard once more. The air becomes harder to breathe, and despite how he tries to swallow his throat is dry as sand.
“I… It was not intentional, brother. It was an accident; I was so caught up in the fight…”
“Lies” Baelor’s voice is cold as ice, and suddenly the calm expression is gone, replaced by something akin to cold fury. “You are a filthy liar. You tried to murder me…”
“I did not!” Maekar stands up so fast the chair falls backwards, eyes desperate and wide.
“You tried to kill me, for what? Do you want to be king, is that it?”
“I do not want to be king! Please, I did not… Forgive me, it was an accident”
“Is Rhaegal and Aerys next?”
“No, I would never want to harm any of you!”
He falls back into the chair, desperation filling his voice. He slumps backwards, all energy leaving him within seconds as his eyes becomes glassy.
“Forgive me, please” his voice was raw and gruff. A man who had spent the last few weeks mourning someone who was alive, who had tried to reason and find meaning in his own actions. A man who truly wanted for forgiveness.
“You almost killed me. That is a lot to forgive, brother” his voice wasn’t even cruel, that was the worst part. It was just… empty. Cold and empty and haunting, not at all the brother Maekar knew.
“Please. I’ll do anything. I beg you; I will spend the rest of my life repaying you”
Baelor simply stated for a few seconds, his gaze calculating. He had been waiting for this moment, for the cracks to show. For the begging.
“I will forgive you, brother…” the pause felt endless. “… If you let me have your wife”
The silence in the room was so absolute Maekar was sure he had heard wrong. Yet, one look at his brother and he knew he had heard just right.
The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It felt too hot, too cold, to vast and to small all at once. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape the slippery slope that had formed.
“What?” It was a miracle his voice didn’t crack. It was barely more than a whisper, a quiet, confused question even though he fully understood what had been said.
“Your wife is awfully sweet. Just look at how she attended us today. All I ask is a taste of her. It is not much, brother, considering what you have done to me. Considering what you planned to do”
“I did not mean to strike you!” Desperation seeps through the cracks, his eyes wide and hands thrown out to his sides. How many times would he have to proclaim those words? How many times would he have to shout them to the crowds of people and hope someone heard them?
“Maybe you didn’t. But you struck me all the same. And what I ask is not much. Shouldn’t brothers share?”
The ultimatum sat heavy between them. A promise so awful it was blasphemy to speak it out loud, barley possible to think of it. There was no true choice, the guilt would eat Maekar up no matter what he chose. But forgiveness sounded so sweet, and what could a broken man do but grasp for the only saving?
“Alright. You can have her” defeated was the only way to describe the soft voice echoing through the chambers. Maekar could no longer meet his brothers gaze, his hands wound tightly to fists in his lap.
Baelor, or what was left of him, smiled. That cold, sweet smile, his head tilted.
“Wonderful. Don’t worry brother, think of how sweet forgiveness will taste”
~~~~
Prince Baelor Targaryen was not a spiteful man. He was not bitter, nor angry or cruel; he was the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, just and fair in everything. At least he used to be.
Ashford had been a giant mistake from the beginning. What was meant to be an empowering trip, to show the unity and greatness of house Targaryen, had ended up with the first trial of seven in 70 years, one prince exiled, another run away with a hedge-knight, and Baelor himself with a wound to the head.
He thought he was dead at first. The pain had been excruciating, pounding inside him like a mailed fist hitting its target over and over again. He had been unable to move for the first duration, stuck like a turtle on his back in the uncomfortable beds of Lord Ashfords castle. Incompetent Maesters running about at odd hours of the night, changing bandages and giving him milk of the poppy. Maekar, nowhere to be seen. Too cowardly to come and see the mess he had caused.
At first, Baelor was convinced that the feeling would go away. That slow, nagging feeling in the back of his mind, blaming Maekar for the incident; the same feeling that wouldn’t stop making itself impossibly aware of his brothers absences.
Yet, the more he thought of it, the more the feeling grew. Growing and digging its way forward, clawing everything else out of the way until there was only the bitterness left. Why did he have to suffer? Maekar had always gotten everything served. He was the youngest, he never had to feel the weight of the kingdom on his shoulder, never had to suffer through years of learning to one day become king. He had the Valyrian features Baelor had spent countless hours praying for in a stone-cold sept. The kind of appearance that didn’t make people stop, question whether he was Targaryen enough. Never had to listen to the rumours of the nobles or priests or even his own grandfather, if he was true Targaryen or just a bastard.
In fact, why shouldn’t he be bitter? His brother had everything, and left Baelor with nothing. It was only right he should be angry. He was suddenly angry at the whole world, and he could not explain why.
When they had returned to the Red Keep, Maekar still hiding away, Baelor had been planning his revenge, as soon as he recovered, when Maekar had finally showed up. And he hadn’t showed up alone.
Lady Y/N, wife of Maekar Targaryen. His brother’s wife. His Good Sister. And by the gods, was she sweet.
He had always thought of her as sweet. Kind and gentle, always so happy and far too trusting for her own good. He had a certain fondness for her, but always tried to hold a respectable distance, for it was his brother’s wife.
But now?
Why should he? It was a marriage out of politics, nothing else. In fact, why wasn’t she married off to Baelor in the first place? She should have been his lawful wife from the beginning, not to be hidden away in a place such a summerhall, to his spoiled little brother.
Besides, his brother owed him a debt. Why not use it?
~~~
It took another four weeks for Baelor to get well enough to be considered well. The realm rejoiced, King Daeron was planning to throw a feast, and Maekar could not find the right emotion. Everything was a swirling wind of madness, thoughts racing through his mind. You were the thing to both calm them and drive them wilder. You who didn’t know the future of what had ben spoken of in that room. He had not hade the courage to tell you.
Baelor had caught you one day. A day like any other, when you were out wandering the corridors. He had called your name after you in the endless hallway and you had been so happy to see him. Another thing that made him strangely pleased. How genuinely pleased you were, not knowing you were greeting your own doom with a smile.
“Baelor!” You turn around, genuine happiness in your eyes as you see him. “Oh, you look so well!”
There is a spark of something in Baelor as you say those words. Pride, maybe, or perhaps just glee. You were so sweet and ripe for the taking, and you had no idea about any of it.
“My good sister, you are to kind. I have come a long way but I’m afraid there is still some to go”
“Still, you are looking so well” you step closer. “I am truly happy, Baelor. You seem to be doing well”
He only responds with a smile. You can’t pinpoint what about it that makes you uncomfortable, but there is something in it that just… feels wrong. You shake the feeling off. He is finally well again, and you can’t go and put blame on him. It’s not right. You should feel nothing but happiness.
“I have a matter to discus with you, Good Sister” He takes a step closer, offering his arm. “If you are free, we could take the discussion to my study, now if it pleases you?”
You stare at him for a second, eyes flittering between his eyes (When did they become so dark?), and his arm, still out and offering.
Some deep part of you want to refuse. It is something about him that is making you uncomfortable, something in his eyes that you simply hadn’t seen before. But… you can’t. He has been gravely injured and is only now recovering and wants some company. Surely you can’t just turn him away.
So, despite some deep part of you screaming, you smile and take his arm.
“Please, lead the way”
Baelor smiles in response and starts walking through the dwindling corridors. He is unusually silent, something else that put you on edge. Before, he was always easy to converse with, flowing between topics and everything. Now, he has his gaze firmly forward, merely humming in response to anything you try to say.
His grip on your arm is firm. A little to firm, pulling you along whenever you risk losing your pacing. Once again, you don’t say anything. He is probably just getting used to everything again. It’s all fine.
The door to his study approaches, the thick oak wood an impossible omen. Baelor is ever the gentleman, opening the door and allowing you to step inside first. The door closes with a soft thud, and you try not to raise questions when the lock clicks into place.
The fire is burning bright, and the windows are open leaving the room in a comfortable warmth.
You are about to turn, to ask what he wished to discuss when you feel him behind you. Close. Far to close.
His chest press against your back and his arms are around your waist, pulling you closer. It takes you a second to register what his happening, but when you feel his lips press against your neck you flinch forward so fast you almost lose your footing. Your skirts twists into your legs as you spin around but you don’t stop. You move backwards until your back hits his desk and you catch yourself.
“Wha… What is the meaning of this?” your eyes are wide and your voice is breathless. Suddenly you find it hard to breathe, your lungs constricting as you try to calm yourself.
Baelor on the other hand seem impossibly calm. His arms are still lingering in the air where you had been only seconds ago, his gaze resting on you. He tilts his head to the side before he smiles. The kind of degrading smile one would give a child who won’t cooperate.
“It’s alright, calm down. I simply thought….”
“Thought what?” Your voice has risen in volume, knuckles white with how hard you are grabbing the table behind you. “Are you mad?”
Something in his eyes darken as you continue, the smile falling away slowly. His arms return to his side, and suddenly he doesn’t seem like the good prince anymore. He is tall and frightening with how his gaze now find yours. You find it hard to meet his eyes, and you force yourself to swallow down the rest of the insults.
“I am not mad” despite how angry he looks; his voice is calm and steady. “I have been betrayed by my own blood, and now I seek comfort. I am far calmer than many, many, others would be. And do you know, sometimes it would feel good to be appreciated for my kindness”
Despite what he says, he sounds mad, and somewhere deep inside you realise he is. You realise you aren’t speaking to the same Baelor that you bid Farwell to weeks ago; this Baelor is someone else who has returned to the Red Keep. A Baelor who is frightening you.
“Maekar did not betray you! It was an accident, it was a fair fight, and he did what he could to protect his son…
“He tried to murder a prince of the blood. He tried to murder his brother…”
“He did not!” Your voice is a shrill cry, and you are surprised no one has come to see what’s happening. “He as mourned you, he is filled with remorse for what he has done, and he has been seeking your forgiveness”
“He has asked for forgiveness, that much is true. It still does not take away from the fact he tried to murder his own blood…”
“He did not try to murder you!” You are more desperate than scared, your voice shaking. You had to defend your husband. He was innocent. “He is pleading for your forgiveness…”
“And forgiveness he shall get…” Baelor takes a step closer, eyes locking in on yours. “…through you”
The silence in the room is thick, interrupted only by the sound of the fire and your own heavy breathing. Baelor looks calm still, and you cannot for the life of you understand why. Confusion flies across your face, eyebrows furrowed and eyes refusing to look around too much.
“I… I should return to my chambers” Your throat is so dry, and you need some fresh air desperately. You think you are crying “I’ll tell Maekar everything, I’ll…”
He interrupts you, now with a smile so wide it once more frightening.
“He is aware you are here. He knows precisely, because he is the reason you are here. He said I could have you”
Another step, and you push yourself as close to the table you can come. You can feel your lower lip starting to quiver, and you feel a slight shake in your legs. You don’t want to think of what he is saying. You don’t want to believe the man in front of you, even as you slowly pieces together the parts of his stories. They must be lies. You beg to the gods for it to be lies.
Your prayers go unanswered.
Baelor is stood between you and the door to freedom, your only hope left. You give a little thought to argue more, you can see in his eyes he has decided long ago what to do. When he takes another step closer you take the only decision left in you.
One of your hands fly back over his desk, grabbing the first thing you can get your hands on; a bottle of ink. You throw it at him with all your might, hitting him square in the chest. Too low, you were aiming for his face. Still, it hits him with enough force to distract him and your feet a quick to move, trying to throw yourself past him. You make it about three steps before his arms close around you.
Another thing that is new about Baelor; he isn’t gentle. He doesn’t hold back as he throws you towards his desk, and you lose your breath as your sides slam into the desk which such force it moves. The contents upon the table flies or tips over, but you don’t have to think of everything, for Baelors hands are back, turning you onto your stomach.
“Quiet down” his voice is as hard as his hands as they force you down. “I am forgiving my brother, your husband. I am being kind, so be quiet”
You hadn’t even realised you were screaming.
One of his hands plants itself firmly on your neck, holding you down, while the other finds its way under your skirt.
You have started to cry for real, tears are falling down onto the fine dark wood. Everything hurts, your side, you head. You can feel him as he bunches up your skirts around your waist, his fingers swift. You can hear his breathing becoming heavier, and he presses his hardness press against you.
You try to fight, you really do. You try to push your self up, throw your elbow at him, anything. But he is too strong, too big. Every fight he responds with a chuckle and his movements get rougher. He kicks your legs open to step between them, and while you can’t see what he is doing, you can feel the tip of him graze you.
“Wait, Baelor, please…”
You don’t have time to finish; he pushes inside you with one brutal move. You want to scream again, but no sound can come out. Instead, you let your forehead rest on the wood and try to block out the groans coming from behind you.
Baelor wastes no time before he starts to move, setting a steady pace. One hand is still firmly by your neck, holding you down, the other resting on your hip, his fingers digging in so hard you are sure you will have bruises on the morrow.
He isn’t gentle with this either. He pushes and pulls within you without a care in the world for your cries or the way you’re practically crawling up the table to get away from him. He simply holds you still and continues to move.
Time seems to stretch endlessly as you lie on the table, hips and core burning from his administrations. You have closed your hands to fists, nails digging into the palm of your hand so hard you are sure you will bleed.
“You should thank me for being so kind” His voice is breathless as he speaks, not once letting his pace calm. “Think of how sweet forgiveness will feel to your husband”
He is delusional, and you close your eyes hard. If this is how he sees kindness you would be loath to see him cruel. Still, it seems he wants to keep up the façade of being the kind prince from before.
Without warning his pace suddenly start to become uneven as he nears his end. He leans over you, pressing his chest against your back, and his lips once more finds your neck. This time he doesn’t press kisses to it, instead he bites down, hard. You are sure that will bruise too.
He finishes inside you, pressing himself as far inside you as he could possibly get, before he slumps over you to catch his breath. The hand that was holding your neck moves slowly, grasping one of your hands in his. He brings it up to his lips to press a chaste kiss to the back of it.
“There. Now all is forgiven, good sister”
***
You don’t remember much afterwards. Only that once he had caught his breath and righted his clothing, he had helped you up with gentle hands, righted your own clothing before sending you out with a few soft words that gets lost in the empty corridor.
You walk back to your chambers, unsure of how you managed to reach it. Your feet move with their own accord, taking you through the long corridors. Your legs hurt, and you can feel his spent leak down your legs. It makes you walk faster, despite the pain.
As soon as you enter you ask the maids to prepare a bath. Scolding hot, a tub to be brought. You want to scrub your skin until you can’t feel his touch, bury your head underwater so you won’t have to hear his voice.
As soon as you get up from the bath, you burn your clothes in the fireplace. It’s oddly comforting watching the soft material turn to ash. You never wanted to wear it again anyway. It feels better to warm your shivering skin than it ever felt on you.
You flinch when the door opens, and you turn your gaze towards the door. Maekar stands there, hands closed to fists as he stares at you, gaze unreadable. He is standing so far away you aren’t sure you can see it correctly, but his eyes are red.
You stand up from your place by the fire, and you know he can see the bruise on your neck. You wrap the robe closer around you before you ask the dreaded question.
“Is it true? Did you say he could do it?”
You can see the answer before you hear it. You can see the way his face slowly falls, his entire composure melting away. Once more he is the grief-stricken husband who has lost so much as he stands before you. He is slowly losing more.
“I never… I never meant for it to be this way”
You don’t respond. You simply fall back to your knees and stare into the dying fire and the ashes remaining of your dress.
¨¨¨¨
Maekar tries his best to comfort you, he truly does. The morning after he brings you your favourite breakfast, he sits at a respectable distance and waits until you begin the conversation. He has gotten used to begging for forgiveness, what difference was it to beg for yours or for Baelor’s?
You are slow to accept it, tough. What he has done is awful. Awful and terrible and cruel, and yet you can see the torment in his eyes. Some part of you can’t help but sympathize with him, for you know how he has suffered and mourned. You want to believe he was tricked. It’s the only truth you can hold onto.
You don’t leave the apartment for the next day, content to sit in your own company. You do some embroidery; you read and whenever Maekar comes by he keeps you company. It’s lonely in a way, but that’s also how you like it now. It’s calming.
You plan to do much of the same the day after. You have asked your husband to say you are sick, if anyone asks. Just one more day, before you are ready to return to court. One more day to find yourself admits the shards scattered around you.
The gods seem to have other plans.
It’s about midday. The sun is high in the skies, and you are sat upon the windowsill reading when the door opens. It is unusual for Maekar to return this early from his duties, and you are about to say that to him when another voice makes itself clear in the room. A voice that feels like it just dumped a bucket of ice-water right over your head.
“Are you hiding from court, or hiding from me sweet thing?”
Baelor stands in the doorway, hands behind his back and his gaze firmly set onto you. He wears a lazy smirk, and he knows how uncomfortable you are. He revels in it, actually, the fear in your eyes as you fly up from your seat, book disregarded on the floor.
“Wha-what are you doing here? You can’t be here”
He laughs at that. A genuine laugh, one that burn you to your core. It feels like a death sentence while he finds your pain entertaining.
“I am allowed to be wherever I want. I am the crown prince; there is no room here where I’m barred for”
You press yourself hard against the door, the tears forming in your eyes. You think you are shaking, but you aren’t sure. You can’t seem to feel your body anymore; everything is numb from the tip of your fingers to the top of your head. He shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t be real but somehow, reality can’t seem to stop reminding you of the truth.
“Why?”
You aren’t sure what you are asking, why is he here, why does he do it. He seems to find the question equally amusing anyway, and he takes a step closer. You try to back away even more, but you are pressed to hard against the wall there is no where to go.
“Because I want to” is his simple answer.
He is much more efficient this time. He is upon you even as you break down into tears, begging him to leave you alone. Even as you bang your fists on his chest as he pushes you down onto the bed, your own bed, and lays down on top. You are still in your nightshift, and he has an all to easy time bunching it up around your waist and pulling the neckline down to expose your chest.
He is slower this time as he pushes inside you, hands cradling your face and forcing you to look at him. Forcing you to see what he is doing to you in real time. Still, your tears don’t have more effect than before and this time he is forcing his lips over yours to stop the begging.
It is almost worse this way, when he is forcing you to see, to endure all of it. Yesterday, you at least had the grace of not seeing anything. Bent over, just looking at the wall. You could pretend it was a nightmare. Now, you are forced to experience everything with vivid details. How his hands trail across your body, his weight above yours. His lips as they mutter insults and profanity into your ear as you try and turn your head away.
You can hear the door open, and your eyes widen in horror as you throw your head to the side to see who it is. You know it only takes one servant to walk in on you, for the rumours to spread like wildfire after.
The prince’s wife throwing herself at his brother like a whore. They most likely had an affair long before the Ashford incident. She has been playing them from the beginning.
You would be ruined, and Baelor would continue without a single difference. That was the life of a Targaryen prince.
Yet you still aren’t sure if you would have prefer the intruder to be some poor servant girl instead of your husband.
He is two steps into the room before he freezes in his spot, eyes wide opened and focused on you. There is a wide range of emotions that runs in his eyes; shock, anger, confusion, fear, anger again, grief. It flickers between them all like a jester juggling his balls, and he just stands there. Staring, unable to process the sight of his brother fucking his wife.
Baelor doesn’t seem to care about the intruder. His pace doesn’t slow; his hands don’t stop to wander. He simply continues as he did, hips pressed against yours, lips too close to your ear.
You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Eyes desperately trying to convey your feelings, begging him to make it all stop. And yet, Maekar stands frozen in place, not moving a muscle to help. You don’t know if it’s because he is too shocked, or too afraid. Either way, you feel your anger rising through your chest, festering inside you like something rotten. The resentment of being ignored like this, of him not doing anything at all.
Baelor finishes without warning, his hips stuttering against yours, before he pushes himself as far inside you as he can. He lays his entire bodyweight down on you, forcing the last air from your lungs as a few more tears slip out. Still, Maekar does nothing. He just stands there, like a fool, watching as his brother violates his wife.
Baelor is slow to pull out of you, his eyes staring straight at you and what he’s done, before he rights his clothes. You don’t make a move to do anything, too tired to care at this point. Your own husband was here and did nothing. He saw everything, and did nothing. Why should you care now?
“Ah, there you are brother” Baelor’s voice is too normal, as if he is merely discussing the weather, or some political dispute they must solve. “We missed you at yesterday’s council meeting. Hope nothing was the matter”
He takes one last look over you before he starts to head towards the door. Maekar’s eyes flies between you and his brother, the disbelief almost ebbing away to the truth.
“What… what is the meaning of this?” His voice is rough, and his breathing is heavy.
Baelor doesn’t react, simply smiles wider as he reaches out to place a hand on Maekar’s shoulder. He flinches in reaction, shoulders rigid and hard.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. After all, you were there when the deal was struck, were you not?”
With that, he heads out the door, closing it behind you and leaving the catastrophic situation behind.
Maekar turns back to you, and still, he is silent. It’s you who makes the first move, sitting up to pull the nightgown down over your legs. You are stiff, your legs and core burning, and you can already feel new bruises appearing on your arms and neck. You can hear your husband pull in a breath when he sees the state you are in, starting to rush forward. He only stops when you flinch away from him.
“Are you… alright?”
It’s a stupid question. Its such a stupid question, and you think he realises it too by the angry, tear-filled look you throw at him. You wrap your arms around yourself, and suddenly the room feels so much colder.
“I’m sorry… What can I do?”
“You must tell him to stop. Tell him it’s over, that he must forgive you now” Your voice is shaking, and you aren’t sure if it’s anger or grief or something else entirely.
“I will” he promises, taking another step closer. This time you let him. You let him advance until he can slowly reach out to touch you, to cradle your tear-streaked face in his palms.
“I’ll tell him to stop. I’ll tell him to return to the seven hells” he pulls you closer, hands cradling you against his chest, slowly rocking back and forth. “I will put a stop to it all”
He doesn’t do it, tough. He doesn’t have the courage to; despite how much he wants to. And you can, in your utter despair, see it. See it and not have the ability to do anything.
You find out that you were right when Baelor once more corners you in the sept just two days after, taking you against the rough stones. Or when he finds you in a desolate spot in the garden, his hands on you before you have time to realise he is there.
After each time you beg Maekar to make it stop. You get down upon your knees, grasping his hands with as much force as you can. Begging him to say something, do something. Be there to protect you. But he himself has already fallen down the deep hole, one that doesn’t seem to end. Desperately trying to convince himself that this was the last time, it won’t happen again. Please let it be the last time.
The breaking point comes just a few days after. It’s a late evening, sometime after dinner when you and Maekar return to your chambers. It’s tense with words unsaid, and neither of you know how to bring it up, blissful in ignoring everything as far as it can go instead. That’s the way it had been since that first time, and it’s not too likely to change.
You have just managed to undo the braid that has been in your hair all evening when the door opens. You know who it is before turning around. You can feel it in the way the air tenses, how your muscles tense up and the slight changing of breath that comes.
“Brother, why are you here?” Maekars voice is unsure, shaking as if afraid of the man in front of him. Afraid of the man he has become.
“Don’t worry, brother” Baelor’s voice is light. “I am here for your wife, not you”
It comes so easy to him. To throw those words out into room without care, not a single shred of dignity left in anyone. He knows there is no one, not truly, to stop him. There was still a debt to be paid.
Still, Maekar grabs his arm as he passes. You can see how hard it is, digging into his tunic and forcing him to stop dead in his tracks. They look at each other, so alike and yet so different. Tall and strong and now at war with each other, yet no words are spoken. Maekar’s purple eyes burn bright with righteous anger, and Baelor’s hard stare, one blue eye and one brown staring right back.
“Get out”
It’s the first time you’ve genuinely seen Maekar angry. His voice shakes lightly, and for once there is no grief meddled in his eyes. Not yet at least. His words have effect on Baelor, as he straightens up, looking down at the grip on his tunic as if it were a bug. A bug that needed to be squashed.
“Let go of me, brother. You can’t demand I leave the room…”
“I can you demand you get off my wife”
You can see him tightening his grip even further, knuckles white; sure to leave a bruise on the arm if he continues. Still, Baelor merely smiles, letting his eyes wander back over to you. A small smirk appears, as if he is daring you to do something. To agree or try to fight back.
“I don’t think you can. If I remember correctly, you agreed to everything. You said I could have her”
“One time” his voice is shaking as he is reminded of the humiliation of the entire ordeal. “We said one time and…”
“We didn’t” Baelor turns back to Maekar. “I never said it was to be once. This debt is far larger than that”
You can see the cogs turning in Maekar’s head slowly, and his entire composure falls apart. His face falls, shoulders sagging down as if he has lost all energy in his body at once. Even his hand falls away, leaving his arms hanging uselessly by his side.
He turns his gaze to you, and you can see the defeat in his eyes. Still, you beg, eyes filled with tears, shaking your head.
Please, you think somehow hoping he hears you, please send him away. You promised me, please husband.
But he doesn’t hear you. The shame is creeping into his eyes, crawling back until you think he too is crying. Baelor watched without a word, his win imminent. He continues towards you and you rise up, pressing yourself against the wall as if it will save you.
“You can stay and watch if it pleases you” his voice is even, uncaring for the way you tremble pressed against the wall behind you. The words are directed at your husband, but Baelor’s eyes won’t leave yours “Or you can leave. Our men are in the courtyard training. I’m sure they could use some assistance”
Maekars eyes flies between the two of you; Baelor’s calm argument, the tears that have begun to from your eyes. His heart breaks into even smaller fragments than before, and he can feel his soul dying even more.
“Maekar please…” Your voice is soft, shaking as you stare at him. You still have hope; he fought so hard to save your marriage. He couldn’t leave you here. He still has a chance to save everything.
Without a word, he turns away, unable to stand the sight of his own painful creation. He leaves out the door, sword in hand ready to take out his anger while training. Quietly he swears he’ll take you to Summerhall, to take you away from all this devastation. You would hate him all the same. At least there, you could focus your hate on him.
You can only stare at the door as it closes behind him. There is a sudden hollowness in your chest, and you are finding it hard to swallow. It almost feels like a pit has opened beneath you to swallow you whole.
You try your best not to look at Baelor as he approaches, his footsteps closing in. You already know that look in his eyes of victory. All you can think about is how cruel the Gods truly are.
