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ɴᴏʟɪᴛᴇ ᴛᴇ ʙᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴅᴇꜱ ᴄᴀʀʙᴏʀᴜɴᴅᴏʀᴜᴍ

Summary: It doesn’t begin with death, but with absence. Fewer births, fewer healthy children, and no clear cause for it. What should be isolated becomes pattern, then expectation. No one names it a plague, but it spreads through the realm all the same.

House Targaryen does not wait for answers.

They treat it as something that can be managed. Controlled. Women are selected, brought in quietly and given a purpose that is not theirs to question, all in the name of preserving what remains.

Pairing: Dark! Commander! Baelor x Handmaid! reader

WC: 10.5k

(please read the warnings!)

Warnings: 18+, slightly proofread, dead dove do not eat: dub-con, non-con, manipulation, drugging, women are treated as objects, possessive behavior, manipulation, jena and dyanna are still alive, betrayal, arguments, council drama, non-canon, an au that still takes place in westeros during the same time period, cigars exist, religious themes, misogyny, complex dynamic, mentions of violence, toxic relationships.

Westeros was never perfect— it had wars, brutality, rebellions, and issues like any other place but it was functional. It was stable and had order.

The Targaryen’s had held the throne since the conquerors with no one except Daemon Blackfyre being idiotic enough to challenge them. They crushed him and everything returned to normal, normal enough.

It was as if one day in the night— the wind shifted, things warped, the stars were no longer as bright. Things in Westeros became far from normal.

At first, it was just odd circumstances— women lost babes all of the time during various stages of pregnancy. It was unfortunate, but still common. Then, it was no longer the loss of babes— but the absence of pregnancy altogether.

Women weren’t getting pregnant and if they were, the children never made it past the halfway mark. It was as if a silent plague had struck the realm.

The Maesters were dumbfounded, unable to find a root to the cause. The women experiencing these issues were mostly healthy, did not drink, did not get sick and yet they could not get pregnant. Noble Houses had already lacked heirs before this and accidents happening, but barren women put the realm in peril.

After the discovery of what was happening, after it was monitored— decisions had to be made.

Within a year, the realm had drastically changed. This was the women’s fault, is what the men said. They were sure in their hearts that it couldn’t have been their fault or them as the cause, it was the women. This was what happened when people reveled in sin and permitted it, instead of speaking against it. The Gods would punish everyone, allowing them to go without unless the realm was restored to its proper holiness. It wasn’t a cruel punishment, but it was a just one after years of darkness and disappointment.

There were several conclaves held to discuss the situation, noblemen traveling from all over to be present. The noblemen sat with King Baelor and gave their opinions, good and bad. It was a discussion that carried on for many moons until a decision was made. None of the whispers and theories could have prepared for the change that King Baelor would make.

With the changes put in place, Westeros went from normal to unrecognizable. It made places like essos look like the holy land, even with the slaves.

Women in Westeros were no longer allowed to read or write, regardless if they knew how to already— that included sending ravens. To be caught in such an act could cost you an eye or a few fingers. The new hierarchy system had no room for homeless, heretics, whores, and gender traitors.

Most noblemen became what they now called Commanders, some ranking higher than others in terms of power and authority— while some were not able to become one at all.

All wives now only wore the color green, it was a deep forest green. There were only certain colors permitted for certain occasions and those colors were not used often. The only house that did not have to abide by the color rule was House Targaryen as they were the noble family.

Despite the change with everything else, the Targaryen’s still ruled. It was different in some ways, but not by much. Baelor was still the king and also a Commander, along with his brothers and his oldest nephews.

Most Septa’s became what they called aunts, aunts had many tasks at hand— but most handled the handmaids. If you weren’t an aunt, then being a servant was an option. Being a servant was also only for select women, women who had the skills and capabilities. Servants were not paid and they took care of households—cooking, cleaning, mending, and more.

If you were not high ranking, you could’ve been what was considered an unmarked person. Unmarked people were smallfolk who were allowed to worship the seven and forced to live in certain quarters. Unmarked people reaped no benefits and were allowed to have certain small jobs like a farmer, seamstress, butcher, or other things. Even then, they were under constant surveillance by the eyes. To be an unmarked person was a form of luck, those positions were only reserved for certain people and families.

As a woman, if you did not fall into any of those categories— you’d be picked to be a handmaid or end up on the wall. Being a handmaid was considered to be a sacred thing and it had two categories— maidens from noble houses who were not wed could do their duty and bring honor to their houses. Those women wore red cloaks. “Ruined women” — poor, whores, widows, and women who had children out of wedlock were handmaids who wore black cloaks. Though the dress was the same for all handmaids, the cloaks were different colors— still a gentle reminder of how everyone saw you even when they needed you.

The lie that the crown fed the realm was that it was an honor to serve families in such a way and that they’d be rewarded immensely. They also told people to never question the things that they saw, punishments included. Everything that happened, happened under the watchful eyes of the gods— nothing was improper.

The children who did not come from noble houses were taken from their own families and given to various noble families. They received a different first name, one fitting for their family and a proper last name. The children would grow up under the new world of Westeros and be taught the regime, taught to never turn their backs on the Gods for this is what would happen.

Noble houses no longer had distinct looks anymore, nor did they care about them— they just needed heirs.

Outside of the Commanders, Aunts were terrifying. They were women themselves upholding a world against their best interest. They delivered punishments with swift brutality and no remorse— feet whippings, hand whippings, take an eye if it offends, a finger, or your tongue.

During your childhood you were quiet, curious, and always had a habit of staring too hard or doing things that you weren’t supposed to. Your home life was peaceful and you were extremely spoiled as you were an only child. An only child and a bastard, a Targaryen bastard to add to matters. You were sired by someone that you did not know, someone who could’ve been anyone from the royal family.

The worst part of being a bastard wasn’t just being a bastard, but an obvious one. Compared to your parents and the rest of your house, you stuck out like a sore thumb— silver hair and violet eyes.

Your mother was an adulterer or had been taken advantage of, a question that you never had a true answer to. Even though it was awful, she was your mother and you loved her no less.

Your father was stern, but fair. He loved you, but deep down you always felt the disappointment that he’d have when he looked at you sometimes. You reminded him of himself in certain ways, but your features did not. You were his daughter by name, but not truly his.

Your father was honorable in the sense that he never shamed your mother for her actions or raised his hand at her. His love always outweighed his anger.

She paid deeply for her mistakes in ways that you’d never learn.

𖤐

When you were younger your family was very close with the royal family, you were often visiting King’s Landing for various things. Everywhere you went, people whispered about you and your mother. It was something that you truly could not escape. Your bastardy was not brought up by the royal family, at least not to you. While your father was always attending to duties during your visits, you played with the children. You were closest with Daeron, he always tried to protect from Aerion and his cruel words.

“If it isn’t our lovely bastard cousin.” Aerion sneered.

Daeron closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Don’t be rude, brother.”

“It is not being rude, if I call her what she is.”

You twirled the flower stem that sat between your fingers.

“Being a bastard does not mean that I’m your cousin.” You reminded him.

“You have a better chance of that being the case than anything else.. someone strayed away from their bed to make you—“

“Perhaps Uncle Baelor, maybe even our odd uncle Rhaegal.. definitely not Aerys.”

“Stop.” Daeron spoke.

Aerion raised his brow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Unless, it was father and you’re actually our.. sister.”

His comments often overwhelmed you, but you never let it show. He didn’t have to point out the obvious or make conspiracies about your parentage, but he did anyway for fun. Daeron never judged you, neither did Valarr— they instead tried getting to know you. They would be the only two people that you’d ever trust in your life.

When word of what had been going on in the realm spread, everyone whispered about it and found people to blame. Your mother was not interested in the blame game as the women would always lose, it was never a fair game. She kept telling you not to lean on your ideas, but listen to what you’re hearing— what they’re saying is more important than what you’re thinking or feeling.

Fertility crisis. Women being at fault. Sin. Straying away from the Gods.

None of those words used together would ever equal anything good for anyone and it also would mean that those words would catch fire, spreading around— soon everyone would be saying them. When the shift happened, it was if everyone was holding their breath— in fear of the ugliness that would rear its head.

Your mother knew what this change could mean for you and what your life would look like, so she prepared everything and had you sent to Essos.

A place where you could be safe and free of anything at home. You gave her and your father long, teary eyed hugs before you left that night— not knowing if you’d see them again. She never wanted the crown to have the opportunity to call on you for such a thing, even if it meant her actions could be seen as treasonous.

When you arrived in Essos, you cried continuously for the first few days— filled with worry about your family. Eventually, the worry faded and you found your footing.

You liked Essos— the people, vibrant colors, different traditions, vastly different herbs, and the weather.

It wasn’t until one night while you were peacefully asleep that you felt hands yank you out of bed, hidden figures that you couldn’t quite see until they moved closer to the light.

Then you saw it, the seven pointed star on the cloaks of the men and the woman in the light brown uniform— her hair neatly pinned. She was an aunt and they were eyes from Westeros.

“Bring her.” The aunt spoke, walking out of the room.

You kicked and screamed, trying to free yourself from their grip— but it was no use. As you got closer to the ship, the aunt forcefully poured a thick and sour wine down your throat.

After that everything was a blur, only small and distorted memories from your trip back to Westeros.

The eyes reached further than you had expected, because they had called on you to serve— but you were nowhere to be found. They had searched high and low for you, because of your features— something House Targaryen wanted to maintain. You had an obligation to fulfill your duties for the royal family.

When you returned to Westeros— it was quiet, cold, clean, and had seven pointed stars everywhere. You weren’t the only handmaid that they were transporting, they brought all of you to a repurposed inn. The inn was made to hold and teach incoming handmaids, along with handmaids that weren’t new..

The aunt that helped bring you back from Essos was named Aunt Vidala. She seemed to be young, probably around your age and that meant they picked her from elsewhere for this role.

Aunt Vidala was stern, very precise with her words, and quick to correct— she was almost as bad as the head Aunt, Aunt Catelyn.

Aunt Vidala was the one who inspected you and took note of everything. She examined your scalp, how long your hair was, your eyes, your body, your mouth, your teeth, and lastly she made sure that you were still a maiden.

It was a cold, awkward, and humiliating experience.

You stood there in the room, putting your dress back on— your hands shaking.

“It is most sinful to treat women like broodmares, the gods would not be fond of that.” You spoke.

Aunt Vidala did not like your comment, but her facial expression did not change. She just stared at you blankly for a moment, then she backhanded you.

“Mind your manners. To be a handmaid is to serve the gods and their blessed noble families. It is a reward and worth all that comes with it—“

“By the mothers grace.”

You held your face as it stung and touched your now your split lip.

“She will provide.” You replied.

The most ridiculous part about all of it was that they believed what they said, they believed that they were chosen by the gods to punish women. That women were the sin, not the men who tempted women into sin, the men who raged wars, had bastards, drank to their hearts desires, paid for whores— it was the women who couldn’t give them children's fault.

The aunts do not tolerate any form of backtalk or unruliness, all you should be saying is “Yes, Aunt Vidala.” or “No, Aunt Vidala.”

A girl from House Arryn lost her tongue for calling Aunt Selyse a cunt, not inherently kind— but not a big enough deal to lose a tongue over it.

Women weren’t safe before the change, but now they’re not free either. The men had a justification to hurt women all over the realm now and no one would bat an eye.

As the aunts prepared you for meeting the family that you’d be serving, you thought back on your family— wondering if they were safe or if they were punished. The Aunts would never answer those questions for any of the women as those things no longer mattered.

They had all of you stand around, your hands in front of you— your eyes focused on them. The room was dimly lit, the breeze from the window ruffling the bottom of your dress.

“The ceremony is the holiest ceremony.” Aunt Catelyn spoke as she circled the handmaids.

“It is a ceremony that takes place once a month, on the day that prepares your womb for a babe in your monthly cycle—“

“It is watched in the presence of the gods and the lady of the house.” Aunt Vidala reminded everyone.

“You will lay on the edge of the bed with your head in the lap of the wife, she will hold your wrists and the Commander will penetrate you until release.” Aunt Catelyn followed up.

Aunt Catelyn’s words made you shudder, made your stomach turn with disgust. Some man would be on top of you, rutting into you once a month to make an heir for him and his wife. The child wouldn’t be yours and afterwards you’d just be moved around to another posting, another man to try giving a child to.

The Aunts also mentioned that to show any form of pleasure during such a serious event would be disrespectful, but also that it would make you a whore. It is whorish to feel such things for another woman’s husband. It would be an insult to the gods and the family that you’re supposed to serve.

You were meant to serve, not be fucked by a lustful man and if they were lustful— it was your fault.

𖤐

After that Aunt Vidala had a bath prepared for you and while you waited, your mind raced on whose handmaid you’d be.

Hopefully, not Aerion’s— if there was even a possibility of that, you’d much rather throw yourself out of a window in the red keep. It’d be an easier and much more fair fate.

Maybe, it’d be Valarr. He’s understanding and kind, but you still did not want him to fuck you.

Your mind continued to obsess over the idea, waiting to be called for your bath— picking at your nails. Aunt Vidala called your name and signaled for you to get ready.

You slowly unlaced your dress, allowing it to fall off of your shoulders and pool onto the floor. You then pulled the pins out of your hair and unbraided it, releasing the tension that you felt all day.

The room smelled of honey and rose as you approached the tub, you stepped into the tub and slowly sank into the hot water. Aunt Vidala sat by the tub and scrubbed your skin, almost felt as if she was scrubbing it off.

She scrubbed you all over and under your finger nails, your scalp, along with your feet. You needed to be completely clean and presentable to the royal family.

“Remember to be respectful when talking to the Commander tomorrow, do not shame us.” Aunt Vidala spoke.

“Yes, Aunt Vidala.”

“You are to treat the wife of the home with the utmost respect at all times.” Aunt Vidala added as she scrubbed your fingers.

You winced, the roughness causing pain.

“Yes, Aunt Vidala.”

“You are to keep your chambers tidied and to only leave them when it is permitted.”

“Yes, Aunt Vidala.”

“This position is a blessing, for any woman— but especially you given your status. You will serve them with pride and give them a babe.” She reminded you.

“Yes, Aunt Vidala. It is the highest honor.”

She brushed your hair, yanking your head as she untangled a knot. A heavy silence lingered in the room and tears pooled in the corner of your eye.

Aunt Vidala set down the brush and stood up beside the tub.

“Dry yourself off and prepare for bed, you have a long day ahead of you—“

“By the mothers grace.”

“She will provide.” You muttered, your voice shaky.

You stayed in the tub a little bit longer, a feeling of sadness overcoming you. Your life had changed into something that was completely unrecognizable, something from a nightmare and you were alone.

There was no one coming to save you.

After your bath, you dried off and put on your nightgown— walking into your shared chambers. You shared a bedchamber with a girl from House Tully, she seemed a bit older than you.

The candlelight flickered in the windowsill, your shadow being cast on the wall near you.

You climbed into the cold bed, pulling the covers over your body.

“Have you found out which family you’ll serve?” She whispered.

“I will be serving the royal family, I have not been told which Commander.” You spoke, staring at the ceiling.

“I will be OfAerion.” She admitted.

Your head shifted, turning your glance to her— your eyes wide.

“Oh.” You mumbled.

The poor girl had no idea what would be in store for her, no one deserved Aerion’s cruelty.

“What house are you from?” She asked, her words came with genuine confusion and curiosity.

You turned your head back towards the ceiling.

“Houses no longer matter, we are handmaids now.”

She nodded, the sound of her blanket rustling as she laid onto her back.

“This might very well be the last time that you see me alive.”

Her words fell into your stomach like a pit, your stomach turning at the idea.

“Don’t say that. We will both do our duty and make it out of this.”

She sniffled and wiped her tears.

“We both know that this situation doesn’t truly work that way. Being a handmaid is a cruel fate… being passed from man to man as they rape you and hoping that they are still merciful—“

“It’s lunacy.” She muttered, her voice shaky.

You agreed with her, a painful truth that you didn’t want to accept. You wanted to believe that this was not what the realm had succumbed to, that most men wouldn’t stand by and watch this idly— but you were wrong.

There was a deep silence in the room after her words, a silence that carried on until the both of you were asleep.

That morning, it was dark outside— the clouded skies covering the sun. The wind blew and rattled the shutters, almost scaring you half to death.

You stood there, taking in the space and what this day would mean for your life.

“What is your name?” You spoke.

She glanced at you putting on her handmaids dress. “Lysa.”

You stared out the window, watching as the clouds shifted in the sky— how angry they looked.

“If I ever escape this place—I will find you, Lysa. I will bring you with me.” You admitted.

She ran over and hugged you, which caught you by surprise.

“I pray that you do. I pray that even if you can’t find me, that you flee to Essos and never look back here.”

Your eyes watered, because the goal was to escape— but who knew how long that would take, how much you would’ve already lost.

You got dressed, lacing up your dress before putting on your white bonnet and gathering with the other handmaids.

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you waited for the carriage that would separate you from everyone else, the one that would take you and Lysa to the keep.

The carriage was a bright red, but otherwise plain— stripped of all the things that would once make you stop and look. You, Aunt Vidala, and Lysa sat in the carriage. The windows were covered mostly so that you couldn’t see out, but you didn’t need to— there was nothing to see.

Westeros had been completely stripped of its identity. There was no one roaming the streets, not even drunkards— only the eyes that worked for the commanders.

Eyes were former knights that had a strict allegiance to the commanders, they were still knights— but knights with no honor. Knights who no longer protected the innocents, but the men who would harm them.

The entire ride to the keep, you felt like you were going to be ill. The urge to gag gnawing at the back of your throat.

The ride was silent, there was no room for talking as they told you that loose tongues were bound to sin. Aunt Vidala would occasionally peak out of the window as you and Lysa stared down at your feet.

Eventually, the carriage came to a stop and in that moment you felt like your heart did too.

“Remember girls, use your manners and speak when spoken to only.” Aunt Vidala reminded both of you.

“Yes, Aunt Vidala.” Both of you spoke in unison.

The door opened, the eyes helping all three of you step out. You took a deep breath, glancing back at Lysa— both of your eyes saying things that your mouths could not.

The eyes walked both of you to the courtyard, where you saw four people standing.

“By the mother’s grace, Commander Targaryen.” Aunt Vidala muttered.

Baelor, his wife Jena, along with his nephew Aerion and his wife stood there waiting.

“She will provide.” He replied, his hand coming out to shake Aunt Vidala’s and a half smile on his face— the kind that didn’t fully reach his eyes.

Both you and Lysa stood behind Aunt Vidala, your heads down looking at the stone.

“Girls, will you look up at me?” Baelor softly asked.

You and Lysa slowly rose your heads, almost too scared to even respond to his command.

You stared at him in his Commander uniform, his completely black doublet and the red aiguillette that circled his shoulder with a seven pointed star in center. There was a small, gold, three headed dragon pin that was on the cuff of his doublet— just merely a reminder of who he was.

Aerion was dressed the same way, but his cockiness was still palpable.

Their wives stood there in their green gowns, their hair neatly pinned back— being the dutiful wife to their awful husbands.

“Which one is mine?” Aerion questioned.

Baelor cut him a look for his rudeness, Aunt Vidala had a slight scowl on her face.

She grabbed Lysa’s hand and brought her forward.

“She will be your new handmaid.”

Aerion stepped closer, grabbing her face and examining it as if she were an animal.

He stepped back with an unreadable facial expression.

“Hmm.. she will do—“

“Let’s go.” He added, pointing to Lysa as he and his wife started walking away.

“Aerion, you must—“

“I have things to attend to, uncle. Perhaps some other time.” Aerion replied, walking out of the courtyard.

You watched as they walked out of the courtyard, your mind saying a silent prayer for Lysa and her safety.

“Can you pull your bonnet off for me?” Baelor questioned.

You glanced at Aunt Vidala for approval and she nodded. You pulled off your bonnet, your silver locks bright to the eyes even when it was gloomy outside.

Baelor clasped his fingers in front of him.

“You will be Jena and I’s handmaid.”

Your heart sank and you figured that your face showed it. The king already had two sons who were up in age, you never figured that he’d be trying for another child.

“It.. it is an honor, Commander Targaryen.”

“Yes, it truly is. May the gods bless this family.” Aunt Vidala added.

Jena stared at you, it wasn’t with disdain— but it was obvious that she did not like you. You weren’t sure if it was your hair or if she never wanted a handmaid to begin with, but you were nervous.

“Jena will show you to your chambers, while I have a conversation with Aunt Vidala.”

You nodded and followed behind Jena as she walked up the steps.

Baelor was never known for his cruelty, at least before this. He was always regarded as a good king— one who was kind and gentle. The king that would leave the realm in good standing for generations to come, but that changed— now you’ll serve the man who’s the architect of this system, the reason that handmaids exist.

You finally reached your chambers with Jena as she opened the door to the room.

The room was bare— a bed, a table, and a chair. There were tapestries on the wall that made your skin warm, depicting acts that were far from appropriate for a handmaid to see. The room also still kept the House Targaryen colors as they were still the ruling family and high level Commanders.

You walked into the room and stood at the center of it.

“I will have your supper and a bath arranged.” Jena mentioned.

You gave a fake smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Targaryen.”

The hours had raged on, the moon settling into the sky. You ate your supper in your room and for once enjoyed your peace, despite the situation— life was much easier when you didn’t have an Aunt in your ear correcting you.

You had taken your bath and put on your shift, preparing to go to sleep. It had been a long day and you were sure that the days here would feel infinitely longer than they were.

As you stood up from the chair in deep thought, there was a knock at the door.

An eye opened the door, averting his gaze because you were only in a shift.

“The Commander has requested your presence.”

You were at a loss for words, the commander requested your presence now? at such a late hour?

You nodded anyway and put on your robe, following the eye to his chambers.

When you reached his chambers there were two eyes present outside of it, one of them opening the heavy oak door for you and shutting it after you stepped in.

Baelor sat at his desk, still dressed from earlier.

His solar was dim with only a small amount of candlelight, the smell of tobacco and cherry in the air.

Baelor leaned back in his chair, the cigar in his mouth and his eyes leaving the scroll that was in front of him.

This was wrong, it was against what the Aunt’s had trained you on and told you about. If you were caught, you would be punished— not him.

You nervously and absentmindedly picked at your fingers, waiting on him to speak.

He exhaled smoke, pointing towards your hand.

“Nervous?”

You stopped instantly, shaking your head. “No, Commander— I”

He waved you off, “it’s alright if you are.”

“Are you a maiden?” He questioned, the smoke from his cigar swarming him.

Your skin warmed at his question, not out of embarrassment— but because he knew you were. You wore the red cloak for a reason.

“Yes, Commander.”

“Ah—“

“Your ceremony will be coming up soon and with you being a maiden, it will be quite painful.. the ceremony is holy— but I will do my best to make sure that I do not hurt you too much.” He admitted.

Your lips opened and then closed again, you weren’t sure what to say. Thank him for not being rough? Thank him for being considerate?

It didn’t help that Baelor wasn't an unattractive man, it in fact made things worse as your eyes raked over him. Your stomach was in a knot as you thought about him inside you, even when you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have sex with him, but for some reason your mind was having thoughts about him.

“Thank.. thank you, Commander.” You muttered, picking at your fingers again.

“Do not thank me, sweet girl. It is what is right.”

He called you sweet girl and you needed to take a deep breath. Was this a test put forth by him and the aunts? A test to see if you were a whore? Unworthy?

“I see that you have the hair and eyes of a Targaryen— you are from Westeros, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Who is your father?” He pried, his question a mix of care and an even bigger mix of nosiness.

“That I am unsure of, Commander. I was never told.” You responded.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke and set down his cigar on the glass tray in front of him.

“I plan to be fair to you, as fair as I can be to a handmaid. I do not intend to stress you or cause you harm.”

He stood from his chair and walked over to you, circling you like a hawk does its prey. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you as you tried to avoid looking up.

His fingers found your chin, lifting it.

“You remind me of an innocent little dove, soft and fragile. Something that isn’t meant for cruelty.” He whispered.

He looked into your violet eyes, his mismatched eyes taking in your face and features.

“You won’t be of any trouble, will you?”

You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Good.” He replied, letting go of your face and walking back to his desk.

“You are free to go—“

“Tell no one about this conversation.”

“Yes, Commander.” You replied, walking to the door and opening it.

The eye escorted you back to your chambers and you felt as if you could finally breathe when you were in there. It was as if his mere presence had sucked the life out of you. He controlled you in every aspect of the word, you were his little dove.

The next morning after breaking your fast in your chambers and getting dressed, everyone was summoned to the courtyard. You, all of the commanders, their wives, and their handmaids— everyone of importance that was in King’s Landing.

When you gathered in the courtyard, you stood next to Baelor and Jena as you stared at the wooden fixtures that had been created.

Aunt Catelyn and Aunt Vidala stood on it, behind two people who had their hands tied and bags over their heads.

“You’ve been summoned here to discuss an unsavory situation, a treachery that’s been uncovered—“

They took the bags off of their heads and you saw OfLeo, Leo Tyrell’s handmaid and an eye beside her.

“These two took it upon themselves to engage in unholy and sinful sexual relations. They were selfish and they betrayed the gods, the gods who gave them a second chance.” Aunt Catelyn spoke.

OfLeo sobbed, her tears staining her cheeks as she tried to speak but she was gagged.

“They were ungrateful! They were deceptive!” Aunt Catelyn shouted.

“My precious girls, explain to them what happens when they commit an act like this.”

You and the other handmaids shouted in unison as you had been taught.

“Death!”

Aunt Catelyn grinned, proud of her precious girls— proud that they still have stuck to doing their duty.

“That’s right, girls!—“

“For death could be the only thing that could cleanse such sin.”

The eyes came behind the two of them, standing them up and putting a noose around their necks. Even through the heavy winds that swept through the area and ruffled dresses, you could still hear the pleas of the two of them— the broken promises on their lips.

The eyes walked off of the platform and Aunt Catelyn stood near the lever.

“May the gods grant you the mercy that you do not deserve and the comfort that you squandered.” She continued.

Within a split second the platform from underneath them fell and you watched as they moved about in the air, trying so hard to fight for air. OfLeo even pissed herself in the process as her face changed colors.

Tears fell from your eyes as you watched in horror, watching both of them take their last breath for something so trivial— something that humans do.

Baelor glanced over and saw your wet cheeks.

“Stop crying this instant.” He commanded in a whisper.

You wiped your eyes and clenched your fists by your side, trying so hard to mask the anger that now brewed in your veins.

Just leaving with Lysa wasn’t a good option anymore, they needed to die— all of the commanders, their wives who agreed, the Aunts, and the eyes.

They smiled and wanted you to cheer for death, they were corrupting all of you— bringing you to their level.

Within a few minutes, all of you started to walk away — you followed Baelor and Jena as you walked up the steps, the Commanders talking amongst themselves.

At the last step you saw it, your mother and father. Your father dressed as a Commander and your mother like a wife— you almost didn’t recognize them.

You stopped in your tracks, “mother?”

She saw you and you could see the despair in her eyes as she realized that she could not save you or go to you.

Baelor grabbed your arm, his grip tight as he brought you closer.

“You are a handmaid now, she is no longer your mother in that capacity.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“This outburst should not happen again.”

“Yes, Commander Targaryen.” You stammered through your tears.

On your walk, you saw a few people hanging along the wall— crows picking at them. All of them were marked as sinners and traitors.

Once you got back to your chambers, you shut the door and your tears started flowing down your face and neck. You yanked off your bonnet, throwing it across the room as you slid down the door. Your sobs caught in your throat as you struggled to breathe.

This was fucking stupid, all of it was. It hadn’t even been that long and you don’t remember yourself. They stripped your identity from you and you were struggling to hold onto it, to remember it.

There was a knock at your door that startled you to your feet. You stumbled away from the door, wiping your eyes.

The door opened with Commander Targaryen walking in and shutting the door behind him.

“Commander, I—“

He stepped closer to you, his lips pursed and his hands behind his back.

“You are a handmaid, are you not?”

“Yes, Commander Targaryen.”

“Baelor—“

“You can call me Baelor.” He corrected you.

He closed the gap in between the two of you, his hand reaching out to touch your face.

You flinched, his warm hand against your face— gentle like a feather.

“You are mine, you know that? My handmaid to help continue my house.”

“Yes, Comma—“

“Yes, Baelor.” You muttered.

“We do not cry for sinners, for people who’ve turned their backs on the gods.. besides you are too pretty to cry.”

You nodded, closing your eyes as if he’d disappear when you opened them.

He pulled his hand away, his eyes scanning your face.

A few moments later, he left you in the room— standing there with just your thoughts.

𖤐

You sat in your chambers and picked over your supper, your appetite coming in waves. The fire in the fireplace crackled, embers from the fire dying in the air.

You re-braided your hair as it was almost time, almost time to lose the last shred of dignity that you had.

You kept thinking about your mother and father, how they were part of this— part of the same thing that got you in this position.

What did they threaten them with? How could they justify this?

Just as you finished your braid, there was a knock at the door— Aunt Vidala walking in.

“We are ready for you.”

The knot in your stomach grew, your fists clenching as you stood up from the chair.

“Yes, Aunt Vidala.”

You put your bonnet on and made your way out of the door in step with Aunt Vidala.

The two of you walked the hall, passing the eyes— a walk that felt like it lasted an eternity before you reached Baelor’s solar. Aunt Vidala pushed open the doors, a heavy thud behind them.

The candlelight in his solar was bright, brighter than it was the night before— bright so that everything could be properly watched.

Jena and Baelor stood near the center on the rug as they waited for your appearance. You walked over and knelt in front of them like you were supposed to.

“Mother above, grant your mercy and make her womb fruitful—“

“Father, judge this act as just and in accordance with your will. Let what is done here be done in your sight.” Baelor spoke.

“The gods will bless both of you.” Aunt Vidala smiled.

Baelor nodded, a small smile on his face.

Aunt Vidala walked towards the door, glancing back at you.

“You know what to do.”

Aunt Vidala left the room, leaving you with Jena and Baelor. Baelor offered his hand, helping you stand up as Jena positioned herself on the bed properly.

Your hands shook as you held his, the walk to the bed felt impossible— but you did it.

You climbed onto the bed and laid your head in Jena’s lap, your lower half dangling off the bed. Jena grabbed your wrists, her grip was tighter than it should’ve been— making you wince.

She turned her head in disgust and what felt like jealousy as she didn’t want to watch.

Baelor came between your legs, propping them up and undoing his laces.

During the ceremony, you remain covered— he technically doesn’t get to see what your body looks like, he leads by touch and experience.

While Jena turned her head, she did not notice how Baelor’s hands caressed your bare thigh or how he pretended to still be untying his laces, but his thumb was actually circling your clit— making sure that you were ready for him.

He was enjoying every bit of touching you and wanted you to enjoy it too. He wanted you to accidentally moan or break an obvious rule in front of his wife.

You closed your eyes, the heat between your legs betraying you as he rubbed your clit— a moan was crawling its way up your throat.

He pulled his hand away, leaving your body aching for more when it shouldn’t have. His hands grabbed your thighs as he lined himself up with your entrance, a small smirk on his face.

Jena still looked away and that annoyed you, they wanted a handmaid— so, she should be able to watch. She should watch what her husband is capable of doing and even enjoying.

With a gentle thrust, he slowly pushed inside of you— a faint gasp leaving your throat and a groan hung in his. You couldn’t see his cock, but it felt huge— the way it stretched you so effortlessly and made you mold to him.

He was so deep inside you, your stomach felt full of him.

His cool rings pressed against your thighs as he gripped them, the bed creaking under his thrusts.

He was disgusting, this was disgusting. You clenched around him, your eyes welling with tears because part of you did not want this, the other half of you wanted to enjoy this. Part of you wished his wife was not here so that the king could properly fuck you and give you all of him.

You felt sick, sick that you could cave to a man who gave you no choice.

He loved fucking you, feeling how undeniably tight you were around him, claiming your cunt as his, fucking you and knowing that you won’t stop thinking of him— he loved being your first.

There was pressure that was building in your stomach, a pressure so intense that you wanted to cry out in pleasure. The pressure almost made you squirm from Jena’s grasp.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he felt it, you could hear a hum come from his lips.

You bit your lip, bit it so hard that blood came into your mouth as you reached your peak. It was a feeling that you had never felt before and a feeling that left you wanting more, it was wrong.

A muffled groan from him could be heard from him as his cock slammed into you one last time.

You could feel the warmth of his seed as the heat spread throughout your cunt. He slowly pulled out of you and dropped your thighs, tucking himself back into his breeches.

Jena let go of your wrist, climbing off of the bed. Within a few moments, her and Baelor both left the chambers.

You still laid on the bed as you were instructed, the aunts said that you had to lay on your back for five minutes after. It increased the chances of having a babe, not that you wanted to.

A few days later— you, Baelor and Jena would be visiting House Lannister as Lord Lannister's handmaid was due to give birth. You didn’t quite understand why it was necessary for all the handmaids to be there, but it was.

During your travels, you rode in a carriage that was separate from Jena and Baelor. You sat in yours by yourself, thankful for the quiet and peace that you had. You were also thankful that you could look out of the window without being scolded or being told that you were unruly.

While the carriage and horses trekked on, you took off your bonnet and unpinned your hair. The pins were irritating your scalp and so was having your hair braided every day, it was painful— sometimes causing headaches.

It would take a few days before all of you reached Casterly Rock, which you did not mind— if it meant that you had time to yourself.

Time to think about getting out of this situation, because the gods themselves only knew how badly that you wanted out. You wanted to be free of them, of this slow torture.

The minutes stretched into hours during the ride, causing you to doze off occasionally. You propped your leg against the other bench, raising your dress to let in some air because you felt warm.

Your carriage stopped, along with the horses and you could hear some talking from the eyes in front. The kind of talking that made you nervous, because too much conversation was always a bad sign.

As you waited for things to start moving again, the conversation ceased and the door to your carriage opened.

It was Commander Targaryen who stepped in and shut the door behind him.

Your brows began to furrow as the nervousness creeped into your bones.

He sat on the bench across from you, where your leg was once propped up.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable in here.” He mentioned, taking note of your hair being down and your dress pulled higher than it should be.

“I was only just—“

“No need to explain, dove. I want you to be comfortable.” He interrupted.

You started to pin your hair back up.

“Leave it down, I like it that way.” Baelor commanded softly.

You dropped your arms into your lap, your eyes looking everywhere but at him.

“This is inappropriate. We are not allowed to be alone in closed spaces like this, the Aunts would not appreciate it.”

He chuckled, low and laced with amusement.

“Is there anything those miserable women do appreciate?”

Your eyes flickered over to him, shocked that he’d say such a thing— but also shocked that he found it funny.

“Are you adjusting well?” He questioned.

You clasped your hands together, pressing as hard as you could— hoping to suppress how he made you feel, how he got under your skin like a disease.

“Yes, Commander Targaryen.”

He pursed his lips, his eyes scanning over your figure.

“Baelor, as I told you.”

“That is inappropriate. You are my Commander, not my friend.” You replied.

He twisted his rings, leaning back against the padding on the bench.

“Life does not have to be so black and white, it can have color in it too— If you allow that.”

You looked down at your fingers, holding back the bitter laugh that wanted to escape you.

Baelor moved from his bench over to yours, the space between you closing.

He pushed the hair from your face, his thumb swiping the bottom of your lip.

“You tempt me.”

You stared at him through your eyelashes, your chest rising and falling fast.

“I do no such thing.” You stammered.

His lips curved in a gentle smirk, “but you do. I saw the way that you had your dress up.. the way your legs and thighs were exposed—“

“It made my mouth water.” He admitted.

He pressed his lips against yours, a soft kiss— a test. You closed your eyes, your fingers pressed into the palm of your hand as you didn’t want to kiss him back.

“You can do better than that, dove. I know that you can.” He breathed.

You kissed him back, your lips pressed softly against his. He grabbed your face, pulling you into something deeper and hungrier.

His tongue slipped past your teeth, the taste of his cigar and pomegranate on his lips.

Kissing him like this was so wrong, but it felt so good. It felt so good to be kissed by the handsome King. You hated him and yourself for feeling this way, what was wrong with you?

“You are my pretty girl, all mine.” He groaned into your mouth.

You sucked on his tongue, a moan leaving his mouth.

“Let me taste you, taste what’s mine.”

You pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips— your reality and what you engaged in coming back to you.

“No—“

“We’ve already done too much. You are my Commander.. this is wrong, you are married.” You fretted.

He turned your face to him. “Those are none of your concerns, only mine.”

“I am not your whore.” You reminded him.

“Correct, you are my handmaid— my sweet dove.”

Before anything else could be said, Baelor slipped onto his knees in front of you— pushing your legs apart. He pushed your dress up, exposing yourself to him.

His eyes raked over your thighs, your glistening cunt, how you looked down at him with such need— your eyes saying what you wouldn’t allow yourself to say.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bench.

“Commander—“

Your words were halted as he pressed his warm mouth against your cunt. The way his tongue flicked against your clit made you want to cry, your fingers gripped the bench.

He chuckled as ate you out, his eyes glancing up to see your mouth wide open from shock and pleasure.

He sucked your clit, making your eyes flutter and pulling moans from your mouth.

“Baelor.. we shouldn’t..” You breathed.

He pulled his face away from you, your slick coating his chin and mouth.

“You taste divine, better than anything I’ve ever tasted.”

He kept his eyes locked on your face—watching as you struggled to hide the way that he had you breathing, the way that you liked him eating your cunt.

You watched as his spit dripped from his mouth onto your pussy, almost unraveling right there in that moment.

He brought his mouth back to you, his tongue flicking against your clit— your whines getting louder. Baelor adjusted you, pressing his finger against your entrance.

“You want to take a finger for me, pretty girl?”

He made sure his finger was coated, pushing into you and causing you to gasp.

“That’s it, sweetling—“

“You take it so well, clenching around me.”

He sucked on your clit, pumping his finger in and out of you.

“Gods.” You moaned.

He pressed another finger inside of you, stretching you even more as it was the finger he had his ring on.

You were so full, your peak approaching quickly.

“Baelor, I’m—“

“I know, pretty girl. I want you to cum for me.”

“Fuck.” You breathed.

You were barely able to keep your eyes open as you reached your peak, your fingers hurting from gripping the bench.

He slowly pulled his fingers from you as you collected yourself.

“You did well.” He mentioned, licking his fingers.

You pulled your dress down, unable to even look at him. He sat back down on the bench on the opposite side.

The two of you sat in silence afterwards, both of you returning to the painful reality that you allowed yourself to be intentionally blind to. Shortly after, the carriages came to a stop again— Baelor exiting yours without a word.

When he stepped out of the carriage, you felt like there was another piece of yourself that you allowed to be stripped away— another piece of control that you had given him.

𖤐

Eventually, you finally reached Casterly Rock and when you did, you were happy. Happy to not be left alone with your thoughts anymore, happy to escape the way that you judged yourself within your own mind.

You made sure your dress looked as neat as possible when you followed behind Baelor and Jena.

Inside Casterly Rock, it had been cleaned and prepped with precision. There was nothing out of place, everything was cleaned, shined, and perfect overall. The wives and Commanders had their own areas where they mingled separately.

Aunt Vidala found you.

“Come, you must help with this birthing process.”

You followed her, looking around as they treated this like a formal event— like celebrating taking someone’s babe was normal.

Aunt Vidala brought you to the chambers for the handmaid, where the screams of agony could be heard in the hallway.

You walked into the chambers, all the other handmaids along with Aunt Catelyn gathered around the bed.

“OfDamon, you must breathe through the pain. Breathe in and out, deep breaths—“

“Help her, girls.” Aunt Catelyn demanded.

The wind blew outside, creating a nice cool breeze in the room.

You moved closer to the bed, taking in the sight of OfDamon’s shift being drenched in sweat, her brown hair clinging to her face, and tears of exhaustion sliding down her cheeks.

All of you practiced taking deep breaths as Aunt Catelyn instructed, trying to help OfDaemon.

This was the fate that awaited you, if Baelor got you pregnant. A bunch of people that you can’t stand in the room while you labored, waiting to take the babe after it was born. A special form of hell.

Lady Lannister took a sip of water and made her way back to the bed, her silk white nightgown clinging to her. She climbed into the bed and positioned herself behind OfDamon, mimicking her pain and contractions— pretending as if they were her own.

A truly disturbing sight in your opinion.

You couldn’t understand why it disturbed you so, but the entire situation made you uncomfortable— made you unable to think straight.

OfDamon cried out, her legs propped up and blood staining the white sheets.

“I can’t.. I can’t.” She fretted.

Aunt Catelyn walked towards the bed, a cool cloth in her hand. She dabbed away some of the sweat on OfDamon’s forehead.

“You must, dear—“

“You are so close, so close to bringing the blessing that gods have bestowed upon this family.”

OfDamon took deep breaths, preparing to start pushing again.

The Maesters came back into the room, trying to guide the labor as easy as they could— hoping that they would not have to cut.

“Mother above, be merciful in this hour. Bring forth the child whole and strength to the handmaid. Let no life be lost this day.” Aunt Catelyn spoke.

“You have one more push.” The Maester mentioned.

“One more, dear and the babe will be here.” Aunt Catelyn reminded her.

You watched as OfDamom mustered up what strength she had to push, Lady Lannister screaming behind her like she was also pushing.

A few seconds later the babe came out into the Maester’s hands, a loud cry following.

Everyone sighed with relief while Lady Lannister left the bed to see the babe.

“It’s a boy!” The Maester shouted.

“Wonderful news.” Aunt Vidala smiled.

Now that the babe was born, all the attention was on Lady Lannister and the babe. The only ones still by OfDamon’s side were the handmaids.

Cheers erupted from the halls while OfDamon began to cry, all of that hard work and she didn’t even get to see the child— the child that she had to suffer for. She could’ve died and it would’ve been for nothing, for someone else’s wish.

You brought water to her as the other women talked to her. You didn’t have much to say, nothing that would be deemed appropriate anyways.

In the time that followed after the birth, they cleaned up the room and got OfDamon situated in her own chambers for rest.

The Commanders and wives wrapped up their conversations as everyone prepared to leave, allowing the family to have time alone.

You departed shortly after, weeping alone in your carriage.

Weeping for the mothers that would lose their children, the mothers that would die before seeing them again, the children that would die without their mothers, the fathers that could not protect their children.

You weeped because of what this place would turn you into, what you might have to lose in the process.

It was almost time for your next ceremony, but that would not be happening— not this time. You were to accompany Baelor on the summit being held for the Commanders in Winterfell. This summit was to discuss how successful things had been, the growing conflict with Dorne over the change and how they treated women, and to get Baelor’s approval on some matters.

You weren’t sure why you needed to attend with him, not only was it unnecessary— but a bad look.

One night you could hear him and Jena arguing in the hall over you attending the summit, but Baelor assured her that it was not what she thought — that you would be with the Aunts and other handmaids.

It was a lie, an obvious lie.

She had her own intuition and before you took off for Winterfell, she assigned two eyes to watch you and stand guard near your carriage. She wanted to make sure that you were never out of their sight and that nothing deceitful was happening.

The journey was long and grueling as you did not talk to anyone the entire time, you were merely just trapped with your own thoughts— thoughts that weren’t the best.

When you finally arrived at Winterfell and stepped out of your carriage, you smiled for the first time in forever. The snow and ice covered the ground, the cool air brushing against your skin, the small flakes of snow that fell into your hair.

Baelor walked to you, a smile on his face.

“I can tell by your smile that you must’ve missed this place.”

You didn’t respond, just gave a half smile.

Before you started to walk alongside, he pulled the two eyes that had been assigned to you to the side. You couldn’t hear what was being said, but you saw his hand placed on one of their shoulders and they both left after the conversation.

Baelor brought you to an inn, the inn was no longer functional and turned into something else. As things had changed, who knows what happened to the man that owned it.

Baelor opened the door to the bright inn— Commanders were sitting around drinking, handmaids without their bonnets, whores, and music.

The sight of this inn was truly something, the same very things they preached against— they were over indulging in. They had women who did not fit the standards of any role as their own personal whores, but scrutinized the women for not giving them children.

You stared around the room— the smell of cigars, ale, fruits, and meats overwhelming it.

“I’m glad that you could make it, uncle.” Aerion smiled, placing his arm on his shoulder.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d make it either.” Baelor responded, pulling his gloves off.

You kept your head down around Aerion, you really did not need his attention on you— now or later.

Baelor got distracted in a small conversation with another Commander, Aerion walked over to you— his fingers lifting your chin.

“Cousin, he brought you. I am shocked.” He taunted.

You just stared at him, your nails digging into your palms again.

“I am not your cousin.” You replied.

His hand rubbed your face, his words laced with amusement.

“Are you not? You came from somewhere, certainly not from a bastard in Lys.”

You smacked his hand from your face, making him chuckle.

“You are fierce, I like that. Fierce is exactly what I need.”

Baelor turned his attention back to the two of you and it was obvious by the grimace on your face that Aerion had done something.

“Leave her alone, she is not yours to torment—“

“Did you bring your own handmaid?”

Aerion rolled his eyes, “I did.”

“Okay, well then— stick with her or the other women that are around.” Baelor spoke.

Baelor grabbed your hand, taking you to the assigned room for you and him.

The room was spacious and fancy, reminding you of his solar. The heat from the fireplace warmed your face instantly as Baelor shut the door.

He pulled off his cloak, placing it neatly on the back of a chair— while you still stood by the door.

“Why am I here?” You finally asked.

“What do you mean, sweet girl?” He questioned, placing a cigar in his mouth as he sat in the chair at the desk.

“This is not a place for handmaids.. it is sinful. It is a disgrace.”

He chuckled, lighting the cigar and taking a puff.

“Sinful, is it?”

You took a deep breath, trying not to overwork yourself and your nerves.

He inhaled, staring at you.

“How about this, I’ll allow you to give me your unsolicited opinion— give it to me. You will not be punished.”

You stood there, your fingers once again digging into your palms as you tried to calm yourself.

“I have nothing to say.”

He blew smoke out of his nostrils.

“Handmaids, Aunts, whores, and women in general— they always have something to say.”

You pulled your bonnet off, placing it on the table beside the door— allowing yourself to do anything other than pay attention to him.

He repulsed you.

“You are a pig.” You gritted under your breath.

His brows raised and came back down quickly, surprised that you’d uttered such words to a Commander — let alone a king. He set his cigar down in the glass tray that was on his desk, the smoke swirling in the air.

He stood up from his chair and in two strides walked across the room, standing in front of you— his body pressed against yours and your body pressed against the cool wall.

“A pig, am I?” He asked, staring at you as you kept your eyes closed.

“The pigs are the men that are out there, I’m far gentler. They would rip you into two, but I will not do that. I will be kind to you, I will take care of you—“ He whispered, rubbing your face.

You smacked his hand away, moving from him.

“Is that it!?!—“

“You think that you’re some saint because you don’t beat me? You are worse than the men out there, because you orchestrated this whole thing!” You spat, pacing the room.

“You and those rotten fools that you call Commanders, you’re the worst of the worst. The gods have forsaken this place, because of all of you! The men are the reason that we do not have children, not the fucking women!” You continued.

You walked away, taking a deep breath and covering your mouth as you realized what you had said.

Baelor watched with a smirk, crossing the room in slow strides.

“There she is, I knew there was a fire that brewed in you.”

He grabbed your hand, his fingers becoming wet with blood from your hand and the deep marks that your fingernails left.

You tried to pull it back, but he held it up.

“You mutilate yourself?” He questioned.

“Better myself than you, I suppose.” You mumbled.

His warm fingers held your hand, bringing it to his face for closer examination you had thought— until you felt his tongue swirl around your palm. His mismatched eyes watched you, as his tongue was coated in your blood— his lips pressed to your palm.

He brought his face to your cheek, pressing a gentle kiss amongst your warm tears.

“You are mine, regardless of your thoughts. Your thoughts do not matter here, sweetling— that you must know. I have so much in store for us.”

He brought his lips to yours pressing a gentle kiss. The kiss made your heart race and your knees feel weak, you felt things for this man that you shouldn’t.

Maybe, it was truly naive to think that you’d ever escape this

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

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