SUMMARY -> the downward spiral occurring in the ashford tourney has reached a boiling point- where you question yourself if you really had been there for your children. maekar, your husband, is there to catch you when all seems to fall at last… even if he also doubts himself if he had been doing right as a father as well.
maekar targaryen x wife!reader
GENRE -> angst & fluff
WARNINGS -> reader is the biological mother to all maekar’s children in here, aerion being aerion, acts of violence, emotional breakdown, self doubts, arguments, reader & maekar are trying their best as parents i swear 💔 & not proof-read
WC -> 4.4k
a/n: hi for appearing again after being a ghoster, i just felt like writing for akotsk cuz the show blew me away… especially maekar and baelor. okays, bye i’m ghosting again after this. 🤣
when the young prince daeron started to have his dreams- or more-so nightmares, the maesters didn’t know what was the cause of it at first.
he was only three and a half years of age, too young to tell them what his dreams were. each night he’d wail and make fuss, not wanting to sleep as he hid in your arms as you soothe him. his nannies didn’t calm him, only his mother- you would. he’d mumble against your chest, telling you about the monsters made of winter that you couldn’t understand.
oh, your little dreamer. his tiny hiccups and tired eyes devoid of sleep broke your heart as he begged not to dream. but he would eventually tire out as he falls asleep in your arms, the only time he would be in peace. the matter turned to the attention of his father, who’s lineage held the possible cause, and it was answered. your first born held the unfortunate experience of having ‘dragon dreams’ plagued by those who have valyrian descent.
but you couldn’t have foreseen his life would soon crash because of it. that he would turn to liquor for comfort instead of your arms now that he’s grown into a man now. ‘daeron the drunk’ as they say.
“you coddle him too much, that is why. he is a man now-“
“and what would you have me done? let him suffer alone in his room whilst he dreams of these things, that i- even you cannot understand?” you argue with your husband now. maekar lets out a tired sigh as you tell the maids in your steed what to pack and such as they bring out the luggages needed for your things and his.
“he holds himself finely.” maekar points out, you know well that’s a lie, and he’s getting annoyed by the second when the maids scurry past between you and him. “he can fucking handle himself- he better do. that is why i suggest you stay here.”
“i have made up my mind.” you argue back. “and it is not only because of daeron why i am coming to ashford-“
“aegon and aerion can handle themselves as well.” he cuts you off. you can see he’s trying not to let out an eye roll, making you smirk at him. “you are forgetting they are princes, and this is their duty to represent the crown when we’re there. i need you here with our other three.” he tries to convince you again. the gruffness in his tone suggests that he’s grown tired of this back and forth argument you both been having since it was announced that house targaryen were to attend a small tourney in ashford meadow. it was unusual at first, of course, but you knew the reason behind it well enough.
“daella is grown enough. our little flower has proven to me that she can handle the court well. aemon is studying at the septon, and rhae can handle without me for a few days…” you take a step closer to your lord husband. “is it not better for your wife to be there with you? to keep up with the image you’ve been saying this whole time amongst the nobility and small folk there.”
maekar raises a brow, it eases the tension between the two of you as you put your hands on his shoulders then dragging down to his chest to soothe him. you did not want to really tell him that the whole reason for you coming was indeed because of your sons. while your quiet aemon is away, studying in the septon, you grew weary for your other three. alongside with your little dreamer’s problems, your dragon of a son has been becoming a hardheaded man with his attitude and his actions, always picking on your youngest son, your little chick- or egg (he likes that nickname more.)
“sly woman.” he mutters, making you smile. a clatter of something echoes throughout the room making him let out a noise of annoyance at your maids as he addresses them in his usual fashion of temperance. “be done with that!”
your maids jump at his tone as you smile at them kindly. “thank you both, you can continue later.” you dismiss them as they bow their heads, muttering apologies while heading out. maekar mumbled a string of colorful words pertaining how clumsy your maids are.
“i am coming, maekar.” you say in finality, tone softer as he lets out a grunt as a response. “and besides our sons, i think i also need a nice change of scenery than these walls.”
he raises a brow. you look at him pointedly.
“i’d like to see the country side is what i am saying.” you clarified, and he merely lets out another sigh as you kiss his cheek.
“do not complain to me that we aren’t riding with a carriage, then. i’ve had enough words from daeron-“ some would say that your husband’s tone would suggest he’s fed up with you. but you know well that he means good.
“i will ride just as fine.” you tell him with an eye roll, dismissing him with a wave of your hand as you go over to your vanity to bring out the things you need to pack. maekar’s shoulders drop, he’s not arguing anymore as he exits your shared room with a faux scowl. he doesn’t tell you that he’s mildly pleased that you’re coming.
・゜゜・．
as a mother, you know very well when one of your children would be cross with one another. but you hoped that it wouldn’t fester too long that they would turn into hatred as you look at aegon and aerion, standing next to each other. aegon seems tense as aerion mutters something to him. you know very well that they don’t get along despite the ‘kindness’ your second son is showing. you do not entirely know what goes behind your back with your two sons, only that you wish they still hold love for each other in any way. but it pains you to think that they’ve developed their relationship with one another into tolerance. on aegon’s part, his disdain shows greatly for aerion, and it breaks your heart.
daeron, for once, has shown up early. clearly disheveled, like his father just hauled him from bed, the stench of wine still lingers on him as he greets you with a kiss on your cheek. you fix his hair as he pulls back to wait alongside his siblings in the courtyard to wait for the horses be brought up. you gulp, feeling a little uneasy at the moment. you do not know whether it’s the dreadful anticipation of the jousting, which maekar has explicitly stated that your two eldest are expected to join. alongside with their cousin, valarr. his father is already seated on his horse, your good brother, baelor.
you fiddle with the laces on your wrists as you spot the horses. you turn around to kiss your eldest daughter’s forehead a goodbye, and kiss the cheek of your little rhae of sunshine. they both bid you a farewell as your husband appears just in time to escort you down. and you did not forget to tell your two daughters to hug their father as well, which they did.
you take in a deep breath as you assure yourself everything would be fine once you and your family arrive in ashford in days time.
or so you hoped.
・゜゜・．
when aegon had run in to your arms, crying that his cat was thrown in the well by aerion, maekar dismiss the matter telling your youngest son that they shall find a new one to stop his fuss. you on the other hand, couldn’t grasp the concept of how the hell did your second son did- or allegedly did, as he defended himself when you scolded him, to do such a cruel act. it was one of the first things that stuck with you how one of your children behaved like that. maekar often would tell you that your boys needed stricter discipline than your coddling when they’d fight with one another, but you didn’t like the idea of it at first. not until aerion’s more brash actions came to light bit by bit.
to say, you were the gentler parent, as daeron said. their father, for his strictness, had good intentions under that. only you have to remind him to tone it down some times… but he argues that too much softness on them, especially your sons, would do nothing when they are in court or out on the battlefield. they are targaryen children, he says, yes… you think. but they are still your children. what moment of softness would do instead of the weight trusted upon them for the realm? wouldn’t it ease their lives even for a moment that a mother can offer? you’d sometimes argue about that, about your differences in parenting. but nonetheless, you know your husband loves your children. his duty as father is to protect them, and you can see that. you only wish he would see your side more often than you do with his.
people would say you and your husband bicker a lot because of the differences in marriage. sure, it was the truth that your marriage with him was purely because of politics and alliances. but you grew to love him, and so did he… or more-so tolerated you, you tease him with that, and he scowls, telling you not to say that ever. hell, wasn’t the love not visible enough that you gave him six hatchlings to the people who gossip? people were cruel, you’ve grown to realize that when you married into the royal line, false stories would be everywhere. including with your children. especially with your eldest. they had argue that if you and maekar been stricter, maybe he would been a fine prince than a drunkard who prefers whores and wine. you hated that immensely. they do not see what really goes on in your eldest’s hard life as to why he chose to pick that path. of course, his father’s disappointment weighed in that as well.
“they are- what?” you almost fell off your horse when one of the knights had told you daeron and aegon were nowhere to be found when the journey was getting closer to ashford meadow. your husband flew into a pit of curses, telling them to find them as you took a deep breath. and now here you sit in lord ashford’s castle, contemplating whether or not to ride with the men your husband sent a search party out for your two missing sons.
“fuck me.” your husband scowls at lord ashford’s words of assurance. “delayed, they’re not delayed.”
“do not curse our gracious host.” baelor scolds gently as maekar guides you to sit down. your silence subtly irks him as he glances at you before to his brother.
“i said ‘fuck me’, not fuck him. it’s not his fault father bade us attend this miserable circus.”
“might we discuss the disappearance of our sons another time, please?” you interrupt, massaging your temple, feeling like you might grow horns how tense your muscles are. baelor casts a sympathetic look at you.
“i say we go hunting.” maekar tells his brother.
“daeron has done this before.” baelor points out as a servant tends to him.
“and you shouldn’t have forced him to enter the lists. i have told you this.” you added, remembering the countless times your eldest has ran away just to avoid his duties. maekar lets out a sigh at that. “and he has brought aegon along with him…”
“what else who’d you have me do to get his fucking arse on the field? he’s expected to join along this fucking joust.” he grumbles, and you glare at him.
“she’s right for you commanding him, brother.” baelor tells him. you can see your husband’s jaw tick at his brother’s words.
“you’d be more concerned if it was your son, i’d wager.”
“they have been only missing for a day.” baelor says, and you shake your head at the thought of that. a day can mean anything, a day can mean that they’re a day dead for who knows where. “no doubt, ser roland will turn him up with aegon along with him. “
“i admire your optimism, baelor. but that boy is good at making himself hidden for days.” you grumble as maekar walks over to you, munching on the nuts quite loudly.
“and when the tourney’s over, perhaps.” your husband added as he sits right next to you with a loud and tired groan. he reaches for your hand as you grasp it, a gesture that calms your nerves. his thumb massages your knuckles which you favor when you’re stressed.
“daeron belongs on a tourney field, no more than- aerys or rhaegar.” baelor adds.
“by which you mean he’d sooner ride a whore than a horse?” maekar questions, making you sigh.
“what? am i lying?” he turns to you, as if you need to agree with those crude words of his.
“that is not what i said.” baelor softens his tone.
“we know.” you answer for your husband. “i pray that ser roland doesn’t bring back bodies.” you mumble as you shake your head to get rid of the thoughts of your sons’s corpses being brought back to you.
“that will not happen, sister. daeron is skilled enough to take care himself and aegon, despite it all.” baelor says, and you nod.
“i do not need to be reminded of my son’s failures.” your husband says. “he can change, he will change, gods be damned, swear i’ll see him dead.”
maekar stressed as his eyes suddenly stare at something. he lets go of your hand as you zone out when he calls the spying tall hedge knight that coincidentally was the answer for your question of where your youngest son is.
daeron, for all you hope, isn’t as drunk and wiped out to protect his little brother. for aegon, you know he’s a clever boy to begin with. full of boyish ambition and determination that makes you smile when he talks about his dream in becoming a knight someday. oh, your little knight… you whisper to the gods now that pray your sons would turn up soon or you’ll find them yourself.
・゜゜・．
when aerion was five years of age, he had the fire in him as any targaryen prince had. it was no secret that your husband saw potential in him in many ways that reminded of his own fire. there was a fond memory you had of your second eldest when he told you he wanted to be dragon. it amused you that he did not say he wanted to ride a dragon when he received his own egg that still lay unhatched. you knew the dragons in the stories were long gone since after the dance, you sometimes wonder what your husband’s dragon might be. maybe vhagar or caraxes? perhaps vermithor?
you miss your aerion’s childhood wonder… and you wondered when his brutish attitude started when he became a minor menace in his teenage years. the stories… gossips that you have been hearing about his so-called ‘sadism’ threw you off. you know he’s boisterous and prideful, yet cruel… you could not imagine him to be as cruel until he had ‘allegedly’ threw aegon’s cat. sometimes, you think the blasted praise for the targaryen might had gone over his head, and you hadn’t taught him enough to be humble. i was too soft, you now think. a mother should teach, not just nurture, but to guide her children into kind people regardless of what they are expected to be.
but when you watched him dishonorably unlanced ser humfrey a while ago, and killed the man’s steed, you were even more convinced that you failed in that part of his growth. it irked you when they called it an accident. and you knew well enough that your son planned that when he couldn’t look into your eyes after you had asked him if he was alright. you know your children well enough when they had misbehaved.
“i can hear your thoughts from here.” maekar breaks you out of your trance. the fire in the fireplace crackles as you sip your second cup of wine tonight.
“dictate it to me, then?” you manage to tease as maekar’s heavy steps neared. you can hear him take off his outer clothes before you felt the warm of his fingers grip your chin, making you look up at him.
“they will be found, i assure you, my heart.” he whispers, his thumb caresses your lower lip that’s wet with wine. the mention of your two missing sons makes you sigh.
“that is up to the gods if they’ll bring them back to us in one piece…” you muttered. “i could settle for daeron coming back with some poor girl- gods, and aegon…”
you try to humor it to get rid of the impending doom you’ve been feeling all day. maekar merely lets out a concealed chuckle as he sits beside you by the fire. “this is a first that he brought a sibling along with him. did aegon said he didn’t want to go as well?”
“i believe he was the most eager than our other two.” maekar says and you hummed, wondering why daeron had insisted aegon to ride along with him.
“i wished they would’ve just told me than running away.” you muttered, thinking that you might have pressured them with your coming to ashford. oh, it was an embarrassment that you were sulking than enjoying this tourney prepared for lord ashford’s young daughter.
“i will find them.” your husband assures you again.
“i’ll give them a fucking clout in the ear if i have to.” he adds, and you laugh. maekar’s lips twitch to a rare smile at your laughter. your frown has been noticeable all day, and he couldn’t blame you for behaving like this. you lean forward to rest in his arms as you peck his lips. he hums, adjusting his seating so you could lean on him as you rest your head on his shoulder. his chin rests upon your hair as he relaxes.
“aerion killed that horse intentionally, did he not?” you suddenly spoke. your stress seemed to not just focus on your missing sons. maekar tenses as he caresses your arm.
“it was a mistake. do not worry about him.”
“sometimes i wonder if i have been too gentle that he’d think violence is normal.” you confess, sighing. “you must do something about that… i fear he doesn’t listen to me these days.”
“i shall.” he nods, but the thought of that tires him. you look at him with the same tired eyes as you tenderly reached to caress his cheek. the scars hidden behind his beard are felt on your fingertips as he looks down at you. it’s moments like this maekar looks forward after a long day of doing fuck-knows-what he is expected to do. you’re his respite, and he’s certainly pleased that you had joined him in this fucking circus. he does not know what he’ll do without you here, especially the mayhem that’s been happening.
“thank you.” you say with much sincerity. your husband merely grunts before hugging you closer.
“there was never a question.” he tells you, quiet and firm, and you could not be more content than ever.
・゜゜・．
the hedge knight… ser dunk was it? or ser duncan. the one who asked to be put on the list in the tourney had your youngest son after all- as his squire. but unfortunate circumstances came when you met the kind knight. that he had assaulted your second eldest, much to his dismay. assaulted, by which you come to realize the man was protecting a young woman from your insolent child’s actions- as aegon had explained to you.
“countless times i have defended you. have i not raised you to treat any situation or anyone for the matter, with humility and respect!?” you seethed at your second eldest. the room is tenser than before.
maekar had dragged him away after that humiliating counsel he had with the accused sir duncan. you told your husband you needed to speak with him, no interruptions from him whatsoever. from what you gathered, the hedge knight had every right to a trial by combat, but it seemed your son was too of a ‘coward’, maekar says- since he evoked a trial of seven instead, and making matters worse. while you didn’t like the idea of any of your children being put in this situation, it was the law, and aerion had to learn in some way. but it broke your heart how fucking ignorant he is as he stares at you with indifferent eyes devoid of any regret, guilt, or empathy at least.
“mother, if you are worried for the trial, i am surely going to kill the damn fool if that is what you are nagging about-“
“lower your fucking tone, boy.” maekar warns, and aerion tenses.
“that is not the problem.” you point at him as maekar stands idly by your side, his jaw ticking as aerion rolls his eyes. “you broke a girl’s fingers for what-? because she puppeteers a dragon being slain? where in the hells did you get the idea our house was being shamed?”
aerion huffs, annoyed. it takes a lot of patience for a mother not to slap their child at that.
“and ser duncan… gods be fucking merciful to that man…” you say, shaking your head as you reached for the wine, hoping to drown your misery. “are you proud of what you’ve done, aerion?”
aerion’s jaw tightened. “i intend to bring justice on our honor, mother. ser duncan has to pay for his crimes committed on us.” you gulp the sour tasting wine as your brows furrowed at his tone. he seemed to be amused and rather arrogant.
“and the whore-“ he muses. “she’s lucky that the tall buffoon shielded her or i would have-“
“you would have what?” your voice broke, and so did your emotions you’ve been trying to swallow down. aerion’s facade seemed to crack when he sees your eyes glistening with hurt and disappointment. “killed her? is that what i have raised you to treat people so badly? have i failed as mother how careless you speak those words before me?”
your son doesn’t say anything else.
you blink away the tears as you let out a laugh, not of joy but of exhaustion. “my sons… i think i’ve failed all of you. daeron does not come to me when he hurts, and aegon chose not to tell me why he ran along with ser duncan. and now-“ you shuddered a shaky breath as you look at him.
the subtle frown in his expression reminded you of when he was little. he looks like the same small boy that looks so sorrowful when you’re disappointed with him. but you cannot look at him that way again, knowing what he has been doing has made you think you have failed him. you turn away as you refuse to look at him without crying.
“go to your room. you’ve upset your mother well enough. i suggest you fucking think this over before the morrow.” maekar finally intervenes as your sobs filled the room. aerion merely stays quiet as he brushes past his father in a haste. maekar looks back at his own son, frowning.
you could not stomach where you failed your sons. maekar had found daeron in an inn, drinking away his sorrows as usual… but more heavier than before. three of your sons couldn’t look you in the eye now. you wondered why didn’t aegon come back when he was right under your nose all along? had they not trusted you? were you pressuring them? did you give a hint that might have coward them not to run to you? you cover your sobs as you take a seat. you can hear maekar close the door as he nears you.
“do not think this is your fault.” he says quietly as he reaches to caress your tear-stained cheek. wiping away the fresh tears that fall from your eyes.
“i was coddling them, wasn’t i?” you say, doubting yourself despite his words of comfort. he kneels down at your level.
“that was stupid of me to say.” he tells you, his brows furrowed as your teary eyes look at him. “you are a great mother to them all.” he sincerely says. “i confess it may be my fault why they’re such a fucking mess.”
wasn’t it true? he thinks to himself. that his strictness might be the reason for it all. that all your children are too scared to even come to you for comfort when he emphasizes strength in not showing weakness to them. that he made you doubt yourself because of his teachings to your children.
“do not say that.” you tell him as you grip his hand that cups your cheek. “i fear we would have to argue all night who takes the blame.” you muster a chuckle.
“i’ll gladly take it.” he says with such determination. “we will fix this. i promise you that.”
you look into his eyes, wondering how lucky you are to have and love him. “thank you.”
he shakes his head as he brings your hand to his lips as he kisses your knuckles. “it’s the least i can do.”
outside their room stands the young prince aegon as he listens to his mother’s sobs and his father’s disappointed words. he looks at his brother, daeron, from the other side, seeing his expression sorrowful as well. his room is near yours and maekar’s, and he knows daeron heard all of that. egg peeks from the crack of the door, seeing your tired and tearful eyes as he reflects the actions he has done to upset you so greatly. but he blames aerion for adding fuel to the flame with all of this. egg looks to his eldest brother, who’s head is hung low.
“we’ve upset her.” the young prince says.
daeron merely nods. “but i always did, didn’t i?”
oh, mother. daeron thinks sadly as he walks in his room at last.
egg frowns, tomorrow he shall apologize. he hopes daeron does as well. and aerion? he hopes ser duncan kills him tomorrow. for now, he leaves you with his father to not make matters worse.
you are the best mother. egg hopes you know that as he turns away with a quiet step filled with guilt.
Placing the Blame (Maekar Targaryen x Niece!Reader)
Summary: After your father's death, you return to Summerhall with your uncle, unable to face King's Landing without your father. Unbeknownst to Maekar, you fall into a deep depression upon arriving at Summerhall. When he finds out what your grief has caused, he cannot help but feel guilty.
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Targcest, Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, Age-gap relationship, Mentions of sex
It had been little over three days since Maekar and—most of—his children had returned to Summerhall. Though Aegon and Aerion’s absences had been odd, the absence of sound itself had been even worse. In a family full of so many children, there was scarcely a moment of silence to be found, and yet now it was so abundant that Maekar grew uncomfortable. The silence not only reflected the grief and misery of all around him, but gave him too much space to lose himself in his thoughts.
He knew Baelor’s death was not his fault—it had been an accident, of course. And yet when Maekar got the little sleep that he could in such a state, he was plagued with nightmares of the trial, searching hopelessly for something, anything. And yet he could not see his brother’s face in these dreams, nor the blow that killed him.
Maekar had begun dreading sleep, and when he was awake he could hardly see fit to leave either his chambers, after all, with three of four sons gone as well, every other room and hall felt barren. Servants would come every now and then, whether to bring food or news of matters that needed attention, and he would eat or see to it, but he felt lost otherwise. He had little idea what to do with himself.
Baelor would have known.
“Your Grace, a word if I may.”
The knock and sound of one of his servants broke the prince from his contemplation. He bade the man enter, and turned his head just enough from his position at the window of his study to see the servant. The man wore a meek, anxious expression, which caused Maekar to turn fully.
“News of Aegon or Aerion?” he questioned, wondering if there had perhaps been a development in one of his sons’ well-being or location. The man shook his head.
“N-No, your Grace. It is your niece… She has not emerged from her room since arriving. She has locked herself inside, and will not come out even for food. All the response that we can manage to get from her is being told to leave, and-”
Maekar’s face hardened as he took in such information. He pressed his fists into his desk, glaring at the man before him with utter fury.
“You mean to tell me that my niece has not eaten in three fucking days, and you only now saw fit to inform me?” he seethed, watching with no sympathy as the servant began to tremble.
“I beg your forgiveness, your Grace, it is only that we thought it best not to disturb you at such a time as this until it became absolutely necessary-”
“I should have been informed immediately! Get out, you idiot. I will see to her,” Maekar scowled, watching the man flee the room after a rushed bow, perhaps fearing for his employment if not his safety. The prince could only sigh, rubbing his forehead and grabbing his cloak from his chair. Yes, he would see to you.
As Maekar ventured to your accommodations, anxiety gripped him. You were Baelor’s eldest child, and the Gods knew you were closer to him than either of your brothers. You were his darling girl, and he was your entire world. Thinking of it now, Maekar felt entirely stupid for not having gone to check in with you sooner—after all, the only reason you’d joined your uncle here was because you could not bear to return to King’s Landing without Baelor.
Even worse, you had always adored Maekar, and he had not been here for you now despite returning your affection just as strongly. Affection was perhaps too small a word—out of all the children in the family, you had always been Maekar’s favorite. Unassuming and inappropriate remarks as a child had always made your uncle laugh, and when you’d grown into a woman, intellect and wit had made such jests even more appreciated. You were kind, but not dull, and when Maekar was in the midst of a fit you knew just how to calm him because his anger did not frighten you as it did others. You had kept him sane when his wife had passed. More than that, perhaps, you had brought back joy.
In the last few years, something had shifted for both of you. Lingering glances in halls and at dinners, touches that stayed a moment too long. The night of your most recent nameday feast, Maekar had caught you alone and both of you snapped, unable to resist kissing one another. He had fallen to his knees and tasted you that night, and you had dripped all over his beard, so enamored with him that he’d had you arching and moaning like a common whore. All the same, you both agreed it was best forgotten immediately afterwards; you would need to marry soon, and he was your uncle. Your father might have killed him if he knew; that was what you feared, at least.
While nothing more had happened since, attempts to “forget” such an incident were futile. When you and Maekar looked at one another, the tension was palpable. His heart stirred as it hadn’t in years, and such devotion to you made him all the more nervous at news of your current condition.
Maekar took a deep breath as he approached your door. There were multiple servants roaming the hall, and he could feel all of their eyes. They all knew of your condition, and were surely wondering if your uncle would finally manage to coax you out. The prince gave the door three heavy knocks.
“Princess, it is your uncle. I wish to speak with you,” he called, blinking rapidly and straining his ears for the sound of any movement from inside. When he heard nothing after nearly a minute, he carefully reached for the handle, hoping perhaps it was no longer locked. Finding that it was still shut tight, he knocked again, beginning to become frustrated at the situation. “Princess, you must open this door at once!”
Still, nothing. Maekar sighed and cursed under his breath, wondering if perhaps such a harsh command had been the wrong approach when you were in this state. All the same, your continued silence was nerve-wracking.
“Would you at least grace me with a reply so that I know you are well?” he requested, face flushing as more and more servants seemed to stare. He waited again, but there was no answer. Both anger and panic continued to stir.
“(Y/N), if you do not open this door I will be forced to break it down! Do you understand?” he shouted, reaching for the handle and giving it a harsh shake once more to show you he was serious if nothing else. Was he serious? The fear that something seriously bad had happened beyond this door told him that he was, and all that momentarily stopped him was the thought of propriety.
Seven hells, Maekar was a prince of the realm, and he would break down a hundred doors to get to you, manners be damned. With a scowl, he backed up and took a deep breath. He charged at the door, slamming his shoulder against the wood with a groan and repeating such movement as he felt the material beginning to bend to his will. As he ran at the door for the fourth time it finally flew open beneath him, and he stumbled into your room breathless and somewhat disheveled.
His eyes darted around the space, searching in a panic for evidence of something he did not even want to consider. He was relieved to simply find you tucked into your bed, head turned back towards him with shock at the intrusion. Maekar sighed out, gently closing the door behind him and meeting your eyes. It did not last long, you quickly turned your head forward and laid it on your pillow once more. Your uncle approached apprehensively, going to your side of the bed and sitting beside you very slowly.
“(Y/N)... the maesters say you have not left this room since our return… that you have not even opened the door for food. You must eat, my dear. You cannot starve yourself,” he said, voice so soft that any but you would surely struggle to believe it was Maekar speaking. He had placed a gentle hand on your blanketed shoulder, and when he examined your face more closely it took everything in him not to simply wrap you in his arms.
Your eyes were red and swollen, as well as your skin colorless and drained. You were clutching your blankets as though they were all you had left in the world, but it was not lost upon your uncle just how truly fragile you were right now. All the same, when you spoke it was with your usual bite.
“How am I meant to eat when my father is dead? How could you ask me to conduct myself as though nothing has happened?” You snapped, anger at all that has happened being unfortunately misdirected at someone who you knew already blamed himself, and who you knew did not deserve it.
“I am not asking that of you. None of us are acting as though things are normal. All that I ask is that you see to your health… I cannot bear to see you this way. So please, for the sake of your dear fucking uncle if nothing else, eat,” he pleaded, turning towards you even more directly now and looking at you with such concern that you could hardly say no. You gave a meek nod, lips parting as you looked up at him. He laid the back of his hand on the bed beside you; an offering. One of your hands peaked out ever-so-slightly from beneath the covers, intertwining your fingers with his. After a few moments, Maekar spoke again:
“And perhaps bathe, while you’re at it.”
Giggles erupted from you for the first time in at least two weeks, and the sound felt foreign, both to you and Maekar, who had both become so accustomed to the sound of either sobbing or utter silence. Your eyes met, and you graced one another with gentle smiles. Yours faded after a moment.
“How fares the rest of the family? Has word come from Valarr or Grandfather?” You inquired, guilt lacing your voice at the thought of not being there for your younger brother at such a time, even though you knew it would kill you to be in King’s Landing right now. Maekar looked away wistfully.
“Your brother is grieving deeply, as are Matarys and my parents. Though I am glad to report that the rest of our family is at least eating…” he told you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before gently cupping your cheek. You pressed your lips together, trying to avoid tears. Maekar had always found a way to bring down your walls, just as you did for him. That was the last thing you wanted right now, though. You feared if you let your emotions free that the grief would never stop pouring out.
“And what of you, Uncle? Are you… alright?” You questioned, attempting to find a way to ask that didn’t sound entirely stupid. He was devastated, you knew, but how he was managing his own grief you were unsure of.
“I have been… figuring it out. But it does not matter. I am here for you, sweet girl. Gods, when I was told you weren’t eating… the stupid idiots hadn’t said a thing about it until now. I would have been here for you sooner, I would have been here right away. I should have been here regardless, though… forgive me, please. You have needed me and I hadn’t thought… Forgive me.” Maekar repeated his apology over, clutching your one hand with both of his. Your brows furrowed with sorrow and concern.
“There is nothing to forgive. I did not expect you, if anything I felt ashamed of myself for not going to you. You deserve comfort just as much-”
“And yet you are the one who has locked herself away. How can I not worry for you?” he responded, eyes glossed over with utter guilt. If Baelor could have asked for anything, it would have been the safety of his children. And more than that, Maekar himself loved you so deeply that he felt ashamed for not even having thought to check in—he hated the thought of you having rotted alone in here the last three days.
“I am fine, Uncle… I will be fine,” you attempted to assure him, though the quiver of your lips and the crack of your voice made him stiffen almost immediately. Maekar glanced at you with both curiosity and apprehension.
“There is something on your mind. Tell me.”
You shook your head, instantly looking away from him and trying to fight back the tears that so desperately wanted to spill. You could no longer resist when Maekar moved to cradle your head, a sob ripping from your throat as you leaned into his warm hands.
“I- I miss him so much, Maekar… I miss him so much that I- Gods, I wish I were dead. I only want to stay in here until my eyes shut and I can be with him again… I only want to die,” you continued to sob, eyes shut tight because you could not bear to meet your uncle’s gaze when making such an admittance. All the same, you felt him go still as he processed your words.
Maekar hated to hear you say such a thing—his heart surely shattered all over again, just as it had when he learned of his brother. He could only stare at you, mouth agape. He wanted to shout at you, to forbid you from saying such things. He wanted to wrap you into his arms and comfort you. All he could do was stare, so paralyzed by his fear of losing you.
No… no, no, no. You cannot-
Panicked thoughts were interrupted when he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the tears on your cheeks. His gaze wandered and settled upon your nightstand—or rather, the small blade and bloodied cloth that sat there. A chill went down his spine.
“(Y/N)...”
The way Maekar said your name forced your eyes open, unsure of what was happening. So much fear was in his tone that one might’ve thought he had witnessed some sudden danger. And yet, when you saw his face and where his gaze was focused, every nerve in your body ran hot with terror. Only a moment later he turned his head away from the nightstand and looked at you once more; his expression of anxiety turned to anger.
“(Y/N), pull back the covers at once. Show me what you have done.”
His hand reached for your blankets, tugging, but you gripped onto them just as fiercely, refusing to let him pull them away. It was a mistake, you knew, for it surely branded you as guilty of having done something, but the fear of your uncle knowing was so horrible that you couldn’t help it.
“Maekar, stop it, please!” you pleaded, tears still streaming down your face. He scowled, growing angry because he knew no other way to show his concern and love in such a situation.
“Let go of the fucking blanket!”
Maekar stood when you still protested, using his strength to give the cloth such a hard tug that you could no longer resist. The covers went flying down to your legs, and you trembled as your uncle looked down at you, seeing all the wounds that decorated your arms, both fresh and scabbed. You sat up and clutched your arms to your chest, but he had seen them. Even if he hadn’t, small spots of blood decorated the sheets where you lay.
Maekar took a stumbled step backwards, all the anger—and color—instantly draining from his face as his fears were confirmed. You had hurt yourself. You had been locked away in this room not eating, likely not sleeping, and instead taking a blade to your own skin. A choked noise escaped the Anvil’s throat, and he had to press a hand to his mouth to suppress anything further. Your heart dropped when you saw tears begin to develop in his eyes.
“Gods… (Y//N)... what have you done to yourself? Let me see, please… let me see.”
Maekar moved closer, and as tears fell and your lip trembled you could not deny him. You did not resist when he reached for your arms, turning them over and examining them so tenderly it was as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His hands were trembling when he touched you.
“It is my fault. All of it. I killed Baelor… I killed Baelor, and his death has driven you to this. It is my fault,” he muttered, voice cracking and quivering as he stared at your arms. A couple of tears slid down his cheeks in a moment of vulnerability that you had never seen from the Anvil before.
At once you scooted to the edge of the bed with the intention to rise and comfort him, but as soon as your feet met the floor your uncle collapsed to his knees before you. Maekar’s face fell into your lap as you sat there, and his tears turned to sobs.
“It is my fault! He is dead and you have hurt yourself, and I have done it to you…” he choked out, gripping your legs to keep from falling over. In an instant your hands rushed to the sides of his head, holding him as you leaned down and pressed your forehead to his hair.
“No, no… you mustn't say such things. It is not your fault, Uncle. It could never have been your fault. It was an accident, and you miss my father just as I do. This-” you forced his head up and presented your arm once more, “This is not your fault. It is as you said, I did it to myself.”
He shook his head, more tears falling as he observed your wounds closer. He gently grabbed your arm again, thumb brushing over a few of the scabs.
“You would never have done this if not for my actions and their consequences. I am to blame,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and trying to take a deep breath. You held his cheeks now, forcing him to look at you.
“You know that to be false. But if it is any comfort… I do not blame you. Perhaps I blame Aerion, or the Gods themselves… and perhaps even my father, for he should have known better than to wear a helm that did not fit him correctly… but never you, Maekar. It was never your fault, never,” you assured him softly, wiping the tears from his face and holding his gaze in yours. His lip trembled, but he swallowed and nodded after a moment, breathing deeply as you pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead, and then another to the slowly fading bruise on his cheek. He held your hands to his face.
“It is only that I… if I had not…” he shook his head, clearly lost in his head and attempting to wrack his memories for the crucial mistake. He could not find it no matter how hard he tried—he would not even know what to do differently if he could do the day over again. “I miss my brother.”
Maekar’s voice was small when he said it, but you heard him well, and your own expression saddened at his words. The ache in your chest that had not gone away since you heard the news only seemed to worsen.
“As do I.”
The two of you looked upon each other, both with glossy eyes and trembling lips. In an instant, Maekar was reaching for you, arms wrapping around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. You slipped forward into his arms, clutching him close as you both began to cry into one another's shoulders. He gripped you fiercely, as though you were the only joy he had left in his life; as though you were all he had left of Baelor. You held on just as tightly for the same reasons.
“M-Maekar…” you whimpered, face buried into his neck. The warmth of him, the scent of him, and the feeling of him felt holy at a time like this. There was something special about receiving comfort from a man known to be so cold and harsh. In this way, he was yours. You wished for him to be yours in another way as well.
You pulled your face back from him, looking into his eyes as they opened at the feeling of your movement. Both of your faces were damp with tears, and you softened at the vulnerability of it all. Yes, you wished for him to be truly yours.
“(Y/N)?”
Your eyes flickered to your uncle’s lips, and as you took a deep breath, he seemed to understand too. Both of your faces leaned closer, and ever-so-gently he pressed his lips to yours. He leaned down to kiss you as he lowered your knees to the floor so that he could cup your face rather than holding you. Neither of you hesitated, all conversation of ignoring the feelings you clearly held for each other long forgotten now.
Though your arms still wrapped around Maekar’s neck, pulling his face down to you, you allowed one hand to roam through the hairs on his neck, and he shuddered at the feeling. The relief and comfort you felt kissing him was such a perfect ailment for the pain both of you had experienced, not to mention something you’d both craved for at least a year now.
The kiss grew deeper, more desperate, the taste so intoxicating that neither of you could separate. Both of your hands roamed with abandon, Maekar’s finding your waist and yours finding his hair and his back. A tug to his silver locks made him release a groan into your mouth, and fire lit inside of you.
Like a starving, feigning animal you pushed your uncle back onto the floor, crawling on top of him and straddling him as he recovered from the shock of being forced down. You kissed him fiercely, and he returned it just as ardently for a moment. It was only when you began to claw at the lacing on his doublet that his hands gripped your wrists and his face turned away from yours. You sat up, pulling away with both confusion and betrayal; you were angry despite yourself, for reasons that had nothing to do with this rejection.
“What? You had no qualms tucking your head beneath my skirts and tasting me on my nameday, but you shy away from more now? When I need you most?” You questioned, tone more than just laced with anger and frustration. Maekar sighed.
“You are vulnerable, (Y/N). I would not touch you now, when you are unsure of yourself and your emotions,” he reasoned, looking up at you pleadingly from where he laid and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. You grimaced further.
“I am sure that I want you. I have been sure since my nameday, if not much sooner. You would deny me such comfort?”
“I would never deny you comfort, but it is not fucking comfort that you seek. Whatever relief you believe this might bring you, it will not. You are not well enough for such vulnerability,” he turned your wrist over, looking for a moment and then shaking his head, “And I refuse. I refuse to do such a thing to you when you have not eaten in days, and when no maester has tended to these wounds. I will not hurt you further.”
Before you had any time to make a protestation—not that you really could have after such a display—he was sitting up and wrapping his arms around you. Maekar, in his ever-impressive strength, managed to lift both of you from the floor and instead moved to place you back on the bed.
“I will call for food, a maester, and warm water for a bath. You will eat, you will bathe, you will rest, and you will heal. That is the comfort you need, my dearest,” he said vehemently, smoothing your hair before placing a kiss to the top of your head. He motioned to make for the door, but you grabbed his hand and stopped him.
“I wish that you would help me with it all. If the maesters and maids see these… they will talk. I do not want any but you to know,” you pleaded, glancing down at the scars that seemed obvious enough for even a blind man to notice. Maekar huffed and stuttered a reply.
“You seriously suggest that I help you bathe? And what of your cuts? I am no maester, I know not how to-”
“I trust you, Maekar. The cuts have not festered, they need only be washed and wrapped… please. I need you.”
Maekar stared at you incredulously, as though he could not believe what he was hearing. Yet, as he saw the look on your face and felt the way your hand trembled in his, he softened. Your request was fair—this truly was a plea for comfort, nothing more.
“Very well. I will tend to you myself. Let me call for all you need.”
Your uncle called upon several maids to retrieve bath water, bandages, and a hot meal, snapping at them with a desperate sense of urgency. No more than ten minutes later everything had been delivered, and Maekar was quick to bring the plate of food over to you in bed.
He sat beside you, carefully and slowly feeding you in small spoonfuls so that you wouldn’t be sick. He would stop every now and then to provide you with water or ask how you felt, and you would see the relief on his face when you reassured him that all was well.
When you were finished eating and felt ready for it Maekar helped you to the bath, looking away with a flushed face as you undressed and slipped into the water before dropping to his knees beside you, washing your hair as you washed your body. He placed a few gentle kisses to your shoulders, and the stress and tension of all that you’d been through lately seemed to fade away. You reached back to hold his hand for a while.
“I would have you stay here in Summerhall, if it please you,” he said as he massaged your scalp, voice soft and almost anxious. You turned to him and smiled.
“Nothing would please me more.”
Maekar wrapped you in a towel as you rose from the bath, drying you off and helping you into a clean nightgown. It was domestic, and for once you remembered that this man had been married for many years. It warmed your heart to see this side of him.
He sat you on the bed then, taking your arms into his hands and wrapping them with such tenderness that you would not have expected it from his battle-forged hands. He was gentle, and he kissed your arms when he was finished. He wiped away the tears that followed.
Fate had brought heartbreak upon your family, and ghosts that would haunt you both for years if not decades, but it had brought love and beauty as well. The way forward on this journey seemed so uncertain to you, but of one thing you were sure: Maekar would help you.
I hope that one day, he finally gets at least a single day of rest…
Warnings: Grumpy husband, Maekar being Maekar, emotional constipation, yelling (once, mentioned), brief angst. The translation might be a bit off since English isn't my native language. Just headcanons, don't take it too seriously.
His inconsistent consistency of anger and irritation. This was the first thing you learned about your husband. Maekar grumbled a lot always frowning and tense, as if he were hauling an entire caravan of grain for a long winter on his back. It could be frightening, but he didn't snap at you, even though you thought he would…Well, it happened once. He hadn't meant to, he was simply so irritated, and you just happened to be nearby before you could understand his moods, as it was only the beginning of your marriage. The way the smile faded from your face was a shock to him, and he regretted his words instantly. He could not apologize, much as he wanted to. You didn't speak to him for a couple of days, careful not to draw any more of his anger upon yourself. When you finally crossed paths in the corridor and you tried to pass him by once more, all he could say was: "This heat makes a fool of any man." You stopped, glancing at him with disbelief, and lightly touched his arm to make him look at you. And he did. Maekar looked at you with such intensity and pain in his eyes that it was clear, he was sorry. He never allowed himself such rudeness toward you again.
The Rearrangement. You’re standing in a narrow corridor, deep in conversation with a maid, completely unaware of your husband’s approach. He doesn’t say a word, he simply catches you by the waist, lifts you with careful ease, and sets you aside just so he can pass. You can only stare at Maekar’s retreating back in bewilderment. He didn't even stop to offer an explanation. Yet, the ghost of his touch lingers on your skin long after he’s gone. You decide to test him, pulling this little stunt a few more times just to see if he’ll repeat it, and he does, every single time. He shifts you as if you were merely a piece of the furniture, which might actually be a bit insulting if it weren't for one thing. His thumb always traces a small, fleeting circle against your waist in the process. It’s that tiny, silent gesture that melts your irritation every time.
Anxiety. Your husband is the King’s fourth son, the Prince of Summerhall. He is a formidable man who strives to keep everything under his absolute control, even though life rarely cooperates. It gnaws at him. He worries that he’s failing, a fear that manifests as simmering rage and silent comparisons to his elder brothers though he’d never admit it to a soul. So, let him know where you are. Don't let him fret over whether you’re in danger. Tell him where you’re going, even if you’re only leaving for a short while. Take the guard with you, or better yet, take him, he would never refuse. Just allow Maekar to feel some semblance of constancy in at least one part of his life.
The Way He Cares. Your husband is not the kind of man to recite poetry to you or describe your magnificence in elaborate detail. His love language is service, expressed through the absolute protection of you and your children. And he becomes genuinely distraught when he feels he’s failing in that role. Sometimes it borders on the absurd, especially when he’s exhausted and you casually mention, "It’s so hot today." He’ll frown and stare at you so intently it makes you uneasy, while all Maekar can think about is how to pluck the sun right out of the sky just to ease your discomfort. After all, they haven't invented a ballista with that kind of range yet. He is a man of action. Sometimes it’s frightening, but in a way, it’s almost sweet to watch your husband try to figure out how to move mountains just for the sake of his family.
Your Time Together. This time usually comes during those hours when no one can distract you from each other. It’s a frequent scene: a late evening, you’re lounging on the sofa, and the book in your hand feels pleasant after a long day. Maekar returns late, grumbling under his breath once again and cursing another grueling day filled with seemingly endless problems. And then his gaze falls upon you, his wife, sitting there, relaxed and reading. It’s in these moments that he hesitantly approaches you, sitting down beside you, he begins to grumble about the book in your hands. You only smile and start to read aloud. Your voice becomes "white noise" to him after a full day of tension. As he lies against you, you notice him pretending to sleep, but you keep reading aloud, stroking the back of his head, knowing exactly how much it relaxes him. He needs these moments, when there is no one else but you and him.
Trapped in his arms. His sleep is deep yet light, so you’ve made a habit of leaving water on the bedside table at night. The moment you move to get out of bed, or the second he stops feeling your warmth beside him, he wakes instantly with a dissatisfied grumble. He doesn’t snore in his sleep, instead, he makes a low, rumbling sound, like a faint growl rising from deep within his chest. You hear it with perfect clarity because he usually sleeps on his back, pulling you onto his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist or shoulders. It’s the only way he can be certain you are right there and that you are safe.
How he shows your status. You never expected sweet nicknames from him, nor the kind of tenderness written in ballads about princes. But that doesn’t mean such things are foreign to Maekar, he simply expresses himself differently. Most often, the words "wife" and "lady" are the ones that fall from his lips. But the way he says them…He speaks in a lower register, almost imperceptible to others, but you notice. He pours strength into those words. You are his wife, you are his lady. He is showing everyone that you hold power equal to his own. It is an acknowledgment of you as his partner, as his other half. Yet, in the silence of your chambers, he calls you by your name or utters a quiet "woman." You like it, especially when he calls you a "stubborn woman" while he grumbles, because you know that, from a man as harsh as him, it is an endearment. And this man is entirely yours.
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