I’m just thinking how Maekar is portrayed as a seasoned unforgiving warrior, the anvil, this mountain of a man swinging his mace, and yet - the only time we see his face soften is with his children. How he named his firstborn son after his own dad. How in the middle of a fight in mud and blood he yells “my boy, my boy”. How he can’t let Egg go because he’s his last son.
Imagine Maekars wife and mom of the children dying in childbirth
I'm 100% sure it would take daysss and at least 4 men to pull him away from her bloody corpse😭
I swear that man give obsessed and devoted vibes, mans would not leave his wife alone, not even in death😩
girl, not you and me having our convo about this. the amount of angst fics i have coming up on going to depress you all.. but it’s too good, because he is devoted. 🫠😭
can you lie next to her, and give her your heart?
summary: you had five beautiful children between you and your husband. and despite everything you loved eachother more than even the histories could put down. and when he lost you? no scroll, not piece of earth was left unturned in his rage.
pairing: maekar targaryen x wife!reader
warning(s): angst, character death, childbirth, depression, talks of suicide and gore.
word count: 3.8k
a/n: i wrote this much too easier than i do smut, idk what that says but here goes. don’t tell your therapist :))
He had not left your side since it happened.
No maester, no serving girl, no firm hand even from his brother was going to take him from you. Not now and not ever. He made a vow that day you stood hand in hand before the Gods, one he intended to keep til you were both departed.
He didn’t think of how it would happen, he never had, and how stupid he must have been. He’d taken every precaution on the book into his hands, protecting you from every battle threatening your homeland, every war he returned beaten and bloody from, every prying eye at court.
And yet not even his strength could pull you from this.
Maekar cursed himself, blamed himself, bearing the weight of every invisible chain he'd wrapped aorund himself possible. You had everything you could have wanted together, you managed to work your way around him unlike any other. There was no scowl to be had on his face with the gentle looks you gave him, your knowing one, the way you matched his humour and shot down his crude jests with a single flick of your wrist hitting his chest. And all of it, was no more.
Your glow had gone, your face a dampened pale, greying around your eyelids and the corners of your mouth, like life itself had certainly been breathed from you.
Though that wasn't the worst part, that came when he wasn't there. Not entirely, not at first. Tnstead he had been too busy rolling his eyes, listening to another lord drone on in the chamber of the High Council. Baelor had urged him to listen, clapping a hand at his back encouraging him to listen, though he didn't, the dark haired man at his side continuing to speak freely, as he surely let his thoughts wander. That’s when one of the squires rushed in. He’d known that rush before, heavy oak swinging open with a startled face meeting the seated men. He’d known it five times before, each one as daunting as the last. But with five, healthy children, he hadn’t deemed anything to worry about.
Though he rose quickly, sitting straight as he set the cup of wine from his lips down, brows raising expectantly. He hadn't cared to dismisss himself from the aseembly behind him as the younger man announced your labours.
“My congratulations, brother. Now go.. go and take care of them." Baelor nodded steadily toward him, silencing the other lord's murmurs with few single sentences, ones that would stick with him from that moment forward.
Take care of them.
The words spun around in his head, shaking it lightly as he strode forward, urging the young squire down the hall in front of him. The squire had attempted to calm his worries, assuring the prince that she was in good hands, practiced and proper, but he only waved him off.
“I will see it for myself.” Maekar announced, eyes straight ahead as his boots prodded into the stone flooring.
By the time they both neared the corridor leading your chambers, he heard your screams. They were different to what he was used to, to what he'd heard many times before.
These were raw, truly pained, like your body was betraying you with every movement, not just the pains of childbirth. The maesters encouraged you, speaking their flattery and words that died on their tongues with the shake of your head, hands placing cool, damp towels on your forehead. He walked quicker after that, shoving his way past the boy, shoving the door open despite protest from either end.
“Your Grace.. I don’t believe it wise to see such..” The squire called after him, prying the door open from where it spun shut.
“Shut it. I have been beside her every labour before this, I will not fail her now.” He had meant it, stomping his way into the room, to be faced with a maester.
“My Prince, please she is..” The maester attempted hands to move at his chest, a silent warning.
“She is what..” He didn’t bother looking at the maester, only noticing his hands covered in blood, your blood. Then back up to you. They all shuffled around the bed, your shared one, pulled over to the one side as maid sand servants doted on you. He grunted as he pulled him aside, Maekar’s eyes fixed ont you beyond the sea of heads. You had not yet seen him, your eyes tightly shut through the pain.
“The Princess she is.. having trouble. The babe is breached, preventing her from pushing properly.” The maester followed after him as he moved toward the bed.
“Then do something.” His eyes wandered downward, spitting his command behind him, voice shaking slightly with an unaware of what was to come.
“But..”
Your scream echoed throughout the room stopping both men from speaking, a guttural cry ripping from your throat, clutching one of the maids' arms, “My husband.. where is he.”
“Do something.” He said at last, boots rushing to your side, squeezing through the people around you and waving them off. The maester grabbing his partner to colect any herbs and ailments available.
“My love.. Iam here.” His palm moved to your face where it was clammed and damp, his fingers sweeping back the hair stuck to your face.
“It feels.. it feels wrong this time. I..” Your voice trailed off as you writhed back and forth, your knees bent into the air with what felt like too many eyes on you, and the stabbing of a thousand swords.
“They are going to change that.. they say the babe needs.. assistance.” He did not stop looking at you, crouching over the bed as you reached for him, gripping his hand for dear life. He offered a small smile, a rare one, the one he gave when he was just as scared. One he often gave you in the most vulnerable moments.
The voices around you were a hush and he had barely paid attention, your vision blurred by the low candlelight and ache of the pure pain piercing your abdomen. Maekar’s eyes pricked up at every work of their hands on you, though unmoving, he curled his fingers around yours tighter.
“You can do this.. you are strong, far stronger than I know.”
You hugged a laugh, weak and tired, but your lips curved anyway, showing the fangs of your teeth as your eyes glazed over, looking at him. He softened at that, only by the slightest, chest rising and falling in a growing agitation as he looked to the maesters. The older man only shook his head, hands checking and feeling around where you were most sensitive, checking for a head, poking and prodding as you whined. Nothing.
Their whispers grew so much so it angered him, and he rose, hand still tightened around yours.
“You are hurting her.” Maekar snapped, eyes blazing as all heads looked up.
“She is not able to move this child, your Grace, it will injure her more.”
You cried out once more, gritting your teeth as your head shoved back against the propped up pile of pillows. “Please..”The maids rushed to your side to aid, a chalice of a creamy substance rasied to your lips, Milk of the poppy. You drank it down in small sips as they stood at the other side of the bed, Maekar’s eyes flashing between that of them and the maester still fussing. It calmed you for a few moments as the liquid reached your system, cooling the burn and narrowing the pain to a buzz. Numbing your body and mind.
He hadn’t realised it then, with the clatter of cups and forceps. It was not just to soothe you, but to prepare you. And if he’d have known, knowing they all knew the increasing inevitabilty, he’d have taken it himself then and there.
“Then tell me what do I do.” You shivered back into the bed, knees still braced and shaking with every pulse, but your body did not let you do so much. Your gown was dampened and wet from the force of your body, blood seeping at the hem from the tearing. He stayed beside you, your hand slowly slipping from his grasp as the medicine took over. Maekar rolled up his sleeves, shrugging the crimson coal doublet from his shoulders, and tossing it onto the chair beside the bed.
The maester gave no argument this time, seeing the Prince so prepared, desperate through your state. “We must attempt to turn the babe, and we need your hand.” The man took his hand, placing it just over the curve of your belly, and your husband allowed it without question,“You must push down and move it. The head must come first.” His gaze flashed between you and the servants around him, all widening looks at your husband, much less their prince performing a servant's act. But it was no favour, it was minimum to him. He moved to the end of the bed, and between your legs, placing a heavy palm onto your stomach.
You hissed, shaking your head at him through where you met through lidded eyes, “It hurts.. .” He nodded, pleadingly, “I know, my love just let me..” He followed the maester’s instructions, pushing firmly down and turning, feeling through thick skin the outline of your child, slowly but surely turning with his movement. But he could not do it for long, your cries cut through in protests, stopping him not wanting to hurt you further. The babe had moved mere inches, further than any of the maids or maesters had given, but it scraped your insides, preventing from going any further.
“This cannot be done, it is paining her.” His brows furrowed, silver strands of hair falling into his face from where it had been neatly kept. His palms raised from you, giving you some relief, thumbs circling you in a soothing motion, calming his own breathing.
“This is the only way..” The maester mumbled under his breath for a moment, looking down, racking his brains for every outcome, “What the fuck are you saying?” Maekar stood tall, his hand touching your knees lightly, not bearing to leave you.
“Unless we.. remove the babe from her.” The man met his eyes, the grey of his cloak disheveled and wrapped at his shoulders.
“What are you saying right now.” He did not give the man to answer, his mouth opening and closing, before Maeakr moved to a dangerous whisper, “I will not have my wife cut open for the sake of this babe. Save her.”
The man nodded at once, waving the maids to get more towels, widening your knees to give him better inspection. Maekar returned at your side, your body was weakening and as much as his anger would allow, his resolve was breaking, panicking underneath, though he did best not to let you see.
His fingers slipped through yours, tightening back around his. Your lips wobbled as you looked up at him, out of distress, and out of a mere amusement. Your husband was a state, troubled still utterly handsome in the low light, hair messed and face wrinkled, even his beard mussed.
“You are a sight..” Your head rocked sideways as you slowed your motions, a quiet filling the room, a hopeful one as you calmed. He chuckled heartlessly, chin resting onto his knuckles as he watched you intently.
“So I can imagine..” You patted his hand, having realised his panic. Trust you to notice, you always did.
“Fear not, my love.. they are having trouble. Must get it from you.” You smiled once more, the last bit of calm before it was lost. A jest at him, and by the Gods you were right. It was the last one he saw from you. Your body exhausted, colour slowly draining from your face and yet you still had the heart to be so beautiful, it only tore him further apart.
——
Minutes had passed like hours, and you were screaming again, fingers clutching into his arm with every forced push, the maids at your other side with pleas of encouragement. The maester was quiet, a horror etched on his face as he scrambled to retrieve your child.
All seemed well. The babe was born, tearing from you with a hearty cry. Healthy. That was all you had noted over the world spinning around you, the heads around you turning into a blot of colour.
Maekar had not noticed how long he was holding his breath, exhaling lowly and trembling, shoulders falling as you were left to recoup. He almost smiled, could have cheered with the weight that was lifted in the room. The maids took the babe from you, disconnecting it from your body with a steady snip of shears as they cleaned and bundled it into the corner, passing the small body back to the maester.
“A girl.. my Prince." The maester announced, handing the small bundle into his arms. Maekar’s hands shook as they closed the space, firming the tiny body into his strong hands, looking back to you. A reddened face with a full head of silver hair, eyes too tightly closed for them to see just yet.
You hummed, clean cloths wiping at your forehead. His body sat onto the bed, leaning down to you with a proud appearance, not quite a smile through the fear, but loving, pressing his lips to your temple.
“Our daughter.. you did it again, my heart”. You nudged against him, sighing contedly looking once to the babe in his arms, and once to him. The moment felt just the three of you. Like it had been with every child, the world reduced to nothing but your love, a bubble reserved for only you.
Maekar would have dismissed them all then and there if he could, he did every other time, allowing you to rest in his arms as he held your child, soothing them through the night.
Though such blessings did not come. Not this time.
The maester’s voice cut through the quiet, your quiet. And his head snapped up.
“Oh Gods..” He didn’t register much else from then on.
The maids had gathered at the end of your bed, stopping from their sowing and tending, as the maester’s hands moved with coated towels wiping at bedding. In the force of pushing out your child, the outside of your body was not the only part that took such damage, your body had taken too much of the weight.
Blood coated every surface of every cloth, seeping into the sheets of the bed. Even Maekar’s hands as he moved to see, attempting to help, attempting anything. But it was too much to be saved.
You called out once more. One word, one only.
“Maekar..”
And you were gone.
Your lips parted, and your eyes fell back into your head, but you still looked like you. Your head only rocked back onto the pillows, you looked as if you could have been sleeping. You must have been, you must have been so tired, so exhausted.
He had moved the babe carefully into the arms of a maid when she started wailing, he had not known what to do. Like even the babe itself felt you leave them. He collapsed at your side, fingers clutching around yours, and this time, they did not reach back. They lay limp in his own, your knees falling into one another as the maester laid them down, preserving what dignity you had left.
“My love.. it is alright.” He whispered to you, voice shaking with the realisation he refused to believe. His voice breaking at the others, “Fucking do something.”
They barely met his eyes, heads bowed in silence, honouring out of respect. That was later to be known, the Princess was dead.
You were gone.
“The lot of you are fucking pathetic.” His hands felt around you, your face, your arms, rounding the bed to where your body was still leaking blood. Your life draining from you before his very eyes. Unsure of whether to stay at your side or tear the room apart.
His eyes widened, flicking over your form, so still, so peaceful.
“Get out, get out, all of you.” He didn't look.
“My Prince, she is..”
“No. You killed her. You..” His voice broke turning to face them, watching the maid in the furthest corner hold your child, rocking back and forth gently through the shouting. Though the words were not for the maester, the pain he was pointing at, nor for anyone.
Only for himself.
Killed. Dead. It all swirled in his mind.
He collapsed in on himself then, tears brimmed his eyes as he dropped at your side.
“My love, my heart..”
You did not answer him, and you always answered to that. No matter the tone, or the moment you were in, even if you were upset, even at him. You answered.
Were you made at him now?
——
No one had approached either of you.
His body guarded you like a dragon did its gold, like a man did his everything. And he did, his body fallen over yours, arms wrapped around you, shaking and weak, like all muscle had disappeared from his broad frame.
Baelor was the only one to break the silence, the only one able to come close. And he let him, though he said nothing. The door opened and closed behind him with a sharp click, the air was tight. Incense burned lowly from scented sticks left by the maesters when he had refused to have you moved, preventing the odour from swarming the space.
He was in more of a state than he was days before. He had not bathed, had not moved, nor eaten.
“Father wishes to speak with you. For matters regarding..” Baelor tested his words, stepping forth into the room.
“Matters regarding what.” Maekar bit back, voice muffled from being pressed into his hand, resting onto the bed.
“The procession..” Baelor’s voice was careful, keeping his distance, continuing to step so he could see he his brother’s face. It was ashen and worn, pallor creeping into an ill embrace. A funeral. Yours. His eyes drifted between you both, his own sister in law, sister he had called you, from the very day you and his brother were betrothed, and he had loved you like one. The sight pained him, tore at him so much he could barely breathe.
No one had imagined losing you.
Maekar said nothing, tearful, broken eyes looking only to you. Your face was sunken, radiance prevailing through the sunlight peeking through the curtains. Your beauty had not faded, only frozen from where it had been, and where it would stay. Baelor recalled walking the gardens with you only days before, sharing a laugh of the names you might choose for the babe, who to honour. He remembered your smile when you jested of naming a daughter Visenya, or perhaps Maegor for a boy. He had smiled heartily back, embracing you, walking amongst the flowers.
“Brother..” His voice was firm, boots scuffing around to nearer his side. “It must be done.. she deserves more than this.”
“She had called out for me. She wanted me in the end and I..” His voice wobbled, raising up onto rest on his chin, peering up at Baelor.
“And she has you. You cannot stay here.”
“No I should sooner die here.” Baelor watched on, Maekar’s face falling into his hands.
“You have a child. All but a few days old, a girl. In which your other children look upon. Care for. And they look upon their father.” Baelor snapped, not unkindly, but desperate.
He had stood by your children for the days they had not seen their father, for the days following your passing. They were not unfamiliar with his temper, but he was not distant, he had never been. Not like this, and yet they had to learn of your death themselves, told by their own uncle, left to grieve without him.
He said nothing.
“What would she say.” His words cut deeply, but it was the only thing that could make him think.
You’d have struck him, surely scolded him for doing such a thing.
They both knew the answer.
Tears welled in his stinging eyes, they were red and bloodshot now, his body unable to move. Baelor’s hand moved to his shoulder, and it tensed under his touch. He gave one final flicker to you, a long blink taking you in for the final time, fingers delicately reaching over to pull at your eyelids, closing them from where they fell slightly open.
Giving you your final invitation to rest.
“Come..” He murmured gently, turning back to Maekar, slowing, “Please..”
Maekar had wanted to turn around and fight, shout in his face and scream for him to leave. But he could not, his throat was worn already, his fists too weak from holding you so tightly. He looked at you then, as if asking for permission. Though you did not answer, you did not look. But you lay there, perfect, and still, and he knew, knew though he had not wanted to move, to let go of you.
He had to, otherwise he never would.
He kissed your knuckles once more. They were cold. “I will be with you. Say you’ll be with me..” He whispered, choking out as Baelor pulled him back into him, rising in his hold only to fall into his chest.
Baelor’s hands wrapped around him, pal bracing his head into his shoulder he sobbed. His body wrecked and trembling into his elder brother. Words were futile in that moment, his chest rumbling with where his knees threatened to give way, but Baelor held him, sure and still.
He had urged septons and maesters in after them as he tugged his brother away from you, finding some sort of daylight.
They moved in a rush, tending to you, cleaning and bathing you for the final time as they prepared your body for the crypt.
——
By dawn the following day they had set you on the pyre.
It was not ordinary, just as you were not.
The oak you lay on was carved, intricate details of your house and his own. Dragons and old valyrian written onto its edges. Flowers of all colour adorned you, outlining your body from your feet to the crown of your head. Your dress was light, delicate as you preferred it to be, all that needed to be highlighted— your grace, your light. Your hands were neatly placed over the crest of your abdomen, your hair nearly done, braided and jewelled.
The congregation stood behind Maekar, your children just beside him, one by one standing solemnly, not one of them knowing how to feel. All dressed in black, the only stitching of colour in the crimson of their undercoats.
Rhae.
That’s what they had named her. She was not allowed to attended, onto a few days old she was given to one of the wet nurses, to be comforted as they longed to be. Your children had sat together in the corridors in the hours upon your death, with their cousins by their sides, in agreement. A name had not been given, and they had chosen their own. It was soft, gentle, like you. There was no malice, nor hatred in their hearts, not even as she was the one who had tore out of you, taken you from them, they had it in them not to blame. You taught them better than that, and they would heed it.
It was in the hands of the Gods.
And as the Gods took you away, your body turning to ashes, they knew it too. Aegon stood beside his father, hand reaching to clutch, only three years of age, barely meeting over his knees.
Maekar had not said anything, Daeron at his other side, and Aerion with Aemon and Daella in front of him, hard-eyed and lost. But his hand reached for his anyway, letting his small fingers wrap into his own. His eyes looked on as you drifted away, not once baring to look around, his face stone, but his youngest son’s hand reminded him of you.
——
The hydrangeas you’d planted in the garden were still in bloom. A comfort that once was, taunting in the form of you in every direction. The sky was grey, dotted with clouds, casting a dark shadow over the courtyard. The only colour was the one's you had surrounded it with, lillies and summerflowers, wreaths of roses wrapped carefully around the trellis. He collapsed into it, legs giving way in front of the plantbeds. His knees dug into the dirt, breeches coating freshly watered soil. But he did not care, he could not.
His chest burned, eyes still brimmed red and aching, threatening to close. And how he wanted them to in that very moment, cursing the very sky as his hands shook, holding them out in front of him as his vision began to blur. Heartache proved too much, the loss of you was enough, but to be reminded of you at every corner, every glance, every waking moment that you were not beside him, was torture itself.
"Father.." He had thought to be entirely alone, the way he ordered to be, though he hadn't wanted it. The biggest reminder that left a pit in his stomach, your children.
His head inched upward, but his back faced away from them wall, the trimmings of the flowers in front of him. Footsteps approached, more than that the voice called out, padding softly, tiredly as he turned to the side.
They all stood there once more.
Aegon, Aerion, Daella, Aemon and Daeron. Daeron stood just behind them, towering over the rest of them with a bundle in his arms. Your youngest and your oldest child, and he had her braced tightly into his arms. They were all in the same dress as hours earlier, the procession now ended.
He did not speak when he let them to come to his side, breathing deeply he thought he might break. Aegon met him first, reaching for his shoulder carefully, not fearfully though testing, his tiny arm meeting the material of his father’s doublet. He closed his eyes, hanging his head low, a larger arms snaking around him protectively, pulling him in so that he wouldn’t let go. Aemon came before him next, kneeling to the floor, then Aerion, eyes flicking to his father before hanging low in a broken scowl. Daella moved at last, her skirts brushing onto her father’s lap where he had her into his other side, her fingers reaching for her sister.
"She needs you.. and so do we." Daeron spoke, standing over them before coming to kneel just behind, handing the bundle into their father's arms. He had only been a boy near grown, only just ten and nine by the time had had lost you, and in that moment he looked upon his father with all a man’s suffering and knowledge, blue eyes dark and hazy. The kind from being made to grow up far too fast, and not by choice.
They had lost you far too young, and so had he. Maekar only nodded, taking the last of you, and of him into his arms for the first time since you’d been gone. Silver tufts ruffled beneath the gentle cloth, her eyes finally blinking up at him, at all of them, and Maekar’s breath stilled in his throat. Small heads rested onto their father’s shoulder, curling into him as Daeron’s arm braced around the little ones.
The only thing they had now, was each other, and your memory.
For she may have had his hair and complexion, but she had your eyes.
GIRL, what the hell happened... you probably don't remember me, but I used to loveee your fics and bothered you all day during my graduation time...
Now I've been gone for a while, come back to check back in and check up on you, and it's like all hell is loose😧
Why are there hieroglyphs in your account caption, why does your feed say "requests closed forever", what are all those nasty written paragraphs
WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED
Last thing I can remember, is your blog being full of creative new stories
Honestly I hope you're not being too distressed, try to keep the hatred as far away as possible
I look forward to looking into your stories again after all this time🫶 have a great day❤️
OF COURSE I remember you! You were deep in your studies last time we talked—weren’t you just finishing everything up back then? Congrats on making it through that chaos! 🙂
And yeah... things have gone feral here. Long story short: an army of mentally unstable anons (and one especially unhinged individual) decided to launch an unsolicited smear campaign against me. Apparently, I now simultaneously write too much and too little, my writing is too good and somehow also bad, and everyone hates me—while engagement on my blog is at an all-time high. Make it make sense. 🙃
If you scroll back far enough, you could probably write an entire academic thesis on internet harassment and Discord gossip hags. There’s lore. There’s drama. There’s footnotes. I might start charging tuition. 🤣
I changed the page layout because I got bored, nothing symbolic there. And requests are closed forever because people got greedy and pushy and forgot this isn’t a vending machine. I’ve got other projects I’m focusing on now.
Am I distressed? Not really. Just perpetually confused and getting secondhand embarrassment from the fact that some people really wake up and decide to obsessively hate me for daring to exist and post on my own damn blog. 🤣
But I’m glad you’re back! ❤️
Honestly, your message made my evening. Hope you enjoy catching up on the stories—and if you see any more hieroglyphs, just know they were left behind by the cursed fanfiction pharaohs. 😉
I'm glad you're not doing too bad with the situation, I read a few paragraphs and honestly don't know what to say...
Whole discussion seems kinda useless to me tbf...aren't we all grown up here ?🙄 some people really are too bored in life...
Well yes, what can I say? I managed graduation fairly well, had a two month break, and now I'm back studying, but like ACTUALLY studying...
Sadly it's just taxes and finance since those classes will secure me a safe job later on.
It's really hard since I don't understand shit but I just started and I'm sure it'll be better in no time and if not I'll find something else 🤷♀️
Back to the original topic, I'm glad I could somehow make your evening. Please don't give two shits one the opinion of those haters and just continue doing your thing!
Honestly, I missed talking to you. Have a nice evening 🫶
There is not enough love for smooth/standard in this world. Rhythm/latin get so much of the love bc they’re energetic and like sexy or whatever but smooth is just as energetic, it’s graceful and got so much volume, it’s fast and powerful and flirtatious, it’s the push and pull and story of two people, and standard is beautiful too, it’s all connection and dimension and clean lines, it is history and art and science, it’s slow control and quick strength, and both of them are breath, sweat, the ache in your heels and your knees, the burning in you shoulders and back, the performance and the lights, the costume, the floor, the connection between you and the music and your partner and everyone watching.
