marley

‎

[marchoiir]

akotsk 𖤐 hotd

[marchoiir]

flour upon house targaryen 𖹭 aerion targaryen

a peaceful walk through the gardens turns disastrous after your daughter decides she wants to bake a cake herself. and worse, she wants aerion involved.

the gardens are quiet in the late afternoon, washed in golden sunlight and the soft rustle of wind through carefully trimmed hedges, peaceful that even aerion appears only mildly irritated by the existence of other people nearby.

you walk beside him at an unhurried pace while your daughter skips several steps ahead, chasing butterflies and gathering flowers she has no intention of keeping before abandoning them moments later for prettier ones.

aerion keeps one hand loosely clasped behind his back while the other remains near yours, occasionally brushing your fingers whenever you drift too far apart along the stone paths.

the warmth of the day lingers pleasantly against your skin, carrying the scent of roses and freshly watered earth through the air around you. for once, the moment feels calm that you almost suspect the gods are preparing compensation elsewhere.

"she is running too fast again," he remarks suddenly, eyes already following your daughter as she darts toward another hedge.

his tone carries that familiar edge of concern disguised beneath irritation, the same one he always uses when pretending not to worry. "if she falls, she will cry for at least an hour."

you glance ahead to where she spins clumsily in circles trying to catch something invisible to everyone except herself. "you say that every day."

aerion exhales quietly through his nose. "because every day she ignores me."

summoned by criticism itself, your daughter immediately trips slightly over absolutely nothing. aerion straightens at once.

"there," he says flatly, already vindicated. "you see?"

your daughter catches herself before properly falling and continues onward without care, entirely unaware of the emotional devastation she nearly caused behind her.

"she is fine," you tell him patiently, amusement already tugging at the corners of your mouth.

aerion narrows his eyes at the back of her head suspiciously. "for now."

you laugh softly beneath your breath.

"she is your daughter," you remind him. "what exactly did you expect?"

"i was not reckless as a child."

you stop walking entirely just to stare at him in disbelief.

aerion notices immediately and frowns. "why are you making that face?"

"because you once climbed onto a horse before anyone gave you permission."

"that was not recklessness."

"it was."

"slowly," he calls at once, one hand already lifting instinctively toward her despite the distance between you. "watch where you are stepping."

before he can continue defending crimes from his childhood, your daughter suddenly abandons the butterflies entirely and comes racing back toward the two of you with new urgency. her tiny shoes patter loudly against the stone path while aerion's attention immediately sharpens again.

your daughter ignores this advice completely and throws herself against your side instead, tiny hands clutching at your skirts insistently with complete seriousness written across her face.

aerion sighs beneath his breath with the exhausted patience of a man whose warnings are never respected.

"mama," she says with the urgency of someone delivering grave political news, "i want cake."

aerion nods immediately, already far too willing to indulge anything she asks for.

"that can easily be arranged," he replies before you can even speak, his tone calm and assured when it comes around her. "i shall have the kitchens prepare one before supper."

your daughter gasps softly in offense, as though he has entirely misunderstood the point.

"no," she says firmly, tugging your dress again. "i want us to make it."

silence falls instantly and your husband stops walking.

you slowly turn your head toward him just in time to witness the exact moment he realizes what she means. the expression that crosses his face is almost imperceptible, gone within a second, but you catch it anyway. that brief flicker of horror quickly buried beneath princely composure.

"make it," he repeats carefully, unfamiliar with the concept entirely.

your daughter nods enthusiastically, silver hair bouncing with the movement while she smiles up at him without mercy. "together," she says brightly. "you and mama and me."

aerion stares at her. then at you. then back at her again, clearly searching desperately for escape routes within this conversation.

"the cooks already know how to bake," he points out after a moment, speaking with the patience of someone trying to reason his way out of disaster. "very well, in fact. better than us."

you immediately bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing because the resistance has begun far sooner than expected.

your daughter narrows her eyes suspiciously at him, tiny brows furrowing in disappointment. "but i want us to do it," she insists stubbornly, now reaching toward him too. "as a family."

aerion visibly takes emotional damage from those last words. you watch him inhale slowly through his nose, gathering the strength of ten men to endure what is apparently his greatest trial yet.

"little dragon," he says gently, attempting diplomacy first, "your father is many things, but a baker is not among them."

your daughter remains entirely unmoved by this argument. "mama knows how."

aerion immediately looks at you with silent desperation.

you smile sweetly. "oh, i think you would look lovely covered in flour."

"you enjoy my suffering."

"immensely, my love."

aerion sighs heavily enough to concern nearby wildlife, one hand dragging down his face while your daughter continues staring at him with impossible hope shining in her eyes. he is losing and all three of you know it already.

"what flavor of cake?" he asks eventually.

your daughter brightens instantly at the concession. "lemon!" she says happily. "with sweet cream and berries and lots of sugar."

aerion nods slowly. "how much flour is required for cake?"

you laugh immediately and your daughter gasps in delight, thrilled by the fact her father clearly has no idea what he is doing. aerion looks offended by both reactions at once, though he keeps walking beside the two of you with grim resignation settling across his features.

"i am a dragon," he mutters darkly beneath his breath. "and yet somehow i have been reduced to measuring flour."

your daughter beams up at him anyway, convinced this is the greatest idea she has ever had.

you reach over to squeeze his arm affectionately. "you shall survive," you assure him kindly.

"that remains to be seen."

even while muttering complaints beneath his breath about kitchens, flour, and the indignity of aprons, he still reaches down to take your daughter's hand before she can run too far ahead again.

"careful near the steps," he reminds her quietly, matching his pace to hers without thought. "and no running when we return inside."

your daughter nods for exactly two seconds before skipping again anyway. aerion watches her with long-suffering exhaustion.

"she does not listen to me at all."

"she listens," you correct gently. "she simply inherited your ability to ignore good advice."

"is this," he asks slowly, eyes still fixed on her, "how my father felt when i refused to listen to him?"

"probably. you once tried to sword fight three older boys at the same time because one called you a cumberworld."

aerion opens his mouth to defend himself immediately. "i won that fight."

"your father probably considered leaving you in the training yard permanently."

your husband falls silent for a moment after that. he watches his daughter nearly run into a fountain because she is too busy talking to a new butterfly.

"the gods are cruel," he mutters quietly.

the kitchens are far louder than the gardens ever were.

servants move quickly between counters and ovens while the smell of sugar, butter, and warm bread fills the air thick enough to cling to clothing.

aerion stands near the long preparation table with stiff-backed dignity completely unsuited for a room dusted in flour, arms folded tightly across his chest while cooks pretend not to stare too openly at the prince clearly enduring great personal humiliation.

your daughter, meanwhile, is delighted beyond reason, already seated atop one of the counters swinging her legs excitedly while ingredients are gathered around her.

you stand directly in front of aerion holding a folded apron in your hands, trying very hard to maintain composure while he eyes the fabric.

"absolutely not," he says immediately, before you have even lifted it properly.

"you have not even seen it yet."

"i do not need to."

"aerion," you say patiently, unfolding the apron, "you are baking. you will wear the apron."

the fabric settles open between your hands, simple and pale against the dark colors of his clothing.

"i command people," he mutters, taking one step backward away from the apron itself. "and now i am being dressed for pastries?"

you bite the inside of your cheek hard because laughing immediately would only make him more dramatic.

"oh, stop behaving as though this is beneath you."

"it is beneath every targaryen who has ever lived."

before the argument can continue any further, your daughter suddenly hops down from the counter and marches directly between the two of you with all the authority of a tiny queen. she takes the apron from your hands without hesitation.

"father, you are being difficult."

aerion stares down at her for a moment, offended that even his own child has joined the opposition.

"i am not difficult."

your daughter places one hand upon her hip. "mama asked you nicely."

you immediately look away before he sees your smile.

your daughter lifts the apron higher toward him with complete expectation written across her face. "lower," she orders.

aerion actually looks stunned for a second. no one in history has ever commanded him to do anything before.

"lower?" he repeats faintly.

she nods impatiently. "you are too tall."

the kitchens fall quiet nearby because every servant within hearing distance is trying not to laugh themselves to death.

aerion looks toward you for assistance but you offer none. instead, you lean comfortably against the counter and enjoy the sight before you entirely too much.

"go on," you encourage. "she is waiting."

he narrows his eyes at you with unmistakable accusation before finally sighing heavily enough to rattle kingdoms. then, with all the dignity of a prince approaching execution, he slowly lowers himself down to your daughter's height.

"there," she says proudly. "see? better already."

"stop moving," she scolds suddenly when he shifts slightly.

aerion mutters something deeply disrespectful beneath his breath while she throws the apron strings around his neck with unnecessary aggression.

unfortunately for him, she inherited your tendency to be bossy when focused, which means he endures the process in total silence while she struggles with the ties behind his back.

"for the love of—i moved half an inch!"

"still moving," she replies without mercy.

your daughter finally finishes fastening the apron and steps back proudly to admire her work.

aerion turns his head toward you immediately. "you enjoy this far too much."

you watch realization dawn slowly across his face while several servants nearby abruptly become fascinated with literally anything else in the room. aerion stares down at the cheerful yellow embroidery with complete devastation settling into every line of his body.

"mama picked that one," she informs him happily.

aerion closes his eyes briefly, enduring suffering beyond mortal comprehension. "what am i wearing?"

the reason he looks so deeply troubled is the absurd number of tiny lemons embroidered onto the apron.

aerion is convinced that he is being punished for his own childhood.

[marchoiir]

on grievances before sunrise did you use an ai picture of finn?

actually i'm not sure because it was on pinterest so i figured it was one of those hard to find pics floating around online 🥲 thanks for sending this tho! i'll change it

[marchoiir]

the catastrophe of tomorrow morning 𖹭 aerion targaryen

aerion offers improved behavior and basic human decency in exchange for you canceling your family visit. there are many things he can endure. spending four days away from you is apparently not one of them.

the hour is far too late for this sort of catastrophe.

the castle has long since quieted into the stillness of night, servants retired to their quarters, torches dimmed low along the corridors beyond your chambers. a fire crackles softly nearby, warm enough that the heavy curtains have been drawn back to let the cooler night air drift through the windows.

you sit comfortably atop the bed surrounded by neatly folded garments, carefully arranging what you intend to bring for the short visit ahead while aerion lingers nearby removing rings from his fingers with the weary slowness of a man finally settling after a long day.

he is only half paying attention to you, stretched carelessly across the cushioned chair near the hearth, until you speak in that calm, absentminded tone that changes everything.

"i shall leave after breakfast," you say simply, smoothing a crease from one of your dresses before setting it aside. "i should arrive by nightfall if the roads remain clear."

your voice is so casual, so entirely unconcerned, that for a moment the words do not even seem to register properly with him. then the sound of metal abruptly striking wood echoes through the room as one of his rings slips from suddenly still fingers.

the silence that follows is immediate and unnatural, so heavy that you finally glance up from your packing. aerion is staring at you in complete disbelief.

"you shall what?" he asks carefully, every word measured with the quiet horror of a man being informed of an approaching execution rather than a routine family visit.

his expression remains perfectly still, though only in the dangerous way storms pause before breaking apart the sky. even seated, there is something sharp about the way his shoulders straighten, violet eyes fixed entirely upon you.

you blink once at him, mildly startled by the intensity of the reaction already forming. "to visit my family," you repeat carefully, beginning to suspect you may have made a terrible mistake in timing. "only for a few days."

the words worsen everything.

"a few days," aerion echoes faintly, rising from the chair as though sitting has suddenly become impossible. he repeats it again under his breath like someone attempting to comprehend profound suffering.

"and you neglected to inform me of this before tonight?" there is genuine betrayal in his voice, affront written plainly across every sharp line of his face. one would think you had secretly arranged your own disappearance from the realm itself rather than planned a short visit.

he looks at you as though trust itself has been shattered within these chambers. you stare at him for a long moment, entirely unimpressed by the dramatics already unfolding before you.

"aerion—"

"no," he interrupts immediately, lifting one hand with startling urgency as he begins pacing before the bed. "do not attempt to soften the matter now."

the silver of his hair catches the firelight as he moves, every bit the distressed prince from some overly dramatic tale sung by traveling musicians.

"tomorrow?" he repeats incredulously, turning toward you again with fresh disbelief. "tomorrow?" his hand drags down his face slowly, physically burdened by this revelation.

"you intended to vanish from this castle and only informed me mere hours beforehand. had i not wandered into these chambers tonight, would i have discovered your disappearance through rumor?"

your mouth falls open slightly at the sheer absurdity of it. you remain seated exactly where you are, one dress still half folded in your lap while your husband behaves as though civilization itself is collapsing around him.

the fire continues crackling peacefully nearby in direct contrast to the emotional devastation aerion has apparently chosen to endure.

"i was going to tell you after supper," you reply flatly, watching him pace the room who's searching desperately for reason within chaos.

he stops immediately upon hearing this, offended in entirely new ways. the look he gives you suggests this explanation has somehow deepened the betrayal rather than softened it.

"you should have told me weeks ago."

"it is four days."

"four endless, miserable days."

the sincerity with which he says it nearly destroys your composure entirely. you press your lips together hard in a desperate attempt to maintain seriousness while aerion resumes pacing the room with mounting distress.

there is something deeply entertaining about watching a man feared by the realm unravel over temporary separation.

"and what exactly am i expected to do while you are gone?" he demands suddenly, stopping at the foot of the bed to stare at you accusingly. "speak to people? attend meetings alone? endure the mornings without you there to torment me?" he says it as though these are unimaginable cruelties inflicted upon him personally by the gods themselves. "this castle will become unbearable."

you slowly set aside the garment in your hands. the mattress dips softly beneath your shifting weight as you turn fully toward him, equal parts exasperated and amused.

"you are acting exactly why i did not tell you sooner," you inform him carefully, laughter threatening beneath the words. aerion immediately looks scandalized by the accusation.

"that is nonsense," he says at once, deeply offended by the suggestion.

you gesture vaguely toward the sight of him pacing your shared chambers in emotional ruin. "you are currently behaving as though i announced my permanent exile."

aerion points at you immediately. "because you blindsided me."

the sheer conviction in his voice nearly makes you laugh outright. then, without warning, something changes in his expression. you watch realization strike him in real time. he almost looks like a commander suddenly forming strategy during a battle. the distress remains, certainly, but now determination settles beneath it as well. aerion straightens slightly before narrowing his eyes at you with terrifying seriousness.

"my love—"

"what if i buy you everything? or everyone? anyone?"

the abruptness of it catches you so entirely off guard that you simply stare at him for several seconds in silence. somewhere beyond the windows, the wind stirs softly against stone.

"no, listen carefully," he crosses back toward the bed before lowering himself onto one knee beside it. "jewels. dresses. that necklace you stared at three moons ago and claimed you did not want despite clearly wanting it."

he speaks quickly, fearing you may reject negotiations before hearing the full offer. "i can also become significantly kinder to everyone within this castle." his voice lowers slightly with grave sincerity. "i shall stop threatening the maesters."

"that should not be considered a generous offer."

"i can do more," he insists immediately, leaning closer with the urgency of a desperate negotiator. "i shall tolerate musicians during supper. i shall smile at lords i dislike. i will even permit that dreadful cousin of yours to speak uninterrupted."

he pauses briefly, visibly pained by the enormity of his own sacrifice. "for at least several minutes."

your shoulders begin shaking with restrained laughter. the image alone is enough to undo you completely. your husband nobly suffering through conversation for your sake.

"aerion," you manage through growing amusement, "i am not canceling my visit because you offered basic decency."

his expression falls immediately afterward, so genuinely wounded that it only worsens your laughter. "then my efforts mean nothing to you," he says quietly, sounding devastated beyond reason.

you cover your mouth briefly, trying and failing to compose yourself.

"i can be... sweeter," he presses on desperately, climbing onto the bed beside you hoping proximity itself may strengthen his argument. "or more agreeable. i shall compliment people voluntarily."

he visibly grimaces at the mere thought.

"i shall personally ensure fresh lemon cakes await you every morning for an entire moon."

you finally break fully into laughter then, filling the chambers entirely while aerion watches you with resignation.

"name your price," he says solemnly, taking your hand into both of his with absurd seriousness. "i am prepared to negotiate."

you shake your head slowly, still laughing.

the sight of him sprawled across the bed beside your neatly folded travel things is ridiculous enough already, yet somehow he continues committing himself to the performance.

"i am leaving for four days, not abandoning you forever," you remind him gently once your laughter softens enough to speak clearly again.

aerion exhales heavily before collapsing backward against the pillows with theatrical despair. "to me," he mutters darkly toward the ceiling above, "there is little difference."

you shift closer against the pillows until your shoulder brushes his, your amusement slowly melting into fondness as he immediately reaches for your hand again without thought. his fingers lace through yours, ensuring you cannot disappear before morning arrives.

"why did you not tell me sooner?" he asks again eventually. you glance toward him, already knowing exactly how this answer will be received.

"i told you," you say patiently, squeezing his hand gently, "you would react exactly like this."

aerion immediately opens his mouth to argue. then frowns deeply because he realizes, with great personal offense, that you are entirely correct.

the firelight flickers warmly against the sharp lines of his face while he continues holding your hand with unnecessary firmness, clearly displeased by this entire conversation. then, quite suddenly, his expression changes again.

you recognize the look immediately and dislike it at once. it is the exact face he wears moments before making deeply unreasonable decisions with absolute confidence.

"then i shall come with you," he announces. the statement is delivered with such certainty one would think the matter already settled.

you stare at him for a long moment again, genuinely unsure whether to laugh or throw something at him instead. aerion, meanwhile, appears entirely pleased with himself now that he has clearly solved the problem through sheer brilliance.

"i will leave with you after breakfast," he continues calmly, already planning the arrangement in his head. "the journey will be safer with additional guards. we shall remain there together until you are prepared to return."

"like hell you are."

aerion looks startled by the immediate rejection.

"you are staying here," you continue firmly before he can interrupt, shifting to sit properly upright against the pillows. "you have duties, councils, meetings, and an entire castle depending upon you not abandoning your responsibilities because your wife is visiting her family for four days."

aerion opens his mouth, clearly prepared to argue every single point like always, but you lift one hand sharply before he can begin.

"and while i am away, you will remain here waiting for my letters. that is what you will do."

you have rarely seen a man appear so personally devastated while technically being told to stay inside his own castle.

aerion stares at you as though you have condemned him to isolation atop some freezing mountain rather than instructed him to behave normally for less than a week.

"letters," he repeats faintly, almost hollow with despair. "you expect me to survive entirely on letters. letters?" his voice drops lower with every word until he sounds haunted by the concept. "ink upon parchment. scraps of affection sent across distance."

"oh, stop it."

"no."

the refusal comes immediately. he releases your hand only to collapse again sideways across the bed, one forearm thrown over his eyes. the mattress shifts beneath his weight while you simply sit there watching him in exhaustion.

"this is misery," he mutters toward absolutely no one. "cruelty within my own chambers." he reaches blindly for one of the pillows beside him and drags it over his face. "abandoned by my own wife."

from beneath the pillow comes another muffled complaint. "i shall wither here."

"four days, not four decades."

"no one understands. four days! perhaps longer if the roads turn poor. i may never recover."

you shake your head slowly and reach over to pat the lump of pillow covering his head. aerion immediately grabs your wrist from beneath it, clinging to your hand like a deeply wronged prince facing exile.

"three?"

"no."

"fuck."

"i will be back home before you know i—"

"letters? for four days? truly? letters?"

[marchoiir]

thank you for spreading the girl dad! valarr agenda

you're welcome 🫡 more girl dad valarr and aerion coming very soon

[marchoiir]

grievances before sunrise 𖹭 aerion targaryen

aerion targaryen may be feared across the realm, but inside his chambers he is merely a husband being harassed at sunrise and a father losing battles against a very small girl.

morning arrives quietly within your chambers, pale sunlight slipping through the curtains in thin streams of gold that settle across the tangled sheets and the man beside you.

aerion still sleeps, though lightly, one arm draped across his stomach while the other rests close enough for your fingers to reach without effort.

in sleep, he appears younger somehow, the sharpness of his expression softened, the weight he carries no longer visible in the set of his mouth or brow.

you prop yourself upon one elbow and simply look at him for a while, tracing the familiar lines of his face with your eyes as though committing them to memory all over again. your fingers eventually follow, brushing lightly across the edge of his jaw, then the faint crease between his brows that never truly disappears, even in rest.

the reaction is immediate. aerion's nose wrinkles faintly before he even opens his eyes, his mouth turning downward in displeasure as though the mere existence of morning offends him personally.

"what is this?" he mutters hoarsely, voice rough with sleep and irritation alike, "an interrogation?"

you bite back a smile, continuing to smooth your thumb along his cheek despite the complaint. "i am admiring my husband," you reply softly, entirely unbothered by the sourness in his tone.

one violet eye cracks open to stare at you with unmistakable suspicion. "at this hour?" he grumbles. "cruel behavior."

"you complain before the day has even begun," you point out, gently pushing silver hair away from his forehead.

aerion exhales dramatically through his nose, closing his eyes once more as though enduring a terrible burden. "because the day insists on beginning. the sun is arrogant. the birds are worse. and whoever decided mornings should exist deserves punishment."

you stare at him for a moment, genuinely impressed by the consistency of his misery. "you are impossible."

"and yet you persist," he murmurs back immediately.

you trace the curve of his cheekbone again, lingering this time, and though he continues his endless grievances, he subtly leans into your touch without realizing it.

"your hands are cold," he complains next, brows furrowing as though this too is an unforgivable offense. "you touched my face with freezing fingers. i shall perish."

"a fearsome prince brought down by his wife's hand."

aerion opens both eyes at that, offended dignity settling across his face. "dragons were not built for mornings," he says with complete seriousness. "we are creatures of fire. dawn is an insult."

before you can answer, the chamber doors suddenly burst open hard enough to rattle against the stone walls.

small footsteps thunder across the floor with reckless speed, accompanied by a gasp of excitement that instantly brightens the room.

"mama! father!" your daughter cries as she launches herself toward the bed without hesitation, climbing over blankets and pillows like a tiny invading army.

aerion barely has time to react before she lands directly atop him with enough force to earn a genuine grunt from his chest.

"seven hells," he mutters, blinking rapidly now fully awake against his will. your daughter immediately gasps in outrage, tiny hands planting themselves firmly against his chest.

"do not be mean to mama," she declares sternly, glaring down at him as though she is the authority here.

aerion stares at her in stunned silence for a long moment. "i have said nothing to your mother."

your daughter narrows her eyes suspiciously, clearly unconvinced. "you were grumbling. that means you are being mean."

you press your lips together, losing the battle against laughter as aerion slowly turns his head toward you, betrayal written plainly across his face.

"you have turned my own child against me," he accuses. "this is treason within my own chambers."

"she is defending me because she loves me."

"she is committing mutiny," aerion counters immediately, though his arm has already wrapped around her waist to steady her where she sprawls across him.

your daughter huffs and flops dramatically against his chest, silver hair tangling with his as she clings to him.

"mama is nice! you are not!" she informs him again, patting his cheek with unnecessary force.

aerion catches her little hand before she can smack him a second time, holding it carefully.

"i never claimed otherwise," he sighs, sounding exhausted by this entire ordeal. "i merely stated that morning itself is cursed."

your daughter considers this gravely for exactly two seconds.

then she leans forward and presses a loud kiss against his cheek. aerion freezes completely, every complaint dying in his throat at once as she beams proudly at him.

"there," she announces happily. "now you are nice too."

silence settles briefly over the bed before you finally break into laughter, unable to help yourself anymore. aerion closes his eyes as though enduring great suffering. there's a faint upward twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrays him entirely.

"i am surrounded by tyrants," he mutters, pulling the two of you closer anyway, his morning misery no match for the warmth tucked safely within his arms.

[marchoiir]

O1. jacaerys velaryon

O2. lucerys velaryon

O3. daemon targaryen

O4. aegon ii targaryen

O5. aemond targaryen

[marchoiir]

O1. valarr targaryen

trial of the lemon cakes ⭒ nothing remains hidden from you, not even sweetness shared in secret.

O2. aerion targaryen

braids of fire and honey ⭒ even the fiercest targaryen learns there are battles he cannot win especially when tiny hands, stubborn determination, and honeyed sweets are involved.

the softest side of fire and blood ⭒ aerion returns home to eager footsteps and a daughter too excited to slow down. the stairs are unkind to hurried feet. thankfully, her father is not.

grievances before sunrise ⭒ aerion targaryen may be feared across the realm, but inside his chambers he is merely a husband being harassed at sunrise and a father losing battles against a very small girl.

the catastrophe of tomorrow morning ⭒ aerion offers improved behavior and basic human decency in exchange for you canceling your family visit. there are many things he can endure. spending four days away from you is apparently not one of them.

flour upon house targaryen ⭒ a peaceful walk through the gardens turns disastrous after your daughter decides she wants to bake a cake herself. and worse, she wants aerion involved.

O3. ser duncan the tall

O4. baelor targaryen

[marchoiir]

the softest side of fire and blood 𖹭 aerion targaryen

aerion returns home to eager footsteps and a daughter too excited to slow down. the stairs are unkind to hurried feet. thankfully, her father is not.

the moment word of aerion's return reaches the halls, it carries with it a shift in the air itself, something alive and anticipatory that draws you to the entrance before you even realize you are moving.

he stands there when the great doors open, framed by daylight and travel-worn shadows, silver hair slightly disordered, his presence no less formidable for the dust of the road upon him.

you step to his side, instinct rather than choice. your hand brushing his arm in quiet assurance that he is here, whole and breathing.

"you return in one piece," your eyes trace every line of him as if to confirm it yourself. aerion glances down at you, something softer flickering beneath the usual steel of his expression, and exhales faintly.

"did you doubt it?" he replies, tone touched with dry amusement, though his shoulder leans ever so slightly into your nearness.

from above comes the sound you know all too well. quick, uneven footsteps paired with a voice too bright to be contained by distance.

"father!" your daughter calls, appearing at the top of the staircase with all the force of her excitement, her small figure already rushing forward before caution can catch her.

your breath catches instantly, your body tensing as you step forward, the warning forming too late upon your lips.

"slowly—" you begin, but the moment has already slipped beyond control. her shoe catches, enough to steal her balance, and the world seems to tilt with her as she stumbles forward. the impact against the railing is sharp and unforgiving, followed by the immediate, heart-wrenching cry that echoes through the hall as she collapses where she fell.

everything in you lurches forward, but aerion is faster.

he crosses the distance with a speed that leaves no room for hesitation, as though the space between them has no right to exist, his usual composure cast aside for something far more urgent.

"easy now, easy," he murmurs as he reaches her, dropping to one knee and gathering her into his arms with a care so deliberate it borders on reverence.

her sobs come fast and broken, little hands clutching at him as though he alone can anchor her back to safety. you kneel beside them a heartbeat later, your own hands brushing gently over her, searching, checking, steady despite the quickened pulse in your chest.

"let me see, my love," you whisper, easing her hair back from her face, relief threading through you when you find no blood, only the beginnings of a swelling bruise.

aerion does not release her, not even for a moment.

instead, he adjusts his hold, one hand cradling the back of her head with surprising gentleness, the other moving in slow, grounding circles along her back as her cries begin to soften.

"you are unhurt," he tells her quietly, his voice stripped of its usual sharpness, steadied into something warm and certain. "it was but a misstep, nothing more. you are strong, little dragon."

she hiccups against him, her breath uneven as she buries her face into his shoulder, seeking comfort in the very place she had been rushing toward.

"it hurt," she whispers, small and shaken, her grip tightening.

"i know," aerion answers without pause, his forehead lowering briefly to rest against her hair in a gesture so instinctive it almost feels sacred.

"but pain passes," he continues softly, his thumb brushing beneath her eye to wipe away lingering tears. "and you have already proven yourself stronger than it."

you watch them, something deep and quiet settling in your chest as her cries diminish into soft sniffles, her small frame relaxing little by little in his hold. his hand never stills, never falters, as though he could will the hurt from her simply by remaining.

"no more running on stairs," he adds at last, the faintest edge of firmness returning, wrapped carefully in concern rather than reprimand.

she nods weakly against him, still clinging, as if letting go might undo the comfort he offers.

only then does he lift his gaze to you, something unspoken passing between you in the quiet that follows.

you reach forward, smoothing your daughter's hair once more, your touch gentle and grounded by the steadiness he has restored.

"she takes after you," you murmur softly, a hint of fondness threading through your voice despite it all.

aerion exhales through his nose, something almost like a scoff, though it lacks any true bite. his hold tightening to reassure himself she is truly safe.

"then she will learn and she will endure."

she shifts slightly in his arms, her sniffles fading into quiet breaths as she tilts her head to look up at him, lashes still damp.

"father, may i have lemon cakes?" she asks, voice small but hopeful, testing whether the world has truly righted itself again.

aerion studies her for a brief moment, weighing something far more serious than a simple request, his thumb still absently brushing away the last trace of tears beneath her eye. then his expression softens in that rare, fleeting way reserved only for her and you.

"you may have anything you desire," he says quietly.

and just like that, her smile returns, bright and immediate like the fall had never happened at all.

[marchoiir]

braids of fire and honey 𖹭 aerion targaryen

even the fiercest targaryen learns there are battles he cannot win especially when tiny hands, stubborn determination, and honeyed sweets are involved.

the castle has long since fallen into that soft, sacred quiet reserved only for the deepest hours of night, where even the guards' footsteps seem gentler against the stone, and yet your chambers remain faintly alive with candlelight and hushed mischief.

you sit at the edge of the bed, your usual braids already loosened for the evening, watching as your daughter stands behind her father with unwavering determination, a small brush clutched in her hand like a weapon of purpose.

aerion targaryen, terror of battlefields and a man who speaks of fire as if it were kin, sits unnaturally still on a cushioned stool, shoulders squared as though preparing for war rather than whatever this is.

"you do realize," you murmur, amusement already curling at your lips, "that you could simply refuse."

aerion huffs, not even glancing your way. "a dragon does not refuse its own blood," he says firmly, "nor does it cower before hair."

"you must not move, father," she insists, her voice carrying the kind of authority only a child can wield without question.

aerion inclines his head ever so slightly, indulging her, though his eyes flick briefly toward you as if silently asking how he has found himself here. "i will not be bested by a few strands of my own hair."

her fingers sink into his silver hair almost immediately, attempting to part it into sections far too ambitious for its length, and you can already see the inevitable failure in the way the strands slip free.

she frowns, lips pursed, trying again with greater care, only to have the same result unravel in her hands. aerion remains still, though his shoulders tense just slightly when she tugs a bit too hard, betraying that this ‘endurance’ may not be as effortless as he pretends.

"it is a delicate craft," he begins, voice lowering into that familiar, grand cadence, "braiding requires discipline, precision, and the patience of one born of fire and—"

he pauses when she huffs, clearly unimpressed by his speech, and reaches for something behind her. you notice it at the same time he does.

the glint of ribbon in her tiny hands.

aerion's reaction is immediate, subtle but unmistakable, as he slowly, carefully leans his head forward and just out of reach, like a man sensing danger yet refusing to acknowledge it outright. his posture remains composed, but there is a clear, strategic retreat in the way he angles himself away from her grasp.

you bite back a laugh, watching the great, unyielding man of house targaryen attempt to evade red ribbons with the same caution one might use facing a blade.

"i do not believe such… adornments are necessary," he says, voice measured, as though negotiating terms of surrender without actually surrendering.

your daughter narrows her eyes, tracking his movement with surprising accuracy, her little brows furrowing at his quiet rebellion. "stop moving," she commands, reaching again.

at the last possible second, she pauses.

the ribbons are forgotten as quickly as they were chosen, dropped carelessly onto the floor as something far more important catches her attention.

his hair itself, stubborn and short, yet still the true challenge before her.

aerion who's mid-retreat, freezes, clearly having expected the worst, only to find small fingers instead grabbing hold of his hair once more. he blinks, caught between relief and confusion, before slowly, cautiously straightening again.

you cannot help it this time. the laugh escapes you, soft and warm, filling the space between them. "you see, my dear husband," you tease gently, "even your fears are premature."

he exhales quietly, dignity barely intact. "i do not fear," he replies, the faintest hint of defensiveness lingers, "i merely assess threats."

your daughter hums as if she understands none of this and all of it at once, resuming her work with renewed determination, fingers weaving strands that stubbornly refuse to stay put. she tries once, twice, three times, each attempt ending in loose pieces slipping apart the moment she lets go.

"mama's hair listens," she mutters, tugging slightly. "yours does not."

"my hair," he says carefully, "is not meant to be tamed."

"of course," you reply, voice light, "even your hair must be fearsome."

he shoots you a look, one that promises retaliation later, but it falters the moment your daughter speaks.

"we will make it listen," she insists.

aerion endures it all with a rigid sort of patience, his jaw tightens slightly every time she tugs too firmly.

"a true targaryen does not falter," he begins again, clearly unable to resist his own dramatics, "we are forged in flame, unyielding in the face of any—"

a sweet is pressed into his mouth before he can finish.

the interruption is swift and absolute, your daughter's solution as effective as it is predictable, and aerion falls silent in the middle of his declaration, blinking as he instinctively chews.

you cover your smile with your hand, shoulders shaking faintly as he processes what just happened, pride momentarily set aside in favor of honeyed surrender.

"no talking," she reminds him firmly, patting his cheek this time as if to ensure compliance.

he swallows, straightening once more. there's softness creeping into his expression, something gentler beneath the warrior's composure. "i shall remain silent after i say this: a true targaryen does not yield. we are of fire and blood, unbreak—"

"hush! father, i am growing weary of your speech, and i am only small."

minutes pass in a mixture of quiet concentration and occasional failed attempts, until at last she leans back, admiring what can only generously be called a braid. it is uneven, fragile, and already threatening to come undone, but to her it is perfection.

"done!" she declares proudly, clapping her hands once, eyes shining as she looks between the two of you.

you rise, stepping closer, fingers brushing lightly over the small, crooked braid before smoothing a strand back into place. aerion stands as well, tall and composed despite the evidence of her efforts woven into his hair.

"do i resemble your mother now?" he asks, voice softer, glancing down at her.

she nods eagerly, completely certain. "yes. now you match."

he looks at you then, something warm and unspoken passing between you, before the faintest smile touches his lips. "perhaps it is a battle worth losing."

aerion opens his mouth again, no doubt preparing another speech about fire and blood and unyielding strength.

"father, do all targaryens repeat themselves, or is that only you? even dragons must rest their mouths at some point."

[marchoiir]

trial of the lemon cakes 𖹭 valarr targaryen

nothing remains hidden from you, not even sweetness shared in secret.

morning light spills across the long table, turning the silverware into glinting ribbons of gold and making the honey on the breakfast spread glow as though it were molten.

you sit at the center, posture straight out of habit more than necessity, a hand wrapped loosely around your goblet while your daughter hums beside you, her feet swinging far above the floor.

across from you, valarr looks every inch the composed prince he was raised to be, though you know better than anyone how thin that composure can run when it comes to the two of you.

the table is set with all the usual excess. warm breads, soft cheeses, sugared fruits. but it is the small plate of lemon cakes that has already captured your daughter's entire attention. you catch the way her eyes flicker toward it every few seconds, bright and hopeful, as though staring long enough might earn her another.

"eat what is already upon your plate first," you remind gently, nudging her small fork back toward the sliced fruits in front of her.

she pouts, lower lip pushing forward in a dramatized misery that would have been impressive if it were not so familiar.

"but mama," she insists, voice soft but persistent, "the lemon cakes will grow lonely."

valarr lets out a quiet breath that suspiciously resembles a stifled laugh, lifting his goblet to his lips to hide it.

"then we must not let them suffer so greatly," he murmurs, tone far too thoughtful for the subject at hand.

you narrow your eyes at him briefly, suspicion born from knowing him too well. he meets your gaze with perfect innocence, brows slightly raised, expression calm enough to be painted into a portrait. if not for the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, you might have believed him entirely.

your daughter, however, has already resumed her quiet humming, though now there is a noticeable shift in her posture, a subtle lean toward her father that does not escape your notice. something passes between them in that silence.

"you are both being far too quiet," you point out, setting your goblet down with a soft clink.

"we are eating, my love," valarr replies smoothly, cutting into his bread as though that alone explains everything.

your daughter nods far too eagerly. "yes, mama. eating."

"of course," you echo, unconvinced.

the conversation drifts for a time, light and easy, filled with small matters of the day ahead. you speak of the gardens needing tending, of a letter that arrived late the night before, while valarr offers half attentive replies that sound thoughtful enough to pass.

every so often, your daughter shifts in her seat, her arm disappearing briefly beneath the table before returning to her plate with renewed enthusiasm. you notice it, vaguely, but dismiss it just as quickly, assuming it to be nothing more than restless movement.

"father says i may see the stables later," she announces suddenly, cheeks faintly flushed.

"did he now?" you ask, glancing toward your husband.

"if she finishes her meal," he adds, even-tempered, though his eyes betray him with a flicker of amusement.

"i shall finish everything," she promises, far too quickly to be trusted.

you hum in response, watching her a little more closely. there is something undeniably peculiar in the way she eats, a touch too eager. her small hands move with purpose, and though her plate does not seem to lessen much, her satisfaction grows all the same.

you begin to suspect there is more happening than what is laid plainly before you, though the exact nature of it remains just out of reach. valarr, for his part, avoids your gaze now, focusing intently on his own meal.

"valarr," you say slowly, tilting your head. "what are you doing?"

he does not look up. "having breakfast with my wife."

"and?"

"and our daughter," he adds, finally glancing at you.

you let the silence stretch, watching him, waiting for something to change. he holds your gaze with impressive steadiness, though you catch the faintest shift of his foot beneath the table, a movement so subtle it might have gone unnoticed had you not been looking for it.

you glance toward your daughter again, just in time to see her straighten abruptly, cheeks puffed as though she has taken too large a bite of something.

"mama, may i have water?"

"you have water already, dear."

she nods quickly, reaching for it with both hands. "yes. i shall have more."

before you can question it further, a small, unmistakable crumble of powdered sugar falls from beneath the table, drifting lazily onto your lap. you freeze, staring at it for a long moment, your mind catching up to what your eyes have already understood.

slowly, very slowly, you lift your gaze to valarr, who has gone perfectly still. your daughter, meanwhile, is attempting to chew with the seriousness of someone who knows she has been caught but hopes silence might yet save her.

"what is beneath this table?"

"wood," he answers immediately.

"and?"

"carpet," he adds, just as quickly.

"and?" you press, raising a brow.

there is a brief, fatal pause before another crumb falls. you lean down without breaking eye contact, just enough to glance beneath the table. there it is.

valarr's hand, halfway extended toward your daughter, holding what remains of a lemon cake, frozen in the act of passing it along. your daughter's small hand is already reaching for it, equally still, as though the two of them believe that not moving might somehow render them invisible.

for a moment, you simply stare, caught between disbelief and the overwhelming urge to laugh. "truly?"

he clears his throat, withdrawing his hand with what dignity he can salvage. "she appeared... still hungry."

"i was starving," your daughter adds solemnly, crumbs still clinging to her lips.

"you have had three lemon cakes already," you point out.

she hesitates. "four," she corrects quietly.

you look back at valarr, who now has the audacity to look mildly defensive. it's such a ridiculous scene. your princely husband smuggling pastries beneath a royal table.

the laugh escapes you before you can stop it. it starts small, a breath of amusement, before growing into something warmer, something that fills the space between you all.

"you are both impossible," you manage, shaking your head.

"she is persuasive," valarr replies, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

you reach forward, brushing a stray bit of powdered sugar from her cheek, your laughter fading into something gentler.

valarr watches the two of you, his expression softening in a way he never allows beyond these walls. for all his composure, all his carefully maintained dignity, he has never been able to deny either of you anything for long. and perhaps that is why you let this pass, why you do not scold him further, even as you fix him with one last pointed look.

"no more," you say firmly.

valarr inclines his head. "no more," he echoes.

a beat passes. then, beneath the table, his foot nudges lightly against your daughter's.

you hear the faintest rustle. you do not even need to look this time. "put that down."

he is a prince to the realm, but beneath the table, he is simply a father sneaking extra treats.