Art cred/oc Maegon belongs to @vivi-arttt heh
Oc x canon , oc x oc , Aerion x oc , Valarr x oc
Summary: A match made in hell. King Daeron weds his grandchildren, Maegon and Haelene, in hopes and good faith that the marriage will bring the two of them some peace. It does everything but.
Warnings: MDNI, SMUT, NSFW, 18+, INCEST, toxic relationships, arranged marriage, cheating, targcest eugh, dubcon
The morning started as any other, with the Red Keep in full swing. Squires practiced their archery and sword training in the yard, white and gold cloaks paraded the walls and halls of the Red Keep. Lords and Ladies gathered themselves at court, around a table for tea and cakes, or around the king, whispering of rebellions and their current status.
Maegon spent the morning catching the first rays of sunshine in a most lavish bed, with dark silken sheets kicked off the mattress, feathered pillows thrown onto the floor in restless sleep.
He had half an ear on the commotion outside, and half an eye on Valarr tugging his belt into place. The day promised to become a hot one, and the brown haired prince dressed appropriately to it. A thin white tunic with black breeches and his usual leather boots.
"Should you not get ready?" He asked, tying up the laces of his shoes. His mismatched eyes caught in the light, the violet and brown seeming lighter than they were.
Maegon's eyes squinted in silent disapproval of the topic at hand, he'd rather laze in this bed and watch the sun move in the sky than keep up appearances at court.
"I imagine your wife is waiting for you," Valarr started again, strapping a dagger to his belt, the black and red handle gleaming in the warmth of the sun, the silver dragonhead at the top of it sat heavy and out of place.
"Your sister," Maegon started, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, "is better off entertaining my brother."
Pushing himself to his feet, they now stood face to face. Maegon's silver curls falling over his face, unruly with sleep. His voice was sharp, though his eyes were gentle and his lips curled into a smile.
He brushed a finger over the white in Valarr's hair, a fleeting gesture, a silent comfort to both the princes. "And I'm entertaining hers."
The comment earned him a small shove against his chest, setting him back a step. But Valarr's eyes twinkled with familiar mischief, and he couldn't help the grin that passed his features. The secrecy of it all played at his mind, but the security it brought was more than enough to make up for it.
The young prince was out of the room soon enough, a mumble of his duties and a teasing tug on Maegon's hair was all he left. He could stay in the room and sulk all day, Maegon thought, though he knew that was no option. Someone would come in soon enough to clean up after Valarr, something Maegon wasn't waiting around for.
And so he tugged on his own breeches and boots, not bothering with the laces and shoving them into the shoe instead before tugging on his dirtied tunic. The red colour of it had faded, and it was covered in dirt from the sparring match the day before. Though it was Maegon's favourite piece of clothing, and he could not be bothered calling his handmaiden to clean it, as much as she insisted to.
Pushing the door open, he slipped out of the prince's nightly chambers, clicking the wood back into it's lock. There was another click behind him, just across the narrow corridor.
Feet shuffled over the carpeted floor as the figures turned to face each other, eyes wide with horror, their hearts stuck in their throats.
They stared at each other for a long breath, before Maegon blinked his eyes, studying his wife's neat presentation. Her dark blue dress, low on her shoulders, no unwanted folds in the skirts. Her brown and white hair braided out of her face and falling over her shoulders in neatly trimmed curls. It was much better than his own attempt at dressing himself, with his hair still a mess and his clothes tucked into one another like a commoner's.
"What are you doing?" Haelene broke the silence, her surprise replaced by utter unamusement and irritation.
Maegon straightened himself, his shoulders square, one hand coming up to clutch his chest in feigned surprise. "What am I doing?" He gasped, though the dullness in his expression shone through in his words. "And what of you?"
"What of it?" His wife snapped, turning towards him fully now, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Tonight was my secret night, you are not supposed to be here."
Maegon dropped his hand, and with it his shoulders. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Haelene beat him to it.
"What in the Seven Hells are you wearing?" She hissed, her gaze trailing over his unlaced tunic slipping off one shoulder to the belt barely keeping up his breeches. She didn't even dare look at the mud on his ruined boots, though she could guess they were likely untied.
The door creaked open behind her, and Aerion slipped out of his room, dressed as a true prince must. His smile dropped at once when he spotted Maegon just outside, but it picked up immediately at the state of him, and he straightened himself to speak.
"It seems my dear brother cares little for courtly appearances," He sneered, his fingers toying at Haelene's corset. The display was almost vulgar, and Maegon felt himself physically cringe. Though it wasn't the fact that Aerion was toying with his wife, it was for the fact Aerion was toying with his wife. His disgusting little brother trying to invoke jealousy in a man so detached from his marriage was almost laughable, Maegon thought.
Until Haelene brushed her cousin's hand off and looped her arm through her husband's, dragging him down the hall. "Then it is a good thing that I do," She spoke, shooting Maegon a faux smile. "I will not have my husband embarrass me today." She said, squeezing his arm painfully tight.
From behind them, Aerion's face drew into a scowl, his fingers fumbling at the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip, pressing his nails into the leather.
The court moved through the great hall, wine cups filled again and again, cakes and fruits plucked from plates and tables by ladies who've had too much of it already.
Gossip sounded in every corner and circle of skirts, whispers and snickers of other's misfortunes or success. While men gathered around a square table in the middle, watching and discussing a game of cards and dice.
Eager ladies clinging to the arm of a rich lordling and laughing when he threw the highest number, flicking him with a fan or hand.
Baelor occupied the space beside his father, his eyes falling upon the doors of the great hall again and again. Expectantly, then disappointedly, and then frustrated, before the cycle repeated.
Maekar trudged up the steps angrily, drawing the attention of a few guests with his rigid posture and clenched fists.
"Where in fuck's name are Maegon and Haelene?" He spat once he reached Baelor, his voice low and laced with frustration.
"Compose yourself, brother," Baelor murmured, his own voice calm and controlled, something that did little to help Maekar's temper. "I'm sure they will show up soon enough."
Maekar huffed out a laugh, ticking his jaw. "They ought to."
No sooner had he spoken the words that a white cloak stepped through the doors and announced their arrival, voice echoing off the walls.
Their entrance was discreet, though not hurried. They stepped into the room and through the parting crowd, eventually reaching the steps ascending to the throne where King Daeron sat, smiling down at them. "The realm is glad to see the two of you so secure in this marriage," he said, the hall falling silent at once. "As am I." The king finished, nodding to the young couple.
Haelene's lips pressed into a tight line, Maegon's eyes drifted from the throne to where his father stood. Maekar's glare burned through his skull, bright violet eyes signalling for some sort of show of affection to please the public.
All eyes were pointed at them now, but neither Haelene nor Maegon made any indication towards the other. Until Haelene spoke at last, "Thank you, grandfather." She said, dipping her head lightly, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
Her nails pinched Maegon's hand, having him flinch into action. He tugged lightly at his collar, a sigh slipping past his lips. "Thank you, grandfather." He said in turn, though he offered no smile or courtesy.
The event progressed like any other, with Haelene and Maegon parting as soon as they stepped away from the iron steps to mingle with the crowd.
Each and every conversation that lords and ladies forced them into all came down to their marriage, to how happy it seemed, to how lucky they each were with such a respectable match. Haelene was all faux smiles and internal cringe when her ladies-in-waiting asked about children or spoke of pregnancy. She would be found dead before the crown could use her body for their own benefit. She was barren either way, even with all the nights she spent with Aerion, it bore no fruit, and she could not be bothered with Maegon.
Maegon who stood across the hall, whispering something into her brother's ear. Valarr smiled at it, though it was discreet. They stood where no eyes looked, unobserved and unbothered.
How unfair, Haelene thought, that they could do whatever without consequence, but she had to smile until her cheeks ached.
At least he looked somewhat proper now, with a fresh set of clothes. A high collar sitting uncomfortably tight, just as Haelene had adjusted it at the back. His belt sat just too low to be comfortable, and his boots were laced in a way he could not get undone himself, polished up to look anew.
Haelene prided herself on her work, especially in taming his silver-gold curls, the hair tucked behind his ears as it usually was, smoothed over with a brush several times.
She was so caught up in nitpicking the details of his appearance that she didn't notice Maekar until he stood right at her heel, clearing his throat.
Haelene jumped, clutching the wine glass she had picked up to be able to sit through endless gossip and conversation tighter. Maekar ripped it from her hands, his lips pulled down into a scowl. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from hers. It seemed a gentle gesture from afar, though anyone that knew them would disagree.
"Your shared bedchamber was found empty tonight," He said.
Haelene's eyes drifted from his face to Aerion's, who stood in the far corner, tugging at Aegon's hair and clothes and laughing. The look was fleeting, but Maekar caught it, of course he did.
"This," Her uncle hissed, prodding a finger into her arm, "ends now. Or Gods help us, I will lock you two in that room until you do as is expected."
"I am not yours to lecture," Haelene whispered defiantly, lifting her chin higher.
"I imagine you would be all too glad to hear it from your father then," Maekar countered, to which Haelene scoffed, glaring back at him.
"I will not be forced into anything."
"You already have," The prince said, straightening himself again, scowl ever present on his face. "You'd do well to finish it."
And he departed with that, gulping down the rest of the wine in the cup before slamming it down onto the nearest table. Haelene drifted back into the crowd, weaving through the sea of people.
Her eyes found Aerion's across the room, and her lip quirked up before she slipped into one of the forgotten corridors. She rounded the corner, the sounds of the feast forgotten here, and she was left only with the scent of candlewax and old stone.
A hand caught her arm, a familiar grip that spun her around and into his chest. Aerion laughed low and hushed, burying his face in Haelene's neck and breathing in her honey scent.
"We can't be gone for long," The princess whispered, though she brushed her fingers through her cousin's short cropped hair and tugged him closer.
He pushed her into the hard stone wall, grinding his hips up into hers while his hands desperately pulled her skirts upwards. "We won't be," He promised, kissing her lips at that.
She believed him, as she always did, even more now when he kicked her feet apart with his own, hitching one leg over his hip while his mouth stayed all too busy with her neck.
Meanwhile Maegon inched closer and closer to Valarr, now in the shadow of some pillar, the voices of the crowd drowning out around them. He traced a finger over the white in his hair as he did that morning, snickering at the young prince's pale complexion.
"What's the matter? There's no need to be-"
"Maegon," Baelor's hand fell upon the boy's shoulder, and he suddenly stood still as a statue, his own face gone whiter than silken sheets.
Maegon swallowed thickly, hand dropping back to his side. He barely turned to face the Hand, merely casting a glance over his shoulder.
"Uncle," He greeted, his lips twitching slightly. "I was merely adjusting the prince's attire, do not fret." He said, but Baelor's grip only tightened in the fabric of his clothes.
"People are watching," His uncle spoke low and measured, mismatched eyes flitting briefly to Valarr, who found himself utterly entranced by the drink swirling in his cup. "And people notice, the court," He paused briefly, squeezing Maegon's shoulder, "notices. And knows."
Taking a step back, Baelor urged Maegon to follow him to a nearby table, giving him little choice as he passed him a plate filled with honeycakes and sweet berries, Haelene's favourite.
"It raises suspicion, your secrecy, the distance between the two of you. You understand this, don't you?" Baelor hummed, nodding to his nephew.
Maegon remained silent, glaring at the berries on the plate. He hated this, keeping up appearances, pretending to be something be wasn't. The marriage was forced upon him, as much as it was on Haelene. She was far more suited for his little brother, Aerion. Maegon hated Haelene, too. She was cunning, unpredictable, and cruel.
The collar of his tunic seemed to tighten around his throat, and he tugged at it again, inhaling sharply. "I understand."
"You have a duty," Baelor continued, popping a berry in his mouth. "To the realm, to your wife. I will not see it neglected."
Maegon picked at the strawberries on his plate, frustration seeping through his actions.
"Speaking of," His uncle said a little louder now, overlooking the crowded hall. "Where is your wife? I suggest you take this to her, for appearances." He added, gesturing vaguely to the cake.
Maegon said nothing, turning his back to the hand and disappearing in the sea of bodies. People made way for him, stepped aside or dipped their heads in respect. He could not be bothered to pay them any mind, he'd set his sights on the corridor he saw Aerion slip into just a few moments earlier.
Haelene exited it just as he reached it, a few strands of hair fallen loose from her braids, sticking slightly to her forehead.
"Wife," Maegon said through clenched teeth, passing her the sweets.
Haelene shot him a cold glare, studying the honeycake in her hands.
"It's not poisoned," Her cousin said, sighing softly. "A pity for the both of us."
They moved together to an arrangement of cushioned seats, leaning back comfortably. Haelene stuffed her face with cake and raspberries, leaving the picked apart strawberries laying on the plate, the sweet juices coating her fingers.
"Your father," Maegon started after a long silence, a shiver running down his spine at the thought of Baelor.
"Yours as well," Haelene interrupted him, lapping the juices from her fingers and somehow seeming elegant in doing so. "They seem rather persistent." She said, glancing over at their fathers.
Baelor and Maekar were deep in conversation, though their eyes found them again and again. Too often to go unnoticed.
Maegon pushed himself onto his feet, and without saying a word, left Haelene be. It was nothing new, and she cared little for him. Instead she lifted a goblet of deep red wine and sipped it deliberately, her eyes boring into Baelor's from across the room, revelling in the obvious tension radiating off him.
When the last rays of the sun set beneath the waves, Haelene walked the halls to her and Maegon's shared chambers, a little too light on her feet from the wine and cakes. The door was slightly ajar, strange, considering Maegon had retired an hour before.
Maekar stepped out of the room just as she made way to enter it, pausing in front of her. He looked her up and down, ticking his jaw and reminding her once again of duty and of marriage before storming off, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The doors clicked shut behind Haelene, the sound unapologetically loud in the emptiness of the room.
The bed was neat, as it was on the first night they ever spent in the room. Neither of them had ever really slept in it, occupying the sofa in the corner or their lovers beds instead. She touched her fingers to the furs at the foot of the mattress, the ones her mother picked out. They were a true comfort, as she claimed, but Haelene never laid in them.
The sound of splashing water drew her attention, a clatter and a groan coming from the connected room. She entered it without ceremony, pausing at the sight before her.
Maegon sat in steaming water, reaching over the edge of the tub towards a fallen goblet on the ground.
"Ah, wife," He said once he noticed her standing there, mockery lacing his tone of voice. "It seems I've dropped my wine, fetch it. For me." He said, though there was no plea in it.
Haelene wouldn't be ordered around so easily, it was something they both knew, though Maegon did not expect her to step closer and stand as close as she did, close enough to reach out and tug once at his silver curls.
"I want," Haelene started, staring down at Maegon's dumbstruck expression. A shiver ran through her whole being, her fingers curling in his white hair while her free hand pulled apart the laces of her gown.
Maegon inched backwards in the water, his arms formerly resting on the edge of the bath now sinking beneath the hot ripples. "You want..?" He asked, dragging out the words.
Haelene gave him the space to retreat, letting her dress slip from her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her feet. "I want to consummate our marriage," She claimed, dipping one foot into the water.
Maegon's hand gripped her ankle, stopping her from entering further, his green eyes wide with genuine horror. "No, you don't."
"Maegon, let go of my foot," Haelene breathed, though every move she made to get closer made her cringe, she showed no intent of stopping.
"Get out of my bath," Maegon sputtered when she lowered her leg further.
"Leave me alone," She snapped.
"Leave me alone!" He shouted, gasping when Haelene dropped into the bath, water splashing around them.
"Just pretend I'm Valarr," She nodded, though she had to force the words past her lips, and they caught in her throat.
Maegon visibly gagged at the comment, his hands still pushing her to the far side of the tub. "You don't want this," He stated, relieved at the sudden lack of resistance.
Haelene sat eerily still in front of him, until the water moved no more, until he could not see her breathing. He could only see as much and far as the candlelight around them allowed, the glint in her eyes, the slow smile tugging at her lips, the shake of her head.
"I don't," She agreed, feeling his hands slip from her arms.
Maegon pulled his lip up in disgust, attempting to pull his legs up to his chest in the cramped space between them. Haelene grasped his knees and surged forward then, blocking his movements. He let out a squeal of surprise, hands flailing and fumbling at her sides until his fingers gripped her waist tightly, digging bruises into the flesh.
"It's duty," His cousin whispered. "It is only duty."
"I will bite you," Maegon threatened, and it pulled a laugh from her throat, her lips inching impossibly closer to his until touch was inevitable.
It was soft, but it was not gentle. Nor did it bring the comfort that Valarr gave, the warmth in his kisses was unlike the whores and maids Maegon would entertain. Though Haelene was something else entirely, and Maegon was yet unsure of what to think exactly.
"As will I," She murmured against his mouth, her tongue probing past his lips.
A soft whine escaped him, hoarse and pathetic. Haelene retreated immediately, mouth slightly ajar with surprise. All words left her at once, and they were left staring at each other in the candlelit warmth of the room.
Haelene's hands moved from his knees down his thighs, stopping in-between his legs. Her cousin flinched, though there wasn't any space left to retreat to, his bottom lip trembling slightly.
"Wait," He gasped, a true plea this time. But Haelene paid it no mind, capturing his lips again and crowding herself into his space.
Maegon whimpered at her touch, and he couldn't help but grind into her hand, his fingers twitching at her waist.
"Haelene, wait," He repeated, mumbling into her mouth. He looked amess, his silver curls sticking to his forehead, to his neck and to his shoulders. An unmistakable flush creeped up his face, his breathing turning ragged in his chest.
Haelene's eyes squeezed shut, her fingers tightening around him, her ears blocking out his desperate pleas. She tasted copper on her tongue and felt a sting in her lower lip, pulling back at once.
"You bit me!" She exclaimed, one of her hands coming up to wipe at the blood. Her lord husband sat beneath her, chest heaving and legs trembling. His thumb swiped over the few droplets of red that landed near his mouth, his eyes half closed in relief or bliss, Haelene could not tell.
Maegon looked mortified as he tugged her hand from between his legs, breathing out the softest of moans. They sat like that for a while, sobered up and ashamed, but both too stubborn to turn back.
"I hate you," Haelene sneered, biting the words out through bared teeth. She straddled him from her position, her thighs squeezing on either side of his hips.
Maegon's head fell back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closing only briefly, his grip on her loosening. It was enough to allow Haelene to slip forward and for her to lower herself down onto his lap, pressing their bodies together. Maegon could not utter a word as his ladywife took him in at once, his lips parting wide, his moans catching in his throat. Haelene let out a shuddering whine, keening softly at the sight of him.
"I hate you, too," Maegon all but whimpered, squeezing again at the flesh of her waist.
Haelene's hips ground down into his, her arms wrapping almost instinctively around her cousin's shoulders. And with her face in his neck and her chest pressed flush to his she could almost imagine him as Aerion, though his fingers were longer and his body was taller, his arms and whines were not the ones she was used to. But she could pretend, his voice was similar, and his hair was the same shade of silver-gold, only long and thicker, but they were the same unruly curls she'd raked her fingers through countless of times.
The water sloshed around them, dirty and vulgar sounds slipping past their lips and into the otherwise quiet room. Haelene's fingers tightened in his hair, pulling and gripping him impossibly closer. Her back arched into him, heart pounding against her ribcage.
Maegon could feel it through the press of her chest, and he dug his nails deeper into her skin. But the flesh was too supple, and her curves far too womanly for him to even begin pretending she was someone else. And though he could not accept the smoothness of her against him and around him, his body responded in kind to her movements and the noises she made, as much as he hated it.
"Haelene," He whined, his hand coming up the curve of her back, a back far thinner than the one he was most used to. He could at the very least pretend her to be one of his whores, though that felt just as wrong as imagining her as her brother.
Haelene didn't still her movements, if anything, her pace only increased and her hand tightened in his hair. "Shut up," She breathed, though she was ashamed to admit that had exactly been what pushed her over the edge, her body gushing around him and writhing in his hold.
Maegon found his own release immediately after, a rather quick one, he was almost sad to say. They remained in the quickly cooling water for a little while, both of them avoiding eye contact and gripping the edges of the tub as if it were the only steady presence in the room.
"Get out of my bath," Maegon could only whisper, biting his lower lip to stiffle a moan when his ladywife retreated.
It was embarrassing, the whole situation of it, and Maegon felt it in his bones and in his heavy limbs as he stepped out of the water at his own time.
Haelene had already retreated to the bed by then, laying spread out on the mattress in her night shift. Exhaustion and frustration alike seeped through Maegon's body as he took his own respective side on the bed, breeches slung low on his hips, too lazy to tie the delicate laces.
It was the first night they would spend together in their room, after their most forgettable wedding night. Though neither of them drifted off to sleep, as much as they pretended to, it would not claim them. Disgust coiled ugly in their guts, and they kept away from each other as much as possible, wishing as much as the other that it never happened.
They were spiteful and frustrated, and all too glad to show it.
The morning that followed promised yet another day of feigned pleasantries and faux laughter, and Haelene rolled out of bed without the pleasant ache Aerion usually left between her legs. Maegon snoozed off to the side, clutching a pillow to his chest, his legs kicked out in front of him, keeping the distance between them secure.
And when they made their way to court, the usual silence hung between them, the pinch of Haelene's fingers on Maegon's arm, their unhurried pace. It was as if nothing had happened the night prior, for both of them thoroughly believed nothing did.
The court would whisper no longer, and smiles usually meant only for lovers were now kept to themselves, lingering touches to Aerion were no longer shown openly, and hushed whispers to Valarr became only a tilt of Maegon's lips.
And for two weeks it remained exactly like that, no more secret visits, no more secret lovers. Maekar prided himself on this, and Baelor seemed visibly relaxed whenever they gathered for dinner.
Though King Daeron remained oblivious as ever, he truly believed Haelene and Maegon were as happy as they could be in their marriage.
