Pairing: Baelor 'Breakspear' Targaryen x OFC (Jaehaera, daughter of Maekar)
Status: Ongoing
Summary
Princess Jaehaera Targaryen is the eldest child of Prince Maekar Targaryen, who could have been just another Targaryen princess marked as a footnote in the history of House Targaryen had she not wed her uncle, Baelor Breakspear.
Known as 'The only Man In Summerhall', Jaehaera becomes one of the most prominent women in Targaryen history, along with the good queen, the conqueror's wives and Rhaenyra the Cruel.
Tags: Targcest (Uncle-Niece), age gap, period-typical sexism, smut, asoiaf violence.
I have this urge to create a Blackfyre OC, who is Daemon's twin, and she somehow has a dragon.
I want Maekar to be her love interest just because I usually see Baelor being paired with the Blackfyre OC/reader. The rivals-to-lovers-to-enemies trope: lovers again is exquisite. He still marries Dyana even though he has feelings for her.
When the Blackfyre Rebellion erupts, she peaces out with her dragon, and she's never seen again until years later. Basically telling her brothers: "Bitch, don't test me when I have the upper hand!"
In my head, I imagine Chase Infiniti as the younger version and Thandie Newton as the adult version.
I'm writing it, don't worry, but since I'm returning to work next monday it may take a while.
Just so you guys know, I'm listing "Would You Fall In Love With Me" by Epic: The musical and "Wait For Me" by Hadestown on repeat because these songs give me inspiration while writing.
You are my destiny was soooo excellent and amazing, i love when the reader isnt a traditional maiden, having her be a divorcee in an era where it would be so stigmatised is so interesting to explore. Especially with Baelor!!! cannot wait to read more
Thank you!
This fic is based on 2 things.
Eleanor of Aquataine, who first married a French King, had 2 daughters and the marriage annulled by the pope because of it. She later married the English and had 4 sons!
The Testaments, where a character has miniature of a wife and is told by everyone she'll be the first to get married.
You are my destiny! - Part I (Baelor Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: There is a custom that dates back to the Andals that says, "If you put a miniature version of the Maiden inside a large cake for the feast of the Maiden celebrations, the lady who finds it is destined to marry that same year and have a child the following year."
You are this year's lucky lady… You nearly lost a tooth as a result, but the court dismisses it as a joke by the Maiden.
You were one of only a few women in the Seven Kingdoms whose marriage was annulled due to infertility. Your husband annulled the marriage because you did not have children after nearly a decade of marriage.
Even though you were relieved to be free of your awful husband, you live a lonely life because no man wants to marry you.
You accept your fate until the feast of the Maiden, and you catch the eye of the Lord Hand.
Word Count: 3,519
Tags: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Past Domestic Violence, Infertility, Pregnancy, Child Marriage, Period-Typical Sexism
Baelor’s mismatched eyes surveyed the ballroom.
Everything is going well… so far.
Today is the feast of the Maiden, and all the daughters of the great houses were brought to the Red Keep. The main purpose: to find suitable husbands. All the mothers of Westeros made sure their daughters wore the best gowns and best jewels coin could afford. They whispered among themselves about who has recently become widowed, who is looking for a bride, and who has the best land and titles.
Baelor wasn’t spared.
He doesn't have enough fingers on his hands to count how many Ladies approached them with their daughters and introduced them to him. The daughters would curtsy to him and speak to him with their sweetest voices. Some of them were as young as fifteen. Baelor politely went away from this conversation, feeling a little bit irritable with the attitude of some of these mothers.
He has been a widower for quite some time, and he has made no attempt to find himself a second wife. His mother probably wished he had a wife and, for her, more grandchildren. He has two healthy sons, one who is already married. His line is set, and there’s no need for a wife and more children.
“I can’t believe she’s actually here!” He heard one lady whisper, horrified.
“The nerve! She’s walking bad omen!”
“How could she do that to her own cousins?"
He looked over and saw who they were talking about.
A woman wearing a grey gown enters the ballroom with two young ladies behind her. Some courtiers stopped their conversation and openly gawked at her with curiosity, mockery, disdain and a bit of pity
“Ser Delaney.” He called for his steward. “Who is that Lady and why does her presence cause this much fuss?”
Ser Delaney tells Baelor the woman’s name and house.
“Her husband divorced her.” Ser Delaney whispered. “That’s why they’re staring at her like that.”
“Divorce?” Baelor asked, surprised. “On what grounds?”
"Barrenness, my Prince," His steward explained. “She had been wedded to Ser Helios for almost a decade, and her belly not once swelled. He got the same Septon that wedded them to annul the union. He got remarried a few months later.”
It’s almost impossible to get a marriage annulled. The only ways to get an annulment are impotence, non-consummation and barrenness. There must have been enough proof for a Septon to come to that decision.
Baelor looks at her as discreetly as he can. He watched as the lady and who he assumes to be her cousins sat down. The younger of the two girls is looking around at people staring at them with her head low and her shoulders tensed. The woman in grey gently tipped her cousin's head forward. They shared a look and then a smile. A silent conversation that was enough to ease the young girl’s discomfort.
Baelor smiled at that interaction; it reminded him of when he was younger and his mother would tell him to keep his chin up when the courtiers commented on his Dornish side.
A Lord comes inside with who Baelor assumes to be his daughter. The Lord looked at the Lady in grey, and he smirked mockingly in her direction. Some people take great pleasure in other people's misery.
“That’s the Lady’s former husband," Ser Delaney whispered.
Baelor hummed as he looked at her. The Lady in Grey didn’t pay attention to her former husband. She quietly sipped her wine and talked with the people at the table with a composed face.
“The young lady he just entered with is his new wife."
Baelor looked at his steward with a haughty look. He assumed she could be a younger family member. His steward shared the same expression as him.
...
“The Florent boy is looking at you," You teased.
Your cousin Muriel blushed. “No, he’s not!”
Your other cousin, Muriel’s sister, Mina, laughed. "Yes, he is!”
You smiled at their antics.
These Lords and Ladies expected you to lock yourself in your family’s keep and drown in your misery, but no. Just because you are no longer a wife doesn’t mean you are not a person. If you want to join a feast with your cousins, you will. Your former husband can flaunt his child bride all he wants; you will not cease to exist just because he made your vows void.
“He’s so handsome.” Muriel said dreamily.
“Then you should talk to the Florent boy.” You said.
“Not him!” Your cousin corrected. “The Hand.”
You and Mina stared at the high table where Prince Baelor was talking to the lord next to him. He looked handsome indeed.
“You think the song is true," Mina asked.
“What song?” You asked.
“You know…” Your cousin shrugged her shoulders. “The song.”
You glared at her through the corner of your eye. “You are not supposed to know that song.”
“I know, but it’s so catchy!” She groaned and mumbled under her breath. “Country was in peril; the Anvil was a rock. The Hammer smashed the bastard with his giant veiny—"
And as if he could hear from afar, Prince Baelor turned his head and looked directly at your table. You and your cousins turn away so quickly your necks made a snapping noise, and you three burst into laughter, not caring about the looks thrown your way.
The feast went on. Wine flowed and the music kept on. The Florent boy approached the table and asked Muriel for a dance, which the girl happily accepted with blushed cheeks. You and Mina stayed at the table talking and enjoying the cake when another Lord approached her and asked her for a dance; she too accepted and joined her sister on the dance floor.
You remained.
Part of you is happy that your reputation didn't disturb her cousins’ prospects, just like those other nobles whispered.
The other part of you feels empty.
No Lord as looked at you with anything but pity or like you were a walking disease. No Lord appraoched you and asked you for a dance. You don’t think that will ever happen.
You look at the table where your former husband and his new wife sat. He looked happy and he was surrounded by various people. How can he forsake his vows to you and still be surrounded with warmth while you are the one that has to be the pariah? Is it because you barely fought for your marriage like a good noble lady should? What was the point in fighting for something that was as barren as your womb?
“Cake, my lady?” A servant asked with a tray full of cakes.
You nodded, and the servant placed the plate on the table.
“Thank you.”
You grabbed your fork and started eating the cake. You moaned at the taste. It was a delicious cake with berries and a hint of vanilla. You eat the cake while keeping an eye on your cousins, making sure those boys didn't take any liberties with their hands. You take another bite, and suddenly pain suddenly floods your mouth. Blood floods your mouth immediately, and the metallic taste mixes horribly with the sweetness of the cake. You drop your fork and clasp your jaw as you groan in pain.
Conversations at the surrounding table stop.
You feel something hard in your mouth, and you think it’s your tooth. You forgot all the decorum and spit on your plate. Blood, pieces of cake and an object fall on the plate. You look at what you think is your tooth, but to your relief, it isn't. It was bigger than a tooth, and it was mint green instead of white.
“What a…” You mumbled.
“My lady, are you alright?” A kind male voice asked.
You look up, and to your horror, it was Prince Baelor, and you present yourself to the heir to the throne with blood caking your lips and teeth. Words were stuck in your throat.
Prince Baelor didn't care that you didn't answer him. He took out a handkerchief and handed it to you. You hesitantly accept it and press it to your mouth; you could smell wax and parchment.
Your cousins approached you and checked on you while Prince Baelor inspected the object that was on your mouth with the fork. His brows furrowed as he looked at it.
“What is that?” Muriel asked, grossed out.
“The Maiden, I believe.” The Prince answered.
You take a closer look at it, and he is correct. It was a small miniature of the maiden with her serene face and gentle smile. How did it end up on the cake?
“Bessie!” A servant cried out. “They found it!”
A woman in an apron covered in flour ran into the hall. That must be Bessie. She runs to your table, not caring about the blood in your mouth or the presence of the prince. She reaches the plate and picks up the miniature of the maiden that was covered in your blood and spit. Mina gags.
“Oh, my lady! You have been blessed.” She tells you with joy as she holds the figure of the maiden up in the air like a war trophy. "Congratulations!"
You let out an indignant noise. Blessed with what? A chipped tooth?
“The Lady is bleeding.” Prince Baelor said with a firm tone that sent shivers down your spine. He put his hand on your shoulder, and you could hear your heart beating in your ears. “She could’ve choked as well. A Lady as been harmed under my roof. Explain yourself or you and your fellow workers will find work elsewhere."
Bessie’s face became white. He didn't raise his voice, not once, but you could hear the promise in his tone.
“My Prince.” The cook cleared her throat. “At every feast of the Maiden, I put a miniature figure on our cake batter, and the maiden who finds it is destined to be wed by the end of the year and have a child within the next. It’s a tradition in my hometown, and it always comes true.”
There’s laughter behind you. It’s a cruel and cold laugh. You recognised that laughter; it’s your former husband’s. He laughed just like that when the Septon declared your union null and void.
You’ve been married for almost ten years, and red has always stained your sheets. When you were late for a few days, you held your breath and then let out a disappointed sigh. You drank tonics that midwives promised to boost fertility, but it only made you want to throw up. You laid on your back and gripped the sheets so hard that your hands cramped when various maesters put their cold hands and instruments between your legs. You held babies in your arms, and for a few minutes you pretended they were yours. You kneeled in front of the statue of the mother and prayed feverishly.
Humiliations flood your body, and you want to disappear.
“I meant no harm, m’lord!" Bessie said, thinking they were laughing at her. “The lady has been chosen by the Maiden!”
You couldn’t control yourself and sobbed into the Prince’s handkerchief.
A hand smashes against the table, rattling the cups and utensils and quieting down the laughter. You look up and see the Prince’s balled fist on the table. He looked at the table where your former husband was sitting with a ferocity that made you wonder if that is how a dragon is supposed to look.
“Ser Delaney, please escort the lady and her cousins to a washroom so that she can clean herself.”
He stared at you, and all of the harshness in his mismatched eyes evaporated, and his gaze softened as he held his hand towards you. You accepted his hand, and he helped you get up. You followed the steward out of the hall with your cousins by your side and eyes staring at you, but you only hoped that the Prince still had his on you.
...
Baelor let out a tired sigh as he walked to the washroom.
The feast has gone well if you ignore the cake accident.
If Baelor had a motive, he would ban Ser Helios from the keep. He can still feel the way her shoulder tensed under his hand when that man laughed cruelly at her, and the sound of her sob echoed in his ear. He’ll make sure the lady and her cousins are settled comfortably and under his care for the remainder of the festival.
He stands in front of the door but stops the guard from announcing his presence. He listened in to the conversation. He listened to the sound of water in the basin and the two young ladies talking to each other. If his old Septa saw him now, she would pull his ear until it turned red.
“That baker is foolish!” He heard one of her cousins say. “Who puts a choking hazard on a cake? What if you had choked instead of harming your mouth?”
“Well, Prince Baelor would’ve probably saved her!" The other cousin said. “Did you see the way he ran the moment she let out that painful screech? For a moment it looked like he was flying.”
Baelor smiled softly but shyly.
The reason why he was so quick to go to her side is because he was staring at her right until she spit out that miniature.
He didn’t mean to. His gaze just kept drifting to that table, and he couldn’t look away. She smiled beautifully, and when her gaze saddened, he just wanted to go to her and bring back that smile. When the cake was placed in front of her, his heart made a funny movement when her tongue poked out and licked the cream off the fork. Then it made another when she winced and let out a pained groan. He jumped off his chair when she leaned forward and spat out blood on the plate.
“And how would he save her? Shoving his fingers down her throat? It would’ve made it worse!”
“Probably!” She giggled. “Have you seen the size of his hands?”
Baelor unconsciously looked at his hands. They’re average for all he knows.
“They probably felt nice.” The cousin teased.
The Lady finally spoke. “By the Seven! He touched my shoulder, not my tit!”
The trio burst into laughter, and the guards at the door turned their heads away to avoid eye contact with the Prince. Baelor eavesdropped enough. With the tips of his ears red, he ordered the guard to announce his presence.
“Prince Baelor Targaryen, my ladies!” The guard announced.
The laughing stopped.
The door opens and he goes in. The three ladies go to the centre of the room and curtsy to him. The cousin, Mina, was biting her lip, trying to contain the laughter that was still stuck in her throat. The other cousin, Muriel, was looking down, begging the floor to swallow her. The Lady, the woman he came to see, was looking directly at him.
“My lady.” Baelor nodded at her. “If you need a Maester, I would be glad to send my personal maester to check on you.”
“You are too kind, my prince.” She said. “The wound has stopped bleeding, so there's no need to create such a fuss.”
"Nonsense." Baelor said quickly. He cleared his throat. “You are a guest, and your comfort is my priority.”
The Lady smiled and she wrung the handkerchief, his handkerchief, in her hands.
“If there’s anything you need… you can come to me.”
The two younger cousins share a look and have a silent conversation among themselves.
“Thank you, your grace.” She looked at the handkerchief in her hand. “Unfourtnulyey, there’s blood on the handkerchief you so kindly gave me. I’ll be sure it’s thoroughly cleaned before returning it to you.”
“Keep it.” Baelor said softly. “Will I still be seeing you at the feast again?”
The Lady smiled sadly and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, my prince. I feel I had my fill of them.”
Baelor buried his disappointment. He understood why. There were a few Lords and Ladies whispering about the baker’s words and how the Gods make funny jests once in a while. He’s not much of a believer like his namesake, but he does wonder if the Maiden has plans for the Lady in front of him. Perhaps it’s just a silly superstition.
...
You stay up at night and stare at the handkerchief Prince Baelor gave to you. The bloodstains have faded thanks to the hard work of the laundress. Part of you, for an unknown reason, felt disappointed you couldn't smell that faint scent of musk and parchment.
You can still remember the way he looked at you. You wonder if he knows your story. If he did, you’ll never forget the way his gaze held no judgement whatsoever and looked like a true person.
The Prince told you to keep it, but as you traced the stitches that formed the dragon sigil, you decided you wanted to do more. At the first sign of light, you sat on the chair near the window and started to embroider. By noon you were done.
You walked through the halls searching for the familiar form of the Lord Hand. You found him in the gardens with his oldest son, Valarr. You smiled but you stopped yourself. Doubt starts to settle in like an uninvited guest.
Would he even accept your gift? He was just being kind to you, nothing else.
You look at the handkerchief in your hand. It’s not perfect now that you take a closer look at it when the sun is at its peak. You did it in such a hurry. The dragon you stitched was a bit crooked; the heads were different sizes, and it looked more like a gecko than a powerful dragon.
You bit your lips as anxiety flooded you. You should leave. You lift your head and your heart skips a beat when you see Prince Baelor staring at you. It starts to beat faster when he says something to Valarr and walks towards you.
You bow when he reaches you.
“My lady, is there anything I can help you with?" He asks gently.
You clear your throat. “I wished to thank you once more for the other day.”
He smiled. “As I told you before, your comfort is my priority."
“Even so, I wish to express my gratitude even more.” You presented him the handkerchief.
Prince Baelor barely looks at it and grabs your hand carefully. Your body shivers with the contact. “My lady, I told you there’s no need to return it…”
“I made it!” You stop him, and you curse yourself for speaking that way with him.
He blinked and looked at the hand holding yours, now noticing how different the piece of fabric on your hand is compared to the one he gave you. He grabs it and holds it carefully. His mismatched eyes analyse the stitches in front of him.
He looks up at you, and his gaze looks different. Relaxed, you could say. “Thank you, my lady.”
“It’s not perfect…” You try to say it.
“It does not matter.” He says softly. “And it being made by your bare hands makes it even more… special.”
You smiled shyly. “The dragon looks like an angry gecko.”
Prince Baelor laughed. “It does look a bit like one. Thank you, once again, my lady.”
You nodded. “You’re welcome, my prince.”
You bowed one more time and left.
Your whole body felt tingly.
...
She made it for him.
She created something with her own hands just for him. Not because she wanted favour with him but because she wanted to thank him and nothing else. Something inside Baelor warmed up.
He carefully traced the stitches. It was not perfect, but he did not care. This was his.
Baelor was so focused on the cloth that he did not hear Valarr call for him until he stood right next to him.
Baelor blinked and looked at his son. “Yes, son?”
“Are you alright?” His son asks.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been calling for you for quite some time and you didn’t answer.”
"Apologies, I was..." He tried to find the words.
“Is that the lady you mentioned the other day at supper? The one whose tooth broke was almost broken by the maiden.”
“Yes, it was her.” He confirmed. “She just wished to thank me one more time.”
“She’s also the one whose marriage got…”
“Let us not speak of someone who is not here to speak for themselves, Valarr.” Baelor snapped, feeling the urge of protecting her even though he knows Valarr wouldn't say anything inflammatory towards her.
Valarr raised a brow but nodded his head. “Of course, father.”
They started walking.
“I do wish to add one thing.” Valarr said after a while. “Her ‘husband’ is quite a pathetic man if you ask me.”
If Ormund Hightower was part of my 'Barren Maiden' premise that mother fucker would marry reader, not because he fell in love with her but because he thinks he's the only one holy enough to fulfil the will of the Maiden.
You are my destiny! - Part I (Baelor Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: There is a custom that dates back to the Andals that says, "If you put a miniature version of the Maiden inside a large cake for the feast of the Maiden celebrations, the lady who finds it is destined to marry that same year and have a child the following year."
You are this year's lucky lady… You nearly lost a tooth as a result, but the court dismisses it as a joke by the Maiden.
You were one of only a few women in the Seven Kingdoms whose marriage was annulled due to infertility. Your husband annulled the marriage because you did not have children after nearly a decade of marriage.
Even though you were relieved to be free of your awful husband, you live a lonely life because no man wants to marry you.
You accept your fate until the feast of the Maiden, and you catch the eye of the Lord Hand.
Word Count: 3,519
Tags: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Past Domestic Violence, Infertility, Pregnancy, Child Marriage, Period-Typical Sexism
Baelor’s mismatched eyes surveyed the ballroom.
Everything is going well… so far.
Today is the feast of the Maiden, and all the daughters of the great houses were brought to the Red Keep. The main purpose: to find suitable husbands. All the mothers of Westeros made sure their daughters wore the best gowns and best jewels coin could afford. They whispered among themselves about who has recently become widowed, who is looking for a bride, and who has the best land and titles.
Baelor wasn’t spared.
He doesn't have enough fingers on his hands to count how many Ladies approached them with their daughters and introduced them to him. The daughters would curtsy to him and speak to him with their sweetest voices. Some of them were as young as fifteen. Baelor politely went away from this conversation, feeling a little bit irritable with the attitude of some of these mothers.
He has been a widower for quite some time, and he has made no attempt to find himself a second wife. His mother probably wished he had a wife and, for her, more grandchildren. He has two healthy sons, one who is already married. His line is set, and there’s no need for a wife and more children.
“I can’t believe she’s actually here!” He heard one lady whisper, horrified.
“The nerve! She’s walking bad omen!”
“How could she do that to her own cousins?"
He looked over and saw who they were talking about.
A woman wearing a grey gown enters the ballroom with two young ladies behind her. Some courtiers stopped their conversation and openly gawked at her with curiosity, mockery, disdain and a bit of pity
“Ser Delaney.” He called for his steward. “Who is that Lady and why does her presence cause this much fuss?”
Ser Delaney tells Baelor the woman’s name and house.
“Her husband divorced her.” Ser Delaney whispered. “That’s why they’re staring at her like that.”
“Divorce?” Baelor asked, surprised. “On what grounds?”
"Barrenness, my Prince," His steward explained. “She had been wedded to Ser Helios for almost a decade, and her belly not once swelled. He got the same Septon that wedded them to annul the union. He got remarried a few months later.”
It’s almost impossible to get a marriage annulled. The only ways to get an annulment are impotence, non-consummation and barrenness. There must have been enough proof for a Septon to come to that decision.
Baelor looks at her as discreetly as he can. He watched as the lady and who he assumes to be her cousins sat down. The younger of the two girls is looking around at people staring at them with her head low and her shoulders tensed. The woman in grey gently tipped her cousin's head forward. They shared a look and then a smile. A silent conversation that was enough to ease the young girl’s discomfort.
Baelor smiled at that interaction; it reminded him of when he was younger and his mother would tell him to keep his chin up when the courtiers commented on his Dornish side.
A Lord comes inside with who Baelor assumes to be his daughter. The Lord looked at the Lady in grey, and he smirked mockingly in her direction. Some people take great pleasure in other people's misery.
“That’s the Lady’s former husband," Ser Delaney whispered.
Baelor hummed as he looked at her. The Lady in Grey didn’t pay attention to her former husband. She quietly sipped her wine and talked with the people at the table with a composed face.
“The young lady he just entered with is his new wife."
Baelor looked at his steward with a haughty look. He assumed she could be a younger family member. His steward shared the same expression as him.
...
“The Florent boy is looking at you," You teased.
Your cousin Muriel blushed. “No, he’s not!”
Your other cousin, Muriel’s sister, Mina, laughed. "Yes, he is!”
You smiled at their antics.
These Lords and Ladies expected you to lock yourself in your family’s keep and drown in your misery, but no. Just because you are no longer a wife doesn’t mean you are not a person. If you want to join a feast with your cousins, you will. Your former husband can flaunt his child bride all he wants; you will not cease to exist just because he made your vows void.
“He’s so handsome.” Muriel said dreamily.
“Then you should talk to the Florent boy.” You said.
“Not him!” Your cousin corrected. “The Hand.”
You and Mina stared at the high table where Prince Baelor was talking to the lord next to him. He looked handsome indeed.
“You think the song is true," Mina asked.
“What song?” You asked.
“You know…” Your cousin shrugged her shoulders. “The song.”
You glared at her through the corner of your eye. “You are not supposed to know that song.”
“I know, but it’s so catchy!” She groaned and mumbled under her breath. “Country was in peril; the Anvil was a rock. The Hammer smashed the bastard with his giant veiny—"
And as if he could hear from afar, Prince Baelor turned his head and looked directly at your table. You and your cousins turn away so quickly your necks made a snapping noise, and you three burst into laughter, not caring about the looks thrown your way.
The feast went on. Wine flowed and the music kept on. The Florent boy approached the table and asked Muriel for a dance, which the girl happily accepted with blushed cheeks. You and Mina stayed at the table talking and enjoying the cake when another Lord approached her and asked her for a dance; she too accepted and joined her sister on the dance floor.
You remained.
Part of you is happy that your reputation didn't disturb her cousins’ prospects, just like those other nobles whispered.
The other part of you feels empty.
No Lord as looked at you with anything but pity or like you were a walking disease. No Lord appraoched you and asked you for a dance. You don’t think that will ever happen.
You look at the table where your former husband and his new wife sat. He looked happy and he was surrounded by various people. How can he forsake his vows to you and still be surrounded with warmth while you are the one that has to be the pariah? Is it because you barely fought for your marriage like a good noble lady should? What was the point in fighting for something that was as barren as your womb?
“Cake, my lady?” A servant asked with a tray full of cakes.
You nodded, and the servant placed the plate on the table.
“Thank you.”
You grabbed your fork and started eating the cake. You moaned at the taste. It was a delicious cake with berries and a hint of vanilla. You eat the cake while keeping an eye on your cousins, making sure those boys didn't take any liberties with their hands. You take another bite, and suddenly pain suddenly floods your mouth. Blood floods your mouth immediately, and the metallic taste mixes horribly with the sweetness of the cake. You drop your fork and clasp your jaw as you groan in pain.
Conversations at the surrounding table stop.
You feel something hard in your mouth, and you think it’s your tooth. You forgot all the decorum and spit on your plate. Blood, pieces of cake and an object fall on the plate. You look at what you think is your tooth, but to your relief, it isn't. It was bigger than a tooth, and it was mint green instead of white.
“What a…” You mumbled.
“My lady, are you alright?” A kind male voice asked.
You look up, and to your horror, it was Prince Baelor, and you present yourself to the heir to the throne with blood caking your lips and teeth. Words were stuck in your throat.
Prince Baelor didn't care that you didn't answer him. He took out a handkerchief and handed it to you. You hesitantly accept it and press it to your mouth; you could smell wax and parchment.
Your cousins approached you and checked on you while Prince Baelor inspected the object that was on your mouth with the fork. His brows furrowed as he looked at it.
“What is that?” Muriel asked, grossed out.
“The Maiden, I believe.” The Prince answered.
You take a closer look at it, and he is correct. It was a small miniature of the maiden with her serene face and gentle smile. How did it end up on the cake?
“Bessie!” A servant cried out. “They found it!”
A woman in an apron covered in flour ran into the hall. That must be Bessie. She runs to your table, not caring about the blood in your mouth or the presence of the prince. She reaches the plate and picks up the miniature of the maiden that was covered in your blood and spit. Mina gags.
“Oh, my lady! You have been blessed.” She tells you with joy as she holds the figure of the maiden up in the air like a war trophy. "Congratulations!"
You let out an indignant noise. Blessed with what? A chipped tooth?
“The Lady is bleeding.” Prince Baelor said with a firm tone that sent shivers down your spine. He put his hand on your shoulder, and you could hear your heart beating in your ears. “She could’ve choked as well. A Lady as been harmed under my roof. Explain yourself or you and your fellow workers will find work elsewhere."
Bessie’s face became white. He didn't raise his voice, not once, but you could hear the promise in his tone.
“My Prince.” The cook cleared her throat. “At every feast of the Maiden, I put a miniature figure on our cake batter, and the maiden who finds it is destined to be wed by the end of the year and have a child within the next. It’s a tradition in my hometown, and it always comes true.”
There’s laughter behind you. It’s a cruel and cold laugh. You recognised that laughter; it’s your former husband’s. He laughed just like that when the Septon declared your union null and void.
You’ve been married for almost ten years, and red has always stained your sheets. When you were late for a few days, you held your breath and then let out a disappointed sigh. You drank tonics that midwives promised to boost fertility, but it only made you want to throw up. You laid on your back and gripped the sheets so hard that your hands cramped when various maesters put their cold hands and instruments between your legs. You held babies in your arms, and for a few minutes you pretended they were yours. You kneeled in front of the statue of the mother and prayed feverishly.
Humiliations flood your body, and you want to disappear.
“I meant no harm, m’lord!" Bessie said, thinking they were laughing at her. “The lady has been chosen by the Maiden!”
You couldn’t control yourself and sobbed into the Prince’s handkerchief.
A hand smashes against the table, rattling the cups and utensils and quieting down the laughter. You look up and see the Prince’s balled fist on the table. He looked at the table where your former husband was sitting with a ferocity that made you wonder if that is how a dragon is supposed to look.
“Ser Delaney, please escort the lady and her cousins to a washroom so that she can clean herself.”
He stared at you, and all of the harshness in his mismatched eyes evaporated, and his gaze softened as he held his hand towards you. You accepted his hand, and he helped you get up. You followed the steward out of the hall with your cousins by your side and eyes staring at you, but you only hoped that the Prince still had his on you.
...
Baelor let out a tired sigh as he walked to the washroom.
The feast has gone well if you ignore the cake accident.
If Baelor had a motive, he would ban Ser Helios from the keep. He can still feel the way her shoulder tensed under his hand when that man laughed cruelly at her, and the sound of her sob echoed in his ear. He’ll make sure the lady and her cousins are settled comfortably and under his care for the remainder of the festival.
He stands in front of the door but stops the guard from announcing his presence. He listened in to the conversation. He listened to the sound of water in the basin and the two young ladies talking to each other. If his old Septa saw him now, she would pull his ear until it turned red.
“That baker is foolish!” He heard one of her cousins say. “Who puts a choking hazard on a cake? What if you had choked instead of harming your mouth?”
“Well, Prince Baelor would’ve probably saved her!" The other cousin said. “Did you see the way he ran the moment she let out that painful screech? For a moment it looked like he was flying.”
Baelor smiled softly but shyly.
The reason why he was so quick to go to her side is because he was staring at her right until she spit out that miniature.
He didn’t mean to. His gaze just kept drifting to that table, and he couldn’t look away. She smiled beautifully, and when her gaze saddened, he just wanted to go to her and bring back that smile. When the cake was placed in front of her, his heart made a funny movement when her tongue poked out and licked the cream off the fork. Then it made another when she winced and let out a pained groan. He jumped off his chair when she leaned forward and spat out blood on the plate.
“And how would he save her? Shoving his fingers down her throat? It would’ve made it worse!”
“Probably!” She giggled. “Have you seen the size of his hands?”
Baelor unconsciously looked at his hands. They’re average for all he knows.
“They probably felt nice.” The cousin teased.
The Lady finally spoke. “By the Seven! He touched my shoulder, not my tit!”
The trio burst into laughter, and the guards at the door turned their heads away to avoid eye contact with the Prince. Baelor eavesdropped enough. With the tips of his ears red, he ordered the guard to announce his presence.
“Prince Baelor Targaryen, my ladies!” The guard announced.
The laughing stopped.
The door opens and he goes in. The three ladies go to the centre of the room and curtsy to him. The cousin, Mina, was biting her lip, trying to contain the laughter that was still stuck in her throat. The other cousin, Muriel, was looking down, begging the floor to swallow her. The Lady, the woman he came to see, was looking directly at him.
“My lady.” Baelor nodded at her. “If you need a Maester, I would be glad to send my personal maester to check on you.”
“You are too kind, my prince.” She said. “The wound has stopped bleeding, so there's no need to create such a fuss.”
"Nonsense." Baelor said quickly. He cleared his throat. “You are a guest, and your comfort is my priority.”
The Lady smiled and she wrung the handkerchief, his handkerchief, in her hands.
“If there’s anything you need… you can come to me.”
The two younger cousins share a look and have a silent conversation among themselves.
“Thank you, your grace.” She looked at the handkerchief in her hand. “Unfourtnulyey, there’s blood on the handkerchief you so kindly gave me. I’ll be sure it’s thoroughly cleaned before returning it to you.”
“Keep it.” Baelor said softly. “Will I still be seeing you at the feast again?”
The Lady smiled sadly and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, my prince. I feel I had my fill of them.”
Baelor buried his disappointment. He understood why. There were a few Lords and Ladies whispering about the baker’s words and how the Gods make funny jests once in a while. He’s not much of a believer like his namesake, but he does wonder if the Maiden has plans for the Lady in front of him. Perhaps it’s just a silly superstition.
...
You stay up at night and stare at the handkerchief Prince Baelor gave to you. The bloodstains have faded thanks to the hard work of the laundress. Part of you, for an unknown reason, felt disappointed you couldn't smell that faint scent of musk and parchment.
You can still remember the way he looked at you. You wonder if he knows your story. If he did, you’ll never forget the way his gaze held no judgement whatsoever and looked like a true person.
The Prince told you to keep it, but as you traced the stitches that formed the dragon sigil, you decided you wanted to do more. At the first sign of light, you sat on the chair near the window and started to embroider. By noon you were done.
You walked through the halls searching for the familiar form of the Lord Hand. You found him in the gardens with his oldest son, Valarr. You smiled but you stopped yourself. Doubt starts to settle in like an uninvited guest.
Would he even accept your gift? He was just being kind to you, nothing else.
You look at the handkerchief in your hand. It’s not perfect now that you take a closer look at it when the sun is at its peak. You did it in such a hurry. The dragon you stitched was a bit crooked; the heads were different sizes, and it looked more like a gecko than a powerful dragon.
You bit your lips as anxiety flooded you. You should leave. You lift your head and your heart skips a beat when you see Prince Baelor staring at you. It starts to beat faster when he says something to Valarr and walks towards you.
You bow when he reaches you.
“My lady, is there anything I can help you with?" He asks gently.
You clear your throat. “I wished to thank you once more for the other day.”
He smiled. “As I told you before, your comfort is my priority."
“Even so, I wish to express my gratitude even more.” You presented him the handkerchief.
Prince Baelor barely looks at it and grabs your hand carefully. Your body shivers with the contact. “My lady, I told you there’s no need to return it…”
“I made it!” You stop him, and you curse yourself for speaking that way with him.
He blinked and looked at the hand holding yours, now noticing how different the piece of fabric on your hand is compared to the one he gave you. He grabs it and holds it carefully. His mismatched eyes analyse the stitches in front of him.
He looks up at you, and his gaze looks different. Relaxed, you could say. “Thank you, my lady.”
“It’s not perfect…” You try to say it.
“It does not matter.” He says softly. “And it being made by your bare hands makes it even more… special.”
You smiled shyly. “The dragon looks like an angry gecko.”
Prince Baelor laughed. “It does look a bit like one. Thank you, once again, my lady.”
You nodded. “You’re welcome, my prince.”
You bowed one more time and left.
Your whole body felt tingly.
...
She made it for him.
She created something with her own hands just for him. Not because she wanted favour with him but because she wanted to thank him and nothing else. Something inside Baelor warmed up.
He carefully traced the stitches. It was not perfect, but he did not care. This was his.
Baelor was so focused on the cloth that he did not hear Valarr call for him until he stood right next to him.
Baelor blinked and looked at his son. “Yes, son?”
“Are you alright?” His son asks.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been calling for you for quite some time and you didn’t answer.”
"Apologies, I was..." He tried to find the words.
“Is that the lady you mentioned the other day at supper? The one whose tooth broke was almost broken by the maiden.”
“Yes, it was her.” He confirmed. “She just wished to thank me one more time.”
“She’s also the one whose marriage got…”
“Let us not speak of someone who is not here to speak for themselves, Valarr.” Baelor snapped, feeling the urge of protecting her even though he knows Valarr wouldn't say anything inflammatory towards her.
Valarr raised a brow but nodded his head. “Of course, father.”
They started walking.
“I do wish to add one thing.” Valarr said after a while. “Her ‘husband’ is quite a pathetic man if you ask me.”
Eu li esse capítulo rindo igual uma anta — eu adorei a referência aos Testamentos. E de certa forma, é uma analogia boa, especialmente com o ex-marido buscando uma nova esposa, que claramente é muito jovem, só porque ele pensa que o problema era a primeira esposa.
(Fred Waterford coreeee).
E é MUITO engraçado pensar que o Baelor tá contente e, de certa forma, ela também estaria com o fato que não teriam filhos. Mas a Donzela; olha, vou fazer algo MUITO engraçado, espera.
You are my destiny! - Part I (Baelor Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: There is a custom that dates back to the Andals that says, "If you put a miniature version of the Maiden inside a large cake for the feast of the Maiden celebrations, the lady who finds it is destined to marry that same year and have a child the following year."
You are this year's lucky lady… You nearly lost a tooth as a result, but the court dismisses it as a joke by the Maiden.
You were one of only a few women in the Seven Kingdoms whose marriage was annulled due to infertility. Your husband annulled the marriage because you did not have children after nearly a decade of marriage.
Even though you were relieved to be free of your awful husband, you live a lonely life because no man wants to marry you.
You accept your fate until the feast of the Maiden, and you catch the eye of the Lord Hand.
Word Count: 3,519
Tags: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Past Domestic Violence, Infertility, Pregnancy, Child Marriage, Period-Typical Sexism
Baelor’s mismatched eyes surveyed the ballroom.
Everything is going well… so far.
Today is the feast of the Maiden, and all the daughters of the great houses were brought to the Red Keep. The main purpose: to find suitable husbands. All the mothers of Westeros made sure their daughters wore the best gowns and best jewels coin could afford. They whispered among themselves about who has recently become widowed, who is looking for a bride, and who has the best land and titles.
Baelor wasn’t spared.
He doesn't have enough fingers on his hands to count how many Ladies approached them with their daughters and introduced them to him. The daughters would curtsy to him and speak to him with their sweetest voices. Some of them were as young as fifteen. Baelor politely went away from this conversation, feeling a little bit irritable with the attitude of some of these mothers.
He has been a widower for quite some time, and he has made no attempt to find himself a second wife. His mother probably wished he had a wife and, for her, more grandchildren. He has two healthy sons, one who is already married. His line is set, and there’s no need for a wife and more children.
“I can’t believe she’s actually here!” He heard one lady whisper, horrified.
“The nerve! She’s walking bad omen!”
“How could she do that to her own cousins?"
He looked over and saw who they were talking about.
A woman wearing a grey gown enters the ballroom with two young ladies behind her. Some courtiers stopped their conversation and openly gawked at her with curiosity, mockery, disdain and a bit of pity
“Ser Delaney.” He called for his steward. “Who is that Lady and why does her presence cause this much fuss?”
Ser Delaney tells Baelor the woman’s name and house.
“Her husband divorced her.” Ser Delaney whispered. “That’s why they’re staring at her like that.”
“Divorce?” Baelor asked, surprised. “On what grounds?”
"Barrenness, my Prince," His steward explained. “She had been wedded to Ser Helios for almost a decade, and her belly not once swelled. He got the same Septon that wedded them to annul the union. He got remarried a few months later.”
It’s almost impossible to get a marriage annulled. The only ways to get an annulment are impotence, non-consummation and barrenness. There must have been enough proof for a Septon to come to that decision.
Baelor looks at her as discreetly as he can. He watched as the lady and who he assumes to be her cousins sat down. The younger of the two girls is looking around at people staring at them with her head low and her shoulders tensed. The woman in grey gently tipped her cousin's head forward. They shared a look and then a smile. A silent conversation that was enough to ease the young girl’s discomfort.
Baelor smiled at that interaction; it reminded him of when he was younger and his mother would tell him to keep his chin up when the courtiers commented on his Dornish side.
A Lord comes inside with who Baelor assumes to be his daughter. The Lord looked at the Lady in grey, and he smirked mockingly in her direction. Some people take great pleasure in other people's misery.
“That’s the Lady’s former husband," Ser Delaney whispered.
Baelor hummed as he looked at her. The Lady in Grey didn’t pay attention to her former husband. She quietly sipped her wine and talked with the people at the table with a composed face.
“The young lady he just entered with is his new wife."
Baelor looked at his steward with a haughty look. He assumed she could be a younger family member. His steward shared the same expression as him.
...
“The Florent boy is looking at you," You teased.
Your cousin Muriel blushed. “No, he’s not!”
Your other cousin, Muriel’s sister, Mina, laughed. "Yes, he is!”
You smiled at their antics.
These Lords and Ladies expected you to lock yourself in your family’s keep and drown in your misery, but no. Just because you are no longer a wife doesn’t mean you are not a person. If you want to join a feast with your cousins, you will. Your former husband can flaunt his child bride all he wants; you will not cease to exist just because he made your vows void.
“He’s so handsome.” Muriel said dreamily.
“Then you should talk to the Florent boy.” You said.
“Not him!” Your cousin corrected. “The Hand.”
You and Mina stared at the high table where Prince Baelor was talking to the lord next to him. He looked handsome indeed.
“You think the song is true," Mina asked.
“What song?” You asked.
“You know…” Your cousin shrugged her shoulders. “The song.”
You glared at her through the corner of your eye. “You are not supposed to know that song.”
“I know, but it’s so catchy!” She groaned and mumbled under her breath. “Country was in peril; the Anvil was a rock. The Hammer smashed the bastard with his giant veiny—"
And as if he could hear from afar, Prince Baelor turned his head and looked directly at your table. You and your cousins turn away so quickly your necks made a snapping noise, and you three burst into laughter, not caring about the looks thrown your way.
The feast went on. Wine flowed and the music kept on. The Florent boy approached the table and asked Muriel for a dance, which the girl happily accepted with blushed cheeks. You and Mina stayed at the table talking and enjoying the cake when another Lord approached her and asked her for a dance; she too accepted and joined her sister on the dance floor.
You remained.
Part of you is happy that your reputation didn't disturb her cousins’ prospects, just like those other nobles whispered.
The other part of you feels empty.
No Lord as looked at you with anything but pity or like you were a walking disease. No Lord appraoched you and asked you for a dance. You don’t think that will ever happen.
You look at the table where your former husband and his new wife sat. He looked happy and he was surrounded by various people. How can he forsake his vows to you and still be surrounded with warmth while you are the one that has to be the pariah? Is it because you barely fought for your marriage like a good noble lady should? What was the point in fighting for something that was as barren as your womb?
“Cake, my lady?” A servant asked with a tray full of cakes.
You nodded, and the servant placed the plate on the table.
“Thank you.”
You grabbed your fork and started eating the cake. You moaned at the taste. It was a delicious cake with berries and a hint of vanilla. You eat the cake while keeping an eye on your cousins, making sure those boys didn't take any liberties with their hands. You take another bite, and suddenly pain suddenly floods your mouth. Blood floods your mouth immediately, and the metallic taste mixes horribly with the sweetness of the cake. You drop your fork and clasp your jaw as you groan in pain.
Conversations at the surrounding table stop.
You feel something hard in your mouth, and you think it’s your tooth. You forgot all the decorum and spit on your plate. Blood, pieces of cake and an object fall on the plate. You look at what you think is your tooth, but to your relief, it isn't. It was bigger than a tooth, and it was mint green instead of white.
“What a…” You mumbled.
“My lady, are you alright?” A kind male voice asked.
You look up, and to your horror, it was Prince Baelor, and you present yourself to the heir to the throne with blood caking your lips and teeth. Words were stuck in your throat.
Prince Baelor didn't care that you didn't answer him. He took out a handkerchief and handed it to you. You hesitantly accept it and press it to your mouth; you could smell wax and parchment.
Your cousins approached you and checked on you while Prince Baelor inspected the object that was on your mouth with the fork. His brows furrowed as he looked at it.
“What is that?” Muriel asked, grossed out.
“The Maiden, I believe.” The Prince answered.
You take a closer look at it, and he is correct. It was a small miniature of the maiden with her serene face and gentle smile. How did it end up on the cake?
“Bessie!” A servant cried out. “They found it!”
A woman in an apron covered in flour ran into the hall. That must be Bessie. She runs to your table, not caring about the blood in your mouth or the presence of the prince. She reaches the plate and picks up the miniature of the maiden that was covered in your blood and spit. Mina gags.
“Oh, my lady! You have been blessed.” She tells you with joy as she holds the figure of the maiden up in the air like a war trophy. "Congratulations!"
You let out an indignant noise. Blessed with what? A chipped tooth?
“The Lady is bleeding.” Prince Baelor said with a firm tone that sent shivers down your spine. He put his hand on your shoulder, and you could hear your heart beating in your ears. “She could’ve choked as well. A Lady as been harmed under my roof. Explain yourself or you and your fellow workers will find work elsewhere."
Bessie’s face became white. He didn't raise his voice, not once, but you could hear the promise in his tone.
“My Prince.” The cook cleared her throat. “At every feast of the Maiden, I put a miniature figure on our cake batter, and the maiden who finds it is destined to be wed by the end of the year and have a child within the next. It’s a tradition in my hometown, and it always comes true.”
There’s laughter behind you. It’s a cruel and cold laugh. You recognised that laughter; it’s your former husband’s. He laughed just like that when the Septon declared your union null and void.
You’ve been married for almost ten years, and red has always stained your sheets. When you were late for a few days, you held your breath and then let out a disappointed sigh. You drank tonics that midwives promised to boost fertility, but it only made you want to throw up. You laid on your back and gripped the sheets so hard that your hands cramped when various maesters put their cold hands and instruments between your legs. You held babies in your arms, and for a few minutes you pretended they were yours. You kneeled in front of the statue of the mother and prayed feverishly.
Humiliations flood your body, and you want to disappear.
“I meant no harm, m’lord!" Bessie said, thinking they were laughing at her. “The lady has been chosen by the Maiden!”
You couldn’t control yourself and sobbed into the Prince’s handkerchief.
A hand smashes against the table, rattling the cups and utensils and quieting down the laughter. You look up and see the Prince’s balled fist on the table. He looked at the table where your former husband was sitting with a ferocity that made you wonder if that is how a dragon is supposed to look.
“Ser Delaney, please escort the lady and her cousins to a washroom so that she can clean herself.”
He stared at you, and all of the harshness in his mismatched eyes evaporated, and his gaze softened as he held his hand towards you. You accepted his hand, and he helped you get up. You followed the steward out of the hall with your cousins by your side and eyes staring at you, but you only hoped that the Prince still had his on you.
...
Baelor let out a tired sigh as he walked to the washroom.
The feast has gone well if you ignore the cake accident.
If Baelor had a motive, he would ban Ser Helios from the keep. He can still feel the way her shoulder tensed under his hand when that man laughed cruelly at her, and the sound of her sob echoed in his ear. He’ll make sure the lady and her cousins are settled comfortably and under his care for the remainder of the festival.
He stands in front of the door but stops the guard from announcing his presence. He listened in to the conversation. He listened to the sound of water in the basin and the two young ladies talking to each other. If his old Septa saw him now, she would pull his ear until it turned red.
“That baker is foolish!” He heard one of her cousins say. “Who puts a choking hazard on a cake? What if you had choked instead of harming your mouth?”
“Well, Prince Baelor would’ve probably saved her!" The other cousin said. “Did you see the way he ran the moment she let out that painful screech? For a moment it looked like he was flying.”
Baelor smiled softly but shyly.
The reason why he was so quick to go to her side is because he was staring at her right until she spit out that miniature.
He didn’t mean to. His gaze just kept drifting to that table, and he couldn’t look away. She smiled beautifully, and when her gaze saddened, he just wanted to go to her and bring back that smile. When the cake was placed in front of her, his heart made a funny movement when her tongue poked out and licked the cream off the fork. Then it made another when she winced and let out a pained groan. He jumped off his chair when she leaned forward and spat out blood on the plate.
“And how would he save her? Shoving his fingers down her throat? It would’ve made it worse!”
“Probably!” She giggled. “Have you seen the size of his hands?”
Baelor unconsciously looked at his hands. They’re average for all he knows.
“They probably felt nice.” The cousin teased.
The Lady finally spoke. “By the Seven! He touched my shoulder, not my tit!”
The trio burst into laughter, and the guards at the door turned their heads away to avoid eye contact with the Prince. Baelor eavesdropped enough. With the tips of his ears red, he ordered the guard to announce his presence.
“Prince Baelor Targaryen, my ladies!” The guard announced.
The laughing stopped.
The door opens and he goes in. The three ladies go to the centre of the room and curtsy to him. The cousin, Mina, was biting her lip, trying to contain the laughter that was still stuck in her throat. The other cousin, Muriel, was looking down, begging the floor to swallow her. The Lady, the woman he came to see, was looking directly at him.
“My lady.” Baelor nodded at her. “If you need a Maester, I would be glad to send my personal maester to check on you.”
“You are too kind, my prince.” She said. “The wound has stopped bleeding, so there's no need to create such a fuss.”
"Nonsense." Baelor said quickly. He cleared his throat. “You are a guest, and your comfort is my priority.”
The Lady smiled and she wrung the handkerchief, his handkerchief, in her hands.
“If there’s anything you need… you can come to me.”
The two younger cousins share a look and have a silent conversation among themselves.
“Thank you, your grace.” She looked at the handkerchief in her hand. “Unfourtnulyey, there’s blood on the handkerchief you so kindly gave me. I’ll be sure it’s thoroughly cleaned before returning it to you.”
“Keep it.” Baelor said softly. “Will I still be seeing you at the feast again?”
The Lady smiled sadly and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, my prince. I feel I had my fill of them.”
Baelor buried his disappointment. He understood why. There were a few Lords and Ladies whispering about the baker’s words and how the Gods make funny jests once in a while. He’s not much of a believer like his namesake, but he does wonder if the Maiden has plans for the Lady in front of him. Perhaps it’s just a silly superstition.
...
You stay up at night and stare at the handkerchief Prince Baelor gave to you. The bloodstains have faded thanks to the hard work of the laundress. Part of you, for an unknown reason, felt disappointed you couldn't smell that faint scent of musk and parchment.
You can still remember the way he looked at you. You wonder if he knows your story. If he did, you’ll never forget the way his gaze held no judgement whatsoever and looked like a true person.
The Prince told you to keep it, but as you traced the stitches that formed the dragon sigil, you decided you wanted to do more. At the first sign of light, you sat on the chair near the window and started to embroider. By noon you were done.
You walked through the halls searching for the familiar form of the Lord Hand. You found him in the gardens with his oldest son, Valarr. You smiled but you stopped yourself. Doubt starts to settle in like an uninvited guest.
Would he even accept your gift? He was just being kind to you, nothing else.
You look at the handkerchief in your hand. It’s not perfect now that you take a closer look at it when the sun is at its peak. You did it in such a hurry. The dragon you stitched was a bit crooked; the heads were different sizes, and it looked more like a gecko than a powerful dragon.
You bit your lips as anxiety flooded you. You should leave. You lift your head and your heart skips a beat when you see Prince Baelor staring at you. It starts to beat faster when he says something to Valarr and walks towards you.
You bow when he reaches you.
“My lady, is there anything I can help you with?" He asks gently.
You clear your throat. “I wished to thank you once more for the other day.”
He smiled. “As I told you before, your comfort is my priority."
“Even so, I wish to express my gratitude even more.” You presented him the handkerchief.
Prince Baelor barely looks at it and grabs your hand carefully. Your body shivers with the contact. “My lady, I told you there’s no need to return it…”
“I made it!” You stop him, and you curse yourself for speaking that way with him.
He blinked and looked at the hand holding yours, now noticing how different the piece of fabric on your hand is compared to the one he gave you. He grabs it and holds it carefully. His mismatched eyes analyse the stitches in front of him.
He looks up at you, and his gaze looks different. Relaxed, you could say. “Thank you, my lady.”
“It’s not perfect…” You try to say it.
“It does not matter.” He says softly. “And it being made by your bare hands makes it even more… special.”
You smiled shyly. “The dragon looks like an angry gecko.”
Prince Baelor laughed. “It does look a bit like one. Thank you, once again, my lady.”
You nodded. “You’re welcome, my prince.”
You bowed one more time and left.
Your whole body felt tingly.
...
She made it for him.
She created something with her own hands just for him. Not because she wanted favour with him but because she wanted to thank him and nothing else. Something inside Baelor warmed up.
He carefully traced the stitches. It was not perfect, but he did not care. This was his.
Baelor was so focused on the cloth that he did not hear Valarr call for him until he stood right next to him.
Baelor blinked and looked at his son. “Yes, son?”
“Are you alright?” His son asks.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been calling for you for quite some time and you didn’t answer.”
"Apologies, I was..." He tried to find the words.
“Is that the lady you mentioned the other day at supper? The one whose tooth broke was almost broken by the maiden.”
“Yes, it was her.” He confirmed. “She just wished to thank me one more time.”
“She’s also the one whose marriage got…”
“Let us not speak of someone who is not here to speak for themselves, Valarr.” Baelor snapped, feeling the urge of protecting her even though he knows Valarr wouldn't say anything inflammatory towards her.
Valarr raised a brow but nodded his head. “Of course, father.”
They started walking.
“I do wish to add one thing.” Valarr said after a while. “Her ‘husband’ is quite a pathetic man if you ask me.”
a thought: your husband sending you letters while away at war, letters you always have to burn in case of spies and thieves...but not his name.
Never his name, simply initials scrawled at the end of the parchment in black ink.
You always rip that little piece away and save it, keeping the scraps in a wooden keepsake box with a few other tokens. Dried flowers, little trinkets, love notes you had gotten to keep...and scraps of parchment, some stained with your lipstick, his name over and over and over again.
Gwayne Hightower ♡ Ormund Hightower ♡ Tyrion Lannister ♡ Tyland Lannister ♡ Robb Stark ♡ Jon Snow ♡ Cregan Stark ♡ Edmure Tully ♡ Jace Velaryon ♡ Luke Velaryon ♡ Aemond Targaryen ♡ Daeron the Daring ♡ Roderick Dustin ♡
Since I've been gaining a lot of followers (THANK YOU SO MUCH!), I want to introduce you guys to my OCs for ASOIF.
i swear I want to write these stories, but I end up putting myself in the corner while thinking about how to write certain things.
JAEHAERA TARGARYEN
Face Claim: Devrim Lingnau
The eldest child of Prince Maekar Targaryen, who later became the second wife of her uncle, Baelor Breakspear.
Jaehaera's story is mostly about trying to find a role in the world that keeps on changing before she can learn the ins and outs of it. She goes from de facto lady of Summerhall to the Princess of Dragonstone to the Princess Regent in a span of three years.
She has two children with Baelor: Maekar, who ends up being king after the Spring Sickness and Baela, who was born after her father's death.
ELISABETH GRIMALDI
Face Claim: Vicky Krieps
Prince Maekar's second wife.
Elisabeth Grimaldi is a widow and a mother of two children, Edmund and Rosamund.
Maekar was meant to wed Elisabeth's younger sister, Helena, but he disobeyed the king and queen by declaring he would wed Elisabeth instead. He did this at the dinner that was meant to announce his engagement to Helena!
This storyline is inspired by the real-life event where Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph decided to marry Elizabeth of Bavaria instead of her sister Helene, like it was previously planned.
The only difference is Maekar didn't decide to marry Elisabeth because he fell madly in love with her. It's more a business transaction that is meant to benefit their children the most.
GIULIA TARGARYEN
Face Claim: Kirsten Dunst
You may recognise her if you have been following for a while.
Queen Giulia Targaryen is the youngest daughter of Prince Aemon Targaryen and wife of Viserys.
The Old King wed the cousins when Viserys was 16 and Giulia was 11 right after the death of Giulia's father. This marriage was meant to merge the bloodlines of Aemon and Baelon after it was decided Rhaenys was not meant to inherit the throne due to her gender.
Otto and Giulia end up having an affair when she becomes Queen.
The Dance still happens, but the reason behind it and who the players are is very different from the canon.
It truly speaks loudly how there's no noise about hotd s3 ever after it already dropped it's first ep. Like there's no edits, no theories, no fanarts, no nothing
