Summary: The celebrations have not died down yet in the capital and it has been a week since your husbands confession of his desire to love. A tourney is held over three days for the victory — he is jousting. Mayhaps he will name his wife the queen of love and beauty if he wins. Word count: 7.3k
Characters and contents: Young Maekar Targaryen x wife reader | Forced marriage/political marriage, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, lots of exposition.
Authors note: Firstly I would like to say thank you to everyone who has reposted or interacted with the last part! It really means a lot to me! Secondly I apologize for this taking just over two weeks to write.. so just bear with me.. and lastly, do we like our reader having no specified house so that you all can choose whichever suits best? If not I am more than happy to put up a poll for you all to decide on for following parts!
My master list here - Requests open! Part one here!
Every night for a week the Red Keep was still as jubilant as it was on the first night back from the rebellion. For sevens sake — people went to their chambers drunk and awoke still drunk. Many of the great houses stayed in the crown lands, and many more arrived within the time being. After all, there was a tourney to be held.
It was to take place over the course of three days. The first day would be all of the men who came from nobility, the second day would be hedge knights and sell-swords and whatnot, and on the last day the ones who advanced from the prior days would joust for the title of champion. Today was the first day.
The dawn had came quite early it seemed this morning, or perhaps you went to bed too late into the night with the commemorations. A draft of the ocean breeze entered through the window you left open for the exhausting heat. It was only spring and it was beginning to become unbearable. The smell of the city was never pleasant. If you ignored it enough the smell of the bay was the only thing you could smell, the bay and your expensive oils you applied to the nape of your neck; to your wrists and the insides of your elbows, the nice ones you had imported from Pentos.
Next to you he laid, the prince. Maekar. Your husband. The light that came in cascaded over his body and face and you watched him snore softly. You mumbled under your breath, wishing to silence that sound with a pillow. It had been a going on a week since he had argued with you about only the gods knew what about. Later proclaiming how he wanted to know what love felt like because he saw it on the Redgrass, how he wanted you to teach him, to understand what it is like to have a woman want him in her bed.
In truth, you did not believe it, and rightfully so. The two of you still slept with a pillow in between, yet no longer with backs turned. He did not converse with you at lunch, yet his eyes met yours with admiration. It was unclear what he wanted, you or the idea of you.
You had watched the light dance across the room, heard the bells of the morning chime, and the strong waves of the bay crashing against rocks. When you turned to your side to shield your eyes he had rustled a bit, you turned back and watched him hold onto the pillow and mumbling slightly as he stirred awake.
His tired eyes met your awake ones and he stretched his arms out slightly. “You cannot bear to draw your eyes away from me for a moment my lady?” He chuckled.
“I was already awake before you, do not flatter yourself.” You answered as you tousled your hair in your hands. Maekar offered you a grin as he sat upright in the bed. His face had a look of teasing, he leaned back into the hardwood. He looked around the room and realized just how early it was.
"What's the hour? It seems early no?" He stated, and briefly bringing his rough hand to comb through his mustache.
"No later than the sixth hour I would assume. I have an awful headache." You noted, the sweet wines seemed to have gotten to you especially with the little amount of rest you had gotten.
"Is it a fever or just crapsick?"
"Crapsick, I had too much wine."
A laugh left his lips. “Now you know for next time to not indulge as much.” He pushed the heavy white blanket off of his body and now sat on the ledge of the bed. His bare feet touching the cold stone floors.
You stared at his back. Tracing the scars that he had gotten gently, they were all rather fresh still. He had gotten stitched on a few of them, and the bruises he had earned were slowly fading into a dull purple. He held his arm out and tested the joint of his shoulder, wincing a bit.
“I do not think it wise for you to enter the lists today.”
“Why would that be?”
“Your arm is still in pain.”
He turned his attention back to you and replied, “I hold the lance with my right. The maester says it will be fine as long as I go easy on it.”
“You will still be holding a heavy shield. That is too much weight to bear on a shoulder you broke a fortnight ago.”
“It will be fine. It’s not as if I can break it again.” Maekar noted, giving you a look full of sarcasm. You did not argue with him, it would be easier to just let him be dim-witted. If he were to injure himself again it would not be your fault as you clearly warned him. When he stood up the thought of you caring for him in some manner crossed his mind, he shooed the thought away, laughing to himself.
The sun was still on its journey to make itself to the height of day. The birds were still awakening and some were beginning to just chirp. You laid back in the bed to prepare yourself in an attempt to return to sleep. Maekar noticed your shuffling around and asked the obvious, “You are going back to rest?”
“It’s still extremely early.” You sighed. He moved across the room to call a maid inside for a wash basin. “It is better to just get up. You are already risen. Break your fast with the birds in the Godswood.” A shy girl came in at his request and quickly left to go retrieve what he had asked of her.
You contemplated that thought but deemed it better to break it in your chambers in quiet with no particular person going to bother you as you indulged in honey cakes. When the girl returned he dismissed her and set the basin down on a standing table by the dresser, he lathered soap on his face and pulled a chair to him. He grabbed a sharp blade he kept in a wooden box by his bedside and moved back. Maekar shaved his jawline free from the white fuzz that began to grow and only left the facial hair above his lip that he found now suited him. You watched him carefully, but pulled your eyes away before he could catch you.
It was approaching Midday now and the fanfare would soon begin. You would soon have to go down to the courtyard to join the wives of your in-laws in the carriage taking you all to the tourney grounds. Jena the ever bright would be going to see her husband joust, while the Lady Aelinor and Lady Alys would simply be going for entertainment as neither of their own husbands would be jousting. They much rather preferred keeping their noses in books all day.
The men had ridden off hours earlier to prepare themselves for the taxing activities. They went to warm up their bodies, polish their swords, polish their armor, and test out the field and whatnot. Eventually you arrived at the yard and you donned a loose sage gown in honor of spring. It was lightweight and gave you enough room to move in, the sleeves draped down and the neckline was cut low. Your hair was let down but a circular tiara wrapped itself around your head just reaching your forehead.
When you entered the carriage the three women were already inside and waiting for you. They did not seemed bothered by your tardiness or rather being on time and they just so happened to be early — a relief. On the way to the grounds you all conversed of the usual. The gossip that trickled itself into court was one topic and who would win the joust the another. Neither of you were familiar with any of the men participating in the melee or the archery contests however a jest was made that a Tarly would win the archery simply because of the Tarly sigil.
Alas you all arrived at the spectacle, one of the Kingsguard and several others of the city watch led you to the stands where you would be watching the jousting event. As you passed through the crowds you could see the Red keep looming up ahead. Even from outside the city walls its great shadow made itself ever present. Colorful tents were set up all around and the banners of several houses flew high. The clamor and anticipation of the entire event filled you with a sort of warmth.
You stepped up onto the great wooden stands that were reserved for the royal family. The king was there and so was his wife while Aerys and Rhaegel were absent as expected. The four of you bowed to your husband's parents and took your seats to wait for everything to begin.
The trumpets were loud. They pulled everyone to their feet, the masses clapped and watched as Daeron the good gave the go ahead for it to begin. You sat back down and watched them all ride. The first tilt was a Tully boy whose hair was a fiery red, his opponent was a Royce who looked rather dull. Though he was not dull in his skills since he threw him off his horse.
Almost an hour had passed and you found yourself rather bored. Baelor had ridden against a Blackwood but he had lost the grip on his horse and took a nasty fall. You were dozing off until the herald had loudly disturbed you, announcing the names of those in the coming round. You closed your eyes and rest your face on your hand, not bothering to hear.
"Prince Maekar Targaryen, the anvil!" You quickly opened your eyes to sit up properly to see who he'd be riding against. "Damon Lannister, The grey lion!"
He approached the end of the fence and signaled for his squire to hand him his lance. His armor was in fashion of a dragon. Spikes emblazoned all over his armor, in the center of his chest the sigil of the three-headed dragon decorated him. Your husband's hair was long enough for his silver braid to creep itself out from underneath his helm. A horn blew and he was off. He kicked at the side of his horse and rode hard, yet missed the gray lion by a few inches.
You heard his frustration as he reached the end of the tilt barrier. He grunted loudly and took off his helmet then spat onto the dirt floor. Maekar looked all around the stands and met the eyes of his mother and father — then yours. The world seemed to go still for a moment, his eyebrows softened slightly but stayed in a scowl. The pools of violet engulfing your ever being until he pulled his helmet back over his head to go for a second ride. No lances being broken yet.
Maekar had taken note of the way you looked at him, the way your hair moved in the wind, the color of your dress, gods. BREAK. Damon Lannisters lance had broken through his own lance and he hadn't realized it. He threw down the splintered one, calling for its replacement. Your breath caught in your throat as it broke. The crowd held is breath as well, but let out a cry of joy when he stayed put on his horse.
It was clear who was favorited amongst everyone, the prince. The third round kicked off hastily, another splinter of wood was heard. When their lances had caught both of them were thrown off. Maekar by his white stallion, throwing him hard into the dirt. Your body had reacted quicker than your mind could and you now found yourself standing on two feet with your hand covering your mouth as you gasped.
Everyone around you had gasped, but you were the only person standing. Skirts rustled as heads turned and ladies who were once speaking now went quiet. You felt like a mummer and felt the heat to your face. Quickly you sat back down.
Jena leaned over to you, "My sweet." She laughed slightly.
"Do not." You hissed at her with no malicious intent. Only wishing for not another word to be ushered.
"You were halfway into the yard." You pinched her on the arm where her sleeve exposed skin. She stayed quiet for the remainder of the tourney.
However, the lists fell quiet and observed your husband as he regained his footing, yelling across the field for his squire to bring him his mace. The skinny boy ran across to him handing his preferred weapon.
The grey lion called for his sword and both of their squires pulled the horses away as they began to swing at each-other. Maekar gave him no room to breath, swinging relentlessly at him. He did not fight as the men in songs would. There was nothing graceful much about the way he wielded his mace. Only strength and ruthlessness as he caved the man's armor in.
Damon fell onto his back and held his hands up high in the air as the loud clang on metal rang out.
"I yield!" The poor man yelled out, exhaustion and a hint of fear in his tone.
Maekar threw down his mace and pulled of his helmet roughly. Sweat shone off of his face while blood trickled down his lip. The herald walked over to him and held his arm up high; proclaiming him as the winner of the tilt. The masses all jumped up off of their feet and clapped loudly. They all chanted, "The anvil! The anvil!" You did too with a smile on your face. He gazed up towards you and took note of how you looked in the light of the afternoon.
There were a total of six and ten competitors in the joust. Each competitor went for two tilts each and left eight men to advance for the third day. They would go against the eight who advanced on the second day, six and ten men total once more. Then they would get eliminated one by one until a champion was left. Your husbands second opponent was the Royce from earlier in the day, but he proved to be an easy enough fight, advancing for the third day.
It was well past sunset and the celebrations for the being had finished. You rode back to the keep with exhausted from sitting down on hard wood. The thought of a plush bed comforted your mind so drinking and the revels could wait for a different evening. When the carriage pulled up into the yard you found Maekar dismounting off of his horse. He wore his red doublet now and his bloody lip from earlier seemed to be taken care of. You walked towards him carefully trying not to get trampled over by other horses riding in through the portcullis.
He had noticed you while he was handing over the reins of his horse to his skinny squire. The torches had burned low out here, the stars and the moon dancing above. The pair of you walked towards the steps leading into the keep in silence. He walked slightly ahead of you and you watched as his left hand flexed, his shoulder stiffening.
"You favor it."
"Favor what?"
"Your shoulder."
"It is merely stiff."
"You should have listened to me." You scoffed
His brow raised in utter confusion as if he could not piece together context clues. "About what?"
"About entering the lists."
"I won?"
You shook your head, he simply shrugged his shoulders. A familiar voice could be heard from behind though neither of you thought to turn. Maekar jumped forward as someone from behind clasped onto his shoulder. "There you are!"
Baelor already held a goblet filled with Arbor gold wine, "Come! Your victory of the day is enough reason to drink." He boasted, waiting on his answer.
"I was just heading there."
Baelors eyes turned to yours. "And you, good sister? Will you be joining us?" You yawned slightly at his question. "I find myself in need of rest, but do enjoy yourselves."
"I shall drink for the both of us then." He smiled warmly, bidding you goodnight. You inclined your head to both of them, going on your way up to your chambers to find solace.
The great hall was full of people boasting, goblets clinking, the singers singing whatever song interested the crowds. Fresh capon, warm biscuits, berry tarts, venison, the list could go on. The atmosphere smelled exquisite, it smelled like home. It smelled like the feasts from when he was a boy. The same feasts he had always dreaded and begged his mother to leave early from.
All the candles atop the chandelier were lit. Their hot wax dripping down slowly but surely. There was a crowd of drunken rivermen holding up their cups to him as he passed them simply offering up a nod of appreciation. An old fat lord stopped him, grabbing him by the fabric of his sleeve. "You fought well my prince!" He said heartily — though he could smell the stink of ale on him.
They made their way to a table on a far off corner so nobody would disturb them much. At the dais everybody would approach, and if they weren't sat there they would just think them gone. Much needed after a tiring day of throwing men to their knees.
"The entirety of the Westerlands have sworn that you cheated." His elder brother said as he picked off a grape from a discarded plate. He picked another off and spoke while chewing, "Though in all honesty nobody really believes that. Damon is a bad jouster, nobody understands why he still enters the lists." Now his mouth was full of grapes. Maekar studied them, taking one off of the vine to see if they even tasted pleasant.
"He has too much pride. My squire could win a tilt against him, and the only time he has held a weapon has been to hand it to me." Maekar snorted, he rubbed his shoulder.
"Still hurts?"
"It will heal."
"You had us all worried." A serving girl had placed a fresh goblet in front of the two and Maekar pulled his closer, watching the ripples of the Dornish red dance inside.
"Especially your wife." His head perked up.
"What?"
"You didn't notice?"
"Notice what?"
"Seven hells, no wonder she despises you. When you fell. She stood." Baelor clarified, nudging him. Before he could speak his thoughts more one of his companions approached him, now leaving him there alone on the bench. Why did you stand? Did everyone else stand or was it just you? Gods, he really had not been paying attention. It was not his fault he was half limp on the ground trying to yell for his mace.
He made his way back up to your chambers, leaving the wine on the table untouched. He did grab a honey cake on his way out. The walk was silent, the only other sound being his leather boots on stone. He lifted his arm up, smelling and recoiling. The one thing that would serve him justice would be a scorching bath, the smell of sweat and dirt clung to him like a babe on its mother's teat.
When he entered, he found you asleep on the bed. Your eyes closed as your foot peeked out from under the covers. He did not attempt to wake you, only calling a maid to bring water in for his bath in an unoccupied guest room. However, before he had left he had taken note of how you did not put your defense of pillows up. He raised a brow and left. He returned from his bath dressed and smelling of mint, his hair dripping water. He grabbed pillows that were already at the foot of the bed, laying them in their usual place of inhabitance. Unsure if you meant to forget to set your boundary, seeing that you were tired when you departed from him.
He laid down on his side of the featherbed, firstly fluffing out his pillow and secondly pulling the covers over his sore, aching, bruised body. He would have a Maester see to his wounds on the morrow, but for now sleep would find him. Maekar drifted off quickly into a state of peace, joining you.
The next day was a day of rest, for you at the least. You awoke alone, it must have been noon. The sun was high, not to mention that the bells had begun to chime. It did not bother you that you were up late. Your quarters were empty for once. Your husband must have gone off to watch the second days tilts, most likely scouting out who would be a hard ride or the weaknesses and strengths of his upcoming foes.
Your maids readied you to wander the castle, mayhaps you would visit Jena if she did not attend the second day of Jousts. The castle was oddly quiet, but it was not a surprise to you. The masses loved their entertainment, placing bets, drinking, dancing, who didn't?
You made your way down long halls to see if Jena were in her chambers, knocking gently. A maid opened the door and called back towards her. "There you are!" Jena greeted, she sat on a rug, bouncing a small baby boy on her knee. You made your way deeper into the room towards her.
"I believed that the tourney whisked everyone away from the keep." She laughed as she said that, watching you crouch down to greet her son.
"I believe it has. I only find servants roaming the halls." The babe was no more than a year old, yet with a head full of brown hair with a white silver streak on the side running through it.
"Valarr is big already, isn't he?" You cooed at the babe, yet it was directed to her. He reached a chubby hand out toward your hair and tugged at it. She pulled his hand away before the pulling intensified.
"He does that often, yesterday it was his father's beard."
You giggled at that and answered, "I pity him."
"He was saddened after he was unhorsed and went to drink all night with some Lord. Do not pity him." She laughed as she began to bounce Valarr more hastily on her lap when he grew fussy, only wanting to tug at you once more.
"Maekar was with him." You said. His name slipped from you. You meant to add to the conversation, somehow, someway; but it did not benefit it, confusing her. "And?" Jena questioned, trying to understand your point.
You gazed up confused at her, "Just that he was.. drinking with him." She raised her fiery brow and left the conversation at that. Now focused on the crying boy whose cheeks turned red. "I believe he may need rest." Jena pointed out, standing up and patting his back. She moved across the room, her skirts rustling up behind her as she handed him over to the maid who earlier opened the door. "I shall leave you then."
She looked as if she wanted to stop you, to spend more time with her, but you did not wish to overstay your given time. You knew how much of a nuisance that could be.
The halls remained quiet until well after the sun had set. You had spent the remainder of the day in the godswood, you had your lunch there. Honeyed ham with a strawberry pie to satisfy the tooth you had for sweets. You studied the blooming flowers of the gardens and watched birds sing. It was dusk when you returned to your chambers, when you moved to light a few candles for a source of light you stumbled upon your husband's discarded tunic on the tiles of stone floor. A reminder that he would ride again on the morrow.
Once you finished illuminating the room you quickly left your chambers once more, making your way up the narrow turnpike stairs to where the Maester resided. You asked for bandages and a salve, thanking the old man as you left to return.
You laid the bandages out on his bedside, along with the soothing salve you inquired about. The Maester said it was one of eucalyptus and dried mint, assuring you that he had applied it many times to the bruises and scrapes of men. You changed into your night shift, a loose one that allowed for you to not feel as exhausted with the heat. A book you had been putting for far too long about the histories of the first men caught your eye, you picked it up and settled into the plush chair by the hearth.
As you flipped the pages the noise in the yard down below grew louder with every passing moment, horses whinnying, the sweet tunes of the bards, and the wheels of carriages struggling in the stone. The next page you read spoke of the war with the children of the forest, how they came with bronze swords and great shields. They rode horses and burned down the weirwood trees sacred to the children, provoking the wars.
Rough footsteps approached your quarters and you thought it someone simply passing by until the oaken doors creaked loudly, your head turning to the culprit of the noise. Maekar stood there. He moved across the room and nodded in your direction as a means of greeting. He shrugged off his cloak to toss it on the bed, then took off his gloves with more ease than the last week when you aided him. He paused on his second glove and spoke up, "Did the Maester come by?"
"No."
"Then who left these here?" He resumed with the glove, tucking them into his drawer.
"Leave what where?" You asked, not pulling your eyes away from your pages.
"The bandages, and salve.." He picked them up and moved across the room to sit in the chair beside your own, showing you the objects. You closed your book abruptly, sitting up to look at him.
"I did."
He stayed quiet, "For me?"
"No, I simply thought it nice to adorn your bedside with them." You opened your book once more. "I suppose that was a question a mummer would ask." He laughed slightly.
"Why though? My shoulder has healed." You closed your book again with a sigh, "That is why, because you are so insistent that it has mended on its own. I simply wish to spare everyone from hearing you complain about it." His face now looked as if you had offended him and the new gods. "I shall use it then. If it pleases you." You opened your book for the third time, "I did not bring it to please me."
He unlaced his black tunic, pulling it off over his head in a single gesture. The light from the candles you lit now danced along his body, along the grotesque indigo and green bruise on his left side. He opened the salve as you pretended to read, though your eyes did not move from the page. Maekar pulled his braid to the side and dipped two fingers into the holder.
He rubbed it on his skin, wincing slightly. Yet he struggled to reach the back, you watched for a moment.
"You are doing it wrong."
"Am I..?" He asked with a hint of irritation as he fumbled. You put your book down, again. You moved toward him and picked the salve up, dipping your own fingers. He winced as you put it on properly, it would hurt regardless. "Do you still think it is healed?" He responded by throwing his arms up in surrender.
When you finished rubbing the salve on him you grabbed the bandages that he left discarded and held his arm up, wrapping it tightly around his injury. "It will feel better in the morn, though it will not be healed if that is what you believe." You walked away, making no attempt to pick the book up for another time. You strode off to the bed as he sat there yawning.
"The hedge knights are good."
"Are they?"
"Against each other, we shall see how they fare against me." You let out a laugh, he thought himself Aemon the Dragon knight mayhaps. Though you did not respond yourself, pulling the sheets down from when the maids had tidied and putting your pillows back into the middle of the bed. He rolled his shoulder as he made his way back to the bed.
"You are not going to bathe?"
"I will bathe when I wake, sharpens my senses." He pulled off his breeches only left in his undergarments. You did not understand why he could not bathe now and on the morrow, your face scrunched.
You blew out the candle nearest to you, turning over in the bed. Maekar settled into his own side, pulling the covers up to his waist. Silence fell between the two of you. The room felt less uncomfortable than it had almost a week ago. A sense of familiarity making itself present.
The third and final day of the tourney had arrived alas. Dawn had broken over the city and the castle was alive. You could hear the shuffling of servants throughout the halls as your own maid did your hair. She laid a beautiful hair net adorned with moonstone crystals on the back. Your hair had been braided the night before, when she undid them your hair fell down in an entrancing wave. She was pinning the delicate net in your hair with the help of a younger girl new to your service.
Maekar had came out of his bath with a soft towel around his waist, you stared at him through the mirror as he barked orders at his own servants to bring him his garments. He let his towel drop to the floor as he grabbed them from the boy handing them to him. His buttocks on display for all to see. You pulled your eyes from the mirror to fumble on the clasp of a necklace.
The dress you wore was a white one, you prayed to the seven for it not to dirty easily. It was brand new, just commissioned a fortnight ago from your seamstress. Its sleeves were long, and you had a silver belt wrapped around your waist — inlaid with moonstones as well. Your maids chattered excitedly about who would win the entire thing, they had bets placed with others you would wager. Leo Tyrell was a name you heard leave their lips, you had seen him unhorse his opponents with ease and wondered if he would do the same today.
Your husband left the room a few minutes later to depart on his own horse, the tourney would start earlier than the past days. More time for festivities you supposed, you made your way down to the yard the same as the first day to join Jena, Aelinor and Alys. Aerys and Rhaegel would be watching today, yet they followed on horses behind. Baelor rode with Maekar earlier as well.
The streets from the keep to the grounds were overflowing, barefoot boys selling honey cakes, old beggars pleading for a coin, and the people trying to get there to begin with. You were thankful for being inside the carriage rather than being on your mare. You fanned yourself as you gazed out the window.
You arrived at the grounds over an hour after you had departed, when you arrived to the stands the king and queen still had not been in their seats. The streets held them up no doubt. You called a serving boy for a goblet of cooled cider, cider seemed more appealing than wine. Once King Daeron and Queen Myriah arrived you bowed to them and sat back down. The trumpets blew before you could have a thought process in your head.
The knights each rode out before the crowd, holding their colorful banners or whatever coat of arms they took. The fabrics all danced in cloudless blue sky, among them Maekar rode holding the Targaryen banner. The red three headed dragon against a field of black. His dark armor making him stick out, your eyes found him quickly. He looked up proudly and rode back out to wait for his tilt.
The opening tilts passed by quickly, lances ripping faster than you could blink. They split cleanly against shields, one knight from the Stormlands fell off his horse before a lance even came into contact with his body. The crowd laughed at him, though you felt sorry for the man. Now he would have to ransom back his horse and gear for nothing.
Coins were exchanged all throughout the stands, wine had spilled, boos and cheers were made. Maekar rode his first tilt well, he advanced into the following round.
By midday only four men remained. A hedge knight made it till now and it surprised everyone. He rode out in front of the crowd, his armor looked dull and worn out. Following behind him was the prince. His armor polished, looking like obsidian in the bright sun.
"I almost pity the lad." You heard Aelinor say to Alys beside you. He looked no older than six and ten name days. He took off his helmet to bow his head, as did the prince. The boys hair was a mousy color, his eyes big. You were unsure if they were naturally like that or if it was the fear.
The trumpets sounded and they rounded their horses to the ends of the tilt barrier. Their squires handed them their lances and shields, running off quickly to avoid being caught in the havoc. Their destriers charged against each other. Dirt flew with the rough pounding of the ground. The boys lance caught on Maekars shield harmlessly, while his caught on the center of his breastplate.
The hedge knight had been thrown clean off, tumbling down onto the floor. Everyone stood, the acclamation was deafening to your ears. He pushed himself up to the ground as his squire no younger than him ran to his aid. Maekar reined his horse over, inclining his head out of respect before riding back out.
Relief washed over you, yet not entirely. You knew another tilt to determine his opponent remained. The next men to approach the Royal pavilion were Leo Tyrell and Willas Estermont. Leo's armor looked as if a garden grew on him, it was a vibrant green. The rose of Tyrell engraved onto the center of his chest as vines branched off onto his arms in a white gold. It looked too delicate for war, doubtless you knew he was showing off. His jaw was hard and his beard grew thick, the color of chestnut.
Willas Estermont's armor was not as flashy, a simple silver with the turtle of his house adorning his chest. They both rode off after their courtesies, Leo Tyrell looked unafraid, his contender looked unsure as his horse would not stop shifting beneath him.
As the heralds cry broke out, hooves thundered across the lists. Leo rode as if he knew the outcome, he looked clean, it almost annoyed you with how sure he looked. His lance looked as if it were to hit, yet it did not. Willas had cracked his shield and made him falter, wood hit the ground and Leo Tyrell shifted from his horse as it buckled from the force of the impact.
He grunted loudly, yelling at his squire for a new shield while his foe called for a new lance. Again they lined up, lances held steadily. However, it was uncertain who would win now. Was Leo Tyrell as good as you thought him? Was the gossip of your maids true?
They thundered off once more and you bit the inside of your cheek, you felt as if you yourself were charging against him. The impact rang out once more as wood exploded. Leo's lance splintering against Willas Estermont's painted shield. He had won. He held his reins as he strode off casually. He was too arrogant to even acknowledge the man on the ground yelling out for his squire and left without a nod of respect. Seven hells.
The crowd did not settle properly after that round, bets were being made on who would win it all. Baelor rises from his seat and walked over to Rhaegel, "Will you place a bet with me?"
"I am not going to bet against our brother with you. Find a different person." He quickly laughed, shooing his elder brother away.
The herald came out to announce the final tilt. "Prince Maekar of House Targaryen and Leo of House Tyrell!" The masses exploded. Cheers and screams for each contender. They both drew near to the King and Queen for a final time and retreaded to their designated side of the barrier.
Seven hells.
The crowd did not settle properly after that round, bets were being made on who would win it all. Baelor rises from his seat and walked over to Rhaegel, "Will you place a bet with me?"
"I am not going to bet against our brother with you. Find a different person." He quickly laughed, shooing his elder brother away.
The herald came out to announce the final tilt. "Prince Maekar of House Targaryen and Leo of House Tyrell!" The masses exploded. Cheers and screams for each contender. They wanted an upset. They both drew near to the King and Queen for a final time and retreaded to their designated side of the barrier. Leo Tyrell had a confident smile on his face.
The trumpets sounded the second they had a grip on shield and lance. The first pass both lances shattered yet they did not falter from their destriers. Maekars white stallion whined at the force, he soothed him, petting the side of his neck. He rounded him to his squire, calling for new equipment. As he settled back in line he tugged at his armor protecting his bad side. You thought him a fool then.
The second pass nobody had faltered, both men had missed each other by a few inches. You now gripped your seat tightly in agonizing anticipation. You could see how irritated Maekar was just by his body language, he rolled his shoulder once more and lifted his helmet to spit on the ground. His violet eyes piercing through the eyes of his foe.
The third pass kicked off and Leos lance seemed perfectly aligned to throw Maekar off his stallion. Though, Maekars lance hit him before his own could reach his shield. The crowd fell into a hush of silence, unsure if the blow was enough to declare him champion.
Leo Tyrell struggled with the reins as his horse panicked under his body. He was thrown off. The crowds silence was broken as your husband was declared the winner of the joust. You clapped and cheered for him, now you could truly feel relieved. He threw his shield and lance to the ground, freeing himself of his helm. He beamed and lifted his arm up, riding around the lists and drinking in the glory. He dismounted his horse and walked over to his fallen enemy, holding out a hand and lifting him up.
"Well rode, my prince." Leo said to him.
"Well rode as well, my Lord." He clasped him on the shoulder when he was on two feet and walked back over to mount his horse.
Maekar nudged his destrier in the direction of the herald. The old man stood there on his post, holding the victor's laurel, a wreath of white roses. He extended it towards him with two hands.
"The queen of love and beauty, my prince." The crowd had not yet calmed from the win. The dust had settled however and Maekar accepted the circlet from him.
The smell hit him hard, they were freshly bloomed. Their sweet scent covered up the sweat and dirt of the lists. Tradition held in the seven kingdoms that the victor of a tourney could select any woman present and name her queen of love and beauty. Dedicating his victory to her. It was frowned upon for a married man to name someone other than his wife, an invitation for scandal. However, most of the younger girls sat up straighter in their seats once he had rounded his horse to the stands once more. Noble ladies and fair maidens all wanted the honor that lasted for the night.
He called for his lance a final time and put the circlet of flowers onto it. He looked towards ladies hiding behind their jeweled fans, blushing maidens, to girls fixing their veils and began to ride. He glanced up at a few, tugging at the reins for his stallion to halt. More than a few of them smiled at him hopefully, giggling. He hesitated, yet tugged again.
His horse led him through the stands, passing one lady, then a second, then a third. He could have chosen any of them yet he did not. His eyes searched only for one woman. They found her almost immediately.
Moonstones glimmering in the afternoon sun, her dress white like doves, her hair moving slowly in the breeze. You were watching him. The words that Baelor had told him came to mind, that you stood when he was unhorsed. Now you watched him. Like he mattered. His hands tightened. He knew what they would make of this, they would sing songs of the anvils love for his wife. People would whisper. You were his wife, was that not enough justification?
He hesitated once more before galloping towards you. He sat there nervously, swallowing hard before speaking loudly for all to hear.
"My lady." He raised his lance up towards you. You stood up, leaning over the wood that kept you from falling onto him. You extended your arm down towards the wreath, removing it from the tip of his lance as you held yourself. You smiled down at him softly and his pale skin reddened. Everyone was watching you both. Seven hells.
You placed the flowers atop your head then you spoke, "I thank you for the honor, my prince."
"It is my pleasure." His deep voice projected. You sat back down and watched him ride off, the masses even louder than when he won the damned joust. Jena nudged you as your smile remained on your face long after he left your view.
"You seem to have taken a liking to him."
"I am only relieved he did not break his other shoulder."
"I do not believe that to be entirely true." You did not correct her.
The royal party began to rise from their places, to head back to the keep to the victor's feast. You followed them down to the carriage, yet your eye caught the black tent with the banner of the dragon flying atop. You excused yourself and made your way over to the tent, pushing aside the flap. Inside Maekar stood there with his squire removing his armor. He cocked his head, then excused the boy. He passed you, bowing to you and leaving hastily.
"My lady."
"My prince."
Your lips perked up in another smile. "Do you like them?" He asked, nudging his head to the roses on your head.
"They're beautiful." You answered. He moved closer to you, adjusting them slightly. He moved his hand down towards your face, tracing your lips with his thumb. You gazed up at him. The flaps leading inside stirred and you quickly moved away from each other. His eyes remained on yours for a moment before pulling away to look who had entered.
"What are you two waiting for? There is a feast to attend!" The intruder known as Baelor exclaimed. Maekar sighed, turning to see you laughing.
Summary: The celebrations have not died down yet in the capital and it has been a week since your husbands confession of his desire to love. A tourney is held over three days for the victory — he is jousting. Mayhaps he will name his wife the queen of love and beauty if he wins. Word count: 7.3k
Characters and contents: Young Maekar Targaryen x wife reader | Forced marriage/political marriage, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, lots of exposition.
Authors note: Firstly I would like to say thank you to everyone who has reposted or interacted with the last part! It really means a lot to me! Secondly I apologize for this taking just over two weeks to write.. so just bear with me.. and lastly, do we like our reader having no specified house so that you all can choose whichever suits best? If not I am more than happy to put up a poll for you all to decide on for following parts!
My master list here - Requests open! Part one here!
Every night for a week the Red Keep was still as jubilant as it was on the first night back from the rebellion. For sevens sake — people went to their chambers drunk and awoke still drunk. Many of the great houses stayed in the crown lands, and many more arrived within the time being. After all, there was a tourney to be held.
It was to take place over the course of three days. The first day would be all of the men who came from nobility, the second day would be hedge knights and sell-swords and whatnot, and on the last day the ones who advanced from the prior days would joust for the title of champion. Today was the first day.
The dawn had came quite early it seemed this morning, or perhaps you went to bed too late into the night with the commemorations. A draft of the ocean breeze entered through the window you left open for the exhausting heat. It was only spring and it was beginning to become unbearable. The smell of the city was never pleasant. If you ignored it enough the smell of the bay was the only thing you could smell, the bay and your expensive oils you applied to the nape of your neck; to your wrists and the insides of your elbows, the nice ones you had imported from Pentos.
Next to you he laid, the prince. Maekar. Your husband. The light that came in cascaded over his body and face and you watched him snore softly. You mumbled under your breath, wishing to silence that sound with a pillow. It had been a going on a week since he had argued with you about only the gods knew what about. Later proclaiming how he wanted to know what love felt like because he saw it on the Redgrass, how he wanted you to teach him, to understand what it is like to have a woman want him in her bed.
In truth, you did not believe it, and rightfully so. The two of you still slept with a pillow in between, yet no longer with backs turned. He did not converse with you at lunch, yet his eyes met yours with admiration. It was unclear what he wanted, you or the idea of you.
You had watched the light dance across the room, heard the bells of the morning chime, and the strong waves of the bay crashing against rocks. When you turned to your side to shield your eyes he had rustled a bit, you turned back and watched him hold onto the pillow and mumbling slightly as he stirred awake.
His tired eyes met your awake ones and he stretched his arms out slightly. “You cannot bear to draw your eyes away from me for a moment my lady?” He chuckled.
“I was already awake before you, do not flatter yourself.” You answered as you tousled your hair in your hands. Maekar offered you a grin as he sat upright in the bed. His face had a look of teasing, he leaned back into the hardwood. He looked around the room and realized just how early it was.
"What's the hour? It seems early no?" He stated, and briefly bringing his rough hand to comb through his mustache.
"No later than the sixth hour I would assume. I have an awful headache." You noted, the sweet wines seemed to have gotten to you especially with the little amount of rest you had gotten.
"Is it a fever or just crapsick?"
"Crapsick, I had too much wine."
A laugh left his lips. “Now you know for next time to not indulge as much.” He pushed the heavy white blanket off of his body and now sat on the ledge of the bed. His bare feet touching the cold stone floors.
You stared at his back. Tracing the scars that he had gotten gently, they were all rather fresh still. He had gotten stitched on a few of them, and the bruises he had earned were slowly fading into a dull purple. He held his arm out and tested the joint of his shoulder, wincing a bit.
“I do not think it wise for you to enter the lists today.”
“Why would that be?”
“Your arm is still in pain.”
He turned his attention back to you and replied, “I hold the lance with my right. The maester says it will be fine as long as I go easy on it.”
“You will still be holding a heavy shield. That is too much weight to bear on a shoulder you broke a fortnight ago.”
“It will be fine. It’s not as if I can break it again.” Maekar noted, giving you a look full of sarcasm. You did not argue with him, it would be easier to just let him be dim-witted. If he were to injure himself again it would not be your fault as you clearly warned him. When he stood up the thought of you caring for him in some manner crossed his mind, he shooed the thought away, laughing to himself.
The sun was still on its journey to make itself to the height of day. The birds were still awakening and some were beginning to just chirp. You laid back in the bed to prepare yourself in an attempt to return to sleep. Maekar noticed your shuffling around and asked the obvious, “You are going back to rest?”
“It’s still extremely early.” You sighed. He moved across the room to call a maid inside for a wash basin. “It is better to just get up. You are already risen. Break your fast with the birds in the Godswood.” A shy girl came in at his request and quickly left to go retrieve what he had asked of her.
You contemplated that thought but deemed it better to break it in your chambers in quiet with no particular person going to bother you as you indulged in honey cakes. When the girl returned he dismissed her and set the basin down on a standing table by the dresser, he lathered soap on his face and pulled a chair to him. He grabbed a sharp blade he kept in a wooden box by his bedside and moved back. Maekar shaved his jawline free from the white fuzz that began to grow and only left the facial hair above his lip that he found now suited him. You watched him carefully, but pulled your eyes away before he could catch you.
It was approaching Midday now and the fanfare would soon begin. You would soon have to go down to the courtyard to join the wives of your in-laws in the carriage taking you all to the tourney grounds. Jena the ever bright would be going to see her husband joust, while the Lady Aelinor and Lady Alys would simply be going for entertainment as neither of their own husbands would be jousting. They much rather preferred keeping their noses in books all day.
The men had ridden off hours earlier to prepare themselves for the taxing activities. They went to warm up their bodies, polish their swords, polish their armor, and test out the field and whatnot. Eventually you arrived at the yard and you donned a loose sage gown in honor of spring. It was lightweight and gave you enough room to move in, the sleeves draped down and the neckline was cut low. Your hair was let down but a circular tiara wrapped itself around your head just reaching your forehead.
When you entered the carriage the three women were already inside and waiting for you. They did not seemed bothered by your tardiness or rather being on time and they just so happened to be early — a relief. On the way to the grounds you all conversed of the usual. The gossip that trickled itself into court was one topic and who would win the joust the another. Neither of you were familiar with any of the men participating in the melee or the archery contests however a jest was made that a Tarly would win the archery simply because of the Tarly sigil.
Alas you all arrived at the spectacle, one of the Kingsguard and several others of the city watch led you to the stands where you would be watching the jousting event. As you passed through the crowds you could see the Red keep looming up ahead. Even from outside the city walls its great shadow made itself ever present. Colorful tents were set up all around and the banners of several houses flew high. The clamor and anticipation of the entire event filled you with a sort of warmth.
You stepped up onto the great wooden stands that were reserved for the royal family. The king was there and so was his wife while Aerys and Rhaegel were absent as expected. The four of you bowed to your husband's parents and took your seats to wait for everything to begin.
The trumpets were loud. They pulled everyone to their feet, the masses clapped and watched as Daeron the good gave the go ahead for it to begin. You sat back down and watched them all ride. The first tilt was a Tully boy whose hair was a fiery red, his opponent was a Royce who looked rather dull. Though he was not dull in his skills since he threw him off his horse.
Almost an hour had passed and you found yourself rather bored. Baelor had ridden against a Blackwood but he had lost the grip on his horse and took a nasty fall. You were dozing off until the herald had loudly disturbed you, announcing the names of those in the coming round. You closed your eyes and rest your face on your hand, not bothering to hear.
"Prince Maekar Targaryen, the anvil!" You quickly opened your eyes to sit up properly to see who he'd be riding against. "Damon Lannister, The grey lion!"
He approached the end of the fence and signaled for his squire to hand him his lance. His armor was in fashion of a dragon. Spikes emblazoned all over his armor, in the center of his chest the sigil of the three-headed dragon decorated him. Your husband's hair was long enough for his silver braid to creep itself out from underneath his helm. A horn blew and he was off. He kicked at the side of his horse and rode hard, yet missed the gray lion by a few inches.
You heard his frustration as he reached the end of the tilt barrier. He grunted loudly and took off his helmet then spat onto the dirt floor. Maekar looked all around the stands and met the eyes of his mother and father — then yours. The world seemed to go still for a moment, his eyebrows softened slightly but stayed in a scowl. The pools of violet engulfing your ever being until he pulled his helmet back over his head to go for a second ride. No lances being broken yet.
Maekar had taken note of the way you looked at him, the way your hair moved in the wind, the color of your dress, gods. BREAK. Damon Lannisters lance had broken through his own lance and he hadn't realized it. He threw down the splintered one, calling for its replacement. Your breath caught in your throat as it broke. The crowd held is breath as well, but let out a cry of joy when he stayed put on his horse.
It was clear who was favorited amongst everyone, the prince. The third round kicked off hastily, another splinter of wood was heard. When their lances had caught both of them were thrown off. Maekar by his white stallion, throwing him hard into the dirt. Your body had reacted quicker than your mind could and you now found yourself standing on two feet with your hand covering your mouth as you gasped.
Everyone around you had gasped, but you were the only person standing. Skirts rustled as heads turned and ladies who were once speaking now went quiet. You felt like a mummer and felt the heat to your face. Quickly you sat back down.
Jena leaned over to you, "My sweet." She laughed slightly.
"Do not." You hissed at her with no malicious intent. Only wishing for not another word to be ushered.
"You were halfway into the yard." You pinched her on the arm where her sleeve exposed skin. She stayed quiet for the remainder of the tourney.
However, the lists fell quiet and observed your husband as he regained his footing, yelling across the field for his squire to bring him his mace. The skinny boy ran across to him handing his preferred weapon.
The grey lion called for his sword and both of their squires pulled the horses away as they began to swing at each-other. Maekar gave him no room to breath, swinging relentlessly at him. He did not fight as the men in songs would. There was nothing graceful much about the way he wielded his mace. Only strength and ruthlessness as he caved the man's armor in.
Damon fell onto his back and held his hands up high in the air as the loud clang on metal rang out.
"I yield!" The poor man yelled out, exhaustion and a hint of fear in his tone.
Maekar threw down his mace and pulled of his helmet roughly. Sweat shone off of his face while blood trickled down his lip. The herald walked over to him and held his arm up high; proclaiming him as the winner of the tilt. The masses all jumped up off of their feet and clapped loudly. They all chanted, "The anvil! The anvil!" You did too with a smile on your face. He gazed up towards you and took note of how you looked in the light of the afternoon.
There were a total of six and ten competitors in the joust. Each competitor went for two tilts each and left eight men to advance for the third day. They would go against the eight who advanced on the second day, six and ten men total once more. Then they would get eliminated one by one until a champion was left. Your husbands second opponent was the Royce from earlier in the day, but he proved to be an easy enough fight, advancing for the third day.
It was well past sunset and the celebrations for the being had finished. You rode back to the keep with exhausted from sitting down on hard wood. The thought of a plush bed comforted your mind so drinking and the revels could wait for a different evening. When the carriage pulled up into the yard you found Maekar dismounting off of his horse. He wore his red doublet now and his bloody lip from earlier seemed to be taken care of. You walked towards him carefully trying not to get trampled over by other horses riding in through the portcullis.
He had noticed you while he was handing over the reins of his horse to his skinny squire. The torches had burned low out here, the stars and the moon dancing above. The pair of you walked towards the steps leading into the keep in silence. He walked slightly ahead of you and you watched as his left hand flexed, his shoulder stiffening.
"You favor it."
"Favor what?"
"Your shoulder."
"It is merely stiff."
"You should have listened to me." You scoffed
His brow raised in utter confusion as if he could not piece together context clues. "About what?"
"About entering the lists."
"I won?"
You shook your head, he simply shrugged his shoulders. A familiar voice could be heard from behind though neither of you thought to turn. Maekar jumped forward as someone from behind clasped onto his shoulder. "There you are!"
Baelor already held a goblet filled with Arbor gold wine, "Come! Your victory of the day is enough reason to drink." He boasted, waiting on his answer.
"I was just heading there."
Baelors eyes turned to yours. "And you, good sister? Will you be joining us?" You yawned slightly at his question. "I find myself in need of rest, but do enjoy yourselves."
"I shall drink for the both of us then." He smiled warmly, bidding you goodnight. You inclined your head to both of them, going on your way up to your chambers to find solace.
The great hall was full of people boasting, goblets clinking, the singers singing whatever song interested the crowds. Fresh capon, warm biscuits, berry tarts, venison, the list could go on. The atmosphere smelled exquisite, it smelled like home. It smelled like the feasts from when he was a boy. The same feasts he had always dreaded and begged his mother to leave early from.
All the candles atop the chandelier were lit. Their hot wax dripping down slowly but surely. There was a crowd of drunken rivermen holding up their cups to him as he passed them simply offering up a nod of appreciation. An old fat lord stopped him, grabbing him by the fabric of his sleeve. "You fought well my prince!" He said heartily — though he could smell the stink of ale on him.
They made their way to a table on a far off corner so nobody would disturb them much. At the dais everybody would approach, and if they weren't sat there they would just think them gone. Much needed after a tiring day of throwing men to their knees.
"The entirety of the Westerlands have sworn that you cheated." His elder brother said as he picked off a grape from a discarded plate. He picked another off and spoke while chewing, "Though in all honesty nobody really believes that. Damon is a bad jouster, nobody understands why he still enters the lists." Now his mouth was full of grapes. Maekar studied them, taking one off of the vine to see if they even tasted pleasant.
"He has too much pride. My squire could win a tilt against him, and the only time he has held a weapon has been to hand it to me." Maekar snorted, he rubbed his shoulder.
"Still hurts?"
"It will heal."
"You had us all worried." A serving girl had placed a fresh goblet in front of the two and Maekar pulled his closer, watching the ripples of the Dornish red dance inside.
"Especially your wife." His head perked up.
"What?"
"You didn't notice?"
"Notice what?"
"Seven hells, no wonder she despises you. When you fell. She stood." Baelor clarified, nudging him. Before he could speak his thoughts more one of his companions approached him, now leaving him there alone on the bench. Why did you stand? Did everyone else stand or was it just you? Gods, he really had not been paying attention. It was not his fault he was half limp on the ground trying to yell for his mace.
He made his way back up to your chambers, leaving the wine on the table untouched. He did grab a honey cake on his way out. The walk was silent, the only other sound being his leather boots on stone. He lifted his arm up, smelling and recoiling. The one thing that would serve him justice would be a scorching bath, the smell of sweat and dirt clung to him like a babe on its mother's teat.
When he entered, he found you asleep on the bed. Your eyes closed as your foot peeked out from under the covers. He did not attempt to wake you, only calling a maid to bring water in for his bath in an unoccupied guest room. However, before he had left he had taken note of how you did not put your defense of pillows up. He raised a brow and left. He returned from his bath dressed and smelling of mint, his hair dripping water. He grabbed pillows that were already at the foot of the bed, laying them in their usual place of inhabitance. Unsure if you meant to forget to set your boundary, seeing that you were tired when you departed from him.
He laid down on his side of the featherbed, firstly fluffing out his pillow and secondly pulling the covers over his sore, aching, bruised body. He would have a Maester see to his wounds on the morrow, but for now sleep would find him. Maekar drifted off quickly into a state of peace, joining you.
The next day was a day of rest, for you at the least. You awoke alone, it must have been noon. The sun was high, not to mention that the bells had begun to chime. It did not bother you that you were up late. Your quarters were empty for once. Your husband must have gone off to watch the second days tilts, most likely scouting out who would be a hard ride or the weaknesses and strengths of his upcoming foes.
Your maids readied you to wander the castle, mayhaps you would visit Jena if she did not attend the second day of Jousts. The castle was oddly quiet, but it was not a surprise to you. The masses loved their entertainment, placing bets, drinking, dancing, who didn't?
You made your way down long halls to see if Jena were in her chambers, knocking gently. A maid opened the door and called back towards her. "There you are!" Jena greeted, she sat on a rug, bouncing a small baby boy on her knee. You made your way deeper into the room towards her.
"I believed that the tourney whisked everyone away from the keep." She laughed as she said that, watching you crouch down to greet her son.
"I believe it has. I only find servants roaming the halls." The babe was no more than a year old, yet with a head full of brown hair with a white silver streak on the side running through it.
"Valarr is big already, isn't he?" You cooed at the babe, yet it was directed to her. He reached a chubby hand out toward your hair and tugged at it. She pulled his hand away before the pulling intensified.
"He does that often, yesterday it was his father's beard."
You giggled at that and answered, "I pity him."
"He was saddened after he was unhorsed and went to drink all night with some Lord. Do not pity him." She laughed as she began to bounce Valarr more hastily on her lap when he grew fussy, only wanting to tug at you once more.
"Maekar was with him." You said. His name slipped from you. You meant to add to the conversation, somehow, someway; but it did not benefit it, confusing her. "And?" Jena questioned, trying to understand your point.
You gazed up confused at her, "Just that he was.. drinking with him." She raised her fiery brow and left the conversation at that. Now focused on the crying boy whose cheeks turned red. "I believe he may need rest." Jena pointed out, standing up and patting his back. She moved across the room, her skirts rustling up behind her as she handed him over to the maid who earlier opened the door. "I shall leave you then."
She looked as if she wanted to stop you, to spend more time with her, but you did not wish to overstay your given time. You knew how much of a nuisance that could be.
The halls remained quiet until well after the sun had set. You had spent the remainder of the day in the godswood, you had your lunch there. Honeyed ham with a strawberry pie to satisfy the tooth you had for sweets. You studied the blooming flowers of the gardens and watched birds sing. It was dusk when you returned to your chambers, when you moved to light a few candles for a source of light you stumbled upon your husband's discarded tunic on the tiles of stone floor. A reminder that he would ride again on the morrow.
Once you finished illuminating the room you quickly left your chambers once more, making your way up the narrow turnpike stairs to where the Maester resided. You asked for bandages and a salve, thanking the old man as you left to return.
You laid the bandages out on his bedside, along with the soothing salve you inquired about. The Maester said it was one of eucalyptus and dried mint, assuring you that he had applied it many times to the bruises and scrapes of men. You changed into your night shift, a loose one that allowed for you to not feel as exhausted with the heat. A book you had been putting for far too long about the histories of the first men caught your eye, you picked it up and settled into the plush chair by the hearth.
As you flipped the pages the noise in the yard down below grew louder with every passing moment, horses whinnying, the sweet tunes of the bards, and the wheels of carriages struggling in the stone. The next page you read spoke of the war with the children of the forest, how they came with bronze swords and great shields. They rode horses and burned down the weirwood trees sacred to the children, provoking the wars.
Rough footsteps approached your quarters and you thought it someone simply passing by until the oaken doors creaked loudly, your head turning to the culprit of the noise. Maekar stood there. He moved across the room and nodded in your direction as a means of greeting. He shrugged off his cloak to toss it on the bed, then took off his gloves with more ease than the last week when you aided him. He paused on his second glove and spoke up, "Did the Maester come by?"
"No."
"Then who left these here?" He resumed with the glove, tucking them into his drawer.
"Leave what where?" You asked, not pulling your eyes away from your pages.
"The bandages, and salve.." He picked them up and moved across the room to sit in the chair beside your own, showing you the objects. You closed your book abruptly, sitting up to look at him.
"I did."
He stayed quiet, "For me?"
"No, I simply thought it nice to adorn your bedside with them." You opened your book once more. "I suppose that was a question a mummer would ask." He laughed slightly.
"Why though? My shoulder has healed." You closed your book again with a sigh, "That is why, because you are so insistent that it has mended on its own. I simply wish to spare everyone from hearing you complain about it." His face now looked as if you had offended him and the new gods. "I shall use it then. If it pleases you." You opened your book for the third time, "I did not bring it to please me."
He unlaced his black tunic, pulling it off over his head in a single gesture. The light from the candles you lit now danced along his body, along the grotesque indigo and green bruise on his left side. He opened the salve as you pretended to read, though your eyes did not move from the page. Maekar pulled his braid to the side and dipped two fingers into the holder.
He rubbed it on his skin, wincing slightly. Yet he struggled to reach the back, you watched for a moment.
"You are doing it wrong."
"Am I..?" He asked with a hint of irritation as he fumbled. You put your book down, again. You moved toward him and picked the salve up, dipping your own fingers. He winced as you put it on properly, it would hurt regardless. "Do you still think it is healed?" He responded by throwing his arms up in surrender.
When you finished rubbing the salve on him you grabbed the bandages that he left discarded and held his arm up, wrapping it tightly around his injury. "It will feel better in the morn, though it will not be healed if that is what you believe." You walked away, making no attempt to pick the book up for another time. You strode off to the bed as he sat there yawning.
"The hedge knights are good."
"Are they?"
"Against each other, we shall see how they fare against me." You let out a laugh, he thought himself Aemon the Dragon knight mayhaps. Though you did not respond yourself, pulling the sheets down from when the maids had tidied and putting your pillows back into the middle of the bed. He rolled his shoulder as he made his way back to the bed.
"You are not going to bathe?"
"I will bathe when I wake, sharpens my senses." He pulled off his breeches only left in his undergarments. You did not understand why he could not bathe now and on the morrow, your face scrunched.
You blew out the candle nearest to you, turning over in the bed. Maekar settled into his own side, pulling the covers up to his waist. Silence fell between the two of you. The room felt less uncomfortable than it had almost a week ago. A sense of familiarity making itself present.
The third and final day of the tourney had arrived alas. Dawn had broken over the city and the castle was alive. You could hear the shuffling of servants throughout the halls as your own maid did your hair. She laid a beautiful hair net adorned with moonstone crystals on the back. Your hair had been braided the night before, when she undid them your hair fell down in an entrancing wave. She was pinning the delicate net in your hair with the help of a younger girl new to your service.
Maekar had came out of his bath with a soft towel around his waist, you stared at him through the mirror as he barked orders at his own servants to bring him his garments. He let his towel drop to the floor as he grabbed them from the boy handing them to him. His buttocks on display for all to see. You pulled your eyes from the mirror to fumble on the clasp of a necklace.
The dress you wore was a white one, you prayed to the seven for it not to dirty easily. It was brand new, just commissioned a fortnight ago from your seamstress. Its sleeves were long, and you had a silver belt wrapped around your waist — inlaid with moonstones as well. Your maids chattered excitedly about who would win the entire thing, they had bets placed with others you would wager. Leo Tyrell was a name you heard leave their lips, you had seen him unhorse his opponents with ease and wondered if he would do the same today.
Your husband left the room a few minutes later to depart on his own horse, the tourney would start earlier than the past days. More time for festivities you supposed, you made your way down to the yard the same as the first day to join Jena, Aelinor and Alys. Aerys and Rhaegel would be watching today, yet they followed on horses behind. Baelor rode with Maekar earlier as well.
The streets from the keep to the grounds were overflowing, barefoot boys selling honey cakes, old beggars pleading for a coin, and the people trying to get there to begin with. You were thankful for being inside the carriage rather than being on your mare. You fanned yourself as you gazed out the window.
You arrived at the grounds over an hour after you had departed, when you arrived to the stands the king and queen still had not been in their seats. The streets held them up no doubt. You called a serving boy for a goblet of cooled cider, cider seemed more appealing than wine. Once King Daeron and Queen Myriah arrived you bowed to them and sat back down. The trumpets blew before you could have a thought process in your head.
The knights each rode out before the crowd, holding their colorful banners or whatever coat of arms they took. The fabrics all danced in cloudless blue sky, among them Maekar rode holding the Targaryen banner. The red three headed dragon against a field of black. His dark armor making him stick out, your eyes found him quickly. He looked up proudly and rode back out to wait for his tilt.
The opening tilts passed by quickly, lances ripping faster than you could blink. They split cleanly against shields, one knight from the Stormlands fell off his horse before a lance even came into contact with his body. The crowd laughed at him, though you felt sorry for the man. Now he would have to ransom back his horse and gear for nothing.
Coins were exchanged all throughout the stands, wine had spilled, boos and cheers were made. Maekar rode his first tilt well, he advanced into the following round.
By midday only four men remained. A hedge knight made it till now and it surprised everyone. He rode out in front of the crowd, his armor looked dull and worn out. Following behind him was the prince. His armor polished, looking like obsidian in the bright sun.
"I almost pity the lad." You heard Aelinor say to Alys beside you. He looked no older than six and ten name days. He took off his helmet to bow his head, as did the prince. The boys hair was a mousy color, his eyes big. You were unsure if they were naturally like that or if it was the fear.
The trumpets sounded and they rounded their horses to the ends of the tilt barrier. Their squires handed them their lances and shields, running off quickly to avoid being caught in the havoc. Their destriers charged against each other. Dirt flew with the rough pounding of the ground. The boys lance caught on Maekars shield harmlessly, while his caught on the center of his breastplate.
The hedge knight had been thrown clean off, tumbling down onto the floor. Everyone stood, the acclamation was deafening to your ears. He pushed himself up to the ground as his squire no younger than him ran to his aid. Maekar reined his horse over, inclining his head out of respect before riding back out.
Relief washed over you, yet not entirely. You knew another tilt to determine his opponent remained. The next men to approach the Royal pavilion were Leo Tyrell and Willas Estermont. Leo's armor looked as if a garden grew on him, it was a vibrant green. The rose of Tyrell engraved onto the center of his chest as vines branched off onto his arms in a white gold. It looked too delicate for war, doubtless you knew he was showing off. His jaw was hard and his beard grew thick, the color of chestnut.
Willas Estermont's armor was not as flashy, a simple silver with the turtle of his house adorning his chest. They both rode off after their courtesies, Leo Tyrell looked unafraid, his contender looked unsure as his horse would not stop shifting beneath him.
As the heralds cry broke out, hooves thundered across the lists. Leo rode as if he knew the outcome, he looked clean, it almost annoyed you with how sure he looked. His lance looked as if it were to hit, yet it did not. Willas had cracked his shield and made him falter, wood hit the ground and Leo Tyrell shifted from his horse as it buckled from the force of the impact.
He grunted loudly, yelling at his squire for a new shield while his foe called for a new lance. Again they lined up, lances held steadily. However, it was uncertain who would win now. Was Leo Tyrell as good as you thought him? Was the gossip of your maids true?
They thundered off once more and you bit the inside of your cheek, you felt as if you yourself were charging against him. The impact rang out once more as wood exploded. Leo's lance splintering against Willas Estermont's painted shield. He had won. He held his reins as he strode off casually. He was too arrogant to even acknowledge the man on the ground yelling out for his squire and left without a nod of respect. Seven hells.
The crowd did not settle properly after that round, bets were being made on who would win it all. Baelor rises from his seat and walked over to Rhaegel, "Will you place a bet with me?"
"I am not going to bet against our brother with you. Find a different person." He quickly laughed, shooing his elder brother away.
The herald came out to announce the final tilt. "Prince Maekar of House Targaryen and Leo of House Tyrell!" The masses exploded. Cheers and screams for each contender. They both drew near to the King and Queen for a final time and retreaded to their designated side of the barrier.
Seven hells.
The crowd did not settle properly after that round, bets were being made on who would win it all. Baelor rises from his seat and walked over to Rhaegel, "Will you place a bet with me?"
"I am not going to bet against our brother with you. Find a different person." He quickly laughed, shooing his elder brother away.
The herald came out to announce the final tilt. "Prince Maekar of House Targaryen and Leo of House Tyrell!" The masses exploded. Cheers and screams for each contender. They wanted an upset. They both drew near to the King and Queen for a final time and retreaded to their designated side of the barrier. Leo Tyrell had a confident smile on his face.
The trumpets sounded the second they had a grip on shield and lance. The first pass both lances shattered yet they did not falter from their destriers. Maekars white stallion whined at the force, he soothed him, petting the side of his neck. He rounded him to his squire, calling for new equipment. As he settled back in line he tugged at his armor protecting his bad side. You thought him a fool then.
The second pass nobody had faltered, both men had missed each other by a few inches. You now gripped your seat tightly in agonizing anticipation. You could see how irritated Maekar was just by his body language, he rolled his shoulder once more and lifted his helmet to spit on the ground. His violet eyes piercing through the eyes of his foe.
The third pass kicked off and Leos lance seemed perfectly aligned to throw Maekar off his stallion. Though, Maekars lance hit him before his own could reach his shield. The crowd fell into a hush of silence, unsure if the blow was enough to declare him champion.
Leo Tyrell struggled with the reins as his horse panicked under his body. He was thrown off. The crowds silence was broken as your husband was declared the winner of the joust. You clapped and cheered for him, now you could truly feel relieved. He threw his shield and lance to the ground, freeing himself of his helm. He beamed and lifted his arm up, riding around the lists and drinking in the glory. He dismounted his horse and walked over to his fallen enemy, holding out a hand and lifting him up.
"Well rode, my prince." Leo said to him.
"Well rode as well, my Lord." He clasped him on the shoulder when he was on two feet and walked back over to mount his horse.
Maekar nudged his destrier in the direction of the herald. The old man stood there on his post, holding the victor's laurel, a wreath of white roses. He extended it towards him with two hands.
"The queen of love and beauty, my prince." The crowd had not yet calmed from the win. The dust had settled however and Maekar accepted the circlet from him.
The smell hit him hard, they were freshly bloomed. Their sweet scent covered up the sweat and dirt of the lists. Tradition held in the seven kingdoms that the victor of a tourney could select any woman present and name her queen of love and beauty. Dedicating his victory to her. It was frowned upon for a married man to name someone other than his wife, an invitation for scandal. However, most of the younger girls sat up straighter in their seats once he had rounded his horse to the stands once more. Noble ladies and fair maidens all wanted the honor that lasted for the night.
He called for his lance a final time and put the circlet of flowers onto it. He looked towards ladies hiding behind their jeweled fans, blushing maidens, to girls fixing their veils and began to ride. He glanced up at a few, tugging at the reins for his stallion to halt. More than a few of them smiled at him hopefully, giggling. He hesitated, yet tugged again.
His horse led him through the stands, passing one lady, then a second, then a third. He could have chosen any of them yet he did not. His eyes searched only for one woman. They found her almost immediately.
Moonstones glimmering in the afternoon sun, her dress white like doves, her hair moving slowly in the breeze. You were watching him. The words that Baelor had told him came to mind, that you stood when he was unhorsed. Now you watched him. Like he mattered. His hands tightened. He knew what they would make of this, they would sing songs of the anvils love for his wife. People would whisper. You were his wife, was that not enough justification?
He hesitated once more before galloping towards you. He sat there nervously, swallowing hard before speaking loudly for all to hear.
"My lady." He raised his lance up towards you. You stood up, leaning over the wood that kept you from falling onto him. You extended your arm down towards the wreath, removing it from the tip of his lance as you held yourself. You smiled down at him softly and his pale skin reddened. Everyone was watching you both. Seven hells.
You placed the flowers atop your head then you spoke, "I thank you for the honor, my prince."
"It is my pleasure." His deep voice projected. You sat back down and watched him ride off, the masses even louder than when he won the damned joust. Jena nudged you as your smile remained on your face long after he left your view.
"You seem to have taken a liking to him."
"I am only relieved he did not break his other shoulder."
"I do not believe that to be entirely true." You did not correct her.
The royal party began to rise from their places, to head back to the keep to the victor's feast. You followed them down to the carriage, yet your eye caught the black tent with the banner of the dragon flying atop. You excused yourself and made your way over to the tent, pushing aside the flap. Inside Maekar stood there with his squire removing his armor. He cocked his head, then excused the boy. He passed you, bowing to you and leaving hastily.
"My lady."
"My prince."
Your lips perked up in another smile. "Do you like them?" He asked, nudging his head to the roses on your head.
"They're beautiful." You answered. He moved closer to you, adjusting them slightly. He moved his hand down towards your face, tracing your lips with his thumb. You gazed up at him. The flaps leading inside stirred and you quickly moved away from each other. His eyes remained on yours for a moment before pulling away to look who had entered.
"What are you two waiting for? There is a feast to attend!" The intruder known as Baelor exclaimed. Maekar sighed, turning to see you laughing.
SUMMARY: It is the end of the Blackfyre Rebellion. Your husband has been away for nigh on a year and now returning to Kings Landing. The both of you hold no love for each other, strangers since the day you wed. That is until he starts to question the possibility of what could be… Word count: 5k
Characters and contents: Young Maekar Targaryen x wife reader | Talks of sexual deeds, enemies to lovers..? Forced marriage/political marriage, bickering, talk of war, lots of exposition.
Authors note: This is to be a series! Multiple parts and smut to come!!! None for this part however.
My master list here - Requests open!! PART II
Blood, manure and dead men made a foul stench. That much he knew. Nobody ever talked about how putrid war smelt whenever they boasted of great victories. The rebellion was finished and he could return north, to Kings landing. He could return to the crowded city that rest on blackwater bay. On return there would be a feast held in celebration for defeating the Blackfyre bastards, and the masses would cheer. Cheer they would.
When the rations were little and no letter from allies came in a fortnight he held out on the lines — waiting for the battle. In the midst of it, Lord Donnel Arryn had led the vanguard, but his forces were crushed by Daemon. In turn, he rallied up what was left of of the van and Baelor crushed the rebel army against his shield wall with his host of Dornish spearmen like a hammer, and him the anvil who held strong.
At any given moment, when he closed his eyes, he would see the swords and fallen. He could hear the dying screams of the men, the crys and begs. Maekar spat into the grass as he rode his horse around the field that was now a mass grave for the hundreds if not thousands that had died, blood still filled his mouth from the broken jaw he had obtained. A shove off his horse did not feel well. His shoulder had broken the fall, so a sling now adorned him. It was an old smelly leather one that had started to peel.
Silent sisters walked around, burning and burying bodies or putting them on wagons if they were if they were of high nobility. An awful thing truly, but he did not care much for small folk, sell-swords and idiotic hedge-knights who tried to gain a bit of glory in the battle for his father’s throne. He tousled his hair back, trying to ignore the aggravating ache on his mandible.
The rebellion had been short lived, nigh on a year. The effort had been a stupid one, foolish, dense; unintelligent, dim-witted, whatever you would call it. There was no true claim made, only that the bastard thought he could usurp his father King Daeron.
A loud stomp of hooves came towards him, he turned his head and locked eyes with ones that were mismatched. One blue and one a dark chestnut.
“Brother! I have been searching for you all over the field, why do you look so solemn?” Baelor.
It seemed to him as if Baelor had not a clue about his appearance, was the bruising on his face and the ugly strap around his upper body not enough to figure out why he looked desolate and dull? A sigh left him as he found his wording.
“I was making my rounds—”
“Rounds for what? The war is won, and we may return! Think of all the songs that will be sung of us, cheer up. Eh?” His brother said, moving closer to clasp a hand on his good side.
When he did not answer, he rubbed his hand over his dirt covered face. Without hesitation he added more to say, trying to get him to converse.
“Are you not excited to return home? To mother and father? To your wife?”
“Of course I am. I may appear grim because I have broken bones, but I am happy to see mother and father.”
Baelor raised a brow, trying to find out the answer for the latter. “Have you forgotten your wife?” He chuckled lightly.
An awkward look found his face, “I do not know her in truth. We bedded each-other once, we barely even made small talk before I left.”
He snorted. Turning his head away to conceal his laughter. “I suppose that be your wedding night?”
“Do not play the fool.”
“A jest, little brother. The gods made you to lack a sense of humor. It would serve you well to love someone other than yourself, trust me I would know..”
His black stallion whinnied, snorting and tugging at the black leather reins with which he fussed with.
“Even he thinks you need to bed her, and properly. Not just a few thrusts that are out of duty.”
He scowled at him. Leaving him with no reply Maekar tugged at his own horse to go down the ranks, away from this nonsense.
It had been months since he had last seen you, you were married before the claim on the iron throne. A month, or two, or three. He could not recall. He did not hate you, or dislike you. When the marriage had been made, he thought you beautiful. Yet the marriage had not summed up to anything. You didn’t not engage in conversation with him and when you slept in the same bed it was with a pillow in-between you both, backs turned to each other.
There was no fruit that came from your wedding night, it had been consummated but there was no sweetness of the summer to taste on. That was how his mother worded it; after she had a conversation with him if he knew how bedding worked. He knew how it worked, he was not feeble-minded.
The words from Baelor repeated themselves in his head, "It would serve you well to love someone other than yourself." Mayhaps it would. The fighting had shown him that much. Men died begging for their wives and sons begged for their mothers. If Maekar had died he would have begged for nobody in particular. A quick death his top contender.
On the night of your wedding he had laid on-top of you, looking away the entire time. He requested the bedding ceremony to not be watched by the entire seven kingdoms, it did not please him for them to watch him and you be bare as the day of your births. There was no love in it, not even some sort of affection, or attraction. The seed he spilled inside of you proved enough that he could get hard and do his duty, but he never looked at you. Just hoisting himself above your limp, unamused body. You yourself did not reach your pinnacle that night. With the way that he moved; obviously not.
The bells had been ringing all morning. Ravens had been sent of the victory that had happened a few days march from the capitol. By the afternoon you could spot the black and red flag of house Targaryen from where you stood on the balcony overlooking the city. They had entered through the gate of the gods and now were making their way toward Aegon’s High Hill.
People crowded the ranks. The poor folk made their way down from flea bottom, watching all the gallant and noble men riding in on their great war-horses. Young squires held shields and swords. Everybody cheered, rose petals had lined the street in celebration. Rich folk in their manses out in their balcony’s tossed them down, allowing for a pleasant sight to be seen.
You entered back into your room, leaving the door open. Allowing the laced curtains from Lys to flow in the hot air. It was almost time to go down to the throne room it seemed, all you needed was the finishing touches to your appearance. You sat back down at your vanity; allowing for two of your maids to tend to your hair. They put it up into a comfortable bun. As they did so another maid powdered your face and rosed the apples of your cheeks.
The months that you had been here had been queer. You did not truly have any friend at court, nor were you close with the royal family. You were apart of them, but not of them. It was all an arrangement, a suitable political match made to heighten your houses status. What better than sending off a daughter to marry a prince of the realm?
It wasn’t how everybody described it. They said the prince was handsome, that he was kind and reserved. They said he was strong and looked as if the gods carved him out of the finest marble. Marrying a prince would be something that came out of storybooks. It did come out of a storybook, mostly because it was a farce, a joke, and in truth a mockery.
Prince Maekar was nothing how he was described to you, he was good-looking enough, if you ignored all the scars on his face. He was not kind; in fact he was rather rude. Reserved was one of the more accurate words. The man talked to nobody and locked himself in his study. When they said he was strong you could see what they meant. You would oft come across him training in the yard when you went for a walk with some of the ladies. He would be without a tunic, his muscles would flex in the light that came down on him, and he would thrust his sword at training dummies filled with straw. It seemed improper to stare, but his body did seemed carved out of marble.
The marriage had been a lot of nothing for two months until he had to heed his father's call to war. On the night on which he departed he did not tell you goodbye. He simply looked at you with no words, only a nod of his head. How arrogant, and now he was to return to you. Or rather his study, if it were possible to lay with it or wed it he would do it quicker before you could say Westeros. Then of course he would annul you or send you away to become a Septa — if he even bothered that much — maybe your husband was secretly Dothraki and liked to fuck horses.
A small boy came knocking on your chambers, no more than 12 you assumed. "My lady, they are almost here." He said in a mousy little voice. You thanked him and sent him off, rising from your cushion seat and flattening out your dress. When you left your room you started making your way down the halls of Maegor's holdfast. As you made your way over the drawbridge a lady with warm copper colored hair waited there, her dress was a black one with purple lightning bolts embroidered onto it, and you quickly recognized her. Jena Dondarrion.
She was your brother-in-laws wife, and one of the few friends you had here at court. You bonded over the obvious, being married to a prince of the realm. In her case she had it better, her husband was not thick as a castle wall and kind to her; she actually took pleasure in her husband returning to her. A smile left her and she embraced you for a mere moment, then joined her arm with yours.
"I was waiting for you."
"Were you now?" You replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. She shoved you to the side slightly. "I am not going to go alone into that room now am I? With everybody watching, absolutely not."
"You need to be more independent, not that I am complaining, but they will not put your head on a spike for that." A snort left you and she shoved you again.
"Anyhow, are you excited? I know the answer but I want to hear it from you."
"No."
"I told you I knew it."
"He is a stranger and unless he has a great proclamation of love for me I will not be warm to him and be his dutiful little wife. If he wants that then he can say so."
Jena raised a brow at you and smirked. "You really want to be bedded."
"I do not. I am just saying that—"
"You would like to be bedded. You cannot fool me my sweet."
"I would like for my husband to see me as a person with feelings, this is not just about bedding. Get your head out of the clouds, you will have your husband soon enough." You shot her a look, not wanting to hear more from her.
The two of you arrived in the throne room, the king sat up high on his iron throne that looked very uncomfortable. The swords waiting to nick him. His wife, the queen Myriah Martell sat in a chair next to him, their two other sons Aerys and Rhaegel sat to her right. You both approached them, bowing and taking your leave to the front of the crowd. The entire room stood still, waiting for the moment when the ranks would come in being led by the princes.
The grand hall was a beautiful thing, the stained glass windows reflected light onto the marbled pillars. Vibrant tapestries hung about the room, 9 hung for each great house. Torches were lit throughout, burning a vibrant ember. Alas the doors opened, and everyone held their breath for a moment.
It was a grand entrance, the commanders coming in first on their horses. The others came behind on their feet; keeping a stern look until otherwise said so. You looked up at the men atop the horses, Ser Donnel Arryn.. Baelor Targaryen.. Maekar.
You peered up at him through your eyebrows, giving him a grim look. His head searched the room as he rode down, eventually meeting yours. His shoulders tensed, he straightened his back snapping his head back towards the front if the room and breaking the eye contact. You kept your hands clasped together and bit the inside of your cheek.
He wore a clean enough black doublet that was trimmed with red satin, his house sigil pinned to his breast. He adorned a leather sling on his arm, and he seemed to have grown a mustache that had not been there before. Your husband’s silver hair was overgrown and pushed back, it looked sweaty and oily. The thought of when he last bathed crossed your mind suddenly. They all finally reached the throne, getting off their horses. Little squires coming to take their horses away. The men kneeled down, their eyes on the floor.
“Stand.” King Daerons voice echoed. When they followed his command, the crowd erupted into a loud cry of joy. You clapped with the rest of them, smiling slightly. It was enjoyable to see how everybody came together for this. It dawned upon you that the high septon had stood there all this time, he approached the front and gave a brief speech on the will of the seven gods. His crystal crown casting down a light of rainbow.
When it was finished the crowd dispersed, families going to meet their sons and the cries of joy from wives and children filled your ears. Jena had gone to her own husband, and it seemed only right for you to do so. Inhaling deeply you put one foot in front of the other, it was a harder task than it ought to be. Heels clicked, your dress shuffled, and now you stood in front of him.
Maekar realized you and peered down at you with his infatuating lilac eyes, his brows furrowing a bit.
“Husband.”
“Wife.”
“How was the war?” You asked him, not certain on what to say.
“Taxing, rough, bloody.” He responded. His voice monotone and blunt.
“I can tell.” You nodded your head to his arm and lifted your hand to point as his face.
“I fell off my horse. The Maester said I would heal fine.” His attention was drawn elsewhere, looking around the room as if the conversation bored him. You let out a hum and shifted your weight onto one leg. It felt as if you were speaking to a stone wall.
“I see. Well I won’t bother you any more if the conversation disinterests you.” The words left you quick and without a second thought, he turned his gaze back onto you with an offended look. Though not before you could walk off, going to converse with his brother and wife.
It was a dull one, watching the couple flirt and standing off to the side. The most you did was congratulate Baelor on his victory and laugh at a joke Jena had said. You excused yourself from the conversation. Making your way back up towards your chambers, you breathed in the hot humid salt-air which made its way through the arched stony windows that had ivy wrapped around its edges.
You traced your fingers across the splintery wooden drawbridge. When inside your chambers you laid down on your bed, hair covering your face as you rest your head to the side. You closed your eyes, falling into the calmness of the dark.
It must have been an hour or so when he entered, an abrupt slam of the door woke you up from your deep slumber. Drool was on your chin and hair so you quickly wiped it away. He stopped in his tracks as he made his way across to the window. His eyes gazed your form, staring you up and down. This was the woman he was so scared of? He thought.
"The feast is soon, you should.. compose... yourself." Maekar's voice was harsh and judgmental, it was odd to see you in such disarray with no poise or polish. You were always so stiff as if someone held a dagger at your throat.
"I was sleeping." You pointed out to him. His arms crossed, and his face hardened. He had imagined this conversation a hundred times over on the road home. He assumed it would be simpler and easier, but a knot tied in his stomach and he remembered exactly why he never talk to you. The smart remarks and that tone. It would never be easier. He glanced out to the bay.
"Now you are awake. Fetch a maid to dress you and bathe you." His cloak followed him as he moved to the bedside table, removing his gloves. Tugging at a finger one at a time until the leather loosened and slid off.
You sat on your heels and tucked the drool covered hair behind your ears. You laid your eyes upon him, watching as he kept his eyes on his other glove. Struggling with the cracked leather sling. He let out a tsk. "You should bathe likewise, here let me help." Now you prop yourself on your knees, pulling his good arm towards your body and tugging as he did and pulling it off.
He did not answer you nor thank you, leading you to despise him more by the second. If he did not need the help he should have declined and done it himself, since he is so able bodied now. "You smell of manure."
Your husband did not reply to you, simply standing as still as a frightened maid. As you stood up from the warm cushioning of the bed he spoke then. "You did not write to me." His stance looked awkward, and his voice meek. Like a boy who did not receive love from his crush. Though it seemed the same.
"I did not know I was meant to."
A shaky sigh left him, you held a hand on a post of the frame. "We are married are we not? We are bound by vow. I expected.."
"Letters? You did not write me either, do not play the fool and act as if we are deeply infatuated with one another." Seven. It came out a bit harsher, you realized that after he left the room with no scoff, no bicker, no unkind look.
The crowd was lively. Lively and beautiful. The feasts were always beautiful. Night had fallen down upon Kings landing and if anything the city had become livelier. Not just outside but inside the heart of it all. It was the second course by now, roasted peppered boar encrusted with cherries and lemons. There was fresh black bread on the side, baked apples and lemon cakes for people to indulge in their sweet tooth if they wished.
Servants darted all around the room, serving wine, strong ale and water. Cups clinked and drinks sloshed in them, harpists played in the corners. Singers sang the beautiful old songs, one was of Jonquil and Florian the fool. As a girl you always loved that one best. A smile made itself present on your face, you lifted your fork to your mouth and took a bite out of the savory boar. It had been slain in the morning in honor of the gathering.
Your husband sat next to you on the dais, watching the couples dance just below. He leaned back into his wooden chair that had the sigil of his house carved into the head, his legs spread open as he let out a sigh of annoyance.
A servant came around, pouring cool wine into his cup. One from The Arbor. A vintage sweet red. He lifted it to his lips and wiped when he set it down. The tension was still there, in truth you felt a bit bad, though not as much as you wished. If he expected you to feel bad for stating the truth, then he was rather dense and stupid. Not once had he ever made an effort to be kind to you or converse much, and now he wanted you to write letters with sweet words. His entitlement was absurd. The others take him, for sakes.
It was as if the known world revolved around him, Prince Maekar did not get what he desired so now everybody within the vicinity of him should feel solemn. His plate had been untouched, rather queer for a soldier returned from war. That's how you knew he was putting up a mummer's farce. I do not treat my wife as a human, and she returns the favor, therefore she is the leader of a hell. That is what most like went through that thick skull of his at this very moment.
The chandelier was lit with candles and casted a warm light all over, as you peered down the dance had changed to one for the little lady's. All of them holding hands and stepping back, giggles and delight. They radiated innocence and naivety, and at that moment you prayed to the maiden to never let them marry a man as arrogant as Maekar.
You finally glanced over at him, watching him stare down sternly at all the people who were content at the feast. A sigh left you as you opened your mouth to speak, "Are you not going to eat?" The tone in which it left you sounded as if you were scolding a little child for not eating their greens.
His eyes met yours, the vibrant purple ones now looked stormy. "I do not have an appetite."
"I will not believe that you were out fighting, eating repulsing food for months, and you do not have an appetite?"
"Then do not believe it." He said through his teeth. Face stern and eyebrows raised. You put your hands up in surrender and leaned back into your chair. He sat on your left in order of rank, husbands and then their wives. From king, to son, to second son, to third son, to him. To you. It was an awkward thing to be here you thought. You glanced all around you, wives next to their husbands. How many of these ladies actually loved their husbands? It was hard to tell, everything was a farce in court.
"Is it about what I said earlier? I did not mean it to come out so harsh." You finally spoke, leaning over your chair and looking directly at him. You studied his face, his jaw clenching as hard an immovable mountain. He held onto the table and moved himself upright, straightening out his back and slowly turning his head like a predator.
"You said the words. Regardless of your tone you know what you meant, and it would have came out the same. If you'll excuse me I will be heading to bed." Maekar stood and shuffled out from the high table, the steps of his leather boots a mockery to you. So that's how it would be. You could entertain his fits of rage all day if need be. You whipped your head around and watching him leave from the back of the room, his manner stiff.
Once the dancing had died out you finally excused yourself from the feast and left from the front door allowing a longer walk to clear your thoughts. You held your red dress in your hands, the colors of your beloveds house. The harbor was ever lively now, fishermen selling their days catch and boats sailing in from across the Narrow sea or White Harbor up in the North.
Your hand found the gold painted handle of the great oak door that led to your shared chambers, when you opened it he stood across the room from you, the embers in the hearth dying out slowly and leaving a dim light. He lifted his eyes to the sound and moved them to focus back onto his newfound task of feeding the fire; quickly illuminating the space with a great roar of warmth. You wanted to speak to him but the words stayed in your throat and felt like you shoved a date down your throat.
Maekar glanced back at you. The embers now thriving after he had worked on it, "My brother thought I should get to know you."
"How is that working out for you?'
"Harder than I thought." He stood up from the floor. Legs aching from squatting for a prolonged period of time. "What is it that you want me to do?"
The question caught you off guard. Those words alone were not likely to leave the princes mouth especially knowing how uptight he could be. "You could stop acting like a wounded dog for starters."
"I am not acting like a wounded dog."
"You walked away from me because I did not send you letters! You act as if you are entitled to something and I do not know what it is!" You responded, the pitch was high and shaky.
"I did not walk away because of the letters — I walked away because of what you said!" His face started to redden like a tomato. A laugh left you and his brows contorted, suddenly confused.
"The reason that you walked away is because I told you to not pretend as if we are in love? We are strangers! There is no fabrication in what I said and you cannot expect me to welcome you with open arms!" It was the truth and for a moment he stayed silent. He moved across the room, circling you then turning away. His hand moving his silver-white hair back. A sigh left his lips.
"Well I wish to mend this now, isn't that enough?" You closed your eyes in frustration and dragged your hands across your face. Pondering on what to say to such nonsense.
"No it's not! You were like a ghost to me before and you never tried!"
His hand slammed onto the bedpost. The wood rattling under his calloused hands. "Then what is enough? I cannot undo the year in which I was gone, nor can I free us from this marriage, I cannot turn back time like a clock and know you before the war." He moved his hand away from the post and clenched it nervously. "I will beg on my knees if that is what pleases you."
It all seemed like a joke. Why did he wish to know you now? Did he want a warm cunt to always return to when days were rough? Was he forbidden from whores and you were his last resort? Why now? So you spoke, "Why now? And not because Baelor said so."
A sharp exhale left him and he glanced about the room. "I think it would serve us. We are bound and why not make use of it? Ive heard of how the men talked of their wives as they succumbed to their injuries on the Redgrass — I want to know what that feels like. Not the dying, the love. I cannot say for sure entirely but I know that is part of the reason." His confession suddenly tightened your bodice immensely, everything came to a stop and the look on his face was tired and raw. You wanted to question him, but you could not bring yourself to. Lips parted slightly open, a breath escaping as you held yourself steady.
"Say something." He stated softly; now moving closer to you and taking your hand in his. "Teach me. I want to understand what it is like to have a woman want me in her bed." Maekar added, his voice now a whisper in your ear. You looked up at him and the silence dragged itself on. Finally, you touched his face. Tracing the marks on his skin.
"If you won't treat me like a duty to do and like I bore you I will." You said it to lighten up the already cut through tension. He nodded quickly at the anticipatory answer. You did not kiss him. Simply offering a smile to him, a kiss was too much as of now. Even if he did profess his want to love. You figured it as much as him, he pulled his body away and watched you. He still needed to gain your trust and not be an ass about it, would this pull through? The doubts ran through your head like a familiar thing.
You sat on the bed after removing your evening gown into your night shift. You watched your husband stand by the window overlooking the bay, the one you were anxiously awaiting his arrival by earlier in the day. The contrast weighed on you. The vow you made before the rebellion now a repercussion.
Headcannons for Lyonel Baratheon please as I love to it maeker and baelor
of course!! i love this ask and i haven’t got any content for the laughing storm :p
Lyonel Baratheon Headcannons
| SFW and NSFW headcannons below!
| descriptions are for fem reader
| content is 18+!
my masterlist
SFW
let’s say that lyonel were to be courting you, he wouldn’t be a proper gentleman. he’d try and attract your attention in odd ways, sneaking up on you, and also quite literally never leaving you alone. however nerve racking he may be — it works.
fell in love with you the second he laid eyes on you, then knew he’d spend the rest of his life after the smile you gave him when you passed his table at a feast.
he is a well traveled man; storms end is quite dull. he tells you about his travels from lys to the arbor, tarth to tyrosh.
brings you things from his travels, a tapestry or a dress. a gold necklace that cost him a good amount.
good with the histories! for some odd reason, he despised maths as a child but took history to heart. he can tell you everything that has happened since aegons conquest, probably even before that.
the best dressed in every room, his clothes are decorated with intricate patterns and different types of silks.
would have you ride on his horse while he walks, guiding you through meadows.
sings around storms end, like i said it’s a rather dull place. someone has to brighten it up, right?
NSFW
drunk sex with him… do i need to say more?
when intoxicated he becomes more passionate, yes he is sloppy with it but the words that he mumbles under his breath prove everything you need to know. you can smell the alcohol on his breath, the rich wine making itself present in him as he groans in your ear.
speaking of groaning, this man is very vocal. groaning at the sight of you and huffing and puffing as he thrusts his cock deep inside.
fucks you with the antlers…
he would hang onto them for dear life with each pound of his hips, one hand on your waist and another on the antlers
it could also be the other way around — you wear the antlers while you ride the stag ;)
finds his pleasure in serving you, fingering you and lapping his tongue against your pussy. holding your thighs apart while he does so, fondling the soft skin as he chuckles warm air onto your clit.
he likes getting his cock sucked enough, but he likes it better when you are sucking on his balls and stroking him much more.
veryyy into dirty talk, “do you feel my cock throbbing inside of you?” “who’s my good girl?” “you like this yeah..” chuckles at the responses you give him.
likes having sex in-front of mirrors. that’s his dirty little secret. likes to hold your body and finger you while you watch yourself come undone on his fingers.
for aftercare he’s very much there. will call a maid to draw you a bath and wash you himself, just don’t be too shocked if he joins you in the bath and gets hard.
apologizing for not posting as much.. trust i will be much more active for the release of hotd s3!!
Maybe smth about being maekars only daughter? Nothing targcest but ykwim❤️
Yess!! Of course!! ( let’s pretend daella and rhae don’t exist for the sake of this )
| my master list here
| A/N - this lowkey made me sad for maekar, and also this was kind of awkward writing since i write straight nsfw works.. however we must get out of our comfort zone! sorry it’s kind of short but i hope you enjoy! :)
As Maekar’s daughter, he cherishes you. Being born just after Aerion, it was a blessing from the seven when you were brought into the world. You took after your Dornish mother, features like hers. The spitting image of her likeness. You were anointed with the seven oils and named in the light of the seven at the Great sept of Baelor - for all to see and bear witness to.
You were raised up being taught embroidery, how to read, how to dance. Singing lessons, the proper way to curtsy and all the other sorts of things that little noble girls were bound to be taught. Maekar would pay visits at time, when he wasn’t shackled in the chains of making sure your brother’s weren’t up to trouble. He’d praise you, even if your stitches were crooked. Even if you danced off the rhythm of the violin being played.
When you sung and your voice cracked, you would notice it. Asking your father if it was bad, he would lie and tell you - “I did not hear a crack.” Lying in order to make sure your feelings were not hurt. When your brothers told you the truth, he was quick to scold them. Aerion protested, asking why it was okay to lie now. He was only telling the truth, he needed to make sure you sounded like a dying toad.
Your brother never spoke a word to you about that after that, what he did to ensure that would be up to the others to decide with.
In the coming years, right before you had come out into society — your mother had died. Leaving your father to raise you all alone, leaving him with 4 boys and 1 girl that was the spitting image of his deceased wife. You 5 were all he had left in this world, the only memory he had left. One of the only things that left physical evidence that love had been shared between the two of them.
Whenever you would bring him tea or bring him his meals because he could not stand to sit down in the feast room of Summer hall, the candle he often had lit would pronounce the tears in his harsh violet eyes to you. You knew it was of your mother, your brows would furrow the same as her. The mannerisms you bestowed were like hers, how could his living child haunt him? You were not dead, yet your face haunted him still.
Alas, when it was time to come out to the nobles of Westeros your father had warned you. He told you to not make a match based off of status, or whomever holds the largest castle, or whomever was the most handsome. Instead he told you to pick one that sprouted from the ground, and bloomed with love. It had been your mother’s dying wish, that you had not known. Not until he had informed you that day he sent you to the Red keep with your grandfather.
That was what you would have, a love-match. Not one based off of the coin one had, but one that reminded you of the great love your parents shared.
In the end the man you had picked was a shy boy from Horn hill. He was not like the Lords of the Reach, he was not confident as much. However, he was the only one to make you laugh and smile without much effort. He was not the handsomest, that much you knew.
Come spring at your wedding, when your father walked you down the hall of the Great Sept where you had been named in the light of the seven, he had looked at you before he handed you off. All he saw looking back yet was your mother. The Lady Dyanna Dayne of Starfall. Your eyes piercing his very heart as he gave up a piece of her the moment he let your hand go.
hi! i just wanted to make a request about maekar Targaryen (my fav dilf at the moment). this particular oneshot could be a sequel to “the woe of it all” (i love this so much) or not, totally up to you.
anywayz, it’s set after the trial of seven and reader (who is maekar’s wife and the mother of all six of his kids) is devastated by the aftermath (baelor is dead, both daeron (who might be a drunk but thats reader’s firstborn) and aerion (who is a psychopath but that is still her son) are injured). so during the night before baelor’s funeral pyre, reader and aegon or “egg” (who is reader’s baby boy) are currently inside her bedchamber and reader is comforting egg (who thinks everything is his fault since he was the one who told dunk about aerion hurting tanselle) as she explains to him that nothing is his fault
as reader comforts egg, a solemn maekar (who is grieving and kinda depressed) suddenly enters the bedchamber and reader tells egg to go back to his own room. after their youngest son leaves, reader helps maekar take off his clothes since there’s a wooden bathtub full of hot water (it was prepared by servants earlier) waiting for him. once maekar is inside the tub, reader starts cleansing maekar (who has injuries as well but it’s not as bad) before comforting him. maekar (whose love language with his wife is physical touch and his coping mechanism is also sex) slowly gets aroused before he makes his wife enter the tub and they make love
thank you so much for this idea!! i answered your ask here! i turned it into the woe of it all pt.2 and i hope you enjoy it!!
| Thank you to this ask that gave me the idea for PT.2!
| A/N - I am so sorry for taking so long with this, my midterms have been holding me up and there was zero motivation to write… It’s here now however, so enjoy it! :)
| Maekar Targaryen x Wife reader
| PinV, Missonary, Bathtub sex, fingering, cleaning up mess (licking fluids from fingers), creampie, reconciliation? Maekar needs you after Baelors death, Maekar is a bad dad..
| NSFW 18+
“It is not your fault.” You told your youngest boy. The past few days had all been a blur, really. Him and your eldest went missing, then he had been found with a hedge knight. Apparently posing as an orphan boy to squire for him. Shaving his head in the process.
The hedge knight beat your son, and then Daeron had thrown an accusatory claim that he had kidnapped Aegon. With all the facts against each other, there was to be a trial of seven. The first in almost a century since Maegor the Cruel.
In the midst of it all your husband had killed his brother. Mortally wounding him with his mace. Maekar had thrown himself into a ditch, not speaking to anybody as of late. Locking himself in his brothers study, not even going to sleep in the same bed as you.
He had left it empty. Not allowing you into his heart, it infuriated you. You had not seen him in days and he had left you to deal with the repercussions. To tend to your wounded boys, guilty boys, leaving you to do your duty as if you were a widow.
Maekar did not die that day, but he had made it seem as if he were the one whom had his skull crushed and dying a gory death. To be frank, you could not tell if he had not thrown himself from a high cliff in the days of his absence.
Now however, you were focused on your son. Who had blamed himself, for running away, for informing the hedge knight that Aerion had been hurting the Puppeteer girl. That is all he kept repeating, that he was at fault. That he was the one who sent the God of Death on his uncle.
You caressed his oddly bald head, missing its silver hair that would be there. You shushed him and held him close to your own body, trying to reassure him. It ailed you to see him this way, he was not at fault. The boy was only 10.
“I am the one who led Ser Duncan to Aerion.” He mumbled, his voice low as if to hide the words he spoke. Not another soul preside in the room other than the both of you.
“How many times must I tell you? You have done nothing wrong. You informed..” The Hedge knights name had gotten mixed up in all the other names running through your head.
“Ser Duncan.”
“You informed Ser Duncan that he had been hurting the girl, that is the right thing to do. If you are to blame someone, blame it on anybody but yourself.”
“But if I hadn’t informed him the trial would not have taken place and uncle..”
A sigh departed from your lips, “But then the girl would have been hurt to a greater extent. You saved her.”
“I did not do anything, Aerion had already broken her fingers.” He spat coldly.
They say evil is formed in the womb, but you do not recall if a malignant spirit entered you and made itself anew in the form of your son. The thought was taxing and awful, you felt a sinner for holding some form of hate in your heart for him.
How was it possible that a babe whom you had nursed at your breast could turn out like that? A babe whom had not a glimpse of who he might turn out to be in future in his indigo eyes. The signs were never there, that is what you thought but perhaps they were. Whenever he accidentally bit at your shoulder when you carried him, when he pushed his younger brother to the ground and played it off as a joke.
It all had announced itself as clear as summer skies when you learned he had killed the cat of Aegon, it was a rumor but when you pressed him about it. He laughed, and brushed it off. You do not know when in time he had gone mad. The saying that every time a Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin seemed ever true then.
“I cannot tell you to not hate him, but be merciful as the gods are. Do not be cruel like him, Aegon.” You finally added.
He did not reply, a simple nod had found him and he relaxed in your arms. Tears filling his eyes, his cheeks a bit puffy.
The crackle of the hearth and the sniffle that left him were the only two sounds in the room, the fire roared and it would have to be stoked in a bit before its flames died out. It was the only thing that caught your attention until the hinges of the door creaked open with a loud disturbance.
Your head whipped over, looking to see who had come at this time of night. It was after supper and considered rude and improper as it would be a time of rest for most.
On the cold handle rested the hand of your husband, which astonished you obviously. His face was grim and his cheekbones were hollow, his eyes were sunken like a ship lost in shipbreaker bay. The wrinkles on his pale skin seemed ever present now, he looked like something in which the only word to describe him was death.
The question if you were seeing a corpse was the one that you asked yourself when you met his lifeless eyes.
Aegon had shifted his gaze from his small hands that he had been picking the skin at while he cried to look at who had come. The boy had not seen his father either, often asking his siblings and you where he had gone. It saddened you to know that he had no thought to console him, or anyone for that matter. It was wrong of him, he was not the only one who had lost someone.
You wanted to speak but whatever words you thought to say could not and would not leave your throat, it was only until he broke the silence. His voice was harsh and cold, cold like an unrelenting winter storm.
“Go to your room, Aegon.”
Aegon clutched you without hesitation, clinging to the dress you wore and leaving small creases on the delicate fabric. You held his arm, reassuring him. You raised your brow at Maekar before speaking.
“What is the reason?”
“I need to speak with you.”
Was he mad? Had he fallen and hit his head? You opened your mouth to argue but instead Aegon looked up at you. Hopping off of the bed, and with a shy voice said — “Goodnight, mother.”
You smiled at him, then kissed his head. Nodding him off to bed, he said the same to his father but he did not answer. Simply staring at you. When Aegon shut the door behind him, you stood up quickly in a haste. A finger pointed at Maekars chest.
“Where have you been? Nobody has seen you, nor heard from you! And you wish to show up now?!” You scoffed, your brows furrowing and the wrinkles on your face making themselves prominent.
He brought his hand to yours, moving your accusing finger down. Almost as if he were scolding a child.
“I have been in my brother’s study.” He replied, there was no anger in his tone. Nothing of resentment.
“In truth, I have not been handling his death well.”
“You are not the only person dealing with loss!”
“I know that!” He suddenly yelled out, his eyes now filled with some sort of guilt.
“You are a father first. You can not hide yourself away for days! The boys have been asking for you, Aerion and Daeron are hurt. Aegon blames himself!” You spat. Walking away from him and to the window. Allowing yourself an attempt to calm down. You held the velvet curtain, pulling it aside so that you could gaze upon the full moon.
“He blames himself?”
“You would know that if you hadn’t locked yourself up.”
When the sarcastic comment left your lips, he scoffed. Stalking towards you, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. Maekar looked at you, “I am sorry. I just don’t know how to handle any of this.”
“You are a man grown.” You looked at him, pushing the curtain down. “I have been left to deal with arrangements, and sending ravens. All while you do whatever in seven hells you are doing!”
He turned to frown at you, “Do you believe that it is easy to deal with the death of my brother knowing that I am the root of it?!”
You gave him a winced look crossing your arms, “I do not believe it to be easy but you have sent no word.”
“I beg your forgiveness for it then.” He added softly, bringing his hand up to scratch at his white whiskers.
“When was the last time you bathed?” You scowled, scrunching your nose and inspecting him up and down. Taking note of the grime on his neck and hands.
“Since the Tourney.”
“You must bathe before the morrow. Presentable and without an arrogant stench.”
He sighed awkwardly, from the interaction you knew that he was struggling deeply with the loss. Your husband was always a man to keep up with his hygiene, bathing regularly, making sure his tunics were clean, and keeping his facial hair proper and prim. Now it did not seem as if he bothered to do any of the following.
“I had a bath drawn earlier. Go, I will be there in a mere moment.”
Maekar nodded, moving to the adjacent room. You could hear the shuffling of clothes, you could hear when he unfastened the metal straps of his boots. Tossing them aside. You could hear the sound of his hands struggling to remove his tunic.
You stayed in your spot, staring at the floor. Taking a few moments to yourself to process all that had just happened, it made gooseflesh appear on your arms. Feeling frigid and keen. You heard the sound of him stepping into the bath, making you picture his bare body. His tender and battle worn body.
An exhale could be heard leaving his throat from where you held your ground, one of relief. Then the splash of water, and a final groan of relaxation. You turned on your heels, finally moving to go and join him. Your cold fingers met the curtains that were mounted up on the archway that resided there for the means of privacy — pulling them your eyes met the body of your husband, laying there on display almost. He opened his own and sat up slightly, bracing himself on the sides of the tub.
You kneeled at the copper bath, grabbing a sponge that rest on a wooden stool. Drenching it in the waters and foaming it with a bar of soap, you looked over at Maekar. His eyes were closed as he tried to relax, you took his hand in yours. Starting your ministrations, scrubbing up and down his forearm. The dirt coming off easily.
He opened his eyes to look at you, abysses of violet meeting your own eyes. No words left his lips but you knew that was his way of thanking you without having to say anything. He shifted in the bath, letting out a groan of exhaustion. His pectorals flexing slightly.
Maekar ran a wet hand over his face, then through his platinum blonde hair that of Old Valyria. That hair entranced you, the same hair that 5 of your children bore in the likeness of their Lord Father. He brought his hand to yours, slowly making its way up to your chest. Then taking a necklace you wore in his hand, it was the seven pointed star that of the new gods.
The necklace was gold and not of much value, atleast to you. You wore it in testament of your faith, he noted the times you wore it. When he was away at war, fighting Blackfyre bastards. When you learned of the disappearance of your two sons, and now in desperate times like this when you needed him and he was not there to be at your aid.
The smell of the ointments that you had put into his bath now filled the air. The scent of lavender and dried mint eased his worries, allowing him to breathe. Clearing his airways and allowing him a bit of respite since the morning of the tourney.
“Is the water good?” You asked him, it was a sad attempt to try and break the the tension. He did not answer you, biting the inside of his cheek. From the look on his face you could tell he drew blood, but he did not voice his pain.
“I need you.”
You stopped scrubbing at his skin, looking up slowly at him. He still held your necklace, but moved his wet hands to the nape of your neck and then to your collarbone which made itself present in the gown which you donned — caressing it with the callous of his thumb.
“Say something.”
“What do you wish for me to say?”
“That you need me back.” He growled, it came from the back of his throat. His nose scrunching as he stared down at you, even sitting in the bath he was taller than you. However, that most certainly had to do with the fact that you were kneeling beside him.
“You don’t speak to me for days and you want to make love?”
“You are still upset at me for that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Are you planning to forgive me?”
A scoff left you, “Of course I am. It is just that.. it is only that you know your priorities.”
“Is it wrong to want to fuck my wife?” His language was always rather harsh, but with years of marriage it made you accustomed to it. It however always surprised you, you raised your brow. Taking a hold of his forearm, his veins slowly bulged out as you did.
“I have conditions then.”
“Your cunt comes with conditions now?”
Your grip tightened on him, drawing out a small laugh from him. “You must speak to the boys. Each of them privately, do something about Aerion. Then write to your mother and father.”
“I was planning on sending that boy to Lys. It might do him some good.”
“Lys? What will Lys teach him? To fuck painted whores from dawn to dusk?”
“It is none of my concern, as long as he is away from my sight. Away from us, he has caused enough damage as is.”
You sighed, “Braavos or Tyrosh would be a better choice.”
“We may discuss it on the morrow. Now, I need you.”
You offered up a smile to him, moving his arm away from you. Then placing the sponge on a wooden barstool near the bath — when you stood, your knees ached and you felt the imprints of stone on your knees. You moved your hands behind you, grabbing the laces of your dress and undoing them slowly.
You pulled at them, sighing softly and leaving your lips parted. Maekar’s gaze on you grew grim, moving his big hand towards his cock. Stroking himself as he watched you undress, the sight made your tummy warm. Your pussy growing wet with every pump of his fist.
When the laces came undone, you pulled it forward and letting your arms wriggle free from the constricting fabric. Under it lay your bodice, you removed that too. Leaving your breasts there for him to see, his lips curved slightly. Still touching himself. You pushed the rest of your gown away and towards to cold floor, letting it pool around your feet.
The only thing that you wore now were your panties, you hooked your thumbs around the edges. Discarding them. You stepped out of the pile of clothes, hair loose and free around your bare neck.
You moved towards him, watching as a smirk found his face. His eyebrows raising and indenting more wrinkles on his forehead, he ran a wet hand through his locks. Chuckling a bit as he watched you come closer, almost in a predatory way. It brought him joy to see you bare for him, for him.
He grasped your arm, tugging at you. He shifted around to make space for you, water splashing out of the bath. You lifted your foot over the rim, lowering yourself carefully in. Then finally submerging yourself from the nape of your neck down.
Maekar offered up another grin — moving closer towards you and placing both hands on the small of your back. He moved his lips to your jaw and began to pepper you in kisses, his white beard tickling you as he made his way lower and lower down your throat. He then moved a hand to cup at the mound of flesh that lay on your chest, playing with the warm mass and drawing out soft and sweet gasps from you.
As they escaped from you, he pushed you onto your back. Allowing you to rest on the edge of the bath, he moved the hand that toyed with your breast down slowly. First trailing down your hip, then to your thighs, and finally to your pussy. Which he could not tell if you were wet for him or if it was the water. He then rubbed at the nerve filled bud, watching as you gripped onto his bicep. Scratching him slightly as he rubbed side to side and up and down.
You bit back a moan, looking away from him. He clicked his tongue, then pulled his hand off your clit and to your jaw. Snapping your head back to ensure you were facing him.
“You are to look at me while I make your writhe underneath me, do you understand?” He whispered, pressing his manhood against you. Allowing you to feel how to blood flowed through him, how badly he truly did need you. When he brought his hand away from your face you simply nodded, allowing him to continue to pleasure you in ways you had often tried to replicate when he was away and not there to perform his duties to you.
His middle finger found the opening of your gaping hole, slowly pushing inside of you. With that, the only possible thing you could think to do was moan loudly. You were not sure how thick the walls of Ashford were, but they seemed as though they would suffice. Nobody heard you the last time.
Your husband’s middle finger felt equal to two of your own, it was no big revelation — seeing as he was bigger than you. In more ways than one. He pumped the finger inside of you, curling and pulling it out. Then continuing that motion until he was sure you would come undone on him.
You gasped, holding onto him tighter as he kissed your jaw again. Slowly starting to suction, leaving love-bites. The water splashed and mixed itself with the fluids being released from your heat each time he drew his finger out and back inside.
“Do you want to cum on my finger?” Maekar asked with a breathy groan — you shook your head no. You would much rather prefer to come to a sweet release on his dick rather than the digit that was twisting and winding within you.
“Where then? And talk to me, none of your nonverbal answers.” He growled, still pushing up in your wet core.
“On your cock. Gods!” You answered, crying out as he hit a deep spot near your cervix. Your husband smirked, laughing a bit. It was amusing to him how whiny you would get. He pulled out his hand, bringing it up to his lips as he sat back on his knees in the bath.
Maekar sucked on his middle finger, tasting your juices that he had worked for. He watched you catch your breath as your face grew more flushed with every passing moment, your cheeks red and your pupils heavily dilated with pleasure.
You stared up at him and a grin found your face, you wiped some of the sweat away from your forehead. Then moving to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. Your chest heaved, and your breathes were unsteady.
He pulled his finger away from his mouth with a pop, then moved to bring wrap his whole hand around his aching manhood that dripped with pre-cum. The tip was an angry pink, he slowly stroked himself — reaching his white hairy base then back up to the tip. Over and over again. He broke his ministrations by spitting on his hand, then bringing it back. Lubing himself up to prepare for entering you.
The bath room had been dimly lit, a couple of candles had been lit earlier in the hour and they all were blazing. The hot wax dripping from them and hardening where they stood. Maekar pulled his hand off, then moved to grab your ankle which lay motionless in the warm water. He pulled it up over his scarred freckled shoulder, hoisting you up so that he would be able to reach your deepest depths.
A groan left him as his eyes made contact with your cunt, and he had to rub his temples. The sight being too much to bear, even after all your years of marriage and love-making.
“You look so good. All I want to do is ravish you.”
You offered him a soft smile, “I am getting impatient, husband.” He chuckled, then grabbed his manhood once more to line himself up with your needy pussy. You watched as he rubbed the tip back and forth, clit to hole — letting out small breathes of air.
He finally pushed inside of you without warning, filling your velvety walls. “Biiig stretch..”
A loud moan found you as he kept pushing, not allowing you enough time to adjust to his girthy rod. You bit your lip a bit, staring down as he was too focused on bottoming out.
When he did, his heavy balls kissed your ass. Warm against you, already warning you with the load he was to spill when he was close. He held you close to him, still holding you. His hand wrapped around your plush thigh and the other gripping onto the edge of the copper tub.
His chest was pressed up into you, wet with the water and somehow sweaty already. His cock twitched in your innards. You felt the liquid warmth that leaked from him, bucking your hips a bit for some movement. He drew out of you, then in. A shaky exhalation leaving him as he did so. He continued doing that, in and out. In and out.
Maekar let out a deep moan, one that came from the depths of his heart. He started down at you, admiring the way you clung onto him. His thighs clenched, along with his glutes. Muscles straining with every thrust.
You were dizzy from it all, you felt dizzy from the rough pounding that he did. The pressure all up on you, engulfing your body. Your eyes woozy and eyelashes batting at him. Your leg felt light hooked up over on him.
His hips jerked slowly, his face slowly flushing. The room was hot, and stuffed. The floor was now practically covered in water. You squeezed his member, drawing a load moan of your name and a shudder from him. He inhaled sharply, then continued.
Your hand found his face, you trailed it up to his cheekbone. Touching the purple bruise that formed itself there, he winced. Taking your wrist softly, moving it away. He stilled within you as he did — then he continued. Going a bit harder and faster.
His cum filled balls clapped up against you, pushing you up. Your back was pressed up hardly on the cold copper, possibly leaning an indent. The sound was lewd, the sloshing of water, the clapping of skin on skin, the rough moans of your husbands and the soft ones that contrasted his.
“I’m almost there.” He huffed out, moving your ankle to his mouth and giving it a soft peck.
“I am near too.” You whispered, smiling up at him. Watching his hand move up and down your calf, tracing the skin. He held a hand on his hip, allowing him to move faster and faster. He kept note to try and not change the pace much, wanting to keep the same rhythm that got you so close to your release in the first place.
Sweat trickled down his forehead, down his neck and his collar bone. Down his soft abs, not as pronounced as his wartime days but still present nonetheless. He ran a wet hand through his hair, messing it up with no care in the world other than to bring you to your climax.
Maekar grunted, meeting your eyes with a dark and tender expression. Watching you wail through the immense sensations. He finally shuddered, closing his eyes as he growled out loudly.
When he finished, you did too. Gasping loudly, riding the wave of pleasure slowly but surely. You could feel his spend spilling inside you, the release was a comforting one. It felt as if your worries had all been reconciled in that moment. You were not so sure, you knew how he could be. Always shutting himself out, pushing you away for no care. The look of annoyance on his face.
This time there was none of that.
Your husband kissed you, his lips grazed yours. Panting into you as he held your waist, still moving steadily in your cunt. Cock fluttering. He brought your leg down from his shoulder, kneading at your ass.
“I am sorry about everything.” Maekar whispered as he pulled away from the kiss. You looked up at him, exhausted from your efforts.
“I forgive you.”
i am literally so giddy, i LOVE THIS!!! hope you all do as-well!
• he is a gentle man, as many might think he doesn’t seem the kind to dance. however that is wrong, he loves to spin and waltz. he loves dance that of dorne which he was taught as a boy by watching his own mother and father.
• he doesn’t mind pda, Baelor would hold hands with you but he would kiss you much. making him feel a bit awkward in public settings.
• baelor often finds himself staring at you from across rooms, zoning out at the sight of you. too entranced to take his eyes off and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing with it.
• “few could doubt that baelor breakspear would be a good king” is something that everybody from dorne to the wall say. baelor makes talk with common people, children, gives a silver stag to beggars. he knows no borders in his empathy and kindness.
• if we are referring to you being his wife; he is as devoted to you as the day he courted you. married you. if not more that is, he sends flowers to you when he is away on buisness as hand of the king. he writes you letters, telling you about how he counts down the days until he can see you again.
• he loves his children with everything he holds dear, he remembers when the maester placed valarr in his arms. when the babe opened its eyes to look at his father, baelors heart warmed with the sight that beheld him. the babes eye color being like his.
• hides himself in his books, often reading about the histories or the sciences. he tells you that education is an advantage, and why should he not try to learn as much about the world when all the books are at his lap?
• it’s quite literally cannon that he fidgets with his rings, he does it whenever he’s anxious. or honestly as a habit.
• another habit that baelor would have is constantly scratching at his beard, you would have to be pulling his hand away. reminding him that he’d irritate his skin, he never learns however. often going to the grand maester and asking why the skin on his chin is red.
NSFW
• baelor loves to whisper sweet nothings into your ear when you writhe under him, praising you and telling you how good you are doing for him. loves to tell you how you feel, like you were almost made for him.
• okay don’t ask me how i know… but he is 100% into being dominated. like im talking about whimpering, overstimulated, biting his lip and gripping the sheets. he derives pleasure from when you ride him or don’t allow him to cum.
• however, he is also a switch! he likes to take charge and it equally pleasures him as being dominated by you. he likes to bend you over his lap if you agitated him earlier in the day, doesn’t mind choking as long as it’s okay with you.
• baelor is a munch!! he eats you out as if it were his last night in the world, covering your juices on his salt and pepper beard. he would also let you ride his face, holding you by your thighs and inhaling your scent while his cock hardens.
• when he works late at night, hand duties being.. he wouldn’t mind you coming to his study to cockwarm him while he works. being hard in you and unmoving, feeling you pulsate around him in hopes of friction.
• baelor breakspear or baelor break my back?? he can definitely be rough with you, pounding into you from behind as he lets out harsh groans. fingernails digging deep into your skin as he holds you up. his hard balls clapping up against you relentlessly.
• definitely talks you through it, not whispering into your ear. i mean talking you through it as you find your sweet release, telling you to breath and look at him in the eyes.
• would fuck you in his armor if you simply asked him, he looks to good in it not to ask. the cold metal being a harsh opposite that of his warm soft skin, that being the only thing warm and soft of him being his aching member.
• he would fill you up no doubt, loves everything about it. he loves stuffing you full of his seed, he loves watching your face contort as you take it, and he loves watching it drip out of your needy hole. he also loves stuffing it back into you with his slender fingers.
• speaking of fingers, he would take you quickly with them. he’s not a fan of quickies but he knows how you can be, so he uses them to draw and orgasm out of you. staring deep into your eyes as he hikes your dress up and fucks you with them.
• he’s big on taking care of you and won’t sleep until he knows your okay, drawing a bath for you. putting herbs into the water to soothe you, rubbing oil across your body and kissing you on your neck. almost making you want to go again.
my master list here!
i’ve been in a slump as of late, so forgive me! i have a couple of new fics on the way that i hope to finish in a timely manner, (my works in progress are on my master list!) i also had a request that im turning into a fic, (the woe of it all pt.2) so if you requested that keep an eye out for it soon!
i’m also working on other requests and plan to write things other than straight smut, lol.. but thank you to everyone who has supported my works so far!! it means the world to me :)
• he is a grumpy man, just naturally like that. he is always chastising somebody when he can, often his peers for not seeing things how he does. he believes he can never be wrong, that he is always right.
• everyone is wrong except you, that is. if you're his wife he will always agree with you, no matter what.. usually.
• during arguments he can get a bit mean, he will never raise his voice at you. he knows better than that, but his tone is scrutinizing, filled with annoyance. he storms out, like the drama queen he is.
• he will always hold back on apologizing, wanting you to cave in before him. he knows that will never happen but he still waits every single time, eventually breaking and asking you for forgiveness. peppering you with sweet kisses.
• a worry some father, always wanting to know what his children are doing. sending the boys to search for each other, calling upon maids. when he does not know where each child is, he gets anxious, yelling at people because he does not know if his eldest two are off in a brothel. or if his youngest are causing trouble and giving each other beatings.
• keeps himself very well groomed, his beard is always trimmed at the length he likes it and. his hair is always slicked back, if he doesn't look presentable his day is ruined, for some odd reason.
• likes to take you for horse rides, riding in the dornish marches or even trekking near the red mountains if he feels daring. he loves it when the wind catches in your hair, or the way you command the reins or take lead of the course.
• very exaggerate, you could swat at him as a joke and he'd act as if you had just hacked his arm off. you could yell at him and he would make it seem if you had accused him of treason.
• always slouching, it is a daily thing - hourly even - to remind him to sit up straight, roll his shoulders back and fix his posture for goodness sake.
• doesn't spare his affection for private, kissing you and holding your hand. it does not matter if the children boast "ewwww", he will continue to cherish you. that is why he is bound to you for life, is it not?
• when he returned from the first blackfyre rebellion, (assuming you were married by then) he had you tend to him. he swatted away maids trying to help you, only wanting to feel your soothing touch that made all his pain disappear as you cleaned new scars and applied herbs to his bruises and sprains.
NSFW
• this man has a breeding kink!! he has 6 kids.. like be so serious… he just loves knowing your entirely his and bound to him. he loves to see you full, breasts plump and round, loves to see you when you are pregnant and knowing he did that to you.
• speaking of your breasts being plump and round, maekar would be the type to help you unclog your milk duct when needed. it would be an innocent thing, you trying to relieve some pain. he wouldn’t shy away from it.
• maekar is an eater!! he loves giving you head and watching you come undone, he finds pleasure when you grip his hand and moan our sweet nothings while his tongue is licking up and down.
• he’s a very vocal man during sex, groaning and letting out curses. have you heard the way he talks to other’s on a daily basis? he’d be cursing like a sailor while he’s inside of you.
• he wouldn’t be one to shy away from letting you take the reins, in fact - he prefers it. he likes to watch you bounce up and down on his cock, doing all the work.
• at times when you ride him, let’s say after you finish and just let the high settle down; he can get overstimulated. making small whimpers, holding his face in his hand, gasping into it, begging you to stop in the name of the seven.
• however, when it comes to overstimulating you… he doesn’t care if you swat at him. start crying, he will keep going because he enjoys seeing you writhe under his body.
• his nickname, “the anvil” is definitely earned. in war and in bed, his stature is big and broad. his shoulders and back are muscular, if you two make love in front of a mirror you can see it flexing with every thrust he makes.
• going along with the nickname, he can be rough in bed. pounding up so hard that the headboard thumps against the wall; so hard that he leaves your cervix bruised, feeling it for weeks on end.
• he can be soft as well, but it would take a lot for him to hold back. muffling his groans into your neck, he likes when it is just soft and sensual. thrusts slow, placing kisses all over your body.
• for after care, he doesn’t really do much. not the roll over in bed kind but he would still clean you up, hug you and reassure you. then doze off to sleep, but if you wanted more, all you would have to do is ask. there is nothing better for him in the world than meeting your demands.
| Angsty?? Enemies to lovers..? PinV, Missionary, fingering, riding, some spanking, creampie, regret
| Word count, 4.1k
| NSFW 18+
The events that had happened left you scarred, you could not think of anything else but that of your husband’s death.
A Maester had gone to fetch you from the stands, you thought it to be a broken arm or a shattered collarbone. You were there when you watched him take all those blows from his brother. It was not his place to take the hedge knights side, yet he did. He had called upon you urgently making you fret. Rightfully so, when you had made your way down the steps of the pavilion a crowd had gathered near the gate of the stable.
You made way, pushing people aside and moving to the center. The sight before you was the accused holding your husband in his arms. The helm he wore was discarded on the ground. It wasn’t his to begin with, it was your eldest son’s armor and he had warned him it would be tight on him.
The scream you let out was horrifying, it was blood curdling. You scrambled toward him. Holding his head, and when you felt the wetness on your hand you pulled it. Only to be met with blood, his skull had been crushed from behind.
There was no question for you about who struck the fatal blow, the kings-guard were forbidden to strike him. Two of the other men died in the first few minutes, the Fossoway boy not anywhere near him, the Baratheon Lord was struck from his horse and your nephew fought his own battle.
It had been his brother, and fury quickly spread throughout your body. To make it better, a shuffling was heard from behind and there he stood. His face distraught with the sight, he hadn’t said a word. Only standing there as he watched you grieve. Holding his body in your arms, his lifeless eyes staring up at nothing.
In the days to come you had made the plans for the funeral, to have him burned and cremated as his customs were. You sent ravens to your youngest son and his father, informing them of his untimely death.
The funeral had arrived within the week, he would go to the fire in the yard of Ashford castle, by the bank of the river. You would have liked his body brought to Dragonstone. The summer heat would not permit it however, it would take to long.
You cried when you watched his body being burnt upon the great pyre. You toyed with a ring that had belonged to him, it was a thing you used to do. Twist his rings whenever he was at a pause, in bed, anywhere really. Not anymore though. You would never twist them from his hands, the ring was big and you could not wear it on your smaller hands. The solution that came to mind was to tie it to a chain and place it upon your neck.
So you held it, as tears streamed down your solemn face. Biting your lip and drawing blood as you watched your husband’s body leave the world. Turning to ashes and rising up into the sky with a great roar of fire.
Once it was all over and the fire died out, you left the gathering. Walking up a hill that overlooked the world. Letting yourself sob and feel the grief you kept suppressing, you choked on the sobs. Holding yourself in your arms as you felt small and powerless in the end. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, or was there? You wanted to blame yourself, but for what? You had not struck the fatal blow.
The tears you wept were concealed by the black veil you wore, it was suffocating. Finding the fabric, you lifted it up over your head. Being met with a breeze of wind. As you turned to go back, your eyes were met with the violet and brooding ones that of his youngest brother. Maekar.
You glanced upon his face, the bruises that he received from the trial being prominent. He had an off putting cut on his left cheek, where his bone had sat. The laceration already scabbing.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, wiping the streams of salt from your cheeks.
“Same as you, I presume. To grieve for my brother alone.”
With an accusatory tone, you quickly spoke. “I did not see a single look of grievance on your face.”
“I still grieve for him.”
“You struck the blow that killed him!” You hissed, anger seething. “You do not grieve because you meant to do it!” You shot again, it was all you had wanted to say to him. Tears quickly found your eyes once more.
“Kill him? It surprise’s me out of all people, you also accuse me of doing it on purpose.”
A scoff found you, yet you did not answer him. Looking off into the foggy distance. The morning had been grim, befitting the atmosphere.
“Throw all the accusations you want at me. It will make no difference, he is dead.”
You snapped your gaze away, staring up at him. Hatred and anger only found you in the moment, however you could not speak. The words could not find you.
“Some men will say I meant to kill my brother. The Gods know it is a lie, but I will hear the whispers till the day I die.” He seethed out.
“You do not know how I feel!” You finally answered, almost yelling at him.
“I know how you feel, I am a widower.”
“Did the Lady Dayne die to a mace crushing her skull!?”
He looked at you, an almost guilty look in his eyes. His eyes wavered to the ground. That was the most emotion he had shown since the tragedy of your husband. With that you felt guilty yourself, “Forgive me. I did not mean it that way.” You said, quiet and meek. Your voice no higher than a whisper.
“I know you did not, but how could I blame you?” Maekars voice was monotone, and he had walked away from you. Leaving you up on the hill. Alone, leaving you to face the words you had just spoke.
Later in the night you had confined yourself to your room, the one you had slept in with Baelor. His things were still in the room, untouched. They were left in the place's he had put them in, his cloak was draped over the crimson velvet chair. A few of his history books deserted on the nightstand, the goblet of wine he had been drinking left there as well. Half full.
His side of the bed was untouched, just as he left it the morning of his death. You were to be packing, but you could not bring yourself to do so. Weeping at the foot of the bed, crying loudly and asking why the seven were so cruel as to take your husband and leave you.
The curtains had been drawn, leaving the room grim and lifeless. You did not even wish for moonlight to enter. Allowing you to drown in the vast ocean of your sorrows. The black veil you wore had been discarded somewhere on the hardwood floors, you arms had been crossed and you gasped convulsively in them. The skin of your knees hurt from the weight on them that you had used to prop yourself up.
The room still smelled of him, still smelled of his musk and it all came running back to you. He had made love to you that night, after he had called the council to have the Hedge Knight plead his case. You recalled how your loins ached, he took you fast and rough, but not with animosity.
"You won't take his side, will you?"
He did not give you an answer, only rubbing the side of your thighs in reassurance and placing a soft kiss upon your temple. It was enough for you to think he wouldn't fight, but when you did not find him next to you in the bed that morning. You quickly made your way to the tourney grounds, finding him already clad in armor. He told you not to fret, that he would be alright. So you believed him, and stupidly so, that is what you had told yourself.
The memory of him on the ground unmoving was a nauseating recollection, the blood stains on his face and his unmoving fingers were what haunted you most. His crushed skull was blackened from your mind, and you did not wish to relive seeing his brains oozing out slowly but surely.
Instantaneously, you heard a rugged pounding at the door, you thought to wonder who could be waiting outside of the room. Pulling yourself up off your feet, you stalked across the floor. The floor was cold and your feet had been bare, your lengthy dress covering them a bit. It did not matter to you that you had been unpresentable, nor that the room were in shambles. Too engulfed in your grief to care.
Your hands found the silver embellished doorhandle, turning it with a motion of your wrist. Stepping back in order to open the door fully, allowing for whoever was behind the door to present themselves and their business with you.
When you looked up however, it was the person you had least expected to standing there. His hair was a mess, rugged and unkept. His beard scruffy looking and his eyes sunken, your breath had hitched. The sound heard through your nostrils.
"My lady, may I enter?" He spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.
"What do you want from me?" You seethed out, you did not wish to speak to him now, in a day, in a fortnight, in a decade, never.
Maekar's face appeared startled from the sharpness in your tone, he did not expect you to greet him with open arms and the anger you had shown him was understandable. He shifted a bit where he stood before he spoke, letting out a sigh.
"I came to speak with you, I know you must blame me for Baelor's death." It was unmistakable that you did, the words you had exchanged earlier made it plain and direct.
"I do." The answer you gave was a simple one, you did not have to say much for it to strike a blow deep to his core. His face grimaced.
"I did not come here to defend myself, I know what I have done."
Those words left you hesitant.
"Then what have you come here for?!" You quickly reprimanded, why was he here? At such a queer time, there was nothing to explain.
"To apologize. I will never know the grief you bear my brother, I cannot blame you for the fury that you pit at me. However, you must hear my plea. I beg of you." You allowed him to speak with a nod of your head, allowing him into the room. You did not wish for maids to hear your conversation and spread it through the halls.
"To put it clear for you it is strange to say, I do not recall the blow that broke his skull. I do not know if it is a mercy that the gods have bestowed upon me or a curse. Some of both, I think." He sighed, standing by the window. Pulling the heavy curtain aside.
A culpable look had formed on your face, when you had listened to the words of his plea. You grasped that you hadn't been considerate to him, you were not the only one dealing with the death. Teardrops streaked down, eyes watery once more.
Maekar hurried over towards you, pulling you into his arms. Your head rest on his chest, he smelled of musk, not that of your husbands. It was different, stronger and alluring. He smelled of ash and strong ale, brooding and masculine. It was strong and comforting.
He held your head close to his warm body, cooing at you and urging you not to cry. His rough hand ran itself through the locks of your hair, you could hear his heartbeat thumping in his chest as your ear was pressed up on the black and red collared blouse he donned.
You sniveled, then looked up at him. Meeting the vast sea of purple, "I offer my condolences. I did not mean to be so harsh."
"I do not want them, they are not needed. I understand you are mourning, the rage you show me is inevitable."
His hand found your cheek, brushing away the evidence of sadness ad guilt. He started at your lips, plump and open. His fingers found them next, putting a thumb at your bottom lip. Caressing it almost. You did not know what he was doing, in truth. However, you made no effort to stop him. Watching as he gleamed with infatuation.
Your lashes fluttered at him, in a drunken way. Not one of liquor. Your eyes dried, now being replaced with a different emotion that you could feel all throughout your body. It was felt in your heart, your core, your lungs. The air seemed ever thin at present, making your chest heave.
The atmosphere was tense, the two of you did not move. Only submerging yourselves with the lust in the feel of the room. His thumb moved away from your lip, finding itself a resting place at your jaw. Hooking it there and pulling you up on your tip toes. Your lips found his own, clashing. His tongue found its way into your mouth making you moan as he grabbed your waist, heaving you up.
A loud groan could emitted from him as he stumbled backward, not breaking the kiss even as he found the foot of the bed. His beard tickled against your skin, so with that you brought a hand up towards his face. Tugging at the white hairs that lay on his chin. He broke the kiss, breathy and with a snicker.
"Touchy, aren't you?"
You smiled, pulling him back in. Your body leaned into his touch, back almost arching at the way his arm wrapped around your body. When you pulled him it was by the tousled silver locks on his head. His hair was usually slicked back, but he had not done it in that fashion in a week. Leaving it unmanaged.
He walked around to the side, his footsteps loud with the thump of his black leather boots. He shattered the kiss once more, guiding you to sit on the bed. He looked down at you in an animalistic way, his gaze now dark with desire.
It was all wrong, he should not have wanted you. You were his brothers wife, or were. That somehow justified it to him in his mind, you were a widow and no longer his. Death had seperated you and Baelor. Allowing him to indulge in his craving, you.
The thoughts ran through your own mind likewise, he was your husband's brother. The man who killed him most importantly, not even an hour ago you cursed him and prayed to the seven that he should not find peace in this life. Now, you were offering yourself up to him in the room your husband last took you in.
Maekar was a cruel man to have done this to you, but it did not ail you. You pushed yourself back on the bed, propping yourself up onto the bed. Watching him closely as he removed his blouse. Undoing the buttons, one by one.
He had struggled with the last one, ripping it off cleanly. His chest bare now, it was scar covered. Overlapping each other, brute reminders of who he was. His pecs flexed as they found the cool air, and the muscles of his biceps traced with veins running down his forearms.
He wore a black ring on his pinky, encrusted with a large ruby. It shone in the light of all the lit candles in the room. He did not remove his pants yet, instead moving towards you and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. Moving lower to your neck, placing softer and more meaningful ones there. Maekar turned you around, placing a hand on your belly as he flipped you around. He moved your hair aside, laying more pecks on the back of your neck.
You turned to look back at him, all doe eyed and enamored his ministrations. His finger trailed down your back and undoing the laces of your dress slowly, unveiling your bare skin that lay beneath. He tugged the rest down, your breasts falling forth. Maekar had you stand, pulling the rest off the way down. You stepped out of the gown, facing him again.
The only thing that situated itself on your body now was the chain you wore that had Baelors ring on it. He looked at it, grasping it in his palm and ripping it off with a swift movement. Stinging a bit, Maekar threw it to the ground. Not with hate but with haste. Wanting you badly and not needing another cruel reminder that you still had love for him.
He undid the ties of his pants then, undoing them and heaving them off. He did not wear undergarments, his manhood making itself present. He was hung, his pink tip leaking and vexed. His balls were heavy, needing release soon. They were covered with white hair, darker than that of his head.
Your mouth gaped open at the sight, a bit astonished at the sheer size of his cock. You were already slick with want and that sight, made it no easier to bear. He spit on his hand, moving it to your aching cunt.
"Look at you." He cooed, admiring what he had done. He moved his hand down, two fingers rubbing at your sensitive bud. You whined with pleasure, staring up at him as he worked intentionally.
Without warning, he shoved two of his spit covered fingers inside of you. They made a stretch, a bit painful. The pain more pleasure. If his fingers stung, how would his cock feel?
Your pussy sucked them inside, he brought your leg up over his broad shoulder. Then moving down and whispering into your ear, "Do you like this?" His breath hot against your ear. You nodded, moans drawing out of you. He held you close against his body, praising you as you took his fingers.
The squelching sound of you made him harden even more, he pulled back from you and drawing his fingers out. Leaving you upset at the lack of pleasure. He took his member in hand, stroking himself in front of you.
He took your hand in his, making you do it for him. Maekar groaned, letting out a growl as you made him feel good. He brought your hand off, making you spit. Lubing it up a bit and bringing it back down as you continued to knead him.
“Is this good?” You asked, your voice breathy and seductive. Bringing him in like a moth to a flame, he nodded. “You’re doing perfectly for me.” Whenever he complimented you it went straight to your aching core, nipples hardening. Pupils dilating.
Maekar stopped you, then gestured for you to lay down on one of the pillows. You crawled up a bit, laying down and staring up at him. He rubbed his girthy length a bit more, then tapping it against your pussy. The meaty sound making your knees cave in a bit. His tip dragged up and down, to your clit and to your hole. Until finally, he lined himself up. Propping a knee up a little, and pushing himself into you. Letting out a gasp as he was engulfed.
He didn’t move yet, still slowly pushing into you. Not wanting to cause harm. “Feel that stretch, hm?” He asked, moving a hand up to your breast. Cupping the soft mound.
“It hurts a bit.” You told him, he looked at you. Wondering if the pain was actual. “The good kind.” You reassured, he nodded and kept the stretch inside of you going.
Once he had bottomed out, you could feel his cum filled balls up against your ass. His tip kissed your cervix lightly, he warned you he would start moving and you nodded. He groaned, as he moved out and then in. Making every thrust count. He gripped your bottom in an attempt to keep himself up but faltered. Holding onto the headboard now.
You held onto his chest, nails scraping the flesh. Every clap of skin was punctuated with a low breathy growl from him, he made you make note of how you made him feel. How weak you had him.
You let out moans, staring up at him. He stared back. Reaching down and kissing you. Every thrust made you scream, you surely would be sore from this on the morrow. He made you feel comfort in the way he took you. He did not take you like a dog takes a bitch, nor how a man takes a whore. He took you as if he bore you love, or care.
It was not love you believe, but rather care. Care and sympathy for you. How could he love you? If so, it was infatuation and naught the other.
Maekar pulled out, leaning back on the other side of the bed. Moving you ontop of him and having you ride him. He propped his feet up, meeting you where you brought yourself down. He looked into your eyes with deep intent, he would make you cum soon. That was his goal.
He swatted at your ass, drawing a piercing cry from you. He enjoyed it, spanking you that is. A white ring started to form where your cunt and his manhood met, formed from his precum and your slick. He continued to meet you, biting his lip slightly and suppressing the noises he wanted to let out.
The headboard banged as you moved up on him, he held you up. Holding your hips with both of his strong hands now. His hips bucked up into yours, you remember now seeing him do that at the trial as he rode around before it had started. The sight made you feel like a maiden for some ofd reason.
Even before, you had always found him quite handsome. His Valyrian features mixed with some that of his Dornish mother captivating, even when you were on that hill with him earlier. No matter how much rage filled you, he was a man that haunted your dreams.
You clung to him as you rode him, his hands going back down to squeeze your ass. Then holding you close to him, wrapping themselves on your back. He kissed your jawline, groaning and allowing himself to make noise. You moved your gaze away from him as you rode him, he grabbed your jaw. Forcing you to look back at him.
“Look at me while you ride me, I want to see your face.”
And so you did, trying your best not to close your eyes or look anywhere but him. He let out louder groans, then taking your hand and kissing it. Placing it upon his cheek.
You gasped for air trying to hold back, clenching around him. You pulsated as you neared your undoing. "I am near, Maekar." He nodded, not changing his pace to help you approach faster. "Me as well. Come on, cum with me." He moaned out, breathless and sweaty.
He kept pumping up into you, kissing you as he did so. Making the moment you shared more intimate and sweet. You felt the coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and with that you cried out his name. Collapsing into his warm embrace.
Maekar came shortly after, "God's, you undo me." He praised, throwing his head back slightly. His seed filling you, the warm liquid now conjoined with your own release. He pumped slowly still, coming off of the high cloud you two had just been on. Bringing his hand down towards his manhood, he pulled out of you and let you fall next to him on the feather bed.
You glanced around the room, it smelt of sex. He pulled the duvet over the two of you and held you close.
The dress you wore for the funeral was discarded, the ring that belonged to Baelor had laid on the floor somewhere, his side of the bed that you left untouched his own brother lay in now.
You quickly came to your senses, what had you done?
i want to say thanks to everyone who has supported my works so far! it means a lot to me :)
Angst, The boys are missing, Maekars a bad dad, PinV, Spiteful sex, Missionary, rough, doggystyle, Maekar has a breeding kink.
NSFW 18+, read at your own discretion!
House Targaryen had arrived in Ashford, it was a week or so’s ride west to the Reach from where Summerhall sat. The banners flew in the summer winds, the blue skies a heavy contrast to the black and red of the Dragon insignia that flew high. Ashford was a couple of Leagues out from the Dornish Marches. The seat of your husband being at the foothills.
He had ridden on his horse next to his brother Baelor. You had little taste for riding if it were longer than a stroll, as it often left you sore. Your hips and back aching and making calluses on your soft thighs. So, you had ridden in the carriage alone and in a state of sorrow and fear. You were to be riding with your youngest son Aegon, but he had gone missing along with your eldest son Daeron. You had thought it best to bring the boys only, not wanting to show your two girls the bloody sport that of jousting just yet.
It was supposed to be a getaway from the hot castle walls of Summerhall. You wished you never had never left, everything had gone wrong too quick.
You could feel the rubble underneath the wheels of the carriage, making it a bumpy ride. It had abruptly came to a stop, pulling the curtain aside you had looked around and made note that you were here. You sat in the carriage, staring down at your gown and the embroidering of it. Only now had you noticed the intricate details that your lady’s maid had put into your red dress.
You only looked up once you heard the opening of the carriage door. The hinges of the wooden door creaked and there he stood. Maekar looked unamused, he kept telling you that Daeron always did things of the sort. As if it helped ease your worries any. Daeron did this but never Aegon, and that worried you so.
Your eyes had been dark and sunken, the outer corners red from all the tears you had cried in the nights after you had learned of their disappearance. That night you learned of their disappearance you had begged Maekar to send out men looking for your sons, two dozen men to search the area at the least.
“It will draw too much attention. I do not want a scene. They will return.” He had told you. Seven hells! Did he even care for his boys? His heir and his youngest? That had infuriated you and you forbid him from being near you, in the same cot and even the same tent for the duration of your travels. The nerve of that man.
Maekar was never a man who necessarily cared much for his children. He loved them yes, but he saw it as a duty, and that duty had been taken care of. He had an heir, a spare, then another spare, and then another. Not to add he was the fourth son of his father. Why would he need so many spares? It was not as if he were to be king
When you had your children, you wanted to feed your babes at your own breast. The maids had given you a bit of advice and told you that it would help grow the children closer to you at their young age. However though, he protested it and forbade it. Biding you use a wet nurse. “Why else do we have them? You should not exhaust yourself with such matters.”
Who raised him? Clearly not his father.
He had offered you a hand when he opened the carriage door and all you could do was to simply stare at him. His face was stoic, and he did not seem as if he had lost sleep over the situation at hand. “Would you stop acting so mournful? They will return.” He hushed lowly. Making it so that nobody in the vicinity outside could hear.
“Mournful?” You spat.
“You act as if they are dead.” He scolded, his forehead creasing as he made the sarcastic comment. It did not see that way to you however.
“Do not say that.”
He sighed and shifted awkwardly in the steps leading up. you a look of disdain. The atmosphere had been tense. He brought up his hand to scratch at his beard, then surprisingly he change the subject and said, “Get up. The Lords of Ashford await us and I do not wish to hear the indignant words of my brother.”
A sigh left your throat, you did not wish to argue. You patted around your eyes with a small silk handkerchief that you had kept on you. His hand was still extended towards you and you took it, Maekar helped you down the wooden pullout stairs down into the courtyard. The air was the smell of fresh cider and the smell of rained on gravel. Maekar held your arm in his when you had descended, keeping your body close to his. As a lady of House Targaryen you took it in you to wave at the small folk around who had boasted at your arrival. Smiling at the small children and women. It had been a facade however, the smile you offered to them wasn’t not one of joy.
Maekars face was grim and unmovng, he had always seemed older than he was. He was not even in his fourth decade of life, when he was younger he had contracted the pox. Leaving scars all around, his hair was slicked back in such a manner that made him seem as if he were the heir to the Targaryen throne and not his older brother. The Blackfyre rebellion certainly had aged him as-well, it was then where he had served as a military commander and earned his nickname of the Anvil.
Your Husband’s family was led upstairs into a council room that the Lords had provided. Only Baelor, Maekar and you had gone up: Baelors son and Aerion going off somewhere to rest. There were other men there, Lords of the Reach and tourney advisors where there. All to discuss the imposing question of where your sons could have possibly gone.
You took it in you to stand by the window, toying with a pendant that rest on your neck. The dress you wore had the sleeves falling into a flare, the bottom too. The cutout of the neck was off the shoulder and left room for a light lace too peek itself out.
The arguing in the room was difficult to ignore. Baelor and Maekar argued over the whereabouts of your sons, seeming almost as if he cared more than the father of your children. It was daunting to hear the way he talked, “They will be found.” “They are boys, they are off on an adventure.”
How often is it that Targaryen boys go off on adventures? In forests of all places? It is one thing to adventure with supervision of guards, but it is another to run off in the twilight hours. Not to mention how often is it that outlaws and sellswords find boys of high houses and sell them off without a second thought for a few coins of gold?
Seven hells.
The window was opened slightly, the room being stuffy. The slight breeze that made its way in leaving gooseflesh on your hands. You could hear the fury in his tone, the groaning that escaped him.
“We will discuss this when I have rested and thought about it!” His voice suddenly emitted, making you jump a bit. When you turned to look, it was the only person you had expected to say that. His face was a red tone, that of tomatoes harvested in the scorching days. He had stood up from the wooden chair, slamming down a silver goblet of summer wine that had barely been dranken.
His black cloak aired itself behind him, the room had stood still. Then like a child, he stormed out. The lords all looked at each-other in a dazed state. Wondering what had just happened, you looked around. Quickly excusing yourself from the Council room and walking down the long stony hallway.
Your steps could possibly be heard from 2 stories down, you walked around. Thinking of where he could have possibly had gone. When you turned the corner you were met with the sight of a dimly lit room. You hadn’t gotten a chance to look for your sleeping arrangements for the time being at Ashford. When you approached the door, you pushed it open slightly the door creaking open and shuffling heard from within.
“What is the issue that concerns you?!” You quickly shot, an accusing question. Maekar had sat there on the made bed, gripping the linen sheets and his knuckles whitening. He glanced up at you and met your eyes with a look of fury.
“Issue? My issue is that every fucking lord here keeps giving me their condolences for my sons. I do not want their pity. They all say it out of convenience. I know my sons are missing, they do not need to remind me every second!” He shouted.
“What harm is there in that?! You would do the same if one of their children went missing, forbid the gods. You cannot storm out of rooms as you please, you are not a child Maekar!”
“So you compare me to a child?” He replied, his white brows furrowing as he spun your words around.
“That was not my intent. If you see it that way then perhaps what I say is not a lie.” You hissed back: Venom in your tone. Why did he believe he could speak to people as he pleased? He certainly was not the king, nor one of the seven.
He was the kings fourth son, and he wasn’t as bold, clever, nor even gentle as his brothers. He was different entirely. A proud man. However not the kind of proud that you wished for.
“The words still left your mouth. You compare me to one.”
You rolled your eyes, what was the point of this!?
“Do not roll your eyes at me.” He quickly noted; standing up from the bed. The edge of the bed was now in a state of disarray from where he had been sitting. When he stood, Maekar towered over you. He had casted a small shadow over you in the room illuminated by a candle or two, scarcely doing a good job in illuminating the place.
“I do not understand what we are doing! All I am asking of you is to act like a civilized person would. You are to represent your house in a proper manner, we are not in Summerhall nor even the Red Keep.”
“You seem knowledgeable in what we are doing. I, stormed out because the lords of the reach and my brother are imbeciles. Do you need me to spell it out? Or is it hard to comprehend that I do not need a stressor added. I know the boys are missing. I am not old and geriatric that I have lost my memory. Yet, you deliberately insult me so.”
“I am not insulting you! I am merely telling you to not act as a child would when they are in a fit of anger.”
He scoffed, as if anything were funny. He had a history of doing that.
“Perhaps it was not an insult but I receive it as such.”
As if taking inspiration from your Lord husband, you laughed.
And as if he took inspiration from you, he looked confused as to why you were laughing at the matter.
“I am done here. Truly. I am not going to continue arguing with you about me calling you a child!”
“Then go! Go woman. Stop bickering with me.”
So you left. You would let him have the final word. You stormed out as he did earlier. Your gown following you.
You kept your hands folded as you walked, you made your way to where Aegons chambers would be. Sitting down and sitting on the bed, you stared at his trunk that held his clothes. Then at another trunk that held books and wooden knights. He was just a boy. Couldn’t your husband see that? You cursed him under your breath for not sending out some of his men to go out looking for the boys.
The walls of the room were made of dark stone, the ceilings and corners held up by wood. You walked over to Aegon’s trunk. Kneeling, you pulled out a sash that held wore over his clothes. The sash was a red one, a bit big for him. The dressmakers didn’t get his measurements right it had seemed. He would grow into it you thought.
You studied the sash, realizing that the dragon insignia was not on it. As it was supposed to be, you sighed. Standing up from the ground and making your way to a chair that sat by the hearth in the cold and desolate room. You called a guard to fetch a lady’s maid and sent her with the instructions of getting the sewing kit you kept in your trunk from your room.
When the shy maid brought you the kit, you took matters into your own hands. The thread you picked up was black. However you set it down. If you were to use it, it would look like that of the Blackfyres. Instead you used a white one, carefully threading it through the needle and you stitched the three headed dragon of house Targaryen onto the sash.
The sound of the needle gliding through the fabric, the rhythm of the stitch, it was almost soothing, a distraction from the worry gnawing at your heart. You worked with a single-minded focus, the world around you falling away. It was just you, the sash, the needle, and the silent hope that this small act, this simple stitching, would somehow bring Aegon home.
It had been a while you assumed, maybe more than an hour? Maybe two? It was morning when you had arrived, and now you could see the dusk arriving on the lands of the Reach through the narrow windows.
There was to be the first jousting tonight. You had quickly returned to your senses, getting up and setting down the sash on the bed. It wasn’t as neat as you’d like it, but it would suffice. You would finish it nicer when he returned.
You made your way back up to your sleeping arrangement. Opening the door, you expected to see Maekar there but he was no where in sight. It was better like this you supposed, perhaps he had gone off somewhere after the argument the two of you had. Just like you had.
You called in your maids to help you dress and do your hair for the night. People outside were jeering and laughing, sometimes you wished you were common folk. How would it feel to be truly free? No title, no duty, no sacrifices made for the realm.
They had dressed you in a black gown, the sun wouldn’t reflect on it and you would be cool for once. It was always a misery to wear black in the heat of the day. It wasn’t like you could often opt out of it, black was of your husbands colors.
The dress was plain black as the night, gold embroidery lined the dress above the waistline in intricate flowers. The sleeves a sheer material of black. The maids braided your hair, it was loose but the top strands were braided and pulled into a singular one at the back. They all talked around you as you stared at yourself in the mirror of the vanity.
Suddenly the door opened, and there he stood. He wasn’t dressed and he looked a bit sweaty, may-haps that he went somewhere after the fight. His gaze scanned the room, and his eyes found yours. There was a moment of awkward silence, both of you avoiding each other's gaze.
He had a couple of his servants come in, not more than 5. Maekar was at the other end of the room, his servants dabbed at his sweat and pulled him out of his clothes that he had been wearing all day. You could see all the happenings in the mirror as the finishing touches were done to you.
They pulled off his shirt first, and you saw his back muscles flexing from the cool wind that hit him. He had scars lined up all on his back from the battles he fought, his arms were stocky. He had earned his nickname of “The Anvil.” You never denied that fact. He was a handsome man, his face mature. You suddenly felt a heat between your legs as you thought about his exposed upper half. Quickly shutting down those thoughts. You were to be mad at him.
The memory of your wedding night had daunted upon you at the mere sight of your husband shirtless. You remembered how he touched you, his strong and calloused hands, the way he wasn’t rough. He had taken you gently, the pleasure of it all came running through your memory now.
You put your attention back to what was being said around you. You picked out jewelry to go with your dress and hair, settling on a pair of rubies for earrings and a beautiful gold ring that had 3 white diamonds encrusted in it. Putting it on your middle finger. You stared at yourself hands, on your left was your wedding ring. It had never come off in the time between your wedding and present day, no matter how many arguments were had. He was your husband, and you loved him.
When the two of you were dressed you left the room, Maekar staying behind. The moment you passed him he took a whiff of the air, he smelled the sweetness of your perfume and it infatuated him for a second. Not before composing himself and following by your side.
The kings-guard escorted Maekar, Baelor, the prince Valarr, your son Aerion and yourself to the tourney grounds. The whole way there you looked in amazement as you passed the tents, kids were running around and stopped to look at you. Jugglers were performing, knights practicing for the morrow. The sun had set, and the lit campfires gave the atmosphere a warming sensation. The breeze of the summer airs and the freshness of it made your heart race.
The Prince Valarr had left your party halfway, going to ready himself for the joust: Daeron was to joust tonight. Aegon to squire. Every free moment you had to think went back to them, if they were safe, if they were okay, if they were alive. You reminded yourself it to be normal, you were their mother. It was okay for you to worry.
Maekar brought you to the secluded box, set apart from the rest of the spectators. It was a small, private space, adorned with the Targaryen sigil. The steps up into your seats were a bit wobbly, Maekar helped you up. Lifting your gown off the floor so you wouldn’t trip over it. He disengaged his arm from yours, motioning for you to take a seat. You sat, the soft fabric of your dress rustling softly as you settled into the cushioned chair.
Prince Baelor waved to the people. Then when he sat, everybody else did. With that, the joust began.
The wooden fences were piled with people coming to watch the first match of the tourney. The opening joust was not one to be missed. Everybody knew that. You then looked upon the grounds, your husband shifted in his seat. Fiddling with his ring as he watched.
You glanced over at him, his chair seemed too small for his broad upper half. He spread his legs a bit, moving his hips up a bit and gripping the seat. The box seemed very crammed at the time being now. Tugging at the neckline of your dress, you took out a fan. Blowing the cool air onto yourself in hopes of relieving yourself from the heat.
When you had retrieved your fan, Maekar glanced over at you. His eyes fixated on the way your hands fluttered the fan. He couldn’t take his eyes off, too focused on the way your dress clung to your breasts. The way your movements were delicate and precise.
It was as if he were in a trance of some sort. He knew that you simply fanning yourself was not meant to be sexual or intriguing in any matter, but gods was it just that. He tried his best to pull his eyes away from you and back to the joust but it was as if you were a magnetic force.
Suddenly, you looked over to him. Putting a hand on his forearm and asking, “Could you get a boy to fetch me a goblet of wine?”
He hadn’t quite processed what you asked of him as he had been infatuated with you not a mere second ago. Maekar blinked, regaining his senses. He nodded, calling a serving boy with a motion of his fingers. Asking to fetch some wine for you, Once the boy had scurried off, he turned his eyes back to you. You had focused on the jousting, and his eyes lingered on where your hand had been when you spoke to him.
When your brother in laws son had won the joust, everybody stood. Clapping and cheering for the young prince. You had smiled, then looked over at your son Aerion who was sitting. Unamused and uncaring. You were about to scold him until Maekar took notice of it, yanking him up himself. Scolding him for you. A small smirk escaped your lips at the sight, hiding it and turning back around to clap.
When the applause settled, you all stayed standing. Walking around the box to conversate, the servant boy had arrived with your wine. He made his way through the crowd and meant to hand it to you till your husband stopped him, thanking him for bringing it then making your way to where you stood.
“Your wine.” He stated gruffly, the goblet out for you to take.
“What kind did you get me?” You asked him.
He sighed as he still held the goblet, “It’s red wine. Dornish. It’ll quench your thirst.”
You nodded, when you took the cup from him your fingers touched for a mere moment. He stared down at you, his breath hitching. It was clear that there was tension between the two of you, you both still clearly upset at each-other.
The thought of him half undressed made you shiver a bit again, and he could not stop thinking about the way you fanned at yourself. It made him want to devour you. You the same. The words were unspoken, but you both knew that you wanted each other.
Maekar watched as you drank the strong Dornish wine, watching how you brought your lips to the gold goblet. Watching how your throat moved as you swallowed. “Is it to your liking?” He asked.
You removed your lips, staring up at him. “It’s a bit strong but it’s nice.” He nodded, then moved his thumb to your mouth. Wiping off a sticky droplet of the wine. “You’re a messy eater.”
“You mean drinker?”
“You know what I meant.”
A smile left you, “You’re careless. I don’t want you ruining that dress.” He added. Not before walking away, leaving you there in the crowd.
A loud exclaiming voice had broken out, “There is to be a feast in the Ashford keep for all my guests!” You turned your head to look and it was Baelor announcing. Gods you had almost forgotten the feast. The night was still young but you wanted to be in your chambers, to undo the tension between Maekar and you. To feel him inside of you.
You were all escorted to the Grand hall of the Ashford keep, the whole way you were tensed up. Unclenching and clenching your jaw, trying to relax as you toyed with you hem of your sleeve. The hall was smaller than you expected, but your expectations were certainly up there. The halls of the Red keep and Summerhall those you were accustomed to.
You had wanted to dance, truly you did. It would do good to have a night of relaxation and fun. You simply could not. The room was ever as stuffy and your mind couldn’t move on from the fact your boys were missing.
The excuse you had used was that you weren’t feeling your best, smiling and exchanging farwells to high ladies you were accustomed to speaking and keeping well with. You held your head in your hands as you left, massaging your temples and feeling relief. It was taxing on you, and your husband wouldn’t even listen.
The walk up to your chambers wasn’t far, your hand found the cold doorknob and you twisted it. Expecting to just lay down and sob more. Yet when you moved your eyes up, he sat there on the bed. His head in his hands as-well.
You made no effort to leave or move, standing there like a frightened doe. He was ever the more handsome when he was stressed out, when he was angered. You let out a breath, your breath constricted by the tight gown. Maekar glanced up at the sudden sound that broke his train of thought. He had excused himself in the same manner you had, you hadn’t taken note though.
“I can leave, if it please you.”
“Stay.”
Your breath hitched and you could feel the blood pumping through your heart faster than a minute ago. “You look preoccupied, I will not bother you.” You had argued, fumbling with the handle.
“I am not preoccupied. I am sitting here doing nothing. Stay.” It had come out more of command than a statement. He sighed, glancing up to meet your eyes. His gaze moving up and down your body as you stood there. You felt like a maiden all over again. Wishing he would just touch you instead of playing this game of going back and forth.
Maekar stood up, moving towards you. Taking your hand off the knob without a word. Pushing the door closed. Then moving away, his eyes still meeting your soft lips. He watched as you moved away, your sudden movement jarring him a bit. He could tell you were nervous, the rise and fall of your chest betraying your quickened breath.
He then followed you as you went to your vanity, watching as you took a seat, your back to him. The sight of you there, so close, yet distant. It was maddening. He came up behind you, his large frame towering over you, his gaze locked on your form through the mirror.
You saw the moment when his eyes went dark, almost feral, his body tense with pent up desire, his breathing a little heavier than usual. He could see the way your chest rose and fell with each quickened breath, the way your eyes seemed a little wider, the subtle signs of your nervousness.
Maekar lifted his hand, his fingertips tracing the line of your shoulders, trailing down your arm, his touch almost reverent.
You quickly stood up however, now facing him. When you moved, he halted what he was doing. Staring at you. Taking in the sight of you. Then moving his hand to his side, clenching his fist a bit.
“The whole day, you’ve been nothing but rude. The days past too. You won’t send men to look for the boys, and now you mean to.. to make love to me?!” You quickly spoke. It came out a bit accusatory, but of what? You couldn’t make it out.
His expression twisted in a mix of anger and frustration at your words. Your accusation hit its mark, and his jaw clenched as he tried to control his temper. But as he heard you say 'make love', he couldn't help the way his eyes darkened, the way his body responded, his desire almost overpowering his anger.
"And what if I do?" he said, his voice gruff. "I am your husband. It's my right, isn't it?"
Your breathing got heavier every word he spoke. You did not give him an answer. Your silence only fueled his anger, the tension between you thick and palpable. He waited for your response, his eyes never leaving your face.
He took a step towards you again. "Answer me," he repeated, his voice a deep rumble. "Isn't it my right to take you if I want to?"
“You need to act proper!” You had finally responded. Your sudden outburst, the way you yelled at him, finally snapped the last of his restraint.
He moved fast, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hands shot out, grabbing your arms in a firm grip, his fingers almost digging into your skin. "Proper?" he growled, his voice rough with anger and lust. "You ask me to act proper when I've been trying to hold back for days now?"
“What is it? Is it that you haven’t had me? Since I’ve forbade you to sleep in the same tent and cot?” You snarked back.
Your husband clenched his jaw so hard it almost hurt, his grip on your arms tightening.
"Don't you dare act as if you don't know what I want," he gritted out, his eyes burning. "I've been aching to take you for days now, my body like a damn inferno, and you tease me with your body, your closeness, and then deny me, and then call me improper."
“I do not tease you.”
He moved his hand up towards your neck, choking you.
Maekar's hands tightened around your throat, his grip iron-strong as he drove you backward against the stone wall of your chamber.
"Enough," he growled, the word torn from a throat tight with rage and something else. Something that looked uncomfortably like fear. "You will not speak to me thus."
His jaw was still clenched, the muscle there tight.
Seven hells. “Make love to me.” You blurted out, a bit breathy. He froze in place.
He kissed you then, hard and hungry, his lips bruising against yours. There was no gentleness in it, no romance. Just raw, desperate need. His hands fisted in your hair, pulling you closer against his chest.
"Tell me again," he growled against your mouth, his voice rough. "Tell me what it is you desire from me.”
You let out a small cry of need. “Make love to me.”
His fingers trembled as he shoved you down onto the bed. He didn't remove his tunic. Didn't have the patience for it. Instead, he settled between your thighs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands were rough as they pushed up your dress, exploring your body with a hunger that matched his earlier rage.
When he entered you, there was no gentleness. Just a sharp, desperate thrust that made you gasp. He buried himself to the hilt inside you, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath.
The thrust was brutal, punishing, as if he were still angry. You wrapped your legs around his hips, then managing to pull of his tunic for him.
"Fuck," he breathed, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it must have hurt. He began to move in eagerly then, powerful strokes that drove into you with the same relentless energy he brought to everything else. His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
It had been painful, he had not realized it as no man ever does. Putting his pleasure before yours.
“Go slower- Go slower.” You managed to cry out.
He realized his pace, staying rough but not so that it hurt. He then pulled you up, pushing you down and then back up to pull your dress over your head. Getting it out the way, he then grabbed you, having your back meet his scarred and muscular chest. Then pushing his aching cock back inside you.
His hands roamed over you possessively, one sliding up to rest on your belly while the other gripped your hip. Your back arched as your body adjusted to his size. He gave you a moment to settle before beginning to move.
“Gods Maekar!” You had cried out as he held your hair in a fist, holding your breasts and body in the other arm as he started to keep his pace as he thrusted in from behind you. His hot breath warm on your ear as he panted out.
When his name tore from your lips as his brutal thrusts drove into you, he responded to you with a guttural groan that was equal parts pleasure and anguish.
“Is this what you wanted?” He growled out. His rough hand moving to your neck, choking you slightly as he scolded you.
Maekar's grip on your throat tightened at the sound of your moan, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make breathing difficult but not impossible. The hand on your hip squeezed possessively, his other hand still cupping your breast and playing with your nipple.
You could feel his girth thrusting in and out of you, as he kept his pace up you held onto the strong forearm that held you. Feeling all the veins underneath.
“You have made me angered all week, and all day. Asking me to send out men on a useless job.”
Your breath hitched, “I do not wish to speak on these matters while we are-“
“Fine. Be it so.” He spat, not speaking another word.
The only other sound was the wet squelching of your fluids being exchanged and his heavy balls on you. Maekar's grip on your throat tightened at the sound of your moan, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make breathing difficult but not impossible. The hand on your hip squeezed possessively, his other hand still cupping your breast and playing with your nipple.
His pelvis was felt through all of your body as he continued his pace, you could feel the strong muscle in his thighs. His quads being put to good use as he was propped up on his knees. Going in and out of you, in and out.
“May-haps, I shall give you a seventh babe.”
Your moans caught in your throat.
“I am getting too old for that.”
“No you are not. You have given me 6. Perhaps we will have a 7th before winter comes.”
You moaned as he pushed you onto your hands and knees. His hands gripping your hips, fucking you from behind. You let out a cry, holding onto the cold stone wall.
His thrusts got harder, he moved on hand down towards your clit, using his middle finger to rub the sweet spot up and down. Drawing moans from you and hoping to get you closer to your release.
“I heard an old tale that if the woman climaxes first it is more likely she is to be with child.”
“Maekar-“
“Come on.” He hissed. Rubbing ever the harder. Still pumping into you.
The hairs at the base of his cock could be felt, tickling near the back and just below your clit. You looked down to see him thrusting and were met with the erotic view of his balls moving as his dick did the rest.
“I am close.” You cried out, he nodded. Flipping you onto your back once more. You were met with his heavy gaze, his hand reaching up to squeeze your breast a bit. Pinching at your nipple and rolling it between his fingers.
He continued fucking into your pussy, moving his face closer to yours and kissing your cheek. Peppering you with kisses, you could smell ale on his breath yet you could not recall when in the night or the day he had any to begin with. His cock was thick and struggled with every thrust to re-enter you. He suddenly gasped. Feeling you cum all around his cock, a bit of a surprise.
He went rigid as he felt you, feeling you clench around him. You moaned out, gripping his arm and hiding your face from him. He quickly brought his hand to your jaw, snapping your face back and watching as you came undone.
Maekar continued, not yet having came. He let out an animalistic growl, propping his arms around your head. Staring down at you.
“I’m close. Take all of my seed.” He groaned out, leaving his mouth part open. “Take it, Gods!”
He collapsed on-top of you, pressing his heavy muscular weight on yours. Groaning with pleasure. He pulled out, rolling to the side. Pulling the heavy blanket over your bodies.
Your husband moved a strand of hair from your sweaty face. Then moving the rest aside and leaving a lovebite on your neck. Something you would surely have to cover up on the morrow.
“Do you think we’ll have a seventh?”
“Find me the two we are missing and the seven might answer that prayer.”
He let out a frustrated sound of annoyance, and you knew at that moment he was still the same from before.
Everybody had come down to the Reach for the tourney. The Tourney at Ashford Meadow. All the great houses would be there, lowly knights trying to make a name for themselves. Or women tagging along for the grand Tourney. You being one of them.
You were of a great house. The house that ruled the Storm lands. House Baratheon. Your older brother, Lyonel came to Joust. You had to be brought along in respect of it. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the tourneys were interesting. Drinking, drinking, dancing, more dancing.
Tonight there was a feast held in your brothers name, he threw it for himself but it was still in his name nonetheless. The night was young, the grounds had roared with the thunder of men laughing, the sound of crackling fires. Goblets clinking. The sky was well lit, the moon almost full, not quite though.
You had worn a dress that had the colors of your house, black and yellow. More so yellow. The black being just accents on the sleeves. The dress was a square cut one, your cleavage accentuated in it. It wasn’t a big dress thank the seven, it was lightweight, good enough to withstand the heat of the hot summer.
The jewels were old ones, a gold necklace wrapped around your neck. It was a clove one with pearls encircling it, it laid nicely. The rings on your fingers were cold, one with the drag of your house. Then two others just plain gold.
You had entered the feast tent after spending a while outside, wanting to go satisfy your hunger instead of drinking away the night like you usually would. The food was laid out for everyone on tables to grab and sit, it was an appealing sight. Fresh melons and peaches, grapes and fireplums. There were fruit tarts and baked apple dishes. The smell was captivating.
The wines were red and golden, some of the best next to the dornish wines. The main meals were that of seafood, crabs and clams and cod. It was all charming, you picked a plate up. Helping yourself to crab and a few fruit tarts on the side. Then grabbing your goblet and pouring a golden wine.
You made your way to the center table to sit next to where Lyonel had been sitting. However no where to be seen at his spot. Too busy conversing with his liege lords; The candlelight made the tent dreamy and a warm hue, people were laughing. It was awkward, nobody here really knew you. All they ever did was suck up, hoping they could get in good terms with their liege lords sister. So you sat there, cracking crab legs. Sucking the meat out, indulging yourself in the wine.
When you were done with all the food you sent it away with a working girl, sighing. Keeping your head on your head. Looking around in a sulk.
The tent flaps had opened, a tall man entering behind some lord or whatever he was. He enamored you, not really. More of infatuation, he looked lost. Grabbing a tart at the table, eating it like a dog who stole its owners food when the weren’t looking. You couldn’t tell if he was a knight or a serving boy. Or neither. His clothes were ragged and dirty for the most part. Once you looked up to look at his face, his eyes were big. An entrancing blue. His hair was a dark honey; shaggy however.
It was like you were a moth and he was the flame. Or rather the opposite. The tall man looked your way, his pupils dilating in the dim light of the tent. You looked away, your face flushed when you realized he caught you staring. Your eyes trailed back to see if he was still looking, and he was.
The skin of your cheeks felt hot, your necklace tightening and the room felt stuffy. You got up; leaving the head table. Making way for out the tent, he observed you. Did he offend you?
The hot summer air wasn’t much of aid, the air still stuffy if not more. You walked down the path of the tent, men jeering outside of it. Spilling the wine as they clinked their wine. Rustling could be heard behind, more people leaving the tent. The night still young nonetheless —
“Excuse me?”
The sound of the voice made you jump turing around. You were quick to make a comment.
“You do not sneak up on a lady like that!”
“Forgive me, m’lady. I did not mean to offend you.”
You finally opened your eyes, you quickly realized it was the knight or serving boy. Or neither. The flush in your cheeks returning.
“What is it you require from me? Make it quick.”
“I do not require anything, m’lady. I just, I saw you had left the tent in a haste. It had me wondering if you were alright.”
If you were alright? “Forgive me, but do I know you?”
“No. I’m sorry. I am Ser Duncan, Ser Duncan the Tall.”
“I’ve never heard of you.”
“I’m a Hedge Knight, M’Lady.”
Ah. So he was a lowly knight trying to make a name for himself.
“You are of the House Baratheon?” He had asked.
You made a short nod. It was quite obvious wasn’t it? The black and yellow of your dress. The fact that you were sitting at the high table. Your rings.
The conversation was changed, “But you are okay? You left quickly.”
“I am alright. Just.. stuffy in there. All the people.”
He seemed to understand, “I sleep outside.” He replied.
Your brow raised, “Outside?”
“It’s nicer out.”
“Ah.” You said, smiling a bit.
You started walking a bit, he followed.
“What were you doing in the tent?” You asked. It’s not common to see hedge knights in a high lords tent.
“A friend of mine invited me in for supper. I don’t eat well, just a rabbit or goose I can find. So I took the offer.”
“All you had was a fruit tart and then you left?”
“You were watching?”
“No. I merely noticed. I don’t stare and gawk at people.”
He laughed at your comment. This was getting somewhere.
His voice was a low, matter of fact. “If I do recall, I did see you gawking.”
“I was not gawking.”
He let out a grin. Then suddenly you were at your tent.
“Is this your tent?”
You nodded. “I am calling it an early night.”
“Then let it be an early night, M’Lady.”
You let out a shy smile. “Goodnight Ser Duncan..”
“The Tall.” He commented
“Goodnight Ser Duncan the Tall.” You jested.
“Goodnight M’Lady.”
It was the feast after the first round of jousting. Your brother would compete in the following days. However he was never one to shy away for an excuse to throw a feast.
It was grander this time, other houses. Not just the liege lords of the Baratheons. Houses from the Riverlands, The Reach and even the Vale came.
You weren’t interested in talking to any, you had just wished to see the tall knight again. The one who had brought you to your tent and made you laugh. The one whom had made your cheeks flush.
You conversed with some girl from the Reach. House Tarly you assumed, until a loud hard voice announced someone.
“Ser Duncan!!”
You quickly turned your head, was he here? He was.
Your brother had announced him. You had been there earlier that day when they had won a round of tug of war. Somehow they had managed to talk.
“Ser Duncan I must introduce you to my sister!”
Lyonel, the bastard. Had brought him to you. The Tarly girl excusing herself from the situation in a polite manner. You waved goodbye and offered a warm smile. She was kind.
“I’ve met him already.”
“You have? Not before me I assume?”
“Before you.” You bragged. It seemed as if he was enamored with the hedge knight. Duncan stood there awkwardly.
“Seven hells! You’ve met my sister already Duncan? Gods, I thought I had a real friend here.” He murmured.
“You do. I only met her on the feast to escort her.” The hedge knight finally spoke.
You rose a brow at him, only met you to escort you?
He shot you a small look of curiosity, almost as if he had not heard himself speak.
“No funny business you two. The seven are watching.”
Your brother had excused himself, from the two of you. Off to do more drinking and dancing.
“An odd one. Isn’t he?”
“Am I allowed to agree?”
“Of course. I will not have your head for it.”
“Then yes. He is odd.”
You giggled a bit.
“Will you be eating more than a fruit tart tonight?” You questioned. A nod to your conversation from the other night.
“I will. M’Lady. If it please you.”
“It would.”
So that is what he did, he filled himself with roasted duck. More fruit tarts, and a bit of fireplums. The night grew old. The routine was the same as the one you had with him before. You walked out the tent, however he walked out with you rather than chase after you and ask you if you were alright.
You made jokes and jested, and made your way to your tent.
You aren’t really sure how it happened. It was supposed to be a goodbye. However, the tall knight was now in the tent with you. His hands trying to undo the laces of the dress you wore today.
His lips clashed with yours with a small mumble as he broke the kiss apart, struggling too much with the laces.
“Just rip it. I have more.”
“Are you certain.”
You shot him a look. He nodded.
He turned you around, ripping your dress in one go. Duncan fumbled with it, bringing the dress down to your waist as he pulled your back against his chest. His tunic being the only thing in the way of skin and skin touching.
His hands trailed up to your breasts once he managed to get the dress low enough to feel your upper half. He held the soft curve of one in his hand. His hand that was much bigger.
Duncan leaned down, his soft lips reaching your neck. Sucking and kissing the skin of it. You were sure that he would leave marks if not gentle enough. He moved his hand away from your breasts and trailed them up slowly, still kissing your neck. Undoing your necklace.
You let out a small breath of air, he moved his hands to your waist. Pushing you away from his chest and onto your back as he looked down at you. “What do you want first?”
“Your cock.”
“No, I have to get you ready. My fingers or my mouth, M’Lady?”
Your eyes widened a bit, you certainly weren’t a maiden. However no man had ever even offered up his mouth to you. It was usually the opposite.
“Your mouth.” You managed to moan out.
He nodded, bunching up your skirts to your waist, then deciding it was in the way. He ripped the rest of your dress off. “Open your legs.” He asked softly. Almost a plea. You did as he bid. Opening your legs.
Duncan held them apart, spitting on your slick pussy. He looked up at you, holding one of your hands. He brought his mouth down to your cunt, you could feel his hot breath on you.
He began to suck at your clit, drawing out a moan from you. He smiled, lapping his tongue up and down. He licked around your gaping hole, sticking it in and out slowly, collecting the wetness around his tongue. Going back and forth from your home and your clit.
He moved one of your legs up on his shoulder, his tongue still lapping as you moaned his name. His grip on your hand tightened with each moan. You could hear his breath getting a bit heavier.
Every suck at your clit made your heart race faster, your held his hand so tight you could have sworn you scratched him.
Duncan lifted his head, the wetness around his mouth. He wiped at it a bit. Then made you taste yourself as he gave you a kiss.
He removed his tunic, along with his pants. And the size—
Seven hells. The size.
He was hung as if the Gods blessed him. It was no surprise for a big man such as himself. But Gods.
“Quit staring.” He smirked.
You rolled your eyes.
He quickly spit on his fingers, putting one inside the hole he just had his tongue lapping at. Drawing more moans from you. “Duncan-“
He shushed you, cooing at you. You clenched the sheets, moaning. Gods he was good with his hands. He thrusted a second finger inside of you, making you cry out his name louder.
“People are going to hear.” He mentioned.
“Everybody is drunk and nobody will remember who was moaning about-“
“Whatever you say M’Lady.”
He continued his ministrations, then pulled out. You felt a bit sad at the lack of contact. He rubbed his cock up and down with the hand he just used to finger you.
“Are you ready?”
“Well you’ve been readying me, so I think that’s up to you.”
“I think you are.”
He slowly stroked his pulsating dick, looking at you as he did so. His member throbbing at the tip. He brought himself closer to you, rubbing it up and down.
Then he pushed himself slowly against you, entering you. A loud groan could be heard from him, the stretch was inexplainable. It hurt, but it hurt good. A hurt that would surely make you finish.
He pressed his bare chest up against yours, moving slowly. Then reaching the hilt. Once he did, a moan from both of you could be heard. He looked down at you, quickly kissing you. Rolling his hips slowly inside of you. He brought up a hand to your breast, rubbing your nipple in between his fingers as he moaned into your mouth.
Duncan broke the kiss. “I’m going to start moving.”
You simply nodded, wanting to feel the thrusting sensation already.
He started moving, fucking himself in and out. Not at a fast pace, but a slow and deep one where you could feel his cock kissing your cervix. You could almost make out the veins that lined his dick up and down. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he picked the pace up.
His balls slapped up against your ass, the clapping sound making itself ever present in your tent. He kept kissing you as he did so.
The grunting and the skin against skin made you moan, you couldn’t remember the last time a man had made you feel this much pleasure. Or, ever. Actually.
Your breasts pressed up against his hard muscular chest, you held his strong back to keep yourself steady with every relentless pound of his cock. The muscles flexing underneath your fingers.
The sound was lewd, you could feel him getting closer. Yourself too, the knot in your stomach was making itself known to you.
“Are you close?” He asked, a breathy moan.
“I am-“
“Me too. Finish with me.”
You nodded. Moaning as he kept his pace steady, the one that would make you finish. He didn’t go faster, he kept it at the pace he knew you liked. His pleasure seemed to be derived more from yours.
He moaned, holding you tight against him. It came down crashing on you both. You wrapped your legs tighter as you both finished.
He let out a small thrust. Urging his cum into you as he twitched ever so slightly in you.
You unwrapped your legs from him, letting him fall to your side onto your bed. He sighed.
“You alright M’Lady?” He asked.
You shook your head yes.
Duncan pulled you into his arms holding you close, kissing you again. The night was ever so quiet now.
The only sound was the faint breathing of you two.
Sandor Clegane | The hound | PinV | Angst? | Battle of the Blackwater storyline |
He smelled of blood and sweat, smoke and musk. The man whom everybody knew as “The hound.” Was now in your chambers, hiding away from the ongoing battle outside. The sparkle of the fire could be seen from the terrace down the hall, it had frightened him. He was never a fan of fire. The scar on his face telling.
It wasn’t a rare thing for him to come to you, in seek of comfort or reassurance. It was his trauma, the one thing the man who stood at a stature of six foot six. Fire. A silly thing, but you supposed that when you get pressed to the fire as a child it isn’t that silly.
You had been in your rooms at the red keep, you weren’t a fancy lady. Just a ladies maid; for whomever girl visited from a castle or a keep. The sound of hard boots thumping, the ongoing battle in the blackwater bay had sent the high ladies into Maegor’s Holdfast. It was located in the heart of the red keep, the Targaryens had built it in the time after Aegon the conqueror. Naming it after Maegor the cruel, the third Targaryen king to rule over the Seven Kingdoms.
Everyone said it would be a siege, that Stannis Baratheon would come in from Blackwater. That once they had landed, the women would be first, right after killing all of the kings soldiers. You would rather be locked in the maids quarters than be stuck in the one place where all the Women were bound to be.
Which is why you could feel your heart almost pulsating out of your body when you heard the thumping on the stone floors. The clinking of metal, it didn’t seem to sound like a group of men. Just one. Still enough to have gooseflesh arise from your arms.
Knock. Knock.
You had recognized it.
Knock.
Carefully unlocking the door, you peered up. Seeing him.
His face was covered in sweat, his hair too. When wasn’t it? The blood caught your eye after the stench. Then his infamous scar on his face, without invitation. He pushed himself into the quarters. Slamming the door and locking it. Slumping on the closest bed.
Your gaze met his aa he looked up at you from his thick furrowing brows. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, you’re giving me that look. The one where it’s like my eye is coming out of its socket.”
You sighed, he snarled a bit.
“You’re hurt.”
“Obvious isn’t it?”
“Do you want me to help?”
“What if I don’t want your help?”
Why must he be stubborn?
His chest heaved, he didn’t say anything after his cocky remark. Each breath that he took in was a shallow one, he was tired of the fighting. You had knelt beside him, taking his face in your palm. He didn’t move, you pulled away. Rolling your sleeves up. Moving to grab a towel. Pressing it softly to his gash.
He hissed at the sensation. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not necessary.” His voice rough, low.
“Don’t tell me that it isn’t necessary. You’re hurt.”
He sighed, leaning into your touch. Looking up at you. Heat pooled in his chest, a different kind of fire from the battlefield, dangerous and consuming. His hands itched to cover you, to claim, but he kept still, letting you care for him.
You finally put down the towel, looking at him. Sandor’s growl was barely audible. “Don’t stop.”
Your fingers lingered over the burn along his collarbone, tracing lines that made him swallow hard. Sandor hated it. Hated how much it made him feel in ways that he couldn’t control.
Picking the cloth back up, pressing it against the nape of his neck. Letting out a small breath. He couldn’t stand it anymore. The sensation. The intimacy. How close you two were to each-other right now. He hadn’t had you in a while, too busy tending to the boy king. Never having time to sneak away into a corridor; no time to make your knees buckle as of recent.
Sandor reached forward, grabbing you by the hips. His calloused hands gripping you tightly, not enough to mark or bruise you. Only enough to hold you close to him.
You dropped the cloth onto the floor, you didn’t stop him. You didn’t want this to stop. He pressed against you, feeling the heat of your body match his own, his own scars. The same ones he had always been ashamed of. Never with you though.
He nipped at your ear, fondling your ass as he did so. Whispering your name into your ear. His hot breath tickling against it. He could feel himself forgetting about the turmoil and battle outside of the keep. This is how he liked it, this is why he liked you.
“Sandor.”
“Don’t say anything.” He said in a harsh tone, the raspiness of his voice coming out with the last word.
You nodded a bit, holding onto his shoulders. Trying to remove his heavy chest plate. He let go of his grip on your hips, moving to where the chest plate tied up around his pecs. Removing it without a care. All he wanted was to be closer to you. As close as a person possibly could.
The brooding man removed the cold metal armor that protected his forearms. Placing it next to were he had laid out his chest plate.
There was a candlelight that flickered across the room. He had removed his tunic that had been underneath his protection from the battle. The light glimmered across his chest, highlighting the scars from years of experience. They all had a story, tonight they drew you in like never before.
You creeped your hand up on one, “Careful,” he muttered, voice rough, almost a warning. “Don’t touch the burns. They sting.”
“They’re fresh?”
He simply nodded.
“What about these?” You asked, trailing your hands lower towards his abdomen. Where old scars lay. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, His muscles tensed under your touch, every movement radiating both warning and need.
Your soft hands traced the edges of old scars, feeling the ridges and dips, feeling the heat radiating from him. Sandor’s breath hitched, and his hands twitched, caught between the urge to pull you closer and the instinct to push you away.
Sandor’s growl was low, rough, vibrating through the space between them. His hands gripped your waist now, firm and unyielding, and pulled you impossibly close. You could feel the heat of him, hard and raw, pressing against you in ways that made it impossible to think straight.
He lifted your hips up, pushing your dress to the side as you undid the tie on his pants. He let out a desperate groan. He pulled the top of your dress down a bit. Just enough to have a look at your chest. To hold and to feel. He took one breast in hand. Holding the warm supple skin, then moving towards your nipple. Holding it in-between his big fingers. Rolling it until it ached a bit.
He moved his hands back down towards his pants, pulling out his aching and dripping dick. You never had gotten used to the size, every time it came out. It was like you had been seeing it for the first time. However it was expected, especially for a man of his size.
He held his cock in his hands, stroking up and down. Then taking your hand, and pulling it towards it. Groaning at your warm, relieving touch. He had you stroke it in a synchronized manner with him, a bead of precum leaking out of the angry red tip of his fat, girthy member.
“Ready?” He asked you. He was needy. On the edge.
You lifted your hips up, enough for him to hold you up. Moving his member back and forth against the wetness of your cunt.
“Do you feel me?”
You nodded, moaning.
“You did this.”
Without warning, he pushed the head inside of you. The two of you let out a shaky moan, his more of a growl. He certainly lived up to his name “The Hound.” Though, come to think of it. You don’t believe it to be in a sexual manner. Just that he was a big man..
He pushed his cock in deeper, letting you feel the pleasuring sensation of the stretch. Every inch he nudged in, drew out a small wine from you.
His growls were low and ragged, vibrating against your ear, a warning and a promise at the same time. You pressed into him, matching his rhythm without hesitation, letting the tension crackle between the two of you. He groaned.
“Fuck.”
Sandor’s lips ghosted over your skin, rough, insistent, and his fingers tangled in his your, grounding himself against you as your shadows moved and shifted with the firelight that still flickered in the dark room.
“I’m close.”
“Me too.”
He kept fucking himself back into you, groaning with every thrust. Sandor’s groans turned hoarse, rough and unsteady, you clung to him, matching the rhythm of his release, feeling the heat ripple through you. The sensation of his hot dripping seed, now spent inside of you. He fucked himself in still, slowly and gently. A white ring forming around the base of his cock.
He looked up at you, kissing you softly. Then pulling out of you. Leaving you next to him on the cold floor he had just been fucking you on.
Sandor sighed, then looked at you.
“I’m leaving kings landing. North, somewhere. Anywhere but this stinking shit hole.”
Logan was never the type of guy to be into being called daddy, or being crazy dominant with you. He thought it was a little strange that people would like this. Not until you suggested he try it for once, he agreed wanting to make you happy. Only does he know he’s about to like it. Or more so love it.
You were waiting on the couch of your guys apartment. In the lingerie he bought you to be exact. The pink one that had flowers at the top of the bra. The one where your breasts filled out nicely. The one where the lace made him want to beg on his knees. The one that he liked. A lot. You had heard the front door to your guys apartment open, then shut from the hall. The second that he has stepped in, you could smell his musk, how he smelled like black coffee and perhaps a little sweaty. Nothing to serious though. You turned your head around. Eyes meeting his cold dark ones. His eyes filled with surprise as they met your warm kind ones. “What’s with the getup?” He laughed. His head nodding to your lingerie, he was already getting hard as a rock in his jeans just watching you sit on the couch. Your perfect body in that…
Rolling your eyes a bit, you sat up on your knees and pushed your hair behind your ears. Licking your lips and leaning your head a bit on the couch. Admiring him, not to mention watching his every breathe. He was always so anxious. So maybe for once he could just take complete control of you and fuck you like the doll you were. “I told you I wanted to try something out Lo…” You giggled. Batting your eyelashes at him as you looked up at him ever so lovingly.
He chuckled a bit. Not before rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and replying to you. “Oh I know. So uh. What do I do?” You shrugged. “I dunno, whatever feels normal?” He nodded. “Hey but not too normal ey? Gotta be rough no?” He smirked, taking off his flannel. Running a hand through his messy hair. You giggled once again nodding, you were about to get up until Logan clicked with his tongue, motioning you to come over and sit on his lap. Obviously you did. Your hips met his clothed thighs. His eyes traced your body. His hands going to grip your hips. “Mmm.” He hummed. He was just so.. manly… and sexy… and hot… and so fuckable… without noticing your started grinding on his right thigh. Holding onto his thick shoulders that you could pry your legs upon later whenever he decided it was time to fuck you.
“Leaving a mess already. I just bought these last week c’mon baby.” He groaned out. Even though he complained, you knew he wouldn’t ever let you stop. So of course the only reasonable thing to do was to continue fucking yourself on him. “I told you you’re leaving a mess. Soaking my fucking pants already.” Logan snarled
“What?” You asked. “What do you mean what? Don’t get bratty with me already.” He responded. You raised a brow, someone’s got a temper. Not before picking you up taking you to your shared room. Laying you on the bed infront of the mirror. “On your knees baby.” He commanded. Giving your plush ass a small slap. You got on all four, facing the mirror and watching him crawl over your body. His hand tracing your neck. Not before cupping your face. “You gonna be good?” A nod was all that came out of you.
“Need to hear you say it.”
“Yes.”
He took off his pants, pulling out his hardened cock out from his pants. Hot red puffy tip begging to find some sort of relief, teasing it at the entrance. You whined leaning back a little. “Needy little thing aren’t you?” Logan growled. He leaned forward kissing and nipping at your neck. “What do you say baby?”
“Please.”
“Please what.”
“Please daddy.” You whined again, not before he shoved his fat cock inside of your tight cunt. Moaning out his name. It made its way inside. You could feel every vein on his hard dick pulsing as you squeezed around him. Even though sex was a regular thing, you never quite got used to the feeling of it. A low guttural moan was released from him as his began to move. You could see in the mirror the wicked grin on his face. He kept it at a conversational pace. Enough were he could hear those pretty little moans of yours while still making sure you understood you were his girl. His to fuck. His to claim. His to make love to.
With every clench of your pussy, you panted and moaned. Writhing under him as he forced you to look into the mirror. “Look at you.. so pretty for me.”
Pretty.
You let out a moan at his praise, he smirked instead of a grin. He knew that you found pleasure in praising. But what if he didn’t praise you? Would you still be as wet as a damn waterfall and just want to be his baby? Only one way to find out.
“My whore.”
You stopped moaning, a little confused. Eyes meeting his in the mirror. “You don’t like that?” He asked you unsure if he did something to make you uncomfortable. His thrusts stopping for a moment. “No- I like it.” You grinned. “Just unexpected.”
At that moment it’s like something switched in him. He flipped you on your back.
“I knew it. Such a slut for me aren’t you?” Logan laughed. Finding pleasure in your humiliation, he began to fuck into you. Staring into your eyes, pleading at him. “Open your mouth.” He snarled. You opened. Sticking your tongue out a bit for him too. The rugged man spat in your mouth. “Keep it there and suck.” He added, Shoving two fingers into your mouth. You hummed against his thick fingers. Kind of wishing it was his dick penetrating your mouth instead of your pussy.
“Like all your holes being filled hmm? Should I fuck your ass next?” He threatened. Not in a condescending way but in a way that made you even wetter. You nodded profusely. “I’ll save it for next time baby.” You nodded. Still sucking, kind of wishing he would fuck you in all 3. You were so good for your daddy after all!
After a while, his thrusts started to falter. His pace speeding up somehow? “Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my baby up.” He moaned. Closing his eyes. “Gonna make you swell up with my fucking litter.” He laughed. He liked the idea. Watching your belly just grow knowing you had his kid in there. Or kids. Who knew? Maybe twins ran in his family. Or yours.
His hot cum gushed in your tight little hole. The liquid threading to leak out, but Logan didn’t allow that as he pressed up into you. Tip kissing your cervix. Surely it would be bruised by tomorrow.
Nothing that daddy can’t take care of though… :)
I didn’t really know how to write a ddlg fic since it’s my first time doing one but I really hope you like it!! Keep asking me things!
P.S. Nsfw alphabet on the way!!! Keep an eye out for it ;)!!
