`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ TAKING A BATH TOGETHER. featuring maekar, aerion, daeron, baelor, valarr x wife! reader.
warnings. +18 content, afab! reader, suggestive + some fluff, mentions of bath sex, praising, fingering, pet names, not mention of y/n.
word count. 1.5k
notes. my asks are open ! :D thanks for reading <3 likes and reblogs are highly appreciated. btw im not writing for baelor ever again, i dont like him 😔
despite his initial hesitation when you suggested the idea, maekar chose the sweetest aromatic oils he could find, knowing his pretty wife loved those scents he usually complained about. you didn’t need much persuasion before his first firm ‘no’ melted into a reluctant ‘fine, but let me breathe in peace while i still can.’ gods, you loved that satisfied little smile he tried to hide every time you managed to convince him. he always refused at first just to hear you plead, but in the end it was always your way. someone save this man.
once you were both in the warm water, after a long tense silence where he looked more like he was about to lead a council meeting than enjoy a simple bath with his beloved wife, a gruff “come here” left his lips. his strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled your back flush against his chest before you could even react. not that you minded. you loved the contrast of his rough skin against your softness, and the way his battle-hardened hands traced your side with surprising delicacy, gliding up and down, slowly rising higher until they brushed the curve of your breast.
though his touches were still innocent —for now— his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck and the warmth of his breath made heat bloom across your body, having nothing to do with the steam rising from the water.
“always so clever, getting your way. infuriating woman,” he growled quietly against your neck, leaving a barely there kiss before continuing. “i will ensure you learn the manners you lack. turn around.”
this man is nothing like his father. aerion does not hesitate. the moment the suggestion leaves your lips, he casts an impatient glance at one of his servants and dismisses him with a lazy flick of his hand. “you heard my wife, or have your ears failed you?”
when the bath is ready, the water is scalding, just the way he likes it, but rose petals drift across the surface for your pleasure. it is clear the servant worked desperately to avoid his wrath, for no one in the seven kingdoms knows what punishment aerion would inflict on anyone who disappointed his beloved lady.
aerion makes sure you undress first, his intense gaze following every movement of your hands as they loosen each lace of your dress. he watches hungrily as the fabric slides from your shoulders and pools at your feet. his eyes devour every inch of bare skin before he ensures your pretty eyes are fixed on him when it is his turn. he makes a show of it, undressing slowly, solely for your attention on his body.
once you are both in the water, nothing can distract him from your presence. the water ripples softly as he shifts, a dangerous smile curving his lips. “come closer. or do you fear i might bite?”
you crawl forward on your knees, far too used to his taunts to flee like any sane person would, and settle into his lap until his hands grip your hips and pull you flush against him. heat coils low in your belly as his cock, already hard from the moment he saw you naked, settles between your folds. your soft walls clench around nothing in anticipation and his fingers dig into your skin in warning and frustration. “not yet. do you want it, my sweet?” he whispers darkly against your parted lips, tilting his hips forward to tease your entrance with his girth. “you will have it when i say you may have it. wash me first.”
okay now, this sweet, sweet man. daeron may be a little wine-tipsy when you suggest the idea, but he sobers up quickly at the implications. he’ll have you all to himself — every inch of your naked skin, just for him. his cheeks flush as his mind begins to wander even before anything has truly begun. when he snaps out of his daze, he’s quick to prepare the bath with you, dismissing the servants early with an eager wave of his hand. “gods be good, wife. don’t blame me if my hands start wandering.”
water poured, oils settled, and now you’re both sinking into the warm bath together. his hands move slowly but purposefully as he pulls your back flush against his chest, tilting his head to rest his chin in the crook of your neck. he nuzzles against your damp skin with that familiar lopsided smile, desperately touchy, craving your closeness more than he’s ever craved wine.
you feel his body leaning heavily into yours, loose-limbed and warmer than the water surrounding you, comforting in that way only daeron can be. he’s unusually talkative when he’s this relaxed with you. his lips brush against your wet skin as he rambles through half-formed stories he can barely remember, the words soon melting into soft, affectionate praises. his hands wander upward from your belly, brushing over the curve of your breast before settling gently around your throat, thumb resting on your pulse point. no pressure, just feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath his touch.
“you cannot even begin to understand how lucky i feel, my pretty lady,” he murmurs reverently, eyes falling shut. “i don’t want this to end.”
baelor is the very picture of knightly restraint when you first suggest the idea. yet your gentle insistence proves far too convincing, for he has always had a weakness for fulfilling your every whim, no matter how improper it might seem. he ensures the door is firmly barred and the servants are well away before he begins preparing the bath himself with quiet devotion. he knows exactly which oils you favor and which you do not, the precise warmth you prefer in the water — every detail tended to with the careful attention only a husband as devoted as him could offer.
he remains perfectly respectful once you are both in the water, keeping a courteous distance that lasts all of ten seconds. the moment you lean back against him he lets out a deep sigh and wraps his strong arms around you, drawing you close. his calloused hands are gentle yet sure as they glide over your skin, washing you with reverent care while he murmurs soft praises against your temple. the way he studies and adores every inch of you makes you tremble beneath his touch.
though he wishes dearly to keep the moment chaste and loving, the sight of your body wet and flushed undoes him. what begin as innocent caresses soon linger longer — over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. “forgive me, my love,” he breathes, voice low and rough with restraint. “i am only a man.”
your smile and teasing about how quickly his ‘proper’ manners were forgotten only make him chuckle. you press your body more firmly against him, silently begging for more of those big hands roaming over your slippery skin. he presses his lips just below your ear, his breath growing heavier and more ragged. “what else could you expect, my lady?” he murmurs, a hint of warm amusement in his voice. “it is only natural for a devoted husband to lose his composure when faced with a wife as beautiful as you.”
valarr agrees to your bold suggestion without hesitation, a beautiful smile curving his lips the moment the words leave you. the idea had crossed his mind before, yet he had always held back, wanting you to come to him willingly and not simply because he was your husband. this meant you desired him as fiercely as he desired you. “if my lady desires a bath with her prince,” he murmurs warmly, “who am i to deny her?”
the bath is prepared with great care. he summons only the most trusted servants when he hesitates over any detail, determined that everything be perfect for you — fragrant oils, flickering candles, scattered rose petals. whatever you might wish for, it is yours. he takes his time helping you undress, his touches soft yet confident, savoring every inch of skin revealed.
once you are both in the steaming water, he quickly draws you between his legs, your back resting against his chest. his presence is strong and warm behind you, and the obvious pleasure he takes in the moment makes you feel utterly safe and desired. one of his hands settles low on your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin as he speaks in that soft, velvet voice, telling you how sweet you are, how lovely you look, and how greatly he is restraining himself from touching you even more.
valarr possesses excellent control, but it frays beautifully the longer you remain pressed together. you can feel him hardening against your back. he swallows thickly and begins teasing you with slow, deliberate touches, fingers gliding along your thighs until you squirm against him. only then does he give in. “do you enjoy this?” he whispers hotly against your ear, his middle finger sliding deeper between your thighs until it presses against your entrance, drawing a twitch from your hips. “do not worry, my dear wife. we have all the time we need. the water may grow cold… but the night is still young.”
۶ৎ targaryen men reacting to facially expressive!reader .✦ ݁˖
. — ༄˖°.🧺ྀི.ೃ࿔*:･ — .
ft: baelor, maekar, valarr, daeron, aerion, aemond, aegon ii
cw: fluff, f!reader, established relationship
a/n: tysm for this lovely request @demodemigodness12 !!
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reader is quiet, but her facial expressions tell more than words ever could. raising her eyebrows, rolling her eyes, making faces, giving side eye, etc.
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⋆.˚ baelor ‹𝟹
he is intrigued. hooked, if you will. baelor values restraint and composure, but doesn’t really respect mindless meekness. baelor is very observant, he reads your reactions extremely well, quickly learning the meaning behind every brow raise. he understands you without words. you two develop some sort of silent communication. baelor can simply glance at you and already know your opinion on the matter. he loves that. values the connection you have. baelor doesn't say it out loud, but he also finds your reactions cute. he never asks you to shrink into 'politeness', quite the opposite, he rather encourages your openness, watching your reactions with quiet adoration. if something happens during a social gathering, baelor looks for your reaction before anyone else's. when a lord makes a particularly foolish or arrogant comment, he immediately looks in your direction, fighting a smile because of your involuntary eye roll. he is absolutely charmed.
⋆.˚ maekar ‹𝟹
claims it irritates him. always looks disapproving and believes you are doing that on purpose, just for the sake of annoying him. that being said, he is not quite a 'composed' man himself, his attitude slipping in occasionally, especially when he is already fed up and frustrated. maekar will sigh and tsk at your obvious side eyes, but actually says nothing, because secretly he likes that you have a personal opinion and that you aren't afraid to show it. quite often, you unconsciously mirror each other's expressions and reactions. people around you have to witness, maekar pinching the bridge of his nose next to his wife rubbing her temples or him shaking his head slightly with a scoff paired with your open look of disgust. you are the king and queen of making faces, so your guests usually feel double attacked.
⋆.˚ valarr ‹𝟹
usually he is grounded by your reactions, bit nervous maybe, but still deeply admires this trait of yours. he relies on you a lot during feasts or social gatherings, searching for support or approval in your face, carefully watching your expression for any signal. valarr is very attentive, like his father, he learns how to read your emotions and masters this skill thoroughly. there is a sense of belonging in knowing only he gets you properly and can tell whether you are uncomfortable by the tilt of your head. also, a very important thing is that he trusts you deeply and values your opinions as much as his own. he is never ashamed, even if some might say your behaviour is ‘improper’, valarr is simply grateful that you are his and exactly the way you are.
⋆.˚ daeron ‹𝟹
entertained to the max. he thinks it’s very funny. so when he notices how your eyes dart to the obnoxiously loud lady, your lips curving in visible irritation, he can’t help but chuckle in his goblet. daeron finds your expressiveness absolutely wonderful, mesmerising even. just watching you makes him feel alive in a very pleasant and warm way. daeron could spend the whole evening just staring at you, looking absolutely smitten. he will make you smile and laugh on purpose, whispering obscene things to your ear just to see you glare at him. you spend the whole feast exchanging silent glances, followed by giggles and scoffs. daeron genuinely adores the fact that you are not just a love interest, but also his friend.
⋆.˚ aerion ‹𝟹
doesn’t know wether he is fond of it, aroused by it, or deeply frustrated. either way he is obsessed. doesn’t mean he always likes that, but still can’t stop watching you. aerion is easily ragebaited, he can get offended by a simple eye roll, so when he notices you wrinkling your nose at one of his knight tourney stories, gods help you, he sees red. aerion will say nothing, but his eyes are fixed on yours, continuing the story with passionate exaggerations, almost daring you to roll your eyes at him. he is enraged and transfixed. (good luck at after dinner activities) at the same time, he absolutely loves when you do this because of others. aerion loves that you are “bratty and bitchy” as he says, he is very proud. the most satisfied smirk appears on his face, as he watches you looking some lord up and down with barely contained disdain.
⋆.˚ aemond ‹𝟹
finds it very interesting. he can’t stand the boring soulless noble ladies who do nothing but flatter their eyelashes and he absolutely despises flatterers. so aemond finds your honesty attractive, he likes that you have a spine. your spirit, your unique behaviour, the transparency, all that is very alluring to him. aemond is drawn this side of you like a moth to a flame, drinking in every little shift of your lips, every little motion of your brows. he is never irritated by your ’attitude’, even when it is directed at him, it feels refreshing and trustworthy and he values that a lot. aemond is especially drawn in because of the drastic contrast between you two, while he is the epitome of calmness and restraint, you are being basically a storm of visible emotions right beside him. one silent scoff from your lips and he is absolutely weak. aemond sees something enchanting and absolutely irresistible about this.
⋆.˚ aegon ii ‹𝟹
it’s one of his favourite things, honestly. aegon loves anything that takes him out of boredom. he thrives. encorouges such behaviour in every way he can. even comments it out loud, partly with affection, partly with pride. will absolutely shut the noble lord with “can’t you see? my wife looks like she is about to jump out of the window because of your stupid stories.” aegon finds the council meetings and noble feasts bearable only because you are sitting beside him. he beams at your every eye roll or unimpressed frown, glancing around the room at others, daring someone to disapprove. aegon is not only delighted by this, but also eager to show this side of you off whenever possible. to him it’s definitely something to brag about.
the softest side of fire and blood 𖹭 aerion targaryen
aerion returns home to eager footsteps and a daughter too excited to slow down. the stairs are unkind to hurried feet. thankfully, her father is not.
the moment word of aerion's return reaches the halls, it carries with it a shift in the air itself, something alive and anticipatory that draws you to the entrance before you even realize you are moving.
he stands there when the great doors open, framed by daylight and travel-worn shadows, silver hair slightly disordered, his presence no less formidable for the dust of the road upon him.
you step to his side, instinct rather than choice. your hand brushing his arm in quiet assurance that he is here, whole and breathing.
"you return in one piece," your eyes trace every line of him as if to confirm it yourself. aerion glances down at you, something softer flickering beneath the usual steel of his expression, and exhales faintly.
"did you doubt it?" he replies, tone touched with dry amusement, though his shoulder leans ever so slightly into your nearness.
from above comes the sound you know all too well. quick, uneven footsteps paired with a voice too bright to be contained by distance.
"father!" your daughter calls, appearing at the top of the staircase with all the force of her excitement, her small figure already rushing forward before caution can catch her.
your breath catches instantly, your body tensing as you step forward, the warning forming too late upon your lips.
"slowly—" you begin, but the moment has already slipped beyond control. her shoe catches, enough to steal her balance, and the world seems to tilt with her as she stumbles forward. the impact against the railing is sharp and unforgiving, followed by the immediate, heart-wrenching cry that echoes through the hall as she collapses where she fell.
everything in you lurches forward, but aerion is faster.
he crosses the distance with a speed that leaves no room for hesitation, as though the space between them has no right to exist, his usual composure cast aside for something far more urgent.
"easy now, easy," he murmurs as he reaches her, dropping to one knee and gathering her into his arms with a care so deliberate it borders on reverence.
her sobs come fast and broken, little hands clutching at him as though he alone can anchor her back to safety. you kneel beside them a heartbeat later, your own hands brushing gently over her, searching, checking, steady despite the quickened pulse in your chest.
"let me see, my love," you whisper, easing her hair back from her face, relief threading through you when you find no blood, only the beginnings of a swelling bruise.
aerion does not release her, not even for a moment.
instead, he adjusts his hold, one hand cradling the back of her head with surprising gentleness, the other moving in slow, grounding circles along her back as her cries begin to soften.
"you are unhurt," he tells her quietly, his voice stripped of its usual sharpness, steadied into something warm and certain. "it was but a misstep, nothing more. you are strong, little dragon."
she hiccups against him, her breath uneven as she buries her face into his shoulder, seeking comfort in the very place she had been rushing toward.
"it hurt," she whispers, small and shaken, her grip tightening.
"i know," aerion answers without pause, his forehead lowering briefly to rest against her hair in a gesture so instinctive it almost feels sacred.
"but pain passes," he continues softly, his thumb brushing beneath her eye to wipe away lingering tears. "and you have already proven yourself stronger than it."
you watch them, something deep and quiet settling in your chest as her cries diminish into soft sniffles, her small frame relaxing little by little in his hold. his hand never stills, never falters, as though he could will the hurt from her simply by remaining.
"no more running on stairs," he adds at last, the faintest edge of firmness returning, wrapped carefully in concern rather than reprimand.
she nods weakly against him, still clinging, as if letting go might undo the comfort he offers.
only then does he lift his gaze to you, something unspoken passing between you in the quiet that follows.
you reach forward, smoothing your daughter's hair once more, your touch gentle and grounded by the steadiness he has restored.
"she takes after you," you murmur softly, a hint of fondness threading through your voice despite it all.
aerion exhales through his nose, something almost like a scoff, though it lacks any true bite. his hold tightening to reassure himself she is truly safe.
"then she will learn and she will endure."
she shifts slightly in his arms, her sniffles fading into quiet breaths as she tilts her head to look up at him, lashes still damp.
"father, may i have lemon cakes?" she asks, voice small but hopeful, testing whether the world has truly righted itself again.
aerion studies her for a brief moment, weighing something far more serious than a simple request, his thumb still absently brushing away the last trace of tears beneath her eye. then his expression softens in that rare, fleeting way reserved only for her and you.
"you may have anything you desire," he says quietly.
and just like that, her smile returns, bright and immediate like the fall had never happened at all.
Summary: Years ago, Maekar chose another woman and you both went your separate ways, your brief love story ending before it ever really had the chance to begin. You hadn’t seen him in years and hadn’t thought much about him since, but when he sees you again, he starts to wonder if he made the right choice after all.
Pairing: Regretful! Maekar x Unavailable! Stark! reader
WC: 6.1k
Warning: 18+, non-canon, dragons are still alive (maekar rides vermithor and baelor rides meleys), reader has a direwolf and so do her siblings, council drama, smut, betrayal, maekar is questionable, dyanna is still alive and so is jena, arguments, mentions of violence, talks of depression, hurt, angsty, unresolved feelings.
Part 1/?| part two
When you were younger, your family left Winterfell and went to King’s Landing for matters that your father needed to handle. Nothing about the trip seemed pleasant or anything that you were interested in, but you had to go. Your father and mother wouldn’t accept any other answer.
It was absolutely dreadful to you and you couldn’t bring your direwolf, Greywind either. He’d be tended to by staff, but without you for a few moons.
Once you reached the city, you could see a few of the dragons flying overhead. The big, God-like creatures that you’d heard tales of. You often wondered if they had ever heard about the Direwolves that you and your family had.
Most of the time while you were there, you tried keeping to yourself. You weren’t interested in making friends, needlepoint, or walking around the gardens. You wanted to go home to Greywind and a place that didn’t smell like shit.
It wasn't long before you were no longer able to secretly hide. Jena Dondarrion set her sights on you and the two of you became friends rather quickly— quicker than you expected. Jena was funny, shared similar sentiments to you, and was very outspoken. She was just the kind of person that you needed to keep yourself busy and from sitting in your chambers everyday.
Jena introduced you to her betrothed, Baelor. A sweet young man with eyes that you could get lost in. He didn’t have the traditional Targaryen looks, he looked more like the queen than his father. With Baelor was his brother, Maekar. Maekar was tall, his face scarred, bright silver hair, and deep violet eyes.
He was not welcoming like his brother, instead he had very few words for you at first— just merely grunts. Despite the two of you having such little conversation, he often found himself near you and Jena. If Baelor was around, then so was he. You didn’t mind as he was very handsome and interesting in some ways.
Eventually, he started to talk to you more often and wanted to spend time with you alone. You had started to smile more often with him and experience flutters in your stomach at the sight of him, feelings that you couldn’t explain. When you told Jena, she laughed and said that she had seen it coming. She mentioned that she had never seen Maekar smile until he had gotten close with you.
He introduced you to his dragon, Vermithor. The two of you took a night ride on him and enjoyed being high in the night sky. After the ride, the two of you shared your first kiss together and you knew that you were smitten.
Over the course of the time that you were in King’s landing, you had fallen in love with Maekar as he had with you. He was not hard with you or dismissive, he was the exact opposite. There was a softness to him that most wouldn’t know existed. Maekar had serious conversations with you about a marriage betrothal, bringing the north and royal family closer together.
As your time had winded down, you lost your maiden hood to Maekar. You loved him so much that it was such a small thing to you, especially with the two of you wanting to marry each other.
He pressed kisses onto your back as his hands gripped your hips, his cock snapping into you.
“You are so perfect.” He groaned.
Your fingers gripped the silk sheets on the bed, your moans muffled into them.
His cock was so deep inside you, the head dragging along your sensitive spot.
“Maekar.” You whined.
He smacked your ass, completely captivated by the view of you taking every inch of him.
“That’s it, my love.” He murmured.
You buried your face in the sheets as your moans and pleasure intensified. Your peak fastly approaching.
“You are so close, my love. I can feel it.” He growled.
“Please, Maekar.” You whimpered.
You weren’t even sure what exactly you were begging for, but the words fell out of your mouth with ease and he loved hearing you beg.
“Fuck.” You rasped.
Maekar’s name spilled from your mouth repeatedly as you reached your peak.
His thrusts got faster and harder as he got close, your cunt still clenching around him.
“You are so fucking tight.”
Within a few more thrusts, the grip on your hips tightened as he threw his head back in bliss — filling you with his warm seed.
“I love you.” He mumbled.
“I love you too, so much.” You replied.
He pulled out of you, trying to catch his breath and got a towel to clean you with.
The two of you cuddled up with each other, the moonlight shining on the sheets.
“I’m so glad to have met you, you have brightened my life in so many ways that I didn’t think possible.” Maekar confessed.
He made you smile, made you feel warm inside, and just made you feel seen. He was the best thing that had happened to you.
You looked up at him, into his beautiful eyes.
“You make me so happy, Maekar.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, the kind you give when you want to savor the moment as you know it’ll never happen again.
His eyes looked sad after the kiss, a sadness that you had never seen before.
“I need to talk to you.” He spoke softly.
“Is something wrong?” You asked as you got out of bed to pour yourself some water.
“I..”
“I cannot marry you.” He confessed.
Your movements stopped as if your heart had stilled in your chest.
“What are you talking about, Maekar?” You questioned.
He struggled to look at you, your nervousness all over your face.
“I will be marrying Dyanna, from House Dayne.”
You stood there silently, blinking your eyes and almost unable to formulate a sentence or complete thought. Your mind took you elsewhere, flashes of your memories with him filling your mind.
He called out to you, his voice bringing you back into the moment.
Your eyes were glassy, a single tear streaming down your cheek.
“What about us?” You asked, your voice shaky.
“There cannot be an us anymore. It is not what I wanted—“
You didn’t bother to listen to anything else that he had to say. You frantically grabbed your clothes and began to put them on.
“Please.. talk to me.” He begged.
You stood up, facing him after lacing your boots.
“I shall bid you goodnight, my prince—“
“Congratulations on your betrothal. I hope that it goes well.”
He sighed, getting out of the bed and walking over to you.
“Don’t be like that, not with me.”
You looked at him, your face wet from the tears that fell.
“You are not who I thought that you were. All of those words meant nothing—just something to get me into your bed, hmm?”
He grabbed your hand with a scowl on his face.
“Don’t say that, because it is not true.”
You scoffed. “You knew that you were betrothed to her before you slept with me tonight, didn’t you?”
He hesitated, his excuse caught in his throat.
“Exactly what I thought.” You replied, yanking your hand from him and leaving his chambers.
You felt like a complete fool, falling in love with a prince and allowing yourself to be bedded. You never saw any signs that would have given you the notion that you wouldn’t get married to Maekar. You embarrassed yourself and your house, you knew better.
After that night, you counted down the days until your departure and avoided him. You had basically turned into a shell of yourself, you just stayed in your chambers.
The one day that you did find the courage to leave and get fresh air, you saw Maekar with Dyanna walking around the gardens. He saw you and left her side to get to you, but he could not catch up.
Jena came to you and apologized as if she’d done something wrong, but you reassured her that there was nothing to apologize for. It just simply was not meant to be, is what you said and those words were bitter in your mouth.
You promised her that you’d stay in touch and wished her the best.
When you finally left, you felt a sense of relief— a weight off of your chest. You could put all of this behind you and act like it didn’t happen.
Once you were back at home, things for you had returned to normal. You spent a bunch of time with Greywind and tried to clear your mind,
Three moons later, Maekar flew Vermithor to winterfell a few days before his wedding.
“What are you doing here?” You snapped.
He looked anxious as if he’d seen a ghost, struggling to look you in the eye.
“I needed to see you.”
“Maekar, I am trying to move on with my life. I cannot deal with this.. with you.”
He grabbed your hands, his violet eyes scanning your face.
“I made a mistake.” He blurted.
Your brows furrowed as you pulled your hand from his grasp.
“What?”
“I don’t want to marry her, I —“
“You should not have come here. It is not a good look for me or you.” You reminded him.
“I don’t care! I want you and I cannot stop thinking about you or what we had.. I just miss you.”
You scoffed, in disbelief at his audacity. Greywind came to your side and began to growl at Maekar.
“I do not know what it is that you wish for me to say. Our time is over, it was a lesson learned. I do not wish to revisit it.”
Maekar stepped forward and so did Greywind. You rubbed Greywind’s head.
“Easy, boy.”
“Just tell me not to and I won’t do it. I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you, I only want to marry you.”
Your lips were pursed and facial expression unchanged as you listened to him. His words did make you feel weak, but you couldn’t accept them. He had caused far too much damage.
“You need to fly back to King’s Landing and do us both a favor, forget about me.” You spoke plainly.
His facial expression softened, on the cusp of a frown.
“I love you.” He mentioned.
Your lips instinctively started to curl into a smile, listening to the words that you had missed hearing.
“I wish you the best of luck on your marriage to Dyanna.” You replied as you began to walk away, signaling for Greywind to follow you.
You left Maekar standing in that spot alone with the snow falling around him. There were so many things that you could’ve said, but you decided not to. He chose someone else over you and that was his right, as was yours to not accept his feeble apology.
Maekar so badly wanted to run after you and beg for your forgiveness, even though he didn’t deserve it. He never wanted to hurt you or lose you, but he did just that. Dyanna was a good woman and would make a fine wife, but she wasn’t you.
Him flying to you was unfair and a terrible idea, but he had to try. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t and even though he did, he’d still struggle to live with himself.
His stupidity cost him a great deal and maybe it hadn’t completely sank in yet, but it would.
Your house had been preparing to host the royal family. They were going to be arriving at any moment and would be visiting for an undecided amount of time. There would be two noble families joining as well, more visitors than you liked.
They were visiting to discuss issues with the wall, the wildlings, debts, and other matters. Ultimately, things that you did not plan on concerning yourself with.
You planned on keeping yourself out of sight while they were visiting as it just seemed like the easier option. The servants were working extraordinarily hard to prepare food, chambers, and everything that was needed. They were informed that at least two dragons would be present, so they had to make sure that there was an abundance of meat available to feed them.
While you were in your chambers preparing for a nap — you could hear the sound of dragons flying above. A sound that you hadn’t heard in years.
The horn sounded as the carriages and horses arrived below.
You shut the shutters to your window and lit a candle, giving the room a flicker of light.
You laid on the bed and allowed yourself to drift off, Greywind asleep on the floor. Your nap lasted a few hours and it felt completely necessary, you felt better rested than you were earlier.
The flame on the candle had begun to flicker, so you blew it out and opened your shutters. There was noise bustling below and the sun had begun to set, but no sign of the royal family— which meant you were in the clear.
You put on your boots and walked with Greywind to the kennel master. Once you visited him, you grabbed the two large buckets of fresh and raw meat.
Snow and ice crunched under your boots as you approached them in the empty field— Vermithor and the beautiful Meleys. Meleys watched as you approached, meanwhile Vermithor continued to sleep. Most people would be terrified to approach them, but you weren’t and neither was Greywind. You had been around them plenty of times and figured that they would both remember you from years ago. If not, then it would no longer be your problem.
Vermithor opened one of his eyes as you got closer, scanning your every move. Meleys moved closer as they could smell the meat and you.
“I know, both of you are probably starving.” You mumbled.
You walked up to Vermithor and rubbed his nose, big breaths of air leaving his nostrils.
“It’s been a long time, old friend.”
Meleys nudged you, slightly pushing you back onto your heels.
“I brought both of something to eat.” You mentioned.
Greywind moved with your every move, watching the dragons and wanting to protect you from any incoming threat.
You poured the meat out of the buckets and onto the snow in front of them. Vermithor hesitated to eat, while Meleys began to lightly char her meat. While waiting on Vermithor to eat and watching him, you absentmindedly picked up a few chunks and fed them to Greywind as he stood beside you.
“I’m not sure why you’re being picky today.” You groaned.
Beside you, Greywinds ears turned to the sound of footsteps approaching. He turned to face behind you and began to growl.
“You are the only person outside of ourselves and the dragon keepers who can safely feed them this way.” A voice spoke.
A voice that you hadn’t heard in years, but you recognized it all the same. You didn’t bother to turn around, you only continued to watch Vermithor as he had started to show interest in the meat.
“I must be lucky then.” You responded.
The footsteps inched closer, but Greywind was not agreeable as his growling intensified.
“Greywind, enough!” You spoke, causing him to whine.
You slowly turned around and your eyes met his. He looked the same, just older with a few more scars. A face that you hadn’t dreamt of or thought about in years. It was an odd feeling to see him after such a long time.
“Wow, you look—“ the words caught in his throat like a dry piece of bread.
“It’s been so long.” He stammered.
You nodded your head, your grip on the bucket handle tightening.
“Aye, it has.”
He seemed nervous which was unusual as Maekar was never nervous. He slowly stepped a bit closer to you.
“How have you been?”
“I’ve been alright, nothing worth complaining about.” You replied.
He looked as if he wanted to ask so many questions— as if things were plaguing his mind, but he couldn’t say them.
The conversation was interrupted with his son Aegon, Daeron, and Dyanna approaching.
Dyanna walked up to Maekar’s side, a smile on her face as she acknowledged him.
“My love, what are you doing out here?”
He seemed defeated like he didn’t know how to honestly respond.
Aegon waved at you, an excited smile on his little face as he and Daeron stared at Greywind.
“Is he friendly?” Daeron asked.
You nodded your head slightly. “He won’t bite, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Aegon looked at Maekar, “can I?”
You commanded Greywind in High Valyrian to stay calm and be still as Aegon approached. Maekar’s brow raised, he was surprised that you were still fluent after the lessons from years ago.
Dyanna tilted her head in confusion—because she knew it was High Valyrian, but she did not understand what was being said. It was not lost on her that you and Maekar once shared something special, but she was his wife now. None of that mattered.
Aegon giggled as he tried playing with Greywind.
“Father, she looks like the woman.. the woman that you have the portrait of.” Daeron blurted, causing Maekar to scowl.
Dyanna laughed, looking at her husband.
“What is he talking about?”
Maekar rubbed her arm, “I don’t have the faintest notion.”
You waved at Aegon and signaled for Greywind to follow you.
“It was lovely seeing you, my prince and princess.” You spoke.
Maekar watched as you walked away, the feelings from years ago creeping up into his stomach and twisting in his chest. He needed to talk to you and get to know you again, he could not lose the opportunity.
Once you got back into your chambers, you had to take a deep breath. You felt confused for the first time in years, as if you suddenly didn’t remember your own feelings. Your stomach knotted at the sight of him, his wife, and his children that looked exactly like him.
He had the family that you had once dreamt of yourself, putting actual details to things that you had envisioned. Although, things did not go that way— you were happy for him.
He got everything he wanted.
Time for supper was fastly approaching, which meant that you needed to change. You had a hot bath prepared, so that you could relax beforehand.
This dinner with the royal family wasn’t exactly what you were looking forward to. It would be awkward and you had nothing to contribute, but your father insisted.
Once you were finished, you took your time and got dressed. You hated this, seeing him again and having your sad feelings come back to the surface.
You left your chambers and made your way to the dining hall with a pit in your stomach.
Your family along with the royal family gathered in the dining hall, the candles lit and illuminating everything perfectly. Jena ran over to you and pulled you into a big hug.
“You liar! You did not keep in touch as you promised.” She taunted.
You hugged her back, internally overjoyed to see your old friend again.
She held your hands in hers, her eyes glassy.
“I suppose the north has not turned you cold, has it?”
You both shared an in sync laugh. “You know that it hasn’t,”
King Daeron and Queen Myriah approached you with smiles on their faces.
“Daughter!” The king laughed, pulling you into a hug.
“It is wonderful to see you again.” He added.
Despite the fact that you never married his son, he still always called you daughter. He loved Dyanna, but he hated Maekar’s decision to not marry you.
“It is wonderful to see you too, your grace.” You replied.
He waved you off, “no need for such formalities!”
You hugged Queen Myriah, her warmth and touch reminding you of your own late mother.
“I suppose there are no children for me to meet?” She asked softly.
You shook your head and tried to hide the flicker of embarrassment that brewed inside you. Even though the realm demanded it of young women— you did not marry nor did you have any children. It was of little interest to you and your father spoiling you the way that he did, meant that he wouldn’t force you.
Besides, you had five other brothers along with several nieces and nephews— you being wed was not necessary. Your father allowed you to continue to live at Winterfell, helping him with certain political duties and keeping to yourself.
Everyone took their seats at the table, you were seated beside Daeron with your father on the other side of you.
The hall buzzed with small conversations, eating, and laughter. You did not engage much as you were uninterested and ready to return to your chambers.
Maekar stared at you from his seat across the table, a stare which you paid no attention to— but Dyanna noticed.
She called your name, bringing your attention from the vegetables on your plate.
“It is so wonderful to finally meet you and put a face to the name. I couldn’t recall meeting you all those years ago.” She spoke.
You awkwardly smiled back, setting down your fork.
“It is nice to meet you as well, Princess.”
She raised her brow, glancing around the table.
“Are your husband and children around? I’d love to meet them.”
Your spit was caught in your throat as she feigned ignorance. She knew bloody well that you were not married, but she asked anyway— a weird jape.
Your brows furrowed, even though you tried to hide your reaction. Her question caught the attention of everyone at the table, including her husband right beside her.
“Forgive me, but you must have someone else in mind, princess. I am not married and I do not have children.”
She was shocked by your statement, her hand clutching her chest.
“Apologies! I meant no offense..”
“It’s just not often that I see a woman of your stature and beauty being unwed.”
Baelor glanced at Maekar, signaling for him to stop Dyanna from potentially insulting you.
Maekar placed his hand on her thigh, grabbing her attention.
You pursed your lips, picking up your goblet.
“That is quite alright, no need to apologize.”
Before the conversations at the table could resume again, she kept speaking.
“Why is it that you are unwed, my lady?—“
“I know plenty of young noblemen who’d be honored and lucky to have you as their wife.”
Maekar leaned closer to Dyanna’s ear, his patience gone.
“Stop it, now.”
You hesitated, drinking some of your wine and embarrassment filling your body.
“I had no interest in that kind of duty and lucky for me, my father understood and did not force me.”
Your father smiled, raising his goblet.
“Yes! My daughter is a fine woman, but her help and focus was needed here. I’m grateful to have her here as she is happy to be here.”
You nodded your head.
“Thank you father.” You muttered.
She smiled, her hand touching Maekar’s.
“That is lovely!—“
“I just hope that if you do change your mind that you experience a love match like I did.”
King Daeron and Queen Myriah exchanged looks.
You looked at Maekar, the embarrassment all on your face.
“I’d like to thank this family for allowing us to convene here, taking us into their home for political matters.” Baelor stood, raising his goblet and trying to redirect the conversation.
All of you raised your cups in the air.
The conversations around you continued as they were, no one thinking about the words from Dyanna.
Daeron sat beside you on his fifth goblet of wine and barely able to hold his head up.
“I dreamt of you..” He slurred.
You leaned closer, hoping to hear him properly.
“What did you say?”
He wiped the spit that pooled at the corner of his mouth.
“I dreamt of you.. you and the small child.”
You were completely confused as you didn’t have a small child and how could Daeron possibly dream of you when he’d never met you before? The entire family confused you, more than you’d like to admit.
While the dinner continued with no end in sight, you asked your father to be excused as you had grown tired.
You got up from the table and made your way out of the dining hall. The wind blew against your cheeks as you walked outside, taking the long way to your chambers.
Maekar was following behind you.
“Wait—“
You turned around with a frown on your face and rolled your eyes.
“Why are you following me?” You questioned.
He seemed as if he struggled to come up with the right answer to your question, because there was truly not just a single answer.
“I’m sorry for what Dyanna said—“
You held your hand out, stopping him mid sentence.
“I do not need apologies for your wife, Maekar. I am fine.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have said those things.” He replied.
You let out a small chuckle. “You’re right, she shouldn’t have but she did. I’m unsure as to why she wanted to embarrass me, though.”
Maekar pulled his shoulders back, seeming offended.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No, you don’t be naive. She knew the answers to those questions, everyone in the fucking realm knows that I’m unwed—“
“Her pointing out that the two of you have a love match, it was all a jab.” You chided.
“I don’t know why she would think it necessary to do that.” He mumbled.
You scoffed, almost bordering a laugh.
“I’m glad we’re confused together, but I am retiring to my chambers. Please, inform the princess that I will be out of her way for the duration of her stay.”
You walked away from Maekar, leaving him cold and speechless.
Later that night, as Maekar and Dyanna prepared for bed— he was silent. He didn’t have much to say as he’d thought of what you said and he realized that there was probably more truth to it than he wanted to give.
He did not want his wife being rude to you or to anyone in Winterfell for that matter, as it would reflect poorly on the royal family.
“Husband?” Dyanna spoke, shutting the shutters on the window.
Maekar just stared at the fireplace, his mind elsewhere— thinking of things that he shouldn’t as a married man.
“Husband, do you ignore me?” She giggled.
Maekar scowled.
“Why did you have to act that way in front of everyone?”
She glanced at him as he sat in the bed, a look of confusion on her face.
“I did not act in a particular way to my understanding.”
He gritted his teeth, his patience thinning.
“Please, give me the dignity of being honest, wife!”
She was startled at his reaction, not expecting him to be upset over her reasonable questions.
“Is there a reason for your behavior tonight? Something I missed?”
“You meant to humiliate her tonight and you did not have to do it, it was cruel!” He spat.
Her frown became prevalent on her face.
“Why are you defending her?”
His brows furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening.
“Defend her?—“
“It is about respect, Dyanna! We are the royal family and in their home. How do you think her father would respond, if he sniffed out your disrespect?”
She rolled her eyes, walking towards the fireplace.
“She should be married, it is odd that she is not.”
He rubbed his hand against his face. “Her marital status is not of your concern.”
“I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.. or any ideas at all while we’re here.” She confessed.
“Ideas?—“
“Dyanna, what are you on about?”
“Everyone knows about the two of you, how much you two loved each other—“ she mumbled.
“For fucks sake!” He growled, interrupting her.
“You are the only one with your mind on that petty gossip from ages ago, let it go and do not embarrass me!”
He felt a sting in the back of his throat calling your love petty, minimizing the impact of your relationship. He needed to stop Dyanna, but he could never admit to his wife that he still loved you.
What kind of man would that make him if he admitted that he made a mistake?
Dyanna waves her hand in front of her face, creating a small amount of wind to stop from crying.
“I will not have your whore from years ago ruin my family!” She yelled.
“My what?—“
“Have you lost your senses?” Maekar inquired.
The royal family had only been present for a few hours, yet Dyanna was losing her mind about you. You hadn’t even done anything or said anything of note, but she had come to the conclusion that you would ruin her family.
Maekar did not want his wife to cry as she had nothing to worry about, nothing would happen between the two of you— whether he wanted it to or not.
His rash decision to not choose you had tormented him since that day— remembering how you cried, how you withdrew from, how those were the worst words to ever leave his mouth.
Dyanna crawled into bed beside him, her face wet from crying. Maekar held out his open arm to embrace her and have her come close to him.
She laid her head on his chest.
“I love you, Maekar. I just get beside myself sometimes.”
“I love you too.” He muttered.
As the days had passed by, you had avoided the royal family at all costs. You hadn’t even attended the first three meetings, prompting your father’s worry. In order to ease his mind, you told him that you were feeling unwell— and that you’d be at the next meeting.
Dyanna’s eyes scanned the halls for you, every time she left her chambers. Even when Jena told her to quit worrying as she was Maekar’s wife and not you— but she could not ease her mind.
She hated you, she hated that you had him first, that he defended you a few nights prior. She didn’t understand why her heart towards you was so cold, why jealousy would overtake her.
It was starting to snow again and the light was fading, so you decided to go visit the weirwood tree before it got too dark. Greywind stayed in your room where it was warm, near your fireplace.
The snow and ice crunched under your boots, but there was still a loud silence as everyone was inside.
You sat at the weirwood tree, your mother’s favorite place. You’d find yourself coming to the tree to talk to her as if she was still here, like she’d respond back.
Amidst the silence, you saw a tall looming shadow out of the corner of your eye.
It was Maekar.
“Must you find me everywhere I go?” You grumbled.
“I did not mean to intrude.. I was on my way to take Vermithor out.” He admitted.
You rubbed your gloves against the tree, not paying him any attention.
He stood there, watching you— not sure if you needed company or if he should leave.
You stood up and walked towards him, almost walking past him.
“Have a good night, my prince.”
He grabbed your hand, which shocked you.
“Stop it!—“
“Stop that. You don’t have to be that way.”
You yanked your hand away from his grasp, a scowl on your face.
“What are you on about?”
He sighed.
“You don’t have to give me the cold shoulder, treat me as if I’m some prince and that’s all.”
Your head instinctively tilted, amusement on your face.
“That is all you are, a prince of the realm.”
“You know what I meant.” He remarked.
You scoffed.
“I don’t actually, I’m unsure of how you want me to treat you.”
He threw his hands up in defeat and began to get annoyed.
“Don’t act like we’re strangers, avoid me like I’m a plague.”
You took a deep breath, your emotions starting to get the best of you. Feelings that you had hidden for so long were starting to creep to the surface.
“Your wife would have my head, if she saw me close with you! She does not like me and with your behavior, I don’t much blame her.” You growled.
He looked at you with his deep violet eyes, giving you the look that he’d always give you years ago.
“I would never allow her the satisfaction of harming you.” He murmured.
You stood there in disbelief at this conversation. You never thought that you’d see him again, let alone have this conversation with him years later.
“You should stop while you’re ahead.” You spoke.
“I can’t.. I cannot.” He conceded.
“I think about you all the time, about what we could’ve been, that this could have been our family.”
You walked over to him, rage burning in your veins.
“How dare you?—“
“You made your choice years ago. Why would you come here and rob me of my peace and my choice?”
“Because you feel the same way.” He stammered.
His response got under your skin more than it should’ve, more than it would’ve if it weren’t true.
“I don’t! I am happy here with my life, I do not wish for anything else.”
He snickered in disbelief.
“You are a terrible liar. You are not happy here.”
“I am!” You protested.
“Why didn’t you get married? Why didn’t you have kids?—“
“Why didn’t you move on?” He asked.
His questions immediately cooled your anger, bringing a punch to your stomach. You hadn’t moved on, you were still stuck in that moment years ago when he chose Dyanna.
His world ending words left you unable to move on, you could not seek happiness with another.
“Fuck off.” You bit back at his question.
“That’s not an answer.” He spoke softly.
Tears began to well in your eyes, because he just had to come to your home and speak his stupid words. Add his regret to your shoulders.
“What more do you want, Maekar? Hmm?—“
“You got everything that you wanted! The wife, the kids, the happy home.”
He looked at your face, your eyes glassy and skin probably hot to the touch as it always would be when you were overwhelmed.
“I was wrong.” He admitted.
His words stopped you dead in your tracks, making you lose your focus.
“What?”
“I was wrong! I made a mistake!” He argued.
“You were supposed to be my wife and I have thought about that everyday of my life. I thought about it when Daeron was born, when I’d have sex with her, when I’d lay down in bed.”
He walked closer to you, closer than he should be to you.
“You are disgusting!” You hissed.
“I know.”
“She deserves better.” You pointed out.
He took another step closer. “She’s not as innocent as you perceive, but she does deserve someone who looks at her the way I do you.”
A tear fell down your cheek, your mind screaming at you to walk away from him— but somehow you were stuck there letting him get close.
“I ruined us and for that I’ll always be sorry.”
“I hate you.” You mumbled.
He closed the gap between the two of you, pushing your hair out of your face.
“No, you don’t.”
He leaned in—pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss, a kiss full of passion and old feelings. A kiss that you almost completely welcomed, but you stopped yourself.
You pushed him away from you, wiping your mouth.
“What we had is over! It’s a dream that faded years ago—“
“Stay the fuck away from me, Maekar.”
Baelor who had been standing there the entire time, cleared his throat— catching the attention of both of you.
Summary: Aerion notices how different your second pregnancy is from your first.
Part of the Fossoway!Reader universe. It can be read independently, but I recommend reading the other parts <3
I think this fic explains well the reason why there's an age difference between the twins and Dyanna lol
As I always say, if you liked it, please don't hesitate to like, comment, and reblog. Comments really motivate me and make me happy 🥰💖💖
My inbox is always open if you want to share your thoughts or ideas <3
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Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.
I hope you all enjoy it!
Aerion is worried. He notices the differences between your first pregnancy and this one. He notices how you seem to be struggling to keep food down, how the maester gave you tea every day to ease the nausea. Not only that, but he sees how you seem more tired this time. You don't fight when the maester or your aunt tells you to rest, when before you would have been indignant and stayed awake just out of stubbornness.
Aerion doesn't tell you he's worried. But he mentions it to the maester and is frustrated when the response is that he shouldn't worry about you, that not all pregnancies are the same. Besides, he shouldn't worry when you're not complaining of any pain. But how could he not be? His once-lively wife was now a woman who spent most of her time in bed or sitting up. Gods, he'd seen how agitated you got the few times you played in the garden with Baela, running after her.
Not satisfied with the maester's opinion, Aerion went to find his father. To reassure him, Maekar brought more maesters to Summerhall for their opinions. Nothing changed; they all seemed to agree that it was normal, that perhaps you were lucky your first pregnancy had been easy, but that now you were experiencing what many women go through. They told the prince he shouldn't worry; one maester even told him he should be happy, that the change was probably because you were now carrying a boy.
The only reason Aerion didn't attack the man was because of the look his father gave him. Aerion may not have physically harmed anyone, but he was quick to dismiss all these maesters for being unhelpful.
Perhaps in another situation, Aerion would have been happy to listen to that man's words and have an heir, but right now, he's only worried about you. He wants to see you well.
“What’s wrong?” you ask one afternoon, lying in bed. Even with your eyes closed, you can feel your husband’s gaze.
“Nothing,” Aerion replies, but he doesn’t sound like his usual self, so you open your eyes.
You meet his eyes, filled with sorrow and worry.
“I’m fine,” you assure him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “Stop worrying,” you say gently.
“I didn’t say anything,” Aerion immediately defends himself, but he rests his face in your hand and places his own on top of yours, stroking the back of it.
“I’m not stupid,” you say, raising an eyebrow, and Aerion feels a little better hearing the condescending, bossy tone you usually use. “Do you think I wouldn’t find it strange that different maesters suddenly wanted to examine me?” you ask, continuing to stroke his cheek.
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” the prince murmurs, and brings your hand to his lips to give it a kiss.
You can't help but soften a little. Not even in your wildest dreams did you ever think of Aerion as anything more than a capricious prince. But your husband is sweet when he wants to be… He's only sweet with you and your daughter.
Not all men care for their wives or love their daughters as much as he does. Gods, you're sure almost no father boasts about his daughter as much as he boasted about Baela.
"I'll be fine," you reassure him gently.
But you eat your words.
You might not be nauseous all the time anymore, and you might be able to eat better. But once the baby starts moving, your nightmare begins.
If you seemed to sleep all the time before, now you couldn't. The baby seemed to be kicking you constantly. You went from being excited to feel the baby move to crying, frustrated by not being able to sleep well. And Aerion started getting frustrated too, not with you, but with the situation. He hated seeing you like this; he'd never seen you cry like this before. The worst part was that he knew he was the one to blame for your state. That's why he was even more short-tempered than usual.
Everyone in Summerhall walked on eggshells around Aerion; no one wanted to be the target of his anger. He seemed to get annoyed by the slightest thing. If his wife was miserable, then the whole castle should be too. He considered it disrespectful that everyone was happy while you suffered.
At first the maester didn't believe you when you said the baby was kicking you all the time, which infuriated you and you concentrated on squeezing Aerion's hand as hard as you could to avoid attacking the maester, but then your husband confirmed it to him, literally both of you had spent the night without sleeping because the child wouldn't leave you alone, and then he came to the conclusion that you must be expecting twins.
“Twins?” you repeat in a high-pitched voice. The maester must be mistaken.
“My lady, it’s impossible for the child to be awake all the time. The only thing I can think of is that there are two.”
“I’ll kill you,” you say, turning to face Aerion as you dig your nails into him. You thought he’d be smiling as proudly as when you told him you were pregnant for the second time, but he looks just as horrified as you do. You don’t feel sorry for him, though.
Sleep should really be affecting you and Aerion, otherwise he wouldn't be talking to your belly as if the children could hear him. But Aerion was desperate after you woke him up again after only twenty minutes of sleep.
"Stop bothering your mother, or you'll be grounded until your twentieth day of life as soon as you're born," Aerion said, stroking your belly. His voice was a little hoarse from sleep, and you could see dark circles starting to form under his eyes. You were sure you'd never seen him so disheveled. If he was like this, you didn't want to imagine how you looked. "Forget about me spoiling you like I do Baela. I'll never make you forget what you made your poor mother suffer."
You must be exhausted because you find yourself laughing at Aerion's nonsense. Your husband relaxes a little when he hears you laugh. It's not your usual laugh, but it's better than seeing you miserable.
But you stop laughing the moment you realize the babies have stopped kicking since Aerion started talking to them. “Aerion, they stopped,” you say, your voice filled with emotion and relief.
And Aerion realizes you're right. “Good, let's take advantage of this and get some sleep,” he says, settling in and pulling you close. But the moment he falls silent and moves his hand away from your belly, you feel movement again.
“Oh no, I'll sleep, and you can keep entertaining these little demons,” you reply, taking his hand and putting it back where it was before. “Talk,” you demand.
“Do you want me to stay awake talking to them?” Aerion asks indignantly, but he still begins to stroke your belly.
“It's not my fault they like your voice,” you reply, already closing your eyes.
“Oh, so you’re saying they prefer me,” Aerion says, and even though you’re turning your back on him, you know the fool is smiling.
“It doesn’t bother me as long as I can sleep,” you scoff.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Aerion says, kissing your shoulder. But he stops trying to argue with you and focuses on talking to the babies.
You end up falling asleep while listening to Aerion talk about Valyrian history. And from that night on, it becomes part of your routine to fall asleep while listening to your husband's voice telling stories of his lineage or talking about his day, complaining about some lord, or boasting about how well he fought in the parade ground.
Aerion's sleep schedule isn't perfect, but it doesn't bother him much because now you're always by his side. He can hug you and touch your belly in public without you complaining. Aerion has never felt so needed by you as he does now. It seems he's the only person who can calm such restless babies.
All Aerion hoped for was that the twins wouldn't be so terrible once they were born.
Taglist for all my A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works: @tanzierina @leftdreamprunewobbler @qardasngan @sentryvvorld @fromsaltandsea @onlybells1 @cocooola @flyinglama @outpostsworld @sil1 @darktrashsoulbear @raashluvsff @x-vadon @trantknd @darylandbethfanforever9 @divajul @dragontsone-maid @gandalfthegoatsblog @xinyourdreamsx @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ladygrimmx @victorialaufeyson6
NOTE: she’s baaaaaaackkkkkk. This might be my favourite au yet!
From the high, arched window of the Red Keep’s inner courtyard, the world looked like a beautifully painted tapestry. Down below, Prince Valarr Targaryen was performing his finest role: the Perfect Prince.
You watched him charm a cluster of noble ladies, his chestnut hair catching the afternoon sun, making it look almost bronze. His laughter light and musical. He was the hope of the realm, the beloved grandson of King Daeron II, polite to a fault and graceful beyond measure.
But you knew better than the mindless flock. You knew the weight of his hands, and the darkness that lived just beneath that lovely porcelain smile
Valarr had been the first of your cousins to hold you when you were born. While your own father, Maekar, had been away doing whatever it is he does, Valarr had cradled you as a babe. You grew up wrapped in his shadow. When you were children, the others thought he was simply being a doting older cousin. Though they would never see the things he brought you in the secret, shaded corners of the Godswood.
He would press wild roses into your palms, followed by sticky honey sweets, and then, with the very same gentle hands, he would present you with a dead lizard, its neck cleanly snapped, or a small bird with its eyes meticulously plucked out.
"For my little star," he would whisper, his two-toned eyes glassy, and entirely devoid of the warmth he showed the rest of the court. "Beautiful things for a beautiful girl."
You had found it strange, even unsettling, but a child’s love is a malleable thing. You grew to accept his macabre gifts alongside his affection. You loved him after all. You always had.
Down in the courtyard, Valarr suddenly tilted his head up. As if sensing your gaze, his eyes locked onto your window. The charming, raucous smile he gave the ladies vanished for a fraction of a second, replaced by a look of hunger that sent a shiver straight down your spine. Then, with a blink, the prince was back, bowing to his admirers.
"You spend too much time in his pocket," your brother Aerion spat later that evening, swirling his wine. "It’s uncouth. You are a maiden grown now, sister. People talk."
"He is our cousin, Aerion," you replied softly, keeping your eyes on your embroidery.
"He is a man," Daeron muttered from the corner, surprisingly sober for once. "And Valarr dotes on you like a dog with a bone. Father says it ends now. You are to be married soon."
The needle pricked your finger. A single drop of blood bloomed on the white fabric.
Your father, Maekar, had finally arranged it. By the end of the summer, you were to wed the son of the Lord of Casterly Rock. A young Lannister. He was your age, a master of poetry and song, gentle and perfectly amiable.
You had met him once; he was perfectly fine. Not cruel, not abusive (which was rare). You had resigned yourself to your fate: you would marry him, give him a few golden-haired heirs, and live out your days in the warm stone of the West.
But the thought of leaving King’s Landing—of leaving him—felt like a slow choking.
That night, you slipped away into the dark woods on the edge of the kingswood, your favorite childhood hiding spot. The canopy blocked out the moonlight, leaving the forest thick, black, and suffocating.
"You shouldn't be out here alone, little star."
Valarr materialized from the shadows, stepping so silently he might have been a ghost. He wore a dark riding cloak, his eyes gleaming in the dark.
You didn't hold back. The tears spilled over your cheeks as you confessed your woes, weeping over the impending summer wedding, the Lannister boy, and the terrifying reality of being sent away to Casterly Rock.
A dragon caged is what you were.
Valarr listened in chilling silence. He didn't dare interrupt. He only stepped closer, lifting a gloved hand to brush the hair from your face. He leaned down, his lips pressed against your eyelids, gently kissing your tears away. His skin was unnaturally warm.
"Do not weep, please. You know I hate to see you cry." Valarr murmured against your skin, his voice a low, rhythmic purr that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "Do not worry your little heart out, sweet girl. Valarr will fix everything. I always takes care of my own."
Three days later, the news arrived from the Westerlands.
The young Lannister heir had fallen suddenly, violently ill. The maesters claimed it was a sudden, tragic season’s illness—a racking fever that caused him to bleed from his nose and ears until his heart simply quit. He was dead within forty-eight hours.
The court plunged into mourning for the alliance that could have been. You wore black and offered your condolences, but deep in your chest, a dark, wicked spark of joy ignited.
Heavens above knew you weren't sad. If anything, you were relieved.
That very night, you were startled awake. A heavy hand clamped gently over your mouth.
You gasped, eyes flying open to see Valarr leaning over your bed. The moonlight cut across his face, illuminating a wild, ecstatic grin. He smelled of sweat, leather, and something metallic.
"Dress quickly," he whispered, his fingers lingering on your lips before pulling away. "The horses are saddled. Let us ride in the dark. I know how much you have missed it."
You didn't ask questions. You followed him into the night, the wind howling in your ears as you rode side-by-side, his laughter echoing through the trees like a madman's song.
—
A year later, your father tried again. A Tyrell cousin. A handsome boy who promised you a garden of winter roses.
You found yourself weeping in the woods yet again. And again did Valarr kiss your tears dry.
Two weeks later, the Tyrell boy suffered a horrific fall from his horse during a hunt, his neck snapped cleanly in two—much like the lizards Valarr used to bring you.
Then came a Bracken. A sudden, fatal choking fit on a piece of venison during a feast.
Every time a match was made, you would cry, Valarr would promise to "fix it," and the stranger would vanish from the earth, leaving you blissfully unbetrothed. The court began to whisper that you were cursed, a black widow before you could even reach the altar.
Your father grew frustrated, and your brothers suspicious.
Sitting at your window, you watched Valarr down below. He was laughing with the Kingsguard, the picture of chivalry and royal grace. But you knew what lay beneath the velvet and silver. He was a monster wearing the crown of a prince.
And as he turned his head, catching your gaze yet again from the high window, he offered you a small nod. A sort of silent promise that no one else would ever dare to claim what was his.
A cold dread pooled in your stomach, but as you looked at your perfect, terrifying cousin, you couldn't help but smile back.
—
The tension at the family supper had been thick enough to cut with a dagger, but it wasn't until the servants began clearing the heavy silver platters that the true shift occurred.
Your uncle, Prince Baelor Breakspear—the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne—stood up and caught your eye. With a gentle but firm nod, he gestured toward the quiet privacy of the adjacent council chamber. "A word, niece," he said softly.
Before you could even push your chair back, a shadow fell over you. Valarr was already on his feet, his hand instinctively dropping to the back of your chair, his eyes darting sharply between you and his father. "I will accompany her," Valarr said, his voice smooth, but carrying that underlying, rigid edge you knew all too well.
Baelor placed a heavy, warning hand on his son’s shoulder. "No, Valarr. This conversation is meant for her ears alone. Remain here."
Valarr’s jaw tightened. For a fraction of a second, the polite, obedient prince vanished, replaced by the dangerous, volatile thing that lived beneath his skin. His grip on your chair turned so white his knuckles popped. But he forced a tight, agreeable smile. Leaning down under the pretense of adjusting your cloak, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath ragged.
"I will be right outside the door," he whispered, a low vibration. "If he makes you uneasy, if you feel even a flicker of fright, you call for me. I am right here."
When you stepped into the chamber, Baelor closed the heavy oak door, shutting Valarr out. The Hand of the King looked tired, but his eyes were filled with a profound, paternal kindness as he took your hands gingerly in his own.
"It has come to my attention," Baelor began, his voice echoing in the quiet room, "that Valarr has been systematically refusing courting visitors of all kinds. Highborn ladies from the Reach, the Westerlands, the Vale... he turns them all away. He finally came to me, niece. He made his intentions entirely clear. He wishes to marry you."
A sudden, fierce flush crawled up your neck, burning your cheeks. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird, and suddenly you couldn’t meet your uncle’s gaze any longer.
Baelor sighed, squeezing your hands. "To be the wife of the future king... it is not an easy task, sweet girl. The court is a nest of vipers, and the crown is heavy. But I love my son, and I care deeply for you. If you love him, and if you are willing to take on this burden... I will allow it. I will speak to your father, and let the two of you marry."
You could barely think straight. The blood rushed to your ears, a dizzying, intoxicating wave of pure relief and euphoria. The nightmare of being shipped off to a stranger, of being torn away from Valarr’s dark, protective embrace—it was gone. Erased with a single sentence.
"Yes," you breathed, the word slipping out before he could even finish. "Yes, Uncle. More than anything."
—
Suddenly, the grim, oppressive walls of the Red Keep seemed to glow with a brilliant, blinding light. The news of the betrothal swept through the castle, and with it, a profound shift in the young prince. Valarr was absolutely beaming, a radiant, blinding sun that left the court in awe.
He had started to permanently attached himself to your side.
Every morning brought new treasures to your chambers. Rare Myrish lace, ropes of perfect pearls, silks dyed the color of dragon’s blood, and baskets of your favorite honey sweets.
When he had been forced to court other ladies in the past, he had been a model of polite etiquette. But with you? It was a far cry from his past behaviour. It was entirely transparent to the entire court who his favorite girl was.
He doted on you, brushed your hair, kissed your knuckles in front of lords and smallfolk alike, and you absolutely lavished in it. You felt entirely safe, wrapped in the golden bubble of his obsessive devotion.
But outside your little bubble, the shadows were growing longer.
"They say the young Crakehall boy was found in the harbor," Aerion muttered around a mouthful of roasted boar, his eyes glittering with a malicious, drunken amusement. "Bloated like a toad. And that Mooton heir who dared to send her a poem last moon? Disappeared from his inn. Not a trace left but a puddle of blood on the floorboards."
The laughter around the supper table died down slightly. Your father, Maekar, frowned deeply into his wine cup.
"It’s a curse," Daeron hiccuped, slurring his words. "Any man who so much as looks at our sweet sister ends up feeding the crows."
Aerion leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Valarr, who was sitting right beside you, calmly cutting a piece of meat on your plate for you. "I have a theory," Aerion sneered, his voice dripping with mock secrecy. "I think our dear cousin Valarr doesn't sleep at all. I think he turns into a demon dragon at night. He flies out the window, hunts down every single one of her past suitors, and tears them to pieces in the dark."
The table erupted into jests and uneasy laughter. Even Baelor offered a amused shake of his head at his nephew's wild imagination. Valarr chuckled softly, a light, aristocratic sound, and popped a piece of perfectly cut meat into your mouth. "A demon dragon, Aerion? You cut me deep. I prefer a quiet night's rest."
You chewed slowly, the food turning to mush in your mouth.
Everyone else was laughing, treating it as one of Aerion's cruel jests. But as you looked down at Valarr’s hands—the beautiful, pale hands currently pouring you a cup of sweet arbor gold—you noticed a faint, missed trace of dark, dried crimson buried deep beneath his fingernail.
He wasn't a demon dragon. He was just a man in love.
—
The night before the royal wedding, the Red Keep was suffocating. The castle was bursting at the seams with lords and ladies from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, heavy perfumes, and a manic, festive energy.
But inside your bedchambers, the air was cold, and your chest felt tightly bound. Anxiety, sharp and relentless, clawed at your throat. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't sit still.
A faint click broke the silence of the room. From the hidden passage behind the tapestry, a shadow stepped out.
Valarr slipped into the room, locking the heavy door behind him. He looked exhausted, yet his eyes blazed with a desperate, frantic hunger the moment they landed on you.
"I couldn't stay away, little star," he murmured, rushing to your side and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. "Tomorrow will be madness. The septons, the feasts, the crowds... I won't be able to look at you, not truly, until the vows are said. I couldn't stand a whole day without seeing you."
He smiled, a soft, boyish thing, and began to untie his tunic. He had already announced his intention to sleep in your quarters, promising to slip back out through the hidden tunnel before your handmaidens arrived at dawn. He unlaced the fine velvet, slipping his arms out. Valarr always preferred to sleep bare-chested, his skin naturally radiating a strange, feverish heat.
But as the fabric fell away, a flash of jagged, angry red caught your eye.
Across his forearm was a deep, raw gash, the edges poorly bound and weeping slightly. Your breath hitched. "Valarr... what is that? What happened to your arm?"
He didn't even look down at it. He merely offered a dismissive, airy chuckle, pulling you toward the massive four-post bed. "Nothing to worry your beautiful head over, my love. A minor mishap during a late-night ride through the woods. A stray branch. It’s nothing serious, I promise."
You wanted to believe him, but the image of the trace of blood under his fingernails from days ago flashed through your mind. Still, you let him pull you down into the feather mattress. He wrapped his long arms around you, pulling your back against his chest, his chin resting in your hair. It was a position you had found comfort in a thousand times before.
But tonight, the comfort wouldn't come.
Your mind was a roaring storm. You shifted to the left. You turned to the right. Your legs twitched under the heavy furs. Every time you tried to close your eyes, your heart hammered against your ribs.
Valarr endured the relentless squirming for an hour, his grip tightening slightly each time you moved, until finally, he shifted. He leaned over you, his hair falling like a curtain around your face, blocking out the rest of the dark room. His eyes were wide, swirling with worry.
"What is it?" he whispered, his voice frantic, his fingers tracing your jawline almost too hard. "Why are you so worried, little star? Tell me. Is it the wedding? Is it the crowd? Are you afraid of tomorrow? Tell me who is upsetting you. Give me a name."
"I... I don't know, Valarr," you stammered, your voice trembling. "I don't know why. I just can't calm down. My chest... it won't stop hurting."
Valarr stared down at you, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked almost black. He seemed to be searching your face for a script, an answer, until suddenly, a spark of absolute madness lit up his features. It was as if a brilliant, terrible idea had just struck him.
"Ah," he breathed, a breathless, ecstatic smile breaking across his face. "I know. I know what will fix it. Wait here."
He scrambled off the bed, his bare chest gleaming in the moonlight. He rushed over to his leather satchel resting on the table, digging inside until he pulled out a small, heavy iron ice box. It was the kind maesters used to transport delicate, volatile medicines. He brought it back to the bed, setting it right in front of you on the silk sheets.
You shuffled closer to the edge, your legs swinging over the edge of the bed.
"Open it," he whispered, his breath coming in short, excited pants. "Open it, my love. See what I brought you."
With trembling fingers, you reached out and popped the heavy iron latch. You lifted the lid.
The smell of copper and frost hit your nose instantly. Resting on a bed of melting ice was a jagged, horrific mass of raw flesh. A human heart, freshly carved, the vessels severed and frozen in dark, coagulated crimson.
A gasp caught in your throat. Panic flared in your veins—it was a visceral, terrifying sight. But years of growing up by Aerion and Valarr’s side had taught you how to master your face. You forced your expression to remain perfectly still, staring at the gory offering.
Valarr didn't wait for a reaction. He slid off the bed, sinking to his knees on the floorboards right before you. He reached into the box with his bare hands, lifting the heavy, cold heart out of the ice. Dark, melting blood spilled over his knuckles, dripping onto his pristine white linen riding pants, staining the fabric a horrific, deep scarlet.
"Do you see it?" Valarr looked up at you from the floor, his face completely unhinged, flushed with a manic, intoxicating adoration. He looked like a madman, a beautiful, terrifying creature entirely consumed by a holy fervor. "I did this for you. I’ve always done this for you. That Lannister boy? The Tyrell? The Bracken? Every single one of those pathetic, sniveling lords who dared to look at you, who dared to think they could take you away from me? I rid you of them."
He pressed the bloody heart closer to his chest, his hands entirely coated in the thick, crimson fluid.
"They didn't deserve you," he hissed, his voice a ragged, breathless purr. "They didn't know how to worship you. They bothered you! I saw how you cried in the woods. I saw how their names made you weep. I couldn't let them breathe the same air as you. This one—this is the Crakehall boy. The last one who dared to eye you at the feast. I tore it right out of him, little star. For you. Everything I do, every drop of blood I spill, it is an altar built for you."
He leaned his head against your knee, staining your nightgown with blood, looking up at you with the glassy, devoted eyes of a dog begging for approval.
He was completely, and utterly insane. He was a monster who had painted the Red Keep red just to keep you smiling.
And as you sat there, looking down at your blood-soaked, crazed prince kneeling at your feet, the cold anxiety in your chest suddenly vanished.
In its place, a strange, dark heat began to bloom deep in your stomach. A wicked, thrilling shiver ran down your spine.
Everyone else in the world was fickle, bound by duty, laws, and fleeting emotions. But your Valarr? He would butcher the entire realm if you asked him to. He would tear the stars from the sky and drown the world in blood just to keep your heart beating fast. He was completely, dangerously, and entirely yours.
It was terrifying. It was unnerving.
And, faiths help you, it was the most intoxicating thing you had ever felt.
A slow, dark smile crept onto your lips. You reached down, ignoring the wet, sticky crimson, and cupped his cheek, tilting his beautiful, mad face up to yours. "You did all that for me, Valarr?" you whispered.
Valarr leaned heavily into your bloody palm, a soft, pathetic whimper of pure ecstasy escaping his throat. "Anything," he gasped, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly beautiful devotion. "Anything for my queen."
—
The night was alive.
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was a roaring ocean of noise, gold, and crimson. The wedding feast had bled deep into the small hours of the night, and the celebrations showed no signs of slowing down. Bards plucked frantically at their lutes, lords roared with drunken laughter, and the wine flowed like a river.
Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of dancers and well-wishers, the space beside you on the high dais sat entirely empty.
Your dear husband was nowhere to be found.
You had sat through a dozen toasts, your smile perfectly fixed, but the dark heat in your stomach from the night before was burning.
After questioning a handful of oblivious guests, you slipped away from the high table, cornering a tense Gold Cloak near the threshold of the hall. He stammered, bowing low, before admitting he had seen Prince Valarr slip down the quiet, left corridor moments ago.
You followed the path away from the noise, the music of the feast fading into a dull, rhythmic thumping against the stone walls. The corridor grew darker, lit only by flickering wall sconces. Then, you saw it. A dark, wet droplet on the cold stone. Then another. A small, smeared trail of crimson leading toward a secluded alcove.
You stepped around the corner and found him.
Valarr stood over a crumpled form, his chest heaving. The magnificent, pristine white wedding robes he had taken his vows in were now utterly ruined, drenched in deep, sickening red. His face, usually so clean and perfect, was splattered with a fresh coat of it, and his hands were stained entirely to the wrists. He was a vision of absolute butchery.
Hearing your soft footsteps, Valarr snapped his head around, his eyes wide and wild. The moment he recognized you, a flash of pure panic crossed his features—not because he had been caught, but for you.
"No, no, little star, don't step any closer," he breathed frantically, holding his sticky, red hands out to keep you back. "Your dress. Look at your dress. It’s too beautiful to ruin. Stay back, my love."
You looked down at your lavish, white-and-silver wedding gown, then up at him. A slow, dark thrill thrummed through your veins. Instead of retreating, you took a deliberate step forward, your delicate silk slippers stepping right over the fresh, cooling corpse of whatever unfortunate lord had dared to slight you tonight.
You reached out, entirely ignoring his warnings, and cupped his blood-splattered face in your hands. The copper smell was thick and suffocating, but you only leaned closer, a soft, scolding coo escaping your lips.
"Oh, Valarr," you sighed, tracing his cheekbone with your thumb, smearing the wet crimson across his pale skin. "Look at you. What am I to do with you? You are entirely drenched in blood. I still wanted to dance to so many more songs tonight, but you’ve gone and made a mess of yourself before the feast is even over. You must clean up first, my sweet prince."
Valarr stared at you, his breath hitching. Hearing your gentle, unbothered voice, seeing the utter lack of fear in your eyes, drove him into a state of pure, ecstatic delirium. A ragged, broken whine escaped his throat.
"My queen," he gasped. He seized your hands—instantly coating your fingers in the dead man's blood—and pulled you fiercely against him.
He kissed you. It was a feverish, desperate, and bruising thing. His lips parted yours, and the sharp, metallic taste of iron flooded your mouth, thick and overwhelming.
He kissed you until you were breathless, his face sliding against yours, deliberately coating the bottom half of your jaw and cheeks in the warm, wet blood of his latest victim. It was a horrific branding, and it made your head spin with an intoxicating rush.
When he finally broke away, panting, he looked down at your blood-stained face and laughed—a sound of pure, unadulterated worship.
"We will dance later," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, possessive light. "We will dance for the rest of our lives."
With a sudden movement, Valarr grabbed the edge of the dead lord’s fine velvet doublet, quickly wiping the excess wetness from his own palms and yours. Before you could even protest, he swept you off your feet, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.
He didn't take you back to the Great Hall. Instead, he moved through the shadows of the Red Keep like a ghost, slipping past the distracted guards with the movements of a predator.
He carried you through the winding corridors, straight to your new, shared royal quarters, kicking the heavy oak doors shut and barring them from the inside.
"Valarr, wait," you breathless murmured against his neck as he set you down on the edge of the massive bed. "The feast... the guests will notice we are gone. I wanted my dances."
"Let them wonder," Valarr growled softly, descending upon you like a shadow. His hands, still stained a faint pink, pinned your wrists to the mattress, trapping you beneath his heavy, feverish frame. "The realm had you for the afternoon, little star. But now the night and its stars belongs to me."
Despite your playful pleas and teasing pouts about the missed music, you never did make it back to the celebrations. Valarr kept you entirely hostage within the confines of those silk sheets for the rest of the wedding night, claiming every inch of you.
hi my love!!! can i request maekar w a second wife thats like.. rlly good with his kids? n they just adore her. how would he feel?
- A FULL BED,
in which, maekar spends the afternoon looking for you and his children - only to find you all at once.
CW: none, fluff, just a bit of swearing.
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!
Summerhall was far, far too quiet.
Maekar noticed it the moment he stepped into the corridor outside the council chamber. The castle was never truly silent, of course - stone halls carried every small sound, the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchens, a servant’s footsteps along the lower stairs, the slow sigh of wind moving through the arches of the outer courtyard. Yet the usual noise of the household was missing.
More specifically, the noise of his children.
This place was usually fucking crawling with his offspring. Daella’s laughter somewhere down the hall, Rhae arguing with her sister about ribbons, Aegon asking questions that never seemed to end, Aerion stalking about the yard as though someone had personally offended him by existing, Daeron lingering near a window with a cup he claimed was watered enough to be harmless.
Yet now – nothing.
Maekar stopped in the corridor, looking down its length as if the children might suddenly appear out of the stonework itself. “Where in seven hells,” he muttered under his breath.
And then there was you; because wherever the children gathered, you were rarely far behind.
Which raised the second, rather pressing question.
Where the fuck were you, his sweet, endearing wife?
Maekar turned toward the gardens first.
The evening air had grown cool, the roses heavy with scent along the stone paths. Lanterns had been lit beside the low walls, their flames flickering gently in the darkening blue of twilight - It was the sort of place the younger ones often ended their day, Daella and Rhae chasing each other between the hedges, Aegon trailing after them with some grand idea about knights or dragons.
The paths were empty. No girls, nor boys - Not even the distant noise of play.
Maekar walked the length of the garden twice before turning back toward the castle, his boots striking the stone with quiet irritation.
The solar came next - empty again.
The long table sat undisturbed, chairs pushed neatly beneath it, the tall windows darkening as evening deepened beyond them. A scroll rested on the desk where someone - likely Daeron - had abandoned it earlier, yet the room itself held no sign of recent company.
Maekar exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Seven save me,” he muttered.
The council room followed - Nothing there either, only the heavy quiet of the chamber and the faint creak of wood as the fire settled lower in the hearth.
From there he walked the halls of Summerhall themselves, one corridor after another. Past the gallery where tapestries hung unmoving in the still air. Past the staircases that wound down toward the lower floors. Past the small sitting rooms Daella occasionally turned into temporary kingdoms when she decided the castle required rearranging.
Still nothing - no children and no you.
By the time Maekar reached the upper corridor again he was beginning to suspect some elaborate game had taken place without his knowledge - the sort where everyone vanished deliberately just to see if he would notice.
Well, he definitely noticed.
Only one place remained he had not yet checked - your shared chambers.
The door stood slightly open when he approached, the faint glow of candlelight slipping into the hall. Maekar paused for a moment, pushing the door inward with careful fingers.
He stopped immediately upon entering – The room looked as though a small battle had taken place.
Wooden swords lay scattered across the carpet; A pair of painted toy shields had been abandoned near the hearth, one leaning crookedly against the chair beside it. Bits of ribbon, scraps of cloth, and what appeared to be several of the girls’ hair ribbons lay across the floor in cheerful disarray.
Two feather boas - bright things that had absolutely no rightful place in a castle full of princes - had somehow become tangled together across the foot of the bed.
And the bed itself…
The bed had been entirely claimed; You lay propped back against the pillows, still awake, though clearly trapped beneath an arrangement of sleeping children that would have defeated most grown knights. Daeron lay along your left side - Aerion lay along your right.
Both boys were stretched out fully, one arm flung carelessly across the mattress as though they had simply collapsed there without thinking much about it. Between them, sprawled directly across your middle like a particularly determined cat, was Aegon.
Egg had claimed the warmest position in the entire arrangement and clearly had no intention of moving. Daella and Rhae had arranged themselves across their brothers without hesitation. One of the girls slept half atop Daeron’s shoulder, her hair spread across the pillow like pale silk. The other had tucked herself against Aerion’s side, small fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve.
At the foot of the bed sat Aemon.. or rather, he had been sitting.
At some point he had fallen asleep as well.
His back rested against the carved wood of the frame, legs stretched out before him, and across his lap lay a book so large it nearly covered his entire torso. The thing looked heavy enough to flatten a lesser boy. Apparently he had meant to read it - and had simply… drifted off.
The book now served as an accidental blanket, Maekar’s eyes moved slowly across the scene.
You were awake; and you were smiling sleepily at your husband – not daring to speak, just in case you spook any of them.
Your fingers were buried gently in the hair of the two boys beside you, curled lightly against their scalps as you moved them in slow, absent circles. The gesture was calm, practiced, the sort of quiet motion that soothed without waking.
Daeron slept - That alone made Maekar pause.
His eldest rarely slept easily. Even in rest there was usually tension about him, something tight in his expression as though he expected to wake suddenly - screaming. Tonight that look was gone. His face had softened completely, his breathing deep and steady.
For the first time in longer than Maekar cared to measure, Daeron did not look as though he were about to be dragged off to torture.
Aerion slept differently.
Gracefully, if such a word could be applied to the boy at all. His posture remained straight even in sleep, one arm resting loosely beside him where Rhae had claimed his side as her pillow. The sharpness usually present in his features had faded into something quieter.
Aegon snored loudly.
Your arms might have been full but your hair had not escaped the evening either.
Several of the girls’ hair clips had been fastened into it without mercy, bright little decorations placed wherever small hands had managed to reach. One feather boa had been draped around your shoulders, while another looped carelessly around Daeron’s arm.
Aerion had somehow acquired a ribbon tied loosely around his wrist.
Even Aemon had not escaped; one of the girls had clipped something small and glittering into his hair at some point while he read.
Maekar remained in the doorway, looking over the entire absurd arrangement.
Wooden swords. Toy shields. Ribbons. Sleeping princes draped over every inch of the bed.
And you in the middle of it all, fingers still moving slowly through Daeron and Aerion’s hair as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
For another moment neither of you spoke.
Maekar let out a quiet chuckle, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself; so that was where they all were – every last one of them.
And seeing it; the heap of sleeping children, the quiet patience with which you held them there, the simple peace of the room - Maekar felt something in his chest warm in a way he had not expected.
They adored you, that much was plain. And judging by the way every one of them had fallen asleep wrapped around you like moss around stone… they had decided, quite firmly, that you belonged to them just as much.
thank you so much for requesting, i hope you like it!
— golden restless age;
lying next to each other, staring into each others eyes with small smiles; valarr targaryen x fem!tyrell reader.
themes and genres: fluff. established relationship, wife!reader, girl dad!valarr.
content warnings: none.
word count: 1.70k
author's note: well, this was going to be a slightly shorter blurb but alas, the heart yearns for girl dad!valarr. i even ended up making a header for it because i fear this is going to consume my thoughts for the days to come. perhaps i will even expand upon this au, much to the misfortune of my baelor wip. girl dad!valarr stans rise! anyways, i hope you all like it!
— header gif made by me, featuring sir frank dicksee's the end of the quest (1921) | crossposted on ao3.
It was a rare feat for Valarr to have enough free time to allow himself a moment of respite.
As second in line for the throne, duty did not only mandate his actions and dictate his thoughts, but occupied most of his waking hours as well.
He had woken, dressed, and discussed grain trading with visiting lords before even breaking his fast. He had reconvened with his father about succession matters in the solar, sire and son conversing over autumn pears, roasted fingerfish and honeyed figs. There had been small moments of calm, unhurried chatting: Valarr worrying about his father’s recovery after the injury sustained during the tourney at Ashford Meadow, and Baelor inquiring about Valarr’s daughter, who was just three days away from celebrating her fifth name day.
And then, once all the courses had been consumed and the conversation had mellowed down, he had gone back to reuniting with the council.
“Pst! Pst, father!” The sound comes after the hours have slipped through: a quiet, tender voice speaking from under the thick mahogany of the Painted Table. For a moment, he debates pinches himself to confirm he has not yet drifted to sleep. Then comes a giggle, followed by a gentle tug on his trousers, and he knows he is awake. “Father, you must come outside with me at once! It is of the upmost importance!”
Valarr smiles, rolls his eyes with fondness, and lets out a breath. Lord Ronel Pennrose, master of coin, drags on upon contracts and agreements, much to the boredom of everyone present.
A second tug, slightly more insistent, and another giggle. Valarr leans down and grins when met with a pair of mismatched eyes that shine up at him with mirth.
“I am holding council, my heart,” he says, softly. “And you, princess, are supposed to be with your septa. How else will you learn how to read?”
Viserra laughs again, the sound pure and melodic like bells chiming amid a summer breeze. She crosses her legs and leans upward, inching closer.
“That is such a bore,” she whispers, conspiratorially. “There is something I need to show you, with urgency! Father, I beg!”
Valarr pretends to give it a moment of thought, pursing his lips with a quiet hum, but knows there is not a single thing he could ever deny Viserra. Not when she bears your smile and holds half of his very soul on the palm of her hand.
And by the Seven, does she know it.
He winks at Viserra, and she disappears with another giggle, crawling back to the edge of the table before she stands up and skips towards the other end of it. There, she grins up at her grandsire, and Baelor leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head before she continues on her merry way.
“If I may be excused,” Valarr says, standing from his seat. “There is a matter I must attend to. It is of the utmost importance, I was told.”
Baelor nods, eyes soft and knowing despite the setting, and Valarr waits for no other response before he trails after Viserra. His daughter is a whirlwind, light brown hair meticulously braided, dashing through the quiet halls of Dragonstone with a wild smile adorning her tender face. She hums; a mellow sound, some lullaby that had stuck to her from the nights when you wait by her side until she is sure the nightmares will not come. The melody, and the bitter memories it evokes, of the fear in her eyes and the terror in her voice, threaten to swallow him whole.
She picks up the pace ever so slightly, and Valarr can only tread after her: never quite catching up, but always keeping close. He supposes so to be woes of parenting.
She guides him through the labyrinthine layout with ease until the faint scent of pine reaches Valarr’s nose, darting through the grass with her father close on her toes. Valarr takes a breath and lets himself exist nowhere else but in the moment at hand, and as he exhales, he all but swears the sunlight shines warmer upon his skin.
“Father, quickly!” Viserra laughs, twirling on her toes before she bends down to pick a wildflower. She holds it tight inside her fist, yielding it like a sword. Oh, how much would he give for her to only ever know the softness of flowers, and not the sharpness of steel or the burn of wildfire. “What I ought to show you is —”
Her words, breathless and light, are interrupted by another voice. A deeper one in its years, yet just as sweet. Valarr’s smile only grows wider at the sound.
“Viserra,” you say, sitting only a few steps further, and set down a piece of fabric on the grass by your side. An embroidery project, clearly meant as a favor for Valarr to wear whenever the next tourney came around: soft green velvet, the center of it depicting a red dragon laying upon a field of golden flowers. A tribute to both his house and yours, and a celebration of your union. “You, little lady, told me you were fetching Dreamfyre from your chambers, not pulling your father away from his duties.”
Viserra flushes a deep shade of red, but the look on her face bears no trace of repentance at all. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, as if choosing the words that would appease you best.
“But father was awfully bored! Lord Pennybottom —”
“Pennrose, dear.”
“— was about to talk him to death, I swear!” She says, dramatically, raising her hands up her head in full theatrics as if to emphasize the weight of her words. She pays no mind to your correction. She is, after all, a princess. “And, besides, Dreamfyre was taking napping, mother. I had not the heart to wake her when she slept so soundly. She would have been very cross with me when she woke, and I would not have it!”
Your eyes meet Valarr’s as he steps closer, and his heart beats faster inside his chest. He picks Viserra up in his arms and she squeals in delight, resting her head against her father’s shoulder. He walks until he reaches you, steps certain in their path, his body finding a home next to yours.
“I see, then, that our princess has saved you from quite the dreadful fate, my love,” you say, smiling up at your husband from where you rest.
Valarr laughs, shaking his head. He turns his head to kiss Viserra’s cheek before he sets her down again, and she quickly flutters away towards a nearby flowerbed. “That she has, indeed. She, as always, has but brightened my day as nothing else ever could. Although she ought to be with her septa at this time, no?”
You hum, nodding your head, and extend a hand up in his direction. He takes it, your touch warm and gentle, and then lowers himself onto his knees, moving until he’s sitting by your side.
“She escaped her, somehow,” you reply, rolling your eyes as your smile grows with adoration. “I was trying to convince her to practice upon her needlework instead, but she bolted away with the claim of retrieving Dreamfyre from inside the castle.”
“She cares far too much for the creature,” Valarr smiles, and kicks his boots of his feet before he lays down on his back. He does not let go of your hand as he does it, letting it rest on top of his chest. “I have noticed she has carried it in her lap during supper, all through the week. She is absolutely besotted with the little thing, I swear.”
“Might I remind you, husband, you gifted her the kitten,” is all you say, words falling from your lips as he brings your hand up to his own, and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
Valarr kisses your knuckles again, and returns your hand to lay over his heart, as if guarding it. “She asked me for a pet. I gave her a cat with a soft coat of fur, and she named it after a dragon.”
You laugh, softly. “Well, she is fire and blood, and every bit your daughter. And you can never deny her of anything she asks of you, it seems.”
Your husband hums, eyes still set on yours, full of the most fervent devotion. He tugs on your hand, beckoning you closer, and you shift until you’re laying down by his side, posture mirroring his. You move closer, warmth radiating off your form, and the entire world quiets around him. He is not inside the castle sitting on a throne left to him by his father, and oil has not yet been placed upon his brow. He is not a prince, not an heir, not a pawn on a board; no, he’s something else. He’s something that exists in a world that begins with your smile and ends with Viserra’s laugh, and that is worth far more than any crown ever could.
Viserra runs towards you again, plopping in between the both of you and resting her small head over your arm as she babbles on and on about fireflies this and butterflies that. She speaks of how she had found a bird’s feather on the ground when she made towards the kitchens in the morning on a quest for honeycakes baked with sweet berries before her lessons (her septa had allowed her to have a couple, she promises!). She talks of Dreamfyre: of how her kitten, named after a dragon, had bravely spent the entire night curled up against her side to keep the nightmares from coming.
Valarr’s eyes meet yours over her head. Some of her hair has started to fall from her braids, fluttering softly against the wind, and she is holding a small bouquet of pink wildflowers in her hands.
“No, my love,” Valarr speaks, gaze never leaving yours, and he smiles. “It seems that I, whenever the both of you are concerned, can never find it in myself to deny you of a thing.”
