Overview: The woman who lingers by Dunk's side catches the eye of not one, not two, but three Targaryen princes. Chaos ensues. Eyes linger. Propositions are made.
Word count: 1k
Next part here!
Dunk with a young and pretty healer who joins him on the roads, the woman having been brought into his life by Ser Arlan after he sought her help to treat a nasty wound from a bar fight. Then he'd suggested that she join them, and so, with a longing to see the world, the three of them travelled together in the year before Ser Arlan's death. Now she and Dunk continued ahead on the road to the tourney at Ashford, with her taking on the responsibility of helping cook their meals and mend his clothes. She takes care of the little squire they'd picked up along the way too, his small body cuddling up into hers as they sleep under the stars. Dunk is prone to a spate of small injuries and ailments that she gladly treats, applying salves gently and dressing his wounds as he blushes sheepishly. Dunk finds himself feeling warm and fuzzy inside every time she speaks to him, touches him, and holds his biceps as he lifts her down from her horse. With the kind, warm smiles she gives him, he thinks she might feel the same, and he longs for her in a way he knows is not proper.
All is well and peaceful until they arrive at the tourney - that is when everything goes majorly wrong. She and Egg went to the puppet show, only for it to end with the revelation of Egg's parentage and a beaten and bruised prince, and one shocked and imprisoned hedge knight. Unfortunately for Dunk, he misses the way Aerion's eyes linger hungrily on the woman who tends to his little brother, her arms wrapping him up tightly as he shakes.
Dunk is taken to speak with Baelor, Egg acting as squire and his companion is brought to the chambers as well at the request of the little prince. Egg hopes that she could tell his uncle that it was all Aerion's fault and the whole situation would blow over. Again, in his panic and confusion, Dunk misses the slow and appreciative gaze that Baelor gives the woman, even as she stands in a plain woollen dress. Egg doesn't. His uncle looks at her the same way his brother Daeron looks at wine - eager and hungry. It was unlike him, and yet so characteristic of a hot-blooded Targaryen.
Once they're brought to the council, another fresh set of eyes lies upon her. Maekar rolls his eyes at the sight of the towering hedge knight, but can't help but lean forward to look upon the woman standing close by the door. A low grunt escapes him - she's pretty. Far prettier than any woman he's seen recently. He wouldn't mind seeing her up close.
Then it's proposed - a trial of seven. Dunk needs six other champions to fight beside him to prove his innocence.
"Unless..." Aerion mutters lowly. Dunk's head perks up as he lets himself feel a small sliver of hope.
"Unless, my prince?"
"Unless you give me your pretty wife," Aerion suggests tauntingly, barely able to hide his lust. The heads of all in the room snap to the young prince incredulously. Baelor eyes his nephew silently for a moment before turning his attention to the woman who came in with the hedge knight.
Dunk is the first to speak after a long pause. "...My wife, my prince? I don't have a wife."
It's Maekar who speaks this time, pointing at the women, "Then who is she?"
"She is my... she's a skilled healer. She joined Ser Arlan and I on our journey but a year ago."
Aerion hums, pleased. "That is even better, for you will have no problem handing her over. Either way, if you do not, I will have her in the end."
Dunk pauses, his body filling with fear and trepidation, but he knows he cannot just give her away to such a man. He was a knight now and he was to protect the innocent. And she? She was the most innocent of all in his eyes - a healer for the wounded for god's sake! She had no part in this, and would not suffer for his impulsiveness. So he refuses.
"No. I will fight. You say I need six other men?"
Baelor stiffens imperceptibly, his teeth grinding in silent anger. And yet he nods, reciting the rules of the trial and wishing luck to the hedge knight begrudgingly.
"Good night, pretty dove," calls Aerion as Dunk's companion turns to leave the room with Dunk. The three men watch as she and Dunk turn, her wide eyes staring back at him in fright before hurrying away. It's silent for a moment before Aerion sighs and crushes another nut under his blade.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you insolent boy?" Maekar suddenly questions, eyes burning into the side of his son's head.
"I just thought she might prefer the comforts of a royal tent to sleeping under the stars, Father," the prince mumbled lowly, tone seeping with ire. Maekar went to respond; however, the sight of his brother calling his guards into the room made him pause. Neither of the blonde princes could hear what was being said, until Baelor turned around with a solemn expression on his features.
"I have commanded the guards to ensure the hedge knight does not manage to gather the required number of men for his cause."
Aerion and Maekar freeze, wide-eyed expressions meeting that of the good and honourable Prince of Dragonstone. The room falls silent once more as each prince ponders the weight of his words. If he could not gather enough knights to fight for his cause, he would be found guilty and executed. It would leave his pretty healer alone. Alone and without protection. A woman alone could scarcely refuse an offer from a prince of the realm, could she? She would stand no chance against three of them.
I'm not really sure what this is but I needed to get this idea out of my head. The idea of Dark!Baelor feeds my soul!!
“By the gods, I have repented, I have begged, I have prayed—and none have answered, so tell me what I must do? Tell me that I am mad, tell me that I am wrong, curse me, damn me, but do not stand there and look at me like that,” he pauses for a moment and looks at you in a way that silences the voices in your head—that this is wrong, that this should never have happened, and yet you cannot, you cannot pretend that you are standing at the precipice of desire and want for a love that cannot be truly given in return, “Tell me to stop.”
PAIRINGS: Prince Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen/Prince Maekar Targaryen/Female!Reader.
WARNINGS: Possessive Behaviour, Threesome, F/M/M, Explicit Content, Explicit Rough Sex, Dark!Baelor, Dark!Maekar, Female Reader Gets Sandwiched, Hair Pulling, Older Man/Younger Woman, Anal Play, Penis in Vagina Sex, Breeding Kink, Reader assumes the identity of a man, gets thoroughly fucked.
Please read at your own discretion. This is the first time I am actually sharing the smut I have written and depending on how this goes, I'll add the second part. I also have an AO3 profile with the same name.
“By the gods, I have repented, I have begged, I have prayed—and none have answered, so tell me what I must do? Tell me that I am mad, tell me that I am wrong, curse me, damn me, but do not stand there and look at me like that,” he pauses for a moment and looks at you in a way that silences the voices in your head—that this is wrong, that this should never have happened, and yet you cannot, you cannot pretend that you are standing at the precipice of desire and want for a love that cannot be truly given in return, “Tell me to stop. Tell me that this is wrong and I will accept it.”
You do not move away from him, not even when he tilts your chin upwards, “Please,” something inside you breaks at the desperation that tumbles from his lips, “I will ruin you, sweet boy,” and then it crashes down upon your conscious, your mind and your grieving heart, that this cannot happen.
“I am not who you think I am, Your Grace,” and then silence, because your voice has slipped into something far more softer than you intended, his eyes widening in a way that desperately wants you to take it back and just as you part your lips to utter another word, his lips swallows whatever would have followed, teeth and tongue robbing you of coherent thought, pressing up against you in way you never thought possible.
“I don't care, I don't fucking care, just let me have you, please,” you utter no objection as he kisses you like a man who had never had a drop of water in his life, fingers digging into your waist with barely controlled restraint, “Let me worship you, let me love you, I don't care if it ruins me too.”
You are breathless and wanton, fingers threading through his dark hair as he pushes you up against the very same table he had spent hours discussing border patrols, scouting positions and where he had threatened his own brother, Prince Maekar Targaryen for undermining your words, sound swallowed by the sheer hunger he presses down upon you, “Fuck, tell me to stop, please.”
But you cannot and you witness the thread of his restraint snap the moment you utter his name, “Baelor,” and then what follows is something neither of you can ever regret or take back, because the groan that rumbles from his chest is your only warning before he promptly repositions you, chest pressed against his back, his left hand pushing you down with a force that brings a wanton moan from your lips, and then the other hand desperately tries to unlace his own braies, “I am going to fuck you until you can't walk,” and then all coherent though vanishes from your mind as he bends down, fingers threading through your hair and yanks it back, “Am I to assume that I'll not find a cock within those braies of yours and instead find a warm, dripping cunt?”
Your provocative moan that echoes through the air is enough answer, his lips parting to reveal teeth and tongue, and then he swallows your moans as he pushes your braies down, fingers sliding down until his thumb briefly catches the slit of your cunt and then he groans against your lips, “I fucking knew it, my sweet little boy doesn't have a cock, but a rather wet fucking cunt,” you push up against him, his fingers tighten around your hair, “No, no, sweet girl, you asked for this, I'll shove my cock so deep into your cunt that you'll reconsider every fucking decision you took that lead you to me, pray for the gods, I'll not have an ounce of mercy, bite down on this.”
He shoves something wooden beneath you, you barely have enough time to bite down upon it before two of his fingers gather the slick your dripping cunt provided and then he gently parts your folds, teeth grazing your ear as he whispers, “You are mine, sweet girl,” and then he shoves his fingers so deep into the gummy walls of your sex that your eyes widen, teeth sinking into the wooden object as he then pumps his fingers in and out of your slick walls, “Mine, do you hear me? I'll mark every inch of your body, just enough that no other man will ever look at you in the same way.”
Baelor then tightens his grip unto your hair, the other promptly ruining you from the inside out, grunts and moans filling the air as he continues to ruin your cunt with the hunger of a man starved too long, “Let go, sweet girl, I'll catch you,” he adds another finger, white spots dance across your vision and just as your legs tremble, he stops, bends down and rips the wooden object from your mouth, lips swallowing your breathless pants, tongue and teeth colliding with your own, “but not before I fuck you senseless.”
And then he pushes away from you, fingers threading once more through your hair as he gently repositions your head, placing the wooden object between your lips once more but making sure you can look at nothing else but him, his mismatched gaze burning with an intensity that made your cunt clench around his fingers, “Gods, sweet girl, I am going to make sure you don't even remember your own name.”
And then you are horrified when the tent flaps leading to the command pavilion is opened, Prince Maekar Targaryen's voice echoing through the air, “What in the seven fucking hells are you doing, Baelor? Have you lost your fucking—gods,” you are mortified and try to push yourself up but Baelor is no longer the man who's affiliated with restraint and composure, “Baelor.”
“If you intend to stand there and gawk, then fucking leave,” a moan breaks free from your lips as his fingers continue to scissor and pump in and out of your cunt, “unless you want to help me break her in.”
Maekar continues to stare, “Her? Baelor, that's not possible. That's a fucking boy you currently have bent over a fucking—,” and then he stops when he sees your expression and then realisation dawns on his face as Baelor then bends over you, fingers digging into your tunic and then he rips it apart, the bindings you have used to wrap your chest spilling lose and then your breasts spill free, “Gods, fuck me, he's a fucking woman.”
Baelor groans deeply as his right hand moves from their position of exploring your cunt, slickness spreading across your nipples as he fondles them like a man possessed, “Maekar, fuck, look at her,” and then you squirm as Baelor pinches your nipples, arm then wrapping around you as he hauls you against his chest, “Does this look like a fucking boy to you, because Gods her cunt swallowed my fucking fingers.”
“You've lost your mind,” but through the thick haze that's taken ahold of your mind, you can see the evidence of your exposure affect the brutish mind of Maekar Targaryen as he palms his own cock through his braies, “Gods, fuck it. If I am damned, then I'll be damned with my cock in her mouth,” and then you are further mortified when Baelor chuckles darkly, “Move.”
And then Baelor yanks you back, the wooden object tumbling to the ground and then his teeth nips at your earlobe, “Good girl, now be good for us and get on your knees,” your body follows the order before your mind registers the words, knees falling to the ground as Baelor repositions you on the tent's floor, your back arches and then Maekar Targaryen stands before you—and for a moment you can't breathe, because his braies are down, his fist is currently pumping his prominent erection and then your head is yanked upwards and his violet eyes bore into your own, “Fuck, Baelor. How could we have missed her? Such a pretty little thing.”
And the moment your lips part, Maekar shoves his cock into your mouth the moment Baelor burrows his own into your cunt, your silent screams reverberating around the solid and pulsing flesh of Maekar Targaryen's cock as both abandon pretense and fuck you thoroughly.
“Gods, fuck yes, that's it pretty girl, you take Targaryen cock like you were bred for it,” Maekar's moans echoes through the tent as your jaw tries to accommodate the sheer size of him, cheeks hollowing as you suck as if your life depends on it, your cunt squeezing around Baelor's cock as he pummels into from behind, Maekar's fingers threading through your hair, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
You should feel mortified, Baelor's hands pressing against your hips as his thrusts become harsher, deeper, until your moans are swallowed by the thrusts of Maekar's cock in your mouth, “Gods, Maekar. She's fucking squeezing me so fucking hard,” Maekar grunts, “I'll break her cunt if I fuck her now,” and then he cups your face with both hands and then abandons all caution and promptly fucks into your mouth like a charging bull, your own hands then holding unto his delicious thighs as Baelor continues to pummel his cock into your cunt, the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth swallowed by those of the slurping sounds of Maekar's cock in your mouth.
“Gods, fuck, I am going to kill the fucking every fucking bastard that ever looked at you wrongly,” the words tumble from Maekar's lips as he wrenches your mouth from his cock, his bulbous head smacking against your lips as you breath loudly, “Fuck, Baelor, fucking move. I want my seed in her fucking arse.”
Baelor thrusts once, twice, thrice, each harder than the previous one and then he pulls out, teeth nipping at your throat as he pulls you against his chest, “Sweet girl, do you think you can manage two dragon cocks at the same time, or have we mistaken your dishonourable act of assuming an identity as a man beneath my banners as one that intends to assassinate,” he fondles your breasts, Maekar growls in warning as he fists his cock and pumps it, “or perhaps bewitch us?”
Your mouth opens and the words that tumble from your mouth is enough for Baelor to pull you upright, his cock pressing against the curve of your buttocks, “No, no, Your Grace. I would never,” Baelor nips at the tender skin beneath your ear, “Gods, please.”
Maekar grunts, “The gods, old or new, won't save you from us,” and then you witness the look shared between brother's and then Baelor chuckles darkly, “You are fucking ours now.”
Baelor's hand slaps over your mouth as he hauls you to your feet, thighs trembling, “There's nowhere in this fucking world you can run to,” his repositions himself, rearranging you that you are now sprawled over his chest, cock catching the opening of your cunt, Maekar kneeling behind you, “where we will not find you,” and then his right arm wraps across your back, pushing you down unto him, breasts jiggling, and then his left hand wraps around his cock, “Maekar, keep our little whore quiet,” and then Maekar wraps his left hand around your face, fingers shoving their way into your mouth, and then he pinches your tongue between his forefinger and thumb and then grins, “—she'll fucking need it.”
And then chaos, pleasure, and burning desire clash together as Baelor shoves his cock into your cunt, Maekar's fingers finding the delicate, but pulsing hole of your arse, and then pain mixes with pleasure.
“Fuck,” but then Baelor presses your head downwards, lips parting to press against your own, tongue, teeth and Maekar's fingers widening your opening for something far more larger, your hands find Baelor's face, eyes wide and burning with want and then Maekar presses you down, “I am going to fuck this little puckered hole of yours, sweet girl,” and then before you can protest, Maekar shoves his cock into your hole as he gathers your cunt's sleek juices, your cry is swallowed by Baelor and then both men abandon caution and proceed to fuck you thoroughly.
And all you can think about is how in the Seven hells you found yourself sandwiched against two Princes of the Realm.
warnings: please don't read if these trigger you! non-con, dark themes, maekar's lost all restraint and he wants his daughter's pretty nursemaid, coercion, humiliation, older man/younger woman relationship, woman viewed as property (?), inappropriate workplace relationship, prince/maid, boss/employee, imbalanced power dynamics.
This is the Maekar version of this post where Baelor survives his head whack and becomes a whole new person. Maekar's head whack isn't too bad, but's he a bit funky...
Instead of his brother, it had been he who had received a wound to his head during the trial of seven. The maester originally thought that perhaps Maekar had received a simple concussion... a harsh bump, but nothing life-changing. He'd even swatted away the maester when he tried to tend to him, acting no less normal than one would expect.
It's not until he returned to Summerhall, supposedly healthy and healed, that people started to notice changes.
He was grumpier, ruder, and meaner. He'd always been gruff and filled with animosity, but he'd been able to keep himself contained. He'd known how any outbursts would be perceived by those in the castle – he had appearances to keep up, and the crown couldn't afford more frustrations coming its way. But now, he was snapping at the serving girls and swearing at the guards. He'd lost that all-important filter that seemed to be keeping him out of trouble.
Now, people feared him, ducking down corridors to try to avoid his ire. They wished to be spared another of his screaming fits, though his son's seemed to fare less favourably with those. His punishments for his son's poor behaviour had grown even harsher, callous and cruel, sending even them into a state of fear around their father.
His ability to manage his impulses had completely gone, too, Maekar now demanding his wants be fulfilled immediately, without care for the cost. He could barely hold meetings due to his newfound like of leaving the room at a suggestion he didn't agree with. He found no reason to hold back.
But there was one person who this new, crueller version of Maekar seemed to hold his temper with: his youngest daughter's nursemaid. You.
He'd always been fond of you, finding you a constant in his life since you entered his service upon Rhae's birth. A pretty young thing you were, eager to earn your keep in a harsh world by looking after his daughter.
You weren't boastful or loud or ostentatious in any way. You simply did as you were told, just as a good nursemaid should. Never bothering him, never causing any trouble.
Little Rhae adored you. Knowing little of her own mother, she found comfort in you, clinging to your skirts and squaking if you tried to move away from her chubby little hands. She would constantly cry for your company on the rare days you had off.
Maekar would roll his eyes at the way she would scream for you, and yet he would send for your presence quickly as her cries grew louder. And when you would appear, your servants' uniform disregarded for the simple wool gown you would wear in your own home, he would sigh in relief. He would have a moment of peace.
It had led to you holding a larger role in family life than a nursemaid typically would, lingering on the sidelines of feasts, family gatherings, trips to the capital – wherever Rhae was, you were the person whose arms she cuddled into.
Despite your constant presence, you never truly spoke much with the prince except for matters of his daughter, and even then, it was short and clipped; he made you nervous, and you often sought to spend as little time with his gaze upon you as possible.
It had always been that gaze that sent shivers down your spine, aware of the way it would linger ever so slightly longer than was proper. You would swear to your fellow maids that you'd feel his eyes trail over your body, though they would laugh it off – why would he lust over a servant?
You'd agreed; of course you had. He was a prince… why would he lower himself to think of someone like you like that?
It had been barely a month before the family's journey to Ashford Castle when he'd demanded you move into Summerhall; his daughter was growing needier, and you would be needed to soothe her throughout the night now. You'd had no choice, despite your protests, and soon your belongings were being moved to Rhae's room.
The sweet girl had been elated, a toothless grin on the toddler's chubby cheeks as you brought her into your chest. Despite her happy giggles, your body was stiff at the sight of the prince standing in the doorway, watching the sight with an unreadable expression.
It had been over a week of living at Summerhall when, in the early hours of the morning, you had been disturbed from your sleep, awoken with a fright by the crash of a door. The prince had barged into the apartments, demanding to see his daughter, naught a care for the hour nor your indecent state of undress.
To be in only a nightgown in front of such a man was more than improper, and handing his squirming daughter over, you were exposed – and the prince knew it. His eyes trailed over your frame as he mumbled to his child, taking in the way the moonlight highlighted your figure to him; shapely hips, full breasts, nipples peaked under the fabric from the chill of the room. He thought he might give in in that moment. His daughter's sweet nursemaid was all ripe for the taking – but he didn't. He held himself back, despite the stirring of his loins. He was better than that.
Quietly, he'd told you of Aerion's threat against Rhae, his brain refusing to allow him an ounce of rest without first checking on her. It wasn't an apology, but he could see you understood.
It was when he handed her back to you, her grabby hands making for the robe you'd managed to scrounge up, that he realised something. Rhae's tiny fingers grasped at your breast, tugging at the fabric and eager for a meal, and he understood then that Rhae thought you were her mother, or at least the closest thing to a mother she would know.
Something niggled at his brain, a thought that he shoved down, ignoring the way you blushed as you tugged her hand away, cooing down at the sweet girl. You looked at her like your own, he thought.
All had been well until the tourney, but once he returned from Ashford Castle, something was off.
Maekar hovered more. He claimed it was to see more of his daughter, her growing limbs having allowed her to begin toddling around the solar, but whenever you chanced a glance his way, you would see his eyes on you – intense, as if taking every inch of you with his scrutinising gaze. It was unnerving.
His gaze would linger, pervasive and constant, to the point you started to worry. Was he planning to send you away? Was he unhappy with your work? Had you done something while he was away that he didn't like?
Others in the castle had noticed, too. First, they worried for you – for your wage. But when they quietly stood back and watched how he spoke to you, looked at you, and treated you, they began to grow more concerned. This wasn't the look of a father watchful over his daughter's carer; it was something different.
It was lustful and hungry. It was frightening.
He'd made it four days.
You'd made it four days.
Four days after his return, he'd summoned you to his apartments under the guise of tending to his daughter. He'd taken her earlier, so you'd had no reason to worry.
You should have. You realised that when you found yourself on his bed, face shoved into the velvet covers, his hands rucking up your skirt with vigour.
He was inside of you before you could really comprehend the situation, a calloused palm coming to cover your mouth as you cried out at the burning, stretching feeling that he was forcing upon you.
His hips harshly rutted into you, pushing him deeper, harder, inside of your walls and you felt your tears spill over, wetting the fabric beneath you.
Maekar's harsh grunts were echoing around the room, joining the sound of his hips meeting the flesh of your backside, the rhythmic pounding drowning your cries.
The sound of the door opening caught your attention: a younger maid you'd often seen in the nursery standing wide-eyed at the sight before her; the Prince of Summerhall pinning a woman to his bed, forceful thrusts pushing her body deeper into the mattress, his hand muffling her cries.
You don't know what you'd thought she'd do – save you, perhaps? It was a foolish thought, but when she walked past the bed towards Rhae's cot, your heart sank.
And then she left, and you were alone with the prince once more – not that the interruption had halted his movements at all. It wasn't enough to take you like this, but he had to humiliate you, too.
Once he was done, his seed slowly leaking out of you, all you could do was lie there for a moment, your brain trying to comprehend what had just happened. It's not until he's pulling you up, tugging your skirts back down and tidying up your hair that you finally look at him, finding him smiling at you unsettlingly.
Smiling.
You were too stunned to speak as he guided you to the door, mumblings leaving his lips of how Rhae would likely be crying for you now. He'd send you off with a firm grope of your ass, and you could only mindlessly wander to Rhae's rooms, tearily cuddling the sweet baby girl in your arms, seeking solace in her sweet, good-natured giggles.
It's only when he's having a guard escort you to his rooms the next night that you realise that this new version of Maekar is not so content to let you go.
With the part of his brain responsible for impulse control damaged, he's finally indulged in all the desires he'd be holding back from before the accident, and now he wants you.
pairings: dark aerion x reader, dark valarr x reader, dark baelor x reader, dark daeron x reader, dark maekar x reader, ser duncan x reader
warnings: dub-con, non-con, graphic sexual descriptions, blowjob, fondling, heavy petting, fingering, nipple play, babytrapping (debatable), manipulation, coercive relationship, exhibitionism (?), sad dunk, kiera slander (girl i'm so sorry babe, it's not personal), maekar and baelor aren't really in this one sorry
Next part here!
The Red Keep was cold. For a city as sweltering and filthy as King's Landing, the Red Keep sent a shiver down the healer's spine. She didn't know if it was the physical structure itself, or more likely, the men who inhabited it, that had her stomach churning, but as soon as she set foot inside the castle, her body was on alert.
The looks directed her way from the other bodies within the castle did little to soothe her nerves. Every noblewoman, maid and septa alike looked at her in confusion, awe, disgust – or some combination of the three, though she supposed she couldn't blame them. A new face suddenly attached to the arm of Aerion? If it were anyone else, maybe her eyes would linger too.
It had been two days since she arrived in the capital, and in those two days, she had been unable to see Dunk. Her kind knight was nowhere to be seen, and somehow, she knew it wasn't coincidental. In the new chambers she had been allocated for her stay, only little Egg had come to visit her. The first time he had appeared at her door, Maekar had been with him, standing poised behind his son. His eyes had scanned the room with curiosity, landing on her after a beat. The pair stared silently at each other for a moment, the healer feeling her heart beating against her ribcage as she wondered for a moment if he would step over the threshold. Alas, he ended their stare-off with a grunt, shoving his son forward before returning down the hall. Egg and the healer had spent most of their hours together, content to pass the time with board games and shared stories. It was there, on her second day, that she felt brave enough to ask sweet Egg more about his family.
"Egg," she murmured, bringing the boy closer to her as they sat in front of the fire. "Might you tell me more of your family?"
Egg looked up at her, taking in her expression. When they had been on the road together, she was often full of joy, widely smiling and sharing laughter with Egg and Dunk. She had made him feel warm and safe inside. Now, he noticed, she hadn’t smiled in days. Her eyes seemed duller, as if someone had stolen the light out of them.
Egg nodded.
“Well, there is Prince Baelor, my uncle. He is the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne. He is good and just and a better man than most in my family,” Egg determined. The healer nodded, his words aligning with the other descriptions she’d heard of the man, though her mind recalled the way he’d gazed at her days ago — far less honourable than he supposedly was.
“Then there is my father, Prince Maekar. Some people call him 'The Anvil' after his win during the rebellion. He can be mean to me… and to my brothers, but I think he does like us sometimes.” She nodded again at that. Maekar seemed like a scary man, and she wished to spend as little time in his presence as possible.
“I have my older brothers and then my younger siblings. Daeron was once very happy and glad, my father says, but now he is no fun. He has dreams of the future… and they always seem to come true. It saddens him,” Egg stated. Things made more sense to the healer now, with the events of the previous night tracking now that she learnt of his dreams. He’d literally dreamt of their attempt to escape.
The healer spoke quietly next, almost fearful for what she might learn. “And Aerion?”
Egg paused, a decisive mix of rage and pity filling his visage.
“Aerion is a monster! He killed my cat! And he has threatened to hurt me. He is evil, and – and I wish he were dead!”
The healer was stunned — she hadn’t expected such an outburst from her sweet little Egg, though from his words, she understood his fury. Dragging the boy into her arms, she soothingly rubbed at his back, letting him cry into her chest as she whispered sweet reassurances to him. The shudders that wracked his frame slowly lessened after a few moments until the boy pulled away.
“There’s also Valarr,” Egg added after a silent pause. She hummed in acknowledgement, her curiosity prompting him to continue. “Valarr is much like Baelor. He is good and kind, and the people like him. He is strong and brave, and he fights well too! Aerion becomes jealous of all the praise and attention he gets.”
She could tell by his tone that Egg greatly admired Valarr and likely wished for him to be his older brother instead. He sounded like a good man, and in her mind, she filed away his name in case she needed assistance. He’d already confronted her at the wine station and was alert to her presence in the Red Keep, but maybe he could be persuaded against Aerion one day. He didn’t seem to like him much anyway.
“It seems the crown is in good hands with Baelor and Valarr then," she acknowledged.
The pair talked for a short while longer before finally parting ways — Egg had been commanded to sleep in his own rooms that night, much to his chagrin. As she slept alone that night, her emotions returned to the surface, and she felt hot, wet tears sliding down her cheeks once more. During the day, she was strong enough to compose herself and hide her pain. But at night? With the silence and the darkness? She couldn’t hold it in any longer, and her choked sobs echoed around the room.
Dunk stood inside the grand dining room as his duty demanded, watching silently as the Targaryens ate dinner together for the first time since returning from the tourney. He had expected an uneventful evening, but the tension in the room had been high once Aerion had arrived, bringing his mistress –Dunk's healer – on his arm. To bring a mistress to a family dinner was against protocol, and yet no protest could be heard. Dunk had stiffened in shock, unable to stop the anger coursing through his body as Aerion directed a mocking glance his way. Dunk wished he could throttle the little cunt.
He'd had to endure a mix of false pleasantries, taunting jokes, and tense conversations between the family all night. Even Baelor seemed fed up as the hour grew long, letting his eyes unabashedly roll as he heard another squabble between Daeron and Aerion begin. But for Dunk, the worst part of his evening had been witnessing how the men at the table treated his healer. He couldn't be certain, but it seemed like all the men at the table had been letting their eyes linger on her, giving her long, appreciative looks. Some were more obvious, but he swore even Baelor had paused for a moment too long. Aerion had dressed her in a deep red gown — one clearly befitting a woman far above her station, and she sat adorned with heavy gold jewellery and rings. And yet, no one could deny that it suited her. Dunk struggled to reconcile that this was the same woman he had spent a year on the open road with, sharing stew and ale at taverns and sleeping under the stars.
Dunk's reminiscing was interrupted by a sharp screech, all attention falling towards Aerion. The prince was now upright, the healer firmly pressed against his side. Dunk's hands curled into fists at the sight of the prince's hands firm against her waist – he could see from her face that she was uncomfortable.
"Well, I shall take my leave from tonight's... titillating conversation," Aerion proclaimed. "I believe I have far more interesting things to attend to."
Aerion's meaning was clear as day to anyone in the room.
"Very well, nephew. Do be careful," Baelor said, dismissing the pair with a grunt. With a firm tug, they started towards the door, only for Aerion to halt suddenly. All watched on, curious for the delay. When he turned to look at Dunk, the healer knew it couldn't be anything good. Aerion winced slightly as he felt her fingers dig into the muscle of his upper arm in protest but ignored her.
"Ser Duncan," Aerion drawled. His tone was menacing, much like that when he had asked for the healer, back when he thought she was the knight's wife. It was clear he took great pleasure in taunting the knight.
"I do believe you should guard my mistress's chambers tonight. I would feel most..." A pregnant pause. "Pleased to know you would be close by if she needed assistance."
You could hear a pin drop with the silence of the room. The Targaryens were stunned. The weight of his actions was clear, as were the supposed outcomes. Dunk was horrified – how could he even suggest such a thing? Though, when Dunk looked for assistance from Baelor, or maybe even Maekar, he found none. The older men returned only blank stares, hands folded in their laps. He would not be saved from this, he realised. Dunk felt like a man waiting for his death, knowing the fate he was to face.
Dunk finally looked at his healer, only to quickly avert his eyes. Her face – he had never seen that look from her before. Not even when she had told him to leave the council chambers at Ashford. Pure devastation sat on her features, eyes shining with unshed tears. Aerion shrugged off the soft words she pleaded in his direction, dropping her expression more. She had already been stripped of all her dignity and control, and now he wished to humiliate her like this? To permanently alter how her truest friend saw her? To debase her as such?
"Please, my prince... do not do this, I beg of you."
Unceremoniously, Aerion shoved her through the open doors and directed her to her chambers, demanding Dunk follow them lest he grow mad. He trailed behind them, watching as they arrived at the chamber. Dunk could only get a glimpse of her disappearing into the rooms before Aerion slammed the door in his face. The knight stood still in disbelief, going to stand in his assigned spot, when the door suddenly opened again.
Aerion poked his head into the hall, landing on Dunk's frame, and grinned.
"Be good, Ser Duncan. You wouldn't want me to hurt her now, would you?"
Dunk instinctually lunged towards the prince, catching sight of his grin as he ducked back inside her chambers. He swore to himself and promised that one day he would rescue his healer and take her some place quiet and peaceful, where they could forget about everything that had happened in this wretched place.
Inside the room, the healer studied Aerion silently. In the few days she had known him, she struggled to understand what he was thinking. He seemed to switch from irritability to excitement instantaneously, and his anger and rage were well known. So far, she had managed to avoid his bad side. Maekar had kept him occupied for most hours of the day since they returned, and thus, he'd not been able to get his hands on her properly, though, she supposed, her luck had run out now.
"Hello, pretty dove," Aerion mumbled, making his way towards her. "How I've been waiting for this... for you."
His hands made their way to her waist, feeling the curves of her body under his palms, slowly exploring her body. He was so close to her now that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin and smell the Dornish wine on his breath. The scent of him overpowered her, oud invading her senses as he leant towards her neck, placing a tender kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She couldn't help but shudder as he pressed up against her, continuing his warm, open-mouthed kisses across her decolletage. He was so close to her, and it made her uneasy, and yet she felt her body yearn for more.
The healer let out a sharp gasp as she found herself suddenly flipped around, Aerion's fingers impatiently tugging at her laces intent on baring her to him. He continued his kisses, occasionally nipping at her skin just enough to have her gasp and flinch at the sensation. She was left only in a delicate shift, the hands at her waist returning her to face the prince once more. Aerion's body pushed up against her, his chest pressing against hers, and at the first touch of his hand against her breast she couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. She felt warm all over, and her body began to tingle as his fingers toyed with her flesh, groping at her breast and placing a heady kiss on her lips.
After his first kiss at the tourney, she had sunk into a deep pit of shame. She hadn't enjoyed it, but she hadn't disliked it. She didn't know which was worse, but the prince was skilled with his mouth and tongue, and he knew how to draw out sweet sounds with each drag of his tongue against hers. Of course, Aerion wished for her to enjoy this – the louder her noises, the more torment the knight standing at the door would endure. She felt her hands make their way over the prince's body, letting them press against his firm chest as he continued to crowd against her body. She didn't even notice Aerion smiling into the kiss as she let out another whimper, his hands having reached down towards the fat of her ass and delivering a sharp squeeze. Part of her was shocked that he had not simply thrown her on the bed and had his way with her, and the other part of her almost wished that had been so. Maybe then she would not feel so guilty for sinking in to his kisses more than she should have.
Aerion pulled away first, and the sight in front of him – gods. She was divine. Her previously done-up hair was now loose and tousled and accompanied by swollen lips that let heavy breaths pass through them. He'd barely even touched her, and she was like this, he thought to himself. He'd wreck her one day, no doubt about it.
"Kneel," Aerion commanded. For a moment, she hesitated but swiftly let her knees meet the carpet after she met his fiery gaze. Aerion took in the sight before him, groaning lowly at her wide eyes staring up at him.
"You're going to suck my cock, do you understand?" She nodded. She felt Aerion tangle his fingers in her hair, dragging her closer to his breeches.
"Take it out, pretty dove," he ordered.
With hesitant hands, she reached for the button at his waist, slowly peeling at the fabric until his smallclothes were visible. Looking up at the prince, he only hummed, directing her to continue. His hands were still stroking her hair as she removed his cock from his smallclothes, surprise flitting across her features as it sprang free from its confines. Aerion's cock was pretty, she thought, much like him. It was currently a deep shade of red, the tip visibly darker than the rest of the length, and the precum that weeped at his tip shocked her. He had been enjoying this much more than she thought.
It seemed Aerion had little patience for her appreciation of his length as he was soon shoving her head towards his tip, commanding her to open up. She could only oblige, and she quickly found her mouth full of the prince's cock.
Aerion groaned in ecstasy as he felt the warmth of her mouth envelop him. She struggled around him, spasming as he insistently shoved himself further down her throat before pulling back slightly, only to push further on his next thrust. He revelled in the grunts and gags that she emitted as he began a punishing rhythm, feeling her hands meet his thighs, pushing against the muscles. He wondered if she thought such a display would make him slow down, pull back and let her breathe. She would be sorely mistaken if she did. Instead, he was pushing deeper, grabbing at her hair to hold her down on his cock. She struggled as her nose met the base of his cock, her face smushed in coarse silver hair that surrounded his cock. Aerion grinned as she tried to pull back, only to find herself unable to move. Her palms slapped at his thighs now, a desperate attempt to gather air into her lungs once more.
"Look at me, dove."
Aerion watched her eyes meet his, tears streaming down her cheeks as he pulled her back a fraction, only to push her right back into his pelvis. A loud gag echoed around the chamber, and Aerion laughed loudly. He knew the sound of her gagging on his cock would've made it past the door and out to Ser Duncan. Finally pulling from her warm mouth, Aerion watched in glee as she slumped forward, heaving as she tried to fill her lungs. Drool ran down her face, sliding down her chin and onto the floor below. She looked like a filthy brothel whore, and yet none of those men could ever be worthy of her affections. Only a prince. Only him.
She thought maybe it had been over then, but when his fingers tightened in her hair once more, she found his cock back in her mouth with an unceremonious shove. She knew she was not doing it properly, or gracefully, and yet Aerion didn't seem to care. He didn't even seem to care whether or not she had done this before, only that her tongue was on his length and her throat was tight. She winced as she was once more dragged up and down his length, this time with Aerion's fingers clasping at her cheeks, hollowing them around his length. She heard him groan deeply and felt his hips pick up speed, now jackhammering into her mouth. He was close to his peak, and she desperately hoped he would pull her off him soon. It seemed her prayers would not be answered when the prince's hips began to stutter and he pulled her even closer, groaning loudly.
"Stay still and take it, pretty dove. Take it all down your throat. Swallow the seed of the dragon," he rambled loudly, growing closer to his peak. "If you – ugh, if you let a single drop go to waste, I'll make you lick it up."
She couldn't even nod as her face was suddenly pressed to his pelvis a final time, and she began to gag at the feeling of his warm, salty cum spurt down her throat. He only seemed to enjoy that, grinding himself deeper into her. She felt her nails dig into his thighs harder now and knew that she had broken skin. If he felt it, he didn't show it. He kept her there for a moment until he was sure all of his cum had been swallowed, and she was sure her face crinkled in disgust at the taste.
Unceremoniously, Aerion pulled his softening cock from her mouth. He looked down at her, seemingly pleased at her efforts. She let him drag his finger to the side of her mouth, swiping at the drop of his seed that had begun to dribble from her lips. He tutted, slowly pushing his finger into her mouth and raising his brow, signalling to her to suck it from his digit. As she did, he spoke.
"It seems you know how to worship your god, dove. You did well," Aerion praised. She did not know if she wished for his praise, but she supposed it beat facing a slap to her cheek if she had not. The healer watched as Aerion tucked his cock back into his breeches, humming to himself lowly. During the ordeal, her shift had slipped off her shoulders, baring her smooth skin to his eyes – which he lapped up greedily. She truly was beautiful.
Aerion moved towards the door, leaving her weakened frame kneeling on the floor. She knew she would have bruises the next morning.
"I will come find you again tomorrow night," he decreed, his hand resting on the door handle, "though perhaps I will not be so gentle then." With that, he disappeared behind the door, leaving her to stew over his words in the silence of the room. Gentle? If that had been gentle, she wondered whether throwing herself from the balcony of the keep would be a kinder fate than the one that awaited her. Would he make her bleed? Beat her black and blue? Or would he just fuck her until she was a shell of herself?
It was only the low murmurs behind the door that snapped her back into reality, realising with a gasp that Dunk had been outside her door the whole time. Her tears returned, thinking of the pain he must have been in while listening to the wretched prince defile her as such. She froze, waiting for the sound of voices to stop – she needed to speak to Dunk, but Aerion could not catch her. She knew he must have been taunting him, recounting the way he had filled her mouth in ghastly detail and made her swallow his seed like a common whore.
Feeling filthy, the healer quickly rid herself of the now sweat-soaked shift, replacing it with a nightgown and covering herself with a heavy velvet night robe before inching towards the door tentatively. She felt the rapid beating of her heart in her chest, its beat reverberating in her skull, as she worried that Aerion would be standing in the hall. She thought that perhaps he would, just to see if she would seek out the knight. Ever so quietly, she tugged at the handle and let her head inch forward, peeking into the hallway. However, to her dismay, it was not Dunk, nor Aerion, who stood in the hallway. Instead, the hallway was empty, not even a guard in sight.
Where had they gone? She needed to talk to Dunk desperately. With a look back at her chambers, she slipped into the hall, lightfooted as she made her way down towards what she believed was the main wing of the Red Keep. Wandering through the Red Keep at night was eerie, with flames casting shadows on the walls that made her skin crawl, always feeling like someone was watching her every step. It was deathly silent as she ventured further into the Keep. With every step, she felt the panicked feeling inside her grow – she needed to find Dunk. He had to hear her out. He had to know that she never wished for him to hear that. The healer didn't even notice the way her hands had been trembling since Aerion left her chambers or how her pace had started to pick up as she began to curve around the corners of the Keep. It seemed the adrenaline had not worn off yet.
The sound of a rat scurrying somewhere behind her had the woman whipping around, catching only the tail of the rat as it disappeared down another corridor. With a start, she continued on her journey, now somewhat distracted as she rounded another corner.
"Oh!" The healer exclaimed as she collided with a hard body, only to become speechless at the prince before her – Valarr.
He looked down at her curiously, and she supposed it made sense; Aerion's mistress running around the halls alone at night in a state of improper dress was a sight to see. She'd look at herself oddly, too.
"Hello, my lady," Valarr began, pausing as he caught her taking a step back.
"Might I ask what you're doing?"
When Valarr found her in the halls, he recognised what an opportunity he had been presented with. He could tell by her ragged breathing and tousled hair that Aerion had done something to her, but to what extent? That he didn't know. But her guard was down, and with a sweet word or two, he'd managed to get her into his chambers. Now here she was, sitting timidly on his chaise, waiting for him to speak – to realise why she was brought here.
Valarr looked at her, taking in the sight of her. He needed to tread carefully. He'd let his annoyance take over at their first meeting, and he didn't want her to be scared of him – the opposite, in fact.
"Your position in this court is not safe, my lady," Valarr stated plainly, though not unkindly. "Aerion could change his mind in an instant, and you will be cast out onto the streets. Though he is... enamoured with you now, you must think ahead."
The healer was still, taking in his words. They had all heard stories of the women chewed up and spat out by the royals of times past, but for it to now be her facing this fate? Her whole body felt tense, confused and scared. She just wanted to be on the open road again, selling her tonics and sharing bread with Dunk.
"Think ahead? How – what could I do? I have no power here, my prince," she lamented.
Valarr directed his attention to his wine glass to hide the small smirk that tugged at his lips involuntarily. He knew that she had no power, obviously. She was going along with his plan so far.
"You must become useful to someone else, my lady."
"Useful?" she questioned. "As a healer, you mean? I could do that!"
Valarr quickly cut her off. He looked at her, still curled up on the chaise, her previous tremors having subsided. Gods, she was beautiful, he thought.
"Not quite... You see, my father came to me today with an interesting proposition. He spoke of the future of our house and of our line. Tell me, my lady, do you know of your family?" Valarr questioned.
She thought for a moment, pondering why he had begun such a line of questioning. She grew up in a small village in the Vale – nothing remarkable. She had lived with her family until she joined Dunk and Ser Arlan on the road.
"Yes, my prince. My mother was a healer as well, and my father a blacksmith."
"And do you have siblings?" he probed. She nodded in agreement.
"Many, my prince." That seemed to please Valarr, and he hummed lowly. She watched as the prince slowly ambled over to where she sat, setting himself down by her side. She felt her breath hitch, now being able to see the prince up close – even closer than in the council chambers. Here, she could see his mismatched eyes, the furrow of his brow, and the weariness that seemed to show in the bags under his eyes. Having him in such close proximity made her body feel alive, a warm heat spreading across her in such a pleasant way that made her inch ever so much closer to the prince.
Valarr reached out gently, letting his fingers trace the fabric of her nightgown. He had been a gentleman since he found her in the halls, but now he finally let his eyes run over her body. Aerion's doing, certainly, for the nightgown was truly indecent. Scraps of silky white fabric and lace covered her body, a low plunge highlighting her figure to him. In that moment, Valarr felt thankful to his cousin for gifting him such a pleasant sight.
"You should not have to live at the mercy of my cousin's temper, my lady."
His hand reached up to her jaw, his fingers lingering for a moment before finally cupping her face softly. His fingers brushed tenderly over her cheek, and the softness of his touch momentarily disarmed her, allowing Valarr to lean in close and press his lips to hers.
The soft gasp that escaped her lips was music to Valarr's ears, and he found himself invading her space, crowding his body closer to hers. To his satisfaction, he felt her practically collapse into his frame, limp and plush in his arms. Valarr supposed that, compared to the grunt and brutality of Aerion, he was a welcome respite, allowing her guard to drop (even if it shouldn't have). He let his other hand move lower, finding her thigh and pulling her even closer into him, feeling her own hands reach for his shoulders as if to grasp onto. The healer was eagerly kissing him back now, letting him push his tongue into her mouth with surprising agility. He could taste the need on her lips, like a desperate ache to be cared for, loved – cherished. It was when Valarr felt the first minute grind of her hips – something that he was sure she hadn't even realised she had done, against his own hardening cock – that he sharply pulled away, panting.
Valarr thought he might break then at the sight of the woman in front of him, her lips swollen from their kiss and chest rising and falling as she tried to gather spare air into her lungs. The movement only highlighted her hardening nipples to the prince, and he held back a groan that threatened to escape his chest.
He watched her open her mouth, then, as if thinking better of it, purse her lips tightly together.
"What is it?" He asked, kind and sweet as he reached to brush her cheek. He saw her hesitate again, but it seemed she finally gathered up the courage to speak.
"Did I...did I do something wrong, my prince?"
Oh, gods. She was so precious, Valarr thought. "No, my sweet girl," he reassured her, moving her off his lap gently, "it is only that I wish to move us somewhere more comfortable."
At that, she seemed relieved and let the prince lead her to his bed – a large, four-postered thing covered with deep velvet covers and plush pillows. As he lay her down, she could only think of how magnificent it was, though she quickly found her thoughts growing fuzzy once more as Valarr climbed on top of her, his warm, soft lips back on hers. Hands finding his shoulders once more, she barely noticed that he'd shed his tunic and now only his blouse remained.
The healer sank into the bed, growing more entranced by the brunette prince atop her: the way he felt and moved and how he touched her. Compared to Aerion, his touch was soft and gentle – like he revered her. It was the first moment that felt soft since she'd first met the Targaryens, and she never wanted the feeling to end. Valarr pulled away, slower this time, so as not to startle her, and looked softly down at her.
"I—gods... I promise to protect you, always. I will claim you as my own, give you a title, whatever I must do to keep you here, just like this, and far, far away from my cousin," Valarr stated, taking her in once more. The prince went to kiss her again but paused only a fraction away from her face, close enough that she could count every eyelash on his perfect eyes with him this close. She swore she saw a flicker of something in his eyes for a second – perhaps hesitation? But as soon as she put a name to it, it was gone, and he was leaning closer, moving to kiss down her neck. He mouthed at the soft skin, leaving small red marks and nipping in a way that made her gasp, tilting her neck to the side to give him better access. Valarr, pleased, let his hands wander to her thighs, pushing the silky nightgown higher until he had access to the bare skin. He groaned into her neck and slotted himself between her legs, letting his fingers wander higher and harshly gripping the flesh of her thigh as she began to wriggle under his body, the sensation of his tongue laving across her upper chest causing her to whine breathlessly.
"But there is one thing I need from you, my sweet girl," Valarr mumbled lowly, coming to rest his chin on her breastbone. It allowed him a clear view of the mindless nod she gave him in response, her body desperate for him to continue his ministrations.
"I need an heir."
That made her pause. Valarr felt her legs drop slightly, no longer practically wrapped around him. The fingers that had been tangled in his hair froze, and Valarr managed to hold back a whimper at the loss of sensation. He thought his heart might break at the sight of her face – crestfallen. Instantly, Valarr was dragging her up, gathering her face in his hands and wishing to know what she was thinking, rather than the silence he was getting.
After a moment, she spoke. "An heir? But – but should that not come from your wife, my prince?"
"Please, it is Valarr... not my prince. Not here," he requested, staring up at the woman now sitting in his lap. "My wife and I are not a love match. She has a duty, and at that she has failed. It is time I must consider other options."
The healer looked at him, stunned, still unsure of the proposition. A child was not a small ask. To give him a child would change her entire life, and in ways she could not predict. Never had she really thought too deeply of the possibility of a family, aside from knowing it would be expected of her one day, but for a long time she had been content with travelling on the open road. And now, Valarr came to her with such a proposal. A future King’s bastard to grow in her belly — surely it would not be well received by the smallfolk.
"Surely, you jest?" She asked.
"Your mother was fruitful," he began, returning his hands to her thighs, "and I see no reason you would not be too. Otherwise, perhaps I have misread this."
She looked at him in confusion, offhandedly noting the way Valarr's fingers had crept under her nightgown once more, the fabric now pushed up to bare the full expanse of her bare leg.
"Perhaps you wish to return to Aerion's side... I am certain he would be glad for it," he continued, watching as she flinched at the suggestion, almost imperceptibly. "I do not doubt he would be pleased to fill you with his monstrous child in my stead."
At that, he saw the flash of fear in her eyes, and he knew – he had her. The notion of being tied in eternity to a man like Aerion could convince even a Septa to take up his offer. Valarr let his fingers move once more, slowly inching towards her core. At the first swipe of his fingers through her slick folds, she was falling into his arms again, whimpering at the pleasure coursing through her body. He moved lower, slipping a finger inside of her cunt and cupping his hand just so to let it press against her sensitive bundle of nerves, watching as this time, she cried out. When she began involuntarily grinding into his hand, Valarr felt his own cock harden even more. Pulling her head back from its now slumped position on his shoulder, he sought an answer.
With Valarr letting his finger be joined by another, curling and rubbing against her ribbed inner walls, she spoke in between moans. "I – are you sure? You – oh! You will protect me? You swear it?"
Valarr nodded, letting his free hand squeeze tenderly at her breast, fingers rolling her nipple just so to make her squirm. With the dual stimulation, she was finding herself growing hazy with the pleasure.
"Give me a son – even a daughter would suffice, to start, and I will make sure no one ever dares to wish you harm. You would not stand to wonder whether your days would be filled with kindness or pain. You would be mine."
Valarr watched the last shred of sense leave her head and, with a sense of sheer unbridled victory, witnessed the moment she nodded in agreement. He saw the hesitancy still lingering, and yet he could not find it in himself to care. Surging forward with a passionate kiss, Valarr removed his hand and pushed the nightgown up and fully off her body, baring her entirely to him. Gently dropping her back into the mattress, he hovered over her and took in her bare frame. She was The Maiden herself, lying there for the taking.
"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered whilst finally freeing himself from his breeches, "you will be so loved."
A sharp knock drew Valarr from his slumber, though it seemed it had not woken the woman curled up at his side. Tenderly removing himself from under the covers, he made his way to the door. Behind the wood stood Baelor, still and stoic as ever.
Baelor took in the sight of his son, bare except for linen sleep shorts. Valarr's neck and chest bore signs of a pleased woman, with splotchy red marks and scratches scattering his skin. Looking past his son, he laid eyes on the woman sleeping in his bed, tangled up in sheets and as bare as the day she was born. Baelor took in the sight, tracing his eyes upon the pieces of exposed skin available to him, and pretending that the slight stir of his cock was simply an inconvenience. That the sight of a well-fucked woman was not spurring envy in his chest.
"I see that she agreed to the proposition, then?" Baelor questioned, still not drawing his attention from her figure.
Valarr's head tilted slightly, watching his father's lustful gaze. He noted to keep an eye on that.
"She did," Valarr agreed, "though she was hesitant at first."
"Good. I suppose I shall speak to Aerion on the morrow, then," Baelor grimaced. His nephew would not take well to losing such a precious gem, least of all to the cousin he despised. The cousin with the title, the reputation, and the power that he craved.
"He will not take the news kindly, Father," Valarr uttered. He, too, turned back to look at the healer in his bed, grumbling in expectation of the new day. She was too alluring, her form too enticing – he almost wished she'd been plainer; that way, he wouldn't have had to compete with his cousin. But knowing that he could soon flaunt her in front of Aerion sent a sick shiver of satisfaction down his spine. Maybe he'd let Aerion watch next time – make his cousin fist his cock in his own hand while Valarr thrusted into her, making her cry out in pleasure. He'd probably like that, Valarr thinks.
Baelor interrupted his darkening train of thoughts with a firm grip on his shoulder. "You have done well, my boy. Return to bed, and we will speak soon."
Valarr nodded, watching his father leave with one last glance at the healer, before he himself returned to the bed, slotting in by her side. Subconsciously, her body found his, pushing herself into his willing arms and snuggling closer to his chest. She felt safe with him; that was clear. She stirred ever so slightly as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a pleased hum ever so quiet escaping her lips.
Tomorrow would bring chaos, but for now, Valarr sank back into sleep with his healer in his arms, content at the thought of the life they would bring into the world together.
pairings: dark baelor x reader, dark maekar x reader, dark aerion x reader, ser duncan x reader
warnings: manipulation (to the max), older man/younger woman relationship (hints), predator/prey vibes, aerion being himself, coercive relationship, threats of execution
Next part here!
Ser Duncan had tried - he really, really had. And yet not a single knight, bar Raymun Fossoway, would stand by his side in the trial of seven. All seemed to have this odd demeanour when he asked for their support - averted eyes, fearful glances at their surroundings, curt dismissals. Some walked away once it become clear he was heading their way. It was as if Dunk had become a pariah in an instant. He didn't know the real reason - how could he? And yet his companion tacked on to his side, joining him in his pleas. Maybe a woman's touch would help sway the minds of these brutish knights?
But no luck came for Dunk or his healer. Egg was beside himself with worry, knowing that without six other knights, perhaps the most kind and true knight he'd ever met would face the hangman's noose. But something niggled away in the back of Egg's mind, and he pondered the way his family had laid eyes on the woman who had held him close these past nights. He looked towards her frame as she crouched beside him, the pair washing clothes together in the river. His uncles would have the power to make any knight fear for their life... but would they really do so for a woman of no noble status? A simple healer with no home? Egg doesn't realise just how much more vulnerable it makes her to them. She's all the more alluring because she's practically there for the taking.
That night, the trio clung together under the stars, seeking comfort in each other. Dunk lay there silently sending prayers to the Seven that there were good and righteous men in Ashford. If the healer noticed how he and Egg clung tighter to her that night, she didn't say anything. All of their fates were in peril - the whims of a Targaryen could never be denied.
The next morning brought weary, red-rimmed eyes. All three had barely slept, each worrying what the day would bring. Dunk decided that he would make his rounds one more time, perhaps see if the new day had brought clarity to the other knights - but it was all for naught. Rejection after rejection led him to wearily enter Ser Lyonel Baratheon's tent, the sound of his body slumping over a table in pitiful sadness waking up the Lord.
"Gods man... c'mere," Lyonel mumbled, ordering a maid to bring his friend a fresh cup of ale. He looked at Dunk for a moment before sighing deeply, "I take it that your hunt for knights has not gone so well."
Dunk's eyes met Lyonel’s, only to shine glassily with unshed tears. "No one will stand with me, m'Lord."
"Fucking dragons, I tell you," Lyonel hissed lowly. He hadn't intended for the taller man to hear him, but when a small "What?" was directed his way, he could only sigh once more.
"It is not that no one will stand with you, Ser. It is that they cannot. The Prince decreed it so... if they stand with you, they risk the name of their house and the lives of their families," Lyonel informed. He watched as Dunk looked up at him, clearly confused and questioning.
"But why? I am but a hedge knight!" Dunk cried. So that's why they had all looked at him that way. No matter that the Prince had acted dishonourably, now he had demanded that no one stand beside him, all the while knowing it was a death sentence. Dunk didn't know that it wasn't Prince Aerion who had given the orders, but Prince Baelor. "So they will not fight for me".
"Aye, man. I'm sorry."
It was silent for a moment as both men pondered the situation they were in, before Dunk fiercely chugged his ale and stood up resolutely. "Then I will run, even if it is the cowardly thing to do. They have not been honourable to me, so I will flee, and I will take my healer with me. Maybe we will go to the Free Cities, and I will become a guard for a merchant and she might make tonics, and-" Dunk rambled, leaving Lyonel's side with a harsh pat on his shoulder. Lyonel wanted to protest and yet Dunk was gone.
A short while later, Dunk arrived at his campsite, expecting to see his horses and his healer - but instead of the healer, a Kingsguard stood patting Chestnut.
"Ser Duncan, your presence has been requested at the castle for the council hearing. You will find your healer there."
She had been brought to the castle only a few minutes after Dunk had left on his rounds, the Kingsguard accompanying her closely the whole way, almost as if he thought she would abscond. The timing was odd - she wondered if they had been watched throughout the night. And now, she stood in the same room as the day prior, though now the elder princes sat relaxed by the fireplace this morning. She noted Aerion was not present.
Prince Baelor looked at her silently, eyes dragging up her frame before speaking, "I suppose you are wondering why you have been brought here? Rest assured, it is not to hurt or punish you." His tone was disarming, friendly and kind in the way she had only heard about. She felt the tension in her body ease, letting her fists uncurl from the fabric of her skirt that she had been gripping so tightly. She waited for the Prince to continue.
"We wish to hear an update on the hedge knights' progress securing the six knights he needs to fight today," Baelor said.
The healer paused, unaware of the way her lower lip trembled slightly at the thought of the current situation they had all found themselves in. Maekar looked down at his lap in an attempt to hide the small smile that made it's way on to his face at the sight.
"He has been struggling, your grace. I- I do not know if the knights here will be willing to fight for his cause," she admitted. Baelor watched as she hurriedly made to wipe at the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes, barely restraining the groan that threatened to escape from his chest. She looked so pretty like that, as she spoke once more, now pleading for them to spare Dunk.
"Please, your graces, I ask you to spare him! Dunk is a good man, and he is honourable and kind and gentle. He was only protecting an innocent woman from further harm, and it was not his intention to strike a Prince of the realm, I swear it! He is most remorseful and would you give him the opportunity, he would gladly serve the realm as penance. Or perhaps another apology would satisfy Prince Aerion? Dunk coul-".
A long, exasperated sigh reverberated around the room, cutting her off and making her eyes widen, for it was not Maekar but Baelor that had made his displeasure known. The Prince sat in his chair, head tilted to the side as he played with the rings that bejewelled his slender fingers.
"I understand your concern for the hedge knight, my lady," Baelor began, notably referring to her with a title above her station, "but what good would it do the realm to spare one man? A slight against a prince is unforgiveable, even for the most noble of men."
The prince's voice no longer held that warm and friendly tone that it did before; instead, ire and vexation wrapped around his words, and the healer felt her heart speed up. For the first time since she stepped into the room, she was reminded that the men in front of her were Targaryens - cruel, maniacal rulers who held power over Westeros with an iron fist. Perhaps a kind word and gentle smile hid more than expected. She could only attempt to plead again.
"But he-"
"Fucking hell, girl! Why do you beg so much for a man such as him!" Maekar interjected, solidly fed up with the babble that she kept spewing. Baelor could only look at his brother for a moment, before turning back to face the healer.
"If he cannot find the required number of knights by midday, then he may make one final plea to the council for his life to be spared. The gods will hear his words and deliver their final judgement," Baelor said.
She paused for a moment, tears once more spilling from her eyes, though now too fast for her to wipe them away. "And who leads this council, your grace. Maybe they will be...lenient?"
To her horror, a slow grin stretched at Prince Baelor's lips. He looked like something out of her worst nightmares in that moment and she felt a shudder run through her body.
"The council is led by he who has been offended, my lady. And in this case, that would be...." Baelor trailed off, watching the emotions that crossed the healer's face. Her realisation, then shock, anger, and then most titillating to him - defeat.
"Aerion."
Maekar nodded solemnly, staring up at her - though there was barely contained excitement in his eyes. His son was maniacal, manipulative and calculating, and never one to forgive a slight. But perhaps, if the offer of something greater came along - something he wanted more than revenge - then he would be inclined to let bygones be bygones. Perhaps.
"Yes, my son. As you may have already witnessed, he is prone to wanting justice. He does not take a slight against himself or his house well," Maekar hummed, "and yet... in these circumstances, I pray to think he may be swayed by reason. "
The fingers that twiddled silver rings stilled, Baelor pausing to process his brother's words. Now it was his turn to look down and smile. His baby brother was just as twisted as his son sometimes, but he hid it behind years of self-restraint and pleasantries. He knew Aerion would not see reason, and sending the woman to her knees in front of him would not end well, maybe except for Aerion himself.
Maekar stood, slowly making his way towards the healer, encroaching on her personal space. It was more than was proper. He wanted to gently finger the strands of her hair that had falled into her face, but restrained himself. That would come later.
"I think if you were to plead to him, just the way you have done to us, my son may look more favourably upon the hedge knight once the council convenes," Maekar said, his tone similar to that a hunter would use before putting a wounded animal down. Calm, soothing, but hinting at a worse fate just on the horizon - but one that the wounded animal could not foresee. He leaned down towards her face, examining her features. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest was obvious to him. The movement caused her breasts to strain against her corset, and Maekar basked in the anxious energy that spilled off her in waves. "He is always swayed more by a pretty face."
"You believe so, my prince? That he will see reason?" She questioned. She had lost all of her earlier confidence, now only speaking barely above a whisper. Her hope had been all but shattered, and now she began to comprehend, truly, how likely it was that that Dunk would not make it out of this alive. Her sweet Dunk. The Dunk that had learnt to braid a woman's hair for her, who had given her her first knife to protect herself. Her Dunk.
"I do, but you must hurry. The council will convene in a short while," Maekar responded.
Maekar and Baelor watched as she nodded gently and composed herself in front of their eyes, wiping her tears and standing up straighter. She thanked Maekar earnestly before turning towards Baelor and curtsying, sending her thanks his way too.
"Best of luck, my lady," Baelor bid her farewell, watching as she disappeared into the hallway, her legs leading her in the direction of Aerion's chambers. Redirecting his attention towards Maekar, all was silent for a moment as they stared at each other. Baelor spoke first,
"Your son will eat her alive, Brother."
"Oh, Brother, I would hope it."
A quiet knock on the wooden chamber door startled Aerion from his daydreaming, expecting it be his father returning for further reprimands, or one of the maids seeking his blood-stained tunic to clean. With a drawn-out groan, Aerion beckoned the knocker into his rooms. Much to his surprise and sheer delight, he caught sight of the oversized hedge knight's companion, or his healer, or whatever - but most important to him, not his wife. Not that would have really mattered to him in the end. Aerion pondered what could have brought her to his chambers, for only last night had she stared at him with such fear upon his proposition. He grinned devilishly, happy at the turn of events.
“Pretty dove… have you finally seen reason?” He enquired, eagerly watching as she slowly inched towards where he sat. Aerion could tell that her body was riddled with tension - her movements stiff, hesitant and fearful. She wouldn't even look at him properly, only giving him a half-nod. He watched her try to speak but falter, fiddling with her hands as she plucked up the courage to say her piece, though it came only barely louder than a whisper.
"My prince, I come before you to ask you to pardon Ser Duncan for his acts, for he—"
"Stop that. You're going to ask me again, but this time you will look at me... do you understand?" Aerion interrupted, wanting to see her face. It was disrespectful to hide one's gaze from a prince, but in that moment, he didn't care. He just wanted to see her struggle - her fear.
She slowly lifted her head, glassy eyes now on show as she made eye contact with Aerion for the first time since she'd entered the room.
"Please, my prince... I beg you to spare Ser Duncan's life."
God, Aerion thought he might kill the towering oaf just to see her cry and sob and scream. His cock was straining against his breeches at the sight of her, so helpless and feeble. He let his hand rest on her shoulder, pleased at the flinch he felt, and pressed down. The healer looked at him in confusion, not understanding his actions.
"Kneel."
He smiled wickedly as she slowly lowered to her knees, glassy eyes on show again as she looked up at him now. He watched a flush rise to her cheeks in shame and embarrassment as she rested back against her heels.
"Ask again," he commanded. And she did.
"Please, my prince. Spare him," she pleaded.
Aerion sighed deeply, thinking of all the ways he could use this turn of events in his favour. He remembered the way his uncle's eyes had lingered on the girl, too. He didn't even want her to have an opportunity to look his way again. So he asked her another question, in that unsuspecting, calm tone she had heard him use in the puppeteer's tent,
"And what would you give me? I would be forgiving a slight against House Targaryen, of which it was no small matter, and perverting the course of justice. I suffered greatly at the hands of that imbecile," he said, looking down at her. "So I ask, what would you give me?"
Aerion felt on top of the world. He'd trapped her — he knew it, and she knew it. What would a simple healer have to give a prince of the seven kingdoms?
Her mind flashed back to the moment with the council. He'd asked for her. She looked up at him again, now with indignant shock on her features.
"You wish for me?" She questioned accusatorily. Aerion only hummed in response, glee spreading across his entire being, but his features schooled.
"I will spare his life, but only if you agree to be mine. If you stand beside me, always. You would forget him - he will no longer exist to you. But... I would not sentence him to the noose," Aerion proclaimed. He was lower now, having crouched down as he spoke, and his eyes were now level with hers.
The healer swore she saw pure evil in his gaze. She knew she was trembling now, and her heart was racing so rapidly she thought it might burst out of her chest. But they both knew she would say yes. The council would reconvene at midday, and based on the sun's rays shining into the chamber, Aerion would be summoned any moment. She had to save Dunk, even if this would hurt him. Even if he would hate her for this.
And so she looked at Aerion and nodded. Timidly. Defeatedly. Solemnly.
He shook his head, not accepting of her submission. “Use your words. I want to hear you.”
So she did, telling him what was now the new order of things.
“I will be yours, and I will stand beside you,” she admitted.
And he grinned, teeth and all.
"Oh, my pretty dove," Aerion whispered as his fingers gently traced over her cheekbone, "you have pleased me greatly on this day."
Before she could even make sense of what had transpired, Aerion’s lips were pressing against hers. He had lunged forward insistently, kissing her like a starved man, pulling her closer to him by her upper arms. She didn’t know what to do - kiss him back? She knew she couldn’t push him away.
A sharp pinch at her arm spurred her to kiss back, surmising that was what he wished for. She let him lead and she realised, surprisingly, that he was a skilled kisser. The healer almost found herself sinking in to his hold, only held back by the underlying fear that still lingered. When Aerion pulled back, both parties gasped as they caught their breaths. Aerion looked at her silently for a moment with his wide eyes and blown pupils, evidence of a deeper-seated hunger inside of him. He seemed reluctant to be separated from her mouth, like it pained him.
He sighed, “Come now… we must go save this hedge knight from the hangman’s noose. Give me your hand.”
The healer froze up as Aerion took her hand and rested it on his bicep, the pair mimicking the couples that paraded around court. Everyone would know. Dunk would know. And yet, she could not refuse. Aerion could just as easily send him to the noose and he could save him. So she stayed silent, and instead walked side-by-side with the prince towards the council chambers.
Would you ever consider writing a small blurb of an alt scenarios where Dunk and Healer!R are faking being wed because a woman traveling alone is frowned upon and the Targaryens’ reaction to finding out she’s ‘wed’?
"Unless..." Aerion mutters lowly. Dunk's head perks up as he lets himself feel a small sliver of hope.
"Unless, my prince?"
"Unless you give me your pretty wife," Aerion suggests tauntingly, barely able to hide his lust. The heads of all in the room snap to the young prince incredulously. Baelor eyes his nephew silently for a moment before turning his attention to the woman who came in with the hedge knight.
Dunk stills, looking at Aerion incredulously. His wife? It's only then that he remembers that he'd introduced her at the tourney as his wife, continuing the ruse that the pair often carried out when exploring towns and villages without Ser Arlan. It was unwise for a woman to be alone, let alone one as pretty as her, and so they would simply pretend that Dunk, the giant towering oaf, was her sweet but protective husband. It worked a treat, with men averting their eyes and women giving her small nods of approval as the pair ambled past stalls, bodies close.
So Dunk continues the ruse, thinking that surely these princes in front of him would respect the oath of marriage.
"She is my wife, my prince. She is not for the taking."
Aerion could only grunt in annoyance, but his interest was piqued even more. He loved a challenge.
Baelor and Maekar were less pleased, however. An unmarried woman was far easier to draw into their grasp than a married one, and especially one with such a strong husband. He was an obstacle in their path. An obstacle that needed to be dealt with. Perhaps if she suddenly found herself without a husband, then an offer could be made - a royal court could always benefit from a skilled healer, surely?
Luckily for the princes, their word was law.
"Very well, Ser Duncan," Baelor spoke, a slight edge to his words, "you will need to find six other men to fight by your side. If you are unable, you will face the hangman's noose." At that, he directed his gaze to Dunk's wife, watching as she took in the situation with great fear.
God, she would look so pretty crying to him, begging him to spare her husband's life. He would play along, pretending to be kind, considerate - all the things the people thought he was. And then, once the sun was at its highest point in the sky and he had failed to gather the men, Baelor would order his guards to drag her husband from their camp, stringing him up for her to see. For her to fall into his arms, as he pretended to be afflicted by the weight of carrying out such a gruesome duty.
As Ser Duncan and his wife left the council chambers, Baelor called over his guards, giving them his commands. He even pondered having Dunk removed during the night and pretending that the great and honourable man had left his wife alone, running away to save his own life. She would be weepy and sad then, just enough for him to soothe her cries. Alas, he wanted her to have one last night of hope.
i dunno, i feel like reader’s life is pretty much fucked from the moment maekar decides to fuck her. he’s rich n he’s not hiding the fact he’s got connections w the underground— i mean he’s got the reader sucking him off when he’s calling ppl at night— she’s trapped.
i think the worst thing about maekar would be how he’d weaponize his kids. like, aegon and the girls would adore reader in this au. he’d encourage their transition into calling her mommy/mama over time, he’d wait for a kiss him before leaving the room— pointedly eying the kids who giggle expectantly behind their palms at the gross-adult romance. he’d isolate you so the only company you’d have is him or his bloods— both party’s so insistent n demanding on this new wifely/motherly role that you’d start to lose sense of the fact you were just a babysitter.
and maekar— he’s worse. he’s pushing you to you knees as soon as you tuck the kids in, he’s rucking up your skirts if someone compliments y’all (what an adorable family you have, sir! or worse: you’re so lucky to have an eldest to take care of her siblings). and god, one day he’s jus touching you; his broad hands wrapped around your neck, a pretty collar, drops them down to your waist— holds tight, tighter.
then he’s fucking you so hard that you don’t have the energy to reach for your birth control, he’s pulling your underwear up so it’s digging into you keep it in, he spanks you of it drips (he hates how aerion n daeron trace the path down your pretty thighs), he replaces your birth control w sugar pills before snapping at your whining and just ends your “access to them”.
he’s buying you lingerie as he caresses your swelling belly. laughing meanly as he makes you look at your reflection when he’s thrusting into you. smiling all teeth as he sees you wilt and give in when the kids ask you to help decorate the nursery: finally you give in, accept the woman he’s made of you, all his.
lk reader would have the worst post partum depression ever and maekar would convince himself his dick could fix it. and if it doesn’t he’s got a brother w a minor is psychology and major dick to help too, he’d never let anyone else cum in her tho ever. ok bye
🫒
Maekar... what am I going to do with you? Why are you so mean?
This made me think of something remarkably wicked to share with everyone. It's early days, and Maekar's only been acting out his fantasies with the babysitter for a week or so. She's still hopeful she can get out of this situation somehow.
Maekar's got her on his bed, and he's taking her from behind, mounting her and giving her long, deep strokes as she lies pathetically on her stomach. He's got his knees on either side of her thighs, and she's trapped. She keeps crying out, resistant to his touch and eagerly trying to push him off her. Her legs are flailing underneath him and her weak pleas for him to stop echo around the room, but the older man ignores them and keeps thrusting deeper inside of her, pushing her further into the mattress as he does so.
The sound of the door opening catches her attention, her head snapping up to look at the intruder. She's worried it's one of the younger children come to investigate the loud noises, but to her horror, it's Daeron. He's standing casually in the doorway, only a pair of plaid pyjama pants on, and a full glass of scotch in his hand. He's watching the scene in front of him with fascination.
She looks up at him pathetically, hoping he'll step in and pull his father off of her. Perhaps she even cries out his name, but when Maekar tugs her upper body off the bed by her hair, her heart sinks. Her bare breasts and arched back now in his eyeline, Daeron's hand slips underneath the waistband of his pants, with the up-and-down movement telling her he's stroking himself to her misfortune.
Maekar's chuckling cruelly behind her, having seen his eldest's arrival. With a grunt, he's mandhandling her onto her side and crawling behind her, so his chest presses against her back. He pulls her legs apart, hooking one over his knee so she's open and exposed. He's putting on a show for Daeron; sheathing himself back inside of her cunt, tugging her head back so her face is on display to his son, letting him see the way her expression scrunches with each powerful thrust.
She screws her eyes shut, desperate to look away from Daeron's gaze locked on her, and Maekar lets her. She can pretend this isn't her reality, but it's happening, whether or not she wants to accept it. She can still feel Daeron's burning look on her, his low groans as he grows closer to his peak, hitting her ears. She can't ignore that.
Maekar's hand reaches around her body, fingers finding her clit, rubbing firmly. She hates it, trying to push his hand away, not wanting him to make her like any aspect of this. He keeps his motions up for a moment, but seeing her continued efforts to shove him away, he relents. Taking her flailing hand, he pins it to her stomach, only to feel her clench around his cock. The placement and pressure of his hand allow her to feel him pushing inside of her, his movements underneath her palm.
To her disgust, she hears Daeron's groans grow louder as he reaches his peak all over his hand. But he doesn't leave then, nor when he's tucked himself back in his pants. He's watching his father take her now, enjoying every jolt and shiver of her body. With a cry, she's shoved back onto her stomach, face pressed into the mattress by a firm hand, vision obstructed by the covers.
It's only once she's thoroughly fucked out and stuffed full of Maekar's cum that she realises Daeron's left, the empty scotch glass the only sign he was there.
baelor x healer x maekar spanking fic when??? (With aftercare ofc if not for our peace of mind then the fact healer being in an incredibly vulnerable state and baelor and maekar taking advantage of the fact she needs comfort afterwards)
It's not gonna be in the fic, but here, a snippet of a 'what if' just for you.
The healer shrieked as she found herself flung over the armrest of the lounge in Prince Maekar's chamber, the heat of his warm body against the back of her thighs as he rucked her skirts up to her waist. She was bare, bar her small clothes. But then he was tugging those down too, despite her protests.
The volume of her cry when the cane made contact with her skin was ear-splitting, and it made Maekar wince. His hand gripped her hip tighter, keeping her in place as he brought the cane down again–and again, and again. She was sobbing now, gasping for air once the strikes passed a dozen.
"How long do you intend to keep this up, brother?" Baelor queried, his voice intermingling with the sound of her pleas for him to cease his strikes. The older man had been sitting at the table, watching the scene unfold, from when Maekar had demanded she apologise to Aerion for her harsh words at the night's dinner, to the moment she launched a wad of saliva at his face. He'd seen his brother's face turn murderous, and rather than intervene, he wanted to see exactly what would happen.
Maekar sighed, pulling away from her body, but not without landing a final strike to her bare ass cheek – this one harder than before. He dragged her body upright and shoved her in his brother's direction, moving towards his whiskey.
"Go on then, fucking coddle her," he chided.
To Baelor's delight, the sobbing healer was quickly in his open arms and awaiting his touch, seeking any form of comfort she could get. And Baelor gave it to her, humming softly and stroking her hair as she cried into his doublet. He placed soft kisses where he could reach, and began praising her, whispering how good she had been taking her punishment and how he knew she wouldn't act out again. He'd order the maids to run her a bath, or demand cool wash cloths so he could lay them on the raised red welts that now adorned her flesh. Baelor would gladly bring her back to his chamber and keep her in his bed, too, letting her recover for a day or two while she found it painful to walk, instead resigning herself to lying pitifully on her stomach. He couldn't tell her how much he liked seeing her this way, relying on him for comfort and care.
Maybe he'd suggest his brother provoke her more often, but next time, he would be the one to restore order.
