#maekerlings

[ladythedrunken]

let’s hang out with the Hedge Knight and his Stag boyfriend with Papa.

[iicarusflew]

kismet (part one)

Egg is missing, more or less. 

A missing cousin, a patched-up rescue mission, and fateful meeting in a spring afternoon reminds Valarr that try as he might, some forces are beyond his help.

This is not set during the Ashford Tourney. Likely 2/3 years before that where he meets his future wife :) doomed lovers is my favorite my pillow my cup of tortured tea. I wanted to explore that and also the dynamic in this fucked-up, interesting family. It’s in the same universe as 

palindrome

first light

[part one: HIS] [part two: HERS] [part three: HIS]

Egg is missing, more or less. 

At the breakfast table, Valarr quietly looks over his family. To his right his lord father is sipping his morning tea, nodding solemnly at Medgar Tully. The lord of this castle, sitting beside his father, is staring at the man with simpering gratitude Valarr has seen countless times before. His uncle Maekar has his usual disgruntled expression as he cuts through his meat. Sitting by the side of his father, Aerion is breaking through a heap of walnuts, looking faintly bored. Daeron’s body is collapsed on Valarr left, hunch-backed and face down on the table. A faint snore makes his bread stir—a welcome sign to consider he is not dead. Valarr stares quizzically at the width of the empty Great Hall in the grey morning light and taps his spoon against his porridge. Unsurprisingly, he is the first to notice. 

“Aegon is missing,” he says as a matter-of-fact.

Suddently, the table around him jostles with life.

“What?” his uncle Maekar spits out, dropping his knife on the table. It bounces off and falls on the floor with a loud, disarming clang.

His father straightens up, quickly reaching for his brother. “I am sure it is nothing,” he says, turning to Valarr. “Was he not at the stable this morning?”

“No,” Valarr replies. “He was supposed to be, but he was not.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Aerion move in his seat. It is a light movement, a flutter—nothing more, but Valarr knows his cousin’s eyes are on him now.

“Last night.”

His father’s eyes are intent, seemingly apprehending something. Likely the very thing Valarr has not said. “And did anything unusual occur last night?”

“No,” he lies.

“Daeron!” Maeker bellows. He gets up from his seat with such force that it sends the chair over. The sound of it is deafening in the otherwise unassuming Great Hall. He walks over to his eldest with the determined expression of an executioner.

“Maeker, take heed,” his father says, but his uncle does not seem to be taking anything very well at all. He goes over to Daeron’s seat and thumps his fists on the wood; the half-filled wine goblet clinks.

His cousin stirs from his slouch. In the sluggish few seconds Daeron’s clouded eyes look over the room and then at his father, still unalert.

“W–what?” he stutters.

“Where is Aegon?” Maeker demands.

“Not here?”

“I thought I told him to squire for you.”

“Oh, the tourney’s not till—” He stares quizzically at Valarr. “What day is it?”

“Oh, seven hells!” he snaps, leaning down to look menacingly at his eldest. Valarr watches almost appreciatively as Daeron does his bravest attempt to look nonchalant. Almost succeeds. His bloodshot eyes are anything but apprehensive. Lord Tully moves in visible discomfort, and for the umpteenth time, Valarr Targaryen considers the ironic actuality of these brands of strange animals being his kin.

“Maeker,” his father speaks, and his voice is heavy and careful enough to stop his uncle from strangling his son. “We are disrupting our gracious host’s home.”

“Oh, no, your grace—” Lord Tully starts weakly, but stops as his father shakes his head.

“You are kind,” he says decisively. His eyes turn to Valarr. “You saw Aegon at night? Before you went to sleep?”

“Yes, father.”

He nods. “We shall have to speak to Ser Donnel, but I doubt he shall be of any help. In any case, I do not think he left at night, we have kingsguards all over. If he went away it would have to be in the light when the guards are at more ease. In that regard, I do not think he has gone too far, Maeker. Take heart.”

Valarr has always admired his father’s ability to take an incomprehensible situation and somehow mold it to a more palatable shade. There is something in his voice, it seems, that makes people want to believe in him. Most days, it is the only thing that makes his uncle not lose a vein.

“I shall head out to search for him,” his uncle is saying.

Lord Tully coughs.

“No,” his father says. “We musn’t miss the ceremonial opening. The tourney cannot be started without us.”

“You aren’t suggesting I do nothing, are you?”

“Of course not. Valarr shall go out with Ser Donnel and search for Aegon.” His eyes find Valarr’s again and the sharp and steady command there almost takes him out. He stares at his lord father in disquiet. His eyes—one sea-blue and one onyx—identical to Valarr’s, are fixed on him. And most days Valarr loves his father’s eyes, loves the strange bit of dissonance there, how it seems to pull through his words and always settle on some truth he would not admit out loud. He stares at his father and knows in the pit of his stomach that his father hasn’t believed his lie. And somehow it puts an even heavier weight on his shoulders. 

The words come out of him with strange emptiness, “I shall, father.”

Baelor Targaryen smiles. “Come back before nightfall, or we shall have to make an excuse to your betrothed about your absence at the feast.”

Aerion laughs stiffly. “Perchance I shall have to give her some sweet company in your absence, cuz. I hear Lady Arryn’s an excellent dancer.”

“Insolence!” Maeker snaps. “You should be lucky to have a cousin such as him.”

“Yes, yes.” Aerion rolls his eyes. “We are all lucky to have Valarr. I myself thank the heavens the day uncle Baelor and aunt Jena decided to—”

“I dare you to finish that sentence, boy.”

Aerion laughs cockily, but does not dare to defy his father. Valarr sighs as he stares at the large window just south of the Great Hall. Outside, he sees the branches of the Dogwood tree bent across the archery ground, its white petals swaying in the wind. With the soft waft of the river chill, it smells divine.

It is a beautiful spring morning. If Aegon had not decided to vanish like an erratic rabbit, it had the potential to be an unremarkably good day. As Valarr had learned from his lord father, unremarkable is a terribly unappreciated virtue. An unremarkable day as a Targaryen is often the most you can ask for. 

But still, it is not the worst timing, all things considered.

Valarr sighs as he thinks about the feast. About the inevitable meeting with his betrothed. He is fairly confident that he can find Egg and make the time stretch beyond the evening, just a little, just to defy his fate for some terrible stolen moments.

comments are super-appreciated!! hope you enjoyed :)

[part two: HERS]

[theghostofloganroy]

RIP Maeker Targaryren you would have loved this

[padfootasoiaf]

Maekar really said you can be evil and a runaway but you will NOT be unfashionable.

[dripsdrabsmusicmusings]

WIP Wednesday - Godspeed Dreamers

Life hit me hard this week. Making progress but it's slow. Have a Maekar POV on the aftermath of the whole shebang involved Daeron, the ressurection, and Daeron's new chicken-winged-lizard-beastie-that-is-most-definitely-not-a-dragon even if it is dragon-shaped. >.>

Tag @pacificheights you're next XD

He had killed his son with his own mace. The son who was a drunk and a dreamer, the son who was slowly, but surely, growing into himself; he had killed him. Swung the weapon. Hit the head, and did the damage. He had done that. He was a kinslayer, albeit, unintentionally. He could not remember the blow, could not remember the swing. But he remembered the aftermath.

Alysanne’s screams. Begging for Daeron to open his eyes. How mud and blood stained the sandy blond of Daeron’s hair. Dyanna’s hair. He had gotten his coloring from Dyanna, and he had remembered pleading with their son, their beautiful baby boy to live and breath and wake the fuck up because this was not the time to be playing possum. But it was real, it was very real, and he remembered sinking to his knees and the weight of his mace in his hands, how he was dragged off by the battle-worn hands of his brother that had fought against him, and remembered how fragile Daeron had looked. Almost as if he was sleeping.

He remembered all of that.

But he could not recall the swing of the blow that landed on his son’s head.

He had watched his son take his final breath.

He had set to task the Silent Sisters at preparing his son’s body.

He had lit the pyre his son was to be burned on.

And Daeron had come back.

Daeorn had taken a breath, sat up, and he had lived.

Daeron was alive. By a miracle, by some strange twisted sorcery, by the gods own intervention, it mattered not; his son was alive. Alive and in his rooms, living and breathing, talking and walking, and babbling nonsense about Summerhall and Aegon being king, about the wall falling, about twice-damned Bloodraven being a tree, but he was alive and present and seemingly had all his wits about him.

Daeron had come back and he had brought along a damn dragon with him.

His son, drunkard, dreamer, now a dragonmaster.

But still. He had killed his boy.

Dyanna’s boy.

[gialazy]

So I had this random and silly idea on how I see Maekar and the maekerlings as inside out emotions

daeron is sadness.

he understands how things will happen, and that they will be terrible. he knows how everything is going to end, and he has no power to stop it. daeron isn't crazy, he's just someone who feels everything too deeply... and can't do anything about it.

i feel like sadness can sometimes make people feel powerless, unable to act. and that's what i see in daeron, he feels crushed by fate, unable to escape his fears and his own emotions.

aerion is disgust.

it shows in the way he looks down on others, in the contempt he feels for anyone he considers beneath him. disgust has a purpose it protects us, keeps us away from what could harm us.

aerion does the same: he keeps his distance from anything that doesn't meet the expectations placed on him. maybe because of his own insecurity.

maekar is rage.

he is always rigid and severe, and i think part of his anger comes from not being able to control the situation, or his sons. most of the time, that anger feels directed at himself.

and after baelor's death, that internal rage only grows stronger.

sometimes i think that, more than feeling sadness for dyanna or baelor's death, maekar is trapped in anger and guilt. as if being the only one left is the punishment he deserves.

egg is joy.

even though he has already seen part of the cruelty of the world he lives in, he still holds on to his innocence.

he follows dunk because he believes in the chivalric, noble ideal of the hedge knight, and he believes things can get better, if we try to make them so.

[eatsleepandsing]

what came first (the egg or the name)?

At two and ten, Daeron Targaryen was already a seasoned older brother, having already been presented to two little brothers and one little sister, so there’s not a lot that’s new or exciting about the little bundle in his mother’s arms.  Or: a story of how a prince became an egg

[usernamesuggestionsarefunny]

Show/movie/book canon: So this is the older sibling, this is the middle sibling, and this is the youngest sibling.

Me: Thanks for the suggestion, but I will arrange their birth order a bit to suit my backstory-headcanons/storytelling/characterization needs.