cupiens. (Baelor Targaryen x Reader)
₊˚ ❆ Summary: After getting sick of your mother's urging to marry you promise to wed the next man that offers. Sadly or amazingly (depends on who you ask) — that man ends up being the heir to the throne.
₊˚ ❆ Tags: MDNI!! arranged marriage, stark!reader, only feature mentioned is grey eyes, angst, fluff, serious talks, reader has trust issues, reader does not like baelor in the beginning, they bond later tho, he falls first she falls later, not harder cuz baelor would never let you love him more than he loves you, age gap (21 to 36), set in 206, baelor is tired of them kids, author is tired of them tags, not particularly well beta read expect inaccuracies.
W.C. 4.3K~
A/N: this was supposed to be a pwp one-shot but the keyboard sounded a little too good and i got a little invested in the lore.. don't know how many chapters this is gonna be.
dividers by @corbingraphics (stormcloud), @pixopix (crescent moon and wolf-paws).
NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST
The cold winds of Winterfell carry the song of blunted swords clashing beneath, your brothers dance through the training grounds as the master-at-arms shouts corrections of this and that, sings their praises when one rectifies a mistake or triumphs over the other.
So tiresome, their routine. But you wished for it all the same.
"Turn that glare any colder and you'll freeze them dead."
The urge to roll your eyes was hard to fight, so you didn't resist. Your stone-cold eyes met your brother's own patient ones.
"I'm not glaring." You said glaring at him. He did not argue and his smile only grew softer then he relented. "As you say."
An exhausted exhale left you as your glistening eyes found their way back down to your little brothers, observing their movements growing weaker and sloppier. At this rate you wouldn't be surprised if any one of them fell on their swords and found their way to the crypts by nightfall.
Your commanding voice bites through the resounding ringing of swords, halting them from their next swing. "I think that's enough training for now. They need to rest."
Your master-at-arms nodded and dismissed the boys who looked up with you with grateful smiles, you tried to mirror their expression, but the smile came out thin and weak.
Lonnel's imposing figure remains present in your peripherals. "You're still here." You observe monotonously, watching the rest of the guards and young men continue on with their training.
"Rodwell and Beron are done training—why are you still here?" He counters.
Your bottom lip quivers but you quickly mask it with a scowl. "Maybe I like watching the guards train—why are you still here?"
It was a weak argument – you knew. Before you left, you said you wanted to watch your brothers train. Now that the excuses re-entered the warmth of the castle, you had no reason to be here.
"Please don't start with this nonsense," He urges you, frustration that didn't suit him laced his gentle voice. "you're not a child–"
"Aye. I am not a child. I don't need you to care after me like one."
He meets your wrathful words with assessing silence, regarding you with an unconvinced look of your standoffish and cold exterior.
"Do you need to be a child for me to care for you?"
At those words, your facade cracked. Tears streamed down your face and stifled sobs tore themselves out of your throat. Wordlessly Lonnel took you into his arms after pulling you from the edge, away from their sights.
You were not someone who made a habit of this — crying.
The last time you allowed yourself the release of emotions was the day your solemn father came home with the remains of your uncle Barthogan in tow. And even that was years ago, when you were a child of eight.
The situation then was vastly different from now. Winterfell and all its people grieved the loss of a great man. By contrast you should be happy. It wasn't as if you didn't expect to be sent away to be some lord's lady eventually. This match was objectively better than any other; you will be the first Stark queen of the Seven Kingdoms, your children are to be princes and princesses.
But you could hardly find it in you to be happy about that.
Minutes passed before your sobs turned into soft sniffles and you felt that you could pull away. And when you did, you were met with a sad smile reminiscent of your father's.
"I wish you and father would stop doing this – bottling everything up like it would fix everything."
Words in defense of your father died in your throat. Ultimately, he was right in saying so. It was clear to anyone who knew Brandon Stark that he held a mountain of sorrow on his shoulders — sorrows that threatened to bury him alive. No one loses all nine of his brothers and sisters and leaves unchanged.
"Did mother ask you to find me?"
Your mother and father were discussing the oncoming celebrations when you slipped away. It wouldn't be surprising if they knew from the beginnning that ensuring your brothers completed their training was more an excuse to leave than something done out of duty, the master-at-arms was more than capable of dealing with them, not to mention Lonnel was entrusted with aiding in their training when need be since he was meant to replace him when the time comes, not you.
Lonnel leaned himself on the wooden railing, and shook his head.
"Of course," You smile sardonically. "well at least now I won't have to deal with any more suitors or listen to the same lecture over and over again."
Your mother was an odd woman. She loved you dearly – you knew that. But the subject of marriage, namely yours, never failed to turn her overbearing. To the point you felt that she hated you and wanted nothing more than for you to be gone. And sometimes you think that you hate her, but then she'd go and do something like pinch your cheeks when no one is looking and make you laugh, and then you'd forget all about her rants and reprimands.
Lonnel said nothing and pushed himself off the rails with a sigh, trailing you back inside.
The arrival of the royal retinue was nothing short of grand, as to be expected. You knew your betrothed would be accompanied by family, but you hadn't expected to see this many wonder-eyed dragonlings—each one younger and lighter-haired than the next.
You were more interested in Baelor and the sons that were soon to be your own too. What little you knew of him came from descriptions your father gave you after having fought alongside him during the rebellion.
He was no good at descriptions—your father. He mostly told you of his great character; his valor and chivalry. When it came to appearance he only spoke to you of odd-colored eyes, one black and the other purple. His hair raven-black, hair that had greyed since then. His nose hooked, no doubt it was from his dornish heritage, although it had a crook to it you assume to be a result of many battles throughout the years.
You wouldn't admit it, of course, but he was a handsome man—for a man of his age and social standing, you expected a extravagant nobleman, gaudily slathered with gold from head to toe—but no, he was dressed simply and practically, elegant enough that you would know he was of noble-birth but not pretentious to the point you'd roll your eyes when you set them upon him.
Yes, he was handsome. Yes, that pleased you. But if you wanted looks you would have wed the first pretty man that asked for your hand years ago.
His voice was much gentler than you expected. Almost as soft as the way he kissed your hand when he held it, stopping you from bowing to him the way the others had done with a smile. He was humbler than you thought he'd be too.
It wasn't that you didn't trust your father's words, it was just that hard not to have some form of caution when it came to any lord that vyed for your hand, for every past suitor you had—if they didn't show you how vile and obnoxious they were outright—you would know their true faces in other ways. Either by a back-handed compliment on your beauty despite your 'age' or something damning you would discover at second-hand.
You were sure Baelor was good and kind — but you were not about to hold your breath and have the fictitious image of a sophisticated prince and a darling husband your parents drew up for you blind you to the fact that deception is very much real, and in this world—the real world, things aren't as beautiful, not completely—no.
You will give him the benefit of the doubt but you will be on your guard.
His sons certainly took after him. More so, his firstborn, with his eyes and hair matching his, except for a feathery-looking white streak of hair accentuating the side of his head. As for the red-nosed boy standing close to him – Matarys, seems to have taken after his mother Jena instead. His tuft of hair auburn red and eyes blue as ice, yet his gaze was warm and full of wonder as he exhaled over and over and watched his breath condense and fog up. The only trait they inarguably shared with their father was his polite smile and soft spoken voice.
Valarr introduced the dainty young lady he had on his arm as his wife –Kiera of Tyrosh. Her bright and colorful curls contrast beautifully against the muted colors of house Targaryen that she wore, she smiles at you warmly when you greet her, undeterred by the cold northern winds.
When the Lord and Lady of Summerhall introduced themselves and their children to you — you didn't know whether to be amused or concerned.
Amused at the way your good-brother had his hands full with his daughters — concerned for your good-sister's health, on account of how near in age most of them looked. She appeared happy and content enough, based on the way she beamed as she introduced the sleeping toddler and her eldest daughter hanging onto her husband.
Their eldest son – Daeron, looked weary and in desperate need of a good sleep, the journey must've been long and arduous for him especially. Aerion, on the other hand didn't seem to have a problem sleeping – he stood proud and took no interest in anything around him, unlike the two boys that already looked like they were conspiring to run around the castle as soon as they were set loose.
When all the introductions were done, your father ushered your royal guests inside. It took everything in you not to take off as soon as he finished his sentence. But you would be stopped even if you wanted to, as Baelor spoke up from beside you. When was he even there?
"My lady," he offered you his gloved hand, "if I may?"
In all the practiced grace instilled into you, you took his hand and allowed him to lay it on his arm and lead you in behind the rest.
This was going to be a long long month.
Baelor knew practically nothing about you, news to and from the North were scarce enough as it is. The only information he had on you were three things, your name, age and the fact that you held your family in high regard and affection.
Within the letter from Lord Stark, he expressed his honor to have their great houses joined together in such a happy union, and went on to ascribe a request from you to him; that the wedding be held in Winterfell.
"….'There must always be a stark in Winterfell — and how am I to have my family with me on my only wedding day if they can't all follow me to Kings' landing?' she reasoned. If it please, my lord – House Stark would be thrilled to host the celebrations should you find it to be an agreeable arrangement."
The King and his Hand found no issue with this, it would benefit the crown's coffers not to be used up. Royal weddings no matter how small are always costly. It only made sense to agree.
Politics and finances aside, Baelor believes this is the least he can do for you. Accepting such a marriage could not have been easy for you, he doubts that the adjustment to your new life would be easy either.
To be raised in a place so devoid of the exasperating games of southern politics and suddenly be thrust into it will be a horribly disorienting experience. Not to mention, your husband is much older than you were, heir to the throne or not. If you ever dreamt or romanticized about marrying a prince he doubted that you ever wished it to be him.
Baelor hopes at the very least that you share his understanding of the things that need to be done for the good of the realm—your marriage being one of them.
The North is the largest of the seven kingdoms, disconnected from the others and most distant to the Crown. This marriage would not only bridge the gap but sustain it as well.
If it means being in your good graces and providing you with some solace — it will be as you requested, the ceremony will be held in Winterfell—in accordance to your traditions, and beheld by your family and his.
Ultimately, he was grateful for one little thing – the escape from all the politics down south. He was already planning on courting you for a month – because you deserved to be courted like all the other maidens, whether the marriage was bound to happen anyways or not. So the extra time away means everything to him, in that he is utterly grateful to you. Even if you didn't know or care about his exhaustion of courtly duties.
They could've taken to sea and docked at White Harbor to expedite the journey, but not everyone in company was averse to sea-sickness, he learned that the hard-way with Matarys, since his first and last journey to Dragonstone was not kind to him. To endure the voyage to and from White Harbor—a trip that in total is ten times longer—Baelor could not do that to the sweet boy. Maybe when he is older.
The journey on horseback was as tranquil and serene as he expected, that is if he closed his eyes and deafened his ears to the racket emitted by his nephews and nieces. Not that he wasn't glad they accompanied him—he is. He is glad they're here with him if only to allow them the escape from the blazing heat of the summer sun. But he can only endure so much of his their quarreling and ceaseless questions.
'Are we there yet, uncle?'
'Is there really a dragon beneath Winterfell?'
'How much longer?'
'What's a wildling? Have you seen one before?'
'Are there truly no knights there? How do they have any fun?'
'Do the Others truly exist?'
And other such questions he couldn't remember nor keep up with.
In the early days, he was in a good enough mood to indulge them. However, even if the most patient living person took the brunt of their questions in his stead they would lose that attribute as he had.
So when it came to that he began to direct them to their parents to sate their curiosity. He doesn't understand how his brother and good-sister could put up with them nor how they still wish for more. But then he remembered that a parent's love for their child prevails over any annoyance or trouble they may bring – that being said he couldn't help but yield to them once more, if only to give Maekar and Dyanna some time to breathe.
They only let up once Winterfell was in view. Laughably, he became restless in their stead, nerves were an odd thing to comprehend. Meeting you was an inevitability, actually doing it was something else.
No, Baelor was not one to stare or make eyes at women, that would be unseemly for a man to do such a thing, much less one of his station, but it was hard not to.
Especially when you had eyes like that—tantalizing grey eyes that appeared as if they caged raging storm-clouds within—eyes that didn't gaze at him any longer than they needed to. Your smile was wide and practiced, he knew that smile, he gave that smile one too many times.
He expected that, the stoicism and fake smiles, that is why the courting period is necessary. It would not do to have a wife that merely tolerated him because she had to, the thought of it disturbed him.
Day 5
It's been only four days and nights, and you were already exhausted. It seems your betrothed cares not for rest, for every time you were out and about he was there with you. Did he not journey for a full moon? How does he have energy to socialize at all?
You couldn't spend all your time avoiding him by sitting with the ladies because it would be too obvious and your mother would send you away, so instead you tried shaking him off by taking lengthy walks in the bitter cold, he didn't care at all, it was obvious the chill bothered him, if the way he pulled the fur collar tighter around his neck was any indication; so why does he insist?
"Of course he's spending time with you, he's supposed to if he's meant to court you proper," Lonnel said from his seat beside you, eyes focused on polishing back the sheen to his blade. When he was satisfied with the shine he turned to you with a serious look.
"Do you want me to distract him for you?"
A moment passed and you gave him a sidelong look, "you're so full of shit," you snorted and he burst out laughing, "really? what would you even do, Lonny?"
Lonnel beamed as bright as the sunshine that reflected off the steel of his sword as he sheathed it, he shrugged "I will improvise,"
"Sure."
"Where's Sapphy?" Lonnel asks suddenly. Sapphire—lovingly known as 'Sapphy' by the household—is the sweet little grey cat with the prettiest baby blue eyes that you took in some time ago. By this time of day she routinely lounges around the Godswood and seeks the attention of whichever person that cares to give it — not today though. Odd.
"Maybe she's napping someplace out-of-sight? or perhaps she's rolling around at Baelor's feet? Who's to say?"
"Baelor?" he inquired curiously at the mention of the prince's name.
"Aye – it seems she has a new favorite." You joked, although you were quite bitter over it – it took you nearly a fortnight to make her trust you but with him it was love at first sight? It didn't make avoiding him easier either, since he returned her to you every time.
Lonnel blinked at you as if that wasn't the answer to his question, but nodded anyway and stood. "Well, wherever she may be I'm sure she'll show herself again for a snack. I must join them in the courtyard – take care."
You nodded and echoed the words back to him. When his silhouette turned into a blur you turned your gaze to the snowdrops beside you, the hesitation stopped you for a moment but you slid your glove off anyway and leaned down to touch them.
It felt like caressing softness itself; the sensation soothed you and took your mind off what today was somewhat. You wondered if you could get away with plucking one or two for Daella, you noticed her interest in the flowers, she was either too shy to ask or she was worried about that disturbing the sanctity of of the godswood — she looked a bit uncomfortable and spooked by the faces in the weirwood trees.
Perhaps giving them to her would make her more relaxed when she sits with her family, and maybe she would be more inclined to you as her aunt.
A voice you've come to be well-acquainted with interrupts your contemplations with the call of your title – my lady. It took only the first one-on-one conversation for him to request you call him by his name, you complied but didn't request the same of him. If he noticed that – he said nothing on the subject.
"Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you," Baelor said after the suddenness of his arrival made you jump from your seat, "No need to apologize, I know you didn't."
Baelor sat next to you on the stone bench, he wasn't close enough for your knees to touch but you still felt he was too close. Especially since you were sitting on the edge.
The silence that settled between you was far too uncomfortable to bear. You tried to break it with some small talk but your voice clashed with his own and the words were incoherent to you both.
"I'm sorry," he gave a warm chuckle and gestured towards you, "you should speak first."
You fixed your glove back on your hand, "I was going to ask if you've seen Sapphy,"
It looked as if a memory struck him when he took his eyes off your hand and they met yours. "Ah yes, I believe Aegon and Matarys wished to play with her, they each have their kittens back home, you see." he informed.
"Oh they must miss them terribly then."
Baelor nods, his fingers twisting his ring round and round, and once again silence thickens the atmosphere around you.
"My lady," he calls stopping you from formulating an excuse to leave.
"I feel as if there's something bothering you, If you have any concerns I implore you to raise them to me," he pleads earnestly, "what bothers you bothers me."
Your thoughts warred with one another; his words seem sincere and so do his eyes. Eyes that you now realized to be of a soft brown and a pale lilac color — but you couldn't help but compare them to the ones that lied to you before. In the midst of the chaos a thought cut through in favor of him, one that brought you the memory of a distrustful cat that found safety with him, and another of the sons that he raised. Kind and gentle, even to your bastard brother.
Nerves wracked you but you were tired of caution and swallowed back the hesitation, "Prince Maekar has many children." you looked at him, hoping he understood what you were going with this.
His eyes widened and he met your eyes in understanding.
"You worry that I'd wish for many heirs?" He asked quietly.
"King Jaehaerys had many." You reminded.
Baelor shook his head "Yes – he did, but they all either perished or were disinherited. Their numbers meant nothing in the end, and numbers is not what I seek in mine."
He took your hand in his, "I will not ask you to bear any child unless it's what you want." Your eyes flicked to the hand that held yours, "But do you not have a duty to the throne?"
"My duty to supply the throne with heirs has been done twice over already, you needn't worry about that." He reassured.
A moment of quiet passed over you, "What about my duty to you?"
Baelor smiled soothingly and reminded you of his earlier words, "I will never ask you to do anything you do not want to do."
For the first time in a while you breathed a little easier – you absentmindedly brushed your thumb over his hand, gaze adrift. It wasn't until Baelor gently took his hand away and the feeling of his knee brushing off yours that you realized the proximity you were in.
His smile seemed coy and half-hearted and his ears appeared redder than you remember them being.
"Are these flowers your favorite?" Baelor asked suddenly.
"The snowdrops, I noticed you were taken by them." he clarified at the furrow of your brow – not realizing the different kinds of flora that lined the godswood. You nodded with a hum, "You could say that – although I think Daella likes them more."
He looked at you with curiosity, "Does she?"
"Aye, of all the flowers here she was always curious about them the most."
"I suppose they suit her," Baelor mused offhandedly, "snowdrops are said to symbolize hope."
You tilted your head at him in interest, "Where have you heard about this?"
"I've read about it in a flora compendium some time ago," he noticed your bewildered look and gave a short laugh, "I was especially bored of my duties that day."
Such interesting revelations you were being given about him in such a short time, "I think I ought to read that one." You mused.
He hummed in agreement, and for the first time the silence felt tranquil rather than unnerving.
"My lady," Baelor began out of the blue, "is there a pastime you favor that we could do together? I feel we could know each other easier that way."
You took a moment to contemplate then decided to test the waters "Archery, its not something I've done before but something I've always wanted to learn."
"We can do that."
The casual way he said it caught you off-guard. "Really?"
He couldn't help the smile at your reaction, "Of course."
"That's.." you trailed off, not knowing what to say until you realized something, "if we are going to do that we have to do something that you don't know—it wouldn't be fun if I was the only one struggling."
Baelor laughed for the first time—the sound rich and warm.
"I suppose that's only fair, what do you have in mind?"
"Have you ever embroidered before?" He's definitely never done that before the question was just a pleasantry – you weren't about to risk your mother's ire.
He shook his head and shrugged, "I could."
Excellent. You can get your hands on a bow after a decade and then some of non-stop denial and you can witness the heir of the throne struggle to thread a needle—absolutely excellent.
Of all the conversations you've had with him, this one was your certainly your favorite — it almost made you forget all about your monthly visit to the crypts. The crypts…
You stood abruptly, worrying him, "My lady?"
"I'm sorry, I need to be elsewhere."
Baelor watched you leave with a dejected look until you turned back to him.
"You may call me by my name if you wish."
To anyone the offer wasn't that significant—but to Baelor, it was that and more. He couldn't help the quiver of a smile that formed on his face — all in good time.
