Hiii, could you write maekar with a wife that gets really nervous around him even tho they’re already in love and married for a year? Please ❤️
REQUEST - NERVOUS!READER x MAEKAR
SUMMARY : Maekar is in love with his lady-wife, but he's convinced she hates him. Why else would she always leave whenever he entered a room?
AUTHOR'S NOTE : Truth be told, when I received your request, I genuinely wanted to write something cute and soft. But then my brain spotted the potential for drama, and I simply couldn't resist. I hope you'll enjoy it!
Maekar struck as hard as he could, but his brother’s defense was stronger. His sword glanced off Baelor’s shield and flew from his hands before crashing loudly onto the ground.
Fuck.
The Anvil grunted in frustration as he went to retrieve his weapon, which had landed a few feet away.
"Is something wrong, Belo Lañta?" the Hammer asked, worried by his brother’s unusual clumsiness.
« Damn right, something’s wrong! My wife hates my fucking guts! »
"Mind your own business," Maekar snapped as he picked up his sword.
Baelor chuckled and obliged.
Truth be told, Maekar didn’t know when his marriage had started hanging by a thread. Nor did he know why.
One day his wife smiled shyly at him; the next, she could barely stand to be in the same room as him, always finding some meek excuse to slip away.
The Anvil, being a man of action more than a man of words, had tried more than once to confront his lady wife about it. Every attempt had ended in failure. She barely spoke above a whisper and couldn’t look him in the eye.
« She’s probably intimidated by you, little brother. Just give her time,» Baelor had advised.
Gods be damned, Maekar had listened.
He stopped swearing, forced himself to be painfully patient with the moronic lords at court, and smiled at her more than he had in his entire life. The prince had felt like an absolute fool throughout the whole ordeal, but his embarrassment was insignificant compared to his wife’s comfort.
It vexed him to realize his efforts had accomplished nothing. Worse still, his pitiful attempts at smiling only drove his love farther away.
After that, Maekar’s curses became sharper than ever, to the point that he was reprimanded more than once for making minor lords cry.
What frustrated him most was that she only behaved this way around him.
His wife had no trouble speaking freely with his family or laughing loudly with her friends. He felt as though his presence dimmed her spark, when that was the last thing he wanted.
After all, her inner fire was the very reason Maekar had fallen in love with her.
For a long time, the prince hadn’t noticed her. There were so many young ladies living in the Red Keep with their families that Maekar could hardly be expected to remember them all.
Everything changed during a ball held to celebrate his mother’s name day.
He had hidden behind a column to avoid yet another marriage-minded mother and her "perfect" daughter, not far from the buffet.
His future wife had been peacefully chatting with a friend, torn between gossip and honey cakes, when they were interrupted by the lord of a minor house.
The man, too stupid—or too drunk—to notice her friend’s discomfort, insisted she accompany him on a stroll through the castle, away from prying eyes.
The young lady politely declined, yet the sot refused to take no for an answer.
Though annoyed at having to abandon his hiding place, Maekar was about to intervene when his future love acted first.
She stepped gracefully between her friend and the lout and, in a voice both soft and firm, asked him to leave.
The man finally departed with what little dignity he had left.
From that night onward, Maekar found himself curious about her.
He would ask her to ride with him through the godswood or invite her to join his family on hunting excursions. The more time he spent with her, the deeper he fell.
Their courtship progressed far faster than society deemed acceptable, but a dragon paid little heed to the opinions of sheep.
Especially one in love.
Back then, Maekar believed her shyness was simply part of her charm.
He loved the way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear or bit her lower lip whenever he looked at her for too long.
It pained him to realize that her shyness had never been born of a fluttering heart, but of the anxiety of being bound to a man she no longer loved. Perhaps she never had. It wouldn’t have been the first time a lady married for rank and privilege.
She had probably decided Maekar was too much trouble—that enduring him simply wasn’t worth the effort.
What else could explain the distance she kept between them?
Maekar loved his wife. But she did not love him back.
As much as it pained him, the prince saw only one choice left: he had to let her go.
Yet his heart begged him to try one last time—to know, beyond all doubt, how she truly felt.
After the prince was thoroughly trounced by his eldest brother in the training yard, he summoned his wife to his solar.
Maekar was determined to put an end to this torment once and for all.
Their conversation would end either in reconciliation or separation, but he could no longer bear the uncertainty.
"You sent for me, my lord?" she asked as she entered, wearing the black-and-red dress Maekar had given her for her name day.
She looked beautiful in his house’s colors.
Maekar straightened, flattening both hands against his desk, desperate not to let the sight weaken his resolve.
He was an accomplished knight, a seasoned swordsman, yet he dreaded this conversation even more than he had dreaded the Blackfyre Rebellion.
He cleared his throat.
"Please, take a seat, my lady," he said, more harshly than he intended.
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on the wooden desk separating them.
"I wish to know, once and for all, what I have done to displease you."
He could already hear the meek answers she always gave.
« I don’t understand, my prince. You’ve done nothing to displease me.»
Again and again.
Each timid excuse carved another crack into his heart, and he simply had enough.
Frustration rose within him when, as always, she began nervously twisting her hands together, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the desk.
"I-I swear... y-you haven’t done anything, my lord."
Maekar clenched his jaw.
"Then you are forswearing yourself," he snapped, equal parts impatient and miserable. "You barely speak to me, and you avoid me whenever you can. Seven hells—even now, you won’t look at me!"
She shrank into her chair, making his heart clench.
Maekar released a weary sigh, the fight draining out of him as suddenly as it had come.
"If it is not my actions, then I can only conclude that my very existence is the source of your misery. As cruel as the rumors paint me, I refuse to force my presence upon a woman who despises it."
He swallowed.
"Arrangements will be made so that you may live your life as you see fit, provided your actions do not harm the Crown."
A pause.
"You may go."
Maekar had gathered every last ounce of strength he possessed to utter those words without faltering.
He waited for her to leave, so he could finally fall apart in the privacy of his solar.
Instead, she remained seated.
Then she began to cry.
It was the first time in many moons that his wife had looked directly at him, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
Maekar frowned.
"I refuse," she sobbed, her gaze locked onto his as though begging him to understand, to listen. "You cannot make me leave. You can't. I won't go !"
The Anvil remained silent, his confusion deepening with every sob that escaped her lips.
None of this made any sense.
Shouldn’t she be relieved to be rid of a man she so clearly hated?
Why did she look as though he had driven a sword through her heart?
"You are not the cause of my unhappiness. You never have been. I was only frustrated with myself... and with the way I behaved around you."
Maekar’s heart skipped a beat.
"I have never been so nervous around anyone else. I thought it would get better with time, but it never did, and I didn’t know what to do."
She gave a watery laugh.
"You’ve always been so composed... so regal... while I lose every shred of composure whenever you're near."
She lowered her head again, trying desperately to steady herself.
"And your smiles..." she whispered. "How am I supposed to remain unaffected when my husband smiles at me so sweetly? I could manage them when they were rare, but lately... you've been so generous with them."
She laughed through her tears.
"I simply couldn't bear it."
The prince’s bewilderment hardened into suspicion.
"I would advise you not to take me for a fool, my lady. Do you honestly expect me to believe that my smiles are the reason you've been avoiding me? How gullible do you think I am?!"
His voice rose.
"Is the truth so terrible that you would rather feed me comforting lies?"
"I am telling the truth!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"You are abusing the hold you have over my heart, and I will not stand for it!" Maekar roared, surging to his feet so abruptly that his chair crashed onto the floor.
An uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by the Anvil’s heavy breathing and his wife’s quiet sobs.
His gaze remained fixed stubbornly upon the desk.
Then her hand entered his field of vision, hovering just above his own.
"If you would only look into my eyes, you would see that I am not trying to deceive you."
He answered only with a grunt.
"Please," she whispered.
Gods be damned.
Maekar was an even greater fool than he had thought.
He looked.
It had been so long since the Anvil had gazed into her eyes that he had forgotten how beautiful they were, even red and swollen from tears.
Her eyes were kind, carrying a spark that blazed to life whenever the moment called for it.
They looked at him as though he had hung the moon.
And...
Oh.
Maekar felt himself struck by the love shining within them.
If the eyes were the window to one's soul, then his wife's soul yearned for his with a passion that nearly rivaled his own.
The prince had been wrong all along.
"I never meant to hurt you," she whispered, dabbing helplessly at her tear-streaked cheeks with her handkerchief. "I kept my distance because I feared overwhelming you with my feelings. Instead, I only succeeded in hurting yours."
She looked at him desperately.
"Please... you have to believe me."
Maekar rounded the damned desk in two long strides.
His wife was still seated, but she gasped in surprise when he gently pulled her to her feet and gathered her into his arms.
"You're a fucking fool if you think your love could ever be unwelcome," he confessed, hiding every ounce of vulnerability behind his usual gruffness.
She tightened her arms around him.
And, at last, the prince smiled.
Not only did his wife not hate his guts—
She loved him every bit as much as he loved her.
