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Mar 1

Pretty in pink I

Maekar never expected to marry again, never expected to love again. he tried to be a distant husband, a husband in name only. and yet you with your sweet smiles, kind eyes made it so hard for him to forget to be the stern man Westros knew him as, made it hard for him to forget that he didn't want to fall in love.

Maekar Targayren x Florent!reader

Word count: 3,661

CW: MDI 18 +, Arranged marriage, angst, bedding ceremony, smut. innocent and sweet reader, grump x sunshine. age gap. slow burn. by angst i mean a lot of angst like i cried writting some of this.

You had always been kind, had always been taught to find kindness in everything. To see the good in everyone. You were a sweet flower, as your mother would say, with none of the cunning of a fox, despite your house sigil. You were the perfect lady, kind, caring, beautiful and always doing what was expected of you. Even when it meant marrying the king's youngest son, becoming his second wife and mother to a large brood of children, the oldest of which was closer in age to you than your future husband.

You had looked on the brightside, as you always did, you thought of a man who might grow to love you, a man who perhaps would be like the fairy tales you read as a child, a man willing to go to war for you. You thought of his younger children; perhaps they would grow to love you as a motherly figure, not as a mother. You knew you could never replace her, but you hoped perhaps there would be great happiness in your life. Even if you were to be the notoriously hard and tough man they call “the anvil”.

You grew hopefully as you journeyed to the crownlands, thinking of the life you would live as a princess.

You had never met the man that would be your husband, nor any royal to be exact, you would meet him for the first time on your wedding day. But your parents hadn't met till their wedding, and now they were the picture of adoration. You were the youngest child of five, though the only girl, and you had spent your whole life watching your brothers fall in love, allowed to marry ladies of their choosing.

And yes, you were idealistic, but why wouldn’t you be? You have never had to worry about anything, never had to know a single second of sadness.

You were filled with a sense of nervous joy as you journeyed to the sept, dressed in a pure white gown, with pink accents throughout your gown, small pink flowers laced throughout your dress, and your veil a soft blush. On your shoulders sat your maiden cloak, the blue a tricking contrast against your dress, the fox of your house sat proud on your back as your father escorted you into the sept.

Prince Maekar stood tall as you walked through the sept, his gaze unmoving as you stood in the door, waiting for the orchestra to start the procession.

He was far more handsome than you had expected. Though his face was stern, his cheeks were marred with scars, but they did not take away from his looks. He was thickly built, his silver hair was cut shorter than you had expected, but his eyes were what drew you in. As you walked closer, your father's grip on your arm grew tighter. The closer he got to having to let you go, you noticed the lightness of his eyes, you couldn’t tell if they were blue or purple. Your gaze locked with his as you finally approached the altar, your father hesitantly letting go of your arm, placing a soft kiss on your brow.

Maekar's jaw ticked as you stood before him, his gaze assessing you as you greeted him with a soft smile. Your hands were joined with his as the septon began the ceremony, the roughness of his hands against the softness of your own.

The septon droned on as you memorised every inch of your new husband, taking in the sternness of his face, how he seemed permanently annoyed by everything around him, how his hands were holding on to yours but seemed to play with your fingers as the septon spoke, he was doing it mindlessly it seemed as he stopped the second you drew attention to it.

He spoke the vows quickly, his voice sharp and eager to get it over with. Your smile faltered.

He kissed you quickly, barely touching your lips before moving back, and the smile faded from your face.

The carriage ride to the red keep was silent, with him letting go of your arm as soon as you stepped inside. He sat opposite you, his eyes not once looking at you. You had tried to talk to him, but every response was a simple grunt. Your smile didn’t return to your face. You, a woman who had never stopped smiling her whole life, who had knights and lords falling at your feet to speak to you, and now your own lord husband didn’t even dare to look in your direction.

The rest of the night was much of the same, your husband didn’t once ask you to dance, didn’t utter a single word, at least to you. He spoke with his brother Baelor and his children. But not with you.

You loved to dance, never had you had a feast, let alone a wedding, where you didn’t dance the whole night. Instead, you sat and watched, drinking your wine glass until it was emptied and refilled over and over again. The only people you spoke to the whole night were Maekar's sons, Daeron and Aerion. Daeron, who seemed to delight in your drinking, had made you laugh a few times but had easily moved on to some of his drunkard friends. And Aerion, who leered at you and spoke something about being pumped full of dragons in no time, as he stared at the neckline of your dress. Your brothers and sister in laws circled the room and spoke kindly to you, but stayed no longer than a few minutes, as was appropriate, it seems.

The hours droned on slowly, and before you knew it, the bedding ceremony was called.

Maekar had merely grunted and stood up, his hand flexing slightly before he offered it to you, leading you out to the floor before the rabble of lords who had been eyeing you all night could get their hands on you.

You had participated in your fair share of bedding ceremonies, you knew what to expect, and yet as they pulled your clothes off you, leaving you entirely bare as you pushed your way into your marital chambers. Maekar sat on the bed waiting for you, wearing far more clothes than you.

You blushed, reaching to cover yourself as you felt Maeker’s gaze on you. He cleared his throat, standing from the bed, and pulling at the laces of the breeches he still wore.

“Husband,” you greeted, your smile returning, though feeling far more awkward than ever before.

“Wife,” he nodded, the first words he had said to you outside of your vows.

“What do we, um, what do we do now?” you asked, awkwardly, your hands covering you up.

“We consummate,” he grunted, pulling back the covers of the bed and getting in. He stared at you, waiting for you to move. You didn’t. “You do know what is to happen?” he asked, his voice a little awkward but not lacking any of its coldness.

“Of course I do, I just…” You trailed off, slowly moving towards the bed.

“What?” he asked harshly. You flinched back, halting your steps slightly.

“Nothing,” you mumbled as you finally approached the bed, settling in under the covers, grateful for the sheet to hide your body. You played with the covers, following the pattern with your fingers, waiting for Maekar to move.

He sighed as he looked at you, his hand reaching out to stop your movements. “Stop that,” he ordered. You nodded, stopping instantly. You felt the weight of reality settle into your shoulders, realising for the first time in your life that optimism didn't always lead to happiness.

Makear sighed before he crawled over to your side of the bed.

He didn’t kiss you, didn't hold you to him, nor did he whisper sweet nothings in your ears. The consummation was over before you knew it, and Maekar, as quickly as he arrived, left.

He didn’t look at you when he left, said no words, bid no farewells. He just left. Leaving you alone in a room that wasn’t your own, in a keep that wasn't your own. And a marital bed that you felt would never live up to the dreams you held in your heart.

You cried yourself to sleep that night.

It was such an oddity for you to cry or feel sadness. The last time you felt sad was when your cat died when you were ten. Never once had you felt sadness this great. Never once did you cry yourself to sleep, praying no one could hear your cries echoing across the hall.

You knew love and warmth grew with him, but you hadn’t expected there to be such coldness. You hadn’t expected there to be a wall of ice between you, a wall so thick it rivalled the wall in the north.

You began to question everything your parents had told you. Everything they had told you about your marriage night was a lie. What else would be?

You got little sleep that night before the maids came in at dawn and awoke you softly. Though strangers, they treated you softly, bathing you in a lavender-scented bath. They wash away the small trickles of blood between your thighs. Wash the tear stain marks off your face. And spoke in hushed tones as they prepared you for breakfast.

You were the first to arrive, settling at the end of the table, your gaze flickering across the room, noting all the tapestries and art that adorned the walls. The table was filled with fruits and berries, and pastries of all sorts filled the table.

You contemplated filling your plate before everyone else joined, you were hungry, having eaten little at the wedding feast.

But before you could reach for even a single grape, the door opened and in walked your husband. His step faltered when he saw you. His gaze took note of your pink gown and the soft smile that graced your features as he appeared.

Prepah's last night was a blip, maybe he was drunk or nervous. You may as well start today anew. Perhaps your sadness from last night was a one-time occurrence and would quickly be forgotten. “Husband,” you greeted, standing up as he walked towards you, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“Wife,” he greeted in turn. Grunting as he sat down, reaching to fill his plate.

“How did you sleep?” you asked, following his lead and filling your own.

“Fine,” he grunted, not looking at you. The door opened as you went to speak, his younger children running in with their Septa. They called for their father as they ran in, stopping short as they saw you. Aegon bowed, and Daella and Rhae both curtseyed. “My lady,” they greeted, before rushing to fit for a seat next to Maekar. Daella won, sitting closest to him and Rhae next to her. Aegon moved to sit next to you, sighing in defeat. And Aemon, who wandered in with a book in hand, moved to sit beside Aegon.

The children rambled on over breakfast, asking you all sorts of questions and answering each one you had for them. You smiled softly at their rambles, though your gaze turned to Maekar, hoping to see some softness, hoping to see that he wished to talk to you as much as his children did. Instead, he scowled the second your gaze met his.

He left the second he was done, not waiting for his elder children to walk in. He ruffled his daughter's hair as he walked by, bidding each of his children farewell. Only side-eyeing you as he left.

Perhaps last night wasn’t a blip after all.

He was fucked, totally and completely fucked. He was the second, he saw you walk into the sept in your pretty white gown covered in pink. The second he saw your smile, the second he touched you.

He didn't need another wife, he had six children, had loved before and had absolutely no need for a wife. And yet you appeared. His parents had wed him off and introduced you, a perfect flower from the reach. Eager to be plucked. So perfect and so entirely unlike him.

He didn’t want a wife and had hoped you would be easy to ignore. And yet as you spoke your pretty words to him, he realised you wouldn't be, he realised that you were as sweet and kind as his father had said. And yet you were stuck with him. He was cold, colder since Dyanna had died. You couldnt possible be happy with the arrangement. Happy with him as your husband. Perhaps you would be happy if you were a wife in name only. Then you would be happy, and not chained to him for the rest of his life, and miserable for it.

And yet you, with your smiles that could outshine the sun, seemed to make him melt.

You were too soft, too sweet, too happy. He had noticed it easily, you would hate him, resent him, and he wouldn’t blame you. Not when he never wanted to marry.

He would do his duty and nothing more, and yet last night, when he had done that, guilt ate at him. It was clear you wanted a sweet, loving husband, but he couldn't be that, wouldn't be that. And yet when you greeted him this morning, with gentle eyes and a nervous smile, he almost took back his desire to be a husband in name only. When he noticed his younger children adoring you, how easily you spoke with them, eager to know them. To know him.

Gods, it would have been easier had you been cold, had you been mean or ugly. But you were anything but. Beautiful, as happy as the sun, kind and caring, and always dressed in pink. And he hated all of it. Or atleast thats what he told himself.

He tried to be as distant and cold as he could be, and yet time and time again, he was drawn back to you. As time went by and you had all travelled to Summerhall, he had made sure you had your own chambers. Not once did he visit you. Not once did he seek you out.

And yet you were always there. In his library, his dining hall, and even with his children. You often found yourself in the garden at the same time as him, or standing there at the exact moment he decided to look out of it. Always there, always kind and soft. And he hated it. Hated how you drew him in, no matter what you did. Hated how he fucked his fist to you every night, your name and face on his lips.

You were kind and never had a bad word to say about anything or anyone. Everyone you had ever met would say you were the nicest person they had ever met. They would say that hate was something you were incapable of. And yet as time went by and the coldness between you and your husband seemed to grow, you began to feel the fires of hate breaking into your heart. Your husband was ever distant and running from you the second your paths crossed, offering only grunts in response to your kind words. Never once attending the endless lists of activities you invited him to, you were beginning to hate him.

You had lost hope of a happy marriage when the third month of it came with no touches, no words, no caresses or even acknowledgement. He did not try to welcome you, did not try to make you feel at home, or try to fill the loneliness that filled your heart.

You felt so alone and isolated. Sure, his children were kind, and as the months went by, they were happy to see you whenever you’d help with their lessons or entertain their day. But you had no one to speak to, you had no maids or ladies in waiting to chat to.

You had no one, and whereas before it was rare for you to cry or feel sadness. Now it was rare to feel joy. Every night, tears wet your pillow as the ache of loneliness filled your very soul.

Maekar didn’t notice, seeming to be annoyed with your presence in his home, to even think about your feelings. He avoided every room you frequented, left every meal before all his children left, as if the thought of being alone with you physically pained him.

The only time you smiled or laughed was with his younger children. And though you had learned to love them dearly, you were entirely unhappy in your marriage, if you could even call it a marriage. You were more of a reluctant occupant than a wife.

And yet a part of you still waited. A part of you hoped to wake up one day, with Maekar beside you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and declaring his love for you. It’s why you had continued to be kind, soft and always perking up when his gaze fell on you. You invited him to tea, tea that he never joined. Dinners alone, which he either avoided or conveniently brought at least one of his children along to.

You had formed a mindless routine. Every day, you said good morning and asked him how he slept. Whenever you got to breakfast before him, you would prepare his tea and pile the food onto his plate. Hoping that one day he would take notice and thank you instead of just grunting in acknowledgement. Every day you’d bring him his lunch in his solar, loitering to see if he needed anything. He never did. You would walk around the gardens, always stopping in front of the window to his solar, a book or paints in hand, as you spent hours either reading or painting. Spending at least a few hours every day with his children. Helping with their lessons and bringing them to see him every night before they went to bed. And when it was time for him to go to bed, you would dress in your night gown, prepare him a nightcap and see if he wanted you. He never did. Though you felt his gaze on you when he dismissed you, you saw the flexing of his hand as you walked out of his reach.

But he never acted on his gaze, his desire to touch. He never did anything. Other than grunt.

You did a million little things for him every day, replacing the flowers in his solar, placing a bookmark between the pages of the book he had placed upside down. And so many other things that he would never notice.

You wondered if he’d notice if you stopped. Stopped showing up to meals, stopped trailing after him, stopped waiting for his attention.

You doubted it, and knew deep down you couldn’t.

That's until it hit six months of marriage, six months of coldness. Of you talking to a wall of ice.

Six months of growing closer and closer to his children, with little Rhae, a girl who never knew her mother, a girl of only five, a girl who had called you mama in private and then made the mistake of calling you mama in front of Maekar.

He didn’t say anything at the time, he waited for them to go to bed and waited to escort you to your rooms. And waited until the doors closed behind him.

He leant against the door, his body shivering with rage. “How long has she been calling you that?” He asked, his tone dripping with anger. No fear? Mayhaps, you couldn’t place his tone, his feelings, “You want to replace my children’s mother? Is that it?”

You flinched back from the harshness of his tone, “what no, I-“

“Shut up and let me speak, woman!” He interrupted, turning to face you, “You are not their mother, you should have corrected Rhae the second she started calling you that!”

“I did, I promise, but she wanted to call me it anyway-“

“Well, you should have tried harder!” His voice bellowed, “You are not there, mother,” he slammed his hand against the wall.

Making your whole body flinch, backing away from him slowly as tears began to spill from your eyes.

“I know, but that doesn't stop them from wanting one,” you spoke softly. Daella slipped and called you mama once, and Eggs' hand was rarely not in yours. All three of them insist on you tucking them in every night, and little Aemon wrote to you every week.

He sighed deeply, his eyes finally turning to yours, noting how you had flinched from him, how you stood against your bed, your gaze not on him for the first time. “You're not their mother, you're just my wife!” he stopped breathing deeply, speaking just loud enough for you to hear, “not more, you can’t be more, you can't be here, you'll never be her,” you weretn sure he had intended on you hearing it, but you had anyway. And he noticed you had too late.

You turned your back to him, refusing to let him see you crumble, to see how badly his words had affected you. You waited for him to leave, but instead, you felt him walk closer. His hand hovering over your shoulder, “I didn't mean that-“ he said, reaching for you, only for you to flinch from his touch.

“Get out,” was all you said, your body wrapping into itself as you waited for him to leave. He hovered, waiting for something. Perhaps for the sweet, obedient wife you had been to show up. To accept his apology and his words. But you felt all of that slip away the second he said those words.

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