monument of memory
Baelor x OFC, arranged marriage, age difference, slow burn, rated E.
In 204 AC, Baelor Targaryen and Ethel Allyrion enter an arranged marriage. The two widows, strangers to each other, have ten days to get to know each other before the wedding and deal, and not deal, with the ghosts of the past.
Read chapter 1 on AO3
Preview:
It had been three days and Baelor had not seen his new bride in two. It had not been his fault, not entirely – his work as his father’s Hand scarcely allowed for an idle moment, leaving him exhausted at the end of the day. But that was no excuse – he should not have neglected her this long.
She was young, five-and-twenty years old. Baelor could not imagine what had gone through his father's mind, wedding someone of that age to him when he was rapidly pushing forty. His father had pointed out that she was older than Jena had been at their wedding, but Baelor had been younger too, and ten years older than Valarr, which did not help.
It was not her fault being that young, of course, and it wasn’t like she was some bright-eyed maiden. She was a widower, like Baelor, had already experienced loss.
Therein lay the other issue.
She was barely out of the mourning period, the wedding falling almost exactly on the date her husband had died a year ago, and it was, if not inappropriate, a bad look. Baelor had already heard whispers of a babe on the way, which anyone wise knew to be nonsense – she had been in Dorne until now and with simple math the dates did not match. Baelor had never even met her before, if her late husband in passing. But tongues kept wagging and there was nothing he could well do about it.
When they had met three days ago, Ethel Allyrion had seemed… fine. Polite. Collected, pinnacle of manners, and an air of control so tight that it made even Baelor feel slightly unnerved. House Allyrion had sent a fine bride for him – she was beautiful, that was evident, Dornish dark features dominant in her. It was her dark brown eyes that had struck him, her long black hair done in a handsome braided updo, her blue gown complimenting her features, and it had left an impression, he could not lie. Truly, anyone would be happy with a bride like her.
Baelor only wondered what was in it for her, marrying a man so much older than her. A prince with scarcely time for his own family. The politics... were what they were, but certainly a young bride's feelings were considered on the matter?
Not always, Baelor knew.
Like a bride’s, a prince's life did not belong to himself. His body was property, meat cut apart for anyone to take, and his heirs belonged to the realm as well. All of them cleaved into pieces by a butcher's knife, equally precise. His heart was up for offer and no matter what depths of sorrow dwelled within him, it would be tendered into the desired shape.
He had learned to submit to it. To duty. He just didn't know if he had the heart to clip the wings of a creature unused to such sacrifices.
Still, if he were to play the cruel game, he wanted to know his fellow players first.
