My AKOT7K fics are now also available at AO3! All my other fics (mostly Tolkien) are there as well!
Same fic names and username if you want to search yourself!
Characters with written/upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon, Baelor Targaryen, Raymun Fossoway, Daeron Targaryen, Maekar Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen, Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard, Aerion Targaryen, Ser Dunkan the Tall
I've been busy with my doctorate studies, the deadline for research funding was yesterday so I had to put in more work to get the applications out before it, and I got a flu to top it off, so I've not been feeling my best.
But I am finally feeling better AND after rewatching AKOT7K while sick, I have some fresh ideas brewing even if I haven't had time to write any of them down yet.
This weeks posting days: (hopefully) Friday! Edit: Sorry, no post, flu still kicking my butt :(
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Part 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
yooo I just binged your entire "Forbidden" series and it's so sweet (Even tho it hurt meee= Roland doesn't get much love in the fandom, but please don't get discouraged from creating, it's SO Nice to see some variety and your writing is so very very delicious đžâšđđđđ«
Hiii, it's so nice to hear that you liked the series! Poor Roland definately does not get enough love and I want to write another series for him so baaad (if only I could get an idea for one).
I've been having diffculties with my writing so it's sooooo good to hear that you like it :3 <3
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Ser Roland Crakehall x reader
Word count: ~ 2100
Includes:
Warnings: anger, the Trial of Seven of Ashford, injuries, blood, character death
Other: -
Your heartbreak has you bedbound until it is time for the Trial of Seven. Usually, you do not care for such events, but this time, you make an exception to hopefully witness your cousins downfall.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Roland's Masterlist
You remain in your chambers for the next day, silent, your whole body numb. You do not feel the warmth of the sunâs rays as they brush your skin, nor the cold stone as you sit hunched against the wall, knees pulled to your chest. Baelor tries to speak with you, but you do not answer him, refusing to even look him in the eye.
Only Valarr can coax a conversation out of you. And even then, it is in broken sentences and words here and there. But at least with him, youâre eating. He watches silently as you tear into the bread roll, dipping it into the broth of your soup, showing it into your mouth, and chewing as if you cannot taste it.
It is only at the morn when Valarr comes to tell you of the Trial of Seven to happen that you do perk up.
âIâll need to dress myself, then.â You straighten your back, and for the first time since Ser Crakehallsâ banishment, you begin to look like yourself. Valarr cannot quite discern where the chance is coming from.
âYouâve never particularly been interested in tourneys before?â Valarr questions you gently.
âI donât. They bore me half to death. But now I might get to witness Aerionâs death, and I am not wasting such a chance.â Your eyes burn with mirth as you all but shove him outside, calling for your ladies who hurry to help you dress. Valarr is left standing in the hallway, alone. He cannot decide if he is relieved or worried that you are beginning to return to your old self, at least partly.
***
You sit at the stands, solemn and silent as you watch your cousin brandish his forces as Duncan gathers his. You see Daeronâs pale face as they ride past, and wish to offer him a smile of comfort, but you will not show an ounce of companionship to the man riding behind him. Aerion is covered head to toe in Targaryen armor, and the sight almost makes you sick. How can a monster such as him be of your blood? Youâd hate him even if he hadnât forced the man you love into hiding.
Ser Duncanâs riders have gathered at the end, and you can recognize some of them. Ser Lyonel Baratheon is hard to miss, his antlered helm rising above everyone elseâs. Sers Beesbury and Hardyng in their house colours and the freshly knighted Fossoway, of course, his newly painted green coat of arms proudly on display. The two others you cannot place. One is an older man, without a helmet, while the other wears simple armor, much like Ser Duncan, and sits still and silent in the saddle of his horse.
You cannot ponder longer on their identities as Aerionâs voice rings above all else.
âI will not have a crippled knight fighting against me, it is unbecoming!â Aerion barks, and Maekar gives him a burning glare, but the prince does not see it, sitting proudly atop his horse.
âSo, hedge knight. Youâre still one rider short.â He mocks, and Duncan pleads with Lord Ashford for more time. When it is granted, your watch as Ser Duncan valiantly tries to rally the crowd for his sixth, only to receive silence and mockery in return. You feel Valarr shift next to you, but he cannot make it to stand before the doors burst open.
When the horse gallops in, you think for a moment that it is your brother. But as Valarr is sitting next to you, you watch with the others as your father removes the helm and announces that he will be riding for Ser Duncan.
âDid you know he was planning this?â You hiss at your brother, who is staring down at the field with a shocked expression, which tells you all you need to know.
You can barely watch as the trial begins, the forces slamming together, horses shrieking, and lances splintering. Aerion has unhorsed Ser Duncan, but is knocked off his horse by Ser Baratheon when the Prince takes a moment too long to revel in his supposed victory. He makes to attack the felled knight, but is interrupted by the unknown knight, unhorsed as well, and their blades crash with a deafening shriek. Your sight of them is blocked by Baratheon accosting the Kingsguard, forcing them to back away on their horses as Aerion charges Ser Duncan.
You can hear the cries of men and thundering of hooves, as your vision blurs for a moment, covering your face. But soon, you peek between your fingers when Valarr sucks in a breath, just in time to see Ser Dunca rise. Dark bloom of satisfaction rises in your chest as he attacks Aerion with newfound strength, wringing his shield out of his hold. Your uncle sees his son in trouble and tries to make it to him, but your father and Ser Baratheon grab him, forcing him back. The Fossoways are battling each other as the unknown knight rides past, helmet still on his head, and dismounts with fires and knocks right into Maekar just as he is about to strike your father. They land in a heap on the ground, the force knocking their helmets askew.
Maekar is stunned into silence for a moment but recovers soon at his sonâs pained voice, now facing three. The helms are thrust aside, visors distorted, and your heart freezes when you recognize the curly head of hair of the man standing against your uncle.
âRoland.â Valarrâs hand tightens on yours as your nails dig into the wood of the chair. He was supposed to be away, somewhere your familyâs ugliness would not reach him anymore. It had been your only consolation in your longing for him. You do not feel yourself rise or Valarrâs hold slip away from you, despite how it has tightened against your wrist. You head down to the field in a haze, determined.
When you make it down the stands, pushing past your brother yet again and onto the muddy and bloodied field, there are still raised voices on the field, despite the trial being over. Aerion had yielded, and Ser Duncan had been escorted off the field by his friends, your father limping to follow.
âYou attacked me! You swore an oath, to not harm a Prince of the blood!â Maekar growls, but Roland faces him with an even look, wiping his sword on his brown cloak.
âI am not of the Kingsguard any longer, my lord. Your brother forced me out this morning. I am a free man, able to choose what fights to partake in and for whom.â Roland cares little for what the people around him think. Heâs chosen a side and fought well, and the Gods have decreed Ser Duncan as the righteous winner.
Ser Baratheon limps closer and gives him a clap on Rolandâs shoulder, grimacing as his weight settles onto his injured leg.
âGood lad. If you need a new lording to serve, Stormâs End could always use a skilled man such as you.â Roland does not respond, just gives a stiff nod of thanks, not moving his eyes from Prince Maekar, who is watching him with an unreadable expression.
Only when the rustle of your gown catches Rolandâs attention does he turn, hand on his side to brace an injury. Maester Yormwell is still tending to Aerion, but you will have him see to Roland as well, your father be damned.
You break into a sprint and collide into his chest, his arms find your waist, and his embrace surrounds you tightly. His laugh is warm as he presses his forehead to yours, breathing deep. Tears run freely down your cheeks as he sets you down, your hands rising to cup his cheeks.
âYou came back.â An almost choked laugh bubbles free from you as you rest your head on his chest, fingers finding his clothes, winding tightly into the dirtied fabric.
âI never leftâ. He confesses, coughing, hands loosening on your shoulders as he staggers. You pull back, brow drawing into a frown, Â just to look down at the large red stain on your gown.
âR-Roland?â
His legs give out, and he tumbles down. Your strength is not enough to keep him upright as he fails. He lands with a thump, hand flying to his side, his clothing shifting to reveal a dagger buried up to the hilt in his side. Your head spins, cold waves rushing along your skin.
âMaster Yormw-ell!â Your call is frantic, and your voice breaks in the middle. But the pure terror in your tone has the tone of the field shifting.
Maekar stills as you land on your knees next to Roland, the kid squeezing, but you cannot even feel it covering your arms and legs. Your eyes are hazy with tears as Roland coughs, blood bubbling from his lips, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your gown, one of your hands rising to cup his cheek. His hand rises to your wrist, eyes pleading as his breathing rasps, his mouth opening and closing without words escaping. You try to soothe him, sobs cutting off your words, tears falling to the ground, mixing with the mud and blood.
Maester Yormwell arrives then, aged bones popping as he kneels by Rolandâs side. Recognition and relief flood the young knight's eyes as he recognizes the man who has patched him up many times before. The clothing is peeled away, the wound is revealed, ugly and ragged, the knife pushed in all the way to the hilt. Its handle, shaped like a serpentine dragon, glints in the firelight. Rolandâs fingers twitch around your wrist, eyes flitting to yours.
To your terror, despite the maesterâs care, Rolandâs hold is growing lax and breathing turning shallow. He coughs again, weaker, breathing turning to a gasping rasp. The maester stills for a moment.
âSave him.â You hiss, hand finding his forearm and your nails digging deep as you force his hand to the wound. The blade is now removed, and cloths are shoved into the wound to staunch the bleeding, but they are already soaked through.
Your hands have taken the place of Maeater Yormwellâs, pressing the bloodied bandage to the wound. More tears fall, but you pay them little mind, praying to the gods to save him.
âPrincess.â A solemn voice sounds as a hesitant hand is placed on your shoulder.
âYou must step back.â Ser Baratheon stands there, solemn, an unreadable look in his eyes.* You shake your head but arms wind around your waist, and this hold you recognize.
âValarr, let me go.â You bewail, reaching for Roland in desperation as Maester Yormwell continues his work, moving so that he is blocking the wound from your gaze.
You struggle against Valarrâs hold, his hands tightly wound around your waist has he pulls you back, boots squelching in the sopping wet mud, balance faltering as you still fight against him, tooth and nail.
âLet - me - go!â You manage to shove your elbow deep into his side, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs, and his hold on you releases as he nearly doubles over.
You land on your knees next to Roland, one hand rising to his cheek as your other captures his hand, squeezing tight.
âI am here-.â You coo, hiccuping with a sob, and his eyes flit to you, warmth washing on his face, fleeting and soft. Your name is a whisper on his lips as your thumb soothes his face, gentle, loving.
The wound has stopped bleeding now, and you think it's good. But Maester Yormwell rises, shaking his head slowly. And Roland, you realize that Roland lies in silence. Unmoving. His eyes seem glazed over. Chest no longer rising and falling. There is no thrum of life against your wrist on his neck.
He is still.
Gone.
Dead.
You shriek as the reality hits, animalistic and filled with grief. Your fatherâs arms encircle your waist now, having just arrived to witness the death of the knight and your sorrow. He pulls you back gently, bracing your head against his chest to spare you the sight any longer. You struggle and curse, struggling against him. But it is no use. Baelor glances over his shoulder only once to meet Maekarâs eyes. No words are exchanged, but the young knight will receive the honorable burial of the Kingsguard.
When you stumble in the mud, exhausted but still a mess of rage and some, Baelor kneels slightly and picks you up into his arms, just like when you were younger. His own wounds are forgotten as your heart is ripped open, pain blooming fresh and harsh now. Your hands pound against his shoulders and chest, still fighting to escape his hold. But slowly, the tears are starting to overwhelm your anger, your shrieks now damp with sobs as reality slowly sets in.
Roland is dead.
By Aerionâs knife.
*****
*Okay, so Lyonel does not like the Targaryens, we all know this. But heâs not heartless, and he knows that the young knight is dying. He wants to spare the young princess from witnessing her belovedâs death right beside him.
Happy Monday, I hope you have a wonderful week ahead of you!
Week 21, May 2026 Posting days: Wednesday and Friday. //Edit: Iâve been sleeping terribly, so writing is not working, so a post only on Wednesday :(
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
The weather has finally gotten better and warmer so we can truly get to measuring horses for my doctoral research. So I've spent a lot of time at the stables lately, but I've gotten some writing done too.
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 3 and 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
Lyonel loves you and your children fiercely, and he is unaimaginably proud of all of you, never wasting an opportinity to show you or them off.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Lyonel's Masterlist
Boasting and babies
Warnings: Childbirth, threats, reader insert
Lyonel Baratheon is a large man, both in appearance and personality. When his wife gives birth to their firstborn, a son, he is so very proud.
Raw Emotions
Warnings: difficult birth, mentions of dying in childbirth, childbirth and the pain associated with it, fear of losing a loved one
The healers predicted an easy birth, with the child being your third, and your belly being smaller than it had been with your sons. But when man plans, Gods laugh. Can be read as a sequel to Boasting and Babies.
As Many as You'll Give Me
Warnings: childbirth, Girl!Dad Lyonel, reader insert, female!reader
Your sons meet their little sister and the people of Storm's End celebrate the new heir.
Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard x reader (Baelor's Daughter, princess)
You fall in love with Roland, and despite his vows and your family, you cannot keep away from one another.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Roland's Masterlist
Forbidden
Warnings: forbidden love, secret romance
You'd not meant for it to happen, to fall in love with one of the Kingsguard, but it had happened anyway, and you are quite happy for it.
Forbidden II
Warnings: getting caught, Kingsguard's vows, forbiden love, lovebites, Aerion is his own warning, anger, sexism and period/canon-typical attitudes
Your relationship to Roland is revealed, and your father is not pleased with either of you, and repercussions will be had. You're not going to let your father treat Roland or you this way, so you make a plan.
Forbidden III
Warnings: anger, the Trial of Seven of Ashford, injuries, blood, character death
Your heartbreak has you bedbound until it is time for the Trial of Seven. Usually, you do not care for such events, but this time, you make an exception to hopefully witness your cousins downfall.
Forbidden IV
COMING SOON
Warnings: Vengeance, death, murder
Grief can make a person do unimaginable things. *evil cackling*
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x reader (female!reader, mother!reader)
The story of the births of your three children: Valarr, Matarys and Helena.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Baelor's Masterlist
Fics are in a chronological order despite being posted in a different one.
Each chapter has specific warnings.
The Second Son
Warnings: childbirth, pain, unconciousness/coma, almost dying from childbirth, kinda broken!Baelor, family fluff, happy ending, female!reader
The birth of Matarys does not go well, and it leaves you unconcious, clinging to life. Baelor is distraught, desperately wishing you back to health.
Before the Princess
Warnings: miscommunication, fear and assumed betrayal, talk of taking a second wife, assumptions are made, female!reader, reader insert
Baelor is shaken by the way he almost lost you to the birth of his second son, and pulls away in fear. You suspect he might want a younger wife, the rumors around the kingdom flying wild. Luckily, Maekar decides there is space for only one emotionally stunted person in the kingdom (him) and has the two of you talk things out.Â
Birth of a Princess
Warnings: pregnancy, birth, and the birthing process, and the pain that comes with it. Fear for mother's and baby's lives, mentions of unconscious babies, but no death
You are not happy that your husband chooses to leave your side when your pregnancy is nearing it's end. When the babe decides to arrive when their father is in the middle of the fight, your eldest has to step up.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
*Pairing/Characters: Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~ 2200
Includes: family fluff, happy ending, female!reader
Warnings: childbirth, pain, unconciousness/coma, almost dying from childbirth, kinda broken!Baelor
Other: Prequel to Birth of a Princess and Before the Princess.
The birth of Matarys does not go well, and it leaves you unconcious, clinging to life. Baelor is distraught, desperately wishing you back to health.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Sons and Daughters Series Masterlist
When you jolt awake in the middle of the night, clutching your stomach, you know something is wrong. Your hand flies to Baelorâs, who wakes in a flash, eyes darting around the room wildly before they land on you,
âMy love, are you alright?â The shake of your head, lips pressed tight to stop a pained wail, has Baelor on his feet in a heartbeat.
He disappears from the room after hastily pulling a shirt over his bare chest. Guards jolt as he sprints down the hall past them, shirt inside out, but the prince pays little attention. Your ladies enter as he disappears from your sight, assisting you into a robe and gently guiding you up from the bed and towards the Maesterâs, which proves quite difficult with your legs shaking with the pain.
Baelor soon returns and, upon seeing you have trouble moving, sweeps you up into his arms and carries you the rest of the way. You are shaking now, biting your jaw shut to keep silent despite the pain, and he can see the tears pricking in your eyes. It pains him to see you in so much agony. As he gently lays you to rest on the bed, he sits himself next to you as you pant on the bed, your nails digging into the back of his hand. He coos at you gently, brushing sweat off your brow with a towel provided to him as the Maester studies you, the frown on his face deepening as you scream when the next contraction hits. The pain is different than with your first birth*. It feels different, wrong.
The pain seems like it never stops. Your body feels as if it is on fire, waves of pain torturing you without any true rest in between. The Maester forbids you from pushing the babe in the wrong position, and the pain wrecks you again and again, unyielding.
Baelor winces with your screams, tears brimming in his eyes. He had not been allowed in the room with Valarrâs birth, forced to listen on the other side of the door. But sitting here, seeing your pain, breaks something in him. He refuses to let go of your hand, eyes locked into yours, trying to stop his voice from shaking as he whispers gentle words of encouragement.
You squeeze his hand tighter as the pain rolls over you, jaw tight in agony as he blinks away the tears in his eyes, brushing away yours as they flow freely down your cheeks. He presses kisses to your forehead as he brushes your hair off your forehead, cooing soft words of encouragement. You can barely lift your head anymore, shivering, face flushed with sweat at the heat, with a fever.
The maester finishes examining you again, his voice even, almost flat.
âMy Prince, I must insist that you leave now.â The maester decrees, his face grim though he is trying to hide it. The man holds his hand up to guide Baelor out, but the prince does little to move. But even the crown prince must cave, the Maesterâs face tells there is room for little argument, especially with the lives of you and the unborn babe at risk.
Baelor feels numb as he presses another gentle kiss to your forehead and gives a tight squeeze to your hand before he forces himself away from you.
âBe strong, my love.â His whisper rings in your ears long after he is gone, infusing you with a burst of energy as another scream bursts free just as the door shuts behind him, leaving him in the darkened hall of the early morning, forced to listen to your torment from the other side of the door. Your cries have dulled into whimpers now, your eyes barely open as you pant, sweat beading on your forehead.
It takes hours more work, but your second son is born, finally. But he is limp, lifeless, and the healers begin working on him as the Maester tends to you, trying to stop you from falling unconscious. Or worse.
âA son.â The Maester announces, and a shade of a smile brushes your pale lips.
âMy son.â You manage, voice weak as your head lolls, trying to get a glimpse of him.
âHe is alive.â The maester is quick to assure you.
âQuite weak, but there is strong hope that he will live.â He finishes when the babe gives a small wail, weak but present. Your eyes slip closed, and he taps your cheek, trying to keep you conscious.
âPrince Baelor has requested to see you. Should I send him in?â But he gets no response, your eyes having slipped closed again.
But this time, they do not open again, your exhaustion too great, your body too tired to fight, and unconsciousness has taken hold. The Maester prays and hopes that you will recover with rest as he hurries to prepare more herbs.
When Baelor is called in, his worst fears are realized, and his knees buckle, forcing him to catch himself on the doorframe. You are lying unconscious, your skin a sickly shade of grey. The healers have cleaned you up, changed you into a white nightgown, and tucked you into bed, supported slightly upright with pillows. One is currently tapping a wetted rag on your lips, but there is no response from you.
The Maesterâs words ring in his head. Of you going unconscious soon after the birth, or of your weak state. Of him not knowing whether or not you would live, of your body fighting to cling to life, trying to cleanse itself of the fever that had risen, quick and high.
In the first hours of your unconsciousness, he remains unmoving by your bedside, your hand clutched into his. He does not move, just stays there, his fingers drawing patterns onto your hand, following the slow rise and fall of your chest. He sees you shiver, and he tugs the blankets higher on your body before returning his vigil at your side, watching your face for the faintest implication of ⊠anything.
****
Baelor doesnât even try to tend to his duties. All his time is spent by your bedside, or resting in his chambers at night when forced to, and offering support to his elder son, his younger still under the tight scrutiny of the wet nurses. He has been to see him, but a part of him feels sick to even enter. What if birthing him killed you? He knows, deep down, that the boy is innocent, barely a week old now, but the fear for you shoves all his senses away. He is barely a shell of a man, nearly out of his mind with fear and worry.
Matarys has regained full strength in the loving care of the dedicated nursemaids, the prince demanding and hungry from the moment he was strong enough to voice his opinions. Valarr is delighted with his little brother, but it barely shows. The young boy worries over you. Baelor finds him at the door to your charred chambers most nights, Â face wet with tears. Terrified. For you.
You remain at the healing ward still, under the watchful eye of the healers, and Baelor allows the boy to sleep in your shared bed, curling into the familiarity of your scent. Baelor is just as scared, desperately holding himself together in front of his son, offering the gentle comfort of a father.
But the moment his son is out of earshot, returned to his bed by a familiar nursemaid, the strength Baelor has collapses. The prince finds himself, time and time again, on his knees as he prays to the gods for your health, that they do not take you away from him.
âPlease.â His voice is hoarse as he yet again kneels by your bedside.
âPlease do not take her from me.â Tears fall freely as he sobs, desperately clinging to your hand as you lie there. Your figure is still as death save for the faint rising and falling of your chest, the only mark that you are still among the living.
It is nearly a week later when Maekar dares to enter the room to try and coax Baelor to venture out to his chambers to sleep. The attempt goes poorly, as the usually calm eldest brother grows furious and almost throws his younger brother out of the room. Everyone who even tries broaching the subject of leaving your bedside to him is promptly dismissed with an icy demeanor.
*****
Your eyes blink as they open, trying to make sense of the world as it slowly becomes clear again. Your mouth is dry, and every bit of you aches as you try to shift, but the pain flares and stops you from trying again. You roll your head to the side and are greeted by the sight of your husband, who stares at a wall, unmoving and unseeing. His skin, usually flushed with the warmth of the sun, is sickly pale. Dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks sunken, the usual light in his eyes dulled as he sits there, his hand in yours.
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze causes his eyes to fly to your face as he hastily calls for the maester before a sob escapes him. He buries his face next to your shoulder on the pillow, scared to touch you.
âYou are awake, my love.â He whimpers, trying to hold in his sobs, the grip he has on your hand is
tightening. You try to smile but manage only a grimace, your lips dry and cracked with thirst.
âOur son.â You manage to croak, and he nods, giving you a cup with a splash of water at the bottom. You down it in a moment, eyes begging him for more as he refills the cup, movements gentle and hesitant.
âThe babe is alright. Healthy and eating. He is named Matarys, just as we discussed. Valarr is worried for you, but he is well, too.â Baelor breathes, his voice breaking with disuse from the days and days spent in silence at your bedside. Â
âYou scared me. You scared me so. The Maester did not know-.â Even now, he cannot voice the words, his worst fear, even to you.
The maester enters, heaving a sigh of relief to see you awake. Prince Baelor is usually a sensible man, but with your unconsciousness, he has been more unpredictable as days have passed. Maester could not be sure of his safety in the Targaryen court if something had happened to you. And after inspecting you swiftly, there is a collective breath of relief as you are healing well, the most major danger now past.
A servant brings you your infant son in after peering into the room and seeing you awake. All your pain is forgotten as you take him into your arms, his purple eyes meeting yours as he coos, your face unfamiliar to him, but your heartbeat soon soothes him, and he settles to rest against you. Baelor sits by your bedside, hand closing around your free hand as your son rests in the crook of the other.
Sitting there, in the comforting silence of your presence, Baelor finally allows himself to cry. He lets the tears flow freely, clenching his jaw to stifle the sobs. He lets the fear flood away to rid himself of the days of exhaustion and worry.
Ever so slowly, your hand rises to his cheek, cupping it. Your touch on his skin is so gentle and soft, slowly soothing him. His breathing is evening out slowly, only hitching every once in a while as he watches you, the healthy glow of your skin showing signs of returning.
A soft knock sounds from the door, the familiar voice of Valarrâs nursemaid sounds from the door, hesitant and gentle.
âValarr wishes to see you, my lady, my lord.â Her head peers in, and she curtsies in the doorway with difficulty.
âShall I send him in?â You nod with enthusiasm, working to push yourself upright against the pillows. She backs away, and in the next moment, a flurry of moments enters, launching himself at you. Baelor manages to catch Valarr in the air and gently sets him on your bed.
âCareful, Valarr.â He reminds, and Valarr crawls to you, winding his arms around your neck, the babe resting against your chest. Valarr says nothing, his hold tightening by the moment as you feel wet tears against your skin.
âIâm okay, little love.â You coo gently, rubbing his back.
Baelor watches the three of you, a sense of calm flooding him as you coo over your sons, Valarr slowly calming down and smiling down at his brother, who has fallen asleep. At your inviting gesture, Baelor seats himself on the edge of your bed, Valarr scampers up into his lap, leaning against his chest, eyelids drooping. He winds his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before resting his forehead against your temple, slowly breathing in your scent, listening to the silent breathing of you and your sons in the room, even and stable.
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp @thatshadowintheuniverse
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Baelor Targaryen taglist: @flyinglama @kelssssxd @qardasngan @thorins-queen-of-erebor @f-wrtr @pear-1206 @tweebylamb @livesforloveotp
To join the Baelor Targaryen taglist, leave a comment his masterlist!
Happy Tuesday, I'm a bit late, but I hope the start of your week has been wonderful!
Week 20, May 2026
Posting days: Friday and possibly Sunday.
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
I have gotten the fly of the century, and feel like a wet rag. I've been binge watching tv-shows (AKOT7K included) and writing motivation is building, but I do not trust my brain at the moment to produce anything worth... anything.
Also, I have been thinking of watching House of the Dragon, but something is holding me back... It could give me new characters to write for, tho... Daemon has been popping on my FYP a lot lately... ;)
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
A Prequel to Before the Princess with broken!Baelor, where reader almost dies in childbirth and is unconcious and weak for weeks after.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 3 and 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Lyonel Baratheon x reader
Word count: ~1000
Includes: fluff, affection, GN!reader (let me know if any gendered language is used!)
Warnings: reader is angry, trial of Seven, slight teasing
Other: A short piece, I should write a longer one for Lyonel soon too!
My AKOT7K Masterlist Lyonel's Masterlist
The trial of Seven is over, and you are not impressed with how your husband handled the decision to fight for Ser Duncan. You are not angry that he did, you're angry that it seems he did not think of you.
You felt dazed. The trial was over. Youâd been holding your breath for the whole time, eyes fixed on your husband, beside yourself with worry. He had managed to stay on his horse longer than most, his skill undeniable. But that didnât mean you worried for him any less, especially after he rode to face off with Prince Maekar. Your heart leapt into your throat when the prince struck down your husbandâs horse, sending him to the ground. When he rose, the antlers of his helmet had snapped off, but he seemed uninjured and stormed over to help Prince Baelor in pushing back his brother.
Youâd snuck away from the arena when youâd tracked down your Maester and sent him to tend to his wound before making him swear that he would send him straight to your shared tent. You wait while plucking at the sticking of one of the throw pillows, some of the threads beginning to fray. When he finally makes his way back to the tent, limping, holding his side, eye darkening with a bruise, you simply stare. He steps in, gestures for the squire to place his armor. Only then does he collapse into the chair youâve tucked close to the hearth.
You still remain silent as you make your way to him, smoothing your hand over his cheek to inspect him. He hums, eyes sliding closed with your touch. It seems that he is in no immediate danger.
So, you yank the pillow out from behind his back and begin beating him with it.
âYou - absolute - bloody - idiot!â Lyonel yelps in surprise and in pain, trying to dodge your blows.
âOw! Stay back, you crazy- ! Iâm your husband, not some robber!â
âSo now - you remember - you - are - fucking - married!â More blows rain, and he doubles over to protect his injured side. As he winces from a particularly hard blow, you hiss the end of your sentence, pausing your barrage, still gripping the pillow with your knuckles white. Your anger has not  been quelled yet.
âYou just went and signed up for a Trial that could have meant your death!â Another whack of the pillow, your eyes boring into Lyonelâs with fury. Your deeper feelings are betrayed as your eyes begin to fill with tears, even if you try to will them away.
âDid you even think of m-me?â Despite how hard you try and force your voice to be even, it hitches. The pillow falls against your thigh as one of your hands angrily wipes the tear that has fallen away. You are angry at him. You want to be angry at him. But you were also so scared.
Lyonel captures your hand into his, and your eyes snap up to him, the pillow falling to the ground.
âOf course, I thought of you, my dove. You never left my mind when I was in that field. I kept praying that the seven would let me get back to you, that they would give me the strength to fight and continue so I would return to you safely.â He presses a kiss to your hands, smoothing his thumb over the backs. The love in his eyes burns so hot that you can feel the heat it gives on your skin, and the sharpest edge of your anger melts away with it, whether you want it or not.
The silence swirls around you, staring intently at him as you take him in fully. The bruise under his eye is even darker now, his stance crooked as he is wary of his ribs and injured leg, a dark stain of blood soiling his thigh. A stab of guilt has tears pooling into you, at your barrage of him with the pillow, despite his injuries.
âIâm sorry for hitting you with the pillow.â The laugh you let out is shaky, no matter how you fight the tears.
Lyonel joins you in the laugh, shaking his head, standing with a groan.
âI suppose I deserved it, for not asking your opinion.â He grumbles as you gently guide him to the bed.
âI am alright, my dove.â He assures as he sees your assessing eyes.
âThe Maester inspected me already. Cleaned up my wounds and bound them.â
âHe is a shit maester.â You mumble as you continue running your eyes over him.
âShirt off.â You demand, and he flashes you a grin. Familiar and roguish.
âSo impatient to get me undressed, my dear dove?â The lilt of his voice sends heat through you, pooling into your stomach and cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect he has on you, pretending to inspect his injured face closer.
âImpatient to see you arenât dying of your wounds.â You huff, gently pulling the shirt off him as he groans in pain, and your fingers brush his skin in apology, softening your movements with your waning anger.
You inspect the bruises that litter his skin, already dark blotches marring his skin. The armor has done its job, as has the chainmail. There are no open wounds, just blooming bruises, none looking too deep.
âPants next.â You call over your shoulder as you head to the chest youâve stored his clothes in, and pull out a clean shirt and pants, and throw them promptly into his face.
âGet dressed.â Next, you unwind the golden cloak hanging on the wardrobe door (Lyonelâs clothes never make it back inside), smoothing out some creases.
âYou are not very careful with your poor, injured husband.â His complaint is half-hearted, and his gaze filled with affection.
âMy poor, injured husband is an idiot.â Is your clipped response, as you tug him to rest next to you on the mattress.
âDonât we have matters to attend to?â
âNot at the moment. I told the servants to hold back the people for at least an hour. We need the rest.â You close your eyes and tuck your head under his chin, winding your hand into his tighter. He smiles and presses a kiss to the top of your head, breath hitching with pain as he breathes deep, settling in for a comfortable nap.
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp @thatshadowintheuniverse
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Lyonel Baratheon taglist: @nerdypinupcrystal @shoxji @jaybeefoxy @madlyimmortalnerd @umadirectioner
To join the Lyonel Baratheon taglist, leave a comment on the masterlist!
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms / Inheritance Cycle
Pairing/Characters: Valarr Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~3400
Includes: dragonrider!reader, reader is the daughter of Eragon, Pherea is a menace, ancient language, Baelor is featured quite heavily
Warnings: injuries and attacks, wounds, blood, dragonfire and off-screen death, Pherea is angry (and an angry dragon is never good)
Other: Inheritance dragons talk with their readers through their minds, which is indicated with cursive
Your relationship with Valarr is slowly developing, but you come to learn that this new world is not without peril, even with a dragon by your side. You're ambushed and seriously injured, and Pherea is forced to come to Valarr for help.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Disparate Dragon's Masterlist
Baelor has noticed a curious change in Valarr. At first, he suspected that the nerves of the rising responsibility being stacked on his shoulders with the Kingâs illness, but now, he cannot be sure anymore. His son has been increasingly secretive and often tired in the mornings, but the guards have not noted any visitors to his rooms at night. Perhaps he worries over the increased appearances of the grey dragon, âThe Silver Spiritâ, as the people have begun calling it. It has not taken livestock or people (thank the gods), but its presence still unnerves the people as it appears and disappears as on a whim, gliding along the sky silently, not making a sound. Truth to be told, itâs near presence bothers Baelor too, and he has exchanged a multitude of letters with his brothers concerning the matter.
Valarr's strange behavior does indeed have to do with the grey dragon, but it is not a worry. It is pure elation as he waits for the eve with bated breath. You and Pherea fetch him from his secluded balcony as the sun has dropped behind the horizon nearly every day. Your ancient magic charms the guards close by into a fit of magic sleep as Pherea lands as silently as she can, making sure your presence at The Red Keep remains a mystery. Valarr fastens the straps around his legs with familiarity now, hands hovering close to your waist as he settles onto the saddle while Pherea takes flight.
The first time he had flown with you (while not being kidnapped) had been a terrifying shock and an exhilarating joy. The darkened surroundings of Dragonstone had looked foreign from the air, the distance from the earthâs surface making his head spin as the steady wingbeats had taken the three of you higher and higher above the city.
But now, most of his days are spent on wishing that eve would rise already so he can find himself in the saddle again. And in no small part, that he gets to be close to you, speak to you, while enjoying the silence and freedom from responsibilities. And you understand what he speaks of.
You are, he has learned, the princess of elves and the future leader of the Dragonriders, even if you do not wish either title. That is why you and Pherea are here, trying to organize your thoughts and give your father a clear sense that you are serious about not wanting any throne or responsibility. It has always been obvious to Valarr that he is to inherit the throne after his father. He has not even considered other possibilities for his life. But then again, he does not have a dragon or ancient magic assisting him and offering him other opportunities in life.
Valarr has wondered many times how he should tell his father and grandfather of the dragon, of you. But he has not found the words, found the right moment. He knows the people are worried, but they have little to fear. Pherea prefers sea creatures, and she hates lambs (which is what most people raise), and she will not eat humans.
âYou smell so horrible, I wonât even imagine what you taste like.â She had gagged as he had once asked, earning him a playful tap with her paw. He had long lost most of his waryness of the silvery dragoness. She is fierce and proud and beyond wise, with her patience thin, but she is also loyal and gentle if her trust is earned. She is also irritatingly cryptic at times. Which, you tell him, is not unique to Pherea, but rather a trait shared by all dragons.
****
But the gods or the universe or whatever higher force there is does not let Valarr find the opportune moment to reveal this unconventional alliance, nor his trips outside of the Castle, while technically not setting a foot outside of it.
As he sits in a meeting, bored nearly to death, he reaches for your presence with his mind, his ability still clumsy despite your teachings. But instead of your calm thoughts and teasing tone, a wave of rage washes over him that has him snapping the quill in his hand. Baelor glances at him, the anger on Valarrâs face displaced by the conversation (breeding counts of lambs).
The rage cuts away as quickly as it came, leaving Valarr shaking, confused, and frightened. But before he can reach out to you to ask if everything is okay, Phereaâs voice rings in his mind, shaking with rage.
âGet your healer to the yard now.â She flashes him the image of the Godswood. He dares not ask what has happened, his heart jumping to his throat in fright as he storms off, leaving the court staring after him.
Baelor apologizes and hurries after his son, furious and worried over the unusual behavior. The Kingsguard follows him, white capes pillowing, throwing looks at the servants and other guards who stare in wonder as the princes whiz past.
Valarr arrives at the Godswood just as Pherea banks out of the clouds, a deafening roar ringing across the skies. Valarr watches as she pulls her wings into a dive, heading for the city with an alarming speed. The people scream and cry in fright as she approaches, the booming roar still ringing in the air. But Valarrâs attention is on the small figure he can just see, clasped in her front claws. You are unmoving, and his worry rises, Phereaâs fury still burning in cinders at the back of his mind.
Pherea lands with speed, claws digging into the stones and knocking them loose with the force. Her jaws open as she breathes a sweltering jet of fire, the stones hissing and popping with the heat, the scorching air rippling in the wake of her breath. Her tail swings wildly, shattering a tree into splinters, stone walls vibrating as she roars again, so loud that peopleâs ears ring for minutes afterward.
Maester Yormwell tries to flee when faced with a furious dragon (as many sensible men would), but Valarr grasps his arm to stop him, eyes still locked onto your limp form, safe between Phereaâs forelegs.
âRun, and I will have you executed.â Never has the young prince spoken such words and with such intensity that the Maester freezes in place, despite his fear. The dragoness is still growling, her lip still curled as she snaps her jaws, staring at the guards that are presently (and smartly) covering in a nearby alcove.
âPherea?â Valarrâs words are gentle as he addresses the dragon, trying to reach you again with his mind. But all he feels from you is a muddled darkness, surrounding you like oil, suffocating and thick.
âHelp her.â The dragon growls with her words, the sound vibrating in Valarrâs bones. The she-dragonâs head brushes your body as she has set down onto the stones. Her soft hum of worry has Valarrâs heart stilling, as he sees the blood pooling under you.
Blood is spreading into the ground below you in a sickening stain, ever expanding. Valarr pays little mind to his fatherâs panicked call to his name as he steps closer. Pherea presses herself closer to the ground, her nose still pressed to your shoulder, neck stiff as she tries to coax a response out of you. He cannot hear the words, but he knows she is trying to reach you.
Valarrâs heart stills for a moment when he sees the full extent of your injuries. Arrows have pierced your side, clustered tightly, the shafts now snapped, the sharp tips still in your flesh, and there are slashes of a blade on your shoulders and arms. Blood is flowing freely, as your head lolls, unconscious from the blood loss or shock.
The prince shifts you gently, making to lift you in his arms, but he soon abandons such plans as Pherea growls, her jaws snapping in his direction.
âYou are not taking her anywhere.â And because he isnât an idiot, Valarr eases you back onto the ground, guiding you to lean against his side.
âMaester Yormwell!â The prince does not take his eyes away from you as he calls for the maester. Pherea has settled again and lies her body down, tail trashing against the ground with unease, knocking the loose stones around. She is still furious, but her worry has her focusing on you, her snout pressed to your side. Valarr can feel the heat of her scales, smell the blood in her breath, and for a moment, he wonders what has happened. But now is not the time.
The Maester hesitates as he eyes the beast, and Valarr snaps, Phereaâs fear in his head scouring his patience thin.
âCome here and heal her!â With little power to fight a straight command from a prince, the man slowly limps closer, terrified of the dragon, but Pherea barely notes him. She continues pushing her strength into you when she feels as yours is waning, willing and urging you to fight with gentle words you cannot hear. The Maester begins working, hands frantic as he works under the watchful eye of Pherea, who keeps a close eye on the man treating the partner to her soul. You whine as the arrows are tugged free, and Phereaâs lip rises slightly, but she settles as she feels the flutter of your consciousness.
Another wave of her strength floods you, and your eyelids flutter open, much to everyoneâs relief.
âPherea?â You speak with your mouth and your mind, and Valarrâs knees would give out in relief if he werenât already on the ground, his hand grasping yours.
âI am here, little one,â She hums, her head resting against your back, voice gentle.
âTake my strength, heal your wounds.â And you raise a shaking hand, the GedwĂ«y ignasia on your hand glowing as you whisper the words, over and over, feeling the strain in your strength all the more even, with Phereaâs own flooding through you still.
âWaĂse heill. WaĂse heill. WaĂse heill. (Be healed)â The injuries slowly folds its edges together, leaving behind a raised pink scar as you finally sigh and slump against Pherea, hands shaking with the effort. But you are not bleeding anymore, and your body will be able to heal the wound now, from the inside.
Valar stares, in shock and in relief. You blink up at him, only now realizing his presence, despite his hand in yours.
âValarr?â You blink, trying to see if he is a haze brought on by blood loss, but he truly appears to be there, a look of worry in his mismatched eyes.
âYou are alright.â He breathes, and you shift, grimacing.
ââAlrightâ is a relative term. I am alive, yes.â You huff a broken laugh and wince, pressing your hand into your side, and Pherea chides you gently.
âCareful, little one. You only healed what was at the surface, your body still needs time to recover.â You roll your eyes and support yourself on one of her horns, making to stand.
âYes, mother.â Her teeth snip at your hip playfully, warm smoke brushing the stone with her huff, but she says nothing, allowing Valarr to push himself up by her side so he can support your attempt to stand.
Baelor, who has been staring in stunned silence, finally gets his wits back when he sees his son moving. He takes a step closer, but Pherea is not having any of it, not with you so weak, and her head drops, her growl shaking the earth.
âNot one step closer.â Your hand presses to her snout, the heat of her scales now almost too much to endure on bare skin as her breath threatens to heat. And even if Baelor cannot hear her, her words are only addressed to you and Valarr, the message cannot go unheard. The elder prince stills as Valarr backs away to stand by his fatherâs side.
Phereaâs varyness wars with her curiosity, and she regards Valarr and Baelor in turn.
âYour sire?â
âMy father, yes.â
âHumans are simply curious creatures.â Her neck cranes as she takes in their scents.
âCurious and fetid.â Lip furling, she huffs, hoping a puff of fire might chase away the smell, her words hidden to anyone but you.
âRude.â
âI am simply honest.â Barbed tongue rasping, she begins to clean her scales, washing her claws of your blood and her snout of the blood of your attackers.
Still supporting yourself on Phereaâs shoulder, you turn to the two men in front of you.
âI am the daughter of Eragon Kingslayer and Arya Dragonslayer.â You give your name and attempt a bow, but stop short, your hand flying to your side with a grimace. Valarrâs eyes flash with worry, and Pherea snips her jaws, but she is mostly annoyed at you.
âBe careful.â She growls in your head, but you pay her little mind.
âHow is it you were attacked?â Baelorâs eyes shine with genuine worry as he takes a hesitant step forward, and Pherea, who is watching the exchange like a hawk, allows it, but her eyes narrow as her gaze locks onto the elder prince.
âI ventured out to a nearby village for food and while Pherea was hunting. I think they thought me a member of your house as they kept yelling something about death and dragons, but I was too busy defending myself to truly listen.â Your hand arches in the air as you tell the tale.
âThey had archers at a nearby hill, and their aim was true. I am not quite as adept with a blade as I am with ancient language, so with seven of them, I found myself at a disadvantage.â You feign little interest, but inside, you are quite rattled. Your wards had held up for quite a barrage of arrows, but in the end, youâd still gotten shot, your strength failing under attack.
âYouâd lost consciousness when I arrived.â Pherea supplies and Baelor jump as her voice rings in his head, for the first time.
Valarr smiles and gestures to the silvery dragoness.
âFather. Meet Pherea, the daughter of Shruikan.â The young prince reaches out, and Pherea allows his touch, steady fingers working on the muscles of her jaw, and she grumbles in delight. Baelor is astonished for a good moment before he bows slightly towards Pherea.
âIt is an honor.â Pherea huffs, pleased, and cranes her neck forward to gather their scent again.
âI cannot quite understand what it is about your smell I find so intriguing. It has not happened with any other people weâve met.â She sounds as if sheâd continue, but cuts herself off with a yawn.
Her teeth are still red with blood, and her tongue scrapes against her scales as she cleans the last of the blood off of them with a languid brush.
âWhat happened to the attackers?â Valarr questions, although he has some idea.
âWe must find them and punish them. They cannot go free, not after this.â His anger is building the more he thinks about the matter. Not only was your life in danger, but there is a blatant threat to his house.
A rumble of Phereaâs amusement has Valarr confused, and he glances at you, still standing close to her side, supporting your balance off her side.
âYour riderâs life being in danger amuses you?â
âNo. What amuses me is that you think that I let the people who hurt her live.â She huffs smoke, but the heat still burns the leaves off a nearby bush. Baelor jumps, even if he tries to hide it.
âSo they are dead.â Valarr wishes to make sure and you bark a laugh of your own, only to fight a grimace again.
âVery dead.â
âAsh.â Pherea clarifies, breathing a large plume of flame.
****
You are welcomed into the Red Keep as esteemed guests. Pherea is small enough that she can comfortably fit inside the Great Hall, where you meet the King. He is overjoyed that dragons have âreturned to house Targaryenâ, but Pherea is quick to correct him that she is here for you and you only. She states that she is a visitor and will expect to be treated as such, her neck arching with elegance as she lies down, orange eyes watching the people around with curiosity, but her stance is heavy with warning. You meet Valarrâs brother, Matarys, who is completely in awe of Pherea.
When they realize your mind cannot be swayed, Valarr takes you on a tour of the fortification, presenting you with the centuries of his familyâs history strewn around the buildings. You take it all in with a smile, but the enormous skull of Balerion has you silent, Phereaâs curiosity warring with anger and wonder at the back of your mind.
Valarr takes you to his motherâs urn, and you give her your respects, pressing one knee to the floor, allowing Valarrâs hand to grasp yours.
âAtra du evarĂnya ono varda. (May the stars watch over you.)â He doesnât ask, just smiles as he leads you away, towards dinner that had been announced some moments ago.
When you arrive, Pherea is already lying in the corner of the dining hall, nose scenting the air, licking her lips at the smell of roasted meat. Your stomach twists. Neither of your parents eats meat, and neither do you, but you can certainly enjoy the roasted vegetables served, and they smell equally as mouthwatering. There is polite conversation, as you gently pile the pieces of meat onto a separate plate, not wanting to call such attention to yourself. And if anyone notices your hesitation, they say nothing of it, even when you gently ask them to take the plate to Pherea.
âWhat delicious morsels.â The meat disappears into her jaws in the blink of an eye, and you laugh, which earns you a few choice looks. But theyâve gotten used to your conversations with Pherea and being privy to them. Some dragons, such as Saphira, share their minds and words openly, but Pherea is private and shares words with others than you rarely.
You regale them with the stories of AlagÀesia, the history, and the fight your father had for the freedom and future of dragons, and how you and Pherea came to be one. It feels good to speak of your family. You miss them, despite everything.
When night begins to fall, Valarr and Baelor try to convince you that you would be more comfortable in one of the bedchambers they have for guests, but after what happened, Pherea will not part with you. And you do not particularly care where you sleep, be it on a feather mattress or hard ground. You unfurl the bedroll to Phereaâs side like on many a night before, settling down to sleep. Her wing covers, and you settle under it, embraced by the warmth of her chest.
With time, you two settle into Kingâs Landing quite comfortably, the city offering you both plenty to see, and a vast ocean for Pherea to fish in to keep her hunger sated. The people of the court slowly warm up to you. Especially the children, despite their parents' forbiddances, soon climb all over Pherea as she naps, sliding down her sides and climbing along her spines.
****
But on the morning of your eleventh night at Kingâs Landing, people wake to panic as horns sound in alarm, guards scrambling around in fright.
âA Dragon! A Dragon at the horizon!â Everyone in the castle storms to see, and it is true. Their huge forms are traced as a silhouette, enormous wings beating steadily.
You arrive slower, sighing deeply as you recognize the dragon, scales a deep shade of ruby red. Of course.
âIt appears my family has come to fetch me home.â You grumble, and you hear Phereaâs roar from the yard, announcing her presence to the dragon approaching. She has now shut her mind to you, so you cannot feel her thoughts or emotions. Thorn is the sire of her single egg, protected in New Vroengard with the other unhatched and unbound eggs.
*****
Valarr Targaryen taglist: @xxvelvetxxxx @todd-harper @thorins-queen-of-erebor @r-3dlips @jamera-ash
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Disparate Dragons Taglist @talilosha @sasahzs @hddncjc @pebblethedog @jjubilee-fluff
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Happy Tuesday, I'm a bit late, but I hope the start of your week has been wonderful!
Week 18, April 2026
Posting days: Tuesday and Thursday, and possibly Saturday.
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
Are you particularly excited for a one fic in particular? Is there a part 2 to one of my fics you'd like to see?
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
The trial is over, and an unimpressed reader helps to patch Lyonel up
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
A Prequel to Before the Princess with broken!Baelor, where reader almost dies in childbirth and is unconcious and weak for weeks after.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 3 of Disparate Dragons with Reader getting attacked and Pherea being forced to come to Valarr and the Targaryens for help.
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 3 and 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Maekar Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~2400
Includes: modern!AU, professor!Maekar, professor!reader, mom!reader, dad!Maekar. Just fluff! All the Maekarlings are here!
Warnings: none, I think?
Other: Inspired by the posts "half of college professors are like 'you can know nothing about me except my name' and the other half are like 'and that's why my wife left me! anyway what's up with y'all'" and the response "There were two professors like this in my department and I was one of like 20 people who was taught by both of them so there was a very small gang of us who knew that Professor Brick Wall and Professor Overshare were married with two kids."
Professor Maekar never speaks of his personal life, while professor Sunshine (reader) shares hers quite freely. Rarely anyone knows they are married, but that is about to change.
AKOT7K Character Masterlist Maekar's Masterlist
Professor Maekar Targaryen teaches Mathematical sciences. The lines of his immaculate suits are always pressed straight and crisp, as if theyâd been done with a ruler. His lectures always start right on time, and they last until the last minute. The slides he prepares are black and white, filled to the brim with relevant information. There are tests every Friday, and their scores are posted on Monday as the clock strikes 12.
He is liked among students, even with his no-nonsense approach, as he is always ready to help if the issue cannot be resolved by the student themselves, given that it is during school hours. Maekar is tight-lipped about his personal life, and the only thing students have been able to find out about him outside of school is that he is married (and it is because he wears a ring, not because he has said anything). There is almost a frantic group of people who are desperate to find out more about him. And as of now, they have been unsuccessful.
Everyone, since you started, has called you Professor Sunshine, even if your email states your last name to be Dayne. Your teaching style could not be different. You assign essays and such when you feel like it, and you check them amongst the students. Your slides are colorful and filled with images of all sorts of material you teach, and you try and have all sorts of animations on them, only managing half the time. There is always a 10-minute break in the middle of your lecture, and the students vote whether it is for dancing or napping. You play suitable music, dancing with them if the situation calls for it. Your hair is almost always done up in a messy bun, and your clothes are a splash of color in the sometimes glum academic world.
You also share plenty of your private life, of your sons who are chasing their respective careers, and of your husband, whom theyâve only ever heard you call âdarlingâ. You speak of holidays, birthdays, dinners, breakfasts, your voice always warm and affectionate as you speak of your family. Your computer home screen is a picture of your family on a beach vacation, your sons beaming with messy hair, you tucked into your husbandâs side in a flattering set of floral bikinis. Unfortunately, you have not been blessed with the best IT skills, so the picture has been cropped so your husbandâs face is left out, only showcasing his particularly fit physique, even next to your athletic sons.
Maekar is a private person when it comes to his familyâs business, too. Baelor is known to the public, from both appearance and personality, but Maekar avoids the spotlight like the plague. He also ensures that the two of you are left alone on date nights and chooses exclusive, expensive restaurants to ensure your privacy. Even when youâre taking part in your sonâs sports tournaments or races, he arranges for private spaces for the two of you.
To put it simply, pretty much no one in the world, and by extension, the school knows that you and Maekar are married, save for a few people of the staff you are close to. They know you both are married, but not that you are married to each other.
****
The week has been total chaos, even if itâs only Wednesday. The entrance exams are taking up their time in your already tight schedule of lectures, teaching, and laboratory guidance, not to mention organizing the lives of your family. Maekar is responsible for making sure that there is food in the house and cooking it, while you make sure everyone gets everywhere on time. It is not a perfect system but it works.
This morning had been like any other, the kids waking up to their alarms and wandering up to the kitchen to eat the breakfast Maekar has prepared since waking up at the crack of dawn. There is a small scuffle over who gets to pour syrup onto their pancakes first, but Daella solves it by taking the initiative and pouring syrup for herself, and preventing an all-out war. Over syrup.
You and Maekar, however, are blissfully unaware of this, lying in bed, Maekar's warm chest pressed into yours, his nose buried into your neck. You snuggle deeper into the blankets, dreading the moment the alarm starts blaring again, knowing you'll have to rise. While Maekar is a morning person, you decidedly are not. But Maekar still makes sure to come and cuddle with you in bed before you have to get up. Your lectures are always scheduled to not start until later, so you can get the kids to school without so much of a hassle, and with Daeron and Aerion out of the house, it is definitely needed.
The unrelenting noise jolts you out of your moment of tenderness, and you groan, swinging wildly to silence the alarm.
"Time to get up, honey." He begins unfurling the blankets around you, while you try and tug them back.
"Nooooo."
"Must we do this every morning?" His grumble is affectionate, and he manages to steal your blanket away, rolling it under his arm, as you flop back dramatically, throwing your hand over your eyes.
"Why are you torturing me? You are supposed to love me." You whine, and he sighs with a laugh.
"I love you enough to know you'll be in a rush if you do not rise now, and I know how you hate it. So, up you get, gorgeous." The blankets land in a heap next to you, but before you can seize them back, he has picked you up into his arms bridal style and carries you out of the bedroom, accompanied by your laugh.
As you enter the kitchen, you are accosted by your children, each asking about something different.
"Where is my swim bag?
"Mom, I can't find my shoes.
"I know what I want to buy Francesca for a birthday present!" Maekar helps Daella find her shoes while you send Aegon for his bag (in his room, exactly where he left it), while you type the toy Rhae is insisting she must get for a friend. It seems alright, some sort of singing interactive parrot, and you send the link to the family group chat, so it is somewhere you'll find and remember it.
"I must get going!" Maekar calls from the door, and you slide along the wooden floors on your fuzzy socks to give him a kiss on his cheek.
"Have a good day, sweetie." You call over your shoulder as you head to find Aegon's bag, which he has not been able to find. It is, as you told him, where he left it. But there is a crumpled hoodie on it, so he couldn't see it. Therefore, it did not exist.
"Girls! Clothes on!" You call as you tug your blouse over your head, throwing your hair into a bun as you bound down the steps, pulling your shoes. You'll have to get yourself ready first, you won't have the chance. You check the calendar at a glance, noting there isn't anything red (aka very important) noted for this week. Which is a relief.
****
Your weeks are busy with plenty of activities: Maekarâs weekly golf nights with his brothers and friends, Daeronâs fencing practice has him busy on Mondays, Aerionâs F2 racing calendar means he is away for most of the week, Daellaâs art classes require paint from a specific store, Aemonâs theatre performance is on Wednesday, Rhae has ballet in the evening, and Aegon has swimming lessons on Tuesday and Thursday. Not to mention that youâd love an hour or two of uninterrupted time with Maekar.
It is almost a relief, sometimes, to get to work and escape from the hectic home life. You love your family more than anything, but the peace and âgrown-up conversationsâ you are able to have give you the mental break you require to remain human. Youâre going through a set of essays for a course, their Masterâs studies coming to a close, and theyâve asked you to evaluate their work.
Youâve gone through half of them now, and flick to the last page of the one you are currently reading when your phone rings, your husbandâs name flashing on the screen.
âHello, darling.â You coo, trapping the phone between your shoulder and head as you write a comment under one sentence that you think could use some rephrasing.
âWho was supposed to pick Aegon up from swimming today?â His voice is even, and you sigh deeply.
âSwimming isnât until tomorrow.â You mutter, tapping your pen on the table.
âDarling, today is Thursday.â
âNo, it is-â your words die in your throat.
âIt IS Thursday! Oh, I was supposed to pick Aegon up. I am so late! I must-â A warm laugh sounds from the speaker.
You, even in your hurry, freeze in irritation, eyes narrowing even if he canât see you.
âThere is nothing funny about this-â
âIf youâd let me speak, I could tell you that Aegon is here. His coach brought him to the school, and the boy is fine.â The breath youâve been holding leaves your lungs in relief.
âI am in the middle of a lecture, so if you could fetch himâŠâ Maekar finishes, and you jump up, the air of your sudden movements wending papers flying.
âOf course, Iâll be right there! Love you!â Youâre out the door and on your way with haste, your chair spinning with your forceful exit as the door slams shut behind you.
Chiding yourself, you hurry through the halls, blissfully silent at this point of the day. How did you manage to mix things up this bad? But now, it made sense that the lectures in the morning had seemed a jumble, because you had prepared lectures for Tuesdayâs classes, but had (luckily) somehow presented on the right topics, just with last yearâs slides.
You burst through the door of Maekarâs classroom with a bit more force than you mean, and all eyes turn to you. Aegon perks up, and you feel warm as you inspect your youngest son. He storms over to you, tripping slightly in his haste.
âMom!â You smile, despite it all. With your older kids being teenagers and having decided that even breathing in the same space as them is an absolute insult, it is even sweeter that some of your children still seem happy to see you.
It is still weird to see his shaved head, but heâd insisted on it, saying that it would âmake him faster in the waterâ. So youâd given in, seeing how much he loved his new hobby. He had tried them all, but swimming truly seemed like the first he had really taken to. His coach, an incredibly tall man named Duncan, was apparently âsuper awesomeâ. You were pleased. Aegon was usually very reserved with new people, especially adults.
Your sonâs words send a murmur through the crowd as they eye you and Maekar in turn, trying to see what is going on. Even the sharp look from him isnât enough to quell their interest and curiosity.
âHi, baby.â You press a kiss to his cheek, and he grimaces and wipes it away, ducking behind you to dodge the stares of the students. His fingers remain wound in your blouse as you smile at Maekar and beckon him closer with a finger. He does, slowly, knowing it is probably a bad idea.
And his suspicions are proven right when you press a smack of a kiss onto his cheek, and he has to fight with all his willpower to keep the red from gathering into his cheeks. He manages that, but his ears still tinge red at the tips, which only widens your smile.
âI am sorry, darling, I do not understand how I could have slipped my mind to pick Aegon up.â He shakes his head, trying to minimize the âdamageâ, but it is already done. The students stare, wide-eyed as you take his hand and give it a kiss as your other hand squeezes Aegon against your side.
âWe will see you home. It is pizza night tonight, remember?â You give him a wink, and to his horror, a firm kiss to his lips before you usher Aegon out.
âI am sorry for not picking you up. But did you have a good practice, at least?â Aegonâs âYES!â can probably be heard from outer space, and your laugh rings in the still, empty hallway.
Maekar rubs the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath, and turns back to his slides like nothing had ever happened, and continues teaching with a steady voice, even if his heart is hammering. The class stares, slack-jawed as the door closes behind you, and Maekar clears his throat, going back to his slides as if nothing had happened.
The students, however, pay not an ounce of attention as all manner of communication begins to spread through the school. There are Tweets, SnapChats, WhatsApp messages, emails, any kind of communication spreading the clips someone had managed to take, of you kissing Maekarâs cheek, and the one where he presses a firm kiss onto your lips. They spread like wildfire, and it does not take long until practically the whole school has seen them and the cat is fully and truly out of the bag.
TARGARYEN AND SUNSHINE ARE MARRIED.
TARGARYEN IS THE DAD OF SUNSHINEâS KIDS.
Outside, in a study group, their essays and presentations are quickly forgotten as this juicy piece of gossip reaches their devices, and they spend a good half an hour hashing it out and wondering of exhactly HOW two people so different have gotten married. The conversation has almost died down, and someone has feebly suggested returning to the schoolwork when one of them jolts violently.
In doing so, they inhale a mouthful of water, their friends pounding them on the back to help the water escape their lungs.
âWhatâs gotten into you?â They demand, and they wipe their watering eyes onto the back of their hand, face still red.
âYou realize that Sunshine and Targaryen being married means that the hunk on her computer Home Screen is Professor Maekar, right?!â Their cry leaves the group in a stunned silence as the realization fills the space, and another burst of conversation follows, so loud that people walking past give them looks as they pass.
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Ser Roland Crakehall x reader
Word count: ~ 2400
Includes: getting caught, Kingsguard's vows
Warnings: forbiden love, lovebites, Aerion is his own warning, anger, sexism and period/canon-typical attitudes
Other: Baelor is kind of a bad guy in this⊠Sorry, I needed one, and it canât only be Aerion! Also, I have parts 3 and 4 drafted, and will be posting them soon ;) Also also, why did the GIF turn into potato-quality?!
Your relationship to Roland is revealed, and your father is not pleased with either of you, and repercussions will be had. You're not going to let your father treat Roland or you this way, so you make a plan.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Roland's Masterlist Previous part
You almost skip as you head for dinner, your new gown fluttering around your ankles. Even the looming tedium of the dinner cannot dull the warmth in your chest, the kind only Roland is able to alight. You can still feel the heat of his lips on your neck, and thank the gods that youâd had the shawl, and that it was at the height of the fashion currently.
Youâd swept it out of the luggage with a flourish and insisted on tying it yourself, but it was impossible that none of your maids had seen the marks on your neck. They hadnât said anything, but they arenât idiots and knew exactly what the marks meant. One of them had just happened to remind you of shawls making their way back to the height of fashion, chirping of their âfashionfullnessâ and âexcellent coverageâ, while regarding you with a level look.
But your excellent mood bursts like a bubble when you almost bounce into the room and see that there is no dinner, only your father, uncle, and least-favorite-cousin. And he is grinning like the cat who caught the canary.
âWhat is going on?â You make to take your seat next to your father, but he pushes the seat in front of you away, forcing you to remain standing.
âIt has been brought to my attention that you have been partaking in some ⊠uncivil behavior. With one of the Kingsguard.â Youâve never heard his voice like this, so cold, almost emotionless.
Ice floods your veins, and you try to deny the accusation, your thoughts in shambles.
âHe- Heâs lying.â Your voice trembles, knowing exactly why you are here. Before your father can respond, Aerion shakes his head, face now level with feigned seriousness. But even from where you stand, you can see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âTake the shawl off, weâll see.â You shake your head, tears rising to your eyes.
Baelorâs eyes meet yours, hard and unyielding, without an ounce of the warmth they usually hold.
âRemove it.â He simply orders, and you shake your head again, with more vigor.
âF-Father-â You try, looking at him with eyes brimmed with tears, but for the first time in your life, he looks away, eyes hard.
âNow.â
âI-â
âOr I will have it removed for you.â He breathes out heavily as he says so, and now, the tears escape your eyes. He looks past you as they run down your cheeks, the sight of your tears too much for him. You meet Valarrâs eyes next, pleading, but he casts them down, unable to do anything against your fatherâs direct order. With shaking hands, you pull away the shawl, and Aerion smirks in triumph as the marks are revealed.
Baelor stills, face unreadable as he stares at the revealed hues of bruises blooming on your skin. Maekar sighs deeply, pressing his fingers to his forehead, preparing for the headache this is about to bring. (But hey, at least itâs not his kids causing issues this time! Not directly, at least.) Youâd never disobeyed your father so brazenly before, gone against the rules set. Youâve rebelled and danced the line, but this? If you werenât royal, the consequences would be severe.
Youâve never seen your fatherâs eyes like this, cold and hard, as he stares you down, inspecting you as heâd never truly seen you before. Your hands shake, but you squeeze the soft fabric of the shawl tighter into your fist, not wanting your fear to show.
But most, you fear for Roland. It was impossible that he could escape this without repercussions.
****
Pacing in front of the door of your room, you stew in your anger, unable to shake away the memory of the look that had been in your fatherâs eyes. It had been filled with so many things. Anger. Sadness. Disdain.
âYour future husband will want your virtue to be intact.â You mutter angrily, mocking your fatherâs voice, throwing your hands up in exasperation. The door had been locked behind you, but you still tried to open it and gave it a kick when it didnât budge.
The pain that blooms in your foot does nothing to calm you down, quite the opposite. Throwing a vase at the wall with a scream, watching with satisfaction as it shatters into thousands of tiny shards, you trudge to your vanity to find something else to break.
âAnd what about what I want?â You aim a kick onto one of the legs of your bed, but miss, your foot landing onto the curtains surrounding the bed instead, and your balance falters. But the curtains barely move, the heavy fabric thumping softly with your strike, swaying in the air. You stare at them as they slowly settle back into place, an idea rising in your mind.
You pierce the fabric with the pins in your hair and begin tearing them into long strips, letting your still bubbling fury speed the process along. It is not long before all the fabric is piled on the floor in tatters, and you take great care in braiding them into strong ropes. No one comes to check on you while you work, save for one guard who brings food, and he, too, makes himself scarce quickly when you throw a bottle of perfume at his head. Youâre in no mood to deal with anybody tonight.
You tie the rope around one of the legs of the sturdy bed and tug at it with all your might to make sure it does not give. Then, you drag the rest to the window and throw it open, letting the rope fall and dangle down freely. At least it hadnât been boarded up as well, to complete your âprincess stuck in a towerâ experience.
The way down is the most terrifying thing you have ever done in your life. Your feet land in the courtyard with a dull thud, and you canât help the relief that floods you from reaching a stable footing again. If youâd known the journey down would be so long, youâd have thought twice about making the descent. You hurry to the shadows before you are spotted, and pray that your absence or rope is not realized soon.
As you approach the dungeons, you hear guards bickering, their raised voices reaching you before you see the warm light emanating from under the door at the end of a hall. Straightening your back, you push the door open, lifting your chin up in the perfect picture of a stuck-up princess.
âI must speak privately with Ser Crakehall.â
âNo one is to speak with him, my L- Princess, by the order of your father-â Lifting your hand up in the air, effectively silencing him. You allow a cold quirk of a brow, molding your face into one of cold indifference.
âAre you truly doubting by word? How do you presume to know what has happened in the hours past, how my family and I have organized the matters?!â Your voice cuts, and you tap your shoe to the floor with clear impatience.
âI have been tested enough for one day. Hand me the key and move out of my way, or my father will surely hear of this, and you will be sorry.â The threat rings true, and none of the guards are brave enough to question you a second time. The keys are handed to you by shaking hands, and they make their way out, bowing and tripping in their haste.
Luckily, Roland is the only prisoner there, you do not need others to be singing about what has happened. As soon as you manage to open the door, you throw your arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. You feel him exhale as he buries his head into your neck, holding you tight.
Tears prick in your eyes. Youâve been so afraid of losing him. As you pull away, you have to blink a few times to orient yourself with his new attire. He looks so foreign without the fine white garb of the Kingsguard, in a tattered brown cloak and trousers, but to you, he has never looked more handsome. You cup his cheeks, thumbs resting in the angle of his jaw, and pepper kisses all over his face, not caring about the dirt that dusts his cheeks.
âThey havenât hurt you?â You inspect him frantically, looking for signs, even if he shakes his head.
âI am unharmed. Prince Baelor said weâd talk more in the morning.â He sighs, looking you up and down.
âWhat decision have you and your father come to? Did he send you here to tell me?â His words are heavy, heart pressing painfully against his chest, knowing the news cannot be good. For him. You are a princess, youâll be fine, but him? Heâll be marked a traitor, a wow-breaker, and outlawed, at best.
Your voice brings him out of the gloom, beginning to silently make your way out of the dungeons.
âWe decided nothing.â
âBut you told the gu-â
âI lied. I havenât talked to my father since he had me thrown into my room.â
âThen how are you here? Who let you out?â
âI climbed out the window.â Your words are simple as you pull him to follow, glancing into the deserted hallway to make sure there is no one lurking about.
âYou... climbed?â He is shocked, to say the least. In the years heâs known you, heâs not seen you lift anything heavier than a fan.
âYes. It was terrifying. And now I am going to purchase us some horses and we are going to leave.â You speak matter-of-factly, dragging him behind you, not leaving any room for disagreements.
It takes him a moment to arrange his brain around that sentence.
âL-Leave?â
âCan you stop repeating everything I say?!â You peer around another corner, hurrying towards the gates while making sure the two of you are unseen. Slowly, Ronald begins to understand your plan and tries to put a stop to it.
âI-I cannot ask you to throw everything away for me.â
âIt is good then that you havenât asked. I am not going to remain here and listen to my father lecture me on my virtue and the kind of man I am to belong to! He has shown what he thinks of you, and because he cannot accept my love for you, he will never see me again.â The final tone of your words tugs at his heart. The fire of love in you, and the  sacrifice you would go through, for him.
âPrincessâŠâ he tries, but you shake your head.
âI am a princess no more. Call me by my name, please.â His hands capture yours, squeezing tight.
Your eyes raise to his, where tears are brimming, a few already fallen, washing away two streaks of dirt from his cheeks.
âMy darling.â His breath brushes your face, âYou cannot throw your life away for me. I will not allow it.â
âRoland-â It is his turn to interrupt.
âNo. We broke the law, and there must be consequences. I am prepared to face them, to make sure you will be alright.â
âI wonât let you-ââIt is already done.â His lips brush yours, but he presses a kiss to your cheek.
âI confessed to your father, told him that it was me who seduced you, who charmed you away from your responsibilities and values, that it was me who chose to break my vow.â
âNo. Please.â You plead, but he just shakes his head.
âI will not let you sully yourself further. You will be with your family. Taken care of. Happy.â He speaks with such warmth that it hurts, but the determination in his eyes is unlike anything youâve ever seen.
âI wonât be! Not without you!â You cry, but he shushes you, tears still brimming in his eyes. It is so hard, your pleading breaks his heart, but he cannot let you waste your life on him.
You have so much to do, so much to give to the kingdom, and he cannot be selfish and take you with him.
âYou will forget me.â He promises as more tears flow.
âYouâll meet a young lord who will sweep you off your feet.â Youâre shaking your head with force, tears running freely down your cheeks, staring at him in utter devastation, frozen in your grief. Words have left you now, you can only feel your heart breaking as the realization sinks in. He is leaving you.
âBut I will never forget you.â He vows, pressing his forehead to yours.
âI will lie in bed, awake, remembering the times I had you in my arms. Wishing it could be true, wishing you would be mine. But knowing that my love for you will never fade.â His voice has lowered the more he has spoken, and now it is a mere whisper as he presses a kiss to your lips.
First, gentle as a breeze, brushing over them, as if to just feel them, but then deeper, longer, willing himself to remember every ounce of your closeness, your softness, scent, and warmth as he pulls you to his chest, one last time. And for the first time, you are able to dig your fingers into his shoulders without his armor being in the way, and you squeeze tighter, not wanting to let go, trying to absorb as much of him as possible. You try to be angry, to hate him, to curse and yell, but it will not come, your fingers digging into him tighter, your head dropping to rest on his chest, trying to memorize the sound of his heartbeat.
But all too soon, he pulls away, brushing your cheek with his hand. And despite yourself, your eyes slip closed, more tears escaping as you reach for his wrist.
âDo not go.â You plead, âI will come with you.â He just shakes his head, thumb brushing your cheek.
âDo not follow me. Please. My princess.â A gentle kiss to your forehead. And then, he is gone.
And you are alone. Alone in a world that doesnât seem to care what you want or need, just how useful you are to it. And the men controlling it. Even as you make to follow him, he is nowhere to be seen when you emerge from the alcove.
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~ 3400
Includes: growing feelings, pen pals, Baelor becomes King. Everyone lives! Baratheon!reader, Lyonel's Twin!reader, female!reader
Warnings: Lyonel's House Targaryen Hate, mentions of the Trial of Seven and injuries
Other: Long time no see, Baelor! For this ask!
Your relationship with Baelor begins as a casual friendship, but it slowly blossoms into more.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Baelor's Masterlist
The Ashford tournament has been quite uneventful, your time mostly spent in the Baratheon tent during the feasts your brother hosts and at the markets, socializing with ladies of the other houses. The tourney has just started, so you know there will be plenty that will be talked about in the years to come, so you know the days will not stay monotonous for long. Because when your brother is involved, things never do.
The wind bites your cheeks as you sit in the stands, trying to appear interested in the conversation around you. Your gown is thin, and you wish youâd brought something to warm yourself with. The air is frigid, and when you shift, cold air bites your legs. Lord Ashford is entertaining the lords and ladies who are growing bored with yet another one of his stories, but you cannot feign interest anymore, as you focus on not letting your teeth chatter. Other ladies have brought covering with them, but youâve underestimated the weather, deeming yourself capable of surviving without one due to Storm Endâs much harsher winds. But youâve miscalculated, and now youâre freezing. Youâd rather not abandon your spot in the back, but your body gives you no choice, and youâre forced to slip away and to your brotherâs tent, where he is getting ready for the tourney.
His squire freezes when he spots you.
âBoy, Iâm only half armored!â Lyonel snaps, and you tut gently, rolling your eyes.
âManners, manners, lord Baratheon.â
âI have plenty of manners in situations when they are required.â He snips back, but the wide smile on his face ruins the heat of the words.
âIâm borrowing one of your cloaks.â You announce and bundle it under your arm as you step closer to Acorn to give her a scratch. Like her master, she is now fully armored and ready, most knights already mounted and warming up their horses and muscles for the tourney ahead.
âDonât die.â You pat Acornâs rump and step out of the way as Lyonel kicks her into canter, her tail flying as she kicks up earth, pleased to be moving.
When you return to the stands, you note, to your great disappointment, that your seat has been taken. It was expected, but it seems there is no seat left for you. Perhaps a lord will give you their seat if-
Oh no.
There is a free seat, right on Prince Baelorâs side. And asking for another seat would be a clear insult to House Targaryen, so you weave between the rows of people before hesitantly stilling next to it.
âMay I sit here, my p-prince?â You chide yourself as your voice breaks, but thank the gods as he gives you a nod and eyes you with interest. You curtsy and introduce yourself before taking your seat, draping your brotherâs cloak around your shoulders. You tuck the chain behind your neck, the cold metal making the shivering worse for a moment, and fasten one of your hair clips to hold the cloak in place. One glance at the heavy chain would have revealed it was your brothers, and you are in no mood to be the center of talk today, even if it were to be of your clothing choice, being menâs attire.
The first pass is about to begin, and you lean forward in anticipation, letting your eyes roam over the lines of knights. Your brother is impossible to miss, his impressive height and the tall antlers on his helmet rising above the heads of everyone else.
âHave you any personal favourites, Lady Baratheon? Besides your brother, of course?â Prince Baelorâs question catches you by surprise, but the answer comes to you easily as you run your eyes over the field.
âSer Andrew Ashford has been rumored to excel in jousting, so I am eagerly waiting his performance, my lord.â You shift in your chair and allow yourself to look at him, for the first time, properly.
Baelor Targaryen is handsome, of course. All members of his house are. His dark hair and eyes suit him, he looks almost like his younger brotherâs shadow, their colorations so clashing.
âAnd you, my prince? Besides your son, of course.â There is warmth in your words, as they mirror his, a glint in the corner of your eye before you turn to the field, watching the horses slowly making their way to their places. Baelorâs interest is piqued. He finds you quite charming, and not only because youâre not afraid to let some playfulness into your tone when speaking to him. Most people are so proper and boring that heâd wish them away rather than conversing with them any longer.
As the joust goes on, you offer your opinions with an open mind, and he responds in kind, offering his insights that come from experience. You flinch as your brother takes a particularly harsh hit to his shoulder but remains on his horse, and Baelor is quick to note this.
âThe padding and armor will take most of the blow. If theyâd landed lower, the strike might have unhorsed him.â
âPerhaps. But you do not know my brother. He is stubborn.â
âSomething he shares with my brother, then.â He mutters under his breath, but you hear him despite his meaning not to, and you chirp a bright laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as people turn to stare. You catch a faint dusting of red gathering to his cheeks, but it is barely there, and you arenât sure if youâve imagined it as he coughs slightly.
âI shouldnât have said that.â
âThen itâll remain our secret.â You give him a warm smile that turns into a wild cheer as Lyonel manages to unhorse his opponent, galloping around the field, his lance raised in triumph.
Baelor cannot remember the last time he enjoyed a joust so much. When he was younger and took part in the course, but now, with his responsibilities weighing him down and many things on his mind, heâs not been able to focus. Until today. Lady Baratheonâs appearance was a breath of fresh air and a much-needed addition to the dull routine. Youâd not skirted around him nor held your opinions but shared them outright with him, which was extremely refreshing. A part of him wishes that another opportunity to speak with you would make itself known, but soon, he isnât able to think of such matters, as Aerion becomes the bane of his thoughts.
****
Your twin was an idiot, you knew this, but to volunteer himself to fight on the side of a hedge knight, against the Kingsguard and Princes of the realm, was a new kind of madness entirely. You knew he did not care much for the Targaryen house or its people, but as youâd told him before the Tournament began, they were the royal family, and it was advisable to even try and appease them in matters.
But now you are sitting in the stands and watching as Prince Baelor rides forward and announces his decision to fight for Ser Duncan, you swear your heart does a small flip. Perhaps it is relief, perhaps something else, you are not sure. As you know, his appearance changes the scale of power of the opposing sides, his appearance altering the fight for the Kingsguard greatly. Perhaps Lyonel will have his chance to âbloody up the Kingsguardâ as he so wished, after all.
Your heart is in your throat for the entirety of the trial, barely able to breathe or watch as you see men fall and lances shatter, pained cries cutting your ears. Lyonel stays mounted for an impressive amount of time, and youâd be proud of him if you werenât so terrified. He only lands in the mud after riding to Baelorâs aid against Maekar, and you watch with bated breath as the two men battle the third, who is desperate to reach his son, calling his name as Ser Duncan pummels his accuser with his own shield.
As the horn sounds, signaling the end of the trail, you drag your houseâs healer with you, the old man complaining of the pace, but you pay him no mind. You make it to the field in record time and gather the hem of your gown into your hands to spare it from the mud and blood.
âLyonel!â He turns at the call of his name and flashes you a grin so like him, you feel you might start crying. Youâd been so terrified for him, people die in trials such as this.
âWhat are you doing here?â His hug is partial, varying on one side of his chest, and you ushered your healer to him immediately to check him for injuries. One of his eyes is darkening with blood already, but otherwise, he seems relatively unhurt.
âYou fought well, Ser Baratheon.â Prince Baelorâs voice is tired but filled with that soft timber youâd grown familiar with on the stands as he appears suddenly. Lyonel waves his hand in the air to dismiss the praise, but you can see the prickle of pride that rushes through him. Even with a disdain for the house, Lyonel still recognizes their skill as combatants and knows their praise rings true.
âLady Baratheon.â You curtsy in greeting, and Baelor gives you a nod. The gesture has his balance faltering, and he is forced to grasp onto your shoulder for support.
Only now do you notice the blood running down the side of his head.
âOh, the Seven help me.â Youâre forced to release your hold on your gown to grasp his forearm tightly. All the while youâre praying youâre not being too forward, but you cannot exactly let him slump to the ground either. You make the decision in a heartbeat.
âPrince Maekar!â He is being tended to a bit further away, but raises his head in irritation as you gesture to beckon him closer, all the while supporting the future of the Kingdom with your other arm.
âI apologize for the intrusion, but I would greatly prefer it if the Heir to the Iron Throne would not die in my arms. His head is bleeding quite profusely.â Baelor huffs a laugh at your words, and Maekarâs eyes snap to him, him too, only noticing the blood after taking a closer look.
âI will take him to our healer immediately.â Hoisting his brotherâs arm over his shoulder, he gives you a quick glance.
âThank you, Lady Baratheon.â There is a bear of silence after you nod in acknowledgment.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes as Lyonel calls your name, and you give a brief curtsy and hurry to your brother, who is eager to leave the arena. His squire has managed to catch Acorn and is leading her away ahead of you, the mare still dancing with the heat of the fight, blood beading on her coat from Maekarâs strike.
****
Your first letter to him is a polite one, sent mostly out of courtesy, to inquire about his heart and the status of his head wound after the trial, apologizing that your family healer was not of help, but stating that âhe is not skilledâ and âwould have only made the matters worse.
The answer comes quickly, pleasant, and polite, stating that he has almost fully recovered, but he is not sure if heâll even live down the teasing heâs received from his brothers. He apologizes for hanging onto you on that day, for dirtying your gown, and for offering gold so you can have a new one made.
Your returning letter dismisses his worries and assures him that a new gown was not needed, your ladies worked their magic on the gown, and it is spotless again. And even if it had, you had more gowns than you knew what to do with, the loss of one might have lightened your brotherâs complaining of the space your clothing took.
It continues like this, light conversation flowing through dozens and dozens of letters as time passes.
He writes to you of his worries as he is to ascend the Throne, of the sorrow he carries for his father, who died too soon, the fear he held for his son, who was sick with the same disease that took the King.
You write of your constant stream of admirers who come vying for your hand, and how Lyonel always sends them promptly on their way. You joke that you will die an old maid, not able to find a worthy man. Something tugs at Baelorâs chest when he reads those words, but he quickly dismisses it.
Years have passed now, his coronation long behind, and heâs settled into his new role. Letters still leave your quills regularly, his neat script becoming as familiar to you as your own. It feels natural for both of you, the formality between the two of you dropped a long time ago, and the language of your letters is friendly and casual. The box you house his letters in has been exchanged into a larger one twice over, he gently inquires of your interest to to journey to Kingâs Landing for the tourney and feast being held in honor of his 42nd birthday.
The official invite arrives with a raven only a few days later, decorated with golden embellishments, written in neat, loopy script to announce the event and state your welcome. Lyonel grumbles something about being done with Targaryens, but you pay him no mind, reminding him that Ser Duncan has been taken into the employ of House Targaryen, and he may be there. It is all the persuasion your brother needs, and you are on your way shortly, Lyonel chattering happily. You grow to regret your insistence on his joining, especially as he cannot seem to be able to keep his mouth shut as you journey towards Kingâs Landing.
****
Baelor had never thought of you with the prospect of more within your years of correspondence. But now, as he saw you step out of the carriage, aided by your brotherâs offered hand, it struck him like lightning.
After the death of his Lady wife, dear Jena, his heart had not craved for love, and heâd lived content, without romance nor the wish for one, still missing his late love. But your appearance in Baratheon gold and black, in the courtyard, with the sun setting your clothing ablaze, he felt it, the tug, the yearning for something⊠More.
But he knew he could not openly pursue you. Firstly, it was not how he wished to do it, preferring a more private approach, and secondly, he had to ensure that you had a choice in the matter. Even with your brother as your ward as an unmarried woman, the keeper of your hand, even Lord Baratheon would not be able to fight his advisors if it came to light that a prince wanted to court Lady Baratheon, especially if it was him. The heir to the throne.
****
He starts small, with flowers, sending them to your bedroom at the castle. It could be seen as a friendly gesture, a token of a long-lasting friendship, but his hope rises when you thank him with heat in your cheeks. He finds opportunities and arranges places for private meetings, even if they are fleeting. Luckily, your brother is busy, so you do not have to worry about him finding out that you have been spending increasing amounts of time with the crown prince.
Your hands shake as you walk towards the meeting place Baelor had once again arranged, making it so there would be no guards or people passing by for a while. Youâve wanted to return the flowers he had gifted you with a gift of your own. Youâd painstakingly stitched a handkerchief, taking the time as normal thrice to get the details of the Targaryen dragon right. Also, you had to work in secret, so your brother, or really anyone, wouldnât find out. The dragon is forbidden for the people outside of House Targaryen.
You slip into the deserted meeting room first, smoothing down your gown with nerves as you impatiently wait for him to arrive. It is thrilling, being here, waiting to meet him. You feel so young, as in a fairytale, going against the wishes of your father, waiting to meet your lover. Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head vigorously, trying to chase away such thoughts. There is no time to even think of love. It is something you feel, see it in his gaze. But it is not love, and it would be most unwise to rush.
The door creaks as he enters, gaze melting with warmth as he sees you already there.
âI hope I did not keep you waiting long.â The lock clicks, and he steps away from the door, his shoulders falling as he allows the tension to release. With you, he feels that he can be himself. Not the King, not a Targaryen prince or a protector of the realm, but simply Baelor.
His eyes rise to you at the scuffle of your shoe as you step closer, hesitantly bringing out the handkerchief.
âI made this for you. As a thank you. And a token.â He takes it, fingers running along your stitching, a bit wonky in places
âMy personal seal.â His voice is filled with wonder as his eyes meet yours.
âYou took quite the risk.â Affection has flooded his tone now, a gentle look in his eyes.
âLife without risk is dull,â you wink at him, âand you are worth it.â And he blushes. Youâve made the King blush.
The silence stretches before his hand finds yours, fingers hesitantly brushing yours, his palm soon following as you do not pull away. Mismatched eyes meet yours as your gazes meet, warm with affection.
âWould you allow me to court you?â His voice is hesitant, a faint flush of colour on his cheeks, which you find charming. He seems less like the all-powerful king of a kingdom and more of a simple man or boy, confessing their affections. Your hand winds around his, trapping the warmth of his palm against your hand.
âI would be charmed.â You graze the shape of his jaw with a gentle touch, smiling warmly at him.
But it is not so simple. He is the King, and the feast is held in honor of his birthday, so he is required. Everywhere.
****
It is the last dance of the evening, and Baelor comes to find you, asking for your hand with a courteous bow. You feel the stares as you accept with a curtsy, allowing him to lead you along the dance floor. His form is perfect, posture straight and regal as he sweeps you across the floor, and you swear you can hear the ladies of his court sigh in jealousy as he dips you deeply, his hold on you steady. Your hold on him remains feather-light, your trust in him firm, and the warmth that spreads in him blooms with the last notes of the song.
The crowd cheers as the players finish, but neither you nor Baelor hears them as you stare deeply at each other, entranced. You move as one, and as your lips meet, the cheers of the room rise to a deafening level. But neither of you notices still, too filled with each otherâs presence, the heat of the kiss.
Your hands wind into his clothing, pulling him closer, the press of his lips against yours something you have never felt but somehow found yourself missing despite it. His senses fill with you, your warmth and scent, the softness of your lips, the way your breathing hitched when his hold on you tightened. And even when his lungs begin to beg for air, he finds himself reluctant to let go.
Panting heavily, cheeks blazing with heat, you still stare lovingly at Baelor, unwilling to part from the moment. But it shatters when there is a loud expletive from the crowd, and you pull back from Baelorâs chest, cheeks heating, voice filled with indignation.
âLYONEL!â
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Baelor Targaryen taglist: @flyinglama @kelssssxd @qardasngan @thorins-queen-of-erebor @f-wrtr @pear-1206
To join the Baelor Targaryen taglist, leave a comment on the masterlist!
It is May Day week! (It's big for us students here in Finland)
I have been working quite actively on some of the requests/asks that I have gotten, so maybe my writing slump is slowly going away? I am hopeful. Not many new fic ideas for this week's post, but I have gotten quite a lot of writing done on my previous ideas and started works.
Week 18, April 2026
Posting days: Tuesday and Thursday, and possibly Saturday.
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
Are you particularly excited for a one fic in particular?
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
The trial is over, and an unimpressed reader helps to patch Lyonel up
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
A Prequel to Before the Princess with broken!Baelor, where reader almost dies in childbirth and is unconcious and weak for weeks after.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
Baelor meets reader at Ashford, and survives the trial. They exhange friendly letters, and meet again at another event, after which Baelor begins courting reader carefully, not wanting anyone knowing of his intentions. For this ask.
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
Modern!AU, professor!Maekar and Professor!reader. Maekar never speaks of his personal life, reader shares her quite freely, but no one knows they are married to each other (inspired by the posts "half of college professors are like 'you can know nothing about me except my name' and the other half are like 'and that's why my wife left me! anyway what's up with y'all'" and the response "There were two professors like this in my department and I was one of like 20 people who was taught by both of them so there was a very small gang of us who knew that Professor Brick Wall and Professor Overshare were married with two kids.")
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 3 of Disparate Dragons with Reader getting attacked and Pherea being forced to come to Valarr and the Targaryens for help.
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 2, 3 and 4 to Forbidden (yea, I went a little crazy).
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
