WereGloo

[weregloo]

MY MASTERLIST

PENNYWISE x WITCH!READER - THE LUVERRY DAILY

Children in Derry have always adored The Luverry Bakery across from Derry High School, yet what they cherish most is the sweet young girl who owns it, along with the baker and his signature smile.

BAELOR TAGARYEN x LOTHSTON!READER - MARCH SPRING PROMISE

If they could not reunite in spring, then they would meet again at the place of their promise after the tides of history had turned for more than a hundred years.

MAEKAR TARGARYEN x FORMER ACCOUNTANT!READER - RENEWED

After helping her win a major lawsuit against her ex-husband who had framed her for tax evasion and financial fraud, Maekar finally resolved to take care of her for the rest of his life.

[weregloo]

RENEWED 

Gilded Rot

Managing Director of law firm!Maekar Targaryen x Former Accountant!Reader

Trope: Boss and former employee.

Word count: 12.113

Summary: A year after resigning from the law firm under the Targaryen conglomerate to become a housewife, she suddenly found herself accused of financial fraud, tax evasion, and the embezzlement of corporate funds from A&F, the newly established law firm owned by her ex-husband. Unable to stand by and watch the woman he had long loved in silence be falsely condemned, Maekar resolved to become her defense attorney. He had already let her slip through his fingers once. This time, he would not allow her to suffer again.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, modern AU, mention of Reader’s past abuse and miscarriage, Maekar in work-mode, tax evasion and embezzlement trial, fluff in the end. 

Note: Gwin Ashford is Reader’s best friend.

RENEWED Masterlist

Maekar was not insane, and there was no question that he had to be the one to defend her.

The prosecutor assigned to the arraignment this time was an old acquaintance of his from the Ministry of Justice. Upon reviewing the case files and the formal lawsuit, the prosecutor immediately gave him a call.

“Has it been so long since you last stepped into a court that you’ve forgotten all your legal knowledge?” The prosecutor questioned. “You want to get her fully acquitted?”

Maekar hadn’t expected a phone call from the very person he would be facing in the upcoming trial, yet he replied calmly: “Yes.”

He could hear a heavy sigh from the other end of the line before the prosecutor spoke: “Have you lost your mind?”

Maekar was beginning to lose his patience, but his response was more resolute and definitive than ever: “No.” 

Because she would be acquitted.

In only a few seconds, the first trial Maekar had attended as defense counsel after years away from criminal defense would begin.

And seated right beside him was her, the former accountant of his law firm. 

Maekar kept his usual cold, unreadable expression as his gaze swept over the legal teams gathered on both sides of the courtroom. Yet beneath the defendant’s table, his hand was tightly clasped around her trembling one.

It was both comfort and promise, a silent vow that he would get her out of this tax evasion charge.

The moment the judge and jury entered, the courtroom fell into complete silence, and the trial officially began.

The prosecutor seated to the right rose to his feet and gave a respectful nod toward the bench. After the formal opening remarks and a brief summary of the case, his sharp gaze eventually settled on Maekar and the woman beside him. Stepping into the center of the courtroom, he began his accusation.

“The defendant, formerly the chief accountant of A&F Law Firm, falsified official financial records under the very noses of the company’s board members. Your Honor, I believe this case requires little further explanation. The defendant is in direct violation of Clause 7, Article 204 of the Westerosi Penal Code, tax evasion and financial fraud through the embezzlement of corporate funds. The prosecution therefore requests that this court impose the maximum sentence of twelve years’ imprisonment. Particularly given the sophistication of her methods. The defendant deliberately exploited surveillance blind spots to fabricate evidence suggesting she had never entered company premises, despite the internal records of A&F clearly showing her clocking in every single day.”

The prosecutor concluded his opening accusation, and only then did Maekar rise from his seat and step into the center of the courtroom.

Before doing so, he gave her a quiet, reassuring look.

She answered with a small smile of her own, a silent expression of gratitude.

“I believe everyone in this room is familiar with a fingerprint reader.” Maekar began, his gaze sweeping over the gallery before settling briefly on her ex-husband, then shifting toward the prosecutor seated across from him. “But can anyone here prove that such a system cannot be exploited to fabricate false evidence?”

“To clock in, what is required is not the employee’s physical presence, but merely their fingerprint.” A wireless presentation remote rested in Maekar’s hand. He pressed the button, and the display screen beside the judges’ bench flickered to life.

Two images appeared on the display screen. On one side was the fingerprint reader installed at A&F’s headquarters, on the other were a roll of tape, a box of powder, and a soft-bristled brush.

Maekar gestured toward the screen as he explained. “One of the most common methods used by forensic investigators to recover latent fingerprints is remarkably simple. Powder is brushed lightly across a surface suspected of containing prints. Once the ridge pattern becomes visible, adhesive tape is applied to lift the print. At that stage, the fingerprint has already been successfully extracted and can be replicated or used under virtually any circumstances.” Then he turned toward the bench. “In this case, Your Honor, I submit that the attendance records allegedly proving my client’s presence at A&F cannot be regarded as conclusive evidence.”

The judge gave a slow, thoughtful nod: “So the defense’s position is that someone deliberately fabricated evidence to create the appearance that the defendant was physically present at the company? If that is your argument, does the defense possess any evidence establishing that she was not there?”

Maekar’s gaze drifted once more toward the spectators’ gallery, settling on the man seated among them. 

There it was, that look of smug satisfaction plastered across her ex-husband’s face, as though he had already convinced himself of victory. The man caught Maekar’s piercing stare and responded with a self-assured smile.

“Fucking shameless cunt.” The words echoed coldly through Maekar’s mind. Though truthfully, he did not need to say them aloud, because anyone present in the courtroom could already tell exactly what he was thinking.

Just over a year earlier, she had been an accountant at the law firm operating under the Targaryen Group, where Maekar served as managing director.

After discovering she was pregnant, she had submitted her resignation and chosen to remain at home to rest. Her ex-husband, then still her newlywed husband, had resigned as well, claiming he wished to stay home and care for her.

Yet before long, he had established a law firm of his own.

The law firm under the Targaryen Group had long been regarded as one of the most prestigious legal institutions in Westeros. To Maekar, the departure of former employees to establish competing practices was hardly worth his attention. A newly founded firm could never hope to rival the resources, influence, and reputation of long-established institutions, let alone one as firmly entrenched as his own. As such, he had paid the matter little mind and had never once considered suppressing a newcomer.

And yet, in the span of barely a year, her ex-husband’s newly established firm, A&F Law, had become entangled in allegations of tax evasion and financial fraud.

What left Maekar unable to sleep at night was the fact that, in the midst of the scandal that had shaken the legal world, she had become the one forced to bear the full weight of it as the firm’s chief accountant.

Because he had loved her from the very first moment he laid eyes on her.

The tragedy of it was that Maekar had never been a man of sweet words. At the time, he had not even possessed enough confidence in himself to speak his feelings aloud. After all, what woman would willingly choose a man well into his thirties like him, burdened with six children and a reputation for driving his own family to exasperation?

And it was precisely because of that hesitation that he had missed his chance. Worse still, his silence had indirectly allowed her to fall into the miserable circumstances she now faced. 

It had never truly been his fault. And yet he had spent every day since drowning in regret for not having spoken sooner.

That was why, the moment he decided to become her defense counsel, Maekar had made himself a solemn promise.

He would win this case.

He would not merely clear her name. He would make certain that her ex-husband paid so dearly for what he had done that the man would come to envy the dead.

The unspoken challenge was written plainly across her ex-husband’s all-too-punchable face. He was probably convinced that Maekar had no evidence capable of proving he had secretly collected her fingerprints. Yet before that confidence could fully blossom into an openly mocking smile, he caught sight of the slow curve forming at the corner of Maekar’s lips.

“We do.” Maekar said with a calm smile. “We would like to call a witness, Your Honor.”

The moment the gaunt man stepped through the courtroom doors, her ex-husband’s eyes widened in visible alarm.

Once the witness had taken the oath and settled into his seat, Maekar began: “Would you please state your name for the court?”

The man introduced himself in a trembling voice. Maekar gave a small nod before continuing. “Do you know this woman?” He lifted a hand and gestured toward her.

“Of course I do.” The witness answered at once. “She’s the wife of A&F’s Director of Information and Communications.” Then he turned toward the gallery and pointed directly at her ex-husband. “That man right there.”

A ripple of murmurs spread quietly through the courtroom. Maekar remained perfectly composed: “And what was your position at A&F?”

“I was a security guard, sir.” He hesitated before correcting himself. “Formerly, I mean.” He shifted uneasily in his seat and swallowed. “I worked in the basement parking garage when A&F had just been established, around a year ago. I was responsible for monitoring vehicle access.” He paused briefly. “But about six months ago, I was dismissed without any explanation. I assumed the company was cutting staff, so I didn’t question it. Besides, I managed to find another job afterward.”

Maekar gave a small nod: “You said that you knew the defendant as the wife of A&F’s Director of Information and Communications. Could you elaborate on that? How exactly did you know her?”

The witness replied: “I saw her at the company.”

The answer was enough to bring a flicker of satisfaction to her ex-husband’s face, but it lasted only for a moment. 

The next words that left the witness’s mouth wiped the expression clean away.

The gaunt man turned once more toward her ex-husband: “But she only came once. I remember it clearly, it was during the company’s first few days after opening. The director brought her in himself and introduced her as his new wife to everyone there, myself included.”

Maekar pressed the next button on his presentation remote, and the display screen shifted once more. This time, the image showed A&F’s underground parking garage. 

The judge and jury frowned in unison as they immediately recognized the scene.

It was identical to the earlier photograph of the fingerprint reader Maekar had presented, only this image had been taken from a wider angle, revealing far more of its surroundings.

“As we can see.” Maekar began evenly. “A&F’s fingerprint reader was installed inside the underground parking garage. Which means that employees could clock in the moment they entered the parking area, long before ever stepping into the company lobby itself.” Then he extended an open hand toward the gaunt man seated at the witness stand. “The witness we have called today is A&F’s former parking security guard. He has testified that he was dismissed approximately six months ago. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, that same period was when the Economic Crimes Division first uncovered irregularities in A&F’s financial records and formally opened its investigation into the company’s suspected tax evasion.”

At once, the judge and jury lowered their gazes to the case files before them. As Maekar had stated, the timeline matched perfectly: the witness’s dismissal aligned precisely with the point at which A&F had first come under official suspicion.

The judge looked up and gave Maekar a measured nod: “We acknowledge this. You may present additional evidence.”

As Rhaegel, Maekar’s elder brother and co-counsel in this trial, stepped forward to submit additional evidence, Maekar resumed his line of questioning. 

“Sir.” He turned toward the witness, his voice sharp and unwavering. “You stated earlier that the defendant came to the company only once. Is that correct?”

“I’m certain of it.” This time, the gaunt man showed none of the earlier hesitation that had marked his first moments on the stand. “She came to the company only once. When I worked security there, I had a habit of sitting near the elevators leading up to the main lobby every morning as the employees arrived. At the time, I simply thought I was being helpful by pressing the elevator buttons for them. Besides, the parking garage was usually still empty at that hour, so there was little need for me to make my rounds. I would usually wait until everyone had gone upstairs and begun work before patrolling the area.”

“My assigned post was in the underground garage.” He then lifted his head to meet Maekar’s gaze before turning toward the bench. “Your Honors, I am not lying. I have spent nearly half my life doing this kind of work, including six months at A&F.” He straightened visibly as he spoke. “Unlike the guards stationed in the lobby or at the main entrance, my entire workday was spent around company employees. The garage was where they parked their vehicles, which meant I saw them every single morning.” His voice grew firmer. “I am absolutely certain that I never saw her there, not once, except for the day the director brought her in and introduced her to all of us.”

Maekar gave a satisfied nod. He did not need to turn around to know that her ex-husband’s face had twisted into something ugly.

There was no need for him to spell it out. Not for the judge. Not for the jury. Not for the prosecutor. And certainly not for anyone else seated in that courtroom.

The conclusion was obvious.

The witness Maekar had called was A&F’s former parking security guard, the very man responsible for overseeing the area where employees parked their vehicles each morning. More importantly, by his own testimony, he had routinely stationed himself near the elevators at the exact hour employees arrived for work. Even a person with the poorest memory would remember the faces they saw every single day, just as a shopkeeper would always recognize their regular customers. And according to the prosecution’s own evidence, she had supposedly been clocking in at the company on a daily basis. If that had truly been the case, she would have had no choice but to pass through that garage. Which meant she would have crossed paths with him.

Once or twice could perhaps be dismissed as coincidence.

But every single time? Impossible.

The absurdity of it settled heavily over the courtroom, spreading through the silence like a visible weight.

And then, from among the spectators’ gallery, a woman’s voice broke through.

“That’s right!” She looked far younger than her age, perhaps because of the sharp elegance of her makeup and the striking outfit she had chosen for the day. Rising abruptly to her feet, she pointed accusingly toward the opposite side of the gallery, directly at A&F’s Director of Information and Communications. “You fired him because you were afraid he’d tell the police everything, didn’t you?”

Then she turned toward the woman seated at the defendant’s table, her expression a conflicted mixture of anger and sympathy: “Didn’t I warn you? People with cowardly minds stay cowardly no matter how much they study or how many law degrees they manage to collect.”

“Gwin.” From the defendant’s table, she leaned forward slightly, calling her friend’s name in a pleading voice. “Please, stop.”

Gwin scoffed. “Before I left to study abroad, I told you to dump that bastard.” A crooked smile curled across her lips as she cast a look of open contempt toward the man. “Have you ever seen a goose turn into a swan?” Her voice dripped with mockery. “You could drag it home and place it before the altar of the Seven, and it would still remain nothing more than a goose.”

“But…” Her eyes shimmered with gathering tears. 

If Rhaegel had not reached out to steady her, she likely would have rushed toward the spectators’ gallery to stop Gwin from saying another word.

“Calm down. It’s alright.” Rhaegel’s voice softened as he leaned slightly toward her. “Just stay seated. Leave everything else to us.”

“What if they forced her out?” Worry clouded her face as she whispered anxiously. “I’m sorry, I told her to stay quiet before the trial began, but she…”

Beyond the defendant’s table, although the court officers had already stepped forward and repeatedly instructed Gwin to sit down, she remained standing, glaring furiously at the man who had betrayed her best friend: “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been fucking your secretary.”

“Shut your cunt.” Her ex-husband finally snapped after enduring her relentless insults. “You have no evidence. Your behavior is disgraceful, and your conduct is completely inappropriate for a courtroom. Do you even know where you are?”

“Whoa, you want proof?” Gwin let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her lips curling upward with cold satisfaction. “Pictures of you two walking hand in hand into a hotel just last week are still sitting in my phone.”

As she spoke, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a large folded poster board. “Why don’t you open those blind eyes of yours and take a good look at this?” With one sharp motion, she snapped it open. 

Spread across the A0 poster was a close-up photograph of a man and a woman stumbling into the entrance of a hotel, locked in each other’s arms. They looked pleasantly drunk. The image was so sharp that even from the far end of the courtroom, where the judge and jury sat, the details were impossible to miss. Most notably, the man’s hand was very clearly gripping the woman’s backside. Whether the photographer had deliberately timed the shot or had simply been absurdly lucky, they had captured the moment perfectly. Both faces were unmistakably visible.

And the man in the photograph was none other than her ex-husband.

Though fully aware he had been exposed, he still barked out in desperation: “That photo’s been edited!”

“Edited or not, anyone with functioning eyes can tell the difference.” Gwin let out a scornful laugh, though her eyes still burned with fury. “Everyone in your company already knows. You think outsiders like me were the last to hear about it?” Then she suddenly turned toward the witness stand and raised her voice. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Ah, yes, yes. That’s right.” Startled by Gwin’s commanding tone, the gaunt man answered at once, hardly pausing to think. “There were days when I saw them climbing into his car together. The car would stay parked there for… quite a long time.” He swallowed hard. “And sometimes it would shake rather violently.”

A ripple of uneasy murmurs spread through the courtroom. “I never dared approach because I knew the director was inside.” Then his voice faltered. “As for…” His eyes darted nervously toward the woman seated at the defendant’s table.

His lips parted as though he wished to say more. But whatever words had risen to the surface died there.

He lowered his gaze instead, shame written plainly across his face, the silent guilt of a man who now realized he had, however unintentionally, helped conceal her husband’s betrayal.

The judge repeatedly brought down the gavel against the wooden block. “Silence.” But no matter how many times the gavel struck, Gwin refused to be silenced.

“Well, look at that.” She folded her arms and glared at her best friend’s ex-husband with open contempt. “You ignorant bastard.”

“Wasn’t it because of you that my friend ended up marrying you in the first place?” Her voice rose with every word. “If you hadn’t tampered with her birth control, would she have gotten pregnant and been forced to quit her job?” Her eyes blazed. “I knew from the very beginning that you were worthless scum. It was because of you that she lost the child, and now you’ve got the nerve to stand here and frame her for your own crimes?”

By now, her ex-husband had shot himself in his foot as well: “The miscarriage was her own fault. What does that have to do with me?”

For a moment, Gwin looked as though she could not believe what she had just heard. Then outrage twisted her expression. 

“Her fault?” She took a furious step forward. “Wasn’t it your fucking secretary who showed up at your house, caused a scene, shoved her to the floor, and made her lose that child?”

“She fell because of her own carelessness.” His voice was cold and clipped. “What does that have to do with my secretary?”

“You really do only look clever until you open your mouth.” She gestured sharply toward the evidence still displayed before the court. “The proof is right there, and you’re still denying it. No wonder you’re trying to pin everything on her and send her to prison in your place.”

“When did I ever pin anything on her?” His tone sharpened into open hostility. “If she broke the law, then she has to pay for it. Don’t tell me that just because the two of you are friends, you think you can accuse me of anything you like. This is a matter between A&F and her, not between her and I.”

Right beside the defendant’s table, Maekar could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The sight sent a sharp ache through his chest.

And yet, no matter how deeply it pained him, he forced himself to maintain the composed professionalism expected of him in court.

Without a word, he stepped closer. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he withdrew a neatly folded handkerchief and held it out to her. When her trembling fingers accepted it, some of the tightness constricting his chest eased.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out broken. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed his handkerchief to her face, trying in vain to steady herself. “I should have listened to you.” Slowly, she lifted tear-filled eyes to meet him. “I should have stayed. I never should have resigned…” Her voice caught, dissolving into another sob.

Every thought of what she had sacrificed for the man who had betrayed her, her career, her future, the child she had lost, and the life she had once imagined for herself, sent fresh tears spilling down her face.

More than a year ago, when she had stood before Maekar and handed in her resignation letter, she had believed that she was finally stepping into the life she had always dreamed of: a happy family.

She had never known what it was like to have one of her own, and so she had longed with all her heart to build a home with the man she had believed loved her beyond measure.

The child had come unexpectedly. She had only been in her mid-twenties then, standing at the height of her youth, her career stable, her future still wide open before her. And yet she could not bring herself to cast aside the tiny life that had only just begun to take shape inside her.

So she had listened to the man who was then her boyfriend. 

She had resigned from her position and returned home to focus on the pregnancy. He had even promised her that everything had already been arranged, that he and his friends were establishing a new firm, and that the position of chief accountant would be waiting for her there. All she had to do was give birth, recover, and step seamlessly into a new career without ever having to fear unemployment.

She had believed him.

Only to learn that every promise had been part of an elaborate trap.

The child whose birth she had awaited with all her heart had been conceived through his deceitful scheming.

The position of chief accountant he had promised her had never been an opportunity at all, but a carefully prepared scapegoat’s chair, a place designed to absorb the blame the moment A&F became entangled in a financial scandal.

Everything had been a lie.

His love had been a lie.

The child had been conceived through a lie.

Even the career he had offered her had been a lie.

Now her future had been dragged into a vortex of greed and power, and the life he had once promised her had proven just as hollow as the rest. Like rotten wood lacquered in brilliant color and gilded until it gleamed, the perfect life she had once reached for had been nothing more than a beautiful façade concealing decay beneath.

A gilded rot.

“It’s over now.” A soft, familiar scent slowly curled around her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was the ash-gray handkerchief still held before her. Then came the gentle voice of her former superior.

Maekar was rarely this tender. Leaning forward with both hands braced against the defendant’s table, he held her gaze with quiet reassurance.

“Your friend is helping us.” His voice was low and steady. “Look.”

He turned first toward the prosecutor, then toward the judge and jury. Following the direction of his gaze, she saw it clearly, the subtle shift in their expressions.

The prosecutor frowned and slowly lowered the case file onto the table.

The jurors were now looking toward her ex-husband with unmistakable suspicion, their faces grave and sharply attentive.

Even the judge, who had only moments ago been striking the gavel repeatedly, suddenly stopped. His hand remained suspended in midair for several long seconds before finally bringing the gavel down once more with a sharp crack, this time not as a call for order, but as a warning.

Having once worked at one of the country’s leading law firms, she had been fortunate enough to learn directly from its managing director. One of the things Maekar had taught her was that in a courtroom, even the slightest shift in a person’s expression was enough to be noted, recorded, and analyzed by those entrusted with upholding the law.

Carefully, she stole another glance toward the spectators’ gallery. Only then did she truly see it: the anger written plainly across her ex-husband’s face. Beneath it was something he could no longer conceal. Panic. Fear. Urgency.

And of course, Maekar noticed her reaction at once. A faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“See.” His voice was low and steady. “They’ve already taken our side.”

Although the prosecutor had already begun to form his own conclusions, he still had a duty to fulfill. His gaze drifted toward the fragile woman seated at the defendant’s table, a thought quietly surfaced in his mind.

If she truly was innocent, and if Maekar had known it from the beginning, enough to personally step forward as her defense counsel, then they would undoubtedly have evidence capable of dismantling every accusation A&F had brought against her.

And so, after the defense witness was dismissed from the courtroom, the prosecutor rose to his feet.

Case file in hand, he stepped into the center of the room: “The prosecution would like to submit additional evidence, Your Honor.”

He handed the file to the court clerk before turning to face Maekar: “If the defense insists that the defendant is innocent and bears no responsibility for the charges of tax evasion and embezzlement, then perhaps defense counsel would care to explain this.”

The presentation screen shifted, replaced by the prosecution’s insignia. By then, the judge and jury had already skimmed through the newly submitted materials. Then he pressed the remote, now, every eye in the courtroom was drawn toward the projection screen, where the image of a laptop now filled the display.

He gestured toward the projection screen and began his explanation: “This is the defendant’s laptop. As shown in the evidence previously submitted by the prosecution, this device contains a substantial number of files and documents directly related to financial records bearing signs of tax evasion.”

The slide shifted to a scanned contract, stamped and signed. “And this is a land-use transfer agreement between A&F Law Firm and Mr. Hogg.” The prosecutor continued. “As chief accountant, it was her responsibility to review this contract and submit it to the director for approval before company funds could be disbursed to Mr. Hogg.”

He glanced briefly at the documents in his hand. “During questioning, every A&F employee involved in this transaction provided the same figure: 90,000,000 WD, also the property’s original listed value.” Then he turned toward the bench. “However, the figure written in the contract itself is 120,000,000 WD.”

The number 120,000,000 WD then appeared highlighted across the contract displayed on the screen. He advanced to the next slide once more, the image of a bank transfer document appeared on the projection screen, and there it was again, the exact same number in the land-transfer contract.

“The company’s payment authorization record confirms that on that same day, the defendant withdrew 120,000,000 WD from company funds. Which raises a very simple question.” The prosecutor’s gaze shifted back to Maekar, then finally settled on her. When he spoke again, his voice was measured and crushingly deliberate. “Where did the remaining 30,000,000 WD go?”

The prosecution’s next witness was none other than her ex-husband.

Though his title was Director of Information and Communications, it had been he who personally negotiated and signed this contract with Mr. Hogg for the purchase of the land intended for A&F’s new branch office. The final signature on the agreement had been his.

After taking the oath and settling into the witness stand with an almost smug air, he immediately cast a disdainful glance in her direction. The fingerprint time-clock evidence may have already been weakened, but he still had this second card to play. A half-smile curved across his lips as he narrowed his eyes at her, a silent challenge. 

“Let’s see how you explain this.” He had thought with a mocking grin.

“Sir?” The prosecutor’s voice drew his attention back at once. Then the questioning began. “Were you aware of the actual value of this land parcel?”

“Ah, of course.” Her ex-husband nodded. “I don’t remember the exact amount the finance department ultimately paid at the time, but it was somewhere around 120,000,000 WD.”

The prosecutor continued: “You were the one who signed this contract with Mr. Hogg. Prior to drafting the agreement, did the two of you discuss the sale price of the land?”

He gave another measured nod. “Yes. Mr. Hogg initially agreed to sell it to me for 90,000,000 WD.” Then he pretended to reflect. “Looking back, it does seem rather strange. I distinctly remember that we had already settled on the price beforehand, yet when the contract was delivered for signing, I only realized afterward that the final amount did not match what we had originally agreed upon.”

The prosecutor frowned: “Why didn’t you raise the matter with the finance department? Or with the defendant herself, who was still serving as chief accountant at the time?”

He let out a shallow sigh and offered a rueful smile: “To be honest, I’m not sure anyone here will believe me when I say this, but the only reason I signed without double-checking was because I trusted the defendant completely.”

He spread his hands in feigned helplessness. “The finance director felt the same way. After all, she was the most experienced accountant among us. For a newly established company like ours, how could we possibly not place our trust in someone with her level of professional expertise?” He scratched the back of his neck, carefully crafting the appearance of embarrassment and regret. Then he turned to look at her. “And I did ask her about it at the time.” His voice softened, almost apologetic. 

“She told me that the 120,000,000 WD already included the land transfer tax, so I accepted the explanation without question.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “No one in the company had the time to sit down and calculate the exact transfer tax rate. Besides, I had heard that the percentage was calculated based on the land’s sale value anyway.” He shrugged. “For a parcel worth 90,000,000 WD, a tax rate of over 30% didn’t strike me as particularly unusual.” 

His expression darkened at once: “It was only when the police stormed into the company and began questioning us about this contract that I realized something was terribly wrong.”

“Liar!” It was Gwin again, her voice even louder than before. “30,000,000 WD? You think she’s some starving beast, always lurking around for a chance to sink her claws into your company’s money?” She let out a scornful laugh. “I could hand her ten plots of tracts in the Westerlands for free. What the fuck are your pathetic scraps supposed to mean to her?”

The sharp crack of the gavel echoed throughout the courtroom: “Silence!” 

Gwin paid it no mind: “Her savings alone are worth more than your company’s entire registered capital. What makes you think she’d ever be desperate enough to covet that worthless pile of commercial trash?” 

“Miss.” The judge frowned sharply in her direction. “If you do not remain silent, the court will have no choice but to remove you from this room.”

Gwin pouted as she dropped back into her seat: “Penniless.”

The proceedings soon returned to the prosecutor’s examination. This time he shifted to an entirely different line of questioning, one that proved unexpectedly favorable to her side.

“Earlier, defense counsel argued that the defendant was never physically present at the company.” The prosecutor extended a hand toward Maekar before turning back to the witness stand. “Is it true? That the defendant never came to the office and remained at home instead?”

Her ex-husband swallowed. Even so, he forced himself to answer with practiced composure.

“I honestly wouldn’t know.” He gave a small shrug. “She worked in the accounting department, while I was in communications. We operated in entirely different areas. I hardly had the time to leave my own office just to go looking for her.”

“But the two of you were husband and wife at the time, were you not?” The prosecutor’s brow furrowed deeply, his tone sharpening. “Are you seriously claiming that you had no idea whether your own wife went to work each day?”

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue in visible irritation. “The workload was overwhelming. Every day I was buried in work, doing everything I could to promote our company. There were nights I barely even had time to come home for dinner.” 

The prosecutor still refused to let the matter go: “And in the entire year she worked there, you never once drove your wife to work, even though the two of you were employed at the same company?”

His expression darkened with annoyance: “How was I supposed to keep track of whether she went to the office or not? Besides, your own investigation uncovered those files on her laptop, didn’t it? That should already prove she was working there. Why do you keep asking these pointless questions?”

“I didn’t.” From the defendant’s table, she stared in stunned disbelief at the man who had once shared her bed, now standing before the court and calmly accusing her.

She could not understand how she had ever trusted him so completely. How she had once believed every promise he made, only to be dragged into this courtroom because of him.

Weakly, she turned toward Maekar and reached out to clutch his wrist.

“I didn’t.” Her voice trembled as she shook her head. “I was never there. I never went to the company, please, Mr. Targaryen, you have to believe me.”

“I know.” Maekar gently patted the back of her hand. “I believe you.”

By the time the prosecutor concluded his questioning, Maekar had already stepped back into the center of the courtroom.

Her ex-husband had returned to his seat among the spectators, for Maekar did not bother to question him further. Instead, without a moment’s hesitation, he called the defense’s second witness to the stand.

She was a woman in her forties, dressed in crisp office attire.

A complete stranger.

Neither she nor her ex-husband have no idea who the woman was.

“She’s the one who can help explain this accusation.” It was Rhaegel who answered in place of his younger brother while the unfamiliar woman recited her oath.

“Or rather.” He added with measured calm.” She can answer the question of how you could have supposedly reviewed and submitted those expense requests while never once leaving your home.”

Confusion clouding her features: “I still don’t understand.”

A faint smile tugged at Rhaegel’s lips: “You could call it a little technological trick.”

By then, the unknown woman had taken her seat in the witness stand, and Maekar began once again with the same introductory question he had asked every witness before her.

“I am an employee of HP Multimedia.” The woman answered. “I work in the accounting software development division.”

“Could you explain that in greater detail?” He asked. “What exactly does ‘accounting software development entail’? Is it the development of software designed to help accountants compile and process a company’s financial data as efficiently and accurately as possible?”

“There are countless types of software like that around the world today.” She explained with professional precision. “We generally refer to them as ‘accounting management systems’. They function much like warehouse management software, except they are specifically designed for accounting work and include integrated features for generating invoices, financial statements, and other official documentation.”

She paused for a moment. Then, with a faint shake of her head, she added almost regretfully: “Unfortunately, that is not what my department develops.”

A flicker of curiosity passed through the courtroom.

“Our division specializes in remote accounting support software.” This is her answer. 

Maekar tilted his head slightly, confused: “And what exactly is ‘remote accounting support software’?”

“It is exactly what the name suggests.” She said. “An application that allows users to remotely control their laptop or computer located elsewhere. In other words, once this app is installed on a machine, the operator can access and control that laptop freely, even if it is located on the opposite side of the globe.” 

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Maekar’s mouth, clear satisfaction flickering in his expression: “Then what you mean is users would be able to perform any action on that system as though they were physically sitting right in front of it?”

The woman nodded at once: “That is the most precise way to describe it.”

The courtroom erupted into murmurs at once. Her ex-husband, who had only just sat back down, could no longer hide his growing unease.

Only after the judge struck the gavel and called for order did the room gradually settle again. Yet the shock remained visible on every face present, the judge, the jury, even the prosecutor.

An application that could be installed to remotely control laptops and computers?

It was not the first time they had heard of such a thing, a cutting-edge technology still in the process of being tested, and typically only introduced to large, well-established companies. And yet it was the only explanation that made coherent sense. Otherwise, how could someone who had never physically gone to the company and not even officially assumed the position of chief accountant, have reviewed, let alone submitted, expense requests to the finance department?

But what ultimately sealed the entire narrative was the piece of physical evidence Maekar had just introduced to the court: a medium-sized display screen resembling a television, and a small black box that appeared to be an external hard drive.

At that moment, her ex-husband could no longer restrain himself. The instant he saw Rhaegel take the device and hand it over to the court clerk, he shot to his feet.

“No…” He muttered under his breath. “I already threw that… how could it still…”

As one of the people seated closest to him, the prosecutor, along with several officers, had also clearly caught those words.

But before any of them could react, Maekar spoke: “This is the final piece of evidence we wish to submit, Your Honor.”

“What is it?” The judge asked.

“A hard disk drive containing incriminating data, and a computer monitor.” Maekar said. “The monitor was recently purchased for the purpose of accessing the contents of this drive. However, you are welcome to connect it to any system in the courtroom to verify the data yourselves.”

A faint, almost cruel smile curved across Maekar’s lips as his gaze drifted toward her ex-husband, the man who, only now, seemed to realize he had just spoken out of turn.

“We have recovered the contents of the drive.”  Maekar said. “All evidence related to tax evasion, financial fraud, and embezzlement is stored within it. It appears that whoever attempted to erase the traces forgot one thing, even if files are deleted from the desktop, there is still another location where deleted data is retained: the recycle bin. Your Honors, you may verify this yourselves. I am confident you will not only find financial documents, but also the application used for remote control.”

“No way!” Her ex-husband had already realized he was cornered, yet he still clung desperately to denial. “Even if there’s evidence in there, how do you know she isn’t the one who did it?” 

Maekar let out a cold laugh: “Anyone with the most basic understanding of network technology knows how a wireless network operates. And the most conclusive proof lies in the defendant’s own financial records, or rather, in the tax-evasion records of A&F Law Firm itself.”

By all appearances, the trial should have ended the moment he concluded his argument and submitted the final piece of evidence. But Maekar was a man who noticed details others overlooked. It was precisely that relentless attention to the smallest inconsistencies that had allowed him to uncover the overlooked threads and piece together the truth behind the case.

The projection screen shifted once more. This time, it displayed a photograph of the official investigative file documenting suspicions that A&F Law Firm had violated tax law. It was the very file the financial police had submitted to the department in order to obtain a search warrant for the company.

“Why was A&F first suspected of tax evasion?” Maekar asked, then answered himself. “I believe we already know the answer.”

He pressed the remote, the next slide enlarged the section stating the grounds for the warrant request, allowing every person in the courtroom to read it clearly.

Reason for search authorization: Detection of A&F Law Firm’s IP address accessing suspicious websites…

At the very end of the line was the name of a website wholly unrelated to taxation. And yet everyone in the room now recognized it instantly. 

It was the exact remote-access software platform the woman from HP Multimedia had identified earlier.

There was nothing left to deny. Her ex-husband lurched forward, pointing directly at her, his gaze blazing with such violent hatred it seemed he wished he could tear her apart with his bare hands.

“It was you!” He roared. “You fabricated all of this! You framed me because you hated me for what happened to your miscarriage!” His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted beyond recognition.

“How could I possibly be connected to that drive?” He shouted desperately. “What does the company’s IP address have to do with me? And that remote-control software, didn’t even know it existed!” He turned wildly toward the bench. “Your Honor, do not believe her! Everything that woman and her lawyers have said is a lie!”

His voice cracked into near hysteria: “All of this evidence has been fabricated!”

No one in the courtroom noticed the faint tightening of the brows of the woman in her forties seated in the witness stand.

Until she finally spoke: “Sir? Do you not recognize me?”

The courtroom fell into a sudden silence. 

Only then did she turn her gaze toward the man who had just been hurling accusations at the helpless defendant: “I am the person you contacted to purchase the remote-control application.”

The color drained from her ex-husband’s face almost instantly. At that moment, he no longer had anything left to use in his defense.

Because it was true, he did not know that woman, he had never met her. When purchasing the software, all his communication had been conducted indirectly through the company’s customer support via messages.

Of course, Maekar had no intention of letting her wretched ex-husband escape the final blow. He turned at once toward the woman seated in the witness stand: “Do you still have those messages?”

She nodded and retrieved her phone. After the court clerk spent several moments reviewing the conversation and finally gave a confirming nod to the judge, the device was placed beneath the visualizer and connected to the projection system. A second later, the entire message thread appeared on the courtroom screen for everyone to see.

(14:30 07/02/991)

You: How may I help you, sir?

Director of Information and Communications, A&F Law Firm: We would like to purchase your remote laptop-control application.

In the midst of the escalating tension, a cold laugh suddenly escaped Maekar.

“I almost forgot.” He reached down and lifted a thin folder, nothing more than a folded piece of cardboard.

The moment her ex-husband saw it, panic flickered unmistakably across his face. He surged forward, attempting to rush toward the courtroom area, only to be immediately restrained by the officers. Struggling violently, he was dragged back as his eyes burned red with rage, like a cornered predator locked onto its enemy.

Then his gaze shifted toward her.

She jolted to her feet and instinctively stepped back. Rhaegel immediately moved in front of her, shielding half her body.

For a brief moment, under that stare, she was no longer in the courtroom.

She was back at their rented apartment, watching with her own eyes as he stood beside the woman he had been cheating with.

The dull, lingering pain in her lower abdomen returned like a phantom echo, even though there was nothing left there to hurt anymore. Her head throbbed violently, as if the wound had never fully healed.

She had never told anyone the truth, that it was him who had caused her miscarriage.

She had never dared to speak it, because she was afraid he would abuse her.

She did not want to go back to being that little girl again, the one who had learned too early what it meant to be hurt and not be allowed to speak.

Tears that had already been wiped away welled up once more. Her body trembled uncontrollably in the silent courtroom.

“No…” Her fingers clenched tightly around the gray handkerchief as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored. “Don’t hit me… Please...”

Rhaegel immediately stepped in front of her, blocking her view so she could no longer see her ex-husband. Then he glanced toward Maekar. When he saw the concern still lingering on his younger brother’s face, he gave a subtle nod, a silent reassurance, a signal to continue.

Because once this trial ended, she would begin a new life.

And Maekar would be the one to bring it to its conclusion.

Maekar blinked once, almost imperceptibly, a quiet acknowledgment of his brother’s trust.

“Your Honor.” He exhaled slowly, then handed the thin notebook to the court clerk. “This is the final piece of evidence we wish to submit.”

The judge opened the booklet, and the deep furrow between their brows tightened even further.

It was a bankbook.

The judge read the printed name on it aloud. The moment it was spoken, her ex-husband’s expression shifted instantly, panic, sharp and unmistakable.

At the same time, she looked up toward the bench, confused and shaken.

It bore the name of the secretary, the woman who had been involved with him.

Maekar continued: “This bankbook shows continuous deposits over a prolonged period.”

The projection screen shifted once again as Maekar changed the display. This time, it showed the contents of the savings book.

01/01/991, deposit of 1,000,000 WD into the account. 

29/01/991, deposit of 9,500,000 WD into the account.

07/02/991, deposit of 2,000,000 WD into the account.

…

30/06/991, deposit of 7,000,000 WD into the account.

10/07/991, deposit of 10,000,000 WD into the account.

Line after line of recorded transactions filled the screen, each one carefully dated, each one meticulously logged. But what truly made the entire courtroom fall into stunned silence was the final figure printed at the bottom of the page.

Balance: 30,000,000 WD.

The prosecutor could hardly believe what he was seeing. He stared at the projection screen for a long moment, visibly stunned, and Maekar could not tell whether it was because they had finally found their answer, or because they were at a loss at the sheer foolishness of her ex-husband.

After all, if one were going to embezzle public funds, they should not be foolish enough to transfer the money directly into a lover’s savings account, or even worse, to keep the exact figure the company had reported to the prosecution.

“Now then, Your Honor.” Maekar said, his tone edged with quiet mockery. “It seems the missing 30,000,000 WD has been found.”

He walked closer to where her ex-husband was being restrained by the officers, slipping both hands into his pockets, a posture of quiet satisfaction he only ever adopted when everything had gone exactly as planned.

And at this moment, he had done it.

He had secured her acquittal.

There was no need for him to hold back anymore, nor to wait for any further protest from the man. 

Maekar's voice was calm and cutting: “Don’t bother blaming the secretary either. We’ve already recovered evidence from the hard drive proving you personally arranged the savings account transfer for her.”

Rhaegel let out a short laugh. “I recall you insisted earlier that this wasn’t a matter between you and her, it was between her and A&F.” His gaze sharpened. “So why do you insert yourself into it?”

“What did you say?” Gwin sat in the spectators’ gallery, her arms crossed with an air of satisfaction. “‘Framed me’, didn't you?”

On the other side, Maekar let out a cold snort. For the first time in his life, he felt that every ounce of frustration and pressure he had endured before and during this case had been entirely worth the outcome he had achieved.

He stepped closer to her ex-husband and lowered his voice, asking a chilling question: “No one even mentioned you. Why are you insisting this is about ‘framed you’?”

At this point, her ex-husband was no longer looking at her alone, but at Maekar as well.

As if realizing something all at once, he suddenly burst into laughter. A deranged, unhinged laugh, or perhaps he had truly gone mad. Because every accusation he had tried to pin on her had been completely dismantled before everyone in the courtroom.

The judge’s gavel struck once more. “We acknowledge the submitted evidence.” He said. “This court is adjourned.”

However, unlike the jurors who were already gathering their documents, the judge did not immediately stand. Instead, he turned to Maekar: “Does the defense have anything further to say?”

She had never held out much hope beyond simply proving her innocence. And now that acquittal seemed all but certain, the tension that had once gripped her mind had finally begun to loosen.

She sat back in her seat, feeling almost weightless.

After a long moment, she lifted her head to look at Maekar and smiled at him.

Maekar smiled back.

They had succeeded.

He had succeeded in defending her.

But it was not over yet.

“Your Honor.” Maekar’s deep, steady voice resonated through the courtroom. “We hereby move to file a formal lawsuit against him and A&F Law Firm for defamation and for making false accusations against our client under Clause 3, Article 156 of the Westeros Criminal Code. In addition, we are filing a second claim under Article 867 of Decree 144/876/D-GDW for domestic violence during the marriage with prior offenses. My brother, Rhaegel, will serve as defense counsel for her in the upcoming proceedings.”

At the mention of a new case, not only her ex-husband panicked, even she looked utterly stunned, as if she could not believe what she had just heard. 

She could counter-sue him?

The judge, however, did not appear particularly surprised. With a measured nod, he acknowledged the filing and rose to formally adjourn the session.

Maekar remained standing at the center of the courtroom.

The gaze he directed at her ex-husband was no longer that of an ideal lawyer. It was the stare of a dragon, vast, merciless, and ready to tear its prey apart in burning fury.

And this time, Maekar would make sure the bastard who had hurt her paid the price he deserved.

That afternoon, as the judge finished reading the verdict, her perpetually heavy shoulders finally relaxed. 

Stepping out of the King’s Landing courthouse, she could at last take a long, deep breath, as if shedding the crushing weight she had carried for so long.

Her ex-husband was so faint-hearted that even without being prompted, he confessed to everything, his face completely betraying his emotions. The moment she saw him squirming as Maekar handed the savings book to the judge, she knew that the culprit was finally going to face the consequences. Even if he tried to put on a brave face, following the investigation based on the evidence Maekar provided, he and the employees involved in this corporate financial fraud case at A&F would undoubtedly be thrown into prison.

Standing outside the grand courthouse gates, she looked up at the crisp, clear late-autumn sky. Though the pre-winter air was freezing, her heart felt incredibly warm and at peace.

“Careful, you’ll catch a cold.” She heard the deep, low voice of her former director. As she turned around, Maekar was already draping his long, thick overcoat gently over her shoulders.

Before she could say anything, another man’s voice sounded from behind them.

It was the prosecutor.

“Congratulations.” Carrying a box of case files in his arms, he approached them. There was genuine surprise, and a note of admiration, in his voice as he addressed Maekar. “I didn’t expect you’d manage to win her a full acquittal. No wonder they call you ‘the Anvil of the legal world’.”

Maekar gave him a brief nod, the sort one offers an old friend: “It was never a particularly difficult case. Every piece of evidence against her was fabricated. Naturally, overturning it was only a matter of exposing the truth.”

The prosecutor’s eyes narrowed into an amused smile: “Finding the real evidence and recognizing that every accusation against her was false was the difficult part. Mr. Targaryen, you invested a great deal of yourself into this case, didn’t you.” 

It was not a question. It was a statement.

A man with a mind as sharp and methodical as the prosecutor had undoubtedly already pieced together the reason why someone at the very pinnacle of the legal profession like Maekar had personally chosen to step into this courtroom.

It certainly was not merely to add another victory to his already flawless record.

Maekar fixed him with a flat, bullet-hard stare, pointedly ignoring the wide-eyed curiosity and astonishment written across her face.

The prosecutor only chuckled, he turned to her. “You’ve got yourself an exceptional man, you know.” His brow lifted in knowing arch. 

“Get the fuck out of here!” Maekar snapped, his usual irritable demeanor returning at once.

“Alright. I’m going.” The prosecutor pouted theatrically, then let out a laugh and waved them a casual farewell before walking off.

“The financial police will reopen the investigation into the A&F law firm.” Maekar’s tone settled back into that rare, composed calm of his. He stepped closer than before as if trying to shield her from the early winter wind. “Soon enough, he will receive the punishment he deserves.” His voice grew noticeably colder when mentioning her ex-husband.

His coat was so oversized that she felt as though she were wrapped in a giant blanket. Yet, what brought the ultimate sense of peace to her heart was Maekar’s distinct, unforgettable scent. Her cheeks slowly flushed pink, though she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the sudden warmth. 

“Thank you, Mr. Targaryen.” She softly expressed her gratitude, gently clutching the inner padded lining of his ash-gray overcoat. “Without you, I don’t know when my name would have finally been cleared.”

“You don’t need to.” Maekar turned his back to her. “It was something I had to do.”

She couldn’t help but look back to the day the financial police stormed into her rented room, producing a warrant to arrest her. During her time in detention, the very first person to visit, comfort, and check on her was none other than him, her former boss. 

Now, standing behind him and looking at his broad, solid shoulders, her heart suddenly began to race at an inexplicable speed.

To her, Maekar was merely a chivalrous former boss who had lent a helping hand in her hour of need. While it was true that he had helped her a great deal back when she worked at his company, she had a boyfriend at the time, who later became her ex-husband, so she had never paid much attention to his gestures of care. She had always thought their relationship stopped at being colleagues, or more accurately, boss and former accountant. Yet, the moment Maekar showed up at the police station carrying her personal belongings, she gradually began to open her heart to him.

She had never truly understood this hot-tempered director.

She didn't understand why he would risk everything just to be her defense lawyer.

So she asked the question she had been dying to ask: “Why did you help me?”

Maekar stood frozen for a long moment. Only after taking a deep breath to compose himself did he turn around to face her.

Rhaegel had taken the initiative to go home early to leave the two of them some privacy, and even her best friend had vanished without a trace. Perhaps his brother had dropped a hint to Gwin that Maekar was not one for sweet talk, nor was he good at expressing his feelings through words, so they needed to leave him alone with her for things to actually progress.

But right now, Maekar wished those two were here more than ever, because he had never possessed enough courage to confess his true feelings to her.

“I just thought I should help you.” His voice is a bit stiff. “This is considered a commercial case, and not just anyone could act as a defense lawyer for an accountant accused with so much evidence stacked against her like I did.”

It sounded as though he were blowing his own horn. She secretly smiled at the thought but politely refrained from calling him out. 

“But why did you attend to it personally?” She asked again. “I mean, you know? You could have assigned this to anyone in the company, even your brother.”

The early winter wind swept through where the two of them stood. Under the crisp, clear blue sky, it felt as though not only she, but he himself, had been born again.

Everything was in the past now. The trial was over, and the accusations made by her ex-husband had been exposed by Maekar and his associates before everyone's eyes, most importantly, in front of the law enforcement officials. From now on, she would never have to live in fear whenever her ex-husband threw a tantrum, nor would she have to suffer the heartbreak of witnessing his infidelities.

She was free.

She had been renewed.

And Maekar saw his chance.

He closed his eyes and opened them immediately, the determination to protect her and stay by her side growing stronger than ever. Now, nothing could stand in his way of reaching her.

“Because I care about you.” He said slowly. “Because I don't want to see you heartbroken or desperate over an unworthy man ever again.”

She hadn't expected such an answer, so she just stood there frozen, her eyes wide with astonishment as she stared at him for a long moment. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what Maekar meant, wasn't it obvious that he had feelings for her, which was why he had been worried sick about her like that?

She suddenly frowned, not out of annoyance, but because she was frustrated with herself. 

She should have realized it sooner, how could it be as simple as the director of a law firm renowned across all of Westeros personally becoming her defense attorney? 

If it wasn't for personal feelings, what else could it be?

“Don't say anything.” Maekar suddenly spoke up, cutting off her train of thought. “I've made up my mind. Whether you agree or not, I am determined to have your back for the rest of your life.”

It seemed he had mistaken her frown for a silent rejection, but of course, that wasn't what she meant at all.

“I’ll take you home. Let’s go.” Maekar didn't give her a chance to refuse, he immediately turned on his heel toward the parking lot.

Snapping out of her daze, she called after him: “Mr. Targaryen, I... I can do it myself.” 

Maekar let out a frustrated sigh. “Are you really planning to take a cab back to that cramped flat?” Of course, he wasn’t annoyed with her at all. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her with an unyielding expression. “Nice dream, but it's time to wake up.” With that, he resumed walking.

“Wait!” She hurriedly ran after him. “I still have my belongings there, and my clothes too.”

Ever since she was hit with the financial fraud accusations, she hadn't been back to her place once, in this time, all her clothes and daily essentials had been personally bought for her by Maekar. Now, her ex-husband was in custody pending investigation, but even if he was heading to prison, that rented room was no longer livable. If she wanted to move out, the first thing she needed to do was pack up her things.

She was not allowed to be a burden to anyone, that was one of her principles in life. In this legal battle, she had already relied on and received too much help from Maekar, and she didn't dare trouble him any further.

Yet, he didn't look like someone who felt troubled at all. In fact, in a place she couldn't see, Maekar actually felt thrilled to “be troubled” like this.

“You won't be needing them anymore.” He said as he walked, without bothering to turn his head. “I will buy you all new things.”

Overwhelmed by his lavish pampering, she stammered: “How could that be? You’ve already helped me so much, there’s no need to…”

“Be quiet and get in the car, girl.” They had arrived at Maekar's parked vehicle, and he had already opened the door, waiting for her to step inside. “You know I don't like repeating myself.” He jerked his chin, gesturing for her to get in.

Knowing she couldn't win an argument with him, she silently slid into the passenger seat. After Maekar fastened her seatbelt, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He started the engine, selected the destination on the touchscreen display, and finally drove away from the courthouse.

She didn't know where he was taking her, but as long as it wasn't that terrifying, nightmare-fueled rented flat, it didn't matter. 

Leaning her head against the car window, she let out a silent sigh. It wasn't until the car was halfway through the journey that she heard his firm yet slightly awkward voice.

“I’ve thought it through.” He said in a low tone while keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “I won't let you slip out of my sight ever again.”

Maekar had caught her off guard once more, causing her face to flush red at his sudden confession. She could hardly believe that someone like him would care for someone like her.

“From now on, everything is going to get better.” Steering the wheel with one hand, he gently wrapped his other hand around hers, giving it a soft squeeze. Only then did he take his eyes off the road to look at her. “You have my word.”

For the first time in so many years, she felt like she no longer needed to worry about what lay ahead. 

No more racking her brain over what to cook just so her ex-husband wouldn’t lose his appetite and skip meals. 

No more anxious waiting whenever he came home late from work. 

No more panic at the thought of an unwanted pregnancy. 

And no more agonizing over whether she would ever be able to build the dream family she had always longed for.

Under the warm sunshine of the autumn noon, she offered him a genuine smile.

“So this is what relief feels like.” She thought, leaning her head back against the seat. As she watched the peaceful scenery passing by outside the window, her heart, which had been suspended in constant stress and anxiety, finally settled.

She no longer had to dread tomorrow, for she had found a fresh start with someone who truly cared for her.

“I’m taking you to the mall.” Maekar said with a hint of excitement. “My assistant already arranged an apartment for you.”

She nodded, finally throwing up her hands in defeat against his stubborn insistence.

Maekar spoke again: “It’s getting dark. What do you want to eat?.”

“I can just grab some fast food.” She said softly. “I’ve already troubled you so much today, you should head home and get some rest early too.”

“I don’t want to go home.” Maekar said as if it were a matter of fact. “I want to have dinner with you.”

She remained silent for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh: “Thank you, Mr. Targaryen.”

Since she didn’t know what to eat, she left the decision to him. Maekar picked a restaurant near the shopping mall they were heading to. The moment he named the place, she pulled out her phone to search for it. Upon realizing it was one of the most expensive establishments in King’s Landing, her eyes widened in shock, and she snapped her head to look at him.

Noticing her panicked gaze, Maekar knew she was about to back out again. He warned her in a tone so gentle it lacked even a shred of malice: “I’m not allowing you to refuse me, remember that.” 

Her smile grew even brighter as she turned her head to watch him focus on the road: “Of course, sir.”

“Maekar.” He corrected her. “To you, it’s just Maekar.”

Her eyes, still slightly red from crying, had gradually regained their vitality. It seemed that whenever she was by his side, she didn't have to worry about a single thing.

“Maekar.” She repeated his name like a tentative test on the tip of her tongue, which managed to make even someone as emotionally reserved as him break into a chuckle. “Thank you, Maekar.” 

“I like that.” He said suddenly. Feeling her puzzled gaze, he turned his head and gave her his tenderest smile. “I like the way my name sounds on your lips.”

That was also the moment she knew their future would never be a façade of gilded rot.

[spiced-reads]

THIS WAS EVERYTHING !! IM SO EXCITED FOR WHATS TO COMING🤍🥹

This was so well written, I was so immersed that nothing was going to take me away from this masterpiece! I truly can’t wait to read more of this! BEAUTIFUL 🤩 DEFINITELY TOP TIER FIC🤍

P.s MAEKAR LIKE THIS CAN GET IT ALL DAY!!🥵

[weregloo]

OMG Thank you for your reading~ I was actually worried that this fic might feel too "dry", but your comment made me incredibly happy! Thank you, thank you soooooo much!!!

[weregloo]

RENEWED 

Gilded Rot

Managing Director of law firm!Maekar Targaryen x Former Accountant!Reader

Trope: Boss and former employee.

Word count: 12.113

Summary: A year after resigning from the law firm under the Targaryen conglomerate to become a housewife, she suddenly found herself accused of financial fraud, tax evasion, and the embezzlement of corporate funds from A&F, the newly established law firm owned by her ex-husband. Unable to stand by and watch the woman he had long loved in silence be falsely condemned, Maekar resolved to become her defense attorney. He had already let her slip through his fingers once. This time, he would not allow her to suffer again.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, modern AU, mention of Reader’s past abuse and miscarriage, Maekar in work-mode, tax evasion and embezzlement trial, fluff in the end. 

Note: Gwin Ashford is Reader’s best friend.

RENEWED Masterlist

Maekar was not insane, and there was no question that he had to be the one to defend her.

The prosecutor assigned to the arraignment this time was an old acquaintance of his from the Ministry of Justice. Upon reviewing the case files and the formal lawsuit, the prosecutor immediately gave him a call.

“Has it been so long since you last stepped into a court that you’ve forgotten all your legal knowledge?” The prosecutor questioned. “You want to get her fully acquitted?”

Maekar hadn’t expected a phone call from the very person he would be facing in the upcoming trial, yet he replied calmly: “Yes.”

He could hear a heavy sigh from the other end of the line before the prosecutor spoke: “Have you lost your mind?”

Maekar was beginning to lose his patience, but his response was more resolute and definitive than ever: “No.” 

Because she would be acquitted.

In only a few seconds, the first trial Maekar had attended as defense counsel after years away from criminal defense would begin.

And seated right beside him was her, the former accountant of his law firm. 

Maekar kept his usual cold, unreadable expression as his gaze swept over the legal teams gathered on both sides of the courtroom. Yet beneath the defendant’s table, his hand was tightly clasped around her trembling one.

It was both comfort and promise, a silent vow that he would get her out of this tax evasion charge.

The moment the judge and jury entered, the courtroom fell into complete silence, and the trial officially began.

The prosecutor seated to the right rose to his feet and gave a respectful nod toward the bench. After the formal opening remarks and a brief summary of the case, his sharp gaze eventually settled on Maekar and the woman beside him. Stepping into the center of the courtroom, he began his accusation.

“The defendant, formerly the chief accountant of A&F Law Firm, falsified official financial records under the very noses of the company’s board members. Your Honor, I believe this case requires little further explanation. The defendant is in direct violation of Clause 7, Article 204 of the Westerosi Penal Code, tax evasion and financial fraud through the embezzlement of corporate funds. The prosecution therefore requests that this court impose the maximum sentence of twelve years’ imprisonment. Particularly given the sophistication of her methods. The defendant deliberately exploited surveillance blind spots to fabricate evidence suggesting she had never entered company premises, despite the internal records of A&F clearly showing her clocking in every single day.”

The prosecutor concluded his opening accusation, and only then did Maekar rise from his seat and step into the center of the courtroom.

Before doing so, he gave her a quiet, reassuring look.

She answered with a small smile of her own, a silent expression of gratitude.

“I believe everyone in this room is familiar with a fingerprint reader.” Maekar began, his gaze sweeping over the gallery before settling briefly on her ex-husband, then shifting toward the prosecutor seated across from him. “But can anyone here prove that such a system cannot be exploited to fabricate false evidence?”

“To clock in, what is required is not the employee’s physical presence, but merely their fingerprint.” A wireless presentation remote rested in Maekar’s hand. He pressed the button, and the display screen beside the judges’ bench flickered to life.

Two images appeared on the display screen. On one side was the fingerprint reader installed at A&F’s headquarters, on the other were a roll of tape, a box of powder, and a soft-bristled brush.

Maekar gestured toward the screen as he explained. “One of the most common methods used by forensic investigators to recover latent fingerprints is remarkably simple. Powder is brushed lightly across a surface suspected of containing prints. Once the ridge pattern becomes visible, adhesive tape is applied to lift the print. At that stage, the fingerprint has already been successfully extracted and can be replicated or used under virtually any circumstances.” Then he turned toward the bench. “In this case, Your Honor, I submit that the attendance records allegedly proving my client’s presence at A&F cannot be regarded as conclusive evidence.”

The judge gave a slow, thoughtful nod: “So the defense’s position is that someone deliberately fabricated evidence to create the appearance that the defendant was physically present at the company? If that is your argument, does the defense possess any evidence establishing that she was not there?”

Maekar’s gaze drifted once more toward the spectators’ gallery, settling on the man seated among them. 

There it was, that look of smug satisfaction plastered across her ex-husband’s face, as though he had already convinced himself of victory. The man caught Maekar’s piercing stare and responded with a self-assured smile.

“Fucking shameless cunt.” The words echoed coldly through Maekar’s mind. Though truthfully, he did not need to say them aloud, because anyone present in the courtroom could already tell exactly what he was thinking.

Just over a year earlier, she had been an accountant at the law firm operating under the Targaryen Group, where Maekar served as managing director.

After discovering she was pregnant, she had submitted her resignation and chosen to remain at home to rest. Her ex-husband, then still her newlywed husband, had resigned as well, claiming he wished to stay home and care for her.

Yet before long, he had established a law firm of his own.

The law firm under the Targaryen Group had long been regarded as one of the most prestigious legal institutions in Westeros. To Maekar, the departure of former employees to establish competing practices was hardly worth his attention. A newly founded firm could never hope to rival the resources, influence, and reputation of long-established institutions, let alone one as firmly entrenched as his own. As such, he had paid the matter little mind and had never once considered suppressing a newcomer.

And yet, in the span of barely a year, her ex-husband’s newly established firm, A&F Law, had become entangled in allegations of tax evasion and financial fraud.

What left Maekar unable to sleep at night was the fact that, in the midst of the scandal that had shaken the legal world, she had become the one forced to bear the full weight of it as the firm’s chief accountant.

Because he had loved her from the very first moment he laid eyes on her.

The tragedy of it was that Maekar had never been a man of sweet words. At the time, he had not even possessed enough confidence in himself to speak his feelings aloud. After all, what woman would willingly choose a man well into his thirties like him, burdened with six children and a reputation for driving his own family to exasperation?

And it was precisely because of that hesitation that he had missed his chance. Worse still, his silence had indirectly allowed her to fall into the miserable circumstances she now faced. 

It had never truly been his fault. And yet he had spent every day since drowning in regret for not having spoken sooner.

That was why, the moment he decided to become her defense counsel, Maekar had made himself a solemn promise.

He would win this case.

He would not merely clear her name. He would make certain that her ex-husband paid so dearly for what he had done that the man would come to envy the dead.

The unspoken challenge was written plainly across her ex-husband’s all-too-punchable face. He was probably convinced that Maekar had no evidence capable of proving he had secretly collected her fingerprints. Yet before that confidence could fully blossom into an openly mocking smile, he caught sight of the slow curve forming at the corner of Maekar’s lips.

“We do.” Maekar said with a calm smile. “We would like to call a witness, Your Honor.”

The moment the gaunt man stepped through the courtroom doors, her ex-husband’s eyes widened in visible alarm.

Once the witness had taken the oath and settled into his seat, Maekar began: “Would you please state your name for the court?”

The man introduced himself in a trembling voice. Maekar gave a small nod before continuing. “Do you know this woman?” He lifted a hand and gestured toward her.

“Of course I do.” The witness answered at once. “She’s the wife of A&F’s Director of Information and Communications.” Then he turned toward the gallery and pointed directly at her ex-husband. “That man right there.”

A ripple of murmurs spread quietly through the courtroom. Maekar remained perfectly composed: “And what was your position at A&F?”

“I was a security guard, sir.” He hesitated before correcting himself. “Formerly, I mean.” He shifted uneasily in his seat and swallowed. “I worked in the basement parking garage when A&F had just been established, around a year ago. I was responsible for monitoring vehicle access.” He paused briefly. “But about six months ago, I was dismissed without any explanation. I assumed the company was cutting staff, so I didn’t question it. Besides, I managed to find another job afterward.”

Maekar gave a small nod: “You said that you knew the defendant as the wife of A&F’s Director of Information and Communications. Could you elaborate on that? How exactly did you know her?”

The witness replied: “I saw her at the company.”

The answer was enough to bring a flicker of satisfaction to her ex-husband’s face, but it lasted only for a moment. 

The next words that left the witness’s mouth wiped the expression clean away.

The gaunt man turned once more toward her ex-husband: “But she only came once. I remember it clearly, it was during the company’s first few days after opening. The director brought her in himself and introduced her as his new wife to everyone there, myself included.”

Maekar pressed the next button on his presentation remote, and the display screen shifted once more. This time, the image showed A&F’s underground parking garage. 

The judge and jury frowned in unison as they immediately recognized the scene.

It was identical to the earlier photograph of the fingerprint reader Maekar had presented, only this image had been taken from a wider angle, revealing far more of its surroundings.

“As we can see.” Maekar began evenly. “A&F’s fingerprint reader was installed inside the underground parking garage. Which means that employees could clock in the moment they entered the parking area, long before ever stepping into the company lobby itself.” Then he extended an open hand toward the gaunt man seated at the witness stand. “The witness we have called today is A&F’s former parking security guard. He has testified that he was dismissed approximately six months ago. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, that same period was when the Economic Crimes Division first uncovered irregularities in A&F’s financial records and formally opened its investigation into the company’s suspected tax evasion.”

At once, the judge and jury lowered their gazes to the case files before them. As Maekar had stated, the timeline matched perfectly: the witness’s dismissal aligned precisely with the point at which A&F had first come under official suspicion.

The judge looked up and gave Maekar a measured nod: “We acknowledge this. You may present additional evidence.”

As Rhaegel, Maekar’s elder brother and co-counsel in this trial, stepped forward to submit additional evidence, Maekar resumed his line of questioning. 

“Sir.” He turned toward the witness, his voice sharp and unwavering. “You stated earlier that the defendant came to the company only once. Is that correct?”

“I’m certain of it.” This time, the gaunt man showed none of the earlier hesitation that had marked his first moments on the stand. “She came to the company only once. When I worked security there, I had a habit of sitting near the elevators leading up to the main lobby every morning as the employees arrived. At the time, I simply thought I was being helpful by pressing the elevator buttons for them. Besides, the parking garage was usually still empty at that hour, so there was little need for me to make my rounds. I would usually wait until everyone had gone upstairs and begun work before patrolling the area.”

“My assigned post was in the underground garage.” He then lifted his head to meet Maekar’s gaze before turning toward the bench. “Your Honors, I am not lying. I have spent nearly half my life doing this kind of work, including six months at A&F.” He straightened visibly as he spoke. “Unlike the guards stationed in the lobby or at the main entrance, my entire workday was spent around company employees. The garage was where they parked their vehicles, which meant I saw them every single morning.” His voice grew firmer. “I am absolutely certain that I never saw her there, not once, except for the day the director brought her in and introduced her to all of us.”

Maekar gave a satisfied nod. He did not need to turn around to know that her ex-husband’s face had twisted into something ugly.

There was no need for him to spell it out. Not for the judge. Not for the jury. Not for the prosecutor. And certainly not for anyone else seated in that courtroom.

The conclusion was obvious.

The witness Maekar had called was A&F’s former parking security guard, the very man responsible for overseeing the area where employees parked their vehicles each morning. More importantly, by his own testimony, he had routinely stationed himself near the elevators at the exact hour employees arrived for work. Even a person with the poorest memory would remember the faces they saw every single day, just as a shopkeeper would always recognize their regular customers. And according to the prosecution’s own evidence, she had supposedly been clocking in at the company on a daily basis. If that had truly been the case, she would have had no choice but to pass through that garage. Which meant she would have crossed paths with him.

Once or twice could perhaps be dismissed as coincidence. But every single time? Impossible.

The absurdity of it settled heavily over the courtroom, spreading through the silence like a visible weight.

And then, from among the spectators’ gallery, a woman’s voice broke through.

“That’s right!” She looked far younger than her age, perhaps because of the sharp elegance of her makeup and the striking outfit she had chosen for the day. Rising abruptly to her feet, she pointed accusingly toward the opposite side of the gallery, directly at A&F’s Director of Information and Communications. “You fired him because you were afraid he’d tell the police everything, didn’t you?”

Then she turned toward the woman seated at the defendant’s table, her expression a conflicted mixture of anger and sympathy: “Didn’t I warn you? People with cowardly minds stay cowardly no matter how much they study or how many law degrees they manage to collect.”

“Gwin.” From the defendant’s table, she leaned forward slightly, calling her friend’s name in a pleading voice. “Please, stop.”

Gwin scoffed. “Before I left to study abroad, I told you to dump that bastard.” A crooked smile curled across her lips as she cast a look of open contempt toward the man. “Have you ever seen a goose turn into a swan?” Her voice dripped with mockery. “You could drag it home and place it before the altar of the Seven, and it would still remain nothing more than a goose.”

“But…” Her eyes shimmered with gathering tears. 

If Rhaegel had not reached out to steady her, she likely would have rushed toward the spectators’ gallery to stop Gwin from saying another word.

“Calm down. It’s alright.” Rhaegel’s voice softened as he leaned slightly toward her. “Just stay seated. Leave everything else to us.”

“What if they forced her out?” Worry clouded her face as she whispered anxiously. “I’m sorry, I told her to stay quiet before the trial began, but she…”

Beyond the defendant’s table, although the court officers had already stepped forward and repeatedly instructed Gwin to sit down, she remained standing, glaring furiously at the man who had betrayed her best friend: “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been fucking your secretary.”

“Shut your cunt.” Her ex-husband finally snapped after enduring her relentless insults. “You have no evidence. Your behavior is disgraceful, and your conduct is completely inappropriate for a courtroom. Do you even know where you are?”

“Whoa, you want proof?” Gwin let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her lips curling upward with cold satisfaction. “Pictures of you two walking hand in hand into a hotel just last week are still sitting in my phone.”

As she spoke, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a large folded poster board. “Why don’t you open those blind eyes of yours and take a good look at this?” With one sharp motion, she snapped it open. 

Spread across the A0 poster was a close-up photograph of a man and a woman stumbling into the entrance of a hotel, locked in each other’s arms. They looked pleasantly drunk. The image was so sharp that even from the far end of the courtroom, where the judge and jury sat, the details were impossible to miss. Most notably, the man’s hand was very clearly gripping the woman’s backside. Whether the photographer had deliberately timed the shot or had simply been absurdly lucky, they had captured the moment perfectly. Both faces were unmistakably visible.

And the man in the photograph was none other than her ex-husband.

Though fully aware he had been exposed, he still barked out in desperation: “That photo’s been edited!”

“Edited or not, anyone with functioning eyes can tell the difference.” Gwin let out a scornful laugh, though her eyes still burned with fury. “Everyone in your company already knows. You think outsiders like me were the last to hear about it?” Then she suddenly turned toward the witness stand and raised her voice. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Ah, yes, yes. That’s right.” Startled by Gwin’s commanding tone, the gaunt man answered at once, hardly pausing to think. “There were days when I saw them climbing into his car together. The car would stay parked there for… quite a long time.” He swallowed hard. “And sometimes it would shake rather violently.”

A ripple of uneasy murmurs spread through the courtroom. “I never dared approach because I knew the director was inside.” Then his voice faltered. “As for…” His eyes darted nervously toward the woman seated at the defendant’s table.

His lips parted as though he wished to say more. But whatever words had risen to the surface died there.

He lowered his gaze instead, shame written plainly across his face, the silent guilt of a man who now realized he had, however unintentionally, helped conceal her husband’s betrayal.

The judge repeatedly brought down the gavel against the wooden block. “Silence.” But no matter how many times the gavel struck, Gwin refused to be silenced.

“Well, look at that.” She folded her arms and glared at her best friend’s ex-husband with open contempt. “You ignorant bastard.”

“Wasn’t it because of you that my friend ended up marrying you in the first place?” Her voice rose with every word. “If you hadn’t tampered with her birth control, would she have gotten pregnant and been forced to quit her job?” Her eyes blazed. “I knew from the very beginning that you were worthless scum. It was because of you that she lost the child, and now you’ve got the nerve to stand here and frame her for your own crimes?”

By now, her ex-husband had shot himself in his foot as well: “The miscarriage was her own fault. What does that have to do with me?”

For a moment, Gwin looked as though she could not believe what she had just heard. Then outrage twisted her expression. 

“Her fault?” She took a furious step forward. “Wasn’t it your fucking secretary who showed up at your house, caused a scene, shoved her to the floor, and made her lose that child?”

“She fell because of her own carelessness.” His voice was cold and clipped. “What does that have to do with my secretary?”

“You really do only look clever until you open your mouth.” She gestured sharply toward the evidence still displayed before the court. “The proof is right there, and you’re still denying it. No wonder you’re trying to pin everything on her and send her to prison in your place.”

“When did I ever pin anything on her?” His tone sharpened into open hostility. “If she broke the law, then she has to pay for it. Don’t tell me that just because the two of you are friends, you think you can accuse me of anything you like. This is a matter between A&F and her, not between her and I.”

Right beside the defendant’s table, Maekar could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The sight sent a sharp ache through his chest.

And yet, no matter how deeply it pained him, he forced himself to maintain the composed professionalism expected of him in court.

Without a word, he stepped closer. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he withdrew a neatly folded handkerchief and held it out to her. When her trembling fingers accepted it, some of the tightness constricting his chest eased.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out broken. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed his handkerchief to her face, trying in vain to steady herself. “I should have listened to you.” Slowly, she lifted tear-filled eyes to meet him. “I should have stayed. I never should have resigned…” Her voice caught, dissolving into another sob.

Every thought of what she had sacrificed for the man who had betrayed her, her career, her future, the child she had lost, and the life she had once imagined for herself, sent fresh tears spilling down her face.

More than a year ago, when she had stood before Maekar and handed in her resignation letter, she had believed that she was finally stepping into the life she had always dreamed of: a happy family.

She had never known what it was like to have one of her own, and so she had longed with all her heart to build a home with the man she had believed loved her beyond measure.

The child had come unexpectedly. She had only been in her mid-twenties then, standing at the height of her youth, her career stable, her future still wide open before her. And yet she could not bring herself to cast aside the tiny life that had only just begun to take shape inside her.

So she had listened to the man who was then her boyfriend. 

She had resigned from her position and returned home to focus on the pregnancy. He had even promised her that everything had already been arranged, that he and his friends were establishing a new firm, and that the position of chief accountant would be waiting for her there. All she had to do was give birth, recover, and step seamlessly into a new career without ever having to fear unemployment.

She had believed him.

Only to learn that every promise had been part of an elaborate trap.

The child whose birth she had awaited with all her heart had been conceived through his deceitful scheming.

The position of chief accountant he had promised her had never been an opportunity at all, but a carefully prepared scapegoat’s chair, a place designed to absorb the blame the moment A&F became entangled in a financial scandal.

Everything had been a lie.

His love had been a lie.

The child had been conceived through a lie.

Even the career he had offered her had been a lie.

Now her future had been dragged into a vortex of greed and power, and the life he had once promised her had proven just as hollow as the rest. Like rotten wood lacquered in brilliant color and gilded until it gleamed, the perfect life she had once reached for had been nothing more than a beautiful façade concealing decay beneath.

A gilded rot.

“It’s over now.” A soft, familiar scent slowly curled around her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was the ash-gray handkerchief still held before her. Then came the gentle voice of her former superior.

Maekar was rarely this tender. Leaning forward with both hands braced against the defendant’s table, he held her gaze with quiet reassurance.

“Your friend is helping us.” His voice was low and steady. “Look.”

He turned first toward the prosecutor, then toward the judge and jury. Following the direction of his gaze, she saw it clearly, the subtle shift in their expressions.

The prosecutor frowned and slowly lowered the case file onto the table.

The jurors were now looking toward her ex-husband with unmistakable suspicion, their faces grave and sharply attentive.

Even the judge, who had only moments ago been striking the gavel repeatedly, suddenly stopped. His hand remained suspended in midair for several long seconds before finally bringing the gavel down once more with a sharp crack, this time not as a call for order, but as a warning.

Having once worked at one of the country’s leading law firms, she had been fortunate enough to learn directly from its managing director. One of the things Maekar had taught her was that in a courtroom, even the slightest shift in a person’s expression was enough to be noted, recorded, and analyzed by those entrusted with upholding the law.

Carefully, she stole another glance toward the spectators’ gallery. Only then did she truly see it: the anger written plainly across her ex-husband’s face. Beneath it was something he could no longer conceal. Panic. Fear. Urgency.

And of course, Maekar noticed her reaction at once. A faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“See.” His voice was low and steady. “They’ve already taken our side.”

Although the prosecutor had already begun to form his own conclusions, he still had a duty to fulfill. His gaze drifted toward the fragile woman seated at the defendant’s table, a thought quietly surfaced in his mind.

If she truly was innocent, and if Maekar had known it from the beginning, enough to personally step forward as her defense counsel, then they would undoubtedly have evidence capable of dismantling every accusation A&F had brought against her.

And so, after the defense witness was dismissed from the courtroom, the prosecutor rose to his feet.

Case file in hand, he stepped into the center of the room: “The prosecution would like to submit additional evidence, Your Honor.”

He handed the file to the court clerk before turning to face Maekar: “If the defense insists that the defendant is innocent and bears no responsibility for the charges of tax evasion and embezzlement, then perhaps defense counsel would care to explain this.”

The presentation screen shifted, replaced by the prosecution’s insignia. By then, the judge and jury had already skimmed through the newly submitted materials. Then he pressed the remote, now, every eye in the courtroom was drawn toward the projection screen, where the image of a laptop now filled the display.

He gestured toward the projection screen and began his explanation: “This is the defendant’s laptop. As shown in the evidence previously submitted by the prosecution, this device contains a substantial number of files and documents directly related to financial records bearing signs of tax evasion.”

The slide shifted to a scanned contract, stamped and signed. “And this is a land-use transfer agreement between A&F Law Firm and Mr. Hogg.” The prosecutor continued. “As chief accountant, it was her responsibility to review this contract and submit it to the director for approval before company funds could be disbursed to Mr. Hogg.”

He glanced briefly at the documents in his hand. “During questioning, every A&F employee involved in this transaction provided the same figure: 90,000,000 WD, also the property’s original listed value.” Then he turned toward the bench. “However, the figure written in the contract itself is 120,000,000 WD.”

The number 120,000,000 WD then appeared highlighted across the contract displayed on the screen. He advanced to the next slide once more, the image of a bank transfer document appeared on the projection screen, and there it was again, the exact same number in the land-transfer contract.

“The company’s payment authorization record confirms that on that same day, the defendant withdrew 120,000,000 WD from company funds. Which raises a very simple question.” The prosecutor’s gaze shifted back to Maekar, then finally settled on her. When he spoke again, his voice was measured and crushingly deliberate. “Where did the remaining 30,000,000 WD go?”

The prosecution’s next witness was none other than her ex-husband.

Though his title was Director of Information and Communications, it had been he who personally negotiated and signed this contract with Mr. Hogg for the purchase of the land intended for A&F’s new branch office. The final signature on the agreement had been his.

After taking the oath and settling into the witness stand with an almost smug air, he immediately cast a disdainful glance in her direction. The fingerprint time-clock evidence may have already been weakened, but he still had this second card to play. A half-smile curved across his lips as he narrowed his eyes at her, a silent challenge. 

“Let’s see how you explain this.” He had thought with a mocking grin.

“Sir?” The prosecutor’s voice drew his attention back at once. Then the questioning began. “Were you aware of the actual value of this land parcel?”

“Ah, of course.” Her ex-husband nodded. “I don’t remember the exact amount the finance department ultimately paid at the time, but it was somewhere around 120,000,000 WD.”

The prosecutor continued: “You were the one who signed this contract with Mr. Hogg. Prior to drafting the agreement, did the two of you discuss the sale price of the land?”

He gave another measured nod. “Yes. Mr. Hogg initially agreed to sell it to me for 90,000,000 WD.” Then he pretended to reflect. “Looking back, it does seem rather strange. I distinctly remember that we had already settled on the price beforehand, yet when the contract was delivered for signing, I only realized afterward that the final amount did not match what we had originally agreed upon.”

The prosecutor frowned: “Why didn’t you raise the matter with the finance department? Or with the defendant herself, who was still serving as chief accountant at the time?”

He let out a shallow sigh and offered a rueful smile: “To be honest, I’m not sure anyone here will believe me when I say this, but the only reason I signed without double-checking was because I trusted the defendant completely.”

He spread his hands in feigned helplessness. “The finance director felt the same way. After all, she was the most experienced accountant among us. For a newly established company like ours, how could we possibly not place our trust in someone with her level of professional expertise?” He scratched the back of his neck, carefully crafting the appearance of embarrassment and regret. Then he turned to look at her. “And I did ask her about it at the time.” His voice softened, almost apologetic. 

“She told me that the 120,000,000 WD already included the land transfer tax, so I accepted the explanation without question.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “No one in the company had the time to sit down and calculate the exact transfer tax rate. Besides, I had heard that the percentage was calculated based on the land’s sale value anyway.” He shrugged. “For a parcel worth 90,000,000 WD, a tax rate of over 30% didn’t strike me as particularly unusual.” 

His expression darkened at once: “It was only when the police stormed into the company and began questioning us about this contract that I realized something was terribly wrong.”

“Liar!” It was Gwin again, her voice even louder than before. “30,000,000 WD? You think she’s some starving beast, always lurking around for a chance to sink her claws into your company’s money?” She let out a scornful laugh. “I could hand her ten plots of tracts in the Westerlands for free. What the fuck are your pathetic scraps supposed to mean to her?”

The sharp crack of the gavel echoed throughout the courtroom: “Silence!” 

Gwin paid it no mind: “Her savings alone are worth more than your company’s entire registered capital. What makes you think she’d ever be desperate enough to covet that worthless pile of commercial trash?” 

“Miss.” The judge frowned sharply in her direction. “If you do not remain silent, the court will have no choice but to remove you from this room.”

Gwin pouted as she dropped back into her seat: “Penniless.”

The proceedings soon returned to the prosecutor’s examination. This time he shifted to an entirely different line of questioning, one that proved unexpectedly favorable to her side.

“Earlier, defense counsel argued that the defendant was never physically present at the company.” The prosecutor extended a hand toward Maekar before turning back to the witness stand. “Is it true? That the defendant never came to the office and remained at home instead?”

Her ex-husband swallowed. Even so, he forced himself to answer with practiced composure.

“I honestly wouldn’t know.” He gave a small shrug. “She worked in the accounting department, while I was in communications. We operated in entirely different areas. I hardly had the time to leave my own office just to go looking for her.”

“But the two of you were husband and wife at the time, were you not?” The prosecutor’s brow furrowed deeply, his tone sharpening. “Are you seriously claiming that you had no idea whether your own wife went to work each day?”

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue in visible irritation. “The workload was overwhelming. Every day I was buried in work, doing everything I could to promote our company. There were nights I barely even had time to come home for dinner.” 

The prosecutor still refused to let the matter go: “And in the entire year she worked there, you never once drove your wife to work, even though the two of you were employed at the same company?”

His expression darkened with annoyance: “How was I supposed to keep track of whether she went to the office or not? Besides, your own investigation uncovered those files on her laptop, didn’t it? That should already prove she was working there. Why do you keep asking these pointless questions?”

“I didn’t.” From the defendant’s table, she stared in stunned disbelief at the man who had once shared her bed, now standing before the court and calmly accusing her.

She could not understand how she had ever trusted him so completely. How she had once believed every promise he made, only to be dragged into this courtroom because of him.

Weakly, she turned toward Maekar and reached out to clutch his wrist.

“I didn’t.” Her voice trembled as she shook her head. “I was never there. I never went to the company, please, Mr. Targaryen, you have to believe me.”

“I know.” Maekar gently patted the back of her hand. “I believe you.”

By the time the prosecutor concluded his questioning, Maekar had already stepped back into the center of the courtroom.

Her ex-husband had returned to his seat among the spectators, for Maekar did not bother to question him further. Instead, without a moment’s hesitation, he called the defense’s second witness to the stand.

She was a woman in her forties, dressed in crisp office attire.

A complete stranger.

Neither she nor her ex-husband have no idea who the woman was.

“She’s the one who can help explain this accusation.” It was Rhaegel who answered in place of his younger brother while the unfamiliar woman recited her oath.

“Or rather.” He added with measured calm.” She can answer the question of how you could have supposedly reviewed and submitted those expense requests while never once leaving your home.”

Confusion clouding her features: “I still don’t understand.”

A faint smile tugged at Rhaegel’s lips: “You could call it a little technological trick.”

By then, the unknown woman had taken her seat in the witness stand, and Maekar began once again with the same introductory question he had asked every witness before her.

“I am an employee of HP Multimedia.” The woman answered. “I work in the accounting software development division.”

“Could you explain that in greater detail?” He asked. “What exactly does ‘accounting software development entail’? Is it the development of software designed to help accountants compile and process a company’s financial data as efficiently and accurately as possible?”

“There are countless types of software like that around the world today.” She explained with professional precision. “We generally refer to them as ‘accounting management systems’. They function much like warehouse management software, except they are specifically designed for accounting work and include integrated features for generating invoices, financial statements, and other official documentation.”

She paused for a moment. Then, with a faint shake of her head, she added almost regretfully: “Unfortunately, that is not what my department develops.”

A flicker of curiosity passed through the courtroom.

“Our division specializes in remote accounting support software.” This is her answer. 

Maekar tilted his head slightly, confused: “And what exactly is ‘remote accounting support software’?”

“It is exactly what the name suggests.” She said. “An application that allows users to remotely control their laptop or computer located elsewhere. In other words, once this app is installed on a machine, the operator can access and control that laptop freely, even if it is located on the opposite side of the globe.” 

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Maekar’s mouth, clear satisfaction flickering in his expression: “Then what you mean is users would be able to perform any action on that system as though they were physically sitting right in front of it?”

The woman nodded at once: “That is the most precise way to describe it.”

The courtroom erupted into murmurs at once. Her ex-husband, who had only just sat back down, could no longer hide his growing unease.

Only after the judge struck the gavel and called for order did the room gradually settle again. Yet the shock remained visible on every face present, the judge, the jury, even the prosecutor.

An application that could be installed to remotely control laptops and computers?

It was not the first time they had heard of such a thing, a cutting-edge technology still in the process of being tested, and typically only introduced to large, well-established companies. And yet it was the only explanation that made coherent sense. Otherwise, how could someone who had never physically gone to the company and not even officially assumed the position of chief accountant, have reviewed, let alone submitted, expense requests to the finance department?

But what ultimately sealed the entire narrative was the piece of physical evidence Maekar had just introduced to the court: a medium-sized display screen resembling a television, and a small black box that appeared to be an external hard drive.

At that moment, her ex-husband could no longer restrain himself. The instant he saw Rhaegel take the device and hand it over to the court clerk, he shot to his feet.

“No…” He muttered under his breath. “I already threw that… how could it still…”

As one of the people seated closest to him, the prosecutor, along with several officers, had also clearly caught those words.

But before any of them could react, Maekar spoke: “This is the final piece of evidence we wish to submit, Your Honor.”

“What is it?” The judge asked.

“A hard disk drive containing incriminating data, and a computer monitor.” Maekar said. “The monitor was recently purchased for the purpose of accessing the contents of this drive. However, you are welcome to connect it to any system in the courtroom to verify the data yourselves.”

A faint, almost cruel smile curved across Maekar’s lips as his gaze drifted toward her ex-husband, the man who, only now, seemed to realize he had just spoken out of turn.

“We have recovered the contents of the drive.”  Maekar said. “All evidence related to tax evasion, financial fraud, and embezzlement is stored within it. It appears that whoever attempted to erase the traces forgot one thing, even if files are deleted from the desktop, there is still another location where deleted data is retained: the recycle bin. Your Honors, you may verify this yourselves. I am confident you will not only find financial documents, but also the application used for remote control.”

“No way!” Her ex-husband had already realized he was cornered, yet he still clung desperately to denial. “Even if there’s evidence in there, how do you know she isn’t the one who did it?” 

Maekar let out a cold laugh: “Anyone with the most basic understanding of network technology knows how a wireless network operates. And the most conclusive proof lies in the defendant’s own financial records, or rather, in the tax-evasion records of A&F Law Firm itself.”

By all appearances, the trial should have ended the moment he concluded his argument and submitted the final piece of evidence. But Maekar was a man who noticed details others overlooked. It was precisely that relentless attention to the smallest inconsistencies that had allowed him to uncover the overlooked threads and piece together the truth behind the case.

The projection screen shifted once more. This time, it displayed a photograph of the official investigative file documenting suspicions that A&F Law Firm had violated tax law. It was the very file the financial police had submitted to the department in order to obtain a search warrant for the company.

“Why was A&F first suspected of tax evasion?” Maekar asked, then answered himself. “I believe we already know the answer.”

He pressed the remote, the next slide enlarged the section stating the grounds for the warrant request, allowing every person in the courtroom to read it clearly.

Reason for search authorization: Detection of A&F Law Firm’s IP address accessing suspicious websites…

At the very end of the line was the name of a website wholly unrelated to taxation. And yet everyone in the room now recognized it instantly. 

It was the exact remote-access software platform the woman from HP Multimedia had identified earlier.

There was nothing left to deny. Her ex-husband lurched forward, pointing directly at her, his gaze blazing with such violent hatred it seemed he wished he could tear her apart with his bare hands.

“It was you!” He roared. “You fabricated all of this! You framed me because you hated me for what happened to your miscarriage!” His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted beyond recognition.

“How could I possibly be connected to that drive?” He shouted desperately. “What does the company’s IP address have to do with me? And that remote-control software, didn’t even know it existed!” He turned wildly toward the bench. “Your Honor, do not believe her! Everything that woman and her lawyers have said is a lie!”

His voice cracked into near hysteria: “All of this evidence has been fabricated!”

No one in the courtroom noticed the faint tightening of the brows of the woman in her forties seated in the witness stand.

Until she finally spoke: “Sir? Do you not recognize me?”

The courtroom fell into a sudden silence. 

Only then did she turn her gaze toward the man who had just been hurling accusations at the helpless defendant: “I am the person you contacted to purchase the remote-control application.”

The color drained from her ex-husband’s face almost instantly. At that moment, he no longer had anything left to use in his defense.

Because it was true, he did not know that woman, he had never met her. When purchasing the software, all his communication had been conducted indirectly through the company’s customer support via messages.

Of course, Maekar had no intention of letting her wretched ex-husband escape the final blow. He turned at once toward the woman seated in the witness stand: “Do you still have those messages?”

She nodded and retrieved her phone. After the court clerk spent several moments reviewing the conversation and finally gave a confirming nod to the judge, the device was placed beneath the visualizer and connected to the projection system. A second later, the entire message thread appeared on the courtroom screen for everyone to see.

(14:30 07/02/991)

You: How may I help you, sir?

Director of Information and Communications, A&F Law Firm: We would like to purchase your remote laptop-control application.

In the midst of the escalating tension, a cold laugh suddenly escaped Maekar.

“I almost forgot.” He reached down and lifted a thin folder, nothing more than a folded piece of cardboard.

The moment her ex-husband saw it, panic flickered unmistakably across his face. He surged forward, attempting to rush toward the courtroom area, only to be immediately restrained by the officers. Struggling violently, he was dragged back as his eyes burned red with rage, like a cornered predator locked onto its enemy.

Then his gaze shifted toward her.

She jolted to her feet and instinctively stepped back. Rhaegel immediately moved in front of her, shielding half her body.

For a brief moment, under that stare, she was no longer in the courtroom.

She was back at their rented apartment, watching with her own eyes as he stood beside the woman he had been cheating with.

The dull, lingering pain in her lower abdomen returned like a phantom echo, even though there was nothing left there to hurt anymore. Her head throbbed violently, as if the wound had never fully healed.

She had never told anyone the truth, that it was him who had caused her miscarriage.

She had never dared to speak it, because she was afraid he would abuse her.

She did not want to go back to being that little girl again, the one who had learned too early what it meant to be hurt and not be allowed to speak.

Tears that had already been wiped away welled up once more. Her body trembled uncontrollably in the silent courtroom.

“No…” Her fingers clenched tightly around the gray handkerchief as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored. “Don’t hit me… Please...”

Rhaegel immediately stepped in front of her, blocking her view so she could no longer see her ex-husband. Then he glanced toward Maekar. When he saw the concern still lingering on his younger brother’s face, he gave a subtle nod, a silent reassurance, a signal to continue.

Because once this trial ended, she would begin a new life.

And Maekar would be the one to bring it to its conclusion.

Maekar blinked once, almost imperceptibly, a quiet acknowledgment of his brother’s trust.

“Your Honor.” He exhaled slowly, then handed the thin notebook to the court clerk. “This is the final piece of evidence we wish to submit.”

The judge opened the booklet, and the deep furrow between their brows tightened even further.

It was a bankbook.

The judge read the printed name on it aloud. The moment it was spoken, her ex-husband’s expression shifted instantly, panic, sharp and unmistakable.

At the same time, she looked up toward the bench, confused and shaken.

It bore the name of the secretary, the woman who had been involved with him.

Maekar continued: “This bankbook shows continuous deposits over a prolonged period.”

The projection screen shifted once again as Maekar changed the display. This time, it showed the contents of the savings book.

01/01/991, deposit of 1,000,000 WD into the account. 

29/01/991, deposit of 9,500,000 WD into the account.

07/02/991, deposit of 2,000,000 WD into the account.

…

30/06/991, deposit of 7,000,000 WD into the account.

10/07/991, deposit of 10,000,000 WD into the account.

Line after line of recorded transactions filled the screen, each one carefully dated, each one meticulously logged. But what truly made the entire courtroom fall into stunned silence was the final figure printed at the bottom of the page.

Balance: 30,000,000 WD.

The prosecutor could hardly believe what he was seeing. He stared at the projection screen for a long moment, visibly stunned, and Maekar could not tell whether it was because they had finally found their answer, or because they were at a loss at the sheer foolishness of her ex-husband.

After all, if one were going to embezzle public funds, they should not be foolish enough to transfer the money directly into a lover’s savings account, or even worse, to keep the exact figure the company had reported to the prosecution.

“Now then, Your Honor.” Maekar said, his tone edged with quiet mockery. “It seems the missing 30,000,000 WD has been found.”

He walked closer to where her ex-husband was being restrained by the officers, slipping both hands into his pockets, a posture of quiet satisfaction he only ever adopted when everything had gone exactly as planned.

And at this moment, he had done it.

He had secured her acquittal.

There was no need for him to hold back anymore, nor to wait for any further protest from the man. 

Maekar's voice was calm and cutting: “Don’t bother blaming the secretary either. We’ve already recovered evidence from the hard drive proving you personally arranged the savings account transfer for her.”

Rhaegel let out a short laugh. “I recall you insisted earlier that this wasn’t a matter between you and her, it was between her and A&F.” His gaze sharpened. “So why do you insert yourself into it?”

“What did you say?” Gwin sat in the spectators’ gallery, her arms crossed with an air of satisfaction. “‘Framed me’, didn't you?”

On the other side, Maekar let out a cold snort. For the first time in his life, he felt that every ounce of frustration and pressure he had endured before and during this case had been entirely worth the outcome he had achieved.

He stepped closer to her ex-husband and lowered his voice, asking a chilling question: “No one even mentioned you. Why are you insisting this is about ‘framed you’?”

At this point, her ex-husband was no longer looking at her alone, but at Maekar as well.

As if realizing something all at once, he suddenly burst into laughter. A deranged, unhinged laugh, or perhaps he had truly gone mad. Because every accusation he had tried to pin on her had been completely dismantled before everyone in the courtroom.

The judge’s gavel struck once more. “We acknowledge the submitted evidence.” He said. “This court is adjourned.”

However, unlike the jurors who were already gathering their documents, the judge did not immediately stand. Instead, he turned to Maekar: “Does the defense have anything further to say?”

She had never held out much hope beyond simply proving her innocence. And now that acquittal seemed all but certain, the tension that had once gripped her mind had finally begun to loosen.

She sat back in her seat, feeling almost weightless.

After a long moment, she lifted her head to look at Maekar and smiled at him.

Maekar smiled back.

They had succeeded.

He had succeeded in defending her.

But it was not over yet.

“Your Honor.” Maekar’s deep, steady voice resonated through the courtroom. “We hereby move to file a formal lawsuit against him and A&F Law Firm for defamation and for making false accusations against our client under Clause 3, Article 156 of the Westeros Criminal Code. In addition, we are filing a second claim under Article 867 of Decree 144/876/D-GDW for domestic violence during the marriage with prior offenses. My brother, Rhaegel, will serve as defense counsel for her in the upcoming proceedings.”

At the mention of a new case, not only her ex-husband panicked, even she looked utterly stunned, as if she could not believe what she had just heard. 

She could counter-sue him?

The judge, however, did not appear particularly surprised. With a measured nod, he acknowledged the filing and rose to formally adjourn the session.

Maekar remained standing at the center of the courtroom.

The gaze he directed at her ex-husband was no longer that of an ideal lawyer. It was the stare of a dragon, vast, merciless, and ready to tear its prey apart in burning fury.

And this time, Maekar would make sure the bastard who had hurt her paid the price he deserved.

That afternoon, as the judge finished reading the verdict, her perpetually heavy shoulders finally relaxed. 

Stepping out of the King’s Landing courthouse, she could at last take a long, deep breath, as if shedding the crushing weight she had carried for so long.

Her ex-husband was so faint-hearted that even without being prompted, he confessed to everything, his face completely betraying his emotions. The moment she saw him squirming as Maekar handed the bankbook to the judge, she knew that the culprit was finally going to face the consequences. Even if he tried to put on a brave face, following the investigation based on the evidence Maekar provided, he and the employees involved in this corporate financial fraud case at A&F would undoubtedly be thrown into prison.

Standing outside the grand courthouse gates, she looked up at the crisp, clear late-autumn sky. Though the pre-winter air was freezing, her heart felt incredibly warm and at peace.

“Careful, you’ll catch a cold.” She heard the deep, low voice of her former director. As she turned around, Maekar was already draping his long, thick overcoat gently over her shoulders.

Before she could say anything, another man’s voice sounded from behind them.

It was the prosecutor.

“Congratulations.” Carrying a box of case files in his arms, he approached them. There was genuine surprise, and a note of admiration, in his voice as he addressed Maekar. “I didn’t expect you’d manage to win her a full acquittal. No wonder they call you ‘the Anvil of the legal world’.”

Maekar gave him a brief nod, the sort one offers an old friend: “It was never a particularly difficult case. Every piece of evidence against her was fabricated. Naturally, overturning it was only a matter of exposing the truth.”

The prosecutor’s eyes narrowed into an amused smile: “Finding the real evidence and recognizing that every accusation against her was false was the difficult part. Mr. Targaryen, you invested a great deal of yourself into this case, didn’t you.” 

It was not a question. It was a statement.

A man with a mind as sharp and methodical as the prosecutor had undoubtedly already pieced together the reason why someone at the very pinnacle of the legal profession like Maekar had personally chosen to step into this courtroom.

It certainly was not merely to add another victory to his already flawless record.

Maekar fixed him with a flat, bullet-hard stare, pointedly ignoring the wide-eyed curiosity and astonishment written across her face.

The prosecutor only chuckled, he turned to her. “You’ve got yourself an exceptional man, you know.” His brow lifted in knowing arch. 

“Get the fuck out of here!” Maekar snapped, his usual irritable demeanor returning at once.

“Alright. I’m going.” The prosecutor pouted theatrically, then let out a laugh and waved them a casual farewell before walking off.

“The financial police will reopen the investigation into the A&F law firm.” Maekar’s tone settled back into that rare, composed calm of his. He stepped closer than before as if trying to shield her from the early winter wind. “Soon enough, he will receive the punishment he deserves.” His voice grew noticeably colder when mentioning her ex-husband.

His coat was so oversized that she felt as though she were wrapped in a giant blanket. Yet, what brought the ultimate sense of peace to her heart was Maekar’s distinct, unforgettable scent. Her cheeks slowly flushed pink, though she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the sudden warmth. 

“Thank you, Mr. Targaryen.” She softly expressed her gratitude, gently clutching the inner padded lining of his ash-gray overcoat. “Without you, I don’t know when my name would have finally been cleared.”

“You don’t need to.” Maekar turned his back to her. “It was something I had to do.”

She couldn’t help but look back to the day the financial police stormed into her rented room, producing a warrant to arrest her. During her time in detention, the very first person to visit, comfort, and check on her was none other than him, her former boss. 

Now, standing behind him and looking at his broad, solid shoulders, her heart suddenly began to race at an inexplicable speed.

To her, Maekar was merely a chivalrous former boss who had lent a helping hand in her hour of need. While it was true that he had helped her a great deal back when she worked at his company, she had a boyfriend at the time, who later became her ex-husband, so she had never paid much attention to his gestures of care. She had always thought their relationship stopped at being colleagues, or more accurately, boss and former accountant. Yet, the moment Maekar showed up at the police station carrying her personal belongings, she gradually began to open her heart to him.

She had never truly understood this hot-tempered director.

She didn't understand why he would risk everything just to be her defense lawyer.

So she asked the question she had been dying to ask: “Why did you help me?”

Maekar stood frozen for a long moment. Only after taking a deep breath to compose himself did he turn around to face her.

Rhaegel had taken the initiative to go home early to leave the two of them some privacy, and even her best friend had vanished without a trace. Perhaps his brother had dropped a hint to Gwin that Maekar was not one for sweet talk, nor was he good at expressing his feelings through words, so they needed to leave him alone with her for things to actually progress.

But right now, Maekar wished those two were here more than ever, because he had never possessed enough courage to confess his true feelings to her.

“I just thought I should help you.” His voice is a bit stiff. “This is considered a commercial case, and not just anyone could act as a defense lawyer for an accountant accused with so much evidence stacked against them like I did.”

It sounded as though he were blowing his own horn. She secretly smiled at the thought but politely refrained from calling him out. 

“But why did you attend to it personally?” She asked again. “I mean, you know? You could have assigned this to anyone in the company, even your brother.”

The early winter wind swept through where the two of them stood. Under the crisp, clear blue sky, it felt as though not only she, but he himself, had been born again.

Everything was in the past now. The trial was over, and the accusations made by her ex-husband had been exposed by Maekar and his associates before everyone's eyes, most importantly, in front of the law enforcement officials. From now on, she would never have to live in fear whenever her ex-husband threw a tantrum, nor would she have to suffer the heartbreak of witnessing his infidelities.

She was free.

She had been renewed.

And Maekar saw his chance.

He closed his eyes and opened them immediately, the determination to protect her and stay by her side growing stronger than ever. Now, nothing could stand in his way of reaching her.

“Because I care about you.” He said slowly. “Because I don't want to see you heartbroken or desperate over an unworthy man ever again.”

She hadn't expected such an answer, so she just stood there frozen, her eyes wide with astonishment as she stared at him for a long moment. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what Maekar meant, wasn't it obvious that he had feelings for her, which was why he had been worried sick about her like that?

She suddenly frowned, not out of annoyance, but because she was frustrated with herself. 

She should have realized it sooner, how could it be as simple as the director of a law firm renowned across all of Westeros personally becoming her defense attorney? 

If it wasn't for personal feelings, what else could it be?

“Don't say anything.” Maekar suddenly spoke up, cutting off her train of thought. “I've made up my mind. Whether you agree or not, I am determined to have your back for the rest of your life.”

It seemed he had mistaken her frown for a silent rejection, but of course, that wasn't what she meant at all.

“I’ll take you home. Let’s go.” Maekar didn't give her a chance to refuse, he immediately turned on his heel toward the parking lot.

Snapping out of her daze, she called after him: “Mr. Targaryen, I... I can do it myself.” 

Maekar let out a frustrated sigh. “Are you really planning to take a cab back to that cramped flat?” Of course, he wasn’t annoyed with her at all. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her with an unyielding expression. “Nice dream, but it's time to wake up.” With that, he resumed walking.

“Wait!” She hurriedly ran after him. “I still have my belongings there, and my clothes too.”

Ever since she was hit with the financial fraud accusations, she hadn't been back to her place once, in this time, all her clothes and daily essentials had been personally bought for her by Maekar. Now, her ex-husband was in custody pending investigation, but even if he was heading to prison, that rented room was no longer livable. If she wanted to move out, the first thing she needed to do was pack up her things.

She was not allowed to be a burden to anyone, that was one of her principles in life. In this legal battle, she had already relied on and received too much help from Maekar, and she didn't dare trouble him any further.

Yet, he didn't look like someone who felt troubled at all. In fact, in a place she couldn't see, Maekar actually felt thrilled to “be troubled” like this.

“You won't be needing them anymore.” He said as he walked, without bothering to turn his head. “I will buy you all new things.”

Overwhelmed by his lavish pampering, she stammered: “How could that be? You’ve already helped me so much, there’s no need to…”

“Be quiet and get in the car, girl.” They had arrived at Maekar's parked vehicle, and he had already opened the door, waiting for her to step inside. “You know I don't like repeating myself.” He jerked his chin, gesturing for her to get in.

Knowing she couldn't win an argument with him, she silently slid into the passenger seat. After Maekar fastened her seatbelt, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He started the engine, selected the destination on the touchscreen display, and finally drove away from the courthouse.

She didn't know where he was taking her, but as long as it wasn't that terrifying, nightmare-fueled rented flat, it didn't matter. 

Leaning her head against the car window, she let out a silent sigh. It wasn't until the car was halfway through the journey that she heard his firm yet slightly awkward voice.

“I’ve thought it through.” He said in a low tone while keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “I won't let you slip out of my sight ever again.”

Maekar had caught her off guard once more, causing her face to flush red at his sudden confession. She could hardly believe that someone like him would care for someone like her.

“From now on, everything is going to get better.” Steering the wheel with one hand, he gently wrapped his other hand around hers, giving it a soft squeeze. Only then did he take his eyes off the road to look at her. “You have my word.”

For the first time in so many years, she felt like she no longer needed to worry about what lay ahead. 

No more racking her brain over what to cook just so her ex-husband wouldn’t lose his appetite and skip meals. 

No more anxious waiting whenever he came home late from work. 

No more panic at the thought of an unwanted pregnancy. 

And no more agonizing over whether she would ever be able to build the dream family she had always longed for.

Under the warm sunshine of the autumn noon, she offered him a genuine smile.

“So this is what relief feels like.” She thought, leaning her head back against the seat. As she watched the peaceful scenery passing by outside the window, her heart, which had been suspended in constant stress and anxiety, finally settled.

She no longer had to dread tomorrow, for she had found a fresh start with someone who truly cared for her.

“I’m taking you to the mall.” Maekar said with a hint of excitement. “My assistant already arranged an apartment for you.”

She nodded, finally throwing up her hands in defeat against his stubborn insistence.

Maekar spoke again: “It’s getting dark. What do you want to eat?.”

“I can just grab some fast food.” She said softly. “I’ve already troubled you so much today, you should head home and get some rest early too.”

“I don’t want to go home.” Maekar said as if it were a matter of fact. “I want to have dinner with you.”

She remained silent for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh: “Thank you, Mr. Targaryen.”

Since she didn’t know what to eat, she left the decision to him. Maekar picked a restaurant near the shopping mall they were heading to. The moment he named the place, she pulled out her phone to search for it. Upon realizing it was one of the most expensive establishments in King’s Landing, her eyes widened in shock, and she snapped her head to look at him.

Noticing her panicked gaze, Maekar knew she was about to back out again. He warned her in a tone so gentle it lacked even a shred of malice: “I’m not allowing you to refuse me, remember that.” 

Her smile grew even brighter as she turned her head to watch him focus on the road: “Of course, sir.”

“Maekar.” He corrected her. “To you, it’s just Maekar.”

Her eyes, still slightly red from crying, had gradually regained their vitality. It seemed that whenever she was by his side, she didn't have to worry about a single thing.

“Maekar.” She repeated his name like a tentative test on the tip of her tongue, which managed to make even someone as emotionally reserved as him break into a chuckle. “Thank you, Maekar.” 

“I like that.” He said suddenly. Feeling her puzzled gaze, he turned his head and gave her his tenderest smile. “I like the way my name sounds on your lips.”

That was also the moment she knew their future would never be a façade of gilded rot.

[weregloo]

RENEWED

Canon: Managing Director of law firm!Maekar Targaryen x Former Accountant!Reader

Trope: From boss and former employee to husband and wife.

Warning: no use of Y/N, modern AU, courtroom drama: tax evasion and embezzlement trial.

Summary: After helping her win a major lawsuit against her ex-husband who had framed her for tax evasion and financial fraud, Maekar finally kicked that faithless bastard out of her life. Having spent years loving her in silence, he resolved to stay by her side and take care of her for the rest of their life.

Note: Gwin Ashford is Reader’s best friend.

Gilded Rot

People across Westeros thought Maekar Targaryen had lost his mind. Why else would the managing director of one of the country’s most prestigious law firms willingly take on the defense of an accountant accused of tax evasion?

Any person who lives not a selfish life for themselves shall be destroyed by the Seven - coming soon

Gwin had a headache. Although her best friend had ended up with the man she truly deserved, but for some reason, Gwin now found herself doing her utmost to convince her to marry him as soon as possible.

[weregloo]

MARCH SPRING PROMISE

Dreams Come True

Senator’s Secretary!Baelor x Neurosurgeon!Reader

Trope: First meeting, date to marriage.

Word count: 7.226

Summary: They met in the spring of 984 AC. Beneath the radiant blossoms of the Citadel, after an entire lifetime apart, they finally found their happily ever after.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, Lothston!Reader, fluff, modern AU, slice of life. 

Note:

Reader has a distinctive mole on her face.

This is their present life, you can find their past life here.

MARCH SPRING PROMISE Masterlist

Something about Oldtown drew Baelor in with an inexplicable force.

He could not understand why. He had never cared much for the city of scholars and academia before, yet for some reason, he found himself wanting to go there more than anywhere else.

The Ninth National Neuroscience Conference was set to take place in mid-March of 984 AC at Citadel National University. When Baelor received an invitation to attend as the representative of the current Prime Minister, he found himself quietly relieved. After years buried beneath endless work, he finally had a reason to visit the city he had long wondered about.

Before flying to Oldtown, his father had told him: “You should take this opportunity to rest as well. Hand this week’s unfinished work over to Aerys, and bring Valarr and Matarys with you. I’m sure the boys would be thrilled to travel somewhere new.”

“What about the discussion with the Prime Minister?” Baelor asked hesitantly. Even though the Prime Minister’s office had become less demanding lately, he could never quite stop worrying, especially with how often his father had been complaining about headaches these days. “I don’t think Aerys can handle everything alone. Maybe Maekar should attend the conference instead, and I’ll stay here with you.”

“Oh, enough of that.” Daeron waved him off, clearly signaling for his son to obey him. “I’ll have Rhaegel help out as well. You’ve spent years working beside me without a proper break. Think of this as a vacation.”

“And besides.” Daeron added teasingly. “Don’t underestimate this old man’s health just yet. I still remember how badly you once wanted to visit Oldtown.”

“But…” Baelor looked genuinely surprised. He had mentioned it to his father many years ago, yet somehow Daeron still remembered. “I was only curious about what the blossoms at the Citadel looked like in spring.”

Daeron frowned, though there was no irritation on his face, only the helplessness of a father far too familiar with his eldest son’s stubbornness. “Wasn’t it supposed to be right in the middle of March, when the blossoms are in full bloom?” He said. “If you have the chance, then go. Why keep hesitating?”

Baelor still looked uneasy: “What about the work…”

“Oh Gods, for the love of the Seven, just go for me, would you?” Daeron let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead as he waved him away. “With you around, I can’t even sneak a few sweets without being lectured.”

“Alright, alright.” Baelor finally relented with a nod. Just as he was about to leave the office, he suddenly paused. “Do you want me to bring anything back?”

“The blossom pastries.” Daeron answered immediately.

“No.”

Baelor rejected the request without hesitation before walking out of the office. His father was getting old, and there was no way he was letting him develop diabetes.

With Daeron’s approval, Baelor had thought the three of them, including Valarr and Matarys, would finally enjoy a peaceful vacation filled with laughter and relaxation. Yet less than a day after arriving in Oldtown, Matarys twisted his ankle while trying to balance himself along the edge of one of the fountains on Citadel University’s campus.

Baelor immediately scooped up his nine-year-old son and rushed him to the university hospital right next door. He had intended to send Valarr back to the hotel with the driver, but his eldest insisted on accompanying his younger brother, so Baelor eventually gave in. After all, it was only a sprained ankle. A minor dislocation at worst. Baelor assumed the doctors would simply set the joint back in place, and they would all be able to return to the hotel shortly afterward.

What he had not expected was the scene awaiting them the moment he stepped into the hospital’s orthopedic trauma center: the exact kind of frantic chaos he and his sons had only ever seen in medical dramas.

“There’s been an accident, and the injured are currently being transferred here.” The nurse explained after he approached the reception desk to describe Matarys’s condition. “At the moment, all of our trauma specialists have been called away to assist the emergency patients. Would you be willing to wait for a while?”

Under normal circumstances, Baelor might have understood and patiently agreed to wait. But right now, his son was in so much pain that his face had twisted up completely, tears streaming endlessly down his cheeks until his eyes were swollen and red. Matarys was only nine years old. There was no way his little son could endure pain like this for long.

“Isn’t there another doctor available?” Baelor frowned, though his voice remained as calm and courteous as ever. “Someone should at least examine his injury first.”

The nurse lowered her head and typed at the keyboard for a long moment before finally looking back up. “I’m truly sorry, sir. Every doctor capable of handling his injury has been called to the orthopedic trauma center.” She looked genuinely apologetic. “Perhaps if you could wait a little longer, I’ll let you know as soon as someone from orthopedics becomes available.”

Baelor was just about to say something else when a voice suddenly spoke up beside the reception desk.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it.”

It was a woman around his age. She had bright, clear eyes and her hair was neatly tied into a tidy bun, but what drew his attention most was the distinctive mole upon her face, so striking it could not possibly belong to anyone else. She wore neutral-toned scrubs that somehow made both her complexion and her gentle smile stand out even more vividly.

For a moment, time itself seemed to stop when Baelor looked at her. He could not understand why his heart had suddenly begun beating so strangely fast.

The nurse blinked in surprise: “Doctor Lothston? Didn’t you just finish surgery?”

“Yes, but it’s alright.” She replied, though her eyes remained warmly fixed on him. “May I take a look at the boy?”

It took Baelor a moment to realize she was speaking to him. He quickly nodded and stepped aside, revealing his younger son sitting on the waiting bench behind him, quietly sniffling through his tears.

“Did you twist your ankle?” She asked as she walked over and crouched down in front of Matarys. “Can I take a look?”

Still rubbing his eyes, Matarys nodded. The moment her hand touched his ankle, he flinched and let out a soft whimper.

“It looks dislocated.” She said as she rose to her feet and turned toward Baelor. “Would you mind bringing your sons up to my office?”

Baelor nodded: “Of course.”

He bent down to pick Matarys up before following after her. Valarr quickly hopped off his seat and hurried after them into the elevator. When he noticed someone else trying to get in, he even reached out to hold the door open for them.

“Your son is very thoughtful.” She remarked with visible surprise after Valarr unintentionally stole her job of holding the elevator door. “Hey, little one, can you tell me how your brother got hurt?”

Valarr glanced shyly up at Baelor, only speaking after receiving permission from his father: “He said he wanted to walk along the edge of the fountain. I was watching him, but when I turned away to call father over, he fell.”

She nodded knowingly: “Don’t worry, I’ll put his ankle back in place.”

When the elevator doors opened, Baelor finally noticed that they had arrived at the neurosurgery floor rather than orthopedics. He was just about to ask about it when she pushed open the office door and gestured for the three of them to come inside instead, so he let the question go.

Matarys was seated on a small stool. He was still too young to comfortably sit on something high like an examination bed or office chair, so she had deliberately found a low plastic chair for him instead.

She carefully rested his injured foot atop a small wooden box before examining the injury one more time. The moment she pressed her thumb lightly against the skin beneath Matarys’s ankle bone, the boy cried out loudly before bursting into tears.

Unlike Baelor, who looked deeply worried, she remained remarkably calm. “No fracture.” She said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise he’d need a cast.”

Baelor let out a relieved breath: “Can you help him?”

“Of course.” She smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have brought you all up here if I can’t.” 

Once Matarys’s ankle had finally returned to normal, the heavy weight pressing upon Baelor’s chest disappeared as well.

While Valarr helped his younger brother try walking again, Baelor took the opportunity to thank her properly. After all, something as simple as setting a dislocated ankle should never have fallen to someone outside the trauma department in the first place.

“You’re a neurologist?” Baelor asked, glancing toward the walls covered in brain scans and anatomical diagrams. “I thought only orthopedic specialists and trauma physicians knew how to do that.”

She answered politely: “I know a little outside my specialty, that’s all.”

Realization dawned clearly across Baelor’s face: “Then I suppose my sons and I were fortunate enough to meet you today.”

As they continued talking, Baelor gradually realized that she seemed to know absolutely nothing about him, or more specifically, about his position as the Prime Minister’s spokesman.

Most of the people he met through political circles already knew who he was long before he ever introduced himself. And because they knew, they always treated him with a certain degree of caution or reverence. But she was different. The way she spoke to him felt far more relaxed than anyone he had ever encountered in politics.

Almost as though they were old friends reuniting after years apart.

“Matarys’s ankle shouldn’t be a problem anymore.” She said while walking him and his sons toward the hospital entrance. “But keep an eye on him tonight. Don’t let him run around too much. By tomorrow morning, he should be perfectly fine again.”

Baelor smiled warmly: “Thank you for helping my son.”

The truth was, he did not want to leave yet.

By now, he recognized exactly what this unfamiliar quickening of his heartbeat meant, and naturally, he did not want to simply say goodbye and walk away from her. So Baelor shifted the conversation elsewhere, this time toward the conference he was meant to attend.

“You’ll be attending the conference tomorrow, won’t you?” He asked. “If I remember correctly, it’s focused on neuroscience, which happens to be your field.”

She frowned slightly, looking almost regretful: “I’m not sure yet. If nothing comes up tomorrow, then perhaps I’ll consider going.”

Since she had answered like that, Baelor found himself unsure of what else he could possibly say. Then again, she did not seem particularly interested in him at all. And perhaps that was only natural. What appeal could a man in his thirties, already widowed with two children, possibly still have?

He did not see her anywhere during the conference either, which only deepened his disappointment.

It had been nearly ten years since Jena’s death. Since then, he had never once considered pursuing another relationship. Not because he feared dishonoring the memory of his late wife, but simply because he had been far too consumed by the responsibilities surrounding his father’s position. More importantly, no one had stirred his heart ever since.

By the time the conference came to an end, Baelor wandered toward the Citadel’s blossom grove, and to his surprise, he found her there.

“Doctor Lothston?” He called out her name. Only after confirming it truly was the doctor who had treated his son, Baelor approached her with a bright smile. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Targaryen.” She smiled back at him. “I never said I wouldn’t.”

The two of them sat upon a stone bench facing the blossoms in full bloom. As Baelor watched the petals drift gently alongside the spring wind, an inexplicable sense of peace and happiness settled quietly within him.

He drew in a slow breath. The faint sweetness of the blossoms lingered at the tip of his nose, only making his already unsteady heartbeat pound even harder. After a long silence, he finally turned toward her, only to find her already looking at him.

For some reason, she seemed very different from yesterday.

“Is this your first time here?” She asked softly.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’ve wanted to come here for a very long time.”

She turned her gaze back toward the blossoms ahead before speaking softly. “Because you wanted to see the blossoms blooming in spring?” She asked. “Everyone from outside Oldtown wants to come here for the flowers.”

Baelor thought for a moment before shaking his head slightly: “No, not exactly. I don’t really know how to explain it. Ever since I first heard about Oldtown, I’ve wanted to come here.”

“And what about you?” He turned toward her again. “I thought the neuroscience conference would gather every neurologist from Citadel University.”

She smiled faintly. “I wasn’t presenting anything this year, and besides, I gave my seat to one of my interns.” Then her eyes curved playfully as she added. “If I came too, there wouldn’t be enough seats left.”

Baelor let out a quiet laugh: “Fair enough.”

Silence settled between them once more, so long that Baelor had begun to think the conversation would simply end there.

Then suddenly, she spoke again: “Would you mind if I said something strange?”

Baelor shook his head.

Her expression grew unexpectedly serious: “I dreamed about you yesterday.”

Baelor’s eyes widened immediately.

It was not the dream itself that surprised him most, but rather the fact that she had openly admitted it to him. They had only known each other for less than a day, and yet she had spoken with such startling honesty.

“It felt strange.” She frowned slightly. “Almost like… the very first moment I saw you.”

Something in Baelor’s chest tightened. “Hm?” He asked quietly. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” She hesitated. Perhaps it was merely the reflection of the blossoms around them, but he could have sworn her cheeks had turned faintly pink. “My heart was racing. I felt restless for no reason. Almost as though I’d met you somewhere before.”

Baelor finally let out a soft breath.

“Well.” He said gently. “We have met before.”

She tilted her head slightly as she studied the now-relaxed expression on his face. Her eyes were so intent, so analytical, that it almost felt as though she were examining every subtle movement he made.

At first, Baelor confidently returned her gaze, but the intensity of her scrutiny soon became too much even for him. Not long afterward, he finally surrendered and looked away first.

She said softly: “I mean before we met at the hospital.”

She paused for a moment before continuing: “It feels like it was long before that. A very, very long time ago.”

Baelor cleared his throat lightly: “Perhaps you’ve seen me on the news before…”

“No.” She denied it immediately. “I rarely watch television.”

She thought about it for a long while, but no answer came to her in the end, so she eventually gave up trying to understand it.

Turning back toward the blossom grove, she leaned against the bench once more. This time, however, Baelor could clearly feel her sneaking glances at him from the corner of her eye.

So that was it.

A quiet realization settled within him. She had feelings for him too, she simply had not realized it yet. The thought made Baelor suddenly laugh under his breath.

“You know.” He said softly. “I think I finally understand why I wanted to come here so badly.”

She raised a brow in silent question, and he continued: “Maybe it’s destiny.”

“There was once someone who told me that if a person couldn’t fulfill their wishes in a past life, then they would eventually fulfill them in the next.” His voice was calm and gentle, almost as though he were reading from the pages of an old book. Combined with the peaceful scenery of Citadel’s blossoms, the moment felt unreal, like a painting untouched by time. “Perhaps my past self once longed to come here.”

She fell silent, genuinely contemplating his explanation as though carefully dissecting it piece by piece.

Baelor turned fully toward her then, unable to deny how captivating she looked whenever she frowned slightly and sank so deeply into thought.

“I see.” She murmured at last, though he had no idea what conclusion she had reached. “Then according to your theory… perhaps we knew each other in a past life.”

Baelor blinked in surprise. “That’s not what I meant.” He hesitated before blurting out in confusion. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

She nodded slowly.

“And someone devoted to science actually believes in things like past lives and destiny?” Baelor could not help laughing aloud himself, as though his earlier explanation had only ever been a joke. “It was just a baseless guess.”

But she did not seem to think so.

“I once read a study about this.” She began seriously. “Dreams are usually created because people spend the day thinking about something intensely. For example, if a girl dreams about the man she secretly loves, then naturally it’s because she’s been thinking about him all day.”

She turned toward him fully then, her expression more earnest than ever: “I believe in your ‘baseless guess’.” The seriousness in her voice made the words strangely endearing. “Because I dreamed about you even though I knew nothing about you.”

Baelor suddenly found himself speechless.

He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.

And then her next sentence sent his heartbeat into complete disarray.

“But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you.”

Ever since she was born, she had buried herself in books and devoted her life to medicine.

People often said it was because of her parents’ influence, both of them had been brilliant researchers in science, technology, and medicine. Others pitied her, believing she had been forced into the field by expectations placed upon her since childhood.

She had explained before that medicine was simply what she loved. She was fascinated by the human body, especially the brain and the intricate web of nerves that controlled every movement and thought. But no matter how many times she tried to explain it, people never seemed to understand.

So she stopped correcting them.

For more than thirty years, her life had passed in what others considered dull monotony, though she herself had never truly thought so. She went to class, attended lectures, spent hours hidden away in libraries, and returned home only to continue studying late into the night. After earning her doctorate and specialist qualifications, she devoted nearly all of her time to working at the hospital, sometimes even helping senior doctors supervise medical students.

She had no interest in parties or social gatherings, not even with her own friends.

Romance was no different.

“You’re boring.” One of her former boyfriends had once complained. “Other than going to the hospital, what else do you even do? Is your entire life just work?”

“And what about me?” Another had demanded bitterly. “Do you ever think about me at all? Why don’t you reply to my messages? Why don’t you answer my calls? Is your job really that much more important than I am? Every time I ask you out, you turn me down because you’re busy. Sometimes it feels like we’re not even dating.”

“Quit your job and stay home.” That one had not even been a boyfriend, merely a man introduced to her through matchmaking. “Once I sign this contract, I’ll be rich. By then, you won’t have to work so hard anymore.”

There had even been men who proposed to her.

She rejected every one of them.

Partly because she had not yet fulfilled the goal she had set for herself. Or perhaps because none of those proposals had arrived at the right time.

“Why?” That man had asked desperately. “I waited patiently for you to graduate. What else are you waiting for before getting married?”

She had looked at him in confusion: “You think graduating means I’m finished?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He had frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to keep studying. What now then? PhD?” 

She had calmly nodded. Because medicine was everything to her. If she could not become a doctor, then the dream she had carried since childhood would never come true.

She would not marry until she fulfilled that dream.

Love came to her quickly, and left just as quickly. Most of her relationships ended for the same reason: the people she dated eventually grew resentful of how consumed she was by her work.

And she, in turn, believed they simply did not understand her.

About a year after ending her last relationship, she slowly began considering the possibility that perhaps she simply was not meant for romance at all. After all, her work mattered more to her than anything else, not because of money or prestige, but because she genuinely loved what she did. If wealth had truly been her goal, she would have left the Citadel long ago and returned to the Riverlands to inherit Harrenhal Hospital instead.

“Perhaps I’ll remain alone forever.” She had once thought.

That was, until she met Baelor.

(01:06 19/4/984)

Baelor Targaryen: I just got home. Having a late-night meal now.

Baelor Targaryen: I’ll be going to the Riverlands this weekend. My father is meeting with Mayor Baelish to discuss the city’s security situation.

Baelor Targaryen: Do you happen to be off work that day?

(19:33 19/4/984)

You: You’ll gain weight if you keep eating this late.

You: I’m not taking any break.

You: But I am bringing a group of third-year students to Harrenhal Hospital for their internship rotation.

(04:59 20/4/984)

Baelor Targaryen: I’m not afraid of gaining weight.

Baelor Targaryen: Then I suppose we won’t be able to see each other after all.

Baelor Targaryen: :( 

(13:30 20/4/984)

You: We can meet in the evening.

You: I’m not on call that night.

You: Though I can’t guarantee there won’t be an emergency case. 

You: Just in case, I think you should bring Valarr or Matarys with you.

(22:18 20/4/984)

Baelor Targaryen has sent a photo.

Baelor Targaryen: I’m packing right now. We’ll be staying there for the weekend.

Baelor Targaryen: Valarr and Matarys can’t come, but my younger brother can.

(22:30 20/4/984)

Baelor Targaryen has sent a photo.

Baelor Targaryen: Valarr and Matarys wanted to say hello to you.

(02:24 21/4/984)

You: So adorable.

You: Say hello to the boys for me.

You have sent a photo.

You: I heard this restaurant is really good. We should try it this weekend.

You: Or, if I can’t make it, you can take your brother there instead.

You have sent a location.

You: This is my parents’ favorite place.

(00:17 22/4/984)

Baelor Targaryen: You’ve never been there before?

(08:38 22/4/984)

You: No.

You: They just opened when I was in my fifth year.

“You’ve been acting strange lately.” The woman in her fifties sitting inside the hospital director’s office suddenly spoke up. “I don’t remember you ever being the type to sit around texting on your phone.”

“Times change, mom. People change with them.” She laughed softly as she sent one final message before locking her screen. “I’m eating out tonight.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes, openly scrutinizing her daughter from head to toe. She knew her child far too well. Her daughter never went out to eat with anyone unless she and her husband practically dragged her there themselves. With a mother’s intuition, she already knew exactly what was going on.

“Mhmmm.” Her mother hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, I see.” A grin slowly spread across her face. “So you finally have a boyfriend.”

By then, she had already crossed from the sofa to the wardrobe. While slipping off her white coat, she replied casually: “It’s not like that’s anything unusual. I’ve dated before.”

Her mother pouted: “Never underestimate a mother’s intuition. This relationship feels very different from the others.” 

She sighed helplessly, not even bothering to correct her mother this time. 

“Well, this one sounds promising.” Her mother continued teasingly. “So when are you planning to let me meet this boyfriend of yours?”

“You’ve already seen him before.” The words slipped out before she froze for a second and quickly corrected herself. “I mean… indirectly.”

Her mother frowned in confusion: “‘Seen’?”

“I should get going.” She turned toward the door instead.

“Seven save me.” Her mother muttered under her breath. “You’re really not going to tell me anything?”

After changing clothes, she left the director’s office. Since she neither had a night shift nor any emergency cases tonight, she was finally able to sling her bag over her shoulder and leave the hospital without worry.

Unfortunately, the moment the elevator doors opened onto the lobby floor, she was greeted by the booming voice of an enraged man shouting somewhere within the emergency ward.

The next thing she saw was a crowd of men in black suits surrounding the reception desk. The nurse on duty tonight was Kiera, one of the final-year students currently interning under her. Though Kiera was close to graduation, this was clearly her first time dealing with a scene like this, because her face had already gone pale with panic.

The silver-haired man was the loudest among them: “Why the fuck is there no emergency physician on duty in this damned hospital?!”

“Sir… please calm down…” Kiera stammered shakily. “I’m contacting them right now, so please wait just a moment…”

“Why can’t he be admitted immediately? What exactly are you people waiting for?” The man barked loudly enough that nearly everyone in the lobby, including doctors, nurses, and patients alike, turned to stare.

She immediately stepped behind the counter to help Kiera. “Good evening, sir.” She said calmly. “How may we assist you?”

The moment the words left her mouth, her gaze collided with a pair of eyes she knew all too well, one blue, one brown.

Relief instantly bloomed in her chest at finally seeing him again after nearly a month of nothing but text messages. But that relief vanished just as quickly the moment she noticed the blood soaking through the hand pressed against the back of his head.

“W, What happened?” She asked, her voice faltering.

Baelor smiled awkwardly: “Just a minor accident.”

At first, Baelor had not even known whether she would be able to go on a date with him at all. But even if she could not, that would have been fine too. He had already decided that he would drag Maekar along to try the restaurant she had recommended anyway.

His original plan after arriving in the Riverlands had been simple enough: accompany his father to the mayor’s residence to discuss several urgent matters concerning the city, then later that evening drive to Harrenhal Hospital and pick her up for dinner if she was free. He would only be staying for two days before flying back to King’s Landing late Sunday night, so if everything went smoothly, he could at least spend two evenings with her.

The thought alone was enough to make Baelor strangely restless with anticipation.

Truthfully, even if she became too busy to leave the hospital, he would not have minded. He could always visit her there instead, perhaps bring food and eat with her between shifts.

Unfortunately, things did not go according to plan.

Especially not after Maekar insisted on sparring with him on Saturday afternoon.

“You need to stitch that injury up immediately!” His younger brother was still shouting at her even after she had already brought them into the treatment room.

Though Baelor knew she was someone who took both her patients and their families seriously, he could clearly see irritation beginning to gather in her eyes.

So he quickly tried to smooth things over.

“It’s really not that serious, Maekar.” Baelor said. “Just a small cut. A few stitches and it’ll be fine.”

Maekar clearly did not share his calmness. “What do you mean, ‘small’?!” He snapped. “The damn cut runs from the back of your neck all the way to the top of your head!” Then he shot another glare toward her. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and help him!”

She frowned at Maekar for a long moment, seemingly baffled that the silver-haired man was so worked up he had failed to notice she had literally just administered local anesthetic to Baelor. Naturally, they had to wait for it to take effect before stitching the wound.

She turned toward the pink-haired girl from the reception desk earlier: “Kiera, go ask security to come in here. Then we’ll begin suturing the wound.”

Maekar rolled his eyes. Decades spent navigating politics had taught him exactly what was hidden beneath polite words like those. “You dare throw me out?” He scoffed. “You don’t have the authority to do that.”

“But I do.” Her voice lowered slightly. “Please step outside, sir. We cannot work properly with this much noise.”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Maekar pointed a finger directly at her face. “I’m staying here with my brother, and you don’t get to order me around. Watch your tone.”

By then, Kiera had already returned with nearly a dozen security guards, each of them broad-shouldered and intimidating enough to rival Duncan, the newly recruited bodyguard working for the Prime Minister’s office.

Maekar stared in disbelief. He had not expected this private hospital to employ security like this. Especially not when the number of guards he himself had brought today could be counted on one hand.

Grinding his teeth, he glared at her as though he wanted to devour her alive. “You’ll regret threatening and throwing me out.” He barked while dodging the guards attempting to place hands on his shoulders. 

“Perhaps.” She smiled, though there was not the slightest trace of humor in it. “But right now, I need to stitch your brother’s wound, so I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

Then her expression turned perfectly calm again. “If you continue causing trouble, you’ll have two choices.” She said smoothly. “You may wait outside like a visitor, or lie down in one of our hospital beds like a patient.”

Baelor let out a quiet laugh at that. Glancing toward Maekar, he lowered his voice: “Go outside and get some rest, brother. The doctor already said my injury isn’t that serious.”

Only after Maekar finally stormed out of the room did she step behind Baelor and gently press her fingers against the skin surrounding the wound. “Does it hurt here?” She asked softly.

“A little.” He admitted. “But not as much as before.”

She nodded before turning toward the tray of surgical instruments, carefully threading an absorbable suture through the needle.

“Kiera.” She called. “Do you want to try? Closing scalp wounds is one of the most basic tasks after neurosurgery.”

The pink-haired student stepped closer to inspect the injury. After staring at it for a while, she hesitantly asked: “Do you think I can really do it? The cut indeed isn’t small.”

Baelor could hear the uncertainty in the young girl’s voice, so he spoke up almost instinctively: “Could Doctor Lothston do it for me instead?”

And just like that, she told Kiera to return to the reception desk and continue her shift. Once the room was left with only the two of them, she finally spoke again: “I was actually getting ready to leave and call you.”

Through the mirror in front of him, Baelor watched her carefully stitching the wound together. He found himself smiling faintly to himself again. He truly liked the way she frowned whenever she concentrated on something.

“So technically, this is our first date.” He sighed with quiet amusement. “I spent so long preparing for it, and somehow things still ended up like this.”

The corners of her lips curved upward, warmth slowly surfacing within her eyes.

“You were right.” She murmured. “I never expected our first date would happen inside a hospital.”

Baelor raised a brow, immediately amused because that had indeed been exactly what he was thinking.

“I never said that.”

“But you thought about it.”

He answered with a low hum of agreement before deliberately steering the conversation elsewhere, almost like the distraction techniques doctors used to calm nervous patients.

“When are you returning to Oldtown?” He asked. “Not tomorrow, I hope?”

“The students will be interning here for about a month.” She explained while continuing her stitches. “I need to stay behind to supervise them and write evaluation reports for their professor.”

“You don’t teach at the university, do you?” Baelor asked curiously. “I thought the supervising professor was usually the one who accompanied interns.”

“That’s because their professor is currently involved in a research project on traditional eastern medicine.” She replied. “He flew to Yi Ti recently, so I’m taking his place for now.”

“So that means you’ll still be here for another month.” Baelor fell briefly into thought. “Perhaps I should rearrange my schedule and take this opportunity to spend more time with you.”

From a certain perspective, Harrenhal Hospital was far closer to King’s Landing than Oldtown ever had been.

The moment he said that, she failed to suppress the bright smile spreading across her face.

“I thought you were extremely busy.” She teased. “Considering you’re the Prime Minister’s secretary.”

“I am busy.” Baelor admitted. “But my father has rules. He doesn’t want his children working themselves to exhaustion while forgetting the people important to them.”

Her hands paused for only half a second: “So that means I’m someone important to you?”

“Of course.” Baelor answered without hesitation before smoothly changing the subject again. “Though I suppose dinner tonight is impossible now.”

She nodded: “You should rest after I finish stitching this. If you want, I can arrange a private room for you here.”

Then suddenly, something seemed to occur to her.

Her eyes visibly lit up.

She stopped mid-stitch and lifted her gaze toward the mirror. For the first time, Baelor saw an expression of excitement on her face that had nothing to do with medicine, research, or work.

“If you want.” She suggested. ”We could still eat here.” A smile slowly spread across her face. “If we’re already having our first date in a hospital, then we might as well commit to the experience.”

Baelor burst out laughing at that. Ridiculous as the idea sounded, he could not deny how strangely fond he was of it already.

“That sounds nice.” He agreed, looking at her warmly through the mirror. “Tomorrow night, we’ll order food from that restaurant you wanted to try and eat here instead.”

She nodded immediately: “Tomorrow night, then.”

In December of 986 AC, her contract with Citadel University Hospital finally came to an end.

Rather than returning to the Riverlands to inherit Harrenhal Hospital as her parents had once hoped, she chose instead to move to King’s Landing and join the Department of Neurosurgery at Westeros General Hospital.

Of everyone around them, Baelor’s father, Daeron, was undoubtedly the greatest supporter of their relationship.

It had been years since he had last seen his eldest son genuinely interested in something beyond endless paperwork and political duties, and so Daeron found himself deeply grateful toward the woman who had managed to pull Baelor away from the Senator’s office, even if only little by little. His support also came with relentless encouragement for them to finally marry already, despite how many times both of them insisted they simply did not have the time yet.

One afternoon in February of 986 AC, while Daeron was in the middle of campaigning for the position of Prime Minister, he abruptly brought up the subject again as the two of him and his son went toward the Red Keep for a meeting.

“Son.” Daeron sighed dramatically, patting the armrest of his seat. “When exactly will I finally get to attend your wedding with my dearest daughter?”

Baelor always found himself chuckling whenever his parents referred to her as “my dearest daughter”. It seemed they had truly come to see her as part of the Targaryen family already.

“I’m happy seeing the two of you like this.” Daeron continued with obvious dissatisfaction. “She’s already moved here to live and work. Surely you’re not planning to make her wait forever?”

Baelor understood her better than anyone else. He knew that marriage had never been her greatest concern. Her work was.

So he simply answered: “Father, it’s not the right time yet.”

Daeron clicked his tongue: “Then when will it be the right time?”

Baelor only laughed awkwardly, immediately reminded of the conversation they had shared the night before.

“Around the middle of February, I’ll need to return to Citadel University for a few days.” She had been lying beside him while studying a stack of materials on neurosurgical techniques. “The chancellor invited me back to give a lecture on experimental neuroscience.”

“And it happens to fall during my weekend break.” Baelor had replied.

“Break?” She had looked up in confusion. “But your father is still campaigning.”

“Campaigning is one thing. Taking a break is another.” Baelor had sounded entirely unconcerned. “He won’t object to me disappearing for two days over the weekend. Besides, nobody campaigns on weekends.”

“What about the rallies?” She worried. 

“My brothers can handle those.” He laughed softly. “Trust me, father is probably looking for more excuses to drag them into crowded public events anyway.”

Now, sitting across from Daeron inside the moving car, Baelor absentmindedly rubbed the ring resting against his middle finger before answering once more. It was a habit of his whenever his emotions became difficult to steady, Baelor often found himself turning the ring around his finger as a way to quiet the chaos in his mind.

But he also tended to do it whenever he felt particularly satisfied with his own plans.

Daeron narrowed his eyes suspiciously: “Does this have something to do with those two days off you asked me?”

Baelor sighs: “Shouldn’t you be worrying about the meeting we’re heading to instead?”

“Worry about what?” Daeron waved his hand dismissively before leaning forward with obvious curiosity. “That can wait. This is far more important. Now tell me, have you already planned something?”

“I haven’t.” Baelor lifted a brow, smiling with helpless amusement. “I already told you.” His fingers turned the ring once more. “It’s simply not time yet.”

Because he did not want anyone besides her to know that in only a few days, he intended to propose beneath the blossom forest of the Citadel.

[weregloo]

MARCH SPRING PROMISE

Canon: King!Baelor Targaryen x Wandering Healer!Reader, Prime Minister's Official Spokesperson!Baelor x Neurosurgeon!Reader, Senator’s Secretary!Baelor x Neurosurgeon!Reader

Trope: Past life & Present life

Warning: Lothston!Reader, no use of Y/N, angst past life, bittersweet past life, past life childhood friends, sad past life ending, modern AU happy ending, fluff present life, they always find their way back to each other

Summary: At last, they were able to fulfil the promises left behind in their past life. And in this life, they finally found their happily ever after.

Note: Reader has a distinctive mole on her face.

The Cyvasse of History - Past life & Present life

In their past life, their love story never reach its ending. In this life, they reached the spring they once promised each other.

Dreams Come True - Present life

After an entire lifetime apart, they finally found their happily ever after.

[weregloo]

MARCH SPRING PROMISE The Cyvasse of History

King!Baelor Targaryen x Wandering Healer!Reader

Prime Minister's Official Spokesperson!Baelor x Neurosurgeon!Reader

Trope: Past life & Present life

Word count: 7.323

Summary: In their youth, they once believed they would one day have everything they had ever longed for: love, freedom, and the dreams they held closest to their hearts. Sadly, their lives were nothing more than pawns upon history’s board. They could not choose their destinies, it chose them.

If they could not belong to each other in their youth, then they would hold each other’s hands in old age. If they could not reunite in spring, then they would meet again at the place of their promise after the tides of history had turned for more than a hundred years.

Warnings: Lothston!Reader, no use of Y/N, angst, bittersweet, childhood friends, sad past life ending, modern AU ending, fluff ending, they always find their way back to each other

Note: 

Reader has a distinctive mole on her face.

Past life: Baelor and Reader loved each other but never ended up together.

Present life: Baelor and Reader finally find their way back to each other.

MARCH SPRING PROMISE Masterlist

They met again in the autumn of 221 AC.

As Maekar and his retinue rode from the main road of King’s Landing toward the Keep, he spotted, in the distance, a woman in a flower-embroidered cloak speaking with one of the gate guards, or rather, arguing with him.

The moment the guard caught sight of Maekar, he immediately bowed his head in respect, welcoming the Crown Prince back to the Red Keep.

“This woman claims she wishes to enter and seek an audience with the King, my Prince.” The guard said. “I tried to stop her and told her she was not permitted inside, yet she remains stubborn and refuses to listen.”

Already weary from the long journey from Summerhall, Maekar clicked his tongue in irritation, displeased with both the woman before him and the guard.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

He had every intention of telling her to get the fuck out of his sight, yet the moment she turned to face him, Maekar nearly felt his heart stop, especially when he caught sight of that unmistakable mole upon her face.

“My Prince.” She smiled and dipped into a graceful curtsey before him.

Maekar furrowed his brow: “You’ve returned?”

She replied softly: “I wish to see and examine the King.”

At the mention of his brother, the tension within him gradually eased. Maekar fell silent for a moment, as though weighing something in his mind, before jerking his chin forward.

“What are you waiting for? Open the gates.”

The guard had not expected Maekar’s attention to suddenly turn toward him. He had assumed the Prince would teach this strange woman, who seemed to have fallen from out of nowhere, a lesson before throwing her out. Yet the way the youngest Prince treated her was entirely unlike his usual manner.

Still, he did not dare concern himself with the affairs of the royal family. “Yes, my Prince.” He answered at once before opening the gates, allowing Maekar’s procession to enter the courtyard.

As Maekar and the woman passed through the gates leading into the inner yard of the Red Keep, the guard turned curiously to his companion: “Who is she?”

His companion was one of the royal stableboys, the young man tasked with tending the horses of the royal household. He asked: “Did you not see what she was wearing around her neck?”

When the guard shook his head, the stableboy continued at once: “That necklace was forged from Valyrian steel, and shaped like a spearhead besides. So think again, who do you believe she is?”

The gate guard’s eyes widened. He hurriedly glanced toward the spot where she had stood moments before, then turned back to his companion with unconcealed astonishment.

“She finally returned?”

In all his decades standing watch over this castle, he had heard countless stories praising the friendship between their King and Lady Lothston. He had thought she had vanished long ago, perhaps even died as the rumors in the streets often claimed, yet now she had returned to see the King once more.

Thinking of the King lying ill in his chambers, the guard let out a sorrowful sigh: “I see now.”

He understood at last. Her purpose in coming here was the same as Prince Maekar’s.

Baelor still remembered the first time he truly understood pain that felt no different from torture. He had only just turned ten then. During the hunting expedition arranged for his nameday celebration, he had wandered too far from the others and ended up injured.

“Do not move.” Said a girl around his age, her voice quiet. “I need to stitch this wound closed, or you will bleed to death.”

“Could we perhaps return to the camp and summon the maesters instead?” Baelor asked anxiously, staring at the needle and spool of thread in her hands. “There is no milk of the poppy here.”

She looked at him as though she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “Are you truly a man? You are afraid of pain?” She scoffed. “If you fear pain this much, how are you meant to protect your future wife?” She muttered beneath her breath. “A Prince indeed. Raised in silk and luxury for so long that it bred cowardice into him.”

At the time, he had still been nothing more than a little boy untouched by the hardships of the world, and the moment she said that, his pride immediately flared up. Was it not merely a few stitches? What was there to fear?

“Fine then.” Baelor held his breath as he tried to hide his fear. “But be gentle. This is the first time I have fallen badly enough to tear my skin open like this.”

Back then, he had no idea that the wound would have healed perfectly well with nothing more than medicinal herbs, nor did he notice the satisfied smile upon her face after successfully tricking him. It was only years later, when they had reached the age of marriage, that he discovered her greatest passion and dream had always been medicine. At that time, she had merely wished to test a new “healing method” she had thought up herself.

Everyone believed little Lady Lothston to be gentle and well-mannered, yet only Baelor, her childhood friend, knew just how bold she truly was. When he sprained his ankle, she would search through every book in the royal library to concoct powders and salves to ease his pain. When he suffered from allergic reactions, she would venture into Kingswood without hesitation in search of herbs, helping the Grand Maester treat him.

She grew up alongside him within the towering halls of the Keep, and with each passing year, her knowledge of medicine deepened and broadened further. The maesters there were all delighted by her eagerness to learn and her remarkable talent, especially after she helped them develop a remedy that relieved pollen allergies, the very affliction his mother suffered from more than anything else.

She had been born to become a maester.

But she was a woman. And women could never become maesters.

Yet even if she could never become a maester, it did not matter. Fifteen-year-old Baelor had already sworn to himself that he would protect her.

He did not know when he had fallen in love with her. Perhaps it had begun when he saw the young girl running frantically through the halls to summon a maester for him, or perhaps when he awoke from a fevered haze only to find her asleep at his bedside. But whenever it had started, he had already made up his mind. He was of an age to marry now, and since the King had yet to speak of arranging a match, he could first speak to his father of his wish.

“I shall marry you.” He told her solemnly as the two of them walked through the gardens together. “Tomorrow, I will speak with my father. If he agrees, I shall ride to House Lothston at once and ask for your parents’ blessing.”

She let out a soft laugh: “And if the King agrees, when do you intend to hold the wedding?”

“Within a moon’s turn, of course.” Baelor answered. “It is the perfect amount of time, not so long as to be tiresome, yet not so rushed as to seem improper.”

“You are in quite a hurry.” She said with a smile. “But I am not. I wish to sit for the maesters’ examinations first, and after that, travel to the very cradle of medical knowledge within the Seven Kingdoms. Only once I have fulfilled that dream can I marry you.”

“But the Citadel does not accept women. There has never once been a female-maester in all of Westeros.” He explained with a frown, secretly hoping she would reconsider for his sake. Marriage was a matter of a lifetime, how could one simply ask another to wait?

She merely smiled brightly at him. “Then I shall become the first female-maester of the Seven Kingdoms. Do you not find it unfair that men are granted knowledge freely while women are denied it?”

As she spoke, she turned to look at him, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating her radiant smile.

“You will wait for me, will you not?”

He did not believe she would pass the maesters’ examinations, nor did he believe she would remain so stubbornly devoted to medicine forever. In the end, everyone was forced to abandon something from their past in order to continue growing, that was what he had been taught within the Keep. Upon his shoulders rested his parents, his siblings, and his house. Upon hers rested the future and honor of her own family. Eventually, she too would learn to let go of that impossible dream.

So he said: “ Of course.”

Baelor could not bring himself to tell her the truth. Though the royal family encouraged noble daughters to study literature and letters, everyone silently acknowledged that women had no need for profound learning, especially not in a field like medicine, which demanded concentration, precision, and talent alike. He knew she was gifted. He simply did not believe she could truly become a maester.

He sought out his father the following morning, though before he could even voice his wishes, his father happily informed him of the betrothal ceremony set to take place in two weeks’ time between him and Lady Dondarrion.

It was the first time in all his years of living wrapped in silk and luxury, Baelor had truly felt despair.

For the first time, he resolved to challenge both fate and himself. He wrote her a letter filled with his confession and his plea.

“If you agree, I will ask my father to dissolve this betrothal.”

Truthfully, he scarcely even needed her consent. Before sending the letter, Baelor had already gone to seek out Daeron II himself, begging his father to reconsider. Contrary to what he had expected, the King neither grew angry nor rebuked him. Instead, he merely sighed.

“I know you hold affection for Lady Lothston. I watched the two of you grow up together with my own eyes. In my heart, I have long regarded her as one of my own children.”

“Then why?” Baelor demanded. “Why did you propose an alliance with the Stormlands?”

“One day, you will understand the weight of this crown and throne.” The King said softly. “There are times when we must sacrifice what we cherish most so that the realm we rule may continue to stand firm against the tides of history. My dear, we are not like ordinary families. We are not free common folk, nor nobles who may do as they please without consequence. We are royalty, and royalty must always place the realm above all else.”

The King’s heart ached at the sight of the son he loved most looking so utterly hopeless. Quietly, he added: “We do not choose our destinies, Baelor. They choose us.”

Baelor sent the letter that very night.

He never received a reply.

Only afterward did he learn that the letter had never reached her hands. And by then, there was but a single week left before he was to become another lady’s husband.

He had been raised and molded from birth to become a true heir. All his life, he had followed the guidance and arrangements of his parents, for he understood well that a Prince still in his youth, one without true power of his own, could not simply live according to his own desires. He was a Crown Prince of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, and Prince of Dragonstone. His duty was to restore and glorify his house, not defy it in pursuit of his own wishes.

“I came to offer my congratulations, my Prince.” Her voice sounded from beyond the folding screen. In only a few hours, he would step into the sept for his wedding ceremony.

Baelor turned at once, startled by the sight of her straight, unmoving figure behind the hazy veil of the screen. Ever since his betrothal to Jena, he had not dared face her. Part of it was because of the promise he had failed to keep, and part of it was because of the responsibility he now bore toward his future wife.

The silence within his dressing chamber that day was the longest he had ever endured. Yet what exactly was he waiting for? Was he waiting for her to come and say she regretted everything, that she would marry him after all? Or perhaps he was waiting to hear her plead “please, call off this wedding”?

But she was not that sort of person. Baelor knew that better than anyone. 

The woman she had become treasured knowledge and medicine above all else, and no matter how deeply she loved him, that love alone would never be enough for her to abandon everything she had spent years devoting herself to. 

Her dream was to become a maester. And if she could not marry him, perhaps she truly would become one.

At that thought, the heaviness within Baelor slowly began to ease. If they could not remain by each other’s side, then he would support her dream instead. Let it serve as his apology for failing to keep his promise to marry her.

“Will you sit for the maesters’ examinations?” He suddenly changed the subject. “There is a flower in the Citadel called ‘the blossom’. They say that when it blooms, the skies themselves turn as red as a sunset over the sea. The maesters’ examinations will be held during the third moon of the year. If you pass, let us go see the blossoms together.”

“Of course.” She replied with the brightest smile he had ever seen upon her face. “I shall look forward to the day we meet again.”

That promise never came for either of them.

The following year, after her father and mother perished during a journey, her uncle became the new Lord of House Lothston. And the very first thing he did was attempt to marry her off to House Peake, one of the most fervent supporters behind Daemon Blackfyre and among those chiefly responsible for raising him as King.

By some miracle, she managed to secretly send a letter to the Keep, warning the King of a rebellion soon to come. And by some even greater miracle, she convinced Lord Lothston himself to turn back from treason and kneel in loyalty to King Daeron II during the uprising. When the forces of House Targaryen finally emerged victorious and returned in triumph, it was she who personally prepared medicines and tended to Baelor’s wounds.

He had thought she would smile at him again with that same radiant expression from years ago. Yet all he received was the faintest curve of her lips, distant and absent-minded.

“Will you still sit for the maesters’ examinations?” Baelor asked while she applied medicine to the wound across his back. “Though the war has ended, the realm still bears the scars of the rebellion. I do not think the Citadel will hold the examinations next year.”

“If not next year, then the year after.” She answered firmly. “I will become a maester no matter what.”

Though he could not see her face, Baelor knew exactly what she was feeling. She had truly resolved to step into the ranks of the maesters of the Seven Kingdoms. Of course, the twenty-six-year-old Baelor no longer tried to subtly persuade her to abandon that dream. He no longer had any right to ask her to remain in this castle, and she no longer had any wish to stay.

The Citadel’s examinations were postponed to the eighth moon of the following year, long after the blossoms had already withered. Once again, their promise to meet in the spring could not come true.

Yet that same year, the list of those who passed the examinations left all Seven Kingdoms in astonishment.

Lady Lothston stood at the very top of the list. She became the first woman in history to achieve perfect scores in every examination held by the Citadel.

And yet, in the end, she still could not become a maester.

Because she had killed a man.

In 197 AC, Lady Lothston was accused of poisoning Lord Lothston to death.

After the first trial, King Daeron II struggled for a long while before finally deciding to exile her to the Free Cities rather than execute.

“Have you heard? They say the reason Lady Lothston killed Lord Lothston was because he hired assassins from the Faceless Men of Braavos to murder his own brother and good-sister so he could seize the lordship for himself.”

“If I remember correctly, when the bodies of the former Lord and Lady Lothston were discovered that year, they were covered in wounds from blades. I heard the former Lady had even been violated…” The speaker lowered his voice in disgust. “To think a man could be so cruel to his own blood, that bastard deserved to die.”

“Lady Lothston is truly pitiful. Her parents were murdered, she herself was nearly sold off to an old traitor to the realm, while her cousins and kin continued living comfortably wrapped in luxury.”

“Swearing loyalty my cunt. Without her, House Lothston would already have been forced to surrender half its wealth to the royal treasury by now. Ever since her father died, I knew that house was done.”

“But she was exiled. A lone young woman with no one to rely on, how could she possibly survive in the Free Cities?”

From the moment she resolved to take her revenge, she had never once imagined a future in which she would continue living after seeing it through. That was why she had gone to King’s Landing and confessed before the King and Queen themselves.

“You were right.” She rested her head against the wall of the carriage as she gazed at the sunset over the sea. “In the end, we are all forced to abandon our dreams.”

Baelor frowned slightly: “I never said that.”

She gave a small smile: “But you thought about it.”

The Lady Lothston before him was no longer the lively young woman he remembered from years ago.

“… I was wrong.” He admitted hesitantly. “I should never have doubted you.” He fell silent for a long while before speaking again. “If I had spoken to my father sooner that day, perhaps we would have become the Prince and Princess of Dragonstone.”

Quietly, she turned her gaze toward his troubled expression: “Sometimes, we must sacrifice what we desire most in order to safely continue walking the harshest roads before us. My Prince, even if you had spoken to the King sooner, he would still have advised you the same way.”

Baelor did not understand, so she explained: “I received your letter.”

Baelor’s eyes widened at once. He knew exactly which letter she meant.

“But I burned it.” She continued. “Because I had already heard of your betrothal to Lady Jena before your letter ever reached me.”

Though he already knew the answer, he still found himself asking: “Why would you do that?”

She answered calmly, as though the girl who had once cried herself to pieces in the corner of her room over him had been someone else: “Because I knew you would listen to your father’s counsel and agree to that marriage.”

He looked at her with such sorrow that the corners of his eyes had begun to glisten with unshed tears. She was right. His marriage to Jena had been arranged to soothe the fury of the Stormlands after many of his father’s reforms favoring Dorne. Even had Daeron II wished to allow Baelor to marry her, the King would still have been forced to pretend that the love between his heir and Lady Lothston had never existed at all, because at the time, it had been the best choice for the realm.

Baelor turned his gaze toward the carriage window. Beyond it, the ship that would soon set sail for the Free Cities slowly came into view. Helplessly, he shook his head and let out a bitter half-laugh.

“History is a game of cyvasse. We were never the players, merely pawns upon the board.”

Even after the carriage came to a halt at the harbor, neither of them moved to step outside. It was Baelor who spoke first: “What will you do now?”

“I will travel the world and study medicine.” She answered. “There are still far too many things in this world that I do not know. I want to learn what they are.”

Then she turned to meet the hopeful look in his eyes. Perhaps in some foolish corner of his heart, he had believed she would ask him to let her stay.

But she was no longer the little girl she had once been.

“I believe the knowledge of this world is so vast that even if I spent my entire life studying, I would still never learn it all.” And in the moment he saw her smiling beneath the autumn sunset, Baelor saw once more the ten-year-old girl who had tricked him simply so she could learn how to stitch flesh together.

“This is my destiny.” She lit up. “And I intend to follow it.”

The waves rolled gently against the golden shore beneath the sunset of autumn in 197 AC. Upon the shores of Blackwater Bay, the Crown Prince stood watching the woman he knew he would never possess in this lifetime slowly walk away.

“Then I wish you the fulfillment of your heart’s desire.” He said softly. “And I shall do the same here.” For the first time in twenty long years, he finally let go of his attachment to the love of his childhood. 

“You spared the realm from bloodshed.” His voice gentled further, he smiled at her, the warmest and most honest he had ever given. “Allow me to see you off on the last stretch of your journey.”

She smiled back at him, then turned and boarded the ship, vanishing entirely from the history of Westeros.

In 209 AC, the Great Spring Sickness swept across the Seven Kingdoms. King’s Landing suffered more heavily than anywhere else in the realm.

The entire royal family within the Keep had taken to their sickbeds, though King Daeron II was by far the worst afflicted. When even the Grand Maesters of the Citadel had nearly surrendered before the plague sent by the Seven themselves, a woman arrived at the Keep one night near the end of the first moon. She did not go to Baelor’s bedside, nor did she visit the Queen, who had once loved her as though she were her own daughter.

Instead, she came for the King.

The Grand Maesters had already concluded that he likely would not survive the night. Though they had never spoken the words aloud, Daeron could see it clearly within their eyes.

At that moment, Daeron could do little more than lie helplessly upon his bed, every part of his body refusing to obey him. He felt powerless. Furious. But above all else, he felt regret for not accepting the invitation his youngest son had once extended to him, to visit Summerhall. Only now did he realize how cold and distant he had been toward Maekar all these years.

He had poured all his love and attention into his heir, while overlooking the younger who had quietly endured wound after wound beneath his gaze.

Just as death seemed ready to claim him, the doors to his chamber suddenly opened. Two figures stepped inside and approached his bedside.

He recognized Omon at once, the diligent old Grand Maester who had remained beside him since the sickness first began spreading through the capital.

The other figure wore a flower-embroidered cloak.

It was her.

“My King.” She said solemnly. “Forgive me for returning without your permission. But Grand Maester Omon sent ravens to me and told me of the current state of the Red Keep. I could find no reason not to take the risk, so I returned.”

Daeron could vaguely guess what she and the Grand Maester intended. Omon likely believed she might help the maesters discover some way to push back the sickness. Though he knew she was talented in the healing arts, he still could not help but find the notion faintly absurd. 

She was only a woman, how could she possibly study medicine, let alone practice it?

Yet the words that followed forced him to reconsider.

“My King, I came here tonight to explain the plague known as ‘the Great Spring Sickness’.”

“It originates from a form of bacteria dating back to the days of the Valyria Freehold. I believe it lay dormant within objects that survived the Doom of Valyria, and for some reason, it has now awakened and spread across Westeros. Since we now understand the source of the sickness, creating a cure is possible. However, the medicine of our age has not yet advanced far enough to develop a remedy capable of eradicating the disease at its root.”

“Fortunately, I have been studying another strain of bacteria in Volantis. Though its origins and characteristics differ from the Great Spring Sickness, I believe the method of creating an antibiotic may be the same for both. But in order to develop such a treatment, we require a ‘human test subject’, someone through whom we may study how the body resists the disease itself. My King, would you permit Grand Maester Omon and me to attempt it?”

The old maester could not hide the alarm upon his face. He had not expected her to speak with such honesty and bluntness.

As a King who understood the hearts of his people, Daeron naturally understood what she truly meant. She wished to use his body as the “carrier” through which they might discover a method capable of ending this monstrous plague, the very plague before which even the Grand Maesters had surrendered in defeat.

“Tell me.” Daeron rasped, his voice hoarse after so many days without speech. “Why do… you believe… this… will succeed?”

“This method is called fighting poison with poison.” She explained. “There are plants so venomous that, when viewed alone, they appear to possess nothing but deadly properties. Most believe such things can only ever be used to harm others. Yet when combined with opposing medicines, even the deadliest poison may become a miraculous cure.”

“The Great Spring Sickness is no different. If we can weaken the bacteria, or use only a small trace of it to awaken a human’s own resistance, then the sickness itself will no longer possess the strength to cause harm.”

Daeron’s breathing grew visibly heavier. His time was running short, yet he still remembered that fateful day so many years ago, when his eldest son, only fifteen at the time, had come rushing to him with bright eyes, intending to ask for permission to marry her.

What if, back then, he had chosen his heart instead of wisdom?

What if he had placed the wishes of his son, perhaps even his own wishes, above power and duty?

Would this bleak future have changed?

“I agree.” He whispered faintly. “Lady Lothston, promise me… you will save my son.”

In 209 AC, Daeron II Targaryen passed away. His grandsons, Valarr and Martyn, perished soon after him. Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, and heir to the Iron Throne, ascended the throne as King Baelor II.

Not long after the aftermath of the Great Spring Sickness had finally been settled, Baelor revoked her sentence of exile.

But she never returned.

The cool breeze slipped through the ancient stone corridors of the Keep, yet it could not drive away the darkness slowly swallowing it whole.

By the eighth moon of that year, a new King had ascended the throne, and the blossoms of the Citadel had long since withered away.

After surviving the Great Spring Sickness and ascending the throne, Baelor named Aerys his heir, for both of his sons had perished. When Aerys and Rhaegel later died as well, the title of Prince of Dragonstone passed to Maekar.

Baelor never remarried. 

The remainder of his life was buried beneath petitions, council meetings, tourneys fought across the Seven Kingdoms and royal progresses to distant lands. He became the wise and brilliant King his parents and the realm had always hoped he would become. So much so that on his final day, Baelor did not lie upon a sickbed, but was instead wheeled into the throne room itself to settle the last matters of his reign.

“You have returned.” When he saw her standing alone within the gardens, Baelor merely smiled, as though greeting an old friend.

She dismissed the servants and pushed his chair herself toward the center of the garden. Neither the servants nor his brother spoke a word, merely remaining behind to watch the two figures in the distance.

She lowered herself onto the stone bench beside the King’s chair and answered calmly: “You once saw me through the final stretch of my journey. Now I shall do the same for you.”

Autumn leaves blanketed the courtyards of the Red Keep in gold. Before the servants could finish sweeping away one wave of fallen leaves, another would scatter across the stones once more, and so Baelor eventually told them to leave them be.

Amidst the golden garden filled with dying leaves and pale autumn sunlight, he suddenly found himself remembering the countless moments of years long past. He could no longer recall every detail, yet neither could he truly forget a single one of them.

“My Lady.” He asked softly. “Have you fulfilled your desire all these years?”

She smiled, her eyes curving: “Just as you have.”

A quiet, satisfied smile touched Baelor’s lips. Then, peacefully, he closed his eyes.

In the autumn of 221 AC, King Baelor II Targaryen passed away.

“Where do you intend to go?” Maekar asked suddenly as they sat within the carriage.

Her mind drifted, unbidden to the farewell at Blackwater Bay. That is the same question Baelor had once asked her, and her answer had never changed.

To travel the world. To pursue the knowledge of medicine.

She had never considered herself a heartless or indifferent person. And Baelor had never believed so either. Perhaps their story had simply been meant to remain in childhood, a time before they understood the weight of duty, the burdens placed upon them by parents, siblings, and their houses.

Baelor would always choose what was best for the realm. And she, in turn, would always follow the calling of her own desire.

“The sun is too harsh today, my King.” She said suddenly. “It will rain in a few days.”

Maekar frowned and glanced up. The sky above was clear, without a single cloud, not even a whisper of wind: “Are you drunk? I recall you prefer your potions over wine.”

She let out a soft laugh: “I merely wished to inform you.”

“That isn’t necessary.” Maekar replied irritably. “My Small Council already wastes enough time debating the weather.”

That night, it was Maekar who escorted her to the harbor. He watched as she boarded the great ship bound for the Free Cities, then turned back toward the Red Keep, thinking that perhaps she would never make it to the spring promise no one would be waiting for anymore.

Even after the ship had sailed far beyond the Blackwater Bay, even after the shores of King’s Landing had vanished from sight, there remained a figure in a flower-embroidered cloak standing alone at the prow. She stood there for a long time, beneath a vast sea scented with salt and night wind, while the stars slowly began to pierce the darkness above.

Just like on that autumn sunset in 197 AC, when someone else had once watched the person they loved disappear into the distance.

In the spring of 987 AC, Daeron Targaryen defeated his half-brother, Daemon Blackfyre, and became the thirty-fourth Prime Minister of Westeros.

His eldest son, Baelor Targaryen, rose soon after to become his father’s most trusted right hand, serving as the spokesperson for the Prime Minister’s office while still in his early thirties. Widowed for nearly a decade and a father of two, Baelor position within the political establishment, combined with his striking appearance, made him the subject of admiration at nearly every formal gathering he attended. It was not uncommon for young women at court receptions to quietly imagine themselves as the next Mrs. Targaryen.

And so, many were still indulging in those fantasies when Monday morning’s front page delivered a headline that shattered them all: “Baelor ‘Breakspear’ Targaryen’s Girlfriend”. 

The iPad screen was flooded with speculative comments, people shamelessly dissecting the appearance of Baelor’s new girlfriend despite the fact that no one had even seen her face yet.

“WHAT? My husband has a girlfriend? NO. Impossible. I refuse to believe this!”

“Someone please tell me this is just a nightmare.” 

“You can already tell from the back view that she’s one of those gold-digging students who sits around waiting for our Prince to throw money at her. Shameless.”

“Just look at how sloppy she dresses. How could he possibly date someone like that?”

“Where did they even meet?”

“Who knows? She probably approached our spokesperson on purpose.”

“Do you guys never keep up with the news? The Prime Minister’s latest interview mentioned her. He said they met at the blossom viewing party hosted by the Citadel while she was attending the annual neuroscience conference there. Wait, she’s a scientist?”

“Well, if she’s a scientist, then I guess the way she dresses makes sense. I can tell.”

“Have you all heard the latest gossip yet? The tabloid from the Vale claims someone already uncovered her identity! Apparently she’s a doctor, a neurospecialist at Westeros General Hospital. Oh, Seven fucking Hells, I need to transfer to that hospital immediately.” 

“There’s also a rumor that she’s the daughter of the vice director of the Academy of Science and Technology, though that’s probably just gossip, right?”

“What? The papers over Essos are saying she’s the daughter of the director of Harrenhal Private Hospital instead.” 

Her thumb repeatedly pressed the dislike button beneath comments mocking her appearance and fashion sense. Pouting, she stared at the blurry photograph taken with what had to be the lowest-quality phone camera imaginable, silently thinking: “Wasn’t this from the date where Baelor and I played the game ‘whoever dresses the most normally doesn’t have to pay’?”

Then her gaze drifted once more toward the word “girlfriend” plastered across the front page, and her expression darkened further. She was still a little annoyed that Baelor had never denied having a “girlfriend” in the first place.

The melody of the apartment door unlocking suddenly echoed through the room.

He was home from work.

Normally, she would have walked over immediately and asked how his day had gone. But today, she ignored the way he raised a brow while slipping off his shoes, and pretended not to notice the puzzled expression crossing his face when he deliberately walked past her.

“Darling.” Baelor removed his coat, loosened his tie, then sat down beside her on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes flicked toward the arm he had casually draped along the back of the couch behind her before replied in a tone of obvious displeasure: “Do you know how useless the ‘what’s wrong’ is right now?”

She knew perfectly well that he already knew what was wrong, yet he still asked anyway. Men truly could not be trusted. She really should have listened to her mother’s advice: Never believe the sweet words of any man who isn’t her father.

While she continued sulking, she felt him shake his head with quiet amusement. Then he shifted closer, pulled her into his arms, and kissed all over her face, especially her signature small mole. 

“We just recently took in a new group of interns, I was showing them around when reporters came to film a segment about the Prime Minister’s office. They interviewed me on the spot. Things have been rather hectic lately, so I answered a bit carelessly.” Baelor murmured against the hollow of her neck. “I didn’t expect them to ask about you.” He buried his face deeper against her skin before adding softly. “You’re not upset because I didn’t correct the reporter from ‘my girlfriend’ to ‘my soon-to-be wife’, are you?”

She let out an offended huff: “I’m not that petty.”

Baelor chuckled: “Then stop frowning. Didn’t you once tell me frowning gives you wrinkles?”

She frowned even harder and looked down at the man currently clinging to her like a koala, only for her thoughts to suddenly drift back to a winter night three years ago, when Senator Daeron Targaryen’s secretary had been rushed into the hospital by his youngest brother after an accident during one of their fencing matches.

“How does someone manage to split their head open while fencing?” She had asked back then.

Maekar had shouted furiously: “You are going to fucking save him. Now!”

The patient, of course, had to be saved. As for Maekar, he had immediately been kicked out of the hospital by her afterward.

“I really shouldn’t have stitched your wound up myself back then.” She said coldly and folded her arms. “I should’ve let Kiera do it instead. The girl needed practice learning how to close a wound without leaving a raised scar.”

Baelor clutched dramatically at the left side of his chest as though even his heart had been wounded: “Darling, do you realize how much it pains me to hear you say that? If it weren’t for you, the scar on the back of my head would never have healed this cleanly.”

“Then perhaps you should stop implying I’m getting wrinkles on my forehead.” She narrowed her eyes. 

He laughed softly: “I never said that.”

She argued: “You thought about it.”

“Alright, alright.” He lifted both hands in surrender. “I knew you’d be upset about this, so I prepared something in advance.”

With that, he picked up the television remote and switched on the evening news channel. The station was still airing a commercial for a new wine fermentation method developed by Daeron Targaryen, Maekar’s eldest son. Once the advertisement ended, the screen shifted to the office of the Prime Minister’s spokesperson.

She saw Baelor seated before the cameras, his fingers loosely intertwined while absentmindedly twisting the ring on his hand, a habit of his that had never changed. The interview itself concerned diplomatic relations with several central states within the Free Cities. Somehow, though, by the very end of it all, she suddenly heard Baelor say: “My wife and I will be getting married in the middle of March at the Citadel.”

“…” Slowly, she turned to stare at the smug smile spread across his face. Wonderful. He had been making plans behind her back. Again. “Baelor Targaryen!” She rose to her feet, calling him by his full name. “You’re the spokesperson for the Prime Minister’s office, not some announcer reading the daily bulletin. And besides, why would you lie and say we’re getting married this month?”

Baelor blinked up at her in confusion: “I wasn’t lying.”

This time, she was the one who froze.

“I already plan everything.” He continued. “Mid-March is when the blossoms at the Citadel bloom the most beautifully. And this year happens to be the peak season for them. If we don’t get married now, then when?”

“Besides.” He grinned broadly, revealing bright teeth and those two terribly sly-looking canines of his. “You’re busy enough already. Just leave all the planning to me. When the day comes, all you need to do is look beautiful, choose the prettiest wedding dress you can find, and walk down the aisle.”

She found herself speechless after that. Because honestly, if someone had already carefully planned everything for her, then what reason did she have not to follow along?

“Fine then.” She sat back down on the sofa. “What kind of dress should I choose?”

Baelor immediately moved closer and wrapped his arms tightly around her: “You’d look beautiful in anything.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation: “If that’s your answer, I’d rather ask someone else.”

Baelor shook his head at once and replied in the same solemn tone he used whenever he stood behind a press podium: “Open the wedding catalog. This time, I’ll give it my full professional attention.”

In the spring of mid-March, 987 AC, Baelor Targaryen married Doctor Lothston beneath the blossoms forest of the Citadel.

At long last, the two of them had fulfilled their march spring promise they had made so, so many years ago.

[weregloo]

THE LUVERRY DAILY

Canon: Pennywise x Witch!Reader

Warning: Symbiotic Relationship, No Outward Affection, Pet Names, Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters mention/ vibe, Mentions of Killing, Shapeshifting

Summary: Children in Derry have always adored The Luverry Bakery across from Derry High School. Inside, there are clouds of cotton candy, warm apple pies that taste like home, and rows of beautifully decorated cakes shining behind the glass. The fluffy black bunnies are lovely, but what the children cherish most is the sweet young girl who owns the bakery, along with the baker and his signature smile.

Or perhaps… these are the stories of Pennywise and Its witch.

Note: This fanfic is set after It: Chapter Two.

First Met

Pennywise wanted to eat and take her form, but she wanted to work with It so they could live peacefully in Derry.

[weregloo]

THE LUVERRY DAILY

First Met

Canon: Pennywise x Witch!Reader

Warning: Symbiotic Relationship, No Outward Affection, Pet Names, Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters mention/ vibe, Mentions of Killing, Shapeshifting

Summary: After awakening from Its long hibernation, Pennywise decided to change Its form—one that would make approaching Its food, especially children, far easier. Learning from the events of 27 years ago, the day It was defeated by the Losers, Pennywise resolved that this time It would choose a guise that was friendly, inviting—one that felt truly human. And the person It set Its sights on was the young owner of The Luverry Bakery: a girl with a youthful, beautiful appearance and a seemingly boundless kindness.

Note: This fanfic is set after It: Chapter Two.

THE LUVERRY DAILY Masterlist

Having existed for thousands of years, Pennywise believed Itself clever enough to deceive and devour humans—especially children, those who were always most terrified once It had set its sights on them. Fear was the finest seasoning for meat, after all, and Pennywise’s greatest pleasure lay in gorging Itself on the flesh of children steeped in sheer terror and despair.

It knew very well that with such a taste, It had to become something capable of luring the foolish children of Derry—or rather, someone—so It could drag them down into the sewers and butcher them at its leisure. That was why It chose Bob Gray as Its form in this world. The children of this town loved Pennywise the Dancing Clown, so It became Pennywise.

As time passed, awakening once every 27 years, It gradually began to realize that children no longer adored this Pennywise persona as they once had. There was the boy in the yellow raincoat who tried to retrieve his paper boat from the storm drain two cycles ago, and the girl with the birthmark on her cheek in the cycle before that. The common thread was that they recognized Its terror far too early. It didn’t want that. It wanted to toy with Its prey longer, to savor a meal seasoned with care and patience.

27 years after being “defeated a second time” by the Losers’ Club, Pennywise finally awakened from a painful hibernation, scarred by the torture inflicted upon It by the humans It had always despised. After abducting the first child as a waking feast, Pennywise chewed thoughtfully, contemplating a change of form—something more friendly to Its food—beginning with observing what children these days liked.

That was when It set Its sights on the young owner of a bakery across from Derry High School.

Pretty, friendly, gentle—always smiling at those pesky kids. She even kept a bunch of black bunnies behind the bakery, which the children seemed to adore.

A perfect choice.

Standing in an alley far from “The Luverry Bakery”, Pennywise watched her laugh and play with the children. It had been observing her from afar for nearly a week, and tonight was the night It would carry out its plan to change forms.

Unfortunately, she was not the pretty, friendly and gentle girl It thought.

That night, as she stood in the kitchen baking with her back turned, just as Pennywise opened Its mouth wide toward her head, she suddenly spun around and splashed a glass of something utterly vile straight down Its throat.

Pennywise had never expected to be discovered. It had entered the house silently, using Its overwhelming power. It staggered backward, coughing violently.

“What the hell is this?!” It snarled, Its yellow eyes glowing with ferocity in the darkness.

But just as It lifted Its head, ready to pin her down and devour her in rage, It suddenly saw the image of figures dressed in bizarre garments, wielding bows and swords.

The sight was painfully familiar—so familiar that it confused It. It had seen them before, back when It had transformed into a massive reindeer to hunt prey, long, long ago. Before It ever took on the form of Pennywise. Before the town of Derry was built.

“Have I slept too long…?” It wondered. Were the images of being defeated by the Losers its inevitable future? Or was the cage of Derry the reality awaiting it centuries later?

After all, past, present, and future were merely concepts to It.

“Good evening, Mr. Gallon.” Her sweet voice sounded right beside It. As It turned warily, just as It had expected, she stood there calmly. “Or should I call you Mr. Deadlights?”

Pennywise glared at her, shock and fury blazing in Its eyes. Its sharp teeth were still stained with flesh and fresh blood from tonight’s meal.

“Who are you? Where is this place?”

It felt no fear from her. More than that—It knew she was not human.

Yet to a supreme entity like It, her identity did not matter. It could devour her in an instant without the need for fear as seasoning. The only reason It hesitated was her ability—the power to create illusions, like that dark-skinned soldier who had struck It several cycles ago.

“I’ll get straight to the point.” She bent down to Its eye level. “I’ve lived in Derry for 26 years now. I want to continue living here. Please don’t eat me.”

Never before had anyone faced It so frankly—smiling, even, while making such a gentle request. But what was It? It was an Eater of Worlds. Whoever she was, she would die beneath Its claws.

“Bold words, Bunny. That confidence of yours—does it come from being able to see my memories?” It straightened, looking down at the girl who seemed so small and easily torn apart. “Why trap me in an illusion you made? Trying to scare Ol’ Pennywise? Oooh… you’re terribly mistaken, brat. What could someone without fear possibly be afraid of?”

Saliva dripped from Its mouth, soaking Its cracked white chin.

“I will EAT you. I’ll devour you and take your body. Become a sacrifice to Pennywise.”

Just as It lunged, she raised a small vial and smiled brightly.

Clink. Clink.

Black fragments struck the glass with a weight so immense it felt as if Its chest might explode like molten lava. Though they were tiny shards, they were fragments of the meteor that had brought It to this world.

Pennywise growled and retreated. She did not move, nor did she intend to attack. It could feel that clearly.

“I can show you what makes a fearless being panic,” She said softly, gazing at the black fragments. “I call it surprise. You were wondering what was in that glass I gave you earlier, weren’t you? What if I advised you to be more careful about what you put into your body? What do you think it was?”

Pennywise thought rapidly. Even thinking with Its knees, It understood. Its gloved hands moved to Its stomach—It had swallowed that liquid earlier. What if she had added even a tiny amount of meteor fragments?

Wait.

There were no signs of danger. It couldn’t feel that black substance inside Its body at all. Which meant… she was bluffing.

“You—YOU DARE threaten me!” Pennywise’s body twisted, iron claws tearing through its white gloves. Its eyes burned with murderous light.

“YOU DARE THREATEN ME, THE GOD OF THIS WORLD! I’LL KILL YOU!”

She remained still, the vial in hand, knowing It could do nothing against a fragment of the substance that had imprisoned It in Derry for so long.

“You can’t,” She said calmly. “You can’t kill me.”

“I’m not threatening you,” She continued, finally slipping the vial into her pocket. Pennywise released a quiet breath of relief. “I want to make a deal. I only want to live peacefully in Derry. I don’t eat humans—which includes children—so I won’t compete for your food. Derry remains your territory. Think of me as… a symbiotic entity. That way, we both get what we want.”

Pennywise scowled. “What’s a symbiotic entity?”

“It means we cooperate.”

“We?” It snarled. “There is no we. There is only ME—Pennywise the Dancing Clown!”

She tried again. “Then how about this? I’ll teach you the easiest way to hunt good prey. In return, you leave me alone whenever you awaken every 27 years.”

Pennywise laughed. “What makes you think I’d listen to you?”

She smiled. “Then why do you think I’d offer advice at all?”

“Hehehe… because you want to live,” It declared smugly, though It still sensed no fear from her. “If you weren’t carrying that thing, I’d have eaten you long ago.”

“Why do you want to eat me?” She asked, puzzled—then answered herself. “Ah… You want to take my form.”

She sighed, and Pennywise felt a strange helplessness radiating from her.

“Do you know the difference between you and Bob Gray?” She asked. “Even though you’re both Pennywise.”

“Don’t spout nonsense,” It growled. “I’m not Bob Gray.”

“Bob Gray had admirers,” She said calmly. “You don’t.”

It suddenly understood why the children who once adored Bob Gray never approached It—even after It became Pennywise.

So? As long as It could hunt and eat fear-soaked children, that was enough.

“Then what?” Pennywise sneered. “Whether I listen or not, I’ll still eat them. I’ve lived in this town longer than you’ve existed.”

She looked surprised. “You only wake once every 27 years. Do you realize how much the world shifts while you sleep? Children aren’t the same anymore. And with your current… style, they might not even notice you at all.”

Pennywise glanced down suspiciously at the clown outfit that had accompanied It through countless long cycles. It was the form It favored most—and also the most convenient guise for approaching children. True, not many kids came near anymore, but every cycle It still feasted well before returning to hibernation. So what was the problem? As long as It was full, that was all that mattered.

“If you don’t believe me,” She said gently, “go hunt one.”

“I already did,” It snapped. “I ate the boy. Can’t you smell the blood? Three kids in one week. One wandered into my sewer. One snuck into my house. The last was the boy who bought cakes from you today—Billy. Ehehehe... you even gave him cookies.”

She stared at It in disbelief.

“Only three?”

“… W—What?”

“Three children in a week?” She said sympathetically. “Witches catch more than enough children during Sabbaths.”

For the first time, Pennywise doubted Itself.

It finally began to question its own existence. Witch or not, she could wait—first, It needed to worry about Its stomach. It was true: the number of children it had caught had dropped significantly. If It remembered correctly, during the first week of previous cycles, It had always driven dozens of parents to plaster Derry with missing posters.

It glanced at the girl standing before It. She looked unnervingly calm, as if she were chatting with a friend. That only made It want to devour her out of spite—yet at the same time, It found Itself more curious, more intrigued by her. Still, food came first. What had she just said again? That witches always caught more than enough children for each... festival?

Pennywise’s eyes lit up, but what It said aloud was, “You eat kids too?”

Her smile faded slightly. “I don’t eat humans. I’m different from other witches.”

She continued softly, “If you eat me and take my form, you’ll only succeed for a short time. A year later, you’ll sleep again. 27 years after that, no one will remember the kind owner of Luverry Bakery—just like Bob Gray or Pennywise. What the children—especially the Losers' Club—would find instead are reports about a creature living in the sewers of Derry.”

“You are a divine being from the cosmos,” She whispered. “You don’t eat children because they taste good. You eat them because fear is richest in the young. What you truly enjoy is the hunt.”

Pennywise stared at her in silence. 

For the first time in Its long, endless existence, It felt as though Its mind had been flung open like a broken door. She was right. Beyond devouring children carefully marinated in fear, what It enjoyed most was the hunt Itself—and somehow, in this cycle, the flesh of the three children It had taken during Its first week awake no longer tasted as good as it once had.

NOT enough. Their fear had NOT satisfied It.

So even if It succeeded in stealing her form—or anyone else’s—It would never taste that exquisite flesh again?

Pennywise refused to accept that.

It wanted to bring terror to the children of this town. It wanted Derry to drown in despair and loss during each of Its twenty-seven-year cycles. Only then could It truly feast—only then could It be full.

“Think about it,” She smiled. “Don’t you want to taste that exquisite fear again?”

How could It refuse?

And thus began a new cycle.

A new rebirth.

Sitting inside a bakery stall with the lights turned off was a novel experience. Pennywise had hunted in bars before—humans always dimmed the lights in places like that—but sitting in a gloomy bakery like this was a first.

Furry, round little black rabbits had appeared out of nowhere, carpeting the floor. They crowded around Pennywise’s feet as if standing guard on her behalf. On impulse, It grabbed one of the bunnies to take a closer look—purely out of curiosity.

The soft, pitch-black fur brushed against Its white gloves. Even through the fabric, It could feel the tiny creature’s breathing, its heartbeat—there was fear, too.

“Snff…” It lifted the rabbit to Its nose and sniffed. A familiar, richly seasoned scent gradually flooded Its senses.

“Please… help me…”

It heard the rabbit’s voice—yet it also wasn’t the rabbit’s voice. After all, how could a rabbit possibly speak?

“Help me…”

When she stepped out of the kitchen, what greeted her was the sight of It gnawing on one rabbit, while clutching the ears of two others in Its hands.

Its glowing yellow eyes flashed. It didn’t care what she thought—first, It would finish chewing this rabbit. Why did they taste so much like human flesh?!

“It seems you’ve found some comfort here,” she said with a soft laugh. “Though it’s a bit late, I hope you enjoy your meal.”

Pennywise squinted as It continued eating, watching her bring out a pile of witchcraft tools and lay them across the counter. The pastel-pink, frilly aesthetic of the bakery clashed absurdly with her occult instruments.

Back to the real question. After one rabbit, then two, Pennywise finally voiced what had been bothering It:

“So you don’t eat humans—but you turn humans into rabbits and eat the rabbits instead?”

“No,” She answered immediately. “I’m a vegetarian.”

Pennywise: “…”

A vegetarian? As in—no meat. Ever?

It stared at her from head to toe with open suspicion. By Its (entirely reasonable) understanding of the world, witches who didn’t eat humans were already rare enough. Vegetarian witches were practically mythical. And considering that discovering she was a witch had already been a shock, Pennywise had assumed all witches were gloomy, twisted, and unpleasant.

“This was a human,” Pennywise said, holding up half a rabbit leg. “Or used to be.”

She didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

Driven by curiosity, It asked, “Why did you turn her into a rabbit?”

“Because she almost made me shut down my bakery.”

“Oh… ohoho…” The bells around Its neck suddenly rang through the darkened shop. Though It hadn’t moved an inch, she could feel Its presence everywhere within The Luverry.

“Forgot to ask,” It said lightly. “About our deal. You said you’d help me hunt meat as good as the old days. I agreed. But what about you? This symbiosis you keep talking about—what do you get out of relying on me, when you can do everything yourself?”

She sat down on a chair behind the counter. When her smiling eyes met Its, Pennywise almost believed the person before It was an easy meal. Yet just as the urge to kill flared, her gaze turned icy—despite the gentle smile never leaving her lips.

That was when It realized: she, too, was a primal predator.

“I want to live and work in Derry,” She explained softly.

“For a very, very long time, I’ve wanted a place where I wouldn’t have to rack my brain every time I had to send a stalker, a harasser, a molester—or someone who broke into my home with vile intentions—back to the Great Witch.”

She poured a cup of tea and slid it toward It, gesturing for It to drink while eating.

“When I found Derry and began to study it, I noticed how your presence had altered the ecosystem here. The people of Derry are… indifferent. They don’t care if a child is beaten to death right outside my bakery. And I found that fascinating. I thought this place would be perfect for blending into human society. After all, I can’t live in places where I’m always the prime suspect whenever someone dies.”

Outwardly, Pennywise seemed intrigued—but internally, It had already assessed her territory. Not all the rabbits were human, It realized. And no matter how sweet and warm her public persona was, she couldn’t conceal the scent of blood staining her path.

“You’ve killed many people.” In Its mind’s eye, Pennywise saw a chaotic crowd at the edge of a forest cliff—children bound and locked inside wooden cages, forced to watch as witches in black dresses slaughtered their parents.

It didn’t see her—but It knew she was the cause of it all.

It spoke her true name, lips curling into a delighted grin.

“You’re the witch who developed the formula that lets witches survive fire. You’re also the one who established the tradition of eating human flesh during witch festivals.”

Drool trickled down Its chin. Now, It wasn’t merely intrigued—it was enthralled. 

At first, It had thought she wanted to share food resources. But Pennywise never shared. Derry belonged to It. Everything within the town fell under Its dominion—including her.

A strange, intoxicating joy surged through It. These unfamiliar emotions whispered that It didn’t need to kill her to steal her form. She was fascinating. She could become a loyal servant—one who would spend 27 years preparing the way for Its return from hibernation.

It wanted her.

It wanted to possess her.

“You turn humans into rabbits so they can understand the pain of becoming pets—playthings for others,” Pennywise continued, gleefully peeling back the layers of her past. “You make them suffer illness, reproduction, and ultimately a swift death. You don’t eat humans because you despise them. You believe they aren’t worthy of being eaten—not worthy pawns. They have no value to you.”

“Hahahaha… even though you live among them?” It tilted Its head, grinning. “You don’t love those tiny, pitiful little bunnies?”

She merely smiled and said calmly, “I don’t grow feelings for pawns—nor for humans.”

The joy swelling inside Pennywise, they grew and grew. At last—It had found a kindred spirit.

“What is this?” Pennywise held up a fork between two fingers, examining it. “Do humans use this to comb their hair?”

She snatched the pink fork from Its hand. “No. If you want to comb your hair, you’ll need to turn into a human first.”

It frowned in irritation. “I have to become human? But this form is much scarier. I like being a clown.”

“That depends on your goal,” She replied, arranging her magic tools on the table.

“If you keep that form, you won’t be able to approach children. They’ll mock you—maybe even curse at you—just for being a clown.”

The memory of the Losers resurfaced. Pennywise shook Its oversized head, bells jingling. Wasn’t it obvious? 27 years ago, the reason It had gone into hibernation half-dead was because those Losers had insulted It to death.

“So all I have to do is become human.” It shot her a warning glance—as if to say that if this plan failed, she would be the first to die. And It meant it. If this sacrifice proved pointless, It would gladly send her back to whatever Great Witch she worshipped.

When Pennywise’s human form appeared, shock and disbelief flickered across her composed face. It was beyond her expectations. She had never imagined that a man-eating creature lurking in sewers could sculpt such a flawless human body.

Well—not completely flawless.

She stood frozen for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I’d prepared tools to adjust your face in human form,” She admitted. “But it seems unnecessary.”

She praised honestly, “Even if you paint clown makeup on now, children—especially girls—will swarm you like bees to honey.”

“I can really do that?” It asked eagerly. “I’m used to being Pennywise, not human.”

She nodded. “When necessary.”

“Like…?”

She beamed. “Like volunteering for the upcoming event at my bakery. There’ll be cotton candy, popcorn, balloons, and—”

“CLOWNS!”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward, palms on the table. “That’s why our plan to make you adored begins now.”

Pennywise was thrilled. For the first time in Its life, It was learning a new way to approach prey—an entirely different kind of hunt.

So what would the first lesson be?

Turning a child into a rabbit, letting it live out the rabbit’s brief lifespan, then transforming it back—stockpiling fear of death?

Or abducting a child, torturing it physically and mentally, then releasing them so It can hunt them—turning her garden into a predator’s hunting ground?

Her voice echoed Its ear. “You need to take a bath first.” 

Pennywise blinked.

She laughed. “You smell like a wet rat. Children don’t like the smell of wet rats.”

Pennywise didn’t want to bathe. But It couldn’t refuse her.

After all—everything was for the sake of eating well.