More Than The Very World
April 27, 2026 at 10:41 PM
18 Years Earlier.
“Iksā daor bona quba. Ao sepār emagon naejot prajzi, hae lēda mirros isse ābrar, jorrāelagon mandia. {You are not that bad. You just have to practice, like with anything in life, dear sister.}” Baelor says, his expression somewhere between an amused grin and an endeared smile. His dear sister; ever endowed with the patience of absolutely none of the Gods, old or new. He wonders sometimes, if he was born and given enough patience for the both of them. Because the only person that patience isn’t needed with is his dear sister—there have been many times, over the years, where he has had to step in front of some poor soul, to save them before they had time to meet the infamous full rage of Princess Maekar Targaryen. Though, there was some that fully deserved her fury, and Baelor really is so grateful that she’s quicker to anger than he is, because he is sure that there would have been many of those times where he would have beaten his sister to the “punch.” Maekar’s eyes are narrowed into the deadliest glare she has ever given to anyone (or anything...) on this Gods forsaken planet. Her biggest fucking enemy in life so far: books!! She’s been staring at the same two fucking words for the last few minutes now... And fucking nothing is going into her brain! (Why can’t father just let her go back to training with a sword instead of just training her Gods damned fucking brain to dribble slowly out of her ears?!) “Qogralbar bisa qrugh. {Fuck this shit.}” Maekar mutters under her breath, tone bitter, but mostly, just annoyed beyond words (which has to be a wordplay joke for the Gods, she’s pretty sure.) Though, she does brighten a little on the inside (while trying not to show it on the outside) when Baelor laughs heartily—because it’s one of her favourite sounds in the entire world. “Oh, so, you know all the curse words very well already, hm?” Baelor shakes his head, grins at her as he playfully adds, “Why am I very much not surprised?” “Because you’re a bloody smart-arse and a know-it-all, big brother.” Maekar replies. Smug grin tugging at her lips and nose pointed snootily above his (which is still a bit of a struggle even with him hunched over beside her—doesn’t seem to matter how straight she forces her spine.) “You are the one of the two of us who was blessed with quick wit and sharp tongue.” Baelor states—nay; seems reminds her. His mismatched eyes sparkle, as they always do, the more he sees he is riling her up. And as always, when he sees her deadpan stare slowly begin to turn into the barest hints of her lovely glare, Baelor quickly speaks again, as if he’s moving the conversation along before she can boil over in her anger. As if he doesn’t know she does fucking understand the concept of baiting (like she’s a fucking bull or some other, equally dim-witted beast!) “I would have counted our brothers, but even as book savvy as Aerys is, he is still a little...slow...to any kind of wit, and Rhaegal has lived with his head in the clouds for so long, I fear he may begin to believe he is an actual dragon.” Maekar scoffs, both at him blowing passed trying to annoy her intentionally and because his words ring true all the way through. ...And then, after a moment of thinking his words over again, Maekar is dropping her eldest brother a full on glare as she asks him in her equally infamous dangerously calm tone, “Are you implying I am merely the best of a bad bunch?” Baelor rolls his eyes and with a smart-arse smirk, says, “Seeing that you are now imploring a fight; yes.” He grins when her eyes narrow a little more, adds with a little dramatic flare, “You are terrible, Maekar. Almost the worst of us!” “Naejos. {Tit.}” Maekar mutters. Has to fight back a smirk when he chuckles. There is comfortable silence between them then. With Maekar trying her best to remember as many fucking words as possible. And while Baelor simply sits beside her and patiently waits for whenever she will point to a word and he will help her translate it. (Though, he mostly just keeps her from wanting to rip out her hair in frustration.) And occasionally, when she feels confident enough, Maekar will turn to him with a new sentence and hope that she gets it right. Mostly, she doesn’t. But when she does... “Tembyr issi qrugh. Se nyke qogralbarosa vēdros bisa. {Books are shit. And I fucking hate this.}” When she does, Baelor grins brightly, and for that moment that he does so before he says anything, everything in Maekar’s world is right, like it always is whenever he even looks her way. She grins back, ecstatic after he tells her, “You are finally improving.” Baelor adds with a teasing grin, “I see we are going to have to focus on your strong suits.” “The cursing?” “Yes.” Maekar grins back. Nods. Says, “OK. That, I can live with.” Baelor shakes his head, still grinning. Then, after a few more minutes of more comfortable silence, Maekar finds herself awkwardly blurting out, “What did you think of Ser Dyon Dayne?” Maekar has never been blind to the fact that her Targaryen family are known for their incestuous relationships. Which is why she has never felt too disturbed by her love for her eldest brother. Unfortunately, as far as she can tell (and she thinks she knows him pretty fucking well), Baelor has never shown such interest in her. And to make things worse, father had already set his sights on all of his children marrying into great families to secure even greater alliances. Obviously, being the Heir to the Iron Throne, father had secured Baelor’s marriage just two years ago. And now, Baelor is already married to one of the most beautiful women Maekar has ever seen, and even has a one year old son. And just with Maekar’s luck, Aerys and Rhaegal are completely useless enough for father to fucking circle around and come back to them. Which leaves Maekar in the present spotlight. Just last night, father held a party, of sorts. Really, he was just parading his one and only daughter around to anyone who’d dare have her. She had felt oddly proud of herself. Of how she would only need glare at lingering eyes that stared for too long before they’d snap away from her in fear. That was, until one man walked up to her without a trace of fear or anything else annoyingly unpleasant marring his lovely face. She had been shocked. He had taken that as advantage to speak first. Told her that she was most indescribable in her beauty. Annoyingly, made her blush. But then, just as easily, had made her laugh. Something only Baelor could ever do, until that point. Weirdly, she hadn’t seen Baelor all night. “Why do you ask?” His voice is not quite steady. Maekar narrows her eyes, looks annoyed. Then, looks confused, and maybe just a little bit hurt as she says, “Because that is the entire reason you were supposed to be there with me. To help me weed out the cunts.” Despite his own awkwardness, Baelor can’t help the chuckle that puffs passed his lips. He shakes his head. Plasters on a bright smile and tells her, “You did well by yourself, Maekar. I saw you with Ser Dyon and you looked to be having a nice time.” (Which is rare in itself, because he knows how much she hates formal gatherings.) “So, I thought it best to leave you be.” “Oh.” Maekar only wants to know what he thought of Ser Dyon, because Ser Dyon is the only other person she has looked at the way she looks at Baelor. Only, she can’t exactly tell Baelor that. Fortunately for her, Baelor still smiles and tells her, “I only spoke to him once, to introduce myself. But in those moments, he seemed to be a fine Ser and Knight.” Maekar can’t help the silly smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. She averts her gaze shyly down to her books as she says, “He said he should like to see how well I handle a sword.” Baelor almost chokes on his own damn spit. “What??” It takes a moment to register her words, then, Maekar is shooting him a withered glare. Her tone is highly unimpressed as she states, “An actual sword, brother.” Baelor glares weakly back at her. Clearly, not believing her (or believing Ser Dyon rather.) Maekar can’t help smirking then. Shakes her head and mutters, “Vali issi filla. {Men are filth.}”6 Days Ago.
It is years.Now.
”—off!” “Mother!” “No! Get off!” “Mother, WAKE UP!” Maekar doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. “Oh, fuck me! No! Moth—argh!!” One moment, she is shoving Yormwell away from her in anger at herself, and the next, she is standing at the foot of her brother’s bed, with her right hand wrapped tightly around her son’s neck and her left hand holding the small dagger (she took from Egg) up against his gut. “Mmit’s m-meeee...” Daeron wheezes out his words. The post of the bed digs into his back, making him wince. Maekar’s eyes blink furiously, then, widen instantly. Just as quickly, she is tossing the blade to her chair. Her hands smooth gently over his neck. Eyes still wide with shock, she asks with hasty whispers, “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” “Almost.” Daeron gives her an impish smile; lets her know he isn’t upset with her. Maekar lets out a deep sigh as she backs slowly away. Runs a hand over her tired face. Daeron stares at her. Feels deeply worried. Which is odd for him, because he actively tends to try to not give a shit about too much. (If he doesn’t care about anything, he can’t be hurt by anything. Though, it only works in theory so far.) “When is the last time you slept anywhere but that chair?” He finally asks, motions over to the chair beside his uncle’s bedside. Maekar looks up at him. Shoots him a withered look. Asks plainly, “When is the last time you drank anything besides ale?” Daeron pretends to think about it before replying with, “Does wine count?” Maekar doesn’t look impressed. “If you are not careful, you will end up like your Uncles, Aerys and Rhaegal.” “You mean; useless whores?” Daeron asks with a edge, slightly glares at her. Maekar narrows her eyes. Calmly, but firmly tells him, “Watch your tongue, boy. They are still your elders and your kin.” Daeron barely contains a scoff. Maekar huffs quietly. Walks back over to her chair. Picks up the dagger before sitting back down. Twirls the blade thoughtfully against the tip of her index finger, her other hand clutching tightly at the hilt. Her eyes roaming back to her brother. Her heart settling back into a quiet nothingness as she watches him still not stir. “It’s all just...” Daeron speaks mostly aloud to himself—after watching his mother’s sad violet eyes, he turns to stare at his uncle and says, “So very random. So very awful. And so very lonely.” Maekar gulps silently. Feels her heart begin to grow heavy again. Daeron hugs the bedpost, leans a cheek against the wood. Closes his eyes. And tries to smile through the torment as he says, “Wouldn’t it all just be so very lovely if every single little thing was already planned out for us? All of our decisions. All of our worries.” “And all of our dreams.” Maekar, at least, knows that the good parts of life are weighed by the bad; that that is what makes them good. “If we did not live fully, we would not live at all.” (That is something Baelor used to tell her whenever she felt like absolute shit about something.) “Yes.” Daeron nods, opens his eyes. Slowly turns his head to face his mother. Smiles sadly and says, “But maybe we would know peace.” “It would not be peace, my boy.” Maekar shakes her head softly. Smiles just as sadly and tells him, “It would only be nothing.” The peaceful smile and longing look in Daeron’s eyes make Maekar’s heart feel all the more heavy. But it is nothing compared to when he whispers wistfully, “Wouldn’t nothing be something... I’d should like to feel it, one day. If I am ever so lucky.” Maekar silently clears her throat. Takes a silent breath to steady herself. Then, asks him, “Why have you never come to me about these visions, if they are so unbearable?” Daeron chuckles lightly. Shoots her a pointed look. Says, “By the time they had started, you already had your hands full with Aerion’s first wave of madness.” “He is not mad.” Maekar tuts, shoots her eldest a pointed look right back. “No, he’s just an evil little shit.” Daeron chirps. Maekar can’t disagree. Rolls her eyes when her son smirks in triumph. Daeron sighs, sits carefully down at the foot of his uncle’s bed. Rests his elbows on his knees. Clasps his hands together. Looks up at his mother and tells her, “I did not want to worry you. And by the time they grew...tiresome, father had grown ill. I did not want to add to the burden of your duties, which is why I did try to keep the boys occupied.” Maekar nods. Small smile tugging at her lips as she says, “And I am grateful.” “It is nothing. They are my brothers.” Maekar’s heart feels a little lighter—because maybe she didn’t fail as a mother after all. “No, it is not nothing.” She places the dagger down on the chair’s arm. Leans forward in her own seat and tells him, “I would have been a mess if it were not for you and Baelor. Your father meant the very world to me.” “He will wake.” Daeron smiles softly at his mother before he looks back at his uncle and finally tells her, “I know how you love him, mother. And it is more than the very world.”
