A Dragon Never Regrets

14 Years Earlier.

“She is beautiful.” Maekar has never seen such a colour; so light of black that it borders on silver. So shiny. So very pretty, even for a horse. “She is.” Baelor says, mostly to himself. Taking a moment to take in Maekar’s beauty as she takes in the beauty of the creature he has found for her. Tells her, “Happy name-day, dear sister.” Maekar turns to him with a cheeky grin. Playfully teasing, says, “I do not believe she is yet quite big enough for me to ride into battle.” Baelor chuckles. Nods. Walks those couple of feet to stand beside her. Rests his arms over the stable door. Stares at the horse and says to his sister, “Well, then, I am grateful that we do not have to ride into any battles any time soon.” Maekar snorts. Mirrors him; rests her arms over the stable door beside him. Says, “If dearest Uncle Daemon doesn’t give it a fucking rest at the council meetings, I can see him starting a damn war.” Baelor nods. Frown lightly touching his brow as he quietly says, “We will deal with him, if or when the time comes.” He sighs long and loud, turns to face her with a smile and says, “Anyway, enough talk of that wretch. This is your twentieth name-day. What would you like to do?” Maekar thinks for a moment. Then, glances down at her slightly rounded pregnant belly. Pats it with a smile and says, “I feel hungry. Have you eaten already?” Baelor grins and takes her by the hand with gentle eagerness.

Now.

Baelor has already tucked in to the breads and the fruits of their large platter, while Maekar waits until the last of the night servants have ushered themselves back out of her guest room. When the door closes, Maekar reaches for an apple and takes a large bite out of it, sits quietly and watches her brother now spreading large globs of strawberry jam over his second piece of bread. She smiles to herself, feeling a little better upon seeing his appetite just as healthy as ever. (He has always been snacking if he could, whenever and wherever.) “Gods,” Baelor says between mouthfuls, “It feels as if I have not eaten in ages.” Maekar’s smile grows some as she says, “You are worse than I was when carrying Daeron.” (With Aerion, everything made her feel sick to the point where she could only eat the blandest of foods. With Aemon, she could eat almost anything, even things that usually made her queasy. And with Egg, she only ever craved sweet things.) Baelor grins up at her, his cheeks rounded with food stuffed inside. His heart simply sings when she shakes her head with a sweet chuckle. Maekar finishes the last bite of her apple, placing the core back down on the tray. Leans back against the bedpost. She watches him shove half a buttered crumpet into his mouth. Rolls her eyes, while wearing an amused smile. Then, leans her head back against the wooden post and lets her eyes fall shut for a few moments. After some minutes, she hears Baelor quietly ask, “How badly did I hurt you?” Maekar’s eyes spring open. Land on his own face, softened with concern and regret. She frowns, looks confused. Asks, “What?” Baelor feels relief only because if she does not recall it so much, it can’t have been so bad. Still, he points to his own left shoulder, while looking at hers, and reminds her, “I unhorsed you by lance.” Then, when he sees her eyes flood with memory, he rushes to add, “I tried to hold back...” Smiles sheepishly, while then adding, “But you are quite fierce...as ever.” Maekar chuckles. Notices his shoulders relax as she does. She rolls her eyes, but is then looking at him in bewilderment and wonder as she says, “I almost kill you with my mace, and all you are concerned over is whether or not you wounded me with your bloody wooden stick?” She chuckles again, shakes her head again. Baelor smiles. Relaxes fully now. (Sees that she is not upset or angry with him.) “I am fine, Baelor. I cannot deny that it hurt like a kick in the cunt by horse, or that the bruising has only disappeared three days ago, but I am fine. And you are not called ‘Breakspear’ for nothing.” She tells him before snatching up a grape and shoving it into her mouth. She stares at him and chuckles again. “My sister’s mace, most like. She is strong. Always has been...” Baelor’s smile widens at the memory of his words, feeling fondness, despite almost dying by her hand. He stops his gorging for the moment to stare back at her—and while she is calm, to tell her, “I understand, Maekar. I am not angry or upset with you for trying to keep your children safe.” Like he predicted, she tears her eyes from his. Immediately looks so guilty that he finds himself fighting to stay put in his spot; to keep from reaching across the bed and pulling her close to him. He carries on, knows that she is listening to his every word, like she always does—because she is loyal, where he has betrayed her, and their family (even if it was for the right reason.) He says, “I remember everything. And I do not blame you. I would have done the same, if it were Valaar. As would anyone else with their own child, I should hope.” He feels like she needs to hear him say these words. But she does not look even a little bit less worried for him. And he hates it. He is her big brother. He should be taking care of her. Like he always has, and hopefully, always will (if she damn well lets him...) He opens his mouth to speak again, but this time, she cuts him off, stares at him with such a despairing look that wounds his heart, and whispers brokenly, “I hurt you. I almost... I almost killed you. It does not matter what even you say, Baelor. The fact remains: I almost killed you, and I will never forgive myself.” “Then, I will make it so.” Baelor says determinedly. He slides the tray of food to the side and shuffles across the bed until he is sat just inches in front of her. He slowly reaches forward and gently takes her right hand in his left. He gives it a squeeze while she is distracted looking down at their entwined fingers. Then, he tells her, with equal determination, “I will make it so that each day you forgive yourself, if but a fraction, and then, a fraction more, and so on, until you forget entirely.” Maekar gives him the same withered look she gave the hedge knight as she tells him, too, “Not bloody likely.” Baelor ignores her pessimism, as he typically does. Smiles brilliantly and says, “Challenged accepted.” He grins mischievously when she glares at him fully, and firmly says, “That was not a bloody challenge, brother.” Baelor pretends not to hear her words. Instead, turns to grab something from the tray behind him. Turns back to her with a grin and says, “Try the blue cheese.” Maekar glances at the generous slice in his hand. Presenting it proudly to her, while she tries to ignore the lunatic butterflies dancing around her stomach simply because his other hand is still laced with her own. “Come on. You love cheese.” Baelor insists. Almost pouts. Maekar rolls her eyes, but nods. Though, by the time she has lifted her free hand halfway up to his, he is already delicately bringing the cheese up to her mouth. Maekar purses her lips on instinct—being the youngest child of four, she cannot help but resent being treated as such. But Baelor has never treated her as such, even though he is oddly the most protective of her. And of course she doesn’t see anything but joy in his eyes right now as she scowls, but leans forward. Baelor’s mismatched eyes grow intense for just a split second. He cannot deny he was hoping for her lips to brush his fingers. But instead, her tongue darts out, sticks to the piece of cheese and snatches it back into her mouth. And Baelor can’t help chuckling as he watches her chew with a smug look on her face. Finally (regretfully), lets her hand slip from his. Though, he doesn’t slide back to his place on the bed. Maekar grabs another few grapes when he then carefully drags the tray closer to them. Watches him some more as he begins shovelling more food down. Fights back an amused smile when he grows annoyed over dropping some of the jam onto the back of his hand. And then, deeply regrets watching him when his tongue darts out to lick that jam right up in one clean swoop. Maekar tears her eyes from him. And just in time as he lifts his gaze to hers. She feels his eyes on her as she grabs one of the light pear pastries and takes a small bite into it. She isn’t really hungry, but it gives her something to do with her hands, while she thinks of something to say. (Which is annoying and jarring, because he has always been the easiest person for her to speak with.) Thankfully, he speaks first. “My rings—do you have them?” Maekar looks up to see him staring thoughtfully down at his hands. She can’t help looking at them either—such capable and strong hands. She clears her throat silently. She nods when he looks up at her and tells him, “They are with me; safe.” She pats her chest, where her inside breast pocket is stitched securely. Asks, “Do you want them back now?” Baelor shakes his head. Smiles softly. Tells her, “Keep them for now.” Though he does feel rather naked without them, it does also feel rather freeing. At her curious look, his smile widens some and he tells her, “I merely wondered. And hoped that they had not slipped off during the chaos of The Trial.” Maekar simply nods. “My feelings for your son; my nephew, have not changed.” He then tells her, “I do not blame Aerion. Though he is most difficult, he is still a child with much to learn.” Maekar scoffs loudly. Plops her head back against the bedpost. Glares and says, “By the time either you or I were his age now, we were both preparing for marriage and well into adulthood responsibilities. Aerion wouldn’t know how to find a whore in a brothel, dear brother, nor sell bread to a fucking baker.” Baelor chuckles. Agrees with a nod and says, “He does not seem interested in such. Unlike your eldest.” Maekar shoots him a withered look, but has to fight back a smile as he laughs once again. She tells him, “He told Egg and Ser Duncan that he dreamt you would wake. And in my despair, I did not believe it.” Baelor sees the look of regret again, but this time, it is worse, because it is dipped in shame around the edges of her lovely violet eyes. “And yet, here I am.” He offers a smile, tries to make her smile, but fails. Instead then, he smiles anyway, and says, “I would never leave you in despair, Maekar. Much less leave you at all.” Then, tells her, “I would not know how stay with The Stranger without you.” Ordinarily, Maekar would be offended by such a statement—seeing as the notion implies her death. Instead, she is touched. And a little shocked. Her eyes widen a little and she has to force herself to breathe steadily so that she can ask him, “You heard when I spoke to you?” Baelor smiles. Nods. Tells her, “I heard you. You saved me.” Maekar shakes her head. “I—“ Baelor nods anyway. Speaks before she can argue with him. Tells hers, “You brought me back from the brink of death, Maekar. You saved me. As you have always saved me.” Maekar rolls her eyes to fight the flush of her cheeks. “Do not start with The Rebellion again—neither of us would have won alone against Daemon.” Baelor smirks. Says, “You are a beautiful beast of violence, dear sister.” Maekar is now trying to ignore her newly flushed cheeks by swooping in on the crumpets. Grabbing up the jam and a butter-knife and busying herself with spreading some butter on, too, while she’s at it. Then, after a few minutes of comfortable almost-silence (with their chewing), Maekar tells him, “The day after...everything happened, Valarr came to me, asked me if I would take the Throne for father if you were to...pass.” She takes a deep breath, clears her throat roughly. Quickly moves on by telling him, “I told him yes, on the condition that it only be temporary, until he was ready.” Baelor nods before she can ask; answers her before she asks, “I see no problems with that decision.” Maekar simply nods back. Grabs another couple of grapes and another piece of the tasty blue cheese. Another few moments pass, and Baelor swallows a grape of his own before he quietly (nervously) says, “When I am able enough, I should still very much like to go fishing. Just the two of us.” A slow but happy little smile stretches across Maekar’s lips before she nods and says, “Fishing, it is, brother.”