13 Years Earlier.
Baelor knows that he is staring. Knows that he has been staring for most of the night—nay; most of his life.
Most of hers as well...
But tonight is a special circumstance—because if he doesn’t look at Maekar, he knows for damn well sure he will be glaring outright at Daemon.
Which will probably start something he wishes neither to entertain for Daemon’s satisfaction, or to piss off father.
When it comes to war, his bastard uncle is actually as honourable as he is a fine warrior.
But outside of that...
Baelor doesn’t realise how hard he is scowling until his mother’s soft chuckle flutters over his shoulder. He turns his head, presses on a brief but gentle smile towards her. Then, feels his eyes automatically gravitate back to his sister.
“Ah, yes, your sister is a vision, as ever.” Myriah says, a knowing hint in her tone as her own eyes flit towards her husband’s half-brother. “You are usually so good at looking so stoic, my sweetest Prince.”
She stands beside her eldest son, smile widening to a grin when he doesn’t so much as blink; clearly not having heard a word she said.
She rolls her eyes, nonchalantly adds, “I know that little glare is not really for Maekar. Unless...she has upset you? Which is rare and—“
“No.” Baelor shakes his head. Takes a silent breath. Finally tears his eyes away from the entirety of the senseless celebration. Forces on another small smile, says, “No, Maekar has not upset me.”
Myriah purses her lips after staring at him for a few moments. Says, “I know, my boy. But
someone has...”
She gives him a pointed look after motioning subtly towards Daemon—who has at least 12 different types of women crowded around him in swooning fever.
Though, she can’t help but chuckle quietly when catching Maekar’s absolute look of disgust as she, too, is looking Daemon’s way—
In the crowds, Maekar mutters under her breath, “What a bloody ponce.”
Dyon hides his amused smile over his wife’s words by pressing a kiss to her temple. And also, muttering back, “Isn’t a ponce someone who keeps asking you for money?”
“Well, yes, but it also means—“ Maekar huffs and turns to shoot her husband a withered glare. “Whose bloody side are you?”
Dyon gives her that big dimpled dopey grin of his that always not-so secretly makes her weak in the knees. Simply pulls her close and presses his words into her soft hair, “Always yours, my love.”
—Just meters away, back on the dais; despite the small stab he feels through his heart every time he sees his sister and her husband share any kind of affection, Baelor he cannot help but smile every time she does.
(Above all else, if she is happy, then, so is he, truly.)
Baelor finally takes that small step, motions towards his seat, then, to his mother’s.
Myriah smiles bright and proud. “Such a gentle Ser.” She lightly pinches his cheek before giving it a soothing kiss.
“Mother loved you best, huh?”
Baelor pauses for a moment. Frowns. Then, just as quickly, shakes off the odd feeling.
After his mother is seated, he seats himself. Immediately pours himself a goblet and just about politely waves away the few servants rushing over to them.
Myriah thanks her son when he pours her some wine as well. Takes small sip and eyes him carefully. Follows his line of sight, and now, feels her mood sour.
(Because if something can trouble Baelor, it must be bad.)
She huffs. Plops her goblet back to the table. Simply asks, “What has your uncle said to you this time?”
Baelor doesn’t take his eyes off of the man as he tells him mother in a low enough tone for only the two of them to hear, “It is not what he says, but what he leaves unsaid by cultivated design.”
Myriah glances warily back over at Daemon. Quietly says more than asks, “You think he makes plans against your father.”
“I think he is biding his time for
something.” Baelor tells her, “Since father has allowed him to attend council meetings, he has done nothing but try to undermine him...but as of late, he suddenly stops all protests. It is most unlike him, even on his best days.”
Myriah’s heart races some as she glances back over to indeed see Daemon laughing loudly and looking to be having the best time.
She now, finds herself scowling slightly, too.
Baelor shakes his head, nervously twirls a ring around his middle finger. Frowns, adds, “No, he is up to something. He is
far too happy.”
Maekar’s scoff pulls him from his thoughts before he hears her words, “You cannot be speaking of yourself. I have yet to see you even smile tonight.”
Baelor glances up to see her approaching his side, automatically feels his lips tug into a smile.
Maekar chuckles and says, “Well, I suppose that is an improvement.”
“Apologies, dear sister, I will try harder.” Baelor doesn’t pull a seat for his sister, because he doesn’t want her to slap him, like she did the first time he ever tried.
Though, he does (pathetically) feel another happy little smile tug at his lips when she gives his left shoulder a squeeze before plopping down with a huff beside him.
“Wine, my darling?” Myriah reaches for the jug, pours some into her daughter’s goblet when she nods.
“Thank you, mother.” Maekar gives her mother a courteous nod before taking a few gulps.
Myriah chuckles. “How is it that only my eldest and my youngest babies have ravenous appetites?” She chuckles again. Shakes her head. Takes a sip of her own wine.
Baelor smiles pleasantly, while Maekar snorts quietly and sarcastically replies with, “I know not what you mean, mother—Aerys loves to poke his nose in musty old books and Rhaegal loves to poke his nose in even mustier old whores.”
Maekar smirks when Baelor chokes on his next mouthful of wine; sees him trying to hold back his laughter.
Even at her mother’s look of disapproval, she smiles happily and continues with, “What? It’s a win for you and father. It’s like having a litter of kittens of all colours and furs—with Baelor, who loves to eat and myself, who loves to drink; you have a full set. Well done.”
Baelor stares at his sister in amusement and amazement as she knocks back the rest of her wine; plopping the goblet down on the table, and then, snatching up one of the pears and taking a huge bite.
Myriah glances towards Baelor then, who stares back at her, shakes his head and says, “Do not look at me so, mother. She has
your likeness.”
Their mother glares at them both then, slapping her hand on the table and earning a few glances, she hisses out, “Do not talk back to your mother!
Either of you!”
“What the bloody Seven Hells did
I do?” Maekar glances around, as if looking for someone to defend her cause, or at the very least, be her witness.
Baelor hides a grin (at/from both his mother and sister.)
Myriah simply huffs before rising from her seat and walking away without another word.
“The Dornish are so dramatic.” Maekar states in more wonder than anything else as she watches her mother flutter back towards her father.
“Yes.” Baelor chuckles, reaches across the table for a few blueberries. “Thank the Gods we are only half dramatic.”
Maekar slowly turns her head to face him. Feels her lips tug despite herself. Says, “Very funny, brother.”
“As evidence of that smile you think you are hiding so well.” Baelor replies with a smug little smirk as he leans back in his seat and pops a couple of blueberries into his mouth.
Maekar rolls her eyes, but doesn’t hold back her smile now. “Yes, very quick, Baelor.” While leaning over to grab a slice of cheese, she adds, “For
you.”
Baelor chuckles again. Sighs contently. Glances out to the crowds.
He smiles amusedly upon seeing Ser Dyon currently being practically swaddled and openly mooned over by a somewhat large group of no less beautiful but clearly elderly women.
“You would think, being a purebred...
dramatic, mother would know how to handle her drink better.” Maekar says as she pours herself another lot of wine. She glances over at her brother’s goblet, shrugs to herself when she sees he has barely touched his own drink.
At his sister’s words, Baelor’s eyes flit over to find his mother laughing joyfully while dancing with his father, a crowd forming around them, some joining in, trying to match his parents’ clumsy steps.
“You would think...” Baelor replies distractedly.
Maekar arches a brow. Is silent for the few moments it takes her eyes to track what currently holds his attention. A glare automatically forms across her brow as her own eyes then land on their uncle.
She sighs. Leans back in her seat. Calmly asks, “Come on then—what did the old half-breed bastard do to you that has managed to keep you from your usual nauseating cheerful self this entire evening?”
When he doesn’t answer, only continues to scowl, Maekar smirks; hopes to cheer him up when she adds, “Besides, of course, being
his usual rage inducing self...??”
Baelor finally looks at her. Frowns and counters with, “Besides tonight being a mummer’s farce?” He scoffs quietly, shakes his head. “It is nothing, Maekar.”
Maekar is now scowling, because she can see the tightness of his jaw; sees him trying to hide a sneer.
“Speak the truth, Baelor.” She turns in her seat to face him fully then. Expression slowly softening, because now he looks as if he dare not look at her.
“I do not like the way he is beginning to so clearly take advantage of this family’s handout to him. The other morn, he tried to begin a meeting before father’s arrival. And while it is a small issue, is only small for now.” Baelor speaks under his breath just so that the two of them can hear, his goblet pressed lightly over his mouth to hide his words to anyone else.
“Cheeky bastard.” Maekar mutters under her own breath. Scoffs before leaning over and grabbing up a handful of grapes. It’s mostly for show, so, no-one sees them talking as she pops a couple into her mouth and says, “As you said, brother, we will deal with him when he makes us do so.” She gives her brother a pointed, but sympathetic look before adding, “But not before. We will let him dig his own grave, and then,” She pauses with a happy grin, “We can bury him in it.”
Baelor can’t help chuckling; can’t help letting her dark humour take the weight of this family’s future from his shoulders for just a few moments. She does it so effortlessly.
Though, he does lower his eyes and gulp silently in guilt when his own wife’s gaze locks with his—Jena glances with that faint sadness (that’s always there when seeing he and Maekar even near one another) before forcing on a sweet smile for him and continuing with her conversation with one of his cousins.
Oblivious, Maekar huffs as she leans back in her seat, gobbles up a couple more grapes and says, “Whatever he’s planning, I wish he’d just hurry up, so we could get rid of him already.” She grins wickedly as she glances at her brother and adds, “Now,
that would be a lovely two-and-twentieth name-day gift.”
Baelor smirks faintly, nods distractedly in agreement.
Maekar laughs then, looking out into the crowds at something. Then, turns back to her brother again and says, “I think I had better go save my dear husband.”
Baelor glances over into the crowds to see Ser Dyon awkwardly trying to escape from a group of even elder ladies than the last he’d seen with the poor man.
“Your sister grows more beautiful every time I see her.”
The smile that gently slides across Baelor’s lips while watching his sister practically dive in to save her husband is quickly wiped off when he hears that annoyingly smooth voice speak up from behind him.
Daemon sits down in the seat beside Baelor, grins cheerily over at the other man as he reaches out to grab a red apple from the table.
Baelor simply offers a pleasant enough smile before going back to watching the crowds; watching Maekar (
always watching her.)
“Not feeling well tonight, dear nephew?” Daemon asks, arches a brow, eyes twinkling with amusement behind that almost sincere look of concern. “Usually, you are a lot more social, is all.” He adds while taking a large bite from the apple and chewing loudly.
Baelor holds back a grimace of disgust. Instead, replies calmly with, “This night is for you, uncle. I would not dare step into your spotlight.”
Daemon arches a brow, clearly catches the subtle warning in his nephew’s words. He smirks lightly, says, “Of course not. And I thank you for that. However...I
will need you to speak with your sister for me.”
Baelor finally turns his head to look at his uncle. Scowls and warily asks, “For what?”
“Well, it seems your father is going to make me a General.” Daemon says with both excitement that is real and excitement of getting off on pissing both his niece and nephew off.
Baelor takes a moment to calm himself. Then, says, “Maekar is his General.”
“So are you.” Daemon reminds him, wearing a little scowl of his own, though, he sounds like a child when he argues.
Baelor almost scoffs. “I am not a General. If anything, I am a Commander; I lead the charge. But my sister and I work as one leader. We always have.”
Baelor throws a brief glare over at his father—who is still dancing drunkenly and laughing joyfully with his mother.
“OK, understood. You and your sister are a team not to be broken up.” Daemon throws up both hands in surrender. Takes another bite of his apple. Chews loudly. Smiles to himself (while holding back his real smirk), looks at his nephew from the corner of his vision (as he stares openly over at his nephew’s sister) and says, “Maybe
I could...
talk...to the beautiful Princess instead... Maybe find a way to convince her to...
let me in...”
Baelor’s jaw tightens. He takes a silent but deep breath. Turns his head slowly and glares darkly and with a dangerously low and warning tone, he says, “I would advise you to choose your next words with the deepest caution.”
Daemon tears his gaze from Maekar, turns to look at her brother and grins widely. Then, says, “Oh, how it must have stung when father refused to let you marry her... How it must sting knowing
I could know the taste of her cunt before
you ever had the courage to...”
Baelor doesn’t know what happens then.
Doesn’t now if it’s actually the words he lets get to him, or the fact that this fucking shameless wretch somehow knows too much of his own shameless secret—
But Baelor swears he only smiles vacantly before turning back to look at Maekar...
Only, he blinks, and then, finds himself sitting on top of Daemon. One hand holding him down at the throat, and the other, curled into a fist while hitting the man, hard and repeatedly in the face.
“Fucking Gods! Guards!”
Baelor barely hears the music stopping after his father’s booming voice yells out.
“No!” Maekar’s voice is the only one that’s clearer to him, though, only by a little. “Ser Donnel, stay fucking put!”
“Oh, fuck me...” Myriah groans, knocking back the last little bit of wine in her goblet and sighing heavily.
“Baelor.”
Baelor feels himself being yanked up from Daemon, who is bloody, yet, fucking
laughing up at him.
Baelor growls under his breath and makes to charge forward again.
“Baelor, enough!” Maekar steps in front of him, shoves both hands into his chest with enough force to send him stumbling back a few steps.
Baelor finally snaps the fuck out of whatever anger just took hold of him.
He blinks rapidly, eyes widening as he takes in Daemon’s bloody (smirking) face, and then, the silent crowds that are now just staring at him in shock.
He glances over to see his mother looking disappointed, then, to his father looking infuriated.
Then, finally, back to Maekar, who just looks confused and little scared.
Baelor simply turns and makes his exit as fast as possible.
Now.
“I-I swear, Your Grace, I would never take your son
anywhere without your permission. And I—“
“Yes, yes, Ser, you are most thoughtful. Now, shut the fuck up and sit down, will you—you’re giving me a bloody headache.”
Baelor fights back a smile as he watches Maekar emphasise her point by craning her neck back to look up at the tall knight.
“O-Of course, Your Grace.” Dunk shuffles over to take a seat opposite the Princess’s desk. His large form hunched over awkwardly. He smiles brightly over at the Prince, clearly happy to see him awake.
Baelor sends him a smile back.
“Egg, face the wall. There’s no point in me sending you out of the room when we both know you will find a way to listen in anyway.” Maekar states dryly, sending her son a pointed look when he grins cheekily.
(At least, this way, his big doe eyes can’t manipulate her any more than they already have.)
Though, Egg does as he’s told. Rises from his seat on the bed beside his uncle and moves to stand over to face the wall just inside the door.
“
You, Ser, have been a thorn in my side since the moment you stepped into my son’s life.”
Maekar holds up a finger when he tries to open his mouth, no doubt coming to his own defence. She smiles pleasantly when he clamps his lips together.
“But you are most serendipitous in that I have a high tolerance for those who do not know their place.”
Maekar rolls her eyes when Baelor shoots her a withering look.
She huffs, says, “
But... I will admit that you were right, Ser.”
Dunk glances up at her, eyes wide with surprise. Though, he isn’t entirely sure what he is right for. He stays silent, waits for her to continue.
She does: “My other sons do not appreciate what they have; what they
are, because they have never known true living.”
Baelor smiles proudly (to himself—he doesn’t wish to piss her off...or worse, upset her...more so than she already clearly is.)
Dunk’s heart speeds up in excitement, his heart filling with hope. Because it would be lovely to not be alone for his journey, but really, he would miss Egg terribly, if he had to leave him behind.
“Your Grace...?” He asks unsurely, hopes she will go on without him probing, and then, her inevitably snapping at him.
Maekar glances at her son—who she can see fidgeting with excitement—and smiles, even though she feels that defeat again.
She looks at the knight and says, “I will allow Aegon to travel with you and be your squire, Ser Duncan. But you will have him write to me on every other full moon, and you will bring him home to visit me, at least, once a year. And if you do not—“
“I
will, Your Grace! I...” Dunk trails off and smiles sheepishly when her eyes narrow.
Baelor hides his amused smirk for the sake of not humiliating the poor knight.
Maekar clears her throat quietly before continuing with, “And you will
not sneak off into the wild...”
Her eyes narrow over at Egg, who clearly feels those words being directed at him as his shoulders hitch in a wince.
She looks at Ser Duncan again and says, “You will depart when the Sun rises, as will our party when we
finally go home.”
Maekar glances at Baelor, who nods.
1 Hour Later.
“Oh, how it must have stung when father refused to let you marry her...”
“Baelor, enough!”
“Mother loved you best, huh? Shame...”
Baelor wakes with a small startle and a heavy breath. He huffs quietly as the last parts of his dreams flutter through his mind. He feels a quiet shame as he grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to shove those memories back to the back of his mind.
“Are you OK?”
He almost startles again when Maekar’s soft voice speaks up from behind him.
Baelor turns his head, sees her sitting up against the headboard beside him. He smiles up at her, nods before slowly shoving himself up to sit beside her. Smiles again (more to himself) when he sees that she covered him with the blankets—always taking care of him.
“Where is Egg?” He asks after a moment of watching her stare into space as she rolls a couple of blueberries around in her right hand.
“I sent him off to bed, but no doubt has snuck off to share his excitement with the hedge knight.” Maekar replies with a small but amused smile tugging at her lips. “Not that it matters. We all leave in less than 3 hours anyway.” She adds before tossing one of the berries into her mouth.
Baelor tears his eyes away from those pretty pink lips. Gulps silently before reaching over to the nightstand to grab his goblet.
It’s empty, but Maekar is already reaching over to refill it before doing so with her own goblet.
“I can’t wait to get out of this shithole and never look back.” She mutters, mostly to herself. Leans her head back with a sigh.
Baelor frowns softly.
Maekar chuckles at his look. Tells him, “For once, I did not mean to insult our hosts. I only meant...” She shakes her head, looks away from him as she says, “I wish never to be reminded of what almost happened here.”
Baelor sighs. Leans back and slides down just enough to leave his head resting on her right shoulder. “You are always too hard on yourself. It is the one thing I have never been able to stop you from doing.” He puffs out a chuckle as he adds, “And it is infuriating.”
“Because I know
you will never be.” Maekar sucks in a silent breath when his hands reach for her right hand, holding it tight, like it’s something precious. She manages to mumble out, “I do not remember the last time you were truly angry with me.”
It makes him want to laugh, because she is angry with him half of the time they share together. (Though, he wouldn’t have her any other way, because then, she would not be Maekar.)
Instead, he smirks cheekily up at her and says, “Though, I
do admire your determination to make me so.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Maekar smiles sarcastically. She eyes him with clear annoyance, but her voice is filled with soft concern as she asks him, “Anyway, what were you dreaming about?”
Baelor freezes. Then, curses himself in his mind, because he knows she saw him freeze.
He huffs out a nervous laugh. Just about calmly asks, “What makes you think I was dreaming?”
Maekar shrugs casually. Eyes him carefully, while telling him, “You sounded a little distressed, brother. I thought you might be having a nightmare. But you were grunting in...annoyance?”
Baelor blinks back at her. “Well, if I was sleeping, how would I know?”
Maekar shoots him a withered look. “Like I told your son, do not try to be smart.”
“I
am smart.”
Maekar has to pause just to have a little chuckle over his little scowl.
“I know you are smart.” Maekar’s grin then drops as she glares plainly and tells him, “What I meant to say is; don’t bloody insult
my intelligence.”
“I do not wish to speak of it.” Baelor says, reaching over to grab a red apple and glaring at it as he takes a bite and chews
quietly.
Maekar stares at him for moment. Then, chuckles and says, “Alright, brother.”
(She knows she will get it out of him, sooner or later.)
