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Maria left the chamber fully convinced that Baelor had decided to go on alone to the great hall, but to her great surprise, he was waiting for her.

She looked at him intently as he approached her slowly, his hands clasped behind his back and a faint, uncertain smile upon his face.

He stopped before her and sighed slightly.

"You look beautiful," he said, looking at her gently.

She smiled and shrugged.

"You too."

Baelor laughed lightly and lowered his head.

"I thought you had gone on without me."

He frowned and tilted his head to the side.

"Why? I said I would wait," he replied softly, his gaze slowly tracing her face.

And that was enough to make her burn all at once. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

"I do not want to go there," she announced with a slight grimace, and glanced over her shoulder toward the stairs, as if that had suddenly become the worst possible direction in the world.

Baelor looked at her for a moment through narrowed eyes. He took a step toward her, and she turned back and looked up at him.

"Then let us not go," he said softly, quietly, and low. He looked at her in such a way that made her shiver and swallow.

"But..." She pursed her lips and groaned in frustration. "We have to, everyone is probably wondering already why we are not there." She huffed, clearly dissatisfied, and rolled her eyes.

Baelor lifted the corner of his mouth slightly in a wry smile and nodded stiffly.

"Well, yes, there is no denying it." He extended his arm toward her with a sigh, and she accepted it at once.

They set off in silence, Maria glancing at him uncertainly.

"Come now, tell me what you think, before we both have to pretend everything is fine and smile stupidly at this bunch of idiots," she said, shaking her head in frustration.

Baelor smiled and looked at her intently.

"I have no idea what to do, Maria," he replied after a moment, grimacing slightly.

"I do not blame you at all; for all your glory, you are not abnormal enough to navigate this insane situation." She waved her hand, clearly devastated.

He chuckled lightly and tightened his arm around hers.

"And do you know?" he asked hopefully, leaning over her.

She gave him a pitying look.

"Even if divine grace itself descended upon me, I would not have a clue."

He looked at her with amusement in his eyes and slowed down a little.

"Sometimes I wonder how on earth you come up with such things on the spot." He shook his head slowly.

Maria leaned toward him over his shoulder and looked into his eyes with a smile.

"I have a very active imagination, Your Highness. That is probably why I so often cannot sleep," she announced with a sly smile.

Baelor leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, swallowing hard. His heart pounded, as if he had escaped death yet again.

"How long must I sit here?" he heard Maria's muffled voice from beneath the bed, and an unwelcome smile crept across his lips. He knelt before the bed and lifted the hanging cover, leaning down to look at her.

She lay on her stomach, her elbows spread wide, and looked at him with obvious amusement.

He pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one was standing there.

"Help me out." Maria reached out her hand, and he immediately pulled her toward him carefully.

He caught her by the arms and looked at her intently once she was kneeling beside him fully.

She began hastily brushing her hair from her face, wincing slightly.

He covered his face with his hands and began to shake his head slowly. Maria looked up at him over her own shoulder, where she was trying to pull the sleeve of her dress back into place.

"You are not crying, are you?" Her tone was so convinced of that very possibility that it tipped the scales, and he began to laugh helplessly.

He dropped his hands to his bent knees, looking from her to himself, at their rather absurd situation and position, and continued laughing.

Maria joined him, for the sheer expression on his face alone made her suddenly forget the whole world.

I do love when he is like that, she thought warmly.

"Well, that was very interesting indeed," he said slowly, calming down, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

Maria nodded. Then she swallowed and inhaled deeply, looking at him with uncertainty.

"You are not... mad?" she asked with obvious hesitation, leaning toward him.

He turned to her with a look of surprise.

"Why would I be mad?" He smiled from the corner of his lips, and his eyes fell to her rather disheveled dress. He swallowed hard. "Did I do that?" he asked in complete disbelief, pointing lightly with one finger.

Maria straightened and leaned back suggestively, making the dress slip even farther down.

"Oh yes, you were very determined," she said in a low voice and nodded solemnly.

He took a deep breath and nodded as well, his eyes still fixed on the evidence of his actions.

"Good for me," he said, looking up at her with an expression full of newfound respect for himself.

She laughed lightly and rose to her feet. So did he.

"Now you must help me put it back in order, I am afraid," she said, shaking her head in sheer devastation and giving him a small smile.

He looked at her face for a long moment.

"Unless you have another idea," she shrugged with a sly smile, unsure what to make of his sudden silence.

Baelor ran his fingers along his nose, pinching it lightly, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He opened it as if to say something, but eventually said nothing.

Because it was too difficult for him at that moment to say either anything, yes or no.

For he had many ideas. All too many.

Maria only laughed at the expression on his face and slowly began to pull the corset of her dress back into place. She held it high with both hands, pressing it against herself, and turned her head slightly toward the prince.

"You shall have to help me with this. I think you can handle it, can't you?" she smiled teasingly, turning her back to him expectantly.

Baelor tried to retain some remnant of restraint and approached her, trying to untangle the strings of her corset, which he had so terribly knotted earlier in some mania he could not even fully remember. He frowned in displeasure at one point in his struggle, as though sensing that such a simple task might overwhelm him in so shameful a way.

"I could take it off and do it myself, if you want to," she suggested, sincerely meaning no harm, but she quickly realized he probably would not take it that way.

He froze for a moment, then tugged at the string, pulling her harshly toward him with a sudden, nervous twitch. She gasped in surprise and straightened up.

Maria emerged from behind the tree, as if some sudden miracle had been bestowed upon him by gods with whom he had never spoken. She approached him slowly, casting a quick glance toward the tree. A look full of uncertainty and a certain fear.

"A dreadful place, is it not?" She drew her shoulders in as a small shiver passed through her. He could see the gooseflesh upon her bare skin.

He nodded slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye and taking in the image of the old gods spread out before him.

"Did you come to think too?" she asked after a moment, examining his suddenly serious and intent face with a tender smile.

Baelor turned to her and gave her the same look.

"Yes," he nodded, his tone light and warm.

She drew a breath and hesitated slightly, but stepped closer and carefully wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest.

He closed his eyes slowly and embraced her, resting his chin carefully upon the top of her head.

They stood like that for a long moment. He slowly ran his hand through her long hair, taking in her scent, her warmth. Suddenly, a sense of peace moved through him, as though he had found himself in the holiest of places.

Maria looked up at him and drew a breath. Her eyes were wide and fixed on him with such intense emotion that he swallowed hard. He smiled faintly at the corner of his mouth and carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She tightened her grip around him. He ran his thumb along her jaw, while his other fingers lightly brushed her neck. She shivered and closed her eyes for a moment. He looked at her as though she were the most beautiful painting in the world.

"What am I to you, Maria?" he asked gently, though his voice broke slightly. He drew his brows together as though in pain, and she looked at him in much the same way. He swallowed. "Because you are everything to me." His voice was firm now, steady, though softened in some indescribable way.

She inhaled deeply, shakily. She ran her tongue hastily across her lips and pressed herself closer to him, her eyes turning almost to fire beneath his gaze. She clasped her fingers tightly at the front of his coat.

"You are my soul, Baelor," she said in a voice so close to a whisper and yet so far from one, full of passion and certainty such as he had never heard from anyone before.

His chest rose rapidly as he cupped her face in both hands and pressed his forehead hard against hers. He closed his eyes and felt his heart begin to pound.

He let his hands slip down along her figure to her back, pressing her firmly to him.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers with the rawest form of devotion and need he had ever known within himself.

"I want..." he said slowly, his voice low and almost desperate, his fingers tightening on her dress. "I want you, Maria," he nearly gasped. His breath grew heavy, wet, unsteady. "I want you so badly that it breaks me." One hand went to her neck and tightened there greedily, his other drawing her even closer still.

She felt her knees tremble. She tightened her fingers upon his chest as her breath came faster than she could bear.

"But I cannot..." He winced sharply, closing his eyes shut, for the look on her face made it impossible for him to continue. "I cannot do this, because it will only break me all the more."

He fought with himself as he perhaps never had before. He clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead hard to hers once more, so hard that he had to steady her by the waist to keep her from stumbling.

He hated that he had to say it. He hated everything in that moment.

Maria smiled sourly from the corner of her mouth.

"I know. That is why I left you then. And only because of that."

She frowned and gave him a faintly irritated look.

"And how did you fare yesterday? Glory and fame, I presume?" She changed the subject, suddenly uncomfortable beneath such serious scrutiny.

Baratheon gave a short snort of amusement and spread his arms wide, leaning toward her slightly.

"You would never guess with whom I was paired in the melee."

Maria cast him a look full of sudden curiosity. His tone was impossible to ignore. She looked at him expectantly.

"With the prince himself."

Maria opened her eyes and mouth wide, her hands dropping to her sides, and looked as though she had heard the most impossible and funniest thing in the world all at once.

"No," she said, shaking her head, her voice low with disbelief.

Lyonel nodded, pursing his lips, a glint of amusement moving in his eyes.

"Yes."

Maria opened her mouth even wider, then began to laugh. Baratheon watched her with pure delight.

"And to think I was not there to witness it." She clutched at her head, as though devastated by such a loss.

"Pity. Pity indeed. We did quite well."

Maria looked at him, still shaking her head.

"I think I am going to cry," she declared, wincing in frustration and pressing both hands over her mouth.

The knight laughed heartily and stepped closer.

"He may have a stick up his arse, but he knows what he is doing when someone requires a beating," Lyonel said in an unusually serious tone.

Maria laughed again.

"That is probably the kindest thing you could ever say." She laid a hand upon her chest, and her face took on an expression of immense feeling.

Baratheon tilted his head slightly to the side, and the corners of his mouth turned down in a quick movement, revealing his reluctant agreement.

"It seems fortune... favors him," he said lightly, though he sent her a quick glance from beneath his brows.

"Oh, yes? You think so?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yes, a very pretty green fortune, strewn with golden roses." He waved a hand delicately through the air.

Upcoming Chapter sample:

He felt the weight of steel in his hand with immense pleasure, especially while standing before someone at whom he could actually swing it. The weight of the armor against his body steadied him somewhat in that demanding moment. He received each blow of the sword with a relief he could not explain.

Valarr watched him intently, while Ser Willem Wylde took the strikes upon his shield. Baelor lifted his visor with a heavy breath and regarded the man carefully. He lowered his sword to the ground and leaned lightly upon it.

"Where is Morrigen?" he asked, swallowing hard and panting slightly. "What use are you if you are not even trying?" He waved a hand with mild irritation at the knight, who gave him an amused look.

"What can I do, Your Highness?" he said with a shrug, then called over his shoulder to their traveling companion, who stood nearby. The young man came to them almost at once, leaping over the low fence with enthusiasm and taking the shield from one of the Kingsguard with a smile.

Baelor smiled and drew his sword from the ground, raising it toward Erik.

"No soft blows, ser," he ordered, though with clear amusement, and lowered the visor once more.

Morrigen laughed heartily and bowed.

"I would not dare, my prince," he replied, taking his stance.

Baelor watched him carefully for a moment before launching his attack.

He got what he wanted, for fighting the man was far more demanding and difficult than merely battering at his guard's defense. Though he had no right to blame him — as he had said, he could not help it.

It took him longer than he had expected to defeat Erik.

At last he held out a hand to help him to his feet. He grimaced in displeasure and removed his helmet. Tossing it aside with another grimace, he sighed.

"Not good," he muttered to himself, adjusting his gloves.

Morrigen laughed softly.

"Do not be so hard on yourself, Your Highness. I am the one who ended on the ground and soiled my breeches." He patted the prince on the shoulder in consolation.

Baelor shook his head.

"Not so long ago, you would not have had the strength to rise," he remarked with amusement, looking at the man with clear displeasure that he had.

The knight laughed heartily.

"I, for one, am not complaining." He glanced aside, and a sly smile appeared on his face. "Nor should you be, Your Grace. It seems you have impressed the ladies enough already," he said, leaning toward him suggestively and pointing off to the side.

Baelor at once turned his head in that direction, hoping to see Maria — but instead a small cluster of ladies burst into laughter, smiling and waving at him admiringly.

He grimaced in disappointment and displeasure, at which Erik laughed aloud.

"You are terribly particular, ser," he said, shaking his head in mock despair.

Chapter sample:

He watched her walk in circles around his room with the feeling of his senses sharpening in all the ways he wished they would dull.

"They spoke of... desire, of all things," she said, shaking her head in slight confusion. He sat straighter as he heard the word and clasped his hands together in front of him. "But they used the word in a way that I am not accustomed to hearing it. As if it had more to do with everything else rather than merely a thought..." She looked to the ceiling in a thoughtful manner.

He watched her even more closely now. He looked away for a second, deciding what exactly he wished to do with the situation fate had placed before him. He stood gracefully and walked toward the table to take a sip of wine. He looked inside the cup for a moment before speaking lightly.

"It does begin there. I believe," he murmured, and took a brief sip. The wine tasted bitter and like an escape he was averse to.

She looked toward him with her arms folded across her chest, her curiosity utmost.

"It does?"

He braced himself with all he had and turned to her as well. He nodded slowly, trying not to look her in the eye, but his feet, whether he liked it or not, moved him closer to her.

"Then it just slowly..." He swallowed, standing before her. "Takes over..." he began, trying to find the proper words, though he quickly realized there were none.

"Your body?" she suggested uncertainly, while looking at him from under her brows.

His heart started beating faster at once.

He nodded.

"What then? How does it feel?" she asked, even more curious, and took a little step toward him.

He swallowed. Stepped closer.

"It feels as if the very fires of hell had begun to burn within you." He looked her gently in the eyes, though he was not able to pretend that his whole body was not reacting just as he described to her in that moment.

She was looking at him with eager caution, her own heart beating as if she were frightened to death.

"The air between you grows heavier, harder to breathe." He leaned toward her, his voice growing quieter. "Your heart grows heavy and begins to pound as if it is about to erupt through your very skin. Everything just slowly disappears, and the only thing you can see, or hear, or need, is the very person before you." He reached out with his hand and took a strand of her hair between his fingers. He twirled it gently around one of them, then looked back at her.

His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath upon it. She swallowed.

"You just want to touch them, feel them, be as close as you can possibly be..." His voice was now nothing more than a whisper. He touched her elbow gently, sending a shiver all through her body.

She started to feel things she had never felt in her life. She realized she felt the very things he was describing to her, so softly, at that very moment. She wondered if he knew that she felt it, and that she felt it so strongly.

"Closer than humanly possible..." he continued, his eyes settling fully on her slightly parted lips. "As if you want to be..."

"Inside one another?" she whispered herself, her voice breaking, her eyes looking at him with the same fire he had felt rising within him more strongly by the moment.

They did not speak much for most of the way. Maria rested her head on his shoulder and breathed softly, though at such close proximity he could feel her chest rising quickly, so close to his. It did not help him at all, though. He glanced sideways at her. He could hold her like this until the end of time, he suddenly realized, overcome with such tenderness that he felt uncomfortable with himself.

"You can put me down, Your Grace. There is no need for it, truly," she said all of a sudden, looking up at him softly.

Why are her eyes so big? he thought with the odd sensation that they were large enough to swallow him whole.

But then her words reached him fully. He slowed down slightly, then looked at her again.

"Is that so?" He adjusted her in his arms by lifting her slightly higher. "Is it perhaps because your sudden injury is nothing more than a way to distract me from my rather heated conversation with my brother?" He did not look at her as he said it. He simply kept walking, his voice calm, nothing hidden in it besides a little amusement creeping through.

She smiled innocently at him, which he saw very well.

"I do hate to see you two speaking to one another in such a manner," she said sweetly, lifting herself a little higher in his arms. He smiled himself, looking at her, his eyebrows lifting high.

"I'm sure you do."

She hid her face in his robes and whimpered slightly. His smile widened.

"I had to," she murmured into his chest, and he felt as though he were about to laugh, but stopped himself.

"Oh, naturally." He nodded.

She glanced at him with one eye. He gave her a quick look.

"Will you detest me for this?" she asked, as if expecting nothing else.

He shook his head while approaching the door to her chamber, a smile on his lips greater than before.

"I do not know how anyone could possibly detest you for anything," he said lightly. "Least of all me."

He entered the room and stopped before her bed. She looked at him closely, not really wanting to let go. It felt as if doing so would shatter this newfound safety she had just found in his arms. He did not want to let her go either. He looked at her, studying her face, feeling her body breathe, her grip on his neck and chest.

"You can put me down now, Your Grace. Really," she said, feeling as though she had no choice. Though it hurt her to say it more than anything.

"Is that what you want me to do, my lady? Put you down?" he asked, his eyes closed, leaning his forehead lightly against hers.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She studied him longingly, using the fact that his own eyes were closed to observe his face truly. She wanted to remember every possible detail. She wanted to reach out with her hand and place it on his cheek, to feel his beard beneath her fingers.

"Is it not the most reasonable course of action at this point?" she said slowly, with a smile full of joy.

He opened his eyes.

She stood in one place for a moment, not really moving. Not really knowing what to do, what to say, what to feel. She closed her eyes for a moment. She steadied herself—slowly, naturally. Baelor watched her as she did, and his heart felt heavy again.

She looks like me now, he thought suddenly. For he found himself in that same position, making that same movement, all too often. The corner of his lips lifted slightly; he felt touched by the realization.

"Do you find yourself small in this world that tries so carefully to keep you restrained at all times, my lady?" His voice was distant now, as were his eyes, looking at his own hands.

She glared at him.

There he was again, crushed beneath himself, she thought.

"Yes," she said simply. She went up to the shelf, studying the books on it carefully. He followed her with his eyes.

"How do you manage with that feeling, then?" He stood up himself, perhaps unknowingly. He went up to her, his hands behind his back, clasped tightly as if making sure they would not do something foolish on his behalf.

"I do not," she answered, her eyes still on the book spines. "But I do not think that I have to," she added, turning to him swiftly. Her eyes were kind, gentle on him. He wanted to put his lips on them, cover her eyelids with them in the softest form of care.

"I just need to remind myself that there is nothing wrong with being small, my lord."

"You are perhaps the wisest of men," he said with all the conviction he held in his body.

"I can see how someone like you, Your Grace, might have trouble doing that, though." She ignored his compliment and moved toward the other bookshelf. He frowned in surprise and followed her again, subconsciously.

"Why is that, my lady?"

She smiled as softly as only a mother to her child could.

"Your family once saddled dragons as effortlessly as a stable boy saddles a horse," she began, walking back toward him. "Once you had wings. Now, now you have hooves just like the rest of us." She smiled at him sadly. "It is very sad that your house once shared blood that allowed it to mount such glorious beasts." She stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could smell her.

She smelled like a garden. He could not take his eyes off her, off her playfulness rooted in the seriousness of her words.

"And what is even more sad is that it was your very house that made those beasts disappear from the face of the earth." Her face saddened at once. "It must have left an unimaginable emptiness within each of you. One that no thing, and no one, can fulfill."

He swallowed, all the feelings he had for this woman flooding him at once.

"It is a cautionary tale like no other, if anything," she continued after giving him a prolonged glance.

If he did not know better, he would have thought she was seducing him in that moment. The way she moved, the way she changed her tone, the way she looked at him. It made him burn as he had never burned before in his life.

"Yes," he said slowly, quietly, almost whispering, his eyes looking down at her with utmost wonder. "But people rarely learn from cautionary tales, my lady."

She did not take her eyes off him.

He cleared his throat and stood straight. He tossed the sword aside. She gave him a look full of amusement.

"What?" he asked unconsciously, running his hand through his short black hair.

She shook her head, a suppressed smile on her lips.

"I kicked you." She shrugged, then suddenly sat down heavily on the ground and lay back with a sigh, looking at the sky. Her hands rested on her torso. She started to laugh quietly.

He frowned, trying to recall. He sat down next to her, one knee bent, his wrist resting lightly on it. He gave her a look slightly over his shoulder.

"You kicked me," he agreed with false resentment, as if accusing her of it rather than merely acknowledging it.

She laughed harder. He shook his head in disbelief.

"I should have your head for this," he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

And she did. In response, she only laughed harder.

He watched her with a light heart, savoring the sight as though it were the most wonderful thing he had ever witnessed.

"Please, please, Your Grace, forgive me." She suddenly rolled over and fell to her knees in front of him, her hands clasped as if in prayer, her face full of exaggerated remorse. "Spare me, sire." She grabbed his knee unconsciously and started to shake it lightly.

He shook his head more and more, his heart beginning to beat faster, feeling her hand on him like this.

"All right, all right," he said gently.

She stopped her performance at once and sent him a soft smile before sitting down next to him and leaning her back against the wall behind. He followed.

"Why him?" Dyanna asked suddenly, breaking through Maria's reverie.

"Hm?" Maria turned to her, not understanding.

"Baelor. Why him?" she repeated, clearly curious. "Do not mistake me - there is certainly much to look at. But he has always seemed so... lifeless. And rather boring." She smiled apologetically.

Maria frowned at once, visibly offended.

"He is not boring at all," she said sharply, shaking her head and turning her eyes away. "He is decent. Those are not the same thing."

Dyanna lifted her brows and nodded slowly, clearly amused by the distinction.

"A girl like you..." she began carefully, trying to explain herself. "A girl with so much to offer - you need passion. A man who can ignite something within you..." she went on with a sly little smile, but Maria cut her off sharply.

"He has ignited me beyond measure, thank you very much."

Dyanna looked unconvinced.

"I find that difficult to believe, he is-"

Maria interrupted her again.

"If you are going to go on insulting him, then we had better end this conversation here and now, because I will not listen to it." She was clearly irritated now.

Dyanna sighed and swallowed, trying to choose her next words more carefully so as not to lose Maria's favor entirely.

"So what... is he like?" she asked at last, cautiously watching her.

Maria let out a long breath and lowered her eyes to her hands. She gave the faintest shrug, as though uncertain how to begin.

"Beautiful..." she said softly, and a slight smile touched her lips. Her eyes seemed to drift somewhere beyond herself, and her fingers closed around the pendant at her throat.

Dyanna frowned.

"Well, yes... I cannot deny that he has his appeal, but-"

"That is not what I mean," Maria said, looking at her with a strange gentleness. "He is simply... beautiful." She swallowed hard, unable to hold her gaze. "And he is not lifeless, nor passionless. He has life in him, and passion - fierce and wild. It is only that no one has ever cared enough to understand him, to truly see him, and so he has turned himself into a caricature of what he thought he had to be, only so that he might survive." She shook her head, devastated. "And he likely will not receive so much as a single apology for it."

Dyanna looked at her all the more intently, clearly feeling that what she was hearing did not align at all with the Baelor she thought she knew.

"You speak of him as though the gods themselves had set him upon the earth in all his glory, and we owe him reverence simply for existing," she said with a snort of amusement.

Maria smiled bitterly.

"I speak of him as though everyone takes him for granted, without sparing even a moment to consider how much labor it takes to become someone the world can afford to take for granted at all." She looked at Dyanna with quiet force. "So much so that people dismiss him now with the same ease - and the same carelessness - with which you just did."

Dyanna said nothing.

I am writing a Baelor Targaryen full of angst, long as fanfiction with an OC if you are interested please check it out :