Cool, Calm, And Clear Like Water.

"You're thinking again," Her voice came as a gentle warning that caused a chuckle to rumble from his chest. He felt her fingers lift from the curls across his bare chest to instead smooth out the wrinkle that he could only imagine had formed between his brow. Mismatched eyes turn to meet those of his wife as his own hand continues to gently stroke at her shoulder. "I thought.... The purpose of tonight was meant to get your mind off of politics and such, dear husband." She mused; a soft huff of laughter slipping past her lips as goosebumps form along the glide of his fingertips. Baelor's calloused fingers gently wrap around her wrist before bringing her fingers away from his brow, bringing her hand to his lips to press a kiss to each knuckle

"I wasn't thinking about politics." He assured her before propping himself up on his elbow to better get a look at her. His hand slips from her wrist to instead pluck a stray piece of fuzz from her face before finally coming to rest along the side of her neck. The two share a smile, their lips coming close enough that she could feel the rasp of his dark beard teasing her chin. “I was thinking that I am lucky to have a wife as beautiful and loving as you…” He whispered, his tone low and rough with anticipation of what may happen once their lips touch. His nose nudges her own as his grip on her throat tightened enough to tilt her head back; her lips parting in anticipation-

CRACK. BOOM.

The distant sound of thunder is followed by a flash of lightning that makes the dimly lit room appear as if the full moon had granted visage of its brightness before hiding away again. Baelor can’t help but close his eyes and sigh away the flicker of annoyance he felt beginning to take root. He shares a knowing look with his wife once his eyes open, another sigh escaping him as he rolls away from her to stand up.

“Our sons are surely on their way.” Lady (Y/n) softly mused before she stood up as well. Baelor hums in agreement; his lips curling up as the heat of joy replaces his annoyance. Our sons. The ease in which she had said the two words only reaffirmed in his mind that he had chosen well after Jena’s passing. Memories of the loss of his first wife flashes in his mind as he pulls on a comfortable pair of pants and a simple shirt. The memories linger as he walks around the end of the bed to help (Y/n) slip her sleeping gown back on

“I’m sure Matarys is shaking Valarr awake as we speak.” He says, his words shaking ever so slightly with a chuckle as his fingers make quick work of any strings that need to be tied. His arms then snake around her waist to pull her back to his chest so that he could lean down to whisper in her ear. “...I do not think I can ever thank you enough. For treating them as kindly as you do.” He admits. He doesn't miss the way her breath seems to catch in her throat or the way her grip tightens momentarily against his arms

“There is no need to thank me,” (Y/n) assured him as her head turned just enough for her eyes to meet his, “I do not see any reason to be pointlessly cruel. They already lost one mother. I would not deny them another.”

Baelor’s lips press a lingering kiss just beneath her ear before knocking can be heard. Two hesitant knocks towards the lower half of the door and four precise knocks closer to the handle. Baelor presses one final kiss to his wife’s cheek before stepping away from her to turn towards the door. “Come in.” He simply says; the order delivered in the most gentle tone. The door slowly opens to reveal none other than those the future king and queen had already expected.

“Forgive me, Father. Mother,” Valarr began to say as his little brother clung to his hand. Another crack of thunder and lightning pierce the sky, scaring Matarys enough to make his grip on his brother’s hand tighten. Valarr’s brows twitch with a wince as the young prince clearly tries his best to avoid showing signs of discomfort. Baelor’s gaze only softened with the mixture of affection and understanding that passed through him at the sight, knowing all too well what it was like being the oldest brother and being forced to be brave. He blinks the thoughts away as Valarr offered his parents a quick bow of his head

“Matarys is scared.” The eight year old prince finally explained. The four year old in question looks up to his brother with a pout at his weakness being exposed, only for tears to fill his eyes as another thunderous boom makes him step closer to Valarr. Baelor can't help but notice the way both of his sons’ knuckles have gone white from holding on to one another. They were both scared by the storm that the sea had suddenly brought to the Keep.

“You've done a very brave thing, Valarr. Bringing your brother here.” Baelor began to say as he walked over to his sons. One hand falls to rest on Valarr’s shoulder as the other rests atop Matarys’ head, each grip meant to be strong enough to anchor the princes to the stone floor and remind them that they no longer had to be brave. He could hear the bed sheets behind him get pulled back and, for what felt like the thousandth time, he sent a silent thanks to the Seven Gods for granting him both an amazing wife and a bed large enough for nights just like this. “It is late. And I would not dare ask you to brave the halls again.” Baelor promised. Both boys relax ever so slightly before Matarys runs as fast as his legs could carry him to (Y/n)’s side of the bed. As she helps him on to the mattress, Baelor looks to their oldest with a subtle quirk of his brow as two sets of mismatched eyes meet one another

“I’m not scared.” Valarr attempts to claim. Despite the boldness of his words and the determined set of his shoulders, Baelor notices the way his son’s hands began to fidget that they were no longer being used to lead the youngest prince to the room; the motions all-too-familiar to him as he watches his son mimic the way he twists his rings. The boy was eight- not yet old enough to pick up a proper sword, yet old enough to be embarrassed by the fact that he sought out the comfort of his parents when scared. Baelor’s thumb brushed along Valarr’s shoulder as he nods in agreement

“True.” He agreed with his son’s claim to bravery. “However, I plan on telling the story of Aegon the Conqueror. And I fear your uncle’s given me one too many hits against the helm for me to properly remember every detail…” He lets his words trail off to let the opportunity for having an excuse dangle in front of his son. Valarr stands just a little taller at the idea of being able to show off his knowledge of their family’s history before he nods in agreement.

Baelor had yet to even mention Pentos and Tyrosh asking for Aegon’s aid before the soft breathing of his sons reached his ears. The thumb he had been using to stroke the back of Valarr’s hand paused as his eyes glanced across the mattress to see Matarys’ head resting on (Y/n)’s chest; her fingers gently combing through the prince’s hair. Her eyes then meet Baelor’s own to see the peacefulness she had felt reflecting back to her

“...I was thinking of my favorite place.” Baelor confessed, his voice keeping its soft tone as he reached over their sons’ sleeping forms to tuck away a stray strand of hair that had fallen against his wife’s cheek. He watches as the blacks of her eyes grow bigger before finally her eyes flutter shut to savor the touch of his hand cupping the curve of her cheek. “Earlier. When you accused me of thinking about politics.” He adds. (Y/n) lets out an amused hum, her cheek nestling further against his touch just before she opened her eyes once again

“Oh? Where is your favorite place?” She asked, her own voice coming out in a gentle whisper. Wisps of Matarys’ hair sway, yet the two boys remain in the blissful peace of sleep. Baelor looks at their sons once more as if attempting to commit the image deep enough in his mind that it would stay, even after all other memories left. He's pulled from his attempts as he feels a soft, warm hand take hold of his wrist. “Hm?” He hears his wife hum the simple sound of encouragement as her thumb brushed against his pulse

“Here.” He finally admits in a whisper. The single word gets punctuated by a kiss to the streak of silver in Valarr’s dark hair; the eight year old shifting ever so slightly in his sleep in response. Baelor’s eyes flicker towards Matarys’ form before he looks to his wife once more, his mind briefly wondering if she could figure out the depths of his love from a mere look alone. “With our family. On peaceful nights like tonight.” He further explained. The crack of thunder that followed earned him a quick twitch of (Y/n)’s eyebrow as if to silently ask if he were certain tonight could be considered peaceful. He can't help but quietly chuckle as his head nods. “Yes, my love. Even tonight counts as a peaceful night. Because I am with you and our two beautiful sons.” He mused. The smile that his words earn him seems brighter than any flash of light that may dance across the sky. The two seem to silently agree that it was the perfect ending to their night as they both shift to get more comfortable in bed.

“...I would like another.” (Y/n) whispered into the darkened room. She held her breath, uncertain if Baelor had even heard her when her four words were met with silence. After a moment of anticipation she feels a warm hand against her arm, the familiar feeling of his thumb brushing against the soft fabric of her nightgown. “Though we would need a bigger bed.” She mused as the two shared a quiet laugh

“Then I'll make sure to find someone suitable for a commission like that.” The prince promised. There's a soft hum of agreement before a silence finally settled over the room. There’s peace- enough that even the storm from the sea seems to calm enough to become nothing more than a distant rumble. Baelor waits until he hears his wife’s breathing slow into that of sleep before his eyes finally flutter shut as well.