The first thing that Maekar notices is the distant glitter of gold from the golden cuffs carefully arranged amongst the braids in Xhalari’s hair.

He stands underneath the shade of a tall tree and pauses. There he stands at a somewhat considerable distance, and his hesitancy is only meant to last for a moment. The more he looks the more he takes a moment to take in the scene before him. It’s a picture of rare calm amongst the never ending chaos that’s long since governed his household. A sharp juxtaposition that in his mind, he can’t help but somewhat falter at the sight.

Xhalari and his daughters sit comfortably underneath one of the many shaded trees in the main garden. Oddly enough, he’s reminded of the many paintings scattered across the walls of his home. Peaceful and picturesque.

Innocent.

He’d been looking for his daughters longer than he’d like, and had been fighting the slow creep of parental panic at each passing second without having seen or heard them. It was rare that he might not hear any of his children long before he saw them, and even rarer that both girls are capable of sitting still long. His children have never been known to contain themselves the way other more sensible children in other houses were oft to do, and so the unusual serenity of the scene surprises him.

Still he can’t help, but feel a faint distaste in his mouth when he sees that they’re also completely unguarded. His daughters are not his sons, but their own brand of chaos exhausts him in ways that Maekar had never anticipated when he first heard that he would have a daughter let alone two.

Maekar approaches slowly. His footsteps are quiet, and it’s only due to the years worth of training that he manages to get as close as he can to them without startling the trio.

Rhea notices him first, and gives him a smile that’s so aching;y familiar to Dyanna. The sudden movement of her head turning towards him causes the stray leaf to fall to the blanket.

Daella is second. Her violet eyes narrow before she follows her sister's gaze, and gives him a fond smile, and her eyes stay with him as she lets out a soft cry of “Father!”. Amongst the warmth that spreads through his chest, he notes with slight irritation that her fingers are covered in chalk and that her dress has crumbs on it.

Xhalari is last. Instinctively he sits up, and straightens his back as his eyes focus on Maekar. He gives a small, respectful nod, and lets out a soft “Prince Maekar.” in greeting. Xhalari’s voice is lightly accented in a way that Maekar’s assumes all Summer Islanders are.

He looks slightly nervous at the sight of him, but it’s somewhat hidden beneath a veneer of politeness.

Maekar finally stands underneath the tree sharing the shade from the almost blistering weight of the afternoon sun. He stands above them and looks down at his daughters who scramble to their feet. Rhea first, and Daella follows if not a bit more elegantly. Xhalari stands as well, but his posture is noticeably stiffer. Maekar glances down at the scattered books and scribbled lines on pieces of parchments he recognizes as Rhea’s writing and Daella’s doodles.

He acknowledges his children first. “Daella. Rhea.” He gives them both individual nods as they both give him small informal curtsies.

Finally, he looks down and makes eye contact with Xhalari. The difference in height between them feels larger than it should even as Xhalari stands straight. He notes, and not for the first time, that he barely reaches Maekar’s shoulder. He can’t help but peer at the golden cuffs carefully arranged in his hair now that he’s closer.

He stands in front of the three of them and idly takes in the odd little group. Xhalari’s dull, drab maesters robes are almost an affront to the beautiful complexity and elegance of his daughter's dresses and Maekar’s own clothes. It would be amusing to a lesser man. For all the luxury of the citadel, Maekar wonders why they never updated the ugly uniform of the maesters.

But the dreariness of his uniform rarely if ever hides the unique beauty of his face. Even Maekar has to admit to it.

Smooth dark brown skin with intelligent brown eyes that display more emotion than he’s sure Xhalari is aware of. His boring brown robes do little to hide the soft curve of his lips, and the clean-shaven face. Pretty, is the word that flits through his mind as he looks down at him. Delicate features, and braids neatly tied back in a ponytail.

Not for the first time, he wonders if the rumors of the fabled debauchery of the Summer Isles are true.

There had been more than one occasion that Maekar had spied the lingering gazes of his own men as Xhalari walked the halls of Summerhall as he tended to his duties under the instruction of his Maester Eywin.

And though Maekar is loath to admit it publicly, he isn’t blind. Though, he notes, Xhalari is vastly different from the typical male psychique that Maekar tends to be drawn to.

After the death of his lady wife, Maekar had dismissed all but one maester. If they couldn’t save his wife, then what use were they? SummerHall was a large castle on its own, but it was not nearly as populated as the Red Keep. He had never seen a reason to keep a collection of tired old men who seemingly had more allegiance to The Citadel than to the house they served.

Besides, if a group of maesters could not give him a healthy wife and child, then why waste the expense? He had kept one practiced and experienced maester. An old man who Maekar had trusted as far as he could throw him, but had proved useful throughout the years.

When he had learned that he had the citadel intended to send another maester to his home without his express permission, he had grit his teeth and burned the letter his father had sent telling him to accept the additional help. He had expected to greet his soon to be new maester with little fanfare and resented the idea of yet another overly involved elderly man who had yet to learn their place amongst his halls. Another elderly man on the edges of his deathbed with far too many opinions and little skill to do anything of real use.

Safe to say that it had not been a relief to see Xhalari step down from his horse the first day he arrived.

Still, there's a certain level of fear he keeps expecting from Xhalari. Trepidation, he’s used to receiving from lesser men who don’t dare make eye contact longer than what is necessary and avoid him. Maekar is used to other warriors and men of equal status, and rarely if ever has the patience for anything but.

When he had arrived, Maekar had paused and took him in with the shock of a man who had never expected a man barely younger than his eldest son to stand before him with the same eagerness he had seen in many young men desperate to prove themselves. A dangerous look.

For the citadel to send an inexperienced boy to tend to him and his children, had felt like a slap in the face for the true needs of his house. A reminder that they would have never sent a novice to tend to Baelor’s household.

A proper household.

“What is this?“ He remembers his words.

Xhalari had blinked once, and held his gaze briefly before he gave him a short, respectful bow. The large maesters robe they had dressed him in made him look even smaller, and Maekar wondered with great severity if this had been some grand jest being played on him. “I am to be your maester, my prince. Xhalari Qorgyle.” His voice was a low murmur with a soft tilt to it that was distinctly *not* Westerosi.

He had considered asking for a replacement. Someone older, wiser, and didn’t look as if they would be blown away by the slightest change in tone. It would be easy, he had thought, to simply send the boy and his horse back up the road towards Oldtown. But he had paused as Xhalari held his gaze with a soft steadiness that kept him from asking for a raven at that very moment.

The appearance of Maester Eywin had stopped him fully. The elderly had shuffled in and had hurriedly explained that he had asked for Xhalari specifically, and that he had been a top student at the Citdael and would perform his duties well.

He had expected little of him, and had watched him in the same way he was used to watching everything in his household.

Two things had been true the day he met him: He did not trust Xhalari’s skills and he found him more frustrating than he’d like to admit. Xhalari was young and far more energetic than Maester Eywin had ever been. He spoke more freely than most maesters, and Maekar had quickly learned that Xhalari held many different opinions on many different things, and unfortunately he did not intend to keep that aspect of himself to himself.

He’s intrusive and bothersome and Maekar keeps seeing him in every corner or his household. He’d think that Xhalari had been planted there as a spy if he didn’t seem to be so damn earnest.

He had integrated himself into his household with an ease that almost baffled him. His daughters enjoyed his company, and Xhalari seemed to enjoy theirs in turn.When his daughters asked him a question he looked them in the eye and answered as seriously as he could. He did not dismiss them or tell them to ask their septa. Aegon liked to listen to the tales that Xhalari told him of Summer Isles, and even Daeron seemed to tolerate him.

Briefly he wondered if Xhalari had managed to befriend Aemon.

Presently, Maekar jerks his chin towards the scattered objects that lie on the blanket.

“What is this?” His question is aimed entirely at Xhalari, and to his credit he doesn’t falter under Maekar’s glare though he does glance rather guilty at the mess behind him.

It’s Daella who answers him with a fond roll of her eyes. She has a smug expression on her lips that remind him of Aerion at his least exhausting moments.

“Maester Xhalari’s teaching us about the stars, father.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is he?” His gaze doesn’t leave him, and Xhalari barely hides a grimace.

Xhalari opens his mouth, but Daella continues unbothered and proud to be the one to answer his question. “Father, did you know Dothraki believe that the stars are horses in the sky? And that they’re on fire?”

He snorts. “And I’m sure they also believe that their piss is rain.”

Daella pouts, and Rhea giggles. Xhalari to his credit lets the corner of his mouth lift before he remembers his place, and smoothes his face into a mask of polite formality.

Maekar sighs. “Go learn something useful with Septa Anelle.”

Rhea groans dramatically. “But she wants us to do nothing but needlework, and needlework doesn't feel very useful.”

“And neither is learning about horses in the sky. Go.” He jerks his head towards the entrance.

Rhea pouts and Daella grabs her hand as they run off, and Maekar glares after them with a fondness that almost hurts.

He turns back to the little maester in the ugly brown robes.

Xhalari is still there. Silent, but wary. The brief silence between them feels odd.

Maekar looks down at him with a frown and tries not to stare at the stray leaf on his shoulder. He has half a mind to pick at it. “Brush yourself off, and follow me. Leave that.” He motions towards the scattered objects behind him.

He doesn’t wait for Xhalari to agree before he begins to walk towards the training yard. He hears the sound of boots almost running to catch up to him.

Maekar hears when he’s close enough, and for every two steps Maekar takes, Xhalari takes four. He adjusts his speed slightly so that Xhalari can walk beside him “You are a maester not a septa.” he begins. “They have their studies, and you have your duties. Where is Maester Eywin?”

Xhalari lets out a huff, and Maekar glances at him from the corner of his eye and spies the heavy tome in his hands. The same one he told him to leave behind, he notes with irritation.

Maekar stops abruptly and glances down at the book “Give that to me.” Xhalari to his credit doesn’t hesitate before he gives Maekar the book. They feel light in Maekar’s hands, and he wonders what kind of training Xhalari may have had or if he had received any. Xhalari may be a maester, but he was still a man and most men (scholarly or not) had known the weight of a sword. Probably not in this case, he scoffs in his head.

“It was not my intention to overstep. They wanted to know if I had ever met a Dothraki warrior.” Xhalari lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I couldn’t help, but answer their questions.”

“I’m sure. But your intention do not matter. They are children. Do not encourage them with outlandish tales about the dothraki.”

“But-”

Maekar stops abruptly and glares down at him. Xhalari forcefully comes to a stop beside him. Pretty brown eyes wide. “You came here under the instruction of Maester Eywin, and that is all you are required to do. Are you so idle that you can’t help, but entertain children with fables?”

Xhalari is quiet before he glances down at the stone path before them. A butterfly briefly lands on his shoulder before it drifts along. “I will admit that Maester Eywin is talented. But he seems to be doing well on his own without my input.“ Xhalari’s words are carefully placed, but Maekar hears the meaning underneath them.

Gods help him, the boy is bored.

Maekae frowns “You live in a castle. There’s always something to do.” Even if you aren’t looking for it.

“Maeser Eywin-”

“Do not blame him.” Maekar glances at him and Xhalari shuts his mouth. “I shall speak to him on your behalf. I’m sure we can find you something to do that doesn’t involve telling children ghost stories.”

“They were-”

Maekar rolls his eyes. “I do not care.”

Xhalari looks up at him, and oddly enough he looks amused. There’s a small lift in the corner of his mouth that Maekar can’t help but take note of. He seems to hesitate “Regardless, you would have my thanks then.”

They resume their walk, and Maekar doesn’t respond as he turns a corner. Xhalari falters behind him but soon matches his pace. “You’re here for a reason, I’m sure. Maester Eywin needs you here even if it may not seem like it. At least not at first.”

“I’m sure.” Xhalari agrees quietly. They walk in silence for a few moments.

“Speak, boy. I can hear you thinking and it’s getting annoying.”

Xhalari is quiet for a moment before he seems to decide to throw all sense out of the window. “Princess Daella and Princess Rhea.” He pauses. I know it’s not my place to say, but they’re clever girls and it was a joy to instruct them if only for a moment.”

Maekar doesn’t respond solely because he doesn’t quite know how. He nods only once, and lets the comment sit in the air. Maekar knows that his daughters are gifted with the same intelligence that Dyanna had. Maekar also knows this because he’s their father, and they carry his blood in their veins, and he’d be damned if his children didn’t have a modicum of sense about them. Even if they appear to lack it at times.

But he is not ignorant to the fact that daughters are somewhat invisible to the eyes of the court beyond marriage and children. It touches him, in that odd small way. To see that Xhalari sees them beyond their beauty and their dresses.

They continue to walk in silence, and Maekar holds Xhalari’s words in his head far longer than he should. Maekar finds that he doesn’t really have a destination in mind, and that Xhalari seems more than comfortable to let the only sound between them be the distant buzzing of bees and the occasional birdsong.

He also thinks that he doesn’t quite mind walking alongside him. Even if he had meant to scold him.

He sighs. “How capable are your healing skills?

Xhalari seems a bit surprised, but answers in the way that only a maester would. “I am a trained mae-”

Maekar cuts him off. “That isn’t what I asked, I was asking about if you are capable. There is a difference.”

Xhalari pauses before he nods. “I believe I am adequately prepared, my prince.” His voice seems uneven as he glances at him.

“Adequetly prepared” he mocks with a small laugh, and he doesn’t miss the slight flash of irritation on Xhalari’s face before he masks it. He stops once again, and Xhalari manages to stop alongside him without faltering. They face each other, and the sunlight catches his eyes in the right angle and Maekar feels an odd twist in the pit of his stomach as Xhalari’s eyes seem to catch the light in a pretty shade of honey.

Xhalari goes first. “I know that I may be rather young for a maeste-”

“Clearly.”

“But I like to think that I know what I’m doing. If I may ask-” Xhalari bites his lip. “Why do *you* ask?”

He wonders what it is that Xhalari sees when he looks at him. Is he as affected by the sight of him as Maekar often is of him? “I have knights to train, and unlike Maester Eywin you are not busy.” Maekar jerks in head in a motion to follow him and doesn’t particularly check to see if Xhalari follows him.

He won’t say that recognizes the sound of his boots as he catches up to him.

—--

Xhalari’s fingers are long and ink stained and steady.

Maekar had watched him just as he had watched the squires and their knights in the yard as they trained. He watched for any slight hesitation or flinching at the flash of swords or shouted curses when jests turned physical. He watched for the tall tale grimace as blood spilled on the training yard as Maekar taught with his own brand of ruthlessness that was meant for war.

Xhalari had not flinched nor had he looked away. He had deftly cleaned wounds, and stitched up the men Maekar had sent his way. Brown eyes watchful and careful, and every so often meeting Maekar’s gaze from across the yard.

Maekar will never admit that he often found himself watching him for the sole purpose of those brown eyes to watch him back.

Xhalari hadn’t even blinked as he set a young squire's arm straight after a particularly painful fall that had left him arm limp and somewhat disabled.

The sun had begun to set by the time he had dismissed everyone, and when the last of the men cleared the yard, only Meaker stood in the center of the yard. He had stood in the midst of the dust with sweat on his face, and his doublet had been tossed somewhere. He felt *good*. Alive in a way that he rarely felt when he didn’t have a sword in his hand. He felt better when his sword arm ached from use, and the strands of his hair stuck to his forehead.

Xhalari had long since abandoned his book, and his eyes held a slight tiredness in them that he hid well. But Maekar had spied the slight tremble in his fingers. He had not hesitated, but had simply removed the heavy robe he had worn, and underneath wore a simple cotton shirt that Maekar felt was tighter than it should be.

Xhalari wasn’t as scrawny as he looked, but he still looked just as out of place as any maester. He was not a warrior, Maekar knew this. But he could have been.

He approached Maekar cautiously while Maekar carefully wiped his sword clean of any dust (or blood) that remained with a rag.

“Well?” he paused. “My prince?”

Maekar glanced at him, but didn’t respond. He slid the sword in its pommel. “Adequate.”

Xhalari let out a small huff of laughter that almost sounded disbelieving. “Adequate?”

Maekar turned to him and put both hands on his hips. He tiled his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “You did your *job*. This is what you’re here to do

“To stitch wounds of the men you send to me?”

Mekar scoffed. “Partially, but there is nothing entirely impressive about stitching wounds during training."

Xhalari has the sense to not ask what he’s training for, and it might be because Maekar is still in proximity of more than a few sharp weapons and his blood still runs a bit hot.

“Right.” he says almost to himself. Then he seems to pause and smile to himself, and Maekar narrows his eyes.

“Is there anything you’d like to say?” His voice is restrained, and Xhalari shakes his head.

“Nothing, you’re grace.” And while his face remains passive there’s still a light of amusement in his eyes as he meets Maekar’s gaze. He wants to know what’s so fucking funny, but he can’t help but spy the light sheen of sweat on Xhalari’s face or the way he looks up at him with that almost amused expression.

Amused by *him*, he realizes and feels an odd twinge of realization and heat slowly crawl to his face that makes him curse his rather pale complexion. He looks away from Xhalari, and turns his attention to something insignificant and tries to remember that he’s a prince of the realm and not someone who can be undone, but a measter who smiles more often than he should.

“Go eat. I’ll speak with Maester Eywin in the morning.” He dismisses him, and Xhalari bows once more. Low and formal and Maekar is glad that those clever brown eyes are off of him.

“Of course. Thank you.”

Maekar blinks. “What?”

Xhalari strands straight, and once again he seems hesitant. He licks his lips before he continues. ”For this.” he gestures to the training yard and it’s empty space save for the footprints in the dirt and the stale stench of sweat and man. “I quite liked it.” and he smiles once again, but it’s lighter and Maekar finds that his gaze is drawn to his mouth before his gaze rests on Xhalari’s nose.

He doesn’t want to meet those eyes.

He nods once more, and jerks his head in the direction of the kitchens. “Go.”

When Xhalari seems to hesitate and Maekar is ready to snap at him, he bows his head one more time and leaves. Giant robe on one arm as he vanishes into the inner halls of Summerhall.

Maekar watches him leave, and suddenly he’s aware of the darkening sky and the soothing quiet behind him and realizes that he wished that Xhalari hadn’t hesitated after all. That maybe he had wanted him to stay beside him one more time, and perhaps then he would have had the courage to meet his eyes.

Slowly he walks to the bench where Xhalari sat, and there he finds the book. Forgotten and oddly out of place. He picks it up, and wonders if his fingers had touched the book in the same way that Xhalari’s had. He has half a mind to leave it there, but he can’t help but open it on a random page and flip through the rest without skimming.

He should leave it there as a reminder to not leave things forgotten.

But he looks at the book that Xhalari had carried with him all the way to the training yard with it’s inscriptions and paragraphs, and realizes that he doesn’t want to.

He;ll keep it with him and in the morning, he’ll hand it to Xhalari with a sharp reminder that the training area is for swords not books.

Perhaps not.