˗ˏˋ 💭 On the day of the birth, the prince could not stay still, pacing the corridors and startling the servants with his presence. When the maesters, trembling, told him a girl had been born, Aerion froze. For a moment, he seemed not to understand, frowning as if it were impossible.

Later, he came to your chambers. It was quiet, the only sound the soft breathing of the child. He passed by the cradle without even glancing inside and went straight to you. His eyes swept over your face, pausing on your pale lips. He gently touched your cheek and leaned forward to press his lips to your forehead.

“She is our daughter, my love,” you whispered.

He said nothing. The pause stretched. He did not turn to the child. “You are her mother,” he finally said, flatly, without cruelty, but without warmth. As if that alone said everything.

˗ˏˋ 💭 From then on, he behaved as if the child were not his concern. He did not approach the cradle, did not take the girl in his arms, did not ask about her. If she cried, he did not turn his head. He seemed deeply offended that such a tiny creature had dared to defy the dragons’ will and be born a girl.

Yet he remained attentive to you. He made sure you recovered, that no one disturbed you, that your chambers were warm.

You understood that Aerion needed time. His pride was as vast as his madness, and it was not that he was not fond of daughters — in his world, the firstborn heir alone could continue the dragon’s blood. You did not argue with him or reproach him, but waited patiently.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Then one day, after a long training session, he entered your chambers while you slept and approached the cradle. Your daughter had already woken — her silver hair was slightly tousled, and her bright eyes were fixed on him. She reached toward him with tiny fingers and smiled. Aerion watched her for a moment, as if measuring her, then slowly extended a finger. She immediately grasped it with her whole hand.

In that moment, something changed. He remained close, though too proud to admit it. Sometimes he simply watched her, sitting quietly in a corner of the room, sometimes he smiled faintly when she imitated his gestures. Aerion allowed neither Daella nor Egg near her, preferring that she stay with you — or with no one else.

˗ˏˋ 💭 At first, he only sat in the corner, watching her study a toy or mimic his movements. Then he began to reach out cautiously, adjusting her blanket or gently stroking her head when she gazed up at him with wide eyes.

He still did not pick her up without reason, but his presence had grown gentler. Occasionally, he smiled casually when she giggled or did something unexpected.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Overtime, Aerion began to spoil her quietly. At first, it was small things — allowing her to rest on his shoulder, bringing sweets his wife had forbidden. Later, he gave her a dragon-shaped toy and watched as she played with it, turning its wings and tail, inventing stories.

In the evenings, when she was settling to sleep in her own chambers, he would quietly tell tales of dragons, of ancient battles, and the deeds of his lineage. She would watch him with wide eyes and nod, as if she understood every word.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Sometimes he let her teach him something: showing new moves with the toy, inventing new names for dragons. Aerion listened patiently and sometimes even stayed to play with her.

He brought his daughter a small toy sword. It was no ordinary sword — carefully carved from wood, with a leather hilt and the Targaryen sigil. He taught her little movements, showing the gestures he had once used himself.

He would never admit it, but sometimes, when he played a duel with his daughter, he let her win, then allowed himself the faintest smile at the sound of her giggles.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Once, when she fell ill with a fever, Aerion met the news coldly. He said nothing, merely thinning his lips and commanding that the best maesters be brought at once.

But that night, when he thought you were asleep, he went to her chambers, and you saw him sitting by her bed, watching her. He held her tiny hand in his, stroking it with his thumb, checking her pulse.

˗ˏˋ 💭 When she was frightened by thunder outside the castle, Aerion would click his tongue and say that true dragons feared nothing. Yet the moment she threw herself into his arms, her small body trembling as she cried, “Father!” he held her close, pressing her against his chest and stroking her back with quiet reassurance.

˗ˏˋ 💭 On one such night, you sat together in your chambers — your head rested upon his chest, and his hands felt the curve of your belly. He watched his daughter playing nearby, his voice low and firm. "Soon enough, these men will start coming for my blessing."

You smiled, pressing closer to him. "There is time enough and more before that day comes."

But one thing was certain: she was her father’s little princess, and no man could earn her favor with ease.

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MASTERLISTS

AKOTSK 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 AERION

His hands did not leave your body as you spoke. Instead, they explored further. Your back arched into his palm when his thumb flicked over your hardening nipple, leaving goosebumps on your skin. You could feel the other one slowly drifting between your thighs and you opened them up for him. The silence between his request and your compliance was louder than words. He let out a grateful sigh from behind you, his face buried in your neck. His beard there provided a ticklish sensation that had you squirming in his firm grasp.

"You're so bloody tempting like this."

Your hips began to move in rhythm with the flick of his fingers against your slit, his cock stiff against your lower back. He sighed again, this time with the effort of keeping still while you did the work. The curve of your ass grinding back against him was enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. But after days of not touching you, he planned on taking his time that morning. On making it last.

You pleaded soundlessly, urging him to slip his fingers inside. He indulged you after a moment. One at a time, unhurriedly. The stretch was more than pleasant but you could think of nothing you wanted more than for him to bury himself inside of you this very instant.

"I thought-- ah, I thought you had letters... to write..."

His name crawled out of your throat in a moan before you could even register the sound. You buried yourself further into the warmth of his chest, one hand clasping his wrist between your thighs while the other clutched at the pillow. It was torture to hold yourself so close to the edge like this. The effort left you shaking in his arms, hips bucking wantonly to chase your release that he was keeping at bay by slowing down.

"They can wait.", he whispered against your ear.

You felt too hot under the covers, suffocated. The motion of his fingers inside you, so long and so rough, was too much for your sleep-addled brain. You were so close, so close you almost turned around and--

"Father, he's burned my training shield again!"

Without so much as a knock, Aegon burst in the room followed by two Septons who were desperately trying to drag him out. But the boy was quick, ducking around furniture and evading them like a fresh water eel.

You all but threw yourself away from your husband, clutching the covers close to your chest and thanking the Gods that you still had your night clothes on. That you both did. Maekar jumped and cursed loudly at the intrusion, shoving the bed curtains open roughly. You would have likened this experience to having a bucket of freezing water thrown at you on a summer's day. All you could do was sit in a corner of the large bed, mortified, like a deer caught in a hunter's crossbow. You were sure that you were red enough to be confused with Targaryen heraldry. Good, that way you would fade into the walls and disappear.

"The sun has barely risen and you are already testing my patience, Aegon.", Maekar hissed through gritted teeth, voice low and caustic.

"It's his fault--", the little prince argued back, or attempted to before being interrupted.

"Wait outside!" he shouted.

You did not need to ask who Aegon was referring to. Maekar's second born Aerion was a troublesome beast who enjoyed tormenting his brothers. It was a habit you had been trying to coax out of him by showing him gentleness to compensate for his father's stern hand but given his age, you guessed he was beyond teaching. No matter, try you must. For all of the boys' sakes.

Gently, you pressed a hand to your husband's back as the Septons departed with hushed apologies. It had not escaped you that apart from the initial shock of seeing the two of you in bed, their eyes did not once rise from the floor. Maekar's fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose, his legs thrown over the edge of the bed to rise. Clearly nothing would be happening that morning between the two of you, any drive for lovemaking vanishing the moment his youngest stepped inside the doorway of his chambers. You could not blame him for it. His mind was already elsewhere, disciplining the boys.

"Fucking idiots, the pair of them.", Maekar glowered as he got up.

── .✧. ──

Later, you found him in the library. Blessedly alone between the stacks.

You took a moment to observe him without a sound before approaching him. His posture was slouched back, the opposite of what you would have expected from a Prince of the Realm. But Maekar had never been anything like his father or his eldest brother. As the last in line, he was afforded more license to do as he pleased. And there was very little that pleased him, apart from you.

"What are you reading?"

For the second time that day, your husband jumped out of his skin. He scowled at you, eyes dark and brows furrowed together. At the sound of your laugh, however, his expression mollified. He reached for your elbow with his free hand and pulled you closer. You glanced around to confirm that you were not being watched. This was your home, but you would have been glad to not have to deal with the whispers of servants in every corridor.

"I'm sorry about my son this morning.", he said tiredly, as if it were the hundredth time that day he had had to repeat the words.

"I hope you weren't too harsh on him, he's just a boy and there was no harm done."

"He has to learn, gods be damned."

"There will be other times... like now.", you hummed in return.

His lips parted in protest but you silenced his words with a kiss. The tip of your tongue darted out to deepen the kiss and he rewarded you with a groan. The book he had been holding was completely forgotten in his grasp as he pushed you back against the stacks with intent. Your hands flew to his face and cupped his scar-lined cheeks, unable to stand the absence of his lips on yours after the abrupt ending of that morning.

"You're impossible...", he scoffed, amused at your desperation.

You wasted no time in dropping to your knees in front of him. Your hands traveled up the length of his powerful thighs. When they reached his hips, his fingers tightened in your hair and brought your face closer. You mouthed over the fabric at his hardening girth while your eyes remained staring into his own icy ones. A promise, if he stayed patient enough to earn his reward. He whispered a curse in a language you hadn't had time to master yet, a sound guttural and smouldering. His hips bucked when you traced the outline of his cock with your teeth, making you smirk. Maekar had both hands on the shelf behind you now and thank the Gods above for that. He could feel his knees buckling and you hadn't even started yet. In truth he had been pent up, thinking about you in every position known to him, since that morning. It was hardly fair of you to keep him waiting any longer by toying with him.

"Hurry up."

Before your hands could undo the fastening of his pants, you heard a voice from behind your husband calling out his name. You whirled on yourself and grabbed the first book you could reach, pretending to read in your awkward crouched down position. It was a tactless subterfuge but it should have avoided the worse. You cringed and hid yourself behind Maekar's legs, too embarrassed to rise from the floor now. He had shuffled a foot back and was rapidly flipping through pages of his tome. His eyes were everywhere but you and they spoke volumes about how aggravated being interrupted for a second time that day had made him. The mood was not only sour, it was near violent. You had half a mind to send the Septon away before he could reach you.

"The texts you requested, Your Grace."

The Septon's face was a mask of beatific calm as he glanced at you furtively. He handed over a handful of scrolls to your husband before departing. Rather hurriedly, you noted. With horror, you realised this was one of the same Septon from the pair that was in his chambers chasing after Aegon that morning.

Maekar thanked the man tersely, watching him depart in heavy silence. You both waited until you heard the doors of the library close before looking at each other. You cleared your throat and rose, dusting your skirts.

"I shall see you at dinner.", you squeaked out.

There was no point in continuing now. You'd lost your nerve.

── .✧. ──

It was much later, after dinner, when you saw him again. He had taken his supper to his solar to catch up on his missives. Or at least that was what you'd gathered from the servants you had questioned when he hadn't come to the hall to meet you.

You had already bathed when you came to his rooms. Instead of getting dressed for bed, you had opted for an overlong robe tied at the waist and nothing else. At this later hour, the day turning into night, it was easier to sneak around without being seen. You didn't risk running into a servant or guard. You hoped the surprise will be welcomed by your husband. At least the two of you could end the day on a happy note.

"Husband.", you called from the door as you closed it behind you and leaned back.

The lock you turned deftly made a noticeable clicking sound, but Maekar did not acknowledge it. He only made a sound as a reply but did not lift his head from his papers. His fingers were visibly stained with ink. Sheets of parchment laid at his feet around his desk, discarded after being ripped or scrunched in frustration. This would be another one of his long nights... unless you had anything to say about it.

"Maekar.", you tried again, more determined.

He finally looked up at you and sank further into his chair. Miserable was the word you would have chosen to describe him on that particular evening. But that was about to change.

"Have you come to torment me again?", he grumbled.

You did not reply. Instead, your hands undid the tie of the robe at your middle. The fabric parted around you, revealing an expanse of soft and warm skin down your middle. Maekar's chair was loud against the floor as he pushed it back and almost toppled it over in his rush to pounce on you. He crossed the space in an instant, his hands and lips immediately making contact with your skin, supple from the bath. They roamed your naked stomach and sides greedily. You went limp and pliable in his arms.

You let him turn you around, palms bracing against the door as his foot nudged your legs apart. He only had the time to line himself up and push inside you with a shared moan before a knock rasped on the other side of the door. He did not seem to care at all, hips already moving at a punishingly rough pace. You clawed against the wood desperately but found no purchase there. His thrusts seemed to force whimpers from deep in your throat, each louder than the last. If he kept on going like this, he'd have you screaming soon.

"Your Grace?", a voice probed on the other side.

"What?", Maekar growled back with effort.

"A raven from the Hand of the King."

"This fucking family...", he muttered.

His large hand came up abruptly to press against your lips, clutching your cheeks and jaw and stifling your sounds. This proved inefficient, if not utterly pointless. You moan helplessly, the sound barely muffled by his palm. His hips stilled, buried so deep you felt it in your gut. Still you chased after the friction, rocking back against him as much as the space would allow.

"Keep quiet unless you want us to stop, again.", Maekar reprimanded in your ear.

You acquiesced with a frantic nod and bit down on the fingers he slipped in your mouth instead. You could taste the ink and parchment on his skin, the metal of his rings. Your tongue rolled around the digits greedily and it was his turn to groan.

"Leave it here and go.", he said with effort, biting your neck soon after to muffle himself.

He pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades and began moving again, the rhythm slowly building until you were gasping for your release. You were glad of the press of the door and his chest against you as your legs began to shake and you writhed at the drag of his cock inside you. The pressure built on and on, almost unbearable so, your eyes rolling back inside their sockets.

"I've waited all fucking day... to be inside you...", he panted between each thrust.

You nearly howled as your peak barrelled over you, a litany of curses mingled with his name blabbered through the fingers still in your mouth. Both of his hands came to grab your hips tightly as he picked up the pace and pounded into you, chasing after his own release. You felt him bottom out and still, a choked out moan leaving his lips.

After what felt like an eternity to catch your breath and feel stable enough to stand by yourself, you pulled away from each other. But only for a moment. Soon, your lips were locked with his and you were driving him back towards his solid desk. A flatter surface, at least.

"Again.", you said with a wry grin.

A touching sight really – especially when Valarr brushed her brownish hair away from her face and sneaked another cookie into her hand under the table, pretending not to see your scolding gaze. But she only smiled, taking the sweets from him and hiding it in the small pocket of her dress. You were happy that at least she had some appetite – you couldn’t say the same after throwing up the whole morning and when even thinking about food made you dizzy.

You sipped at your juice instead – a poor attempt to imitate wine as it was being poured in every other goblet standing on the table except yours. Yet the sweet liquid was the only thing you could stomach right now that there was a second child growing under your heart. The baby bump became more evident with every morning and the babe was healthy according to the maesters. 

The candles were burning brightly as the wax began to drip on the wood of the table. You looked at Valarr – the beautiful blue eyes and looked even softer when glowing in the candlelight and the silver streak almost illuminating against the brown hair your daughter inherited from him. 

You watched as his hand stroked up and down her back while his gaze and attention was directed towards whatever his father was saying – the movements were the habits he formed after the years of his little girl falling asleep while laying on his chest. 

You remember when she was no more than a babe and how he always laid her down on him and continued to read scrolls he was interested in back then – how his hand brushed her small back to calm her whenever she began to fuss. 

Fond memories those were – one that you liked to whisper about in the dead of the night when Valarr’s face was buried in your hair and arms wrapped around you like a lifetime. When the stars hung high and you laid beneath them.

A tug on the sleeve brought you back to the matters at hand – Alyssa’s big blue eyes, so like her father’s stared up at you sleepily as he stood on her tippy-toes trying to get you to lean down to her. 

“What is it my darling?” you whispered to her stroking her rosy cheek. 

Alyssa pouted before she eyed her nursemaid and turned back to you. “Jane said we have to go to sleep, I want a goodnight kiss.” she said tugging at your sleeve again impatiently and with a awaiting gaze. 

Valarr smiled softly as his eyes darted towards you two for a moment and then he turned back to his father before he had a chance to see you planting a goodnight kiss on the crown of your daughter’s head. The little princess smiled sneakily before she pushed away from you and grabbed her nursemaid’s hand and practically tugged her away from the chaos of the dinner, sneaking one last glance at her grandfather who tried hard not to smile warmly at Alyssa as his brother was speaking to him. 

They were always like that – the dinners – loud and chaotic as if everyone decided to be extra annoying just for this one evening. Valarr’s older cousin laid passed out on the other side of the table where the rest of Maekar’s children were seated. The younger ones chuckled and gossiped but you couldn’t blame them – they were entertaining themself and you’d gladly join and end your boredom. At the same time your half of the table succumbed to political talk – your father-in-law spoke with his younger brother and Valarr about taxes and trade routes when Matarys looked like he was trying to understand anything from their words but failed miserably – just like you. 

You reached for your goblet again before an idea struck you. You took a sip of the pomegranate before putting it back down on a table with an almost hesitant move. You took a deep breath before exhaling shakily as if you were in discomfort all of the sudden. Matarys’ gaze turned to you with knitted eyebrows and alert eyes before he covered his growing smirk with a goblet. 

Matarys was a bright boy despite his impish nature. And when his sister-in-law was pulling tricks on his older brother to leave the dinner prematurely? He was the first to spot it. 

Your hand raised to rub on your bump as you leaned slightly back against the chair and swallowed down. It took all your strength not to laugh when Matarys kicked Valarr under the table and silently said ‘maybe pay attention to your WIFE dumbass.’

Your husband’s head turned towards you and a small scowl that was meant for his brother turned into an expression full of concern. 

“My love, are you well?” he asked in a hushed tone, turning his attention from his father and uncle to you in mere seconds.

You watched as his hand went to the armrest of your chair – squeezing on it slightly as if to ground himself. “I am well… just a… little headache.” you mumbled and smiled at him weakly. “There’s no need for you to worry.” 

Yet Valarr didn’t look convinced – his gaze swept over your face cautiously before it dropped to your hand as it still rubbed your belly and his expression hardened before he turned back to his father. “My wife feels unwell, perhaps we shall too return to our chambers.” he said and he didn’t sound like he would accept a no. 

Baelor’s gaze flickered away from his brother who turned back to his sons and then rested on Valarr and then back at you almost with worry in his eyes. “Return for the night, take care of your bride, my son” he said and nodded calmly – like he always did.

The chair screeched against the stone floor as you stood up with Valarr’s help before you both headed to the doors of the chamber. Your steps echoed through the halls as you walked towards your bedchambers, you could feel your husband’s strong hold on your waist as if something was really happening and weren’t only finding an excuse to leave the feast. 

“How are you feeling now?” Valarr asked worriedly, now that the mask of a fearless warrior came off. “Should we go to the gardens? Get some fresh air?” he added as his gaze moved over your face.

You could no longer hold in the chuckle that left your mouth – it was quiet and almost discreet if not for the fact that he was pressed right beside you. “You are far too dramatic, my dear.” you said as a smile bloomed on your face. 

Valarr stopped – staring at you with disbelief then confusion and when realization finally dawned upon him the Young Prince only rolled his eyes in exaggeration “You little minx.” he said pulling you closer to him by your waist. “You are unbelievable, my love, tricking me into thinking the babe is making you ill again.” he said as his blue eyes pierced yours. “Blow below the belt, my love, truly.” he added but the words had to heat in it, only playfulness.

You could only chuckle again as his head ducked to press a kiss to your cheek – a thigh he did often and with eagerness before allowing him to pull you further into the Red Keep. By the time you got to the privacy of your chambers the innocent kisses on the cheeks turned into Valarr’s mouth not leaving yours even to catch a breath. 

His hands were on the laces of your dress since you abandoned wearing a corset as soon as Maester confirmed you are expecting again before his head lowered to taste the skin on your jaw and the column of your neck – his lips teasing you as the back of your knees hit the mattress. 

“Of all things you could have done during the feast, making me leave was the best of them.” he said and took your hand to press against his chest and the fasteners of his doublet that looked strangely like dragon heads. Oh yes, they probably were – he was an heir of house of the dragons, even if they were all dead by now. 

“You are lucky to have a wife that makes excuses for you to abandon the family dinners.” you chuckled as your fingers unfastened the clasps carefully.

Valarr only looked at you with this warm, almost boyish smile of his as if you hanged all the stars on the sky and then joined them as the moon itself – it was in your family’s sigil after all. “I am lucky to have a wife like you.” he nodded and the last lace came undone letting you free yourself from the red-black dress. 

There you were – standing between him and your bed in nothing more than a silk slip before you pushed the doublet off of his shoulders and his head leaned in again to plant light kisses on the skin of your shoulder. Your cheeks heated up as you watched him undo his belt and push his breeches off to free his half-hard manhood. 

“All those years and you still blush as if you were yet again a maiden on our wedding night.” he said a spun to sit on the mattress with his hands on your hips to pull you between his parted legs. “And twice as beautiful.” he added before pressing a kiss to your growing bump hidden by the silk. 

“You’re trying to romance me?” you asked and lifted your eyebrow but let his hands wander under your clothing.

“Is it working?” he smiled cheekily before his fingers brushed over your sweet cunt. “Gods, my love, you’re almost dripping.” he snickered playfully before his fingertips pressed to your clit gently and circled it while his eyes never left your face. 

“Then I suppose it must be working.” you breathed out and leaned your hand on his shoulder – just to yelp surprised as he pulled you onto his lap.

Your arms wrapped around his neck almost automatically just like his going to grip at your hips. You could feel his – hard, aching against your thigh, begging to be wrapped by you once again. 

You move slowly while he unties your braid, letting the hair fall over your back and shoulders – wild like the Gods intended them to be. Every little grind or brush made you want to squeeze your thigh together and feel the pleasure overwhelming you as you held onto him. Valarr’s breath was deepened, not yet ragged in the way it was after his seed painted your insides, only slightly quickened by the want and yearning that made themselves comfortable in his eyes. 

A moan left both of your mouths when you finally sank on him – hot and wet and desperate when he filled you so beautifully, making the blush on your cheek travel up to your ears as your fingers dug into the skin of his freckled shoulders. There was no rush in your moves, only an ache to be satisfied, to feel and be close to the other. 

“Be careful.” he said with his voice strained as if he was barely holding back. “The babe–” 

“The babe is fine.” you said leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “There is no need to worry for your future heir.” you smiled and rolled your hips again.

“Heir.” he said and his hands fisted the fabric of your slip. “Unless it’s another girl.” he said and gave you a weak smile as his hips moved slightly to meet yours.

“You’re afraid you can only sire girls?” you asked as you hand brushed over his cheek. 

“I am not afraid.” he mumbled only as his grip on you tightened. “If that will be the matter, I will try for a boy again… and then another and another.” he said and smirked playfully as if to taunt you. “Until you’re so full of me, everyone knows whose wife you are.” he said and pressed a kiss to your shoulder again. 

“We will have many excuses to leave the feasts” you said and your voice broke slightly as the pace fastened. 

Valarr laughed before he leaned back, laying flat on his back with only his head propped on the tousled sheets. “That we will.” he nodded and tilted his head back as the first droplets of sweat made their way on his forehead. “Gods–... you feel so amazing.” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut as your pace quickened again. 

You were rocking your hips, lifting yourself slightly to sink back on him as your hair sticks to your forehead and back. Another whimper left your lips as your hands pressed against his chest to steady yourself without losing the pace. You could feel how rapidly his heart was beating, could feel every breath he took under your fingertips as his own pressed to your skin, helping you move above him. His hair was a mess – the brown strands messed up while the silver-white streaks seemed to almost match perfectly with the sheets beneath him.

You could feel his coil in your guts, every time his cock hit this one right spot – the one that almost made you see stars or tears to fall from your eyes. “Valarr–” you mumbled looking down at him with need blooming in your eyes. 

“I know–... I know–” he nodded and inhaled before his hand disappeared under your shift again and his thumb pressed against your clit and circled it. 

The gesture – so simple and almost forgettable was the thing that made you fall apart around him. You clenched on him, tightly, desperately and Valarr spilled deep inside you with a groan and slightly redness on his cheeks.

You panted heavily as you slipped off of his lap to lay under his arm and try to catch your breath. His hand sneaked around waist and lips pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he brushed his hair away from his forehead with the second. “...I doubt this is what my father meant by ‘taking care of my bride’.” he said and chuckled tiredly. 

“No…” you nodded against his collarbone. “Yet this is way better.”

I LOVED writing this. Valarr is so easy and comforting to write for, he's so golden retriver coded omgg. Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it! Please interact with this post it meangt the world to me!

You had always been kind, had always been taught to find kindness in everything. To see the good in everyone. You were a sweet flower, as your mother would say, with none of the cunning of a fox, despite your house sigil. You were the perfect lady, kind, caring, beautiful and always doing what was expected of you. Even when it meant marrying the king's youngest son, becoming his second wife and mother to a large brood of children, the oldest of which was closer in age to you than your future husband. 

You had looked on the brightside, as you always did, you thought of a man who might grow to love you, a man who perhaps would be like the fairy tales you read as a child, a man willing to go to war for you. You thought of his younger children; perhaps they would grow to love you as a motherly figure, not as a mother. You knew you could never replace her, but you hoped perhaps there would be great happiness in your life. Even if you were to be the notoriously hard and tough man they call “the anvil”. 

You grew hopefully as you journeyed to the crownlands, thinking of the life you would live as a princess. 

You had never met the man that would be your husband, nor any royal to be exact, you would meet him for the first time on your wedding day. But your parents hadn't met till their wedding, and now they were the picture of adoration. You were the youngest child of five, though the only girl, and you had spent your whole life watching your brothers fall in love, allowed to marry ladies of their choosing. 

And yes, you were idealistic, but why wouldn’t you be? You have never had to worry about anything, never had to know a single second of sadness. 

You were filled with a sense of nervous joy as you journeyed to the sept, dressed in a pure white gown, with pink accents throughout your gown, small pink flowers laced throughout your dress, and your veil a soft blush. On your shoulders sat your maiden cloak, the blue a tricking contrast against your dress, the fox of your house sat proud on your back as your father escorted you into the sept. 

Prince Maekar stood tall as you walked through the sept, his gaze unmoving as you stood in the door, waiting for the orchestra to start the procession. 

He was far more handsome than you had expected. Though his face was stern, his cheeks were marred with scars, but they did not take away from his looks. He was thickly built, his silver hair was cut shorter than you had expected, but his eyes were what drew you in. As you walked closer, your father's grip on your arm grew tighter. The closer he got to having to let you go, you noticed the lightness of his eyes, you couldn’t tell if they were blue or purple. Your gaze locked with his as you finally approached the altar, your father hesitantly letting go of your arm, placing a soft kiss on your brow. 

Maekar's jaw ticked as you stood before him, his gaze assessing you as you greeted him with a soft smile. Your hands were joined with his as the septon began the ceremony, the roughness of his hands against the softness of your own. 

The septon droned on as you memorised every inch of your new husband, taking in the sternness of his face, how he seemed permanently annoyed by everything around him, how his hands were holding on to yours but seemed to play with your fingers as the septon spoke, he was doing it mindlessly it seemed as he stopped the second you drew attention to it. 

He spoke the vows quickly, his voice sharp and eager to get it over with. Your smile faltered. 

He kissed you quickly, barely touching your lips before moving back, and the smile faded from your face. 

The carriage ride to the red keep was silent, with him letting go of your arm as soon as you stepped inside. He sat opposite you, his eyes not once looking at you. You had tried to talk to him, but every response was a simple grunt. Your smile didn’t return to your face. You, a woman who had never stopped smiling her whole life, who had knights and lords falling at your feet to speak to you, and now your own lord husband didn’t even dare to look in your direction. 

The rest of the night was much of the same, your husband didn’t once ask you to dance, didn’t utter a single word, at least to you. He spoke with his brother Baelor and his children. But not with you.

You loved to dance, never had you had a feast, let alone a wedding, where you didn’t dance the whole night.  Instead, you sat and watched, drinking your wine glass until it was emptied and refilled over and over again. The only people you spoke to the whole night were Maekar's sons, Daeron and Aerion. Daeron, who seemed to delight in your drinking, had made you laugh a few times but had easily moved on to some of his drunkard friends. And Aerion, who leered at you and spoke something about being pumped full of dragons in no time, as he stared at the neckline of your dress.  Your brothers and sister in laws circled the room and spoke kindly to you, but stayed no longer than a few minutes, as was appropriate, it seems. 

The hours droned on slowly, and before you knew it, the bedding ceremony was called. 

Maekar had merely grunted and stood up, his hand flexing slightly before he offered it to you, leading you out to the floor before the rabble of lords who had been eyeing you all night could get their hands on you. 

You had participated in your fair share of bedding ceremonies, you knew what to expect, and yet as they pulled your clothes off you, leaving you entirely bare as you pushed your way into your marital chambers. Maekar sat on the bed waiting for you, wearing far more clothes than you. 

You blushed, reaching to cover yourself as you felt Maeker’s gaze on you. He cleared his throat, standing from the bed, and pulling at the laces of the breeches he still wore. 

“Husband,” you greeted, your smile returning, though feeling far more awkward than ever before. 

“Wife,” he nodded, the first words he had said to you outside of your vows.

“What do we, um, what do we do now?” you asked, awkwardly, your hands covering you up. 

“We consummate,” he grunted, pulling back the covers of the bed and getting in. He stared at you, waiting for you to move. You didn’t. “You do know what is to happen?” he asked, his voice a little awkward but not lacking any of its coldness. 

“Of course I do, I just…” You trailed off, slowly moving towards the bed.

“What?” he asked harshly. You flinched back, halting your steps slightly. 

“Nothing,” you mumbled as you finally approached the bed, settling in under the covers, grateful for the sheet to hide your body. You played with the covers, following the pattern with your fingers, waiting for Maekar to move. 

He sighed as he looked at you, his hand reaching out to stop your movements. “Stop that,” he ordered. You nodded, stopping instantly. You felt the weight of reality settle into your shoulders, realising for the first time in your life that optimism didn't always lead to happiness. 

Makear sighed before he crawled over to your side of the bed. 

He didn’t kiss you, didn't hold you to him, nor did he whisper sweet nothings in your ears. The consummation was over before you knew it, and Maekar, as quickly as he arrived, left. 

He didn’t look at you when he left, said no words, bid no farewells. He just left. Leaving you alone in a room that wasn’t your own, in a keep that wasn't your own. And a marital bed that you felt would never live up to the dreams you held in your heart. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night. 

It was such an oddity for you to cry or feel sadness. The last time you felt sad was when your cat died when you were ten. Never once had you felt sadness this great. Never once did you cry yourself to sleep, praying no one could hear your cries echoing across the hall. 

You knew love and warmth grew with him, but you hadn’t expected there to be such coldness. You hadn’t expected there to be a wall of ice between you, a wall so thick it rivalled the wall in the north. 

You began to question everything your parents had told you. Everything they had told you about your marriage night was a lie. What else would be? 

You got little sleep that night before the maids came in at dawn and awoke you softly. Though strangers, they treated you softly, bathing you in a lavender-scented bath. They wash away the small trickles of blood between your thighs. Wash the tear stain marks off your face. And spoke in hushed tones as they prepared you for breakfast. 

You were the first to arrive, settling at the end of the table, your gaze flickering across the room, noting all the tapestries and art that adorned the walls. The table was filled with fruits and berries, and pastries of all sorts filled the table. 

You contemplated filling your plate before everyone else joined, you were hungry, having eaten little at the wedding feast. 

But before you could reach for even a single grape, the door opened and in walked your husband. His step faltered when he saw you. His gaze took note of your pink gown and the soft smile that graced your features as he appeared. 

Prepah's last night was a blip, maybe he was drunk or nervous. You may as well start today anew. Perhaps your sadness from last night was a one-time occurrence and would quickly be forgotten. “Husband,” you greeted, standing up as he walked towards you, taking a seat at the head of the table. 

“Wife,” he greeted in turn. Grunting as he sat down, reaching to fill his plate. 

“How did you sleep?” you asked, following his lead and filling your own. 

“Fine,” he grunted, not looking at you. The door opened as you went to speak, his younger children running in with their Septa. They called for their father as they ran in, stopping short as they saw you. Aegon bowed, and Daella and Rhae both curtseyed. “My lady,” they greeted, before rushing to fit for a seat next to Maekar. Daella won, sitting closest to him and Rhae next to her. Aegon moved to sit next to you, sighing in defeat. And Aemon, who wandered in with a book in hand, moved to sit beside Aegon. 

The children rambled on over breakfast, asking you all sorts of questions and answering each one you had for them. You smiled softly at their rambles, though your gaze turned to Maekar, hoping to see some softness, hoping to see that he wished to talk to you as much as his children did. Instead, he scowled the second your gaze met his. 

He left the second he was done, not waiting for his elder children to walk in. He ruffled his daughter's hair as he walked by, bidding each of his children farewell. Only side-eyeing you as he left. 

Perhaps last night wasn’t a blip after all. 

He was fucked, totally and completely fucked. He was the second, he saw you walk into the sept in your pretty white gown covered in pink. The second he saw your smile, the second he touched you.

He didn't need another wife, he had six children, had loved before and had absolutely no need for a wife. And yet you appeared. His parents had wed him off and introduced you, a perfect flower from the reach. Eager to be plucked. So perfect and so entirely unlike him. 

He didn’t want a wife and had hoped you would be easy to ignore. And yet as you spoke your pretty words to him, he realised you wouldn't be, he realised that you were as sweet and kind as his father had said. And yet you were stuck with him. He was cold, colder since Dyanna had died. You couldnt possible be happy with the arrangement. Happy with him as your husband. Perhaps you would be happy if you were a wife in name only. Then you would be happy, and not chained to him for the rest of his life, and miserable for it. 

And yet you, with your smiles that could outshine the sun, seemed to make him melt. 

You were too soft, too sweet, too happy. He had noticed it easily, you would hate him, resent him, and he wouldn’t blame you. Not when he never wanted to marry. 

He would do his duty and nothing more, and yet last night, when he had done that, guilt ate at him. It was clear you wanted a sweet, loving husband, but he couldn't be that, wouldn't be that.  And yet when you greeted him this morning, with gentle eyes and a nervous smile, he almost took back his desire to be a husband in name only. When he noticed his younger children adoring you, how easily you spoke with them, eager to know them. To know him. 

Gods, it would have been easier had you been cold, had you been mean or ugly. But you were anything but. Beautiful, as happy as the sun, kind and caring, and always dressed in pink. And he hated all of it. Or atleast thats what he told himself. 

He tried to be as distant and cold as he could be, and yet time and time again, he was drawn back to you. As time went by and you had all travelled to Summerhall, he had made sure you had your own chambers. Not once did he visit you. Not once did he seek you out. 

And yet you were always there. In his library, his dining hall, and even with his children. You often found yourself in the garden at the same time as him, or standing there at the exact moment he decided to look out of it. Always there, always kind and soft. And he hated it. Hated how you drew him in, no matter what you did. Hated how he fucked his fist to you every night, your name and face on his lips.

You were kind and never had a bad word to say about anything or anyone. Everyone you had ever met would say you were the nicest person they had ever met. They would say that hate was something you were incapable of. And yet as time went by and the coldness between you and your husband seemed to grow, you began to feel the fires of hate breaking into your heart. Your husband was ever distant and running from you the second your paths crossed, offering only grunts in response to your kind words. Never once attending the endless lists of activities you invited him to, you were beginning to hate him. 

You had lost hope of a happy marriage when the third month of it came with no touches, no words, no caresses or even acknowledgement.  He did not try to welcome you, did not try to make you feel at home, or try to fill the loneliness that filled your heart.

You felt so alone and isolated. Sure, his children were kind, and as the months went by, they were happy to see you whenever you’d help with their lessons or entertain their day. But you had no one to speak to, you had no maids or ladies in waiting to chat to. 

You had no one, and whereas before it was rare for you to cry or feel sadness. Now it was rare to feel joy. Every night, tears wet your pillow as the ache of loneliness filled your very soul. 

Maekar didn’t notice, seeming to be annoyed with your presence in his home, to even think about your feelings. He avoided every room you frequented, left every meal before all his children left, as if the thought of being alone with you physically pained him. 

The only time you smiled or laughed was with his younger children. And though you had learned to love them dearly, you were entirely unhappy in your marriage, if you could even call it a marriage. You were more of a reluctant occupant than a wife. 

And yet a part of you still waited. A part of you hoped to wake up one day, with Maekar beside you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and declaring his love for you.  It’s why you had continued to be kind, soft and always perking up when his gaze fell on you. You invited him to tea, tea that he never joined. Dinners alone, which he either avoided or conveniently brought at least one of his children along to.  

You had formed a mindless routine. Every day, you said good morning and asked him how he slept. Whenever you got to breakfast before him, you would prepare his tea and pile the food onto his plate. Hoping that one day he would take notice and thank you instead of just grunting in acknowledgement.  Every day you’d bring him his lunch in his solar, loitering to see if he needed anything. He never did. You would walk around the gardens, always stopping in front of the window to his solar, a book or paints in hand, as you spent hours either reading or painting. Spending at least a  few hours every day with his children. Helping with their lessons and bringing them to see him every night before they went to bed.  And when it was time for him to go to bed, you would dress in your night gown, prepare him a nightcap and see if he wanted you. He never did. Though you felt his gaze on you when he dismissed you, you saw the flexing of his hand as you walked out of his reach. 

But he never acted on his gaze, his desire to touch. He never did anything. Other than grunt. 

You did a million little things for him every day, replacing the flowers in his solar, placing a bookmark between the pages of the book he had placed upside down. And so many other things that he would never notice. 

You wondered if he’d notice if you stopped. Stopped showing up to meals, stopped trailing after him, stopped waiting for his attention.

You doubted it, and knew deep down you couldn’t. 

That's until it hit six months of marriage, six months of coldness. Of you talking to a wall of ice. 

Six months of growing closer and closer to his children, with little Rhae, a girl who never knew her mother, a girl of only five, a girl who had called you mama in private and then made the mistake of calling you mama in front of Maekar. 

He didn’t say anything at the time, he waited for them to go to bed and waited to escort you to your rooms. And waited until the doors closed behind him. 

He leant against the door, his body shivering with rage. “How long has she been calling you that?” He asked, his tone dripping with anger. No fear? Mayhaps, you couldn’t place his tone, his feelings, “You want to replace my children’s mother? Is that it?” 

You flinched back from the harshness of his tone, “what no, I-“

“Shut up and let me speak, woman!” He interrupted, turning to face you, “You are not their mother, you should have corrected Rhae the second she started calling you that!”

“I did, I promise, but she wanted to call me it anyway-“

“Well, you should have tried harder!” His voice bellowed, “You are not there, mother,” he slammed his hand against the wall. 

Making your whole body flinch, backing away from him slowly as tears began to spill from your eyes. 

“I know, but that doesn't stop them from wanting one,” you spoke softly. Daella slipped and called you mama once, and Eggs' hand was rarely not in yours. All three of them insist on you tucking them in every night, and little Aemon wrote to you every week.

He sighed deeply, his eyes finally turning to yours, noting how you had flinched from him, how you stood against your bed, your gaze not on him for the first time. “You're not their mother, you're just my wife!” he stopped breathing deeply, speaking just loud enough for you to hear, “not more, you can’t be more, you can't be here, you'll never be her,” you weretn sure he had intended on you hearing it, but you had anyway. And he noticed you had too late. 

You turned your back to him, refusing to let him see you crumble, to see how badly his words had affected you. You waited for him to leave, but instead, you felt him walk closer. His hand hovering over your shoulder, “I didn't mean that-“ he said, reaching for you, only for you to flinch from his touch.

“Get out,” was all you said, your body wrapping into itself as you waited for him to leave. He hovered, waiting for something. Perhaps for the sweet, obedient wife you had been to show up. To accept his apology and his words. But you felt all of that slip away the second he said those words. 

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