summary: how do they act when their wife already has a child from her previous marriage?
pairing: Dark! Aerion Targaryen x Wife Reader | Dark! Valarr Targaryen x Wife Reader | Dark! Daeron Targaryen x Wife Reader.
warning: dark content, sexual content, death of the child (Aerion), depression, conspiracy and death, psychological abuse, child neglect (Daeron), infidelity, violence, etc.
Hello everyone! I'M BACK!!; I honestly don't know what I did with Valarr's part (for some reason I have almost no ideas for him). I've had this in drafts since Akotsk came out, but I never finished it because I've been having a lot of health problems lately, although I'm feeling better now. Anyway, I hope you like it!
ASOIAF MASTERLIST
Aerion Targaryen
When you married Aerion, you had already been a widow for two years and had a three-year-old child to care for. You still hadn't fully recovered from the death of your first husband; it was an open wound in your heart. You had truly loved your husband and married him for love, but your father considered your mourning excessive. You were still a young and beautiful woman; your womb could still bear more children. He had called your mourning a "waste" and a "dispossession of time."
That's why, when you caught Aerion's attention and he asked for your hand in marriage, your father didn't hesitate to arrange a betrothal. It wasn't long before you were married. Aerion was a difficult husband... nothing like your first husband. He demanded your time and constant attention, becoming enraged when you paid attention to anyone other than him. No one was safe from his anger, not even your son. He seemed to feel a particular disdain for your young son, making it clear more than once that he disliked his presence. He even used to say that it would be best to send the child to live with your family so he wouldn't "get in the way."
Aerion flew into a rage when you rejected his idea, causing him to yank hard at your hair and squeeze his free hand against your throat. You simply told him, "He's a child and needs his mother close." He hissed at you disdainfully, very close to your face, "That child is no longer your priority. Now you must take care of me and my future children."
Aerion had taken the idea of getting you pregnant very seriously. There wasn't a night he didn't force you to share his bed, even when you were exhausted and your femininity ached. He simply wouldn't give you a break. You couldn't spend time with your little one because Aerion wouldn't allow it; he had sent wet nurses to care for him. All to keep him away from you. The truth was that Aerion hated the child and would rather have him dead than have him near you. At night, he often thought that if he had a dragon, he could have it devour your annoying child.
Although years passed and your son was able to live with you at the court, you didn't see him often. Aerion demanded that you give all your attention to the children you had with him. Your son had grown into a handsome and charming young adult, perhaps a little reserved. It devastated you when you learned that he had been accidentally killed while at the training camp. You simply couldn't believe it; you were deeply hurt. Anyone would think that a husband would comfort his wife in such a situation, but Aerion wasn't that kind of husband.
He simply looked at you with disdain and disgust as you sobbed in your chambers, dressed head to toe in black, sitting at the foot of the bed with your hands covering your face and clutching the doublet your son used to wear. Aerion cleared his throat, approaching you and without hesitation grabbing the cloth and roughly pulling it from your hands. You gasped and looked at him with tearful eyes. Before you could say anything, he firmly gripped your jaw, digging his fingers into your cheeks. He spoke to you reproachfully and demandingly.
“Enough. Stop embarrassing me. Everyone talks about how depressed you are. What does one dead child matter? Focus on the living children you have, especially the one inside you now.”
Valarr Targaryen
Valarr had known you since you were both children. Your father worked at court and later on the council, so you spent a lot of time with the princes, especially Valarr, since he always sought you out whenever he had free time. He had been in love with you throughout your childhood and adolescence, so he didn't take it well when you married someone else, although he accepted it. You were happy, and so he was happy, even though he wanted to kill your husband.
When your husband died of a fever less than a year after you married, leaving you with a large pregnant belly and a broken heart, Valarr didn't hesitate to become your rock. He took care of you and ensured you continued living in the Red Keep with him, under his almost controlling care.
Valarr was there for you when you were sad, he was there when your baby kicked for the first time, he was there when your water broke, and he was there for you during childbirth. Everything was meticulously planned to make you feel safe and protected, wanting you to feel indebted to him so that when he asked you to marry him, you wouldn't be able to refuse.
When he married you, your son was just a baby, so he didn't hesitate to raise him as his own. He was a constant father figure in the little boy's life, and even after his own children were born, he never abandoned your son. He cherished the child, though he preferred the power that having the boy's affection gave him over you. When you were upset with him because of his controlling attitude, he always used your son as a weapon to keep you under his control.
That always worked. You thought he acted that way only because he was trying to protect you and your child. You thought that with time he would calm down, but that didn't happen. When you became pregnant, everything worsened; he was even more controlling, not even letting you leave your chambers unless he was with you. You felt like all the servants were watching you; you felt cornered and suffocated.
One day, while your husband was in a council meeting, you decided to send your servants to the kitchen to prepare some delicacies for yourself. When you were sure you were alone, you took your child in your arms and slipped out into the garden. It was the best ten minutes of your life: the scent of the flowers, the sun, the birds singing... without anyone bothering you.
It was a brilliant plan. You slipped back into your chambers unnoticed; no one knew you were gone, and you had a few seconds to yourself. You thought it would all end there, a harmless little rebellion that would become your little secret... but you hadn't counted on your husband having taught your son very well. The little one revealed everything to Valarr.
“Father! Mother and I went to the gardens... just her, me, and the baby, it was great!”
You tensed at your son's excited squeal. Valarr held the child in his arms, his shoulders stiffening. He gave you an icy look that made you swallow hard, but what frightened you most were his words and the seriousness with which he spoke them.
“Is that so...? That was dangerous for you and the children... but don't worry, my dear, I'll make sure that from now on you're safe in our quarters throughout your pregnancy and even after... who knows?”
Daeron Targaryen
Your marriage to Daeron was arranged between his father and yours, so at first, he didn't care much about you. You were a little older than him and quite attractive; he wouldn't deny it. As far as he knew, you had been a widow for some time and had a young daughter of six. Your first marriage was also arranged when you were very young; it wasn't a happy or loving one.
So it didn't surprise him that you were so quiet and reserved. During the first few months of marriage, he ignored you, only spending time with you occasionally to fulfill his marital duty. He continued with his normal routine of getting drunk, going to brothels, and sleeping with any woman who crossed his path.
That was until Daeron fell ill. As his wife, you took care of him and spent sleepless nights with him. This awakened strong feelings in Daeron; your touch relaxed him, made him feel appreciated and loved. Before he knew it, he was obsessed with you. Even after he recovered, he would feign illness from time to time just to receive your attention.
Everyone seemed to whisper about the prince's sudden change. He was still a drunk, but he no longer frequented brothels or slept with the maids. Instead, he was with you and your daughter all the time, though he was clearly uncomfortable around the child.
Daeron ignored your daughter. He wasn't cruel or anything like that (at least he didn't think he was). He simply didn't want to be near her because he wasn't her father, and that gave him an uncomfortable feeling. He didn't like the idea of you having a child with another man. When you became pregnant, your daughter started getting jealous. The little girl clearly didn't want you to stop spoiling and caring for her.
Daeron noticed the girl's attitude, which made him paranoid and worried that she might harm the baby. He'd also had dreams and visions where he was sure he saw your daughter in the crib of his unborn child, and when he approached, he saw the baby dead. He began to subtly manipulate you, suggesting that perhaps the best thing would be for the girl to go to her father's house or even to your house so that you could take care of her and raise her. Although you initially refused, you eventually agreed due to your husband's pleading pleas.
Shortly after your daughter left, Daeron seemed more relaxed and at ease, still following you everywhere, as always. You exchanged letters frequently until, gradually, over the years, the letters stopped arriving, which worried you. Your husband comforted you, unaware that he was the one intercepting and burning the letters your daughter sent you.
Daeron hoped you would forget your former daughter. Now you have a daughter with him, a new marriage, a new family. You, Vaella, and he were the perfect family. He didn't want anyone to destroy the harmony. He hoped your daughter would marry and never see you again. He didn't hate her; he simply wished she didn't exist. He comforts you when he sees you sadly gazing out the window. He comes closer and hugs you, placing kisses on your cheek.
“Relax, dear, I'm sure she's very busy. After all, she's a young lady now... she must have many responsibilities. Come, darling, let's go see our little Vaella.”
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*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing*ੈ✩‧₊˚ aerion targaryen x amnesia wife!reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary*ੈ✩‧₊˚ waking from an accident, you're told you've married into a family you have no recollection of
*ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note*ੈ✩‧₊˚ mother has served! This took me longer than expected lol... there's probably going to be one more chapter of this... but if you have any requests for future fics, please send them my way!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚playlist*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Come As You Are - Nirvana, Afraid - The Neighbourhood
“I’m telling you,” Aegon leaned forward across the dining table, “it was bigger than a horse.”
Maekar did not look up from his plate. “You were chased by a goat, Aegon.”
“It was not a goat,” Aegon snapped. “It had horns”
“Goats have horns.”
Daella giggled into her cup, nearly spilling it in the process. “You ran from it,” she added quietly.
“I did not run,” Aegon said, clearly offended. “I retreated strategically.”
“Into a tree,” Aemon supplied.
“You weren’t even there.”
“I didn’t need to be”
“You would’ve run too”
“I wouldn’t have climbed a tree and screamed for father,” Aemon replied smugly.
“I was not screaming,” Aegon’s voice lost some of its confidence. “And none of you were in danger, so I don’t see why it matters.”
Maekar glanced up. “The only danger was to the dignity of this family.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through. You involuntarily glanced towards Aerion, sitting across from you, to see he was already watching you. He held a relaxed expression with the faintest hint of amusement, quickly hidden the moment you noticed it.
Aegon, however, was not finished. “If I had my sword–”
“You don’t own a sword,” Daeron's voice startled you. You hadn’t even noticed he had risen from his drunken slumber.
“That’s not the point.”
Maekar set his fork down with deliberate patience. “Enough, eat your food.”
Aegon obeyed, thought not without muttering under his breath.
The conversation soon drifted towards Aemon’s studies with your cousin-in-laws, Valarr and Matarys, chiming in.
You take the distraction as your opportunity.
“If you’ll excuse me,” you say quietly, rising from your seat before anyone can question it.
It had been a moon since the accident that left your memory fractured, and you had begun to recognize the signs.
A tightness behind your eyes. A distant ringing in your ear.
You move quickly through the corridors, your hands brushing along the cool stone walls to steady yourself as the sensation builds.
You hadn’t told anyone about these small bursts of memories that would come without warning. Sometimes multiple times a day, something only twice a week. Most of them were insignificant– memories from your first meeting with the family, random literary discussions with your husband’s grandsire, Aegon demanding you accompany him into the city, mostly fragments of conversation.
You reach a quiet alcove beyond the main passage, the noise of the hall fading behind you.
The pressure sharpens at your temple, your breath catching as you press your fingers against it, willing it to pass.
It eases slightly and you take the opportunity to make it back to your shared chambers. The path is no longer unfamiliar to you.
The door closes with a soft thud. You barely make it halfway to the bed before the pain strikes again, sharper this time.
Your hands catch the bedpost, fingers tightening around the wood as you hunch forward. Your knees give out and you collapse to the floor as your head rests upon the mattress.
The room tilts and then your world shifts.
Aerion leaned forward, firmly pressing his lips to yours. You eagerly kissed him back as your hands reached up, tugging on his hair. His hands trailed down your sides, settling on your hips.
You sat onto the bed, tugging off your nightdress. He’d seen you naked many times by now, but never seemed to grow tired of the view. He climbed onto the bed, crawling on top of you.
“You’re eager today,” he murmured.
“Can you blame me?” You bit your lip, a small smile forming.
He nudged your thighs apart, slotting himself between them. Lowering himself onto his elbows, he braced himself on either side of your head.
“Aerion,” you whined, feeling his cock nudging your entrance. “Enough of the teasing.”
Aerion grabbed his cock and slid it through your wet folds before easing himself into you. “Your cunt is so fucking tight. It feels like the first time again and again.”
You whimpered, arching up into him. “My dragon, please.”
A manic grin twisted his lips as he pulled out slightly before he thrusted back in, watching your expression closely. You let go of the sheets to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He buried his face in your neck, his breathing sharp against your skin. Another moan tore through you when he started to pound into you faster, his excitement getting the better of him. He used one hand to hike your legs up higher onto his waist, allowing him to hit deeper.
Parting your lips, he kissed you roughly, allowing his tongue inside your mouth. His pace was relentless and the room filled with the sound of the headboard banging against the wall and skin slapping. You moaned into his mouth, the pleasure growing more intense.
Neither of you cared who might hear.
“Aerion–” you panted. “I’m going to–”
“Come for me, wife,” he rested his forehead against yours, his pace unwavering. “Milk my cock, baby.”
Your hands gripping his shoulder, your nails forming crescent moons onto his skin. You repeated his name again and again. You cried out as your orgasm hit, clenching around him.
He continued to pound into you as his own high approached. His body shuttered and he stilled, coming inside of you.
Burying his face into your neck, you could hear him muttering absolute nonsense.
“My little dragon… taking place… I’m sure of it.” He turned his head, looking down as he withdrew from you.
You basked in his warmth. The two of you holding onto each other as the exhaustion settled in.
The memory began to warp.
Aerion’s warmth lingered, but it was flickering, like a candle struggling. The weight of him shifted, the sound of his breathing began to echo.
The sheets beneath you no longer felt soft, but rough and cold.
You blinked and the ceiling above you was no longer there. Instead, you could see the tangled branches stretching overhead, blocking the sunlight.
The warmth vanished all at once and cold air rushed against your skin.
The bed was gone and you were standing.
You were back in the memory of your accident, the one you had the day after waking. You couldn’t move, reliving the memory but more aware.
In flashes you could feel the man’s grip tightening around your mouth. Your elbow driving back. You grabbed the dagger, embedding it into his side. Your vision was blurry, you could not make out the face clearly.
Startling awake, your skin is damp with sweat, the sheets clinging uncomfortably to your body.
Heat rises to your cheeks at the vivid memory that lingered, an outlier from the others you mind has resurfaced over the past moon.
Glancing around the room, something immediately feels off. It is completely dark. Normally, a few candles would be lit or the low burn of the hearth. You feel around next you and Aerion is not there.
As if conjured, his voice breaks through the room. “What were you dreaming of?”
You couldn’t make out his figure, your eyes still adjusting to the darkness, but his voice was coming from the foot of the bed.
“Where is the light?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.
“Don’t change the topic,” his voice is sharper now. “What were you dreaming of?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
A long pause filled the room. Even in the darkness, you could feel Aerion’s anger seething off him.
You knew your husband had a short fuse and was often aggressive with his younger siblings, the servants, or anyone who tests his patience, but never directed to you.
“After abandoning me at dinner, I return to our chambers,” his voice low and controlled, “to find you writhing in pleasure.”
He continues, “I thought to myself that you had finally come to your senses.”
He steps forward “Instead to hear you calling out another mans name”
Your stomach drops, “What are you–”
“Don’t fucking cut me off.” His voice snaps. “So tell me- have you been warming another man’s bed?”
He takes another step, closer to you.
“A White Cloak, no less” he adds. “Ser Ronnel Darklyn? So below a dragon.”
“Ser Ronnel Darklyn?” The name hangs in the dark. You shake your head instinctively, even if he cannot see it.
“No,” you say, voice tightening. “No, that’s not–”
“I didn’t call out his name” you say carefully. “I don’t even remember doing that.”
Silence follows, thick with disbelief.
“Then explain it,” he says, his hands landing on your calves.
The motion was so sudden and unexpected that you let out a gasp. You could feel his body hovering over you.
“I have been seeing things,” you admit. “Like memories from before and I can’t control them. It starts with a pressure to my head and then I’m reliving the memory without any control.”
He doesn’t say anything so you continue. “Most of them are insignificant like random conversations.”
“But there is one that keeps returning.” A pause. “The woods the day of the accident. I keep seeing pieces of it and they don’t match with what I’ve been told.”
You continue. “I remember someone grabbing and threatening me. And tonight I remembered more details but it wasn’t clear.
You swallow. “But I remember the attacker wearing a white cloak.”
His palm shifts higher beneath my gown. At first, it is subtle and you barely register it, too caught in the weight of your words.
Your breath stutters as his fingers reach beneath your small clothes.
“Then why,” his voice low, “are you so wet?”
The question lingers in the air.
“Before… before the memory of the woods.” Your voice was unsteady, “After I excused myself from dinner. I had a different memory return, one I hadn’t seen before.”
His fingers kept stroking you, almost lovingly.
“It was.. It was us. Our coupling.” The words felt strange on your tongue. You didn’t know how to go about addressing this.
His fingers enter you without warning and he begins thrusting at a snail-like pace.
You gasp, “... and then it slipped away, and the woods came back.”
“Describe it to me.” He curled his fingers, eliciting a moan from you.
“It was daylight,” your voice shook, “And we were in this room. And afterwards you were muttering about a little dragon… about it taking place.”
He paused, withdrawing his hand abruptly. Through the darkness you could make out him sucking at his finger– the fingers that were just within you.
Aerion leaned back against the bed, pulling you with him, his arm wrapping around you as though nothing had happened.
“You always do that,” you snapped, wrenching yourself out of his grasp. “You use my pleasure as a manipulation tactic.”
He caught you again just as quickly, dragging you back down. His grip was tighter, preventing you from slipping away. “I told you,” he said, his voice low, “you have to beg.”
You huffed at his insistence, turning towards him, though the darkness still kept his expression hidden from you.
“I would never betray you. That isn’t who I am.”
“I know, little wife.” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “That memory happened right before the accident.”
“What?”
His fingers lightly tracing patterns against your lower back.
“We fucked the morning before the accident.”
His vulgarness startling you, he continued “You left for a walk in the Kingswood after I departed for a council meeting.”
“Rest assured, little wife,” he voice fading as sleep began to take over, “He won’t live long, but first I’ll cut off his cock and–.”
You lay awake, mind in shambles. The soft snore from beside you is a comforting distraction.
~
There was a feast the following evening in honour of Aelora Targaryen. It was the eve of her wedding and King Daeron had arranged a grand feast in honour of her union to Prince Aelor. On the morrow, the family was to attend a private ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in the city.
You wore a blood-red velvet gown that accentuated your figure, the bodice structured but comfortable enough to breath. There were golden embroidered dragons towards the shoulder of the gown. It was handpicked by Aerion, as most of your more formal attire was.
He was fond of dressing you in the house colours and showing you off.
You were seated on the opposite end of the table with Aemon and Aegon. They were rattling off about some elaborate retelling, Aegon’s hands moving wildly as he spoke.
“I’m telling you,” Aegon insisted, “if they let me ride tomorrow, I could reach the sept faster than any of them.”
“They won’t let you ride through the city at full speed,” Aemon replied, with practiced patience. “It’s a wedding, not a race.”
“You just don’t want me to win,” Aegon huffed.
“It’s not winning if you’re the only one competing.”
You glance towards the other end of the table, catching Aerion’s gaze for a brief moment before looking away again. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as though he had been watching far longer than you realized.
He is in no better position, surrounded by his father and uncle, most likely discussing diplomatic issues. You’d much rather be in the company of the little ones.
A shadow fell behind you.
“May I have this dance, sister?”
You turned, finding Daeron standing just behind your chair, his hand already extended.
You placed your hand in his, it was nice seeing him sober; he was much kinder than Aerion. “I would be delighted, Daeron.”
The rhythm of the dance was lively and chaotic, the hall filled with lords and ladies laughing as they stumbled through the steps. It was a nice change to dance without precision.
His hand settled lightly at your waist, spinning you around the room and easily shifting through the crowd.
“You seem more yourself tonight,” he remarked quietly, a soft smile gracing his face.
You laughed at that, “I’m not sure I know what that means anymore.”
You had been dancing for many minutes when the music began to slow. Without thinking, you rest your head against Daeron’s shoulder, swaying in time with the music.
You felt another pair of hands brush your waist.
“Brother, allow me to steal my wife back.” Aerion’s voice was smooth.
He twists you around, his hand resting at the base of your back, inching towards– you grab his hand moving it higher on your back.
“Behave yourself,” you seeth.
“You should behave yourself,” he murmurs back, his breath brushing against your ear. “You didn’t even save your first dance for me.”
“You didn’t ask me to dance,” you reply coolly, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “Plus, Daeron is a better dancer than you.”
You hiss as his foot comes down on yours, his full weight landing your toe without apology.
Your grip tightens on his shoulder, “What was that for?” Shooting him a sharp look.
Aerion only smirks faintly, entirely unbothered as he continues the dance.
“You’re right, little wife, I am no good of a dancer.” he murmurs, his voice low and pleased with himself. “Should we retire for the evening?”
Something malicious sounded in his voice.
He started to guide you towards the corridor, you stopped abruptly, forcing him to halt with you. “Wait, I need to congratulate Aelora.”
“You can do that on the morrow.”
When you refuse to move, his patience snaps.
In one swift motion, he hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you clean off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder as though you weigh nothing.
“Aerion!” you gasp, startled more than anything. Your hands instinctively brace against his back. “Put me down!”
He doesn’t slow, making his way to your shared chambers.
“Release me, Aerion!”
Upon arriving at the room, Aerion tosses you onto the settee with a thud.
He stands before you, his fingers undoing the front of his breeches.
“Open your mouth.”
“What happened to making me beg?”
“This is about my pleasure, not yours.”
“I won’t repeat myself.” He fists his cock, the tip nudging at your mouth.
Keeping your mouth tightly shut, you look up glaring at him.
His pupils blown and seething, he grabs your jaw, prying your mouth open and forcing your attention onto him.
With the smallest opening, he shoves his cock down your throat, the force pressing you against the back of the chaise. His knee braces against the edge as he leans forward.
A groan escapes him. “You test me too often,” he murmurs.
His thick length fills your mouth and you gag, trying to move upwards.
“Gods you feel so good,” fingers running through your hair, loosening the pins.
When your movements turned sloppy, he grabbed a tight hold of your hair, moving your head up and down. His pace quickened as drool dripped down the edge of her mouth.
Your moans and his echoed inside the room. Your hands wrap around him, gripping his ass. With one final thrust, he pushes your face completely against him until your nose reaches his pubic bone.
Your eyes locked onto him, he murmurs, “Swallow all of it. Don’t waste a drop.”
You collapse on the chaise as he releases your hair and tucks himself back into his trousers.
“Good girl,” his evil smirk plastered across his face.
Lifting you from the chaise, he carries you to the bed and lays you down more gently than expected. You turn onto your stomach, your face nuzzling into the pillow as exhaustion begins to settle in your limbs.
You could feel Aerion’s fingers at your back, working at the laces of your gown with practiced ease.
As the fabric loosens and slips away, cool air brushes against your skin, raising a fault shiver.
“That cunt left the castle last night,” Aerion murmurs.
“Which cunt?” your voice muffled in the pillow.
He turns you onto your back, pulling your nightgown over your head.
“Ser Ronnel Darklyn.”
Fatigue escapes you instantly.
“What do you mean?” you ask, blinking up at him, “Where did he go?”
“I’m not sure, yet. But I have people searching for him.”
~
You wake with Aerion’s weight pressed heavily against you, his arm slung possessively across your waist.
“Get off,” you mutter, your voice thick with sleep. “You’re crushing me.”
He only responds with a low, half-asleep growl, burying his face deeper into the curve of your neck.
You chomp down on his shoulder with no response.
Rolling your eyes, you pinch his pink nipple and twist sharply.
“FUCK!” Aerion jerks away, his hand reaches up to your breast, grabbing tightly in retaliation.
“Stop it, Aerion!”
“Next time I won’t be so kind,” he mutters, loosening his grip.
You dress quickly, the morning already in motion as servants hurry through the halls. Outside, a line of carriages waits before the Red Keep, prepared to escort the royal family to the Sept.
Aerion’s younger siblings are being ushered toward one of the larger carriages, their Septa hovering nearby, fussing over cloaks and ribbons as the children chatter amongst themselves. Aegon lingers at the steps, clearly uninterested in being hurried along, though he offers little resistance as he’s finally pushed inside.
You already know Aerion and the other men will ride ahead on horseback, so you don’t wait for him.
Stepping forward, you move to follow Aegon into the carriage, lifting the hem of your gown slightly as you approach.
“My Lady”
The Septa’s voice cuts in gently but firmly as she steps into your path.
“There is not enough room,” she explains. “You will need to take the carriage behind.”
You pause only briefly before nodding, turning without argument.
The second carriage waits just a short distance away and is much smaller.
Grasping the handle, you lift yourself inside, settling onto the cushioned seat as the door shuts behind you with a soft click.
The carriage jolts forward with a sharp snap of the reins, wheels grinding against stone as the procession begins its slow descent from the castle.
Through the small window, the Red Keep begins to fall away behind. For the first time in a long while, you are alone.
You let your head fall back against the cushioned seat, eyes slipping shut as sunlight filters through the narrow window, warming your face.
Then, the faint sound of shouting reaches your ears. Your brows knit together as your eyes open, the sound growing sharper.
The carriage jolts slightly and your hand grips the edge of the seat.
You lean forward, peering through the small window used to speak to the driver.
Your breath catches when you see a small group of men, maybe three, coming towards the carriage. None of the other royal carriages were around.
Without a second thought, you drop to your knees and rip back the velvet carpet lining the floor and lift the hidden hatch beneath it. The wood creaks softly as it opens, revealing the narrow space below.
You slip through without a second thought, lowering yourself carefully until your boots meet the ground beneath the carriage.
You could hear the clash of swords, but you already knew you were outnumbered as you were only assigned one knight.
You dart out from beneath it, keeping low as you put distance between yourself and the wheels. The last thing you need is for the horses to bolt and crush you where you stand.
You push forward, slipping behind a cluster of hedges, then drop into the thick brush of a nearby bush, forcing yourself still despite the pounding of your heart.
Branches scrape against your arms, leaves catching in your hair as you press yourself deeper into the shadows.
You planned to make your way back to the Red Keep, you couldn’t have been too far. Turning back for a final glance, the man you see opening the carriage door, where you should have been, makes you falter in your step.
whipped like a motherf***er!: a slang used to describe a person, almost always a man, who is extremely submissive, obedient, or subservient to their romantic partner
Characters: Duncan the tall, Baelor Targaryen, Lyonel Baratheon, Maekar and Aerion Targaryen
Warnings/notes: Wife!Reader, establish marriage, f!Reader, Aerion part lowkey may give of dark or yandere lol, spelling errors probs sorry made a few changes last minute-
Dunk
Dunk doesn’t even realize he’s whipped.
He’s just… enthusiastically embarrassingly eager to help you
“Dunk, could you—”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t finish—”
“Still yes.”
Half the time you weren’t even asking him to do anything and others times it would be easier if someone else handled it
It did not matter to him, for Dunk is already halfway through doing it.
Moving furniture twice his size, doing things a simple hedge knight has no business doing, climbing things he absolutely should not be climbing and nearly knocking himself over trying to help.
It was honestly a sight.
This seven-foot wall of muscle, famous for breaking men in tourneys, carrying half your belongings like a pack mule, gently holding the end of your cloak so it wouldn’t drag through the mud, hovering nearby like a very large, very anxious guard dog ready to jump at any command.
………………………………………………………………………………………..
The camp was quiet in the early morning.
Mist still clung to the grass, and the small fire crackled low while Dunk sat on a log pulling off his boots.
Across from him, Egg sat cross-legged, concentrating intensely on a small wooden ball-and-cup toy.
The very toy Dunk had said he was “certainly not getting because it was stupid and a waste of coin.”
They had spent the morning training the horses for the tourney and stopped by the market after. Now leaving the remaining of the day for rest and recovery.
Behind them, the tent rustled.
Dunk’s head snapped toward it instantly.
Egg didn’t even look up from his toy.
“…You do realize you react faster to that tent moving than you do to someone drawing a sword.”
Dunk frowned.
“That… that ain’t true.”
“It is,” Egg said, trying to land the ball in the cup again. “If you reacted that fast when Ser Addam charged you, you wouldn’t have had that limp for a week.”
“Shut up,” Dunk muttered. “Or I’ll throw that thing as far as I can.” There was no real bark in his threat.
The tent flap opened.
You stepped out, wrapped in Dunk’s oversized cloak, hair messy from sleep, eyes still half-closed.
Dunk shot to his feet so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
“G’morning,” he said immediately, wearing that big, goofy smile you loved so much.
You smiled softly.
“Good morning, Dunk. Good morning, Aegon.”
Dunk immediately fumbled through his pouch nearly spilling all its contents.
“Oh! I got us biscuits and gravy for breaking fast. Reckon we can use the leftover sausage from last night and well be making your favorite meal.”
Your smile widened.
“’ I’ll make us some strawberry milk for the meal that'll be a nice end of the week treat”
Then your face fell slightly.
You remembered.
You had used the last of the milk a few days ago when Dunk couldn’t sleep.
“It’s alright,” you said quickly, smiling again. “We can just have straw—”
You blinked.
Dunk was already sitting back down, pulling his boots on again.
“My love?”
“Start without me,” he said, tying the laces. “Shouldn’t be gone long.”
Egg’s head snapped up in disbelief as the seven-foot knight immediately began striding back toward the road that led to town that they just came from.
“…Ser.”
Dunk paused.
“You’re walking all the way back to the market… for milk.”
Dunk shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world and off he went.
Egg stared after him, completely stunned.
Some men might call that submissive.
But to Dunk?
It was simply devotion.
Baelor
Baelor is unaware that he is whipped.
Not because he is ashamed of it, nor because he does not understand what the phrase means. It is simply that, in his mind, everything he does for his wife is perfectly rational. Surely any good husband would do the same no?
But the truth is that his entire schedule bends around you.
For example he knows how much you dislike early mornings and how you tend to sleep in, because of that, Baelor quietly schedules most of his important meetings at dawn so that his evenings are free to spend with you. Of course, being the Crown Prince means it cannot always be that way but he does try.
And if you personally ask him to do something together?
Baelor rearranges his entire day as though that had been the plan all along.
He prioritizes you more than he realizes. If the realm is not actively burning, nine times out of ten he will tend to your wishes first before anything else…..even duty.
“My prince,” a lord began, “now we must discuss—”
The door opened and you stepped inside
“Baelor?” your voice soft and uncertain
The quill stopped and he looks up immediately, tension leaving his body and his features softened
“Yes, my heart?”
“Oh- i apologize i had thought the meeting was over” you turn to leave but he stops you asking what you needed
“I had only wished to break fast with you but you are still busy so it is fine.” you smile genuinely not upset
Yet Baelor pushed the report back to the lord who'd just given it to him
“It is over” he says rising
“My- My prince?” the lord stammers shocked
“Yes yes I shall get to them after i break fast with my wife” he says as you wrap your hand around his forearm leaving the room
Baelor is still the composed prince and treats everyone with respect and kindness. However, that kindness should never be mistaken for weakness. He has no trouble telling nobles, lords, or even members of his own family no.
The council chamber hummed with quiet discussion as parchment shuffled across the long table. Several lords had gathered to review the Crown’s upcoming calendar. Important meetings, visiting envoys, and the various festivals and observances across the realm.
It was, for once, a relatively simple and uneventful meeting.
Baelor Targaryen had already noted it would end soon. He had even arranged for dinner to be served early, hoping that later you and his sons might spend the evening in a friendly game of cards and cyvasse. For now, however, he listened patiently as the maester read from his list.
“Next month will see the usual observances,” the maester said, scanning the parchment. “The King’s Day feast, the summer market in the city, and the Riverlands tourney.”
A few lords nodded.
“Your Grace,” Lord Alester Tyrell began. (He was your cousin temporarily standing in your father’s place). “There is another celebration approaching, the Harvest Bloom. It is widely celebrated throughout the Reach.”
Maekar Targaryen, who had been only half-interested the entire meeting, let out a short snort.
“You mean the one where you dress up like flowers and act strange because of your ‘special plants’?” he mocked. “We do not do that bullshit in the capital.”
Baelor raised a hand, silencing his brother before the comment could go further.
“I am familiar with the festival,” he said politely. “But it is primarily regional.”
Alester inclined his head.
“It is, Your Grace but I am certain it would be a welcome celebration here, among both highborn and smallfolk. I assure you, my prince, it is meaningful and does not involve… indulgences.” His gaze flicked toward Maekar with a glare.
Maekar let out a humorless laugh.
Baelor considered the suggestion for a moment.
“Forgive my brother I do not doubt it is a respected holiday in the Reach, but—”
“If it is a matter of coin,” Alester added quickly, “your father-by-law, as Master of Coin, would have no objection.”
Baelor shook his head.
“Coin is not the issue, my lord,” Baelor replies, more than aware of your fathers constant eagerness to flex the Tyrell wealth.”It is more because the court calendar is already crowded. It would be wiser to allow the tradition to remain where it belongs, among those who have long celebrated it.”
His tone was calm, respectful but final.
Alester leaned back, accepting the answer, and the council moved on.
…..
Later that evening, the castle had gone quiet.
You sat at your vanity, braiding your hair for sleep, while Baelor rested in bed with a book. After a moment, his eyes flickered up and he caught your gaze in the mirror grinning at him.
He smiled.
“What do you want now?” he teased, no real annoyance in his voice.
You placed a hand over your chest in mock offense.
“What makes you think such a thing? I am merely admiring my husband’s beauty.”
He gave you a knowing look.
You laughed softly, climbing into bed beside him. He pulled you close without looking away from his book.
“Sooo,” you began casually, “there’s an annual festival in the Reach coming up. It’s called the Harvest Bloom—and oh, Baelor, it’s wonderful” You cuddle him more.” back home, we would hang lanterns in the gardens and dance until late into the night the whole castle would smell like flowers for days.” you reminisce.
Baelor slowly lowered his book.
You continued, completely unaware of the morning’s council discussion.
“I was thinking… Perhaps this year we could celebrate it here. I would love to show you how we used to do it.”
You looked up at him hopeful.
He could already see the wheels turning in your eyes, you were already picturing lanterns, music, the gardens lit in gold.
He could explain.
He could tell you he had already declined the idea that very morning.
But the words never came.
Instead, Baelor smiled softly and warm.
“That sounds like a lovely tradition, it would be a delightful addition to the Capital .”
Your face lit up instantly.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
You leaned over to kiss his cheek extremely grateful, before settling comfortably against him going on all about all the preparations that need to be put in place to which Baelor nods in agreement as if it had always been that way.
…
The following morning, the council gathered once more.
Baelor reviewed a few documents before speaking.
“My lords.”
The room fell silent.
“Upon further consideration, the Crown will formally recognize the Harvest Bloom celebration this year, preparations may begin at once.”
Lord Alester Tyrell blinked in surprise.
Across the table, Maekar Targaryen leaned back slowly in his chair, eyebrows knit in confusion because his brother did not change his mind overnight on matters of governance.
Unless—
His gaze looks out the door of the room and just faith would have it he finds you passing by wearing more flowers on your dress than you'd usually do and following close behind you some servants carrying some form of flower decor with them.
Maekar sighed and rubbed his temple.
“…Of course,” he muttered under his breath.
Maekar
Maekar is most certainly whipped for you but he denies it like a guilty man accused of a crime he absolutely committed.
He will grumble, complain, roll his eyes.
“You are being impossible.”
“That is unreasonable.”
“You should not interrupt me while I’m working for such petty things.”
And yet, despite the scowling and sharp words, he still ends up doing exactly what you asked and most, if not all the time he goes above and beyond what you wanted still complaining however
You took no offense to his insults or complaints. You knew far too well how tightly you had the prince wrapped around your pretty finger.
Sometimes you even teased that power, because you found it terribly amusing how fast the man who claimed he did not care folded for you.
He claims he’s far too busy at the moment and you’re distracting him? Fine you threaten to leave the room
“…Stay.” he says a bit too quickly, pulling your chair closer to him to prevent you from going.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
The solar was quiet except for the scratch of Maekar’s quill and the occasional murmur from his advisor, Lord Beric.
You sat across from him with your arms folded, watching the prince stare at parchment as if the realm might collapse should he glance away.
Candlelight flickered across his sharp features, silver hair catching the glow.
His shoulders were hunched and tense again.
You had told him a hundred times not to sit like that.
After a long moment of silence you cleared your throat.
Nothing.
You tapped your fingers on the table.
Still no reaction from him.
Your husband continued writing as if the sounds you made were the mere wind passing by.
You narrowed your eyes.
“Maekar… it is night now.”
“Hm.”
That was it.
Just hm.
You leaned forward.
“You said we would walk the gardens before sunset.”
“I said we might,” he corrected without looking up.
You stared at him in disbelief.
“No. You said we would and I have been sitting here and waiting now would you look at that.”
You pointed dramatically toward the window where moonlight now poured in.
His quill stopped moving for a moment letting out a long sigh like a man plagued with nothing but trouble before he started writing again.
“Well, my dear wife,” he said dryly, extending a hand for another letter from Lord Beric, “ you may not be aware of this but the sun will rise again tomorrow. As it has for the past hundred years and will for a hundred more.” he responds with his eyes yet having to look properly at you.
You clench skirts in annoyance.
“You are impossible.”
“And you are insatiable.”
“Oh, I am insatiable?”
“You knew I had work.”
“You always have work.” You say with an eyeroll. “All I asked for was a simple walk with my husband and he cannot even keep that promise.”
His jaw shifted, eyes alas meeting yours, his dark violet eyes flash with annoyance.
“I did not promise I specifically remember saying we might.”
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“You did.” you slam the table for more emphasis
The irritation on his face only grew, almost anybody who saw that look would shrink and back down like poor Lord Beric who visibly shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wishing to be anywhere else, but you weren't anybody.
“I cannot simply abandon matters of the realm for a lovely stroll in gardens I have walked a thousand times, wife.” he says the word with no warmth.
“Right,” you said sharply. “Because staring at parchment is far more enjoyable than spending time with your wife!.”
“Y/n—” his patience was on thin ice now
You stood abruptly.
“No no it is fine.”
You abruptly stand and grab your cloak.
“Finish your very important letters. I’ll walk alone.”
You turned and strode out shutting the door before he could utter another word out.
Maekar glares at the door for a moment or two his grip on the quill so tight lord Beric thought it may snap at any moment.
“Stubborn woman… vexing woman…” Maekar muttered, continuing to write but the words became illegible with how tight his grip in the quill was.
…
…
…
You make it a few steps down the hallway when the solar door opens again.
“Why must you be so temperamental?”
Your husband’s voice sounds behind you.
You didn’t even turn around.
“Am I? I thought it best to leave you to your work because you think I'm such a nuisance."
Your heels clicked against the stone.
Heavy boots followed.
“Do not twist my words woman,” Maekar snapped. “I would never call you that” he said but a bit quieter and oddly softer
You kept walking and faster
The footsteps grew faster too
Quite a sight, truly.
The Anvil of the Realm follows behind his irritated wife.
“How do you expect us to walk if you remain ahead of me?” he grumbled.
You stopped.
So did he, you had not realize how close he was behind you nearly hitting him when your turned
Maekar stood behind you looking on edge enough to start a war, which in many ways was similar to one when it came to you.
“I thought you had letters to finish.” you say coolly crossing your arms.
“I do.”
“And yet here you are.”
The stubborn man, tough as iron, sharp-tongued hesitated
“I… suppose a short break will not collapse the realm.”
You stared at him, then you couldn't help the snort that escaped pass your lips.
Maekar looked offended.
“What?”
“You dropped everything to chase me down the hallway.”
“I did not chase you.”
You hum, grinning up at him “You most certainly chased me.”
“I walked quickly.”
“That is called chasing.”
He scowled.
“You walk very fast for someone of your stature.”
He stared at you for a moment longer.
He then finally stands beside you, body brushing yours a small concession and his fingers intertwining with yours around it like it had always belonged there.
“…Come along,” Maekar muttered, still trying to sound gruff.
The prince who had refused to abandon his work not five minutes earlier was now walking beside his wife toward the gardens.
Grumbling the entire way, yet refusing to let go of your hand.
Lyonel
Lyonel never thought he could be whipped but welcomes the idea with open arms when it comes to you
Lyonel Baratheon has the calmness of a thunderstorm. He is wild, loud, reckless, and unpredictable. He is already a great lord, which leaves a very small number of people who can “control” him, but truth be told, if it weren’t for hierarchy and titles, no one tells Lyonel what to do.
Except his wife.
Before meeting you, he never cared about marriage. His idea was getting a pretty, obedient, quiet, mouse-like wife who would give him an heir or three while he continued partying and doing whatever he pleased.
But you changed that in the best way.
Lyonel is a force and a danger to himself and others with his impulsive ideas that could get him hurt, so at times he really does need your firmness to knock both literal and metaphorical sense into him.
Despite your threatening and “bossy” nature, he finds it incredibly attractive the way you command him.
“If you leave one more antler lying on our bedchamber floor, I will stab you with it.”
“Mhm, you are very attractive when you threaten me with bodily harm,” he gazes at you fondly.
“Shut up and do as you’re told.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Others are shocked that a lady could ever speak to her lord husband that way, but Lyonel does not care and does not need saving. He is exactly where he wants to be.
The festivities had been going on for five days now.
What had been meant to be a simple, quiet hunting trip had turned into a feast, which had turned into a drinking competition, which then briefly turned into strip poker??? supposedly in celebration of the soon arrival of Lyonel's firstborn child.
But you should have known better.
With your husband nothing (especially with alcohol involved) was ever simple.
Inside the great hunting tent, noise pressed in from all sides. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and spilled wine. Tankards clanged as drunken laughter and terrible singing echoed far too loudly for the late hour.
At the center of it all sat Lord Lyonel Baratheon, long antler crown slightly crooked atop his dark, tousled curls, tankard raised high. His voice carried across the entire tent with the same subtlety as a thunderclap.
“And I told the man,” Lyonel declared loudly, slapping the table hard enough to make several cups jump, “if he thought he could outdrink me, he’d best start putting on his burial clothes!”
He let out a loud belch, laughing as the men around him erupted in cheers.
Across from him sat Dunk, who watched the display with wide eyes and the faint look of a man who did not belong here. He had not planned to stay in the Stormlands long; all he wished was to congratulate you both and be on his way, but Lyonel had a way of forcing people to do things they normally did not want to.
“Oy, half-man!” Lyonel suddenly pointed at Dunk. “Have I told you the story of how I killed my first man in battle?”
Dunk rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yes—you’ve told that story three times already, m’lord.”
Lyonel leaned forward, grinning like a mischievous green boy.
“Then you’ll enjoy hearing it again! This time with visuals!”
Lyonel grabbed Dunk, forcing the poor man to his feet as an unwilling volunteer. Dunk didn’t dare protest for whatever the laughing storm wanted, he got.
The tent exploded with laughter and cheers.
Tankards slammed on tables. Someone started chanting Lyonel’s name. A few of the younger knights began placing bets on how the “demonstration” would end.
Lyonel drunkenly looked around, trying to remember where he had placed his longsword, while Dunk silently prayed some god would intervene because he would very much like to leave Storm’s End in the same condition he came in.
Then the tent flap opened
Cold night air rushed inside
And with it—
Lady Baratheon
The change in the room was immediate.
The laughter quieted, conversations slowing as heads turned toward the entrance.
There you stood, your belly heavy with pregnancy beneath your gold and black cloak, your hair slightly disheveled from sleep, one hand resting against your lower back for support as you stepped inside.
But what truly silenced the room was the look on your face.
Angry.
No pissed.
Dunk felt the shift instantly
Lyonel looked up
His grin widened like he’d just received the best surprise of the night.
“Ah my lovely, beautiful wife has graced us with her presence,” he said cheerfully, clearly drunk out of his mind.
He walked to you, pulling you into a loose embrace and pressing a dozen quick kisses to your face. The smell of wine clung to him like armor.
You did not smile too exhausted and too angry to do so.
“I am certain they can hear this party all the way from King’s Landing.”
“Good,” Lyonel laughed. “Mayhaps they’ll come join us and bring more wine. I fear we may be running low.”
The men around the table snorted.
You were not amused.
“Bed. Now.”
Lyonel placed a dramatic hand over his heart.
“But I was just about to play out my best story!” he protested, punctuating the sentence with another drunken burp.
“Play out” his best story… you knew exactly what that meant. The last time he had attempted it, he’d nearly lost an ear and he’d been sober then.
“Lyonel—”
“Five more minutes,” he whined, words slurring together as he waved you off lazily. “I swear I’ll come join you.”
He said the same thing two hours ago, when you first tried to drag him away to bed.
He blinked slowly, swaying where he stood, before drunkenly scanning the room. His gaze wandered without purpose for a moment over the tables, the scattered plates, the poor servant trying to salvage what was left of a feast….until suddenly, he lit up.
“There you are,” he murmured to no one in particular, grinning like he’d just found buried treasure.
You followed his line of sight and felt your stomach drop.
His longsword.
It was lodged halfway inside a full roasted pig, the blade skewering straight through it killing the poor beast a second time. How it had gotten there he couldn't recall, he was just glad he found it. He took an unsteady step forward, entirely too pleased with himself, clearly intent on retrieving it and gods knew doing what next.
“Absolutely not,” you muttered under your breath.
Right before he could reach it, you stepped forward, catching him by the antler crown and yanking him back with far less gentleness than he deserved.
““Wow—!” Lyonel laughed, stumbling back as you yanked him towards you, his head tilting awkwardly as you began pulling him toward the tent exit.
“You are reckless,” you snapped, not loosening your grip for even a moment. “You drink too much, fight too hard and if you get yourself killed before this child is born, I will bring you back from the Seven Hells just to kill you again.”
Dunk’s eyes widened so much it looked like they might fall out.
The Lord of the Stormlands was one of the most intimidating men Dunk had ever met was now currently being dragged like a misbehaving dog.
You kept walking.
“My feet are swollen, my back is in pain and my breast are in sore-.”
Lyonel, still being dragged, looked up at you over with laziness, chewing on his bottom lip.
“And yet you still look so good.”
You yanked harder, causing him to yelp before letting out an amused chuckle.
“The last stressor I need is my husband losing a limb.”
“You’re so adorable when you worry for me.”
And just like that, the two of you were gone your threats and his fond, teasing replies fading into the night.
Dunk sat completely frozen.
“…Seven above,” he whispered under his breath, staring at the entrance for several seconds. “Should—should we help him?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
The lord across from him burst out laughing.
“Help him?”
He shook his head.
“Our lord is exactly where he wants to be.”
Aerion
Aerion Targaryen is utterly, hopelessly whipped…..but only in private.
In public, Aerion behaves as though the marriage is nothing more than a cold arrangement, a political contract with no warmth to it. He barely spares you a glance in court, his gaze distant and glacial, his words short and sharp, his presence deliberately detached.
But the moment the doors shut? He’s entirely a different man
Behind closed doors, he craves your touch like a man starved, like a flame reaching for air. His head on your lap, your fingers threading through his short silver hair, a gentle hand cupping his cheek, hells even your shoulders merely touching. He takes anything, everything, so long as he can feel you. Your warmth grounds him the only thing that can calm the restless dragon. The instant you pull away, even for a heartbeat, he grumbles low in his throat like a displeased cat, catching your hand and guiding it back as if he might wither without it.
Aerion is the most whipped of them all, the most undone by his wife of them all, though he buries it beneath layers of pride in public. In truth, he reveres you, worships you as one the seven themselves (though in his eyes you surpass them). He wants to breathe the same air, exist in the same space…..hells, if it were possible, he would fuse your very souls together just to ensure you could never be parted.
When you are upset with him, that ego he carries shatters. He becomes restless, unsteady, almost frantic, because your attention is not just wanted but vital.
Separate him from you for more than a day he becomes loses it, irritated, upset, impulsive more than usual which is why annoyingly so? You nearly accompany him everywhere a demand sent by the crown though you have suspicions it may have been Maekar who sent it, to control and calm his son.
And yet, despite this quiet obsession, Aerion maintains his facade, his pride unyielding. He would sooner choke on his own fire than allow the court to see the truth….
that behind closed doors, the dragon kneels,
and you are the one who holds the reins.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
It had started as something petty but it angered you all the same.
It was a small dinner, a few lords and wives, cups still overflowing, bellies full, the night slowly dying. One of them a Frey made a distasteful joke about a young serving girl who had just passed.
You were irritated but calmly and gracefully shut the joke down.
He spat back, turning the joke toward you.
That alone, you could have endured.
But Aerion, your husband, had done nothing-
Worse, he had added to it.
Somehow making the joke ever more humiliating.
But no….according to him, it was only a joke, a playfully drunk night and you should not be so soft.
The silence had lasted three days.
Three unbearable days….. for him
You moved through the chambers as if Aerion did not exist.
When he spoke, you answered with polite, short replies or not at all. When he entered a room, you continued whatever you were doing without so much as a glance, some evenings feeling bold you simply left.
You didn’t even spare a thought to Lord Brynden Frey, the one who started this whole thing sudden disappearance from court due to an injury from hunting?
Your anger and annoyance remained fixed on your husband.
At first, Aerion scoffed.
“Petty,” he muttered the first night. “You will tire of this soon enough.”
By the second day, he was following you from room to room not engaging but his eyes burning into you and following your every movement similar to how a predator would to its prey
By the third, you decided you would sleep in your own bedchamber.
You had not done so since the first week of your marriage.
That was when he broke
….
You sat by the window that morning, embroidering quietly in your own chambers when he entered without knocking.
You did not look up.
Aerion stood there for a moment, with a look in his eyes that could kill.
“Are you finished with this foolishness?” he asked sharply.
No response.
Your needle moved calmly through the fabric.
His jaw tightened.
He crossed the room, stopping directly in front of you, blocking the light from the window.
You could barely see now, likely ruining the pattern, but your hand did not stop.
“Acknowledge me,” he demanded, sounding more like a petulant child than a prince.
A soft knock interrupted him.
Before he could tell them to fuck off, you spoke.
“Enter.”
One of your handmaids stepped inside.
“Ah, Lysara,” you said, handing her a folded list. “These are the items I want moved from my husband’s chambers into mine. I would appreciate it be done by the morrow.”
She took the parchment and bowed. “Yes, princess.”
The door closed quietly behind her.
Something inside him shattered.
You had never slept apart not in two years. No matter how fierce the argument, you had always returned to him.
“Seven hells,” he muttered.
Then, suddenly, he dropped to his knees beside you.
The movement startled the embroidery from your hands, but you did not reach for it. Instead, you stared blankly out the window he had just blocked.
His deep violet eyes searched your face, filled with frustration and something close to desperation.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t.
His hands hesitated before slowly reaching for the folds of your skirt.
“Y/n,” he whispered, head lowering in defeat.
Then, with none of the dignity he carried in court, he leaned forward, trying to climb not onto the cushioned seat beside you but on you.
His head nudged against your stomach.
“Stop ignoring me.”
You tried halfheartedly to push him away, but he only made a frustrated sound and shifted closer, half kneeling, half leaning into you, his hands clutching your skirts.
“Aerion—” you grunted, more annoyed than anything at the weight.
Aerion’s voice broke into something that could not be mistaken for anything other than a whine.
“Please.”He pressed his forehead more into your lap, his hands clutching on your skirts tighter “please stop ignoring me.”
After what felt like eternity to him you finally let out a defeated sigh
Aerion stilled instantly, hope flooding through him.
Slowly, you lifted a hand and combed your fingers through his short silver hair.
He melted.
Relaxing against you like a man collapsing after a long, brutal war finally allowed to rest.
“Do you hate me?” he asked, voice muffled against your skirts.
“I should.”
He tensed.
“But I do not hate you, Aerion.”
The tension left him all at once.
He pressed even closer like trying to merge your bodies into one, clinging and refusing refusing to let go.
The terrifying dragon prince who delighted in cruelty, who made the realm tremble closed his eyes and held onto you as if your silence had nearly killed him.
Pairing: Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x female! reader
Summary: Your husband finally wakes up from his slumber, though it is brief as he keeps in and out of it. (5.2k)
Content: Canon divergent / non-canon, pregnant reader, second wife reader, angst, mention of other characters, injuries, pregnancy, alcohol consumption, neglecting, targaryen family stress, takes place on the events of AKOTSK. No use of Y/N.
A/N: This one is longer than other chapters, I just finished it and I messed up my whole writing schedule but worth it. I think that, at least, we will have 2 more chapters (maybe more)
Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language so this may as well be written with my eyes closed and half delusional brain. Hope you enjoy it! NOT PROOF READ AT ALL
Masterlist ✦ (7) < Series Masterlist > (9) ✦ Read on AO3
Days passed while Baelor was still laying on bed, unmoving. Soon the days became half a moon.
A moon of your husband's unconscious form being merely there, existing.
For your part, you had started to comprehend that you needed to take care of yourself too, if not for you, for your babe.
Sitting on a chair next to the bed where Baelor laid, you caressed your swollen stomach, it had become the tiniest bit bigger. By the Maester estimations, you were six moons along.
The mere thought of your daughter was the fire that kept you going, you had to protect her as well as you could, so she would be healthy once she decided to greet you with her presence.
You had made it known to the Maester that you had been suffering from pain in your womb, and after a thorough check up, he had assured you that as long as you would take care of you, the babe would be alright. He explained the pains had been a signal of alarm for you were stressed on days end, however if you were to feel any pain again, you would be bed bound.
As for your husband's condition, you were assured by the Maester that he was improving; the bandages wrapped around his head showed little blood now, his brain seemed to have stopped swelling, rather diminishing. Everything seemed to indicate that your husband could open his eyes any day now.
While you stayed by Baelor's side, Valarr would join you often, listening as you quietly read to your husband or he would establish conversation with you, informing you about what transpired in the Kingdom as his grandfather King Daeron would write to him often. He would inform you of his uncle, Maekar, who was yet to show his face to you as the days passed.
You could only imagine the guilt and anger that must be drowning Maekar to avoid your face.
Yes, you had been too harsh to him, grief blinding you, making him responsible for Baelor's injury, though it held some truth, you did not blame him for the blow at the back of his head, he was just a desperate father trying to aid his son in his time of need. You believed firmly that the Trial as a whole could have been avoided if Maekar showed some strictness towards his son, though it was too late for regretting as the worse had already happened.
You knew that he would show to see his brother while you were resting, as it was the few moments you would leave Baelor.
“Maester Yormwell believes that father could wake any moment” Valarr's voice cut through the room, snapping you out of your thoughts.
Valarr was as sharp as his father, noticing the moment you were far away from there, lost in your own mind. You were grateful for having Valarr by your side at these hard moments, though it was not his obligation, he tried to offer you some comfort, even when things seemed to paint for worse.
You looked at him, a gentle smile adorning your face "I, too, believe he will.”
"You should go get some rest, Stepmother,” Valarr suggested softly.
You hummed softly, knowing he was right “Indeed. I shall see you later, Valarr" you said softly, taking his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before walking to the door. “Ah, and tell Maekar, when he comes to stay by Baelor's side while I am gone, that I hope he decides to face me rather sooner than later"
Valarr chuckled softly, finding amusement in your cleverness. “I shall inform him, My Lady"
⊱ ──────ஓ๑∗๑ஓ ────── ⊰
Hours later, once you were rested and bathed, you made your way to Baelor's chambers, a new book under your arm.
Your thoughts often wondered if he was bored while in his slumber, as you knew he was a scholar, who loved to nurture his mind frequently, so you were taking care of that for him.
Arriving at the heavy doors of the chambers, you noticed these were slightly ajar, signaling that someone was keeping Baelor company.
Curiosity reined over you, pushing the doors slightly enough to peak your head through the door.
Maekar was there, sitting on the chair you used to occupy, holding his brother's hand while he talked to him, reminiscing their childhood and youth.
It was a heartwarming scene, Maekar had always been a man that is not expressive, other than annoyance and anger, but his softest spot was always reserved for his children and his older brother.
You knew that grief and guilt were eating at him, after all, delivering an almost fatal blow to the man you look up to can be no easy doing.
Silently, you pushed the door open enough for you to walk inside, unknown to Maekar. You wanted to giggle, how could you, a pregnant woman, sneak upon a seasoned war general?
Against any odds, you stayed hidden from Maekar's gaze for a few minutes, listening to the recounter of their childhood and youth.
“... and I believe, without your encouragement, I would have not asked father if I could marry Dyanna” he chuckled nostalgic, a sound you could never have thought you would hear from your brother-by-law in a non sarcastic way.
He stayed silent for a few moments before sighing heavily “You must rise, Baelor. She needs you, she is trying to be strong for your child, as she was counseled by the Maester that she could lose the babe, was she to keep neglecting herself”
Maekar was staring intensely at your husband's unmoving form “You do not get to marry again, make a kind Lady as your wife, love you, make her with child and then leave her. She needs you, Valarr needs you" he hesitated for a moment “I need you…"
“He will rise, if he knows what is wise" your soft voice broke him out of his stupor.
“Sister! I mean—" he stuttered, not knowing if he was still allowed to address you by that.
You shook your head, waving him off “Do not trouble yourself, you should not stop treating me as you always have"
He allowed himself to breath after his words sank in "I merely was—”
"Keeping him company while I was not here” you finished for him, walking to take a seat on the chair next to him.
You observed him while he avoided your eyes, his head hung low, staring at his hands.
"You have been avoiding me, Good brother”
He huffed slightly, the sound lacking humor "I did not think you would fancy seeing me after what I did to you” he looked briefly at Baelor "to him”
You sighed heavily “Maekar, I know such words I muttered were hurtful, however you must comprehend I spoke from a place of grief and pain”
Maekar gulped, seemingly divided by the choice of speaking or remaining silent "Most say I intended to kill my brother” he whispered.
"You did not, Maekar, it is plain for all to see how much you two love each other”
"It is of little weight the matter if it was intended or an accident, this whole matter will follow us until we are rotten in the ground” he massaged his forehead "Maybe even long after”
You nodded, knowing he was right "It might be so, though it will be of no importance once Baelor decides to wake up”
He sighed, his gaze sweeping over his brother "When do you think he will rise?”
"Maester Yormwell assures me everything is alright with him, now is up to the Gods”
He scoffed "They are taking their bloody time”
You chuckled softly "Indeed, they are”
⊱ ──────ஓ๑∗๑ஓ ────── ⊰
As more days passed, a carriage arrived at Ashford Meadow; as you are informed, it carries Kiera of Tyrosh— Valarr's wife— and Matarys, your husband's youngest.
When you received the news, you were quick to make haste to receive them.
“Matarys! Kiera! What are you doing here?" you asked them, embracing, as best as you could, each of them.
“I needed to see father, even when he is yet not awake" Matarys said softly, you could see in his eyes that he was trying to appear strong.
Kiera nodded “We came to lend support, as well"
You smiled at them both, tears gathering in your eyes, overwhelmed with both gratefulness and pain.
As you were guided inside by Valarr, who was beyond content to have more of his family with him, especially his wife, you could not help but be aware of the fact that Lord Ashford was being more generous that he should, he had allowed you to stay under his roof while you waited for Baelor to improve.
While the four of you were in Baelor's room, allowing Matarys to see his father, Kiera approached you, allowing brothers to find comfort in each other.
“How do you fare, my Lady?" Kiera asked you, grabbing your hands in hers.
You smiled softly, nodding “I am better, I must admit the first days were the hardest, as I kept neglecting myself"
“And the babe?" she asked, glancing at your swollen midsection.
You put a hand over it, smiling softly “She is alright too, a little too energetic, may I add"
She chuckled softly “She?"
You nodded softly “Baelor and I believe it is to be a girl"
“Wonderful news, she is more awaited for"
You sighed, looking at your husband's still form "I am praying that Baelor awakens in time to meet her”
Kiera squeezed your hand, a reassuring gesture “He will, the Gods will see it done, I am sure"
You smiled at her “Indeed, my dear" you sighed softly “Have you two eaten? I am sure you would like to rest" you suggested, knowing the travels from King's Landing to Ashford Meadow were most wearing and they would be exhausted.
“I am indeed a bit tired, My Lady" Kiera nodded sheepishly.
“Then I will not keep you" you smiled at her “Valarr, would you be so kind as to escort your brother and wife to eat and rest?"
He was quick to nod, standing up from his place "Of course, Stepmother”
You merely nodded, offering the three of them a smile, while you observed Valarr offering her arm to his wife, ushering Matarys with them too.
Once you were left alone with your husband, you took your place at the chair by his bedside.
"Wake up, Baelor. Matarys is here, Kiera is too” you said firmly "We need you and you keep asleep. Enough is enough, my love” you whispered before grabbing the book you were reading to him, opening it where you have left it.
As you read, you failed to notice the slight twitch of his brows, as he was somewhat fighting unconsciousness.
In his slumber, Baelor kept hearing this sweet voice, a voice he believed to have heard a thousand times before, calling for him, urging him to wake up.
He always tried to follow that voice, knowing that it would guide him to his destiny, but as always, he would fail, succumbing to the darkness each time.
How could it be, a voice trying to pull him for his slumber, yet he could not work fast enough to reach it.
He could make out the voices of his brother Maekar, and of Valarr, his eldest.
They both will usher him to wake, telling him that she needed him. He could only guess they were talking of his wife, yes, that is most likely.
You were startled when you thought you heard something. Frowning, you swept your gaze through the rooms. You were alone with your husband.
You tilted your head, watching closely at Baelor's unmoving figure, before hearing another noise. It was coming from him, a quite-like groan or a mumble, you were not sure.
“Baelor?” you asked, leaning in to observe him better "Baelor? My love?”
He could hear the voice, urging him to wake, yet he felt his eyes and body too heavy, as if chains were keeping him still.
You were observing him closely, feeling that he was somewhat fuzzing in his sleep.
"Baelor?” you asked, to be met with no answer.
With a soft groan, you were able to see his eyes fluttering open, though they were heavy. The moment he won the fight against his heavy eyelids, his gaze trailed across the room, taking in his whereabouts. His gaze was unfocused, hazy, as he tried to make sense of it all.
You were patiently by his side, unmoving, as if you were frozen in place while you observed him open his eyes.
Finally, his wandering eyes were set on you, confusion as well as recognition passed through his mismatched eyes.
"Baelor—” you whispered.
"How could—” he rasped before clearing his throat “— a Goddess be by my bedside…”
Tears gathered in your eyes, as you left out a chuckle, happy that he was finally awake. “I assure you, My Prince, I am no Goddess"
You could see his gaze was still hazed, clouded even, as you believed he was confused.
"The Maiden blessed me with the beauty of a Lady by my bedside” he crooked out, his voice was raps and low, as he had been asleep for nearly a moon.
You shook your head, amusement filling your expression “Do not move, Baelor, I will go get the Maester"
As you were to move, intending to find the Maester, you felt a hand wrapping around your wrist. Looking down, it was Baelor's hand, holding you weakly.
"Baelor…”
"Do not go, my Lady” he pleaded, looking at you through clouded eyes and you realized that he did not recognize you, as he was acting lost. "Allow me to set my eyes on you for a few moments, as I feel alive merely by the sight of you”
“I have to go get the Maester—"
He refused weakly “Looking at you, is medicine enough, I do not want to set my eyes upon an old man"
You bite your lip in amusement, you have never seen Baelor drunk, but you recall this is the closest you would ever see him with his inhibitions lowered.
"Alright, I will not go, but let me ask the guard to gather him” You said softly, prying your hand away enough for you to walk to the door, with Baelor following your every move through half lidded eyes.
“Ser Donnel, call the Maester at once, Prince Baelor is awake"
The Kingsguard was quick to nod before making haste to do as you asked.
You went back to check on Baelor, who was now barely conscious "Baelor?”
He offered you a weak smile, opening his eyes as best as he could “You are so pretty"
You chuckled softly, ignoring his comment “How are you feeling? Any pain?"
He shook his head “How could I be in pain while I have a Goddess looking upon me?"
"I am not a Goddess, I already told you” you said softly, taking his hand on yours.
He groaned softly "I am certain you are The Maiden in flesh and bone, my Lady"
You were about to refuse once again, yet you were interrupted by the Maester Yormwell entering the chambers.
“My Lady Princess" he said breathlessly, certainly from his rushed walk there “Is it true? Is Prince Baelor awake?"
Without waiting for an answer he was already moving to set eyes on Baelor's laying form.
"Your Grace? How do you feel?” Maester Yormwell asked Baelor, who was now falling back into unconsciousness.
"Do not go…” Baelor murmured, his hand patting his side, as if he was looking for something.
"Your Grace?” the Maester asked in confusion.
“Do not let her go…” He murmured, now clarifying he was talking about you.
Taking his hand, you gave it a squeeze "I am not moving from here, my love” you whispered softly.
He felt reassured by your words and touch, while his head started pounding angrily, his eyelids becoming heavy while he fought against the drowsiness that threatened to overwhelm him. Soon enough, darkness pulled him back to a peaceful slumber.
The Maester ushered you out of the room while he saw to Baelor's condition, now that he went back to unconsciousness.
You complied, well aware that he needed space to work without you hoovering over his shoulder.
Pacing back and forth through the hall in front of the closed doors, holding your stomach as your babe decided this was a great time to start kicking like a mad person, you heard hurried steps getting closer, only to see Valarr, Matarys and Kiera round a corner.
“Stepmother!" Matarys was the one to get to you first "Is it true? Is father awake?” He tried to push the doors open.
You made quick work of holding his hand in yours "Matarys, wait" you said softly, he was quick to face you, eagerness in his gaze.
Smiling at the three of them, you smiled, tears prickling your eyes with emotion “He did woke up, even for a few minutes" you informed them softly“ He fell into unconsciousness once again, but fret not, Maester Yormwell is assessing his condition"
“Praise the Gods!" Kiera hugged her husband tightly, content with the positive news.
“Indeed" Valarr murmured, hiding his face into the croak of her neck.
Matarys had the ghost of tears prickling his eyes as well, mirroring yours “Oh, my boy, your father will be alright" you reassured him, wrapping one hand over his shoulders.
"I did not think he would awake” he whispered, his young voice broken by fear.
You could only hug him tightly against you— as tight as your swollen belly would allow— to give him some kind of comfort.
Soon after, the heavy doors from your husband's chambers were opened by the Maester.
He was hastily surrounded by all of you, waiting eagerly for news on Baelor.
Maester Yormwell raised his hands, trying to calm you before speaking
"Prince Baelor's health is improving, though he remains unconscious as his waken state was brief and full of confusion"
"Is it a bad sign? That he once again has fallen unconscious?" Valarr asked him, holding onto Kiera's hand tightly, as if to ground himself.
The Maester shook his head “On the contrary, my Prince" he started with a smile “It is a good sign, it tells us the swelling in his brain is diminishing"
“Would he awake soon, then?" you asked, your voice eager to listen to good news about his condition.
"It is probable, yes” Maester Yormwell nodded "Though you should not be surprised if he is confused or incoherent with his words, he has been sleeping for a while now, it would be normal if he acts a little disoriented at first”
“Thank you, Maester" you said softly, your relief and happiness could be noticed a mile away.
He nodded “Glad to be of help, Princess"
⊱
After leaving Valarr and Matarys with Baelor, you went to find the one man that should be standing vigil by Baelor's side as you had been, rather than wallowing in his misery and self deprecating.
You looked all through Ashford Castle before even finding a single person or servant that knew the whereabouts of your brother-by-law.
To say you were upset would be an understatement, you could not believe Maekar, he should have been there when the Maester told you that Baelor was improving in his health, yet he was hiding somewhere in that forsaken Castle.
When you finally found him, he was nursing a cup— rather a bottle— of wine, sitting in front of the hearth of the library, the last place you thought you were to find him, as he was not that much of a scholar.
You sighed once you saw his cheeks slightly tinted pink, meaning he had too much to drink already.
He was not facing you nor acknowledging your presence in the room, as he kept staring mindlessly into a point in the wall.
“Maekar" you called, crossing your arms in front of you in disgust.
“Sister! Come, join me" his cheerfully bitter tone was something you could not have previewed in a thousand years.
“You are drunk, Maekar”
He shrugged you off "Did you not hear? I did not kill my brother!”
You rolled your eyes, growing pissed by the minute "No, you did not kill him but you were not there when he woke up, as you should have”
He was yet to meet your gaze "I was not informed”
It was a poor lie and you knew it.
"Do not try to play a fool, Maekar” you hissed "You were informed as soon as it happened, as were my husband's children”
He clenched his jaw, knowing you had caught up with his lie "I do not deserve to be by his side”
"Oh, is that so?” you asked him bitterly "You would not be by the side of your brother in his time of need?”
"He does not need a kinslayer by his side” he said before gulping down his wine.
Tired of his drunkenness, you walked to him, snatching out of his hand the bottle of wine, throwing it at the burning flames of the hearth.
"Enough of you hiding behind a bottle, Maekar” you hissed "You are not a kinslayer, you are a brother, a grieving one”
“I do not deserve grief as I am the one guilty for my brother's state" he snapped.
“Cut the shit, Maekar" you snapped back at him “Your brother does not need your self deprecating, he need your support and presence, and if you cannot find it in you to grant him that, I do not know what you are doing by drowning in alcohol"
"You do not understand, woman—”
"I do understand, better than anyone, what it is to live a grief for someone that is not yet gone, but I chose to rise and take care of myself instead of wallowing in my pitiful conscience” you snapped at him once again, "I have said my piece, you can choose to either go wait by your brother's bedside for him to wake or drink yourself to death”
Without allowing him a chance to answer, you stormed out of the room, leaving him with his thoughts and reflections on the matter. He knew you were right, that his brother needed him, now more than ever, as they had always been each other's rock and stability.
With a sigh, he stood up, ignoring the pounding in his head, making his way to refresh himself to go see his brother.
⊱ ──────ஓ๑∗๑ஓ ────── ⊰
The following days, Baelor would slip in and out of consciousness, his heavy eyelids not allowing him to fully clear the fog in his head.
It was rare, Baelor thought in his empty sleep, the way he would continue to hear a voice often, one that tried to pull him out of his slumber, insistently.
He would recognize that voice would tell him stories, were from a book or by events he had seemed to recall faintly, but was the only thing that brought him comfort in times where his body nor his mind would respond to him.
For your part, you had started to neglect yourself in a way, not moving from Baelor's bedside in hopes that he would awake, consciously this time. You had stopped yourself to sleep in a bed, rather sleeping by his side in the chair that you had claimed, in a rather uncomfortable position, while cradling your belly.
Valarr and Kiera would often try to usher you to get some real rest, as they phrased it, but you would refuse each time, your mind set on being there the moment your husband would open his eyes.
However, you had tried to keep eating regularly and walking around the room repeatedly, as you knew it was no good for you to be still for long periods of time.
Maester Yormwell would also make you tea and beverages to help your babe nurture in the womb, claiming that it was as much for your health and strength as it was for your unborn daughter's.
For a few days now, you have started to feel a persistent, yet manageable, pain in your abdomen. You had informed the Maester as soon as it persisted, he assured you that everything would turn out fine as soon as you maintained yourself calm, avoiding unnecessary stress, as you had diligently followed.
To your surprise, your words got through Maekar's thick skull, as he would keep you company most of the time, pacing the room listening while you read to your husband or enabling conversation with you about his and Baelor's youth, reminiscing better times, as he had put it.
You were glad he had taken your words at heart, as you did not want him to end up like a man lost in grief and guilt.
You had begun to doze off in the chair you have long claimed, tiredness winning the battle against your stubbornness, while Maekar observed you from across the room. He didn't bother in suggesting you to get some rest, as he knew it would fall on deaf ears, as you refused to move from the rooms.
Maekar noticed some movement in the corner of his eyes, turning his head to see how Baelor was wide awake, moving his hands disoriented.
He was quick to stand up, almost kicking back the chair he was sitting on.
“Brother!" he choked out “Bring a Maester, now!" he yelled towards the open door.
Hearing the commotion you woke up startled, glancing around while trying to make sense of your whereabouts before remembering you were by Baelor's bedside.
“Maekar?" you asked him groggily “What is happening—?"
“He is awake" he said frantically, already by Baelor's side.
You were still confused, your sleep filled head having a hard time catching up with Maekar's frenetic movement.
He saw your confused expression, pointing at his brother— who was still very much glancing to the ceiling as he tried to fight the urge to close his eyes again.
“Baelor is awake, look" he said to you slowly, trying to make you understand his words.
As soon as they registered, you jumped to your feet, ignoring the pain in the back of your waist and belly, making your way to glance down at your husband's awake face.
“Baelor" you gasped, grabbing his hand tightly.
Unconsciously, he followed your voice, turning his head slightly to glance at you. Yours it was the voice that had been keeping him company in the darkness.
He blinked up at you, clearing his throat, as if wanting to speak.
You shook your head, tears running down your eyes “Easy, my love" you whispered “Do not try to talk, we are waiting for the Maester"
His brows furrowed before he offered you a reluctant nod.
You could not believe your eyes, he was awake. He was alert while glancing around, it was a great difference from the times before when he would wake for a few moments, mumbling some incoherent words, before falling back into slumber.
“Where is the Maester!?" Maekar yelled towards the door once again, desperate as he observed his brother's open eyes.
You allowed yourself to meet Maekar's eyes, and they were mirroring your own, bright and watery, he looked like he could not believe that Baelor was finally awake.
Smiling, you offered a nod to Maekar, who to your surprise, returned your smile.
In time, the Maester made his way inside hurriedly, walking as fast as he was allowed.
"My Lady Princess, My Prince” he addressed you and Maekar, moving towards Baelor's laying form.
"Your Grace, how are you feeling?” He asked Baelor, who was staring at you with a strange look in his eyes.
He merely nodded, clearing his throat, trying to talk.
“Do not pressure yourself, Your Grace, you have been asleep for quite some time, it is normal you have troubles speaking" the Maester explained as he moved to grab him a goblet with water. "Would you like to sit up?”
Baelor nodded, groaning slightly as he made the intent alone.
Maekar was quick to aid him, glaring at you when you intended to do the same.
You huffed, still grabbing Baelor's arm to help him sit up. "There” you said with a smile, grabbing the goblet of water and pressing it to his lips "Easy” you murmured softly.
Baelor did not say anything as you so carefully cared for him, yet he kept looking at you.
After refreshing his throat, he finally murmured “My children?" he asked Maekar.
You were quick to answer “Valarr and Matarys would be here shortly, they are being fetched"
He nodded slowly, confusion lacing his face as you so eagerly responded.
“Maekar, where are we? This is not the Red Keep" he crooked out.
Maekar and you shared a questioning glance before he answered "We are in Ashford Castle, Brother” he explained slowly "Don't you remember?”
"Ah,” he said slowly "I cannot recall…"
You frowned, reaching for his hand once again but before you could reach it he moved it away.
Shaking your head softly, you take a seat next to him with a soft groan “Do not trouble yourself, I believe this is to be expected, given the whole ordeal. Is it not, Maester?"
“Indeed, Princess" he nodded at you, checking on Baelor's head.
Tears were running down your face still, though your expression was hopeful as you stared at him.
“My Lady, I mean no harm" Baelor said slowly, as if trying to soothe you "but I would like to see my wife, would you ask a maid to gather her?”
You blinked at him, confusion lacing your expression. You were here, why was he asking you to gather his wife? You were his wife.
“Baelor, what—?" you stuttered, confusion lacing your expression. "I am your wife,” you said softly.
He shook his head, his eyes hardening “I assure you, my Lady, you are not" he said with that tone of voice he only used for court and politics.
“Baelor, I am your wife" you said desperately, begging him to recognize you.
“You are not my wife! Where is Jena? Maekar, where is my wife?" he asked, growing agitated as confusion laced his mind.
You could not hear anything after that, you felt like someone punched you on the stomach, kicking the air out of you.
There was an intense ringing in your ears and you felt the floor moving under you as the pain in your belly increased.
You are not my wife
Where is Jena?
Where is my wife?
Baelor's words keep repeating in your mind, tormenting every breath you hardly took.
He doesn't remember you
He is asking for Jena
His first wife
The ghost you're forever trying to live up to
You don't recall how, but you felt yourself moving, before your knees decided to give up on you, a pair of arms catching you before you hit the floor.
You're not his wife
He doesn't remember you, doesn't love you
You are just a second wife
Feedback and ideas are always appreciated! I'd love requests for fics and I write (try to) for the characters that are listed in my masterlist!!! Feel free to let me know of any typos and something that I might have missed.
do not copy, reupload, translate or feed to artificial intelligence.
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a/n: the insanity of this post even existing is beyond my comprehension
baelor | lyonel | maekar
baelor.
It comes from distance. He is sworn to the realm, first and foremost. Baelor is in possession of the most powerful position, the highest privilege in all of Westeros and still the gods saw fit to bless him with you as his wife. You, who understand the trappings and isolation of duty and do not begrudge him for it. You, who readily communicate and voice your misgivings and grievances instead of letting them fester. You, who match him in near every way.
Creeping loneliness fosters his jealousy toward all those who unduly monopolize your time: the court ladies who yak your ear off with petty squabbles, the councilmen who ramble in circles explaining what you already know, and all the little incompetencies that demand your attention. Baelor is all poise and propriety, but he starts getting short with people. And when you pull him aside to question him in your shared chambers about his poor mood, he finally has his moment.
With half a mind set on bending you over the side of the bed, his kisses are less gentle than normal. But there will be time for that later. He will make time for that later. Baelor is as much a diplomat as a warrior so he is well-accustomed to the power of a well-timed revelation. “I have missed you, my dear,” he says as he takes to his knees to spell out the depth of his longing in between your thighs. Over and over, until you beg for reprieve.
lyonel.
Before he can speak a word, it reads on his face. While Lyonel had been weaving one of his sprawling tales of gallantry, another man stole the first dance from you. As long as you have known him, in every pageant, every feast, every celebration, and even on restless, droning nights at Storm’s End, Lyonel takes your first dance. Across the room, you catch the glint in his eyes. You know what’s brewing. Your poor husband is thunderous, and you must make it right. The challenge is halfway out of his mouth when you kiss him, slow and sweet.
“Fret not, dear husband,” you say, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “I am yours, always.”
It is a simple declaration, no poetry, no rhetoric, but your assertion cuts to the very heart of him. When he finally gets you alone, in the dark and candlelight, he is lost, so he looks for your eyes. Once more, he seeks confirmation. He needs to hear it. One more time. He calls your name, throws your words back at you. " – please, I am yours, please – " A throaty moan leaks past his lips, nails raking red lines on your thighs, hips raising to meet you as you finally heed his begging and sink down onto him.
maekar.
The laugh is unlike he's heard from you. It starts with a harsh wheeze then you're doubled over at the waist as you devolve into unrestrained, shrieking cackles. Ugly and joyful. It is a sound he has never been able to pull from you. Maekar feels the weight of the revelation like ring-laden backhand. Your laughter comes most often as a consequence rather than intention. Regardless, he knows himself. He knows his strengths and weaknesses as well as he knows your own. And so, he stays true to his nature and does as a warrior should. Maekar sets his feet and bides his time. You don’t even see it coming.
The door to his office had barely clicked shut before he’s on you. His mouth rests beneath your ear, one hand on your hip as the fingers on his other work you. Diligence, rather than patience, is his virtue. He is burning, and yet, he keeps his voice soft.
“You weren’t so silent before. Why bother now? Let me hear you.” The pace of his hand remains steady and draws sweeter sounds from you, all of them punctuated by the lilt of his name.
