#maek

“Enough, Maekar,” Uncle Baelor mounted his horse and settled next to his father. “Let the girl enjoy her last moments of peace.”

“What peace?” Maekar snaps back. “It would have been wiser to marry her off for alliance, instead of her twin fucking brother. Who allowed this marriage to go through?”

“Our father?”

“Rhaegals madness seems to have infected him—“

Their banter continued, but Aerion had tuned it out. To him, his family was a shadow of the glory they once held. To his left sat his drunkard brother. Aerion’s expression hardened as he took in Daeron’s appearance, the remnants of a late night written plainly across his face.

Aerion himself had spent his fair share of time in Silk Street, but that had all ceased once he was married. When he first heard of the arrangement, Aerion was vehemently opposed. He spent days in his father’s solar, arguing, demanding, begging him to reconsider. However, the decision was made by his grand sire, and King Daeron refused to go back on his word. 

They claimed it would strengthen ties with the Vale, though Aerion strongly doubted it. The news came suddenly after his grandsire and uncle had attended a tourney there. From the moment you had arrived, the King had taken a peculiar interest in you. He would summon you to his solar or the library at all hours to discuss matters Aerion neither followed nor cared for. 

Why didn’t he just marry you himself if he would take up all your attention? Aerion hadn’t given much attention to you until an explosive argument the two of you had in the gardens.

His family had arranged for the two of you to break fast in the garden that morning. A way to acquaint yourself before the ceremony. The summer heat added to the already tense atmosphere. There were small insects swarming around them, trying to get a piece of the sweets displayed in front of them. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the summer season, but instead preferred to be at his family’s private estate at Summerhall. The air was much more fresh and everyone felt relaxed being away from court. 

“— and I’ve grown quite fond of the library. The scrolls your family holds contains knowledge much more in depth than—“

Truthfully he hadn’t been listening to a word you were saying. A droplet of sweat rolled down his back. His heavy doublet felt stuck to his skin.  

“I am uninterested in your ramblings. If you want to go on about history, then you should've become a septa.”

A silence filled the air. 

“Unlike you,” her voice slowed, “I was taught to value knowledge over arrogance.”

“Oh?” His teeth grit at her remark, “I thought a lady is taught to speak only when spoken to?”

“And here I thought your feeble-mindedness prevented you from speaking.”

Their voices began to grow louder as they continued to banter. Around them, servants slowed and ladies of the court began to whisper. 

Aerion placed his hands on the white tablecloth and leaned forward, he seethes “you speak boldly for someone who has only just arrived at court.”

“If boldness unsettles you, then perhaps you are less suited for court than you believe,” the chair scraped against the cobblestone as you rose. “And might I remind you that I was brought here on your family’s request, not my own.”

You’d stormed out without allowing him to reply. From then on, Aerion relished in getting a rise out of you. He wanted to fight, wanted to break down your perfect demeanor. 

He’d start out small. Stepping on your toes during your obliged dances, ripping out pages from your current read, and interrupting you when you spoke at dinner. 

After marriage, it became worse. A hand innocently placed on your thigh would trail upwards. He’d lean down to whisper only to bite down on the cartilage of your ear. Once, Aerion had removed all your nightwear from the dresser in your shared chambers. 

To his chagrin, you had slept in your evening gown that night. 

Finally, Aelora had stepped out from the main gate, the courtyard quieting as all eyes turned to her. She made her way towards the end of the procession, where her carriage lay. Her long train, dragging against the dirt, slowed her. Aerion settled himself onto his black mare, readying himself to march along with his family when a commotion caught his attention. 

A coachman leapt from his saddle. A saddle? Why the fuck–

“My Prince–” the man called out breathlessly, “t-the c-carriage.”

“Out with it.” He snapped. 

“We were ambushed on our way to the Sept.” A heaviness started to grow at Aerion’s chest. “And afterwards, I checked the carriage and it was empty.”

“Empty?” Aerion stilled. 

“Three men were surrounding us, my prince. We were forced to halt and they killed the guard stationed with us.”

“I thought the princess remained inside, but when I checked, it was empty.”

Aerion wasted no time, he maneuvered his way out of the procession, towards the main gate. 

A jolt pushed him to a stop. His father had grabbed onto his reins, stopping him. 

“For fuck’s sake, Aerion! You don’t know where she has gone. Think before you act.” his voice stern, laced with worry. “The assailants may still be out there.”

His grandsire was already shouting orders. A group of white cloaks were gathered and ready to search the city. Another group sent to the docks, stopping any ships from leaving King’s Landing. 

Aerion’s vision started to blur, his heart was racing and he felt light-headed. 

“I must join the search.”

“No. It’ll do no good if you are harmed.”

He wrenched the reins out of his fathers grasp, trying to pull his horse forward before Maekar could reach him. He didn’t get far because his Uncle Baelor was already waiting at the gate, blocking his path. 

“Aerion,” his tone calm, but unyielding, “they will find her.” 

“Move.”

“Go back inside,” Baelor continued. “The wedding is off. We will wait for word.”

“You fucker.” Aerion snapped. “You expect me to sit and wait?”

He urged his horse forward, but Baelor did not move. 

He swung down from the saddle, abandoning the horse entirely. He decided he would make the journey by foot. 

But he barely got a few steps in when the world started to tilt. His vision blurred at the edges and sensation drained from his limbs. 

His steps faltered and his hand came up to his face instinctively. 

Maekar stood behind him, one arm steadying his son and the other holding a cloth firmly over his nose. 

He angled his head to look back at his father, betrayal shone in his eyes. ”Fuck you,” he muffled against the cloth. 

~

“Where the fuck is she?” 

You crouched deeper into the bush trying to mold yourself into the dirt as Ser Ronnel continued to shout. 

“She couldn’t have gone far, search the area.” He commanded. 

The guard who was tasked to escort you lay dead near the front of the carriage. The coachman was gone, and you had seen him mount a horse and ride off. You didn’t know if he had gone for help or simply taken the chance to escape. 

Your mind raced trying to come up with a plan.

There were two options: you could walk the gravel path back to the Keep or make your way through the woods. The gravel path would make you too vulnerable to another attack, but it would be the fastest way back.

Carefully, you shift your weight, easing off the bush without causing too much noise. You cut through the trees in a zigzag pattern, making your path difficult to follow. Every snapped twig felt like a death sentence, but behind you, the shouts grew fainter. 

You had been walking for what felt like hours, weaving through the trees with no true sense of directions. Every step felt like you were just heading deeper into the woods than out of them. 

You weren’t sure how much longer it would take to get back to the Keep. Initially, you were under the assumption that you could be back by nightfall, but the sky was already turning a deep shade of orange. 

Eventually, your legs gave out, and you sank down to the base of a tree. Your back against the rough bark as you tried to steady your breathing. The forest was so quiet, every sound stood out. 

A wave of nausea hit you without warning and you bent forward, bracing yourself against the damp soil. 

You had decided that you would close your eyes for just a moment. Curled up against the moss, you couldn’t bring yourself to keep your promise. 

~

It was past sundown when Aerion finally stirred awake. His throat felt like sand and he instinctively tried to swallow.

He lay there for a moment, still disoriented on what was going on. He was in his chambers, that part was evident. But why his entire family lineage gathered in the lounge was beyond him. There was a dull ache in his wrist, his arm was tingling and numb. 

He was tied to the fucking bed. 

“You motherfucking– mmpf”

His father, sitting on the settee next to the bed, stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth.

“Enough, boy.”

Aerion’s eyes burned and his chest was rising and falling with uneven breaths as he strained against the bindings. The rope dug into his wrist with every tug. 

“Let me know when you are ready to talk civilly."

Aerion snarled against the gag, jerking again. The frame of the bed creaked beneath his efforts. He started thrashing, and he managed to get a kick to his father's upper thigh. 

Aemon stood off the side, “He’ll hurt himself.”

“Good,” Maekar replied without looking at him. “Perhaps he’ll learn to think before acting.”

Aerion’s gaze snapped to him, wild. 

Think?

He finally managed to force the cloth forward with his tongue. 

“You–”

Maekar was on his feet in an instant, shoving it back in with little patience.

King Daeron stepped forward, his voice calmer. 

“We have men searching,” he said. “The City Watch has been alerted. And riders have been sent along the kingsroad and into Kingswood.”

He leaned forward and removed the cloth from his grandson’s mouth. 

“And Maekar, this is no way to discipline your son. I have never done such a thing to you. I don’t know where you learned this.” He said, giving a sharp tug at Maekar’s ear. 

“That is not enough. I need to go out there and find her.”

“Aerion, we don’t know who is behind this.” Baelor started, “If you go out there, there is a chance you could be hurt.”

“If you fuckers hadn’t–” the gag was shoved back into his mouth.

This time, he started screaming, muffled by the cloth. He landed a blow against Baelor’s stomach. 

Maekar seized him by the neck, pushing down into the pillow, while Baelor held down his legs. It would be great treason if he ended up assaulting his grandsire. 

“If you want to speak,” Maekar’s voice was low and dangerous. “You’ll do so without raising your voice.”

Aerion’s chest heaved beneath him. The whites of his eyes were streaked with red, angry tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you understand?” Aerion only managed to give a small nod. 

Maekar removed the gag from his mouth, and Aerion twisted immediately, attempting to bite down on his hand in retaliation, with no luck. 

“If you hadn’t drugged me,” Aerion spat, “I could have told you who the assailants were.”

“How would you have that information?” King Daeron interjected. 

Aerion explained the whole situation to his kin. About your memories returning and the guard who caused your initial accident. 

“Why hadn’t you informed us?” Maekar demanded. 

“I was handling it myself.” Aerion snapped back. 

“We could have provided more help. We could have prevented this.”

“There’s no need to place the blame on him,” Baelor cut in. “What’s done is done, but now we must act.”

~

Hours had passed by the time you had woken. Above you, the sky stretched dark and endless. 

You lie back, staring up at the stars. Willing them to guide you home. You were stuck in the middle of the woods with no knowledge of which way would take you to the Red Keep. 

Your stomach twisted from hunger, but you may as well die of starvation before you hunt down a poor animal. 

A soft breeze stirs the trees above you, but the feeling is not soothing. 

You sit up against your body’s wishes. Your muscles are stiff from being curled up in the same position. Your fingers press against the dirt beside you, pushing up onto your feet. 

You freeze when you hear the sound of a twig snapping. You instinctively move back from the sound, but a branch catches at your gown. 

You hear another step, but you’re uncertain of which direction. Running would put you at a disadvantage. Your body hurts so bad that your slowness would give away your position, instead of getting you further from the attacker. 

Your eyes drift towards a fallen log, hollow enough to conceal you. 

You drop low, forcing yourself to slow your breathing despite the panic clawing at your chest. Reaching the log, you crawl inside. Thankfully, you had ripped the skirt of your gown long ago to prevent it from giving you away. It would not have fit in the tight space. 

“Come out, mousy.” Ser Ronnel drawls. 

How had he found you? You were so deep in the woods. You put your forehead down, trying to slow her breathing as much as possible. 

Your hands trembled against the wood. Peeling your eyes open, you could see the back of his heel against the opening of the log. 

After a long pause, the heel disappears. 

Your lungs burn as you keep still, forcing yourself not to gasp for air. Instinctively, your fingers curl around your knife– the one you always keep on you. The one you had attacked him with on the day of your accident. 

A hand slams against the opening. You jerk back as his arm forces its way inside, fingers grasping blindly. 

“Found you.”

You lurch the knife forward, embedding it within the palm of his hand. His loud scream pierces through the quiet night. 

You scramble backwards, forcing yourself out the other side of the log, ignoring your limbs protest. 

Branches tear at your clothes as you start running. 

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he calls. 

Every turn you made, you could hear him advancing close behind you. How did he know these woods so well?

Ser Ronnel grabs hold of you before you even notice how close he was. 

“Enough, sweetling.” His rancid breath brushes against your ear. 

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper. 

A beat of silence passes, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on you. 

“You still don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You were never meant for them,” he continues. “Not for him.”

Aerion.

The name hangs unspoken between you.

“You don’t belong there,” he presses, his voice lowering and more coaxing.

“What do you speak of?”

“Have you never thought of it? Your family holds little power in the Vale, compared to the greater houses, and you are their last child. You were not meant for royalty.”

What? You knew that your marriage had been sudden…

“Our fathers were in talks for marriage for years,” he continues. “You were to be handed to me when you turned nine and ten years.”

What the fuck? It was not unheard of for less noble houses to betroth their daughters to established knightly families, but her father never mentioned any potential suitors before Aerion. 

While he continued rambling, you reached back for the knife tucked safely between your forearm and sleeve. 

“But then that bastard King came along–”

Bastard? Was he a supporter of the Blackfyres?

“-- and wanted you for his grandson. And who could say no to them?”

His grip was slowly loosening. “And I never wanted to hurt you. I simply wanted to take you back, so we can marry in front of The Faith of the Seven, not those Valyrian Gods.”

With enough room, you turn and lodge the dagger deep in his chest. 

“My love?”

“I’m not your fucking love.” You extract the dagger and give another deep stab to his shoulder. 

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you leave my family and me alone.” Another stab. 

“I came all the way to King’s Landing to be close to you. I love you.” He whimpers. 

He falls to his knees, and you take the opportunity to grab a large boulder and smash his head. A small indent appeared on the base of his skull. 

His unconscious body lay face down on the ground. You were unsure if he was dead, but did not want to risk checking. 

Once again glancing upwards, you locate the North Star Polaris and make your way home. 

~

It was the dead of night when you finally reached the keep. 

The city had gone quiet, and the usual noise was replaced with soft murmurs and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Most of the torches along the outer walls of the Red Keep had burned low, making it hard for you to navigate the entrance of your home. 

You found an entrance that was tucked along the base of the wall, half-hidden behind creeping ivy and shadow. You had never seen it before, and it led you straight to the city. 

With a soft creak, the door opened. Before you was a narrow staircase spiralling upwards. The air was stale and untouched by the Keep above. This passage had not been meant for lords or ladies, but mayhaps servants' quarters?

You moved slowly, your fingers brushing along the stone wall as you crossed the space, more out of instinct than thought.

Then, you noticed a sliver of light from the smallest crack seep through. Pressing your face against it, you could make out a bedchamber and voices. Was that… your husband’s grandsire?

You walk further down the corridor to another crack in the stone. And there lies another chamber of a royal member. 

You realized that these passages ran through the Keep, behind the walls, and were not meant for any servants or guards. An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. Could these passages be used by assassins? Who else knew about them?

You hurried along the corridor, peaking through each crack, until finally you found your own chambers. 

Pushing the panel open, you almost trip entering the room. The scene in front of you is surreal. Your father-in-law sits slumped in a chair, his eyes drifting shut, while your husband lies on your marital bed, bound to the bedpost.

Through open doors, you can see the rest of your family gathered in the lounge. The younger children are sprawled across the settees, half-asleep, their small forms curled into one another. 

“Sister?” Aemon is the first to notice you. 

At that, Aerion’s head snaps up. 

“Untie me,” he grits out to his brother. “Now.”

“Call for a maester,” Baelor instructs, already rising.

Only then does it hit you what you must look like. Strands of your hair were in knots with twigs tangled within, your dress was torn and blood-soaked, and there was dirt covering your clothes, face, and hands.

“You’re going to snap your wrist,” you rush towards Aerion as he keeps tugging at his restraints, Aemon beside you, undoing his other hand. 

You barely have a moment to protest before you’re surrounded.

Are you hurt? No. 

Whose blood is on you? Ser Ronnel Darklyn

Where is he now? In the Kingswoods

Were there others? Yes, two others.

The interrogation continues as the Maester examines you. You explained in great detail how you had escaped the carriage through the hidden compartment at the base, made your way through the forest, had become fatigued and fell asleep, woke up to Ser Ronnel Darklyn confessing his love and devotion to you, proceeded by you stabbing him multiple times, and finally making your way to the Red Keep through a hidden passage.

“Well then,” Baelor says after a moment, “we’ll send men to retrieve his body.”

You were relieved at the sight of your handmaids beginning to prepare a basin. You could not stand the feeling of grime for another minute. 

Your husband was silently watching you from the corner of the room. 

“I was terribly worried,” Aegon whispered, his arms around your neck, giving you a gentle hug.

“Don’t worry, my love. I can care for myself.” You gave him a tight squeeze. 

“I cannot believe you killed him.”

“I am a better fighter than your brother,” you jest, trying to get a rise out of Aerion. You just wanted him to acknowledge the situation. Tell you he was worried, that he was scared, anything really.  

“I don’t doubt it,” Aegon whispers with a knowing grin. 

Suddenly a loud thud as Aegon was pushed to the ground. 

“Stop hogging her,” Daella exclaimed, climbing onto your lap. 

“No need for violence, there’s enough of me to go around.”

“I was more worried than Aegon. Who would do my hair in the morning? The maids are terrible at it!”

You coddled the children for a few more minutes until their nursemaids ushered them to their chambers. It was late enough, and they needed rest, or they would be nodding off during their lessons on the morn. 

Entering the water, a soft quiet settled over the room. You leaned your head back in the basin, eyes closed. The lavender oils soothe you to sleep. It was just you, Aerion, and the maids left. 

“Leave us,” Aerion stays, rising from the settee. 

“My Prince” the maid pauses her scrubbing, “we’re not finished washing the Princess.”

“Leave.” He grabbed the cloth from her hands. 

The maid turns to you, and you give a reassuring nod. 

Aerion lowers himself onto the stool beside you, as he resumes their task.

“My husband,” you murmur, eyes barely open, “do you have something to say?”

“I thought you were dead.” His voice was just barely a whisper. “They had to restrain me from going out for you.”

“No need to dwell on it. I am very much alive.”

“It’s my fault”

“How?”

“I should have gone after him the night you told me about your memories. I should have brought it to my father’s attention. My grandsire attention.”

You reach out to grab this free hand, leaning your cheek against his palm. 

“He’s gone now,” you turn your face to kiss his open palm. “Do not mull over it.”

He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. The movement is slow and intimate, and you couldn’t remember a time when he had been so loving. 

Your hand rests on the base of his neck, twirling a strand of his hair. 

“I’m tired,” you confess, when his hand travels up your inner thigh. 

“I care not,” he says, before lifting you from the tub. 

Your body is still dripping water as he places you upon the furs of your bed. 

“My wife,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, your breasts, your stomach. 

“My princess,” you let out a moan when his lips reach your inner thigh. 

“A better knight than me?” he pauses, head tilted and watching you. 

“Shut up,” you tug at his hair, urging him to come back up. 

Lifting his chemise over his head, you let your palms trace his body. His muscles are soft against your skin. 

He shoved his pants down and kicked them away. Aerion positioned the head of his cock against your entrance and lowered himself into you. You cried out at the feeling of utter fullness. 

He didn’t allow you time to adjust as he dropped his palms beside your head and began to increase the pace of his thrusts. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure coursed through you with blinding intensity. Aerion’s face twisted with concentration as he kept his rhythm. You leaned up to give him a gentle kiss, trying to slow the pace. 

He sharply pulled out, grabbed onto your hips, and flipped you onto your stomach. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, and you felt his chest lower to your back. His cheek pressed against your shoulder as a wave of pleasure began to build in your lower stomach. 

“It’s too much,” you gasped, gripping onto the sheets. 

He didn’t grace you with a reply as he slammed even harder, his hands snaking around you and cupping your breast. Stars erupted in your vision as you clenched around him, causing him to let out a low grunt. 

His thrust became uneven and jerky as his release spilled into you. The heavy weight of his body collapsing onto yours. 

Exhaustion from the day's incidents hit both of you as sleep took over. 

~

The bells tolled at dawn.

By the time the city stirred, Ser Ronnel Darklyn’s body had already been strung up in the square, left to sway beneath the rising sun.

A reminder of what becomes of those who defy the blood of the dragon.

~