#sansan

Fortunately, Baelor himself was nothing like the court. He was gentle and steady. As well as being patient with your quietness in a way that made your chest ache unexpectedly whenever he smiled at you.

And over the last several nights, he had spent more time grumbling about council meetings than anything remotely scandalous.

“The chairs are made to punish men,” he muttered one evening while unlacing his boots. “I swear my father believes discomfort breeds wisdom.”

You sat brushing out your hair before the fire, glancing at him through the mirror. “They cannot truly be so terrible.”

Baelor looked at you as though you had questioned whether water was wet. “My lady wife,” he said solemnly, “they are carved from stone disguised as wood.”

You laughed softly. That laugh had become one of his favorite sounds. So much so that he crossed the room immediately, pressing a kiss against your temple and looked at you adoringly.

“You mock my suffering.”

“I do,” you admitted.

“And now you wound me further.” He jested.

And then he proceeded to complain for another quarter hour while you unsuccessfully attempted to look sympathetic.

But in the coming days and unfortunately for you both, Baelor had made the mistake of voicing those same complaints publicly. Which was how you found yourself seated quietly at breakfast two mornings later while the entire royal family stared at you.

You nearly dropped your cup from the amount of eyes staring into you. “What?” you asked faintly.

Across the table, your good brother Maekar looked profoundly unimpressed. “Must you cling to him so fiercely?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked unsure of what he was asking you.

Beside him, his son Aerion snorted into his wine. “It has only been days,” Aerion drawled. “at least allow my uncle to walk upright.”

Your face went hot instantly. “I…I am not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come now,” Valarr said with poorly concealed amusement, “Father has done nothing but complain of his back aching.”

You turned sharply toward Baelor who suddenly looked deeply interested in his breakfast.

“My back does ache,” he muttered.

Aerion barked out a laugh. “Gods, she’s going to kill him before the moon turns.”

“I am not hurting him!” you blurted out, horrified coving your mouth with your hands. That only made it worse. Even the servants nearby lowered their heads to hide their smile.

Baelor pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is the chairs,” he said for perhaps the tenth time in many days, but to no avail no one listened.

“Chairs,” Maekar repeated flatly, “You would have us believe the chairs are what is causing this?”

“Yes,” Baelor replied.

“The council chamber chairs.”

“The very ones,” Baelor answered.

Aerion leaned back lazily. “That is a remarkable coincidence.”

You looked between everyone helplessly. “He told me about them,” you insisted quietly. “They sounded awfully dreadful.”

At that, Valarr finally lost composure and laughed outright. Baelor groaned.

“You, see?” he said, gesturing toward you. “My wife comprehends me.”

“She is trying to defend your dignity,” Maekar said.

“A hopeless cause,” Aerion added. “You married days ago and now walk like some old man.”

Baelor shot him a dark look. You had your face briefly behind your cup, mortified beyond words. “I truly am not the reason his back hurts.” You mumbled.

Aerion grinned wickedly that made you uneasy. “That only convinces me further.

“Leave her be!” Baelor snapped at last, more protective than angry, “You are embarrassing my wife when she has done not a single thing wrong.”

“I think she embarrasses easier than most.” Valarr said kindly, which was unfortunately true.

Your cheeks still burned as Baelor reached over and quietly took your hand beneath the table. A small gesture. It was steady. He rubbed his thumb gently over your knuckles.

“Do not mind them,” he murmured softly only you could hear. “My family delights in torment so you have my apologies.”

“You married into it,” Maekar said dryly from across the table, somehow hearing what Baelor said to you.

Baelor sighed heavily. “You see what I endure?”

“The chairs and the family both it would seem,” you whispered.

That earned another laugh from him. It was warm and proud. The sort of laugh that made you feel less like an outsider at court and more like something precious he meant to keep close. Though Aerion ruined the moment immediately.

“Well,” he said lazily, raising his cup toward you, “whether it is the chairs or the Tyrell bride, our dear Uncle Baelor appears thoroughly conquered.”