Hiiii may I ask for AKOTSK perspective on their big wedding day to reader?! (I love Maekar) They are Madly in love and nervous as hell, yet excited to see reader walking towards him and ready to start their lives!?!?
THE WEDDING DAY
featuring: baelor, maekar, dunk, aerion, lyonel, valarr and daeron
a/n: it’s taking me a while to finish these fics because i’m not feeling the best, so i’m keeping it to headcanons for right now (knowing me a few days) but i hope you enjoy!! 💗
A Crown Prince to be married was no ordinary affair, not in the eyes of anyone in the realm, and neither was it in the eyes of the royal family themselves. Baelor had felt shoved all morning, rather in the whole few weeks leading up to the ceremony, not out of spite or duty, but worry. A feeling in the back of his spine, that ached him to his very core.
There was no uncertainty, in fact it was the opposite, only the weight of a thousand eyes waiting expectantly and though he was not shy of any of it, he only hoped you’d be unaffected by all of the pressure.
Squires had tiptoed around him since dawn, and he had been awake before it, barely sleeping at all. Trails of people, frantic and purposeful with trays and bundles of fabric flitted around him from every angle. He had dressed himself in readiness before any other did, preferring the time it took to prepare by his own hand.
“This one.. for good measure.” Myriah, his mother, spoke softly, sliding a pin into place across the chest of his ceremonial wear. A contrast to the deep crimsons and midnight black of dragons, beneath embroidered sigils and twinkling jewel, was the crest of House Martell. A spear through the a bright orange sun, shining proudly through the darkness of his cloak. A simple gesture, but a heavy one, and underneath those that paused around them, they both felt it.
“Thank you, mother.” He inclined his head, taking a deep breath that felt ragged and she only watched, a quiet knowing of that just as the position of his birth and standing, a new addition to the family was just as welcomed.
“It will guide you, as you already have it here.” Her finger poked playfully light into his chest, though there was no heat to it, only truth. The fury of dragons may have carried him this far, to be strong, mindful, powerful in word and step. But the passion and resistance of his motherland kept him on his feet, brought him to you no less. It made him the man he was, and he was not to hide that much less from you both.
The maids continued to fumble with the length of his clothes, shining his boots as much as possible before taking off in a flurry. They exchanged a look then, as warm as the encouraging hand she placed onto his cheek before moving away. He simply nodded, breathing in the air as the door shut behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
The rest of the morning passed swiftly, bells beginning to toll at the nearing of the hour, the hour you were to finally see one another after what felt far too long.
Baelor decided to take himself to the gardens, somewhere he had always found peace, the distant trickle of water, the humming of the breeze and birds. But something stopped him in his path just before. Your corridor, your chambers. A slew of whispers and giggles, excitement and anxiety all at once. He did not stay for long, only allowing himself to hear your voice. He hardly made out what you said, perhaps something nervous, or dreamily, and it lit him up, gave him the last bit of hope that he needed. Confirmation.
He knew it may as well have been bad luck, but such moment of stillness steadied him, settling something inside of him that he would indeed, be worthy of you.
Many heads turned once he walked himself down the aisle standing at the altar in the Great Sept. Though not as many that turned for you, adorned in ivory and jewel, a true ethereal sight to behold, a round of maids and ladies in waiting surrounding you as you departed from them, taking a step toward him.
“Are you ready..?” He spoke quietly, breaking through the hush of the whispering crowd only meant for you as he took your hand in his, guiding you to stand beside him.
His fingers tested over yours, rubbing it along your own comfortingly as your hearts thundered in tandem. Baelor found himself looking more than he’d intended, and he cared not to stop. Your veil hung lengthy in a train over your back, your eyes bright and warm with the same emotion he was swarmed with.
Love.
“You are the most beautiful sight..” He inched closer as the Septon moved to stand before you both, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear as you began to grin. Not the poised and proper manner you had been taught and maids had practiced with you for the weeks prior, but a real one. And all doubt at that moment had fallen away, in fact so did the crowd, it was no longer a spectacle for all to see, it was yours.
He placed his cloak from his shoulders to yours, his fingers over the cloak before the ceremony, grounding himself. And as the bind that tied you both together, bathed in gold and crimson, his grip was firm and reassuring.
Just as he swore it would be for the future to come.
He couldn’t think of anything worse. The camaraderie of it, fabrics and flowers and thousands of eyes on him, on you both. To maks it better he had spent most of the night tossing and turning, irritated it had bothered him so much. If it were up to him, which it certainly was not, it would be private, a smaller ceremony, just as special but not put onto a pedestal.
Albeit it wasn’t, not entirely, the day was for you both, but in Maekar’s eyes, it could be far from it. He wanted to be married, wanting to unify the love you already shared, but not in a parade.
And his somehow shortened temper proved ruthless against all of those around him.
When dawn came he refused himself to be beside you, though it was tradition to keep you apart on the eve of such a ceremony, he made sure he was as far away as possible. Partly because he didn’t want you to see him in such a state, and the other, because he was terrified.
Even Baelor’s gentle encouragement did little to break him from it, even as he paced back and forth against the hard, stone floor.
“Enough fussing, leave us.” Maekar waved his hand at the young squire tugging on his lengthy cloak, a darkened coal black embroidered with a crimson dragon crest over his chest. The boy ducked and tumbled away, meeting the eyes of Baelor.
“Many thanks.” He gestured, and the squire took off at once, leaving them entirely alone in his usually comfortable bedchambers.
“Must it be so nonsensical, all of this running around and chaos.” Maekar grumbled, pacing about the room until he stepped into the back of the armchair, gripping the back of it with taut fingers.
“You are nervous.” Baelor observed, his tone nothing short of amused.
“I’am tired.” Tugging at the collar of his doublet, he met his brothers gaze, and for the first time the grown man had not been there standing stoic and proper, instead it was the measly boy he had grown up beside, wide eyed and vulnerable.
“It is perfectly normal to be, it is a big day. I was when—“
“I’am well aware, and Iam not nervous just..” He stepped forth into the light, just before his brother, “I want to be good enough.”
“And you shall be. She chose you did she not. The both of you are incredibly fortunate.”
“Mhm.” He did not argue.
Baelor even had to shove him down through the corridors until he made his way through the crowd. His grip stayed firmly on his sword-belt, resting on the steel pommel like it would give him some control, some sense grounding so that he may not drive it through his neck out of anxiousness. He did not admit any more, not to anyone, even to his brother. But so many thoughts were running through mind, though one stuck with him most.
Just as he had chosen you before all others, you chose him.
And standing there amongst the crowd, eyeing the expanse of the Sept before him, he went dead quiet, listening. He waited for your steps on bated breath, for the gasps that rocked the crowd at the sight of you. And as he turned, he felt every nerve littering him slip away, a deep plunge punching him in the chest.
“You are,” The words befell him for a moment, his gaze firmly setting on you as if everyone else had disappeared and not that he had cared for them anyway, he couldn’t bare to look around. Not even at his brothers, rather one very proud who encouraged him with a small smile. He stirred from his supposed trance when you gave him a look, a bashful smile, a beautiful one, yours. “Everything..”
His cloak was draped around your form with a restrained urgency, like waiting may well have been a curse.
The cloth around your hands was fastened, signifying your union before gods and commonfol alike. His grip tight as his knuckles brushed yours, almost possessive, but adoringly so. Like the only thing grounding him was through you. And just as the gaze that met Baelor not so long before, you were the only one able to see it, the vulnerable man behind the harsh exterior. Because that one he reserved for those he truly loved, and truly trusted. The front of a hardened man was slowly chipped away, stripped into one in love, and content.
And one that was desperate to cling to your arm the entire night to stay away from clamouring, boorish lords.
Unlike most, a marriage to a hedge knight did not come with castles and thoroughfare. Dunk knew it well, already mulling over the idea of tying you to him for life, no matter how much you convinced him of your acceptance, and how much he want shelf to contain himself. Though, it did come with one man moving from town to town, coin in hand in order to find everything he possibly could.
Flowers, cooks, guests, jewellery, somewhere to be your altar.
He was so close, so certain it was to be perfect, he’d make it so. Though somehow they got lost. A man turned him away, another laughed in his face.
“Don’t look so down, my friend. Here.” A familiar voice, lilting and proud rang in his ears. He barely turned his head before he met eyes with who he already knew feared.
Lyonel Baratheon.
Though that day continued in being swung onto his arm and guided through tourney tents and jolly people dancing and drinking, it had turned into something much more. In fact, with his new friend’s help, he had offered to provide all he needed, or at least assist in the manner. “Such joyous occasion can not go unnoticed, even for a hedge knight.” He clapped him on the back, leaning up just a tad as he boomed over the cacophony of singing and violins.
And what should have been expenses he could not afford became only effort. He took his time in the afternoons stealing away from you, a little more suspicious than he’d have hoped, but he made hearty excuses (reasons) every time. ‘Ave to feed Sweetfoot.. again.’, Armour need sharpening’ He cursed made himself for the words he spoke, not wanting to lie to you, especially with things that made no sense, but before you could protest he was off, striding out into the fields.
With the gift of coin and acquaintance, Lyonel had known, Dunk brought it upon himself to bring your ceremony to life, to make it for the both of you. Quite literally. The pieces of oak ready for the fire he had carved into benches for guests and a pillar for the altar to stand beneath, the rows of summer flowers he had picked from the meadows surrounding, all in bloom of yellows and blues, stood tall and decorated amongst the carpeted aisle he had bargained for with a travelling woman from Dorne.
He was even lent some clothes. A darkened tan emboldened with golden seams of House Baratheon, courtesy of you know who. It hung over his broad shoulders, sweeping as close as it could possibly manage to the ground. The boots he wore were not as broken and battered as usual, his body washed properly scrubbed over and over. He felt like a new man, or preparing to be, and not just for himself, and though he felt about to explode with nerves, he felt proud. He was just the same, rosy cheeks creeping a blush up the back of his neck and ears, the short hairs of his fringe disheveled from the amount of fingers rubbed through his hair.
He could not help the smile that came across his face when he thought of you, feeling the breeze around him, the dew on the grass just beginning to fade into the late morning sun. All of the light, reminded him of you.
For a man of his grand size, he was shaking like a leaf. He stood out like a sore thumb, the flowers he’d planted around the altar of bright oranges and pinks, near the colour of his flush, which he did best to calm with a hand grasped to the back of his neck.
“Gods..” Dunk’s head snapped up, hands falling to his sides as he met the eyes of Lyonel, staring straight past him. “Wha-“
“Your lady waits for you, blessed man.” He smirked, shoving his shoulder lightly to turn him, a confused looking turning into one of amazement.
Blue eyes blinked rapidly open and closed as he watched you walk toward him, stopping him short as if he had just seen the divine itself. A dainty dress adorned your frame, simple and embroidered with pattern and lacing, hugging your curves beautifully, your hair decorated with small cream flowers.
When he placed his cloak around you, he slunk it over carefully, though he was shaking, he was gentle. “My love..” He emphasised that, testing it on his lips in a pattern of reverence. Your hand placed over his, hearing the healer’s words as you both spoke your vows, his words stumbling but true, and though he meant every word, it did not come close to the destiny set in his eyes when he looked at you.
Aerion was not nervous, not particularly. He’d heard with enough whispers and gazes of himself to fulfill a swarm of people, but he wanted this day perfect, and he wanted it him and you.
That was his romance, his own way of stating more than just fear mongering and staking claim around others that you were to be each others.And he would expect nothing less for you. A Prince of the realm, and his princess, there would be nothing but the grandest celebration to be had. Much to the dismay of the servants on the receiving end, though they said nothing in argument.
He had made sure it was traditional, implicating the slightest touch of old Valyrian traditions as allowed at the ceremony. Much like the way he had kept himself from you for the days leading up to the ceremony itself, to him it added to the suspense, that when you would see each other again, it would make up for the lost time. He had slept well in the night before, though that’s all he mentioned to the servants who moved cautiously around him, already privy to his particular obsessive orders. Though on the inside, he was somewhat fractured. He wanted to see you, did not want to wait, he missed you though he would not admit it.
Though he made a vow to prove that to you later in the night.
Even as the voices muffed into the distance, he fixated on you, and only you. The thought of you being his, of everyone from the far reaches of the realm to know you both, as one. He did not register the stoney look in his eye and the distance of his gaze until he was pulled from such thoughts.
“My Prince..” A careful voice called out to him.
“Yes, what.”
“How is it..” The squire ducked behind him, trailing the blood crimson cloak behind him, black as coals on the outside and the inside with linings of red, just as his doublet was. His eyes raked over himself in the mirror, touching the fabric with a tilt of his head at the reflection, imagining it around you instead.
“Good..” He trailed off, leaving what little praise he could give to the young man before he could give a gracious smile. “Now leave.” He snapped absentmindedly, without looking away. And his trance did not end, even as he stormed his way through the Keep with purpose.
Aerion eyed everyone in his way that passed him, a silent understanding right away of his demands, and how not to break them not matter of opinions. He kept his head high, not faltering once until he saw you for the first time. He was sure he wouldn’t, that though feelings spurned deep in his chest he would not let it show. But when you were there, already standing and waiting at the other end for him, in his colours, a soft smile on your features where they met his. He broke. He rolled his tongue between his lips, scrunching his brow until it relaxed, violet eyes watching every step you took until you found him.
You were bound at the altar by your hands, and a scarificial bown full of a red liquid. he placed it to your lip and you over his. His eyes remained on you throughout it all, the grip around you deliberate and claiming, leaving room for something else, something more vulnerable in his eye that could not be named.
“We are now one, dove.”
He had known it from once he met you, you were to be his, and as his arm wrapped around your middle, guiding you both from the congregation and to your seats at the high table, it felt inevitable. The colliding and fated kind, and the one he would not let go of, ever.
Now Lyonel would be nothing if not grand, and though not quite a lord himself yet, he demanded all of everyone to be made up to your standards. which to him couldn’t be reach if tried.
He must have gulped many a sip of wine to get him through the morning, not the kind to get him drunk or sink his sorrows, but the kind that laughter and loudness could not replace. Even for him, he was giddy enough, both cursing and thanking the Gods that they had gifted you to him, though the fear overcame him. His voice expertly loud to mask the nervousness that settled in his tapping foot, and the hand raking through his curls.
Golden browns and yellows had adorned his body, the heavy silver of his crown of antlers placed onto his head proudly, an idea in his head as he toyed with it from the chambers. A tourney tent may as well have down the trick, but he would have not dammed you both to that, not on such an occasion, and so he brought the chaos into Storm’s End.
And even as others ran around him, his teasing quips shouted down the hallways and into the ears of frantic maids, he did it to avoid another doing it to him. And that’s when reality hit him.
It was happening.
“For fuck sake.” He breathed.
“What?” Ser Humfrey Beesbury. Ever the loyal and helpful friend, had stood beside him in the corridor, a quizzical look on his face where Lyonel had stopped dead in the middle of it.
“I’am to be married.. today.” He looked up at the man before him, then gazing down the far end of the corridor, a look of wonder in his eyes.
“Yes.. you are.” But just before it could cripple him, his lips curved, spinning on his heel as he clasped two heavy hands at Humfrey’s shoulders, a frantic and bold grin on his face, near enough pushing him into the stone wall behind.
“Married. Today.. fucking hell, am I not the luckiest man in the realm.” He shook him by the shoulders without thinking, pulling back as he took off in a stride toward the door, the time nearing closer than ever and he could not wait.
Beesbury only shook his head and laughed, following after his friend with a mutual happiness.
A gentle confidence came through him once he set his eyes on you, honey browns twinkling in the light sun rays. There was no chaos, or theatrics, only you both stood before one another, swearing to take one another for life. And he meant it with all of him, even in the wink he left for you once you were bound, wrapped under the warmth of his cloak and colours.
The final gesture was the antlers he had oft worn for himself, just as he did that day, he had displaced it from his head and onto yours, although a little tilted from the weight and sizing difference, the pair of you grinned together, his heart thundering at the sight.
“Worry not, my beautiful wife. We’ll make you your own.”
The celebrations were grand, an altar before a great tree with many eyes and well wishes to send you on. An applause settled behind you, thundered by many familiar faces you came to know, the Fossoway’s, the Hardyng’s and of course Beesbury’s, even a particular beloved hedge knight had stood in the gathering. The lot of you were bundled together, and stayed so even as the intricate details of florals and propriety had descended into true celebration, with cups flowing and raucous laughter.
And even as you danced and sang together, Lyonel did not leave your side hardly once, and his eyes gave him away every time he looked your way.
Utterly in chaotic love.
Valarr had been taught well, his posture, his words, his looks. All of what was required of him. But nothing could have prepared him for this, even if he did his best to prove otherwise. A commitment, a real one, nothing like on the tourney field or in lesson, but one of love.
And he was determined.
He remained composed as he possibly could, but inside he was.. focused. Thoughtful it felt like, the weight of it washing over him more than the pulling and ruffling of his clothes did. Under armour and chainmail, his sword belt and the doublet and cloak of Targaryen colours in blacks greys and red, he felt bare.
He thanked the maids and servants that had dressed and readied him, taking a moment by the window to take it in. The breeze of Blackwater Bay swayed in from the wide balcony, his eyes closing as his hands gripped the balustrade, picking at the sandy rock that had stood there for hundreds of years. He looked up to the sky then, gazing out into the distance.
“Please let us be well, let me keep us safe.. to do right by this, by her.” He spoke aloud, louder than he had meant to. More meant for himself, to disappear in the wind as he did when he often took moments to center.
“And you will..”
Valarr snapped up at the familiar voice.
His father.
He was dressed in similar colours, not far off from himself only the image of him in years to come. His face flushed a deep red of embarrassment as he hung his head low, Baelor stepping forward into his space and into the balcony.
“You will do right by you both you already have to come this far, my son.”
He only nodded, looking back at his father and reading everything with a steady exhale. Valarr believed him, he couldn’t not, not with the assuring look he gave him, an understood urgency.
“Now come.. it is time.”
“Let’s go.” He breathed deeply once, straightening his back before standing beside his father, just as tall as him now, and just as grown it would appear.
They shared a chuckle, a hand clasped onto his back as they moved through the halls. Valarr studied everything in his passing, every detail, every lettering and arrangement, remembering it all as if he could commit it to memory so simply.
His nerves crept harder once he stood before everyone, his family, his father and brother and mother.. everyone. His hands flexed and fell, breath stuttering and sharpening to a still once you appeared, pulling from the shadows and through the crowd.
He could not speak once you stood beside him, only the curve of his lips as it settled into a pleased smile, almost an unbelievable one, his eyes unreadable but pupils blown wide. His emotions were reserved but loud, his thumb storming over yours through the handfasting, standing a little closer to you as he moved the cloak from himself to you with a quiet tenderness.
“You are all I could ask for and more, my love..”
And just as he did the chaos of the day, with florals and banners, he looked at you as if you burn you into his brain, to remember you that way, forever.
To be the eldest grandchild of a King was enough, to be a disgraced man was another. Daeron hadn’t dreamed of himself being married, much less falling in love at all, and yet he did, madly. It was expected of him, as it was all the others of course, but to find you was another thing. You were his light, his hope, his everything, and that only drove him more mad.
How was he to handle that? To do right by you? Much less himself.
He’d heard it from the others. All the advice given, what to do, what not to do, what would be best, most romantic. All the madness from Aerion, all the chivalry from Baelor and Valarr and yet it still surpassed him.
He let them do the rest, keeping away from every possible outing and tray of wine that passed by, every part of setting up the castle in somehow something more grand than it tried to be. He was already distracted and half lost in thought of you by early morning. The chaos descended around him, a joyous occasion and he drank it in, though he hardly spoke, as sleep did not come to him as per usual, but not plagued this time, only awareness.
“Do right by this, boy.”
“You think Iam not trying.” Daeron fumbled with the cuff links at his sleeves, a creamy white that matched the rest of him, all except the dark cloak at his back. He had heard it all already, not meeting the eyes of his father just yet.
“You are, and that is what matters.” Daeron turned his head at that, violet eyes reading almost disbelieving at what he had heard. Maekar wasn’t one for words, he knew this, but even as his hand grasped at the wood of the door he nodded slowly.
And his father inclined his head back.
And that was enough, they knew it both then. A silent understanding, of both pride and a love. Maekar left him to be alone after that, and though it could be said they had more than enough in common, a sense of ease riddled him then, knowing it was not just in anyone’s hands, it was in yours.
Emotion was hard on him, scribbling down thoughts into the nearest handbook he had strewn over his desk, the heaviness of his doublet feeling enough to pull him through the floor. It was a harmless habit, spewing out the words of what he could recollect, his hopes, his wants, his dreams.
He didn’t care to hide the look on his face or the shiver that wracked his body once you stood before him, his hands curling over your own to steady you both. It was poetic, sincere in the only way he knew how, his striking features on view for you to see more so with his golden hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.
Daeron was so lost in repeating the septon’s words, and gazing at you that he had forgotten he had sunk the small piece of parchment into his cloak pocket, unaware it was to be around you before too long. And by the time you had placed your hand into it, out of pure seeking for warmth and comfort, you felt it, paper between your fingertips.
You pulled it out slyly as you walked from the Sept and into the gardens, where further celebration was to be held. It slit into your palm before you opened it, and his eyes widened in realisation as he stepped beside you, going to snatch it from you. But it was too late, your eyes already burning into the page, his face paling.
“To my softest, and sweetest dream.. do not let this one end. Please”
