Chapter Text
Maekar arrived on a warm spring day in the year 175 After the Conquest.
It had been three moons since Baelor's fifth name day when his brother was born. Despite his young age, Baelor was a bright child with a sharp memory, a trait the Maester often praised.
Baelor came to his mother's chambers for a visit and found the small cradle placed beside her bed. His mother looked exhausted, yet a smile never left her face when she saw them peeking through the doorway.
"Baelor, my sweet son, come and see your little brother!"
The scent of his mother's pheromones filled the room, masking any lingering trace of blood. One handmaiden was busy burning incense, while another hurried to open the windows. Baelor entered slowly, followed by his brothers. Being a well-mannered boy who knew his etiquette, he went to his mother first.
"I am glad you are well, Mother!" he said.
"Oh, my darling boy," Myriah Martell smiled, caressing his cheek.
Baelor chuckled in return, revealing a missing front tooth he had lost only that morning.
Then, driven by curiosity and a growing longing, his heart raced as he approached the small cradle.
"His father named him Maekar," he heard his mother say as he took his first look at his baby brother.
While Baelor had olive skin, brown hair like his mother, and eyes of different colors, Maekar had their father's hair—the Valyrian silver that Baelor hadn't inherited—and skin as pale as snow.
Maekar was everything Baelor was not. He was beautiful, smelling of milk and coconut.
"He's grumpy," Aerys, the second brother, remarked. He peered over with a dissatisfied scowl, while their third brother, Rhaegel, was pressed against the wall, licking it.
"It seems he doesn't like the sunlight," Baelor noted, glancing at his mother, who was busy taking her medicine from a handmaiden.
Rhaegel moved suddenly, bumping into a side table and knocking over a wine cup with a loud clatter.
The older brothers frowned and sighed at him. In that moment, Baelor saw it—Maekar opened his eyes and looked straight at him. His eyes were a pale violet, much like their grandmother Queen Naerys', but sharper.
Baelor found himself smiling instinctively, feeling a strange pulse within him. He didn't remember when Aerys was born, and though he remembered Rhaegel, he had never felt such an immediate pull or connection as he did now with Maekar.
He felt it clearly—a fierce desire to love and protect his little brother. There was something familiar about him, something Baelor wanted deeply.
"My princes, the Princess needs to rest. You may visit her later," the handmaiden said gently. Aerys was the first to move away, dragging Rhaegel along before the latter could stick his hand into the wine pitcher to lick it again.
Baelor reluctantly moved away from his brother's side. He turned to his mother and asked, "You aren't disappointed, are you?"
His mother looked at him with a puzzled frown. "Why would I be?"
"You wanted a daughter... a sister for us. Does it upset you?"
Princess Myriah Martell stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before a tender smile broke across her face. "Oh, what am I to do with that memory of yours, my sweet love!"
"The Maester says I am good at remembering."
"Forget that," she said, stroking his cheek and looking into his mismatched eyes—one brown, one violet—a perfect blend of Dorne and Dragonstone. "I am grateful for whatever the gods send me, as long as he is a healthy and strong boy."
She looked toward the cradle where Maekar had woken up; he wasn't crying, but simply staring at everything around him in wonder. "But I won't lie... I did hope for a beautiful girl to keep close to me." She sighed softly. "Even so... I hope one of my sons is an Omega. I want to take him to my parties and teach him embroidery, just as my mother taught me."
Just as she finished, the door opened and his grandmother, Queen Naerys Targaryen, entered. She wore an elegant pale violet gown with a white veil covering her hair and a pendant of the Seven around her neck. Myriah adjusted her position and greeted her, "Welcome, Your Grace."
"Please, rest," the Queen murmured. She was painfully thin and appeared frail, yet she moved with grace. "Congratulations on the boy."
"Thank you!"
The Queen looked from Myriah to Baelor and gave him a small smile. "Hello, Baelor."
"Hello, Grandmother!"
The Queen moved to Maekar's cradle. "The Seven, how beautiful he is." She leaned down to pick him up, but as soon as she held him, he began to cry.
She laughed. "The gods, you seem stubborn, little dragon."
Baelor moved away from his mother, knowing it was time to leave. Still, he couldn't resist one last glance at his brother in his grandmother's arms.
As he stepped out of the chambers, he found Prince Aemon in his Kingsguard armor standing by the door. Upon seeing him, Aemon smiled. "Congratulations, you have another brother."
"Thank you, Uncle Aemon!"
His uncle smiled, reaching out to ruffle Baelor's hair. "It is the duty of the eldest brother to protect his younger siblings. You must take responsibility for them from now on." There was a hidden bitterness in his words, unnoticed by anyone but Baelor.
Despite his age, Baelor could sense the tension between his uncle and his grandfather the King, and the coldness the King's whims had brought upon their family.
However, Baelor was still too young to involve himself in such matters. He simply said, "I will make sure of it, Uncle."
"I know. I trust you."
"Lord Ormund Tyrell has three sons and two daughters. The eldest is named Brandy Tyrell, the second is Henry, and the third is Lyonel, who was sent to the Eyrie. As for the girls..."
"For the love of the gods, Baelor, lower your voice!"
Across the table, Aerys grumbled, snapping his book shut.
They were the only ones in the Red Keep's library at this hour. The Maester had already left for a Small Council meeting, and the librarian in the next room was nodding off in his chair by the door.
"Lord Ormund arrives at the Red Keep this moon. It is my duty and a matter of etiquette to memorize the names of his family members who will be present."
Aerys narrowed his eyes. He had valyrian hair that fell in soft, straight strands over his shoulders, and he wore a simple, comfortable shirt devoid of any embroidery.
"Whether you memorize them or not," Aerys said, "you won't be the one talking. Who wants to converse with a five-year-old?"
Baelor frowned, feeling a sting of resentment, yet he knew his brother's words held a blunt truth. His father would be the one speaking and receiving guests. His grandfather, the King, rarely attended important meetings, appearing only at lavish feasts. His father had shouldered the responsibilities of the Keep for as long as Baelor could remember.
As the firstborn son and his father's heir, Baelor wanted to help in any way he could, even if it just meant welcoming visitors. But again, his brother's words weighed on him; he was still too small for anyone to take seriously.
He closed the book in front of him—a record of the Great Houses and their lords since the start of his father's tenure. The script was fresh, the ink looking as though it had barely dried.
Rising from his chair, he moved through the library shelves. The air smelled of dust and cold water. Baelor returned the book to its place in the row, but his feet stopped before the fiction section.
His eyes scanned the titles until they rested on a small volume about the travels of Jaehaerys I and his wife.
He took the book and headed for the exit, bidding farewell to his brother, who had already buried himself back in his own studies. As Baelor reached the door, he called out, "I'm leaving, Maester Pryde!"
The young Maester jolted awake, a thin trail of drool on his chin. "Very well, my Prince!" he replied in a thick, groggy voice.
Outside, two Kingsguard knights awaited—one for him and one for his brother. As Baelor walked, the older, taller knight followed, the metallic clinking of his mail echoing with every step.
At the end of the corridor, he crossed paths with another boy his age. Both stopped, and Daemon spoke first: "Greetings, my Prince!"
Baelor gave him a polite smile. "Hello, cousin."
Daemon was one of King Aegon's bastards, a boy of his own age. Unlike the King's other natural children, Daemon was special; his mother was Daena Targaryen, daughter of the late King Aegon III.
Daemon was a striking boy, looking every bit a true Targaryen with his silver hair and violet eyes.
"I heard you have a new brother. Congratulations!" Daemon said. His mother, Princess Daena, had passed away three years ago, but he remained at the Red Keep by the King's decree and because of his noble blood.
Daemon carried himself like a true prince in his fine clothes, yet he had no guards of his own, and few gave him much notice.
"Yes, he is a beautiful boy. You should see him."
"I would like to... but your father has forbidden me, and any of my baseborn siblings, from visiting your family's wing."
"Oh." Baelor hesitated. He didn't want to say anything that might offend the other boy. His father had always taught him to keep people close as allies; as for enemies, smile at them and never let their bitterness grow.
Yet, he knew his grandfather's bastards caused endless trouble for his father and the realm, which was why his father kept them away from his family.
Daemon smiled back, appearing unbothered. "I've gained a brother as well. His mother is a Lady of Blackwood, and she gave birth to him at Harrenhal. His surname will be Rivers; I heard she named him Brynden."
"Congratulations on your new brother, I suppose."
Both boys laughed. "Gods," Daemon said, "I've lost count of how many siblings I have." He smiled as they finished talking. "I heard Ser Quentyn begins our training soon. Are you ready?"
Baelor nodded. "I am. We shall train together; it will be good to learn from one another."
Daemon's smile lingered, a strange glint in his eyes. "I can hardly wait," he said, nodding before they both went their separate ways.
When he entered her chambers, his mother's handmaiden greeted him, saying, "The Princess is taking her bath, my Prince. You may enter once she is finished."
"Of course," Baelor replied. He moved toward his mother's solar, but his eyes immediately caught sight of his baby brother's cradle, and he hurried toward it.
Maekar's cradle was placed near the balcony doors.
The doors were ajar, allowing the warm midday sun to cast a soft, golden glow over the small bed. Baelor leaned in, his smile widening when he found his little brother wide awake.
"Hello, brother. You look lively today!" He watched Maekar's violet eyes track a gnat hovering above the bed before settling on him. Baelor's grin grew even larger as the infant met his gaze. "I am Baelor," he said, pointing to himself.
"Your big brother!" He reached out and gently stroked Maekar's cheek. "And you are Maekar, my sweet little brother."
The infant didn't seem to understand, but his gaze remained calm, free of the scowl he had worn the first time they met.
Baelor leaned against the edge of the cradle. "Tomorrow, I begin my sword training. I am my father's heir, and he is the heir to the throne, so I must become someone strong—someone he can rely on."
He smiled down at Maekar, tilting his head affectionately. "I must also be strong to protect my younger brothers," he said, tapping Maekar's nose with his finger.
"Especially my littlest brother!"
Maekar let out a small gurgle, making Baelor laugh. "I know you are strong; I can see it in your features. But... you are still my little brother, and I must protect you. That is the law, and you cannot escape it. Do you understand?"
Maekar understood nothing, of course, but Baelor felt an overwhelming sense of happiness just saying the words. Behind him, the door to his mother's bedchamber opened. Princess Myriah emerged wearing a gown of gold and red, adorned with gold jewelry that complemented her sun-kissed skin. Her Dornish features gave her a distinct, striking beauty.
"You are here, Baelor," she said, approaching the cradle. Baelor noticed how his brother's face immediately crumpled into a scowl, his expression turning sharp—unlike the calmness he had shown when they were alone.
It made Baelor feel even more special.
"I came to visit you, Mother, and to see how you are faring."
His mother caressed Maekar's cheek before turning to Baelor, kissing the crown of his head. "Oh, my favorite boy. Thank the gods you are my son; I am blessed to have such a devoted child."
She moved to her settee, sitting gracefully and gesturing for him to join her. When he sat beside her, he asked, "I wanted to ask if you would allow me to read bedtime stories to Maekar."
Myriah looked at him with a puzzled frown. "I don't mind, but... isn't it a bit early for Maekar? He won't remember a thing."
"It doesn't matter if he remembers when he's older. Right now, he needs to know he isn't alone. Besides, the stories will be short and fun... but I don't want to disturb you and Father while you sleep."
Despite her confusion, his mother smiled. "I have no objection, my sweet. Besides, there will be no disturbance. Maekar will be sleeping with his wet nurse in the adjoining room."
"Oh... won't he be staying with you?" Baelor asked, a frown tugging at his lips. His mother had kept Rhaegel in her chambers for the first four moons, and he had heard that Aerys stayed for six, while Baelor himself had remained with her until his first name day.
Maekar wasn't even a week old, and she was already sending him to the nurse. Wouldn't that make his brother feel lonely?
"No, my love. I am exhausted, and I have much to prepare for, as does your father. He will be in the next room, so you can still spend time with him... but you mustn't stay up too late."
A strange sensation tightened in Baelor's chest—neither satisfaction nor hope. He wanted to take Maekar to his own room, but that would mean bringing the wet nurse along. His chamber was shared with Rhaegel and Aerys; between the chaos caused by his younger brother and Aerys's constant complaining, Maekar wouldn't get a wink of sleep.
He found himself looking back at the cradle, watching Maekar's tiny hands reach into the air as if longing for a warm embrace, for the feeling of being loved. Reluctantly, he nodded to his mother.
"Lord Stark had welcomed King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to Winterfell with great warmth, and they stayed there before continuing their journey North. However, once they reached the Wall, the dragons began to act strangely. When they attempted to fly beyond it, the dragons refused to obey their commands."
The room was quiet and small. Maekar's cradle had been placed beside a red settee, with the wet nurse's bed nearby. She had gone to have her dinner after ensuring Maekar was fed and Baelor had reassured her he would watch over him.
The infant was calm—oddly so—for the nurse had mentioned that Maekar didn't cry when hungry; he merely grumbled. It was a peculiar trait for a babe.
The book in Baelor's hands was massive, detailing all of King Jaehaerys's progresses throughout his long reign.
Baelor had chosen this specific passage because he loved the tales of the North.
"It was strange; the dragons could not fly past the Wall. It seemed as though an invisible barrier in the sky prevented them from crossing. It is said that spells were woven when it was first built in the age of the First Men, and these spells protect us from the..." He paused, frowning as he tried to catch the word, but he couldn't quite spell it out.
"Others."
The answer came from the doorway.
Baelor looked up to find his father, Prince Daeron, leaning against the frame. "Kepa! I didn't know you were here," Baelor said.
His father smiled, wearing a light nightshirt and a warm cloak. He entered the room and sat beside Baelor on the settee. "Have you had your supper?"
"Yes, with my brothers and Mother."
Their father hadn't attended dinner that night, as he had been hosted by a lord in the city on official business.
Daeron glanced at the book and asked, "Do you like the stories of the North?"
"I do," Baelor murmured, clutching the book to his chest. "I want to visit the North when I grow up."
"It's a long journey, my son. Though much easier if one had dragons."
Baelor pursed his lips, thinking of the dead dragon skulls in the Red Keep and the stories of the Dance between the siblings.
"Your reading is improving more and more," Daeron said, interrupting his thoughts while ruffling his hair.
Baelor laughed. "There are still some difficult words. Aerys is the one who has become truly good at reading and writing for his age; his script is much better than mine."
"It is too early to worry about the quality of your handwriting."
In the cradle, Maekar let out a soft mumble, his scowl returning as he glared at them from the corner of his eye. "He scowls at everyone but me!" Baelor said proudly. His father smiled. "You are his big brother; surely he recognizes you."
"I will be the big brother he always wished for!" Baelor smiled at the thought, imagining a simple, beautiful life where he held Maekar's hand as he grew.
"An elder brother... it is a great responsibility," his father murmured, his gaze drifting. "You inherit everything your father possesses, including his problems and the disasters he creates. All of it falls upon you if you do not mend it."
The image of his father was reflected in Baelor's mismatched eyes. Lately, his father had been responsible for everything, even sitting the throne while the King disappeared behind his feasts and the women he hosted at court.
His father was only twenty-two, yet the weight of duty seemed to age him.
Despite the exhaustion on his face, Daeron smiled. "But do not worry, my son. You are my heir, and I will not burden you with my troubles when you come of age."
"I don't think of such things, Father," Baelor laughed. "I know what you do, and I want to follow in your footsteps." He bit his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I only hope it doesn't trouble you if I turn out to be an Omega later." He tilted his head. "It wouldn't bother you to have an Omega heir, would it?"
The idea made Daeron laugh. Although the Maesters had praised Baelor's pheromone levels, suggesting he would be an Alpha, mistakes happened, and the gods wrote what they willed. "There has never been an Omega heir in our lineage... but no, it would not bother me." He looked at Baelor affectionately.
"Would it bother you, to be an Omega?"
"I see no shame in it, Father. Omegas are equals. To me, a secondary gender isn't as important as being noble, wise, merciful to the people, and humble. You simply do the duty set before you. Besides, I think Omegas are stronger. They have so much to handle, with the effects on their bodies and the changes they face. I actually admire them and their resilience."
For a few moments, Daeron stared at his son with wide eyes and a slack jaw. He whispered, "You truly are as your mother described."
"Huh?"
Daeron let out a soft sigh and ruffled Baelor's brown hair. "Are you truly only five?"
"Why does everyone always ask that!"
In the cradle, Maekar let out an angry-sounding mumble—perhaps because he was no longer the center of attention. Daeron smiled and leaned down to pick him up. "Easy now, easy. Your father is here, little one."
Maekar stared into his father's eyes calmly before looking at Baelor. The older brother smiled and asked, "Kepa, may I hold him?"
For a moment, Prince Daeron hesitated, but the look in his son's eyes made him sigh. "Very well, but be careful," he said, handing the infant over and adjusting Baelor's posture. "Support his neck here so it doesn't snap. He's so small."
Baelor's heart was racing beyond reason. A surge of happiness filled his chest, like a maple tree taking root and beginning to bloom. Maekar opened his violet eyes and looked at him peacefully.
Baelor couldn't help but be awestruck. "He's beautiful, Father," he whispered. "And strong. He will be so strong."