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The general clamor and din that constantly surrounded the Red Keep hadn’t died away in his absence, Maekar noted, as he stalked through the courtyard and towards the gate that his lady wife and her ladies in waiting were coming up through. He was to meet them further down the hill, he thought. But Dyanna came hurrying up to him, and she had both the children in her arms, with Daeron balanced on one hip and Aerion held tightly to her chest. Her usually perfect hair was all out of sorts, as if she’d been in a rush. “Have you heard?” she asked breathlessly.
“What?” Maekar looked behind her, as two ladies in waiting came hurrying up as well. “What’s going on?”
“It was one of Daemon’s boys, my lady,” one of the women said. “We saw.” The ladies immediately all broke out into animated talk that he struggled to keep up with.
They ignored his growing annoyance, but Aerion started to fuss in his mother’s arms and Dyanna quickly passed Daeron into his while she tried to calm him. “What’s happened?” he asked his son, settling Daeron on his forearm.
Daeron simply pointed in the direction they’d just come from. “Val!” he cried out, “Val fell in the water, Dada!” He brought both of his hands down, hard, onto Maekar’s shoulder, imitating a splash. At two he was old enough to know that this was bad, but he did not fully grasp the severity of the situation.
“Valarr?” Maekar glanced down the path they’d just come up, where the royals’ private beach was accessible. The bay was cold, however, and the children shouldn’t be swimming in the water. His own boys were still dry, thankfully.
Two servants hurried past, faces stony as their footsteps echoed around the garden. Maekar’s heart began to beat furiously in his chest. He tuned back into Dyanna’s conversation and stepped closer to her and the ladies. “Tell me what’s happened,” he demanded again.
Dyanna turned towards him in the middle of her sentence, effortlessly switching to answer his question. “Prince Valarr fell into the water at the dock.”
“Pushed,” one of the ladies broke in, though she quickly remembered her manners as her gaze flashed between Dyanna and Maekar, “he was pushed, my lady. We saw it. One of those silver-haired- oh, um. A little Blackfyre boy did it.”
It was as though someone had created a sentence that was made specifically to enrage him. Maekar looked at Dyanna, sure that this must be some odd jest, but she nodded along and continued the story. “And a Kingsguard jumped in to grab him, but all that armor weighed him down.”
“Lady Jena!” Another lady exclaimed, caught up in the excitement of the story. “She jumped in and beat him to the boy.”
“She did,” Dyanna rushed out. “Oh, Maekar, it was all so horrible, they were both shaking when they were pulled out of the water.” Her eyes were wide at the recollection and tears gathered at the corners. “Poor Jena. She did look something of a hero from a story, saving her baby like that.”
“Oh yes,” one of the other ladies agreed, and they quickly descended into talk of Jena and her bravery.
Maekar tried to make sense of what he was being told. He could not even picture it. Prince Valarr was only an infant still, hardly bigger than Daeron, barely three. His own son patted at his face for his attention, rambling about his version of events. “Val wasn’t crying or nothing, Dada.”
What was Baelor going to do? He wondered as he handed Daeron off to one of the ladies in waiting and promised his wife he would find her later. He needed to find his brother, to see for himself that this was some odd jest, and that Prince Valarr and Lady Jena had not actually just been pulled from the frigid bay.
The servants’ faces grew stonier the closer he grew to Baelor’s apartments. And the amount of them grew, too. There was quite a commotion at the doors, and Maekar had to scowl at a circle of servants so he could push inside. There, he found chaos.
Lady Jena was still dripping with water. It fell from her hair into small puddles around her feet. Her dress was soaked through too, and a few ladies pulled ineffectually at her shoulder, trying to pull her away from the chair she was bent over. On it sat Baelor with a blanket in his lap. No, his son, wrapped tight in a blanket. Prince Valarr. The boy’s head was thrown back over Baelor’s arm, limp. Jena held it in her hands, and her quiet pleas for him to wake were drowned out under the bustle of bodies moving around.
Air rushed past him. The room shifted, the servants all paused their ministrations to bow as the King and Queen both shouldered past Maekar himself.
“Place him closer to the fire, Baelor,” Daeron said, coming to stand behind his son. His hands grabbed his shoulders, urging him to stand as well.
Myriah reached for Jena, tenderly pushing wet tendrils of her hair from her face. “You must be changed,” she said softly, but firm. “You must not fall ill. He will need his mother yet.” She held Jena, even as she tried to follow Baelor and their son to the hearth, where the servants had set up a roaring fire. Jena did not tear her eyes away from Valarr, even as her ladies urged her to a private room to be divest her of her wet clothing. They managed to break her away, and Queen Myriah only gave the room one more quick glance before she disappeared with Jena as well.
Maekar felt that he should do something too. He looked around and swallowed down the nausea that threatened to come up as his eyes passed over the blue lips of Prince Valarr. “Out,” he ordered those who weren’t necessary. They only needed two or three servants to provide blankets and to tend the fire. He bullied the rest out of the room, which only felt more cramped by the moment.
In the ensuing crowd, the maesters arrived clinking with their chains. One was older, and Maekar wondered that he wasn’t worn down by all the chains he wore. The other man with him must be newer, for not only was he younger but he hardly made a clank as he hurried in and made straight away for the little prince. “Did he swallow any water?”
“Yes,” the lone Kingsguard in the corner supplied. “He was coughing it up on the way up here.”
Neither of the maesters made any indication that this was either good or bad. Maekar did not like that. He could not remember, no matter how desperately he tried to, whether coughing up water was good or bad. Did he even know that? He should, he was a father now.
In front of the fire, kneeling next to his son, Baelor had gone unnaturally still. His dark curls obscured his eyes. In one hand he held onto Daeron’s, for their father stood at his side and gently urged him to move back and let the maesters do their work. Baelor did not stir. He only stared at his son.
“Maekar.” His name came from his father’s mouth. It was the first time he was even acknowledged as being there. Daeron tilted his head, urging Maekar to come closer. As he did, Daeron mouthed out words to him, that he slowly came to understand as an ask for help. His father nodded down at Baelor and finally, he knew what he was asking.
He dropped to one knee next his brother and took hold of him under one arm, while Daeron bent and grabbed him under the other. They lifted at the same time, heaving Baelor back and up, away from the little body stretched in front of the fire. The maesters moved in closer as they pushed Baelor back into the chair he’d just vacated. He expected Baelor to fight them, but he went with ease. His eyes did not stray from Valarr’s face as they all waited with bated breath to hear some sort of cry. He hadn’t made a sound at all. He was a quiet boy, to be sure, but a child would not be silent in the face of such great pain or illness.
The fire crackled, then popped loudly. Maekar nearly jumped at the sound. Behind him, there were only the hushed voices of Jena’s ladies in waiting in the adjoining room.
Then, after the younger maester turned Valarr on his side and rapped hard on his back, his body convulsed, and he coughed up a great deal of water onto the rug. Maekar tensed, as if expecting a fight, but of course there was nothing to fight. He dropped one of his hands to Baelor’s shoulder, sensing perhaps that his brother wanted to get up again as the boy began to wake and whine. He could hear his father’s voice, telling Baelor that this was a good sign.
A sudden commotion sounded in the hallway just as Valarr’s shaking voice broke into a cry. His words tumbled out around the water still in his mouth as he wailed for his father and mother. At the doorway, a different knight was arguing with someone. Jena’s ladies all gasped from the room just next door, and someone cried out that the princess had fainted. There was no sound of a body hitting the floor, so Maekar wasn’t too concerned as he turned back towards Baelor. He found his brother’s head turned towards the room next door, and his eyes were wide and shining.
“Go,” Maekar said without thinking. “I will watch him. Go to her.”
He did not know why he used ‘I’ rather than ‘we’ for he had meant to say that his father would stay with Valarr. But it had all happened much too quickly for Maekar to dwell on, and their father had disappeared besides.
Baelor stood with one last look towards little Valarr, and a short nod to Maekar, before his feet hurried to the doorway. “Mother?” he heard him call. “Is she decent?”
Maekar tuned out the rest of that conversation and focused in on Valarr. The boy was being examined by the maesters and crying as they determined that nothing had been broken in the water. Their father was at the door now, and involved in the argument between the knight and the person outside, and as such would be no help to the situation he’d gotten himself into. Maekar sighed and stepped forward, taking a knee next to the prince and the maesters. “How does he fare?”
The maester released Valarr and allowed him to scramble up, where he immediately threw himself into the safety of his uncle’s arms. Maekar let him huddle there, one hand coming up to pat at his wet head of hair where it shivered under his own head.
“He has a chance at recovery, now,” the old man said, and Maekar hated how he said it was only a chance. Valarr was alive and shaking like a leaf under his hands and drenched in bay water, but alive.
He turned towards a nurse and beckoned her forward to take the boy. “See to it that he’s dried and changed,” Maekar demanded. To the maester, he told him to go and check on Lady Jena while the younger one stayed with Valarr. They all scrambled to follow his orders. Valarr began to protest at being pulled away, but the nurse who had him smoothed her hand over his wet hair and promised him he would be warm and dry soon enough.
Maekar stood and made his way to his father’s side. At the door, the knight had stepped aside and apologized profusely to the king. “It was only, the Queen told us to let no one in,” he said as Maekar approached.
“I understand,” The King said, quite calmly. He turned towards the other man and Maekar caught sight of silver hair before he shouldered his way in next to his father. “Daemon, it was only a natural precaution.”
“Your man doesn’t seem to understand that I count as family.” Daemon’s sharp face was turned down in a frown. He glanced at Maekar, briefly, before his eyes went back over Daeron’s shoulder. “I only meant to see how the boy is doing. And Lady Jena, I’d heard she fell in as well.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Maekar threw out, unable to think beyond the words he’d heard earlier. In the background, he could hear Valarr crying out for his parents.
“Maekar.” His father turned to scold him. “What is the meaning of this?”
Daemon watched them warily. His dark purple eyes were set too far into his face for Maekar’s liking. It made him look like he was up to something, as his gaze shifted between Maekar and his father. And perhaps he was. “It was his boys that did it. They pushed Valarr in, there were witnesses,” Maekar said, willing to throw the accusation out there.
Daeron’s own face twitched, just a small jump under his left eye, but it was enough for Maekar to know that his father’s normally easy temper was being tested. When he turned back to Daemon, his voice was calm. “Is that true?”
“Aegon said it was an accident,” Daemon said, instead of denying the whole thing altogether. Maekar could place a bet that he believed this to be true.
“Hm.” His gentle father had turned back into King Daeron, and there would be no arguing with his words. “We will discuss this later, then, when the chaos has died down.”
“I shall apologize to Baelor,” Daemon insisted. He set a hand on the door’s frame and made to step inside the room, but Maekar blocked his entry by stepping closer as well.
“He is with his wife, who is indisposed, as she jumped in the water, not fell, to save the son that your children pushed.”
Daemon’s eyes narrowed. He looked as if he wanted to argue, and he tried to find Baelor in the room over his shoulder, but Daeron cut in before Maekar could move to shove him back any more. “Later,” he promised. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Baelor will not even hear the words you say right now. He is thoroughly distracted.”
Daemon nodded slowly, finally agreeing to leave only after Daeron promised him that they would see each other soon. Maekar hissed at the knight to close the door, so that no one else might bother them.
Maekar arrived at Baelor’s apartments to check in on him later the next day. Dyanna had informed him that Lady Jena and Prince Valarr had both woken with a terrible cough in their lungs that morning. No one was especially surprised, but all were worried over the health of both.
A knight opened the door and stuck his head in. “Your brother is asking to enter, Your Grace. Prince Maekar.” Maekar regarded the man with a raised brow. It was a farce that he should need to ask entry in the first place, but for the sake of not disturbing his brother’s wife and child did he stay silent. Baelor’s voice was hushed in response, and the knight stepped aside to let him in.
Upon entry, he was surprised to see not only Baelor in the main rooms, but Prince Valarr cradled within his arms. His brother stood near the window and the setting sun fell right on the sleeping prince’s face. The fever glowed under the light, bright and red upon his little brow.
“I am sorry for the guard,” Baelor said softly, “I did not want many interruptions today.” Baelor had been missing from his appointments, it was said. Many were talking about it. Likely many would criticize it unjustly. And Baelor would have to deal with the consequences. But right then he simply held his son in his arms, gently rocking him back and forth.
“How is he?” Maekar asked, only just able to find his voice again.
“He is fighting.”
It was not the answer Maekar wanted. He had wanted Baelor to tell him that Valarr was ill, certainly, but getting better with ease and would undoubtedly return to his usual self soon. “And Lady Jena?”
Baelor looked down the hall, in the direction of Jena’s private chambers. “She is aware of herself still, which is a good sign. The maesters say she will have an easier time of fighting the fever, being an adult.” Dyanna will be pleased to know this. Maekar found he was as well. He had no sisters save for his brothers’ wives, and out of them all Jena felt the most like what a sister might.
When Baelor looked back, his usual bright eyes were shielded by a wall of water. Tears.
Maekar could remember the last time he’d seen Baelor cry. His brother had been three and ten, and Maekar himself eight years old, and their grandfather had been ailing in his health. Baelor had been called away one day to pay his respects to the dying man and when he’d returned he’d bypassed Maekar and his questions and had run straight into his mother’s arms with his face awash with tears. For the longest time Maekar had believed that his brother had been crying at the sight of a decrepit, dying old man. He had not known until only recently that King Aegon had wasted some of his breath to denigrate his brother straight to his face. It had been the last time any of them had seen their grandfather, and he had died months later, without any of his true family at side save for their father.
Sometimes when Maekar thought of the old king his teeth grit with anger and hatred and shame. And he knew he should not feel like that about an ancestor, but he could not stop the hatred, no matter how hard he tried. Baelor’s face was all that came up when he thought of their grandfather the king.
Who was to blame for Baelor’s tears now? When Maekar looked down at the sleeping child, he could hardly point a finger at him. “Is it truly that bad?” he asked, horrified that his nephew’s condition was worse than he’d thought.
Baelor took a deep breath. His head turned slightly. “It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
“Father has decided,” he began, and his voice stayed quiet but turned bitter, which was not something Maekar was used to hearing from his usually composed brother, “That Daemon and his sons should leave court earlier than they intended to.”
“Good,” Maekar huffed, “Surely you can’t disagree with that.”
Baelor shook his head. “I am to escort them to their next visit, to Stone Hedge. To ensure that there is no lasting animosity between us and Daemon’s household. We leave on the morrow.”
“On the morrow?” Maekar was perhaps too loud in his shock. But Valarr did not stir in his father’s arms. “What the fuck is his thinking?” For once, Baelor did not chide him for cursing their father.
“We are being diplomatic,” he said softly. “Daemon got his sons to confess that one of them did it, but they will not say which one it was. And none of the witnesses could say either. So, we will let the matter rest, and the children will not be allowed back at court for some time.”
At least there would be some punishment. Maekar did not think they should be so lenient, but he did not want to argue the point against Baelor, when his brother was looking down at his son with tears in his eyes.
“But why must you go?”
“Who else will?”
“I can go.”
At that, Baelor finally looked up at him. He even got something nearly like a smile to appear on his brother’s face. “Father would send you if he wanted to start a war, not keep the peace.”
Perhaps they should start a war, Maekar thought, as Prince Valarr began to cough in his brother’s arms. Baelor’s amusement fell away instantly, and he raised the boy in his arms so that he wasn’t lying down. His entire body shook with the force of his coughing and his head fell limply against Baelor’s shoulder. Maekar knew, of course, that little children could easily fall sick, but he could not fathom that it could happen to Baelor’s child.
Valarr did not truly wake from his coughing fit. He merely laid his head down and fixed himself closer to his father.
Silence dominated the room once more. Baelor’s thumb swiped back and forth over his fevered brow. He was struck by a memory then of his own mother doing the same thing, as he complained of the fever that had eventually turned out to be the pox.
“How am I to leave him?” Baelor said then, so anguished that a shock of fear struck Maekar. He had never heard his brother sound like that before.
“I will look after him.”
Baelor looked up, and hope shone so brightly in his eyes that Maekar knew he had no chance at taking the words back.
“You will,” his brother agreed with a nod. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
“It is?” Usually Baelor did not defer to his ideas. He was craftier about it when it came to Maekar than he was to everyone else; but he often believed himself to be the smartest person in a room, and would find a way to implement his plans when others had perfectly fine ones of their own. But Maekar was no fool, and could always tell when Baelor did it to him. He was not so used to his agreement.
“Yes. Would you, Maekar? Just check in on him during the night. It will put Jena at ease.”
Jena? Maekar considered the way Baelor had looked just after Valarr had been revived the day before. Once the boy had been changed Baelor had returned, and he hardly even paid attention to their father as he’d gathered Valarr up into his arms and called him his baby, shushing him gently as he kissed his still damp head.
It was not Jena who had whispered quietly with their father in that dark room hours afterward, demanding to know what they were going to do to answer such a provocation.
“Very well,” he said, deciding against pointing out Baelor’s misdirection. “If you’re sure you would rather not call upon our mother or father for the task.”
Baylor shook his head instantly, turning back towards the window. “I’d rather it be you, Maekar.”
That was how he found himself in Valarr’s room the very next night. He watched the maester that tended to him, thinking only of how Baelor had very nearly wept when he’d had to relinquish his hold on the little boy’s hand. It had been an embarrassing display.
“His condition has not changed, my lord.”
Maekar sneered at the maester and jerked his head, telling him to fuck off before he woke the child. The maester scurried out with his head bent.
Baelor had asked him to merely check in on the boy during the night, but Maekar judged that it would be easier to sit in his room and wait out the sickness. Nothing could happen to Valarr while he was there with him, keeping a close eye on his nephew.
And indeed nothing did happen for a very long time. Valarr’s chest rose and fell, and rose and fell, and rose and fell. Maekar watched, chin balanced in his palm, elbow on the arm of the chair, while he tried not to fall asleep. He knew he should sit up, but after sitting for what had to be hours, he could not help the way his head dipped.
His eyes closed slowly. When he shot his head up and snapped them back open, Valarr had turned onto his side, little limbs splayed out like a hound stretched out in the cool grass on a hot summer day. Maekar watched him through heavy eyes. Then, he leaned in as he tried to see him breathe in the new angle. The room was too dark for him to make out anything clearly. He thought he should be able to hear the wheezing of his lungs as he breathed.
A new, terrible thought struck him. Was Valarr not breathing?
Maekar pushed out of the chair, surging to his feet as he bent over the edge of the bed. “Valarr?” he rasped, reaching down to grab the boy. He picked him up, and for a horrifying second, Valarr stayed limp in his hands, before he awoke in his hold.
“Fuck.” Maekar cursed himself, quickly gathering the boy up and into his arms as his face scrunched with displeasure. “No. No, you are still dreaming. Close your eyes.”
Valarr did not make a noise, but his little face turned up towards Maekar with a fierce pout affixed on it. His arms tightened, holding the boy more securely. Valarr considered him, then whispered with a scratching voice, “Papa?”
Of course he would demand his father’s attentions as soon as he woke up. Maekar thought of how to lure him back to sleep. “Your father is busy.”
Valarr kept staring at him. Beneath the messy fringe of dark hair that had fallen onto his forehead, his eyes began to fill with tears.
“He will return shortly,” Maekar lied, “shouldn’t you like to be good for him, and go back to sleep?”
All he got in return was a wobbling lip. “Where’s Papa?”
He sighed. The boy truly had Baelor’s stubbornness. “Shall we wait for him?”
At this, Valarr nodded. He laid his head on Maekar’s shoulder, and he could feel the heat of the fever despite the shirt between them. He snatched up a blanket and draped it over Valarr’s back. He walked to a window and held him near the cool breeze that came in from it, letting the air ruffle his hair. Valarr huddled closer to his shoulder, one little hand clutching tight at his shirt.
At night, The Red Keep fell into an odd silence. He could see the city beyond the walls, could feel the pulse of the various cookfires in the distance, but none of it seemed to be able to break the calm that settled over the castle.
Valarr wrestled his other hand free from the blanket and opened it towards the window. “Papa,” he said, “Papa.” His word broke into two parts, echoing softly into the night. Calling towards him, Maekar thought, as if he knew Baelor resided outside of the city walls for the night. His small fist opened and closed in a wave, before it dropped back down. On his shoulder, Valarr rested his head so he could close his eyes once more.
Maekar’s steps were slow when he began to pace around the room with his nephew asleep on his shoulder. He did not want to risk waking him again by setting him down. He thought of Aerion, who always put up a fight when placed in a cradle. More so than Daeron ever had.
He imagined Valarr must be the same when placed down, as his brother spoiled him so. Maekar glanced down at him, studying his sleeping face in the dim light of the candles. The last time he'd seen Prince Valarr he'd been closer to Aerion's age. He looked just as he had in Maekar's memory, and at once entirely different. Carefully, he adjusted the blanket over his shoulders, not wanting the chill to catch at him. Here, he could hear the small wheeze in his lungs.
He worried that the maesters hadn’t been thorough enough. That their remedies would not prove effective enough. Valarr sniffled hard in his sleep, trying to get air in. His breath rattled in his chest. Maekar thought of Baelor’s haunted gaze then, and the way he’d held Valarr’s hand until the second he’d had to leave. Maekar could not let him return to a sickly son. By the time he finally laid him back down on the bed, as the cracks of sunlight on the horizon began to signal the new day, Valarr was so deep in sleep that he hardly stirred at the movement. That was what he needed, Maekar thought. Sleep. Undisturbed.
He left once the sun filled the room and Valarr sprawled out within a patch of it. In his own apartments, his family hardly stirred as well. Daeron and Aerion must have woken early, for they joined their mother in the big bed, and all three were snoring together. The peace of the moment was something Maekar would give anything to preserve. He didn’t think of it just then, but some months later he would be thinking of that picture as he rode out through the city gates after his brother, off to crush the traitors beneath the claws of the dragon.
When his family woke, they wished to visit the sick. Daeron wanted to see his cousin, and Dyanna was eager to see Jena. She was concerned with her goodsister’s comfort.
“Her husband is gone, Maekar, and her little boy is sick. She must be overrun with worry,” Dyanna said, as a lady tended to her hair. She sat on an ottoman low enough that Aerion could climb into her lap from where he crawled around on the floor. The nurses minding the children were trying their best to get them dressed and cleaned for the day, but everyone was so distracted by the shocking events of the past couple of days that chaos reigned throughout the rooms. Ladies chatted quietly with each other, gathering additional information from a maid who had apparently been in the room with the family while Valarr had been tended to. When Maekar overheard this, he cast a studying gaze upon her, but he found that he could not recall her face.
The sordid details continued regardless of their truth. Once Daeron was dressed, Maekar avoided it all by accompanying the boy to the alcove outside their apartments. There, he watched as his son conjured up a game for himself to run from wall to wall, nearly smashing his head into the stone wall every time he neared it. It was much preferable to the buzzing room they had escaped.
The peace didn’t last long. The door opened soon, and Dyanna allowed Aerion to crawl out in a flash, where he headed straight for the small balcony that looked over the courtyard. Maekar snatched him up before he could wiggle his way between the bannisters, and once Daeron saw him pick Aerion up, he demanded to be carried as well. Maekar took them both into his arms, wondering when he wasn’t going to be able to hold them both at the same time anymore. He had not known well that children could shed their infancy so quickly until he'd seen it in his own.
“Do you think Jena should be worried for her husband?” Dyanna asked as she toyed with the thick braid that had been laid over her shoulder. It was her current fix to keep Aerion from tugging on fistfuls of hair. “I would so hate to be in her position, with no one to protect her should anything happen to Prince Baelor.”
“Nothing will happen to Baelor.”
“But you can know that for sure?”
“Of course. It is Baelor, nothing can happen to him.” The heir was protected at all times. And even Daemon, who carried a frown on his face for anything the king said these days, still laughed with Baelor.
Dyanna smiled at him and told him he kept a strong faith. “I shouldn’t like to be in Lady Jena’s position,” she admitted quietly, “Did you know that they let Prince Valarr sleep in their rooms most nights? You would think a princess would be allowed her rest.” Her nose wrinkled, much in the way Daeron’s did whenever he was confused.
“My brother has always been quite indulgent with him,” Maekar hummed.
“I don’t know how they can stand it.” She shuddered. Likely, she was thinking the same as him, about how Aerion still woke during the night. Sometimes he would cry so loudly that he and Dyanna could hear it from their chambers. The septas at Summerhall said there was a name for it, that he could not remember, that explained how his tempers were unbalanced. Whatever it was, Maekar also could not fathom being woken up by it every night.
The children and Dyanna wanted to see Valarr first. He was awake and whining as a nurse dressed him. “He is still feverish, my princess,” she said as Dyanna asked after him. They watched Valarr’s head pop out of the top of his soft cotton shirt, and his face was indeed still red. He did not want to sit still to have his hair brushed, and not even his cousins could cheer him up with their company. By the time Dyanna gathered him up within her arms, he was thoroughly bothered by all the fussing around him. He buried his face in Dyanna’s shoulder, asking quietly if they were going to go see his mother. She easily soothed his anxieties, telling him that he could spend all day with his mother, if he liked. This sounded agreeable to Valarr, and they were forced to continue on their tour of Baelor’s personal apartments.
Lady Jena’s room was awash in blues and purples, and she herself looked quite grey upon her pillows. But she smiled at the sight of their party and sat up to receive them.
“Jena,” Dyanna said softly. She hurried forward and took up the empty space next to her on the bed. “Look who we’ve brought for you.” From her arms, Valarr picked his head up.
“Mama!” He crawled straight towards her, climbing into her lap as Jena leaned forward to catch him.
“My darling,” Jena breathed, sounding as if her lungs were still underwater. “I’ve missed you.” As she kissed the crown of his head, Valarr threw his arms around her neck and clung to her.
In his arms, his children squirmed for their own mother. Dyanna smiled and told him to set them down as well, so they might enjoy some time with their aunt and cousin. Maekar saw no harm in keeping his family in one place and let the boys tumble out of his arms so they could crawl to their mother.
Dyanna and Jena both were delighted as Daeron instead crawled straight for Valarr, and Aerion did his best just to get his legs under himself so he could sit upright on his own.
Valarr stood in Jena's and placed his face next to his mother’s. She smiled as he whispered into her ear, and at one point her gaze flashed straight to Maekar. “Your uncle kept you safe last night?” she repeated Valarr’s words as he told her them. “Hm, and what do you say to him?”
Valarr looked back at Maekar with shy, downturned eyes. “Thank you, Meeky.”
“Oh, isn’t that darling?” Dyanna cooed, ignoring the scowl on her husband’s face. Jena was used to it as well, and she merely hugged Valarr tightly and praised his manners. No one seemed to have any objection to the bastardization of his name. Not even Baelor cared when he bothered to be present, and in fact, sometimes he looked as though he was amused by it.
One of the nurses that had hurried to keep up with them darted into the room. “M’lord,” she said to Maekar, “Brynden Rivers is demanding to speak with you.”
“Pardon me,” he muttered to his wife, who only waved him on.
Brynden sulked about the terraced wall outside the royal apartments. His ability to look like he wanted to be anywhere other than where he currently was, was on full display, and Maekar sorely wished Baelor was there, or at least Rhaegel nearby, so they might all laugh at it together. But he was alone with no one to laugh with. “What is it?” Maekar said, wanting to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible.
“You tended to the prince during the night?” Brynden asked, ignoring the scowl on his face.
“I sat at his bedside and ensured he kept breathing,” he corrected.
Brynden's eyes bored into him. “However it went, you did not notice anything during the night?”
“What the fuck would I notice?”
“Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Ordinarily, I do not make a habit of sitting at my nephew’s bedside.”
“I will take your refusal to answer the question as a no.”
Maekar frowned. “What are you even interrogating me for?”
“You are not being interrogated, Nephew, I am simply trying to ensure the crown’s security in this perilous time.”
“Perilous?”
Brynden let out a puff of air, the only sign that he would ever give that he was annoyed. It never failed to make Maekar feel as though he was being judged. “Has no one told you?”
“Obviously not. Told me what?”
“My suspicions.”
Maekar groaned, audibly, and turned away from his uncle. He did not want to hear of Brynden’s suspicions, for Lord Bloodraven always had suspicions and more often than not was smug when they were proved to be correct. “I do not wish to hear of it.”
“Your brother has left you in charge of his son’s wellbeing, and you will not hear of it?”
“He did not leave me in charge, he asked for me to check up on him during the night. If Baelor thought there was some sort of threat, he would have mentioned it to me.”
“Would he?”
Maekar did not appreciate his doubt. But something about the entire situation had him unsettled. He cast a skeptical gaze at him. “What are your suspicions?” he ground out.
Brynden barreled on. “That there are those who seek to take my brother’s throne. That some see Baelor as an unfit heir. That your own brother’s loyalty to Westeros is in question, and some would consider it pertinent to extinguish him and his line before they can reach the throne.”
Maekar scowled. “This is treason to speak of.” His blood felt like it was boiling beneath his skin. He knew, of course, that jealousy coiled around his brother’s feet, a viper waiting to strike at all times. Maekar himself could admit that he viewed Baelor’s position as one of a coveted prestige that would never be allowed to him. But a man would have to be entirely brainless to think that anyone but Baelor was suited for the throne. His brother could not be so stately for nothing.
“The King agrees with you. Baelor as well. They will not hear of it.”
Something twisted within Maekar’s stomach. “And my mother?”
“She agrees with me. Heartily. She has her own suspicions for her own reasons, it seems.”
He tried not to look at Brynden. He did not want to take orders from him, or admit that Brynden was keeping a closer watch on his family than he was, able to be so close to the tension of The Red Keep at all times.
“What would be needed of me, then?”
Brynden tilted his head and fixed him with a look. “Stay sharp, Nephew. And be aware that there are forces beyond our control that may push us into action before we are ready.”
“This is vague and unhelpful.”
“It is the best I can give at this time. Do let me know if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary.”
“I am not in King’s Landing often anymore; I do not know what would be out of the ordinary.”
“A prince being pushed into the frigid water of the bay would be a good example.”
Maekar told him to fuck off after that. He did not need his uncle’s condescension anymore. He could take fine care of Baelor’s boy all on his own, and he would not need to turn to Brynden Rivers in order to keep his guard up.
When he walked back in, he found the children had all moved to the floor. Dyanna reclined on the bed next to Jena, propped up on an elbow as she leaned forward and spoke with her goodsister. They both glanced over at the sound of the door opening.
“Oh, Maekar, perfect. The boys have been getting restless.”
“Should we return them to the nursery?”
“No,” Dyanna brushed off easily, “No, just sit with them. They just want to play.”
Maekar glanced over at where the boys had taken up residence around the low oak table in front of the fire. He was to join them? He looked back at Dyanna, but she only waved her hand and told him again to sit and keep them entertained while she and Jena talked.
“I am no nanny,” Maekar grumbled to himself as he sat on the floor next to Daeron. He said it low enough that not even the children might hear though, lest they try to repeat his words.
They all immediately took notice of his presence. They had their own conglomeration of toys set up on the table, serving as a fake field of war. Various dragons and knights and flagbearers and horses were scattered around haphazardly. “Dada you can be knight!” Daeron told him, pushing a small figurine over his way. It was of a flagbearing boy. Maekar did not bother to correct his son, having already tried to when this conversation had come up before. He sighed and began to arrange the gathered retinue of knights in a true position.
“You have a mass of infantry here, so you must be sure to keep them in a tight position,” he instructed, lining up each errant knight without a horse in a rectangle. Daeron and Valarr both watched him with wide eyes, seemingly confused over what a real battle would look like. They stood across from each other at the table, each holding their own wooden dragons. “Valarr,” he began, “Where would we put the cavalry in a battle such as this? Let’s say the enemy is roughly the same size in infantry and across the field, but you’re separated by a creek.”
Valarr could tell that he was being addressed. He looked at the assembled field of soldiers and pointed at a knight painted in the colors of the Kingsguard. “Papa!” he cried out proudly.
Maekar frowned and picked up the figurine. “No, this is Aemon the Dragonknight.”
Daeron leaned over the table, wiggling his fingers as he reached for the toy. He snatched it straight out of Maekar’s hand. “Dada!” he insisted. “This Dada.”
“No-” Maekar tried to correct, but Daeron was already turning towards his brother, who sat on the floor next to him.
“Aerion,” Daeron said, though he still couldn’t pronounce part of his brother’s name, and it came out a jumbled mess. The baby knew he was being called upon anyway and looked up. “Is Dada?” He thrust the toy into his face. Aerion gazed up at it in shock, before his own pudgy fingers grabbed it out of his brother’s hands, and he made quick work of trying to eat the head of the knight, instead of trying to eat the head of a wooden horse as he’d just been doing. Daeron grinned in triumph. “Aerion said Dada,” he proclaimed.
Valarr frowned across from them. “Aerion’s just a baby,” he said, “He doesn’t know anything.” Notably, he could pronounce Aerion just fine. This made Maekar wonder why he still struggled so much with his name, and why Baelor never bothered to correct him when he got it wrong.
Before the argument could evolve any more into a fight, however, Valarr turned and coughed hard enough that he fell backwards, landing on the rug with a soft thump.
“Shit,” Maekar hissed, already jumping to his feet to grab him. He waved off the nurse that stepped forward to tend to him, knowing that would only aggravate Valarr even more. Maekar took him into his hands just as the coughing stopped, and Valarr looked up, bewildered, as he was whisked over to his mother. “He is- was-” Maekar lifted him into the air so he could be looked upon by both Dyanna and Jena. “He is still ill,” he finished lamely, unsure of how to voice the feeling that had just taken hold of him the second the child had tried to cough his lungs out.
“He is well,” Jena assured him. She leaned forward and took Valarr into her own hands, and he protested slightly at being taken away from his playing. “Did you scare your uncle?” she hummed, brushing her hand back through his hair.
“I scared him?” Valarr asked in slight wonder, while Maekar insisted that he had not, truly.
Soon after, the consensus was reached that they should let Lady Jena rest. Prince Valarr looked close to sleep as well, and Maekar left them in the safe hands of each other.
That was how their days dragged along. Maekar had expected Baelor to be at the Red Keep with him, and he found he was wholly unprepared for what to do with him gone. There were only a few knights worth sparring with and he often had to change course in his walks, for fear of running into visiting nobles who hoped to curry favor with him because they had fallen out of Baelor’s – as if he would ever allow himself to scoop up Baelor’s reject liege lords. Aerys kept to his books even when Maekar tried to bother him, and Rhaegel had recently become fascinated with a new waltz he was learning and it was all he ever talked about.
It was welcome news then, when their father announced at an evening meal that Baelor had seen Daemon and his half-brother off and had departed Stone Hedge just that morning for his return home. Daemon would stay a while longer before he returned to court as well, perhaps he would not even come back until after Maekar and his family had already made their own departure.
“Oh, this is wonderful,” Queen Myriah said. “Did he say how the visit went?”
“Very well,” King Daeron assured them all. “Baelor’s charm is infallible. He’s left my brothers with no thought that there must be animosity between us. I am quite certain that peace will prevail, as we have not stooped so low as to answer violence with violence.”
All preparation then became about readying for Baelor’s return. Details of a feast took over, and less focus was pressed on what he would really want, which would be for a healthy family to greet him at home. Maekar thought it was mildly insulting to Baelor that no one took his feelings into consideration, but he was also aware that there was nothing he could do to change anyone’s mind. No one listened to his opinions in their bull-headed family.
“We might want to let the boy recover first, before we put him in a new costume,” Maekar suggested as he held Valarr still for the tailor to measure his height. He had been recruited to help with Valarr, as Lady Jena was still in recovery and his mother needed someone that Valarr would let hold him to help her mind him through a fitting. He knelt next to the child, with the tailor on the other side, and Valarr looked only at him with his longing eyes that told Maekar that he was quickly going to grow tired of standing in one spot, and was likely to burst into tears at any errant movement. His face was still tinged pink with fever, but he looked much better in the eyes, and his cough had lessened greatly.
“He is well now,” Myriah said as she looked over two different swatches of fabric. One was a dark green and the other a slightly less dark green. “His mother is the one that needs to regain her strength. It’s a shame she is so frail, is it not? It’s because she does not eat enough, you know. I told Baelor it was going to be a problem, but does he listen to me?” She continued on, while Maekar hung his head and considered whether his mother remembered that he did not care for gossip, or simply just didn’t care of his indifference.
“Mama?” Valarr said, looking between him and then Myriah once he’d heard Jena’s name more than once.
Myriah turned to regard him with a critical eye. “Do you think he’s old enough to know what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” Maekar said, hoping it would cease her criticisms. They turned towards his brother Aerys next then, and he made peace with the listening, for he also had his own criticisms to add and he thought it important that his mother know them.
That was how Valarr ended up with his sharp new outfit on the day that Baelor was due to arrive back in King’s Landing. The boy was dressed in a similar version of Baelor’s usual grey and green tunics, and he commanded their party the same way that his brother would as Maekar’s family, Baelor’s, and their parents left to greet him at the news that his horse had been spotted riding into the city.
“Faster, granda,” Valarr said, tugging on King Daeron’s hand when his father dawdled to talk to some nobles in the halls. “You cannot talk to people today.”
Rather than chastise the little prince, his father merely chuckled and gave his apologetic goodbyes. He allowed Valarr to pull him along before the boy broke off again and hurried ahead. The Red Keep was evidently not large enough to tire out a child running around the whole of it. Maekar’s Daeron struggled to keep up with his cousin, not quite understanding why they were running around so much.
“Val!” Daeron shouted, doing his best to run after him. “Val you’re going too fast.”
The children nearly tumbled into each other once they stopped in front of the steps that led down to the stables. Valarr waited for Jena to take his hand on the marble steps before they descended together. Daeron wanted to go down himself. He navigated each step with excruciating slowness, figuring out where to put his hands as he crawled down backwards. Only his grandfather strayed behind to offer support where needed.
Baelor’s voice reached them first. It echoed along the stone, not too loud and not too harsh, as he told a servant to see to it that his things were arranged in his rooms promptly. Valarr took off at the sound of it. “Papa!” He cried once he neared the corner that hid Baelor from them.
Baelor struck then, pouncing out from behind the corner as he reached down and grabbed Valarr. The shriek of delight the boy let out filled the great space, but it was Baelor’s laughter that echoed everywhere. “Look at you!” he said, lifting Valarr far above his head. The little prince kicked his feet and squealed with laughter. “My boy, I missed you so.”
Valarr had been drawn and grey in the face and wheezing when Baelor had left. His current face was bright and shining with a smile as he talked away to his father about all that he had missed in his time away. It was the most Maekar would ever hear him speak at once. Baelor finished kissing his cheeks and his forehead and turned to Jena. She beat him to the embrace, throwing her arms around his neck. He stumbled back a step at the force of it, but his laugh continued. “It is good to see that you are doing well, too,” he said gently. Her response was even quieter, and Maekar looked away, as he thought Baelor and his wife deserved some time to themselves, without eyes tracking their every move.
A general clamor arose around Baelor then, as his mother and father moved in to give their hellos. Even his Daeron toddled his way over, following his cousin as best as he could. Baelor stopped to say hello to his nephew, and eventually rescued him from the floor, picking him up in his other arm when Daeron began to weave through too many peoples’ legs. “Don’t get underfoot now,” he heard his brother say, “You’re just like your father. He would always trip at my heels.”
“I did not,” Maeaker defended instantly. He shouldered his own way through the small crowd and grabbed his son out of Baelor’s arm. “You’re making up lies.”
Baelor grinned. His eyes were bright and warm and his face was wind burnt from the travel, but it only served to make him look refreshed, rather than torn at. “I need not lie about you, brother. I speak the truth, and we know it’s true because I’m the elder.” That was poor reasoning. Maekar was too old to rise to the bait. He only scowled and bid Dyanna and Aerion to say hello to Baelor in his stead.
His frost towards his brother thawed quickly. Baelor was exceedingly pleased with his family’s recovery. He spoke of it proudly before he spoke of anything else. He showed off Valarr by talking of his strong son, who had fought his illness with courage, as though Maekar had not had to spend an entire night ensuring that Valarr stayed strong.
But he offered his gratitude most sincerely one morning when they ran into each other in the early hours. Maekar was on his way to the stables, having found a few other lords to agree to an early hunt with him. He spied Baelor pacing the length of the hall he turned down and approached curiously. “Did you forget where you live?”
Baelor turned to him then, and his face lit up. “I thought I might catch you. You would not mind my company today, would you brother?”
Maekar lifted his lip in a sneer. The two lords that were set to go hunting with him had very poor aim, though their company was some of the only agreeable ones to have around. If Baelor came with, the party was sure to turn fruitful for once. He and his brother could even compete to see who could fell the most birds.
The air was still slightly crisp as the sun began to peek up from the horizon. It was perfect weather to ride out of the city and into the woods. The breathing got easier the further they strayed from The Red Keep, and once in the wood Maekar felt more compelled to speak. “Your trip was meaningful then? We are not to have any more rumors recalling me from Summerhall?” He began, not interested in wasting pleasantries with a brother who would take up their entire outing talking of the scent of the new flowers he’d been introduced to or the little peasant boy he met on the road, if he could. Maekar found it more useful to start Baelor with the important things and then let him whittle it down from there.
“I thought you liked visiting,” Baelor teased. At his scowl, he continued. “Very well. Yes, Daemon was quite apologetic. His sons were less so.” He winced at that. “Aegor was as Aegor always is, a fucking prick, but it was all as it usually is. There was nothing out of the ordinary.”
The phrase struck him. “Brynden told you to watch your back?” he guessed.
Baelor nodded. “He’s been speaking more of it lately. You and he have much of the same distrust ingrained in you, you know.”
He did not need to hear how he and Brynden fucking Rivers were alike, for that was certainly where the similarities stopped. “You heed his word, then?”
“I listen to him when I think it pertinent,” Baelor said. “Don’t get jealous. You’re my brother, you also have my ear.”
He was not jealous. He reached out on instinct, intending to give Baelor a swift punch in his shoulder for his teasing, but Baelor anticipated the blow and led his horse a few more steps away. “Coward,” Maekar muttered.
Baelor laughed. “Brynden has just been making more moves to get into father’s good graces. He is trying to figure out his place in this court, it seems.”
“And you have everyone figured out,” Maekar said under his breath. Baelor heard him and brought his horse back within reaching distance.
“It is a skill you can learn,” he said, as if Maekar would want to.
They passed along in silence before his brother spoke again. “I do not trust him as I trust you, Maekar, you must know that.” Obviously. He would be a very stupid brother if he thought that one of the bastards could be trusted over him. Maekar did not need Baelor to say such a thing. He gave a grunt to show he’d heard what Baelor had said. He sighed, then continued. “I value your word as much as anyone else’s.”
“I would expect it to be so,” Maekar muttered.
“Certainly you cannot be upset with me.”
“I could if I wanted to.”
“But I haven’t done anything, Maekar.”
“You do not value me as your equal.”
Baelor pulled his horse around, cutting him off from continuing. Maekar scowled. It did nothing to move his brother along. “Of course I do,” he said firmly, “Why would you think I do not?”
“Because you see me only as your little brother.”
Baelor had the audacity to laugh at him. “Well, you are my little brother.” He clicked his teeth and turned his horse, intending to ride off, but Baelor cut him off once more in a rush. “No. You do not understand, it is not something that I can just put out. But I do see you as my equal. There is no one I trust more than you, Maekar. There is no one I can trust more than you.”
“You do not keep me at court,” he pointed out.
“You do not like court.”
That was true. He eyed his brother suspiciously. “So you allow Father to send me away, out of respect for my preferences?”
“Yes, Maekar,” Baelor said patiently.
He did not like it when his brother coddled him. Maekar bristled. “And what happens when you need to call your banners to war? Who will join you then?”
Baelor bit his lip. He could see the mirth forming behind his brother’s eyes. “Perhaps Lord Bloodraven would like a chance to prove himself on the field.”
“You-” This time he reached for anything that he could throw at Baelor, and came up with the horn strapped to his leg for signaling. He ripped it off and aimed it right at his stupid brother’s head. Baelor laughed as he brought an arm up and easily deflected it.
“I jest,” he called out. “It would be you, of course. I have no want to spend all of my time on a campaign with him. I have heard enough about Aunt Shiera for one lifetime already, and ours have barely begun.”
The small dig did get Maekar to smirk. They both turned their horses then and continued to wander down the trail. He could hear shouting from deeper into the woods, likely the lords had already found a good bounty to scare off. Before they could find their own, however, Baelor turned back into his overbearing big brother.
“We should not wish for war, though,” Baelor said as he gazed through the tops of the trees towards the blue sky. The sun was beginning to blaze. It was promising to be a long, hot summer, and Maekar was looking forward to the time he would spend in Summerhall, watching Dyanna shed her many layers for the warmer weather. “Father thinks it better to do whatever we can to avoid the violence.”
“Some might call Father a coward for that.”
“Perhaps they will.” Baelor shrugged. “But he is the king, and he has made his decision. He has no taste for it. The death, the blood, the rot in the fields, in the streets, in homes…” Baelor trailed off, thinking of something that he wasn’t willing to share. It was no matter to Maekar, who did not like when Baelor lectured him like a young squire. “I fear that there would be little real glory to find in the depths of it.”
That was easy for Baelor Breakspear to say, Maekar thought. His brother had already proved himself to be a formidable warrior and he hadn’t even had to step foot on a battlefield. Maekar was a fighter as well, though no one cared if he won a tourney or unhorsed a bastard.
“Have you always been this philosophical?” Maekar wondered aloud. “Or did your time on the road with Daemon and his sons turn you towards books?”
A real, pleased laugh left Baelor. It echoed through the trees, likely scaring away whatever small game was nearby. “No,” he said around a fading chuckle. “Although I am sure I would have had a better time between pages. Those little terrors.” He did not elaborate, but Maekar would have plenty of time to press him for stories before he departed back for Summerhall. “I do need to thank you, Maekar, for looking after Valarr during my absence and Jena’s illness. It was the only thing that kept me from throttling Daemon’s, knowing that my son would recover into safe hands.”
He thought of Prince Valarr all grey and sickly, how he’d refused his food in the afternoons and begged for his father for multiple days, and those tear-filled eyes that had looked so much like Baelor’s. “You would do the same,” he said gruffly.
“I would.” Baelor turned in the saddle to look at him. “Should you ever need me to. But I do appreciate you looking after him. He looks up to you a lot.”
“Does he?” He figured Prince Valarr hardly even knew who he was, beyond just his uncle.
“Yes,” Baelor said happily, “He talks a lot about his Uncle Meeky.”
Baelor stopped laughing once he began to seriously chase him through the woods. They did not get much hunting done, for they both quickly realized that it had been long since the last time they'd had the chance to race their horses through the Kingswood as they'd done in their youth, and they likely would not get another chance at it again any time soon.
The women wanted to enjoy a family outing before they departed again for Summerhall, and as such Maekar was forced to take another trip into the Kingswood with his brother’s family and his own.
He sat on a small sand and rock covered hill that sat next to a stream in a small clearing they’d settled at. The servants had set up a full table and chairs, but only the ladies occupied it. He was on the shore of the stream with Daeron, who had wanted to play in the sand, while Baelor waded along in the water. His brother was showing off for his wife, as he’d divested himself of his shirt and rolled his breeches up to his knees. It had the desired effect, for Lady Jena was certainly talking to Dyanna, but her gaze was only on Baelor. And Prince Valarr, who was trapped within his father’s hold while he stood in the stream.
They all watched as Baelor tried to dip his son’s feet into the water, but Valarr screamed and clawed at his father’s arms, attempting to climb up his arm to get away from the stream. “No!” he screamed, “No, no Papa! No water!”
His screaming continued, but Baelor was undeterred. He tried again to lower Valarr into the water, but the child gave a hard fight as he tried to wiggle his way back towards the shore. The screaming continued. Maekar thought it might never end, before Jena stood up abruptly.
“Baelor!” she shouted, surprising Maekar, for he was sure he’d never before heard her raise her voice. Dyanna and Aerion were equally startled next to her, and both jumped at her shout. “Put his little bum back on that beach, or yours will be in trouble!”
Baelor hunched his shoulders and gave up trying to get Valarr to embrace the water. He trudged back up to the shore and let his son go, huffing as the child scrambled straight to Maekar’s side. “He must learn to get past it soon,” Baelor muttered to him, “He needs to know how to swim strong.”
Maekar had been nine when the pox had struck. He could remember feeling as though his skin was being flayed from his body wherever it touched. He was certain he must have cried and screamed at the pain, but that he could not recall in clarity. He could recall afterwards how he’d been terrified to look in a mirror glass and see his scarred face. No one had understood his fears, save for Baelor, who had covered up every single one within his rooms and ordered the servants never to expose them. Even when his parents had insisted he get over his fears, Baelor had never pushed him.
Maekar did not know what would turn Baelor towards his insistence that Valarr should face his fears so soon. The boy had found refuge at his side, and ducked under his uncle’s arm as he glowered at his father.
“Perhaps Daeron will be more fun,” Baelor said, as he grabbed the boy from his own spot on the shore. Daeron did indeed look like he wanted to be in the water, and he squealed in delight as Baelor helped him stand right at the edge, holding tight to his hands so he wouldn’t tumble in.
“Papa mean,” Valarr mumbled right next to his ear.
“Yes,” Maekar agreed. He watched Valarr sit next to him, taking up the spot Daeron had just been in. “Papa is stupid.”
“‘Tupid?” Valarr repeated.
“Yes. Papa is stupid and dumb.”
“Papa dumb.”
“And he is…”
“Silly?” Valarr guessed, with a soft giggle.
Maekar frowned. “No, not that. Let’s see… How about Papa is an idiot.”
“Papa’s an idiot,” Valarr tried out. His little hands found the sticks and acorns Daeron had been collecting, and he began to arrange them in a completely different way. Maekar left him to his work, sitting quietly while he watched Baelor with his own son.
Daeron was fearless. He wanted to climb the rocks next to the small waterfall that fed the creek. Baelor guided him up, doing most of the work, though Daeron didn’t seem to notice he only climbed because his uncle’s hands kept him from slipping on the rocks. Once he reached the top he jumped straight into Baelor’s arms and shrieked to do it again. Daeron’s laughter filled the small clearing soon enough. He could hear Aerion giggling as well, as Dyanna and Jena took turns tickling him on her knee.
“What’s this?” Valarr asked next to him. He held up a rock for Maekar to see.
He raised a brow. “A rock. Have you never seen one before?”
Valarr frowned. “No, what kind?”
“Grey?”
“No.” Valarr threw the rock in the direction of the shore. “Uncle Aerys knows what kind.”
“Then you should ask him what kind it is.”
Valarr moved his gaze around the whole of the clearing before he turned back to Maekar. “He’s not here.”
“No, he’s not,” Maekar said, as though it was obvious.
Mismatched eyes narrowed straight at him, before Valarr turned back down to his collection. Seconds later, he heard, “Meeky’s an idiot,” said under the breath of someone far too small to think that he knew what he was talking about.
Maekar bit his tongue, for he refused to get into a fight with his brother’s infant. He turned his attention back towards Daeron, and thought about how his perfect son would never presume to talk to him in such a way.
Daeron only returned to him when he began to get tired of the sun, and Baelor cradled the child in his arms and brought him back. Later, as he and Baelor joined their wives for food, Daeron and Aerion slept together on the grass, for that was the only place that Daeron wanted to lie down. Aerion merely followed his brother’s lead and sprawled out over him. Dyanna pointed excitedly to where they held each other’s hands in their sleep.
“Maekar used to do that with me,” Baelor said, hungrily gazing over the spread of food before him. Everything had been refreshed as soon as the heir had sat down. “He had nightmares when he was young and he would come running to me.”
The women both made a sound at that. “I was hardly older than Daeron,” he muttered.
“Hmm.” Baelor furrowed his brow as he ate olives out of his hand. “He was a bit older than Valarr is now.”
They looked towards the other child then, at where Valarr slept in his mother’s arms, untroubled as the gentlest of breezes lifted the hair at his temple.
“He’s so peaceful,” Dyanna said, almost wistfully.
“Is he not?” Baelor agreed. His smile was not one to be beat. His hand smoothed the boy’s hair back down, and when he pulled away his fingers lingered on Jena’s hair, on the stray ringlets of red that had lifted in the breeze as well.
She sat fully within the sun. A hat, one that looked decidedly un-princesslike and was made of straw, covered her face from the sunshine. Her dress covered most of the rest of her, but Maekar thought she might still be uncomfortable.
“Are you not feeling faint, sister?” Dyanna asked after a moment. Likely she remembered what Maekar had. One of the early days of their courting, Baelor and Jena had gone for a horse-ride. It had lasted quite some time, and the sun had done her number on Jena in the end. She’d fainted in the middle of the ride and slumped over her horse, quite suddenly, to hear Baelor tell it. It had done nothing to stop the courting, but Jena’s sensitivity to the sun had persisted throughout their marriage.
“So long as my face is covered, I keep my wits about me,” Jena said happily. Her head tilted down, and her eyes went soft at the sight of her son’s sleeping face. “He is all his father’s. Baelor would sleep the whole day in the sun, should he be given the time.”
“Your shoulders are going to get red,” Dyanna pointed out, tilting her head towards the exposed skin that was left above the hem of her dress.
Jena hummed and tried to flick her hair over her shoulder, but it was too heavy and tangled behind her back. It was Baelor who leaned in and gently fixed the red curls, brushing them carefully into place over her shoulders so they might help to protect her from the sun. He leaned back and looked at his work with a pleased smile. “There. How’s that?”
“Better, my prince,” Jena smiled back, “I shall not perish now under your protection.”
The sun would eventually drive them all back to the Keep with light heads, and that day lived in Maekar’s memory, bright and vibrant. Daeron’s shrieks of excitement as he climbed about, Aerion’s laughter as he was teased by his mother and aunt, even Baelor’s grin and Valarr’s little voice in his ear. They stayed with him when they truly were called to war only a few months later. And what simmered in his mind most was Dyanna. The way the sun glimmered off of her hair and how her hand hung haphazardly over the arm of the wooden chair she sat in. Her pleased smile as she looked round at all of them. He wanted to return to that moment, after the war. That peace and happiness burned within his mind while he watched his father and brother struggle with the knowledge that their words had all been for naught, and betrayal had come to find them despite their efforts, and Daemon Blackfyre was going to burn on the battlefield for what he’d done, and Maekar would be able to return home victorious and with glory to his name.
That was what he thought awaited him on the day they rode out of King’s Landing. Ahead of him he could see Baelor’s black helm shining in the sun. He set his pace to follow his brother and thought of how they were going to return as equals. Baelor likely would be Hand, he thought, and he would be Protector of the Realm, and their father would note that he was just as important a son as any one of his brothers.