Archive of Our Own

The sound of the rain was not loud enough to drown Maekar's thoughts.

A constant stream of what ifs had been on his mind since the moment Aerion demanded a trial of seven. It worsened in the aftermath, when his son barely escaped death, and intensified when he saw an unconscious Baelor lying on a bed, with the Maester treating the wound on the side of his head that kept bleeding profusely. For the first time in his life, Maekar realised that his brother was not unbreakable.

His hand had flexed with the heavy, ghost-like feeling of his fingers wrapped around his mace. The weapon was usually a comfort to him, his companion used to unhorse and attack enemies, bringing an end to their lives. But never intended to touch his family.

Maekar had known, without a shred of doubt, that it had been his own doing. In his frantic, desperate need to get to Aerion, after hearing his son's scream, everything that stood in his way was an obstacle that had to be taken down no matter the cost. He was blind and deaf to anything that wasn't Aerion. Not once did he think that he could have struck Baelor with such force that it would cause his brother, the greatest warrior he knew, such harm. Maekar had not intended to do it, but he had done it, and the guilt was all-consuming.

Devotion kept him at Baelor's side, his attention wholly focused on his brother. He would not forgive himself if any further harm were to come to him, could not chance not being present were his brother to wake up or show any signs of pain. While the Maester had tried to convince him that his presence would not quicken the healing process, Maekar dismissed the man's words, growing frustrated. He was the one who decided if he should stay or not.

The door opened and closed with a soft click, and Maekar turned at the sound, his shoulders slightly relaxing when he saw his youngest son approaching Baelor. Aegon was quiet, a frown on his face, as he watched his uncle. For three days, he had paid several visits, each time hoping that Baelor would be back to his normal self. And with each visit, Aegon grew more disheartened, and Maekar could not blame him. His own feelings mirrored those of his son, and yet there was nothing he could do to put the boy at ease when Maekar himself was restless.

"When will he wake up?" Aegon asked, looking from his uncle to his father. His eyes, usually so filled with light, were sad. It broke something in Maekar, tore what was left of his heart into shreds.

"I could not say," Maekar admitted. "The Maester has been giving him milk of the poppy to keep him asleep. He is still in great pain."

His worry grew by the hour. Milk of the poppy helped Baelor with the pain, and kept him drowsy enough to rest, but Maekar's eyes bore into the old Maester's head each time he swirled the concoction in the cup. Too much of it and Baelor could remain in his current state.

"But he will wake up, won't he?" Aegon's eyes were pleading, fearful of any other option. His son had always had an adoration for his uncle that was unlike any other. It only seemed to grow since the trial. "He has to. He must."

Maekar wanted to say yes. To reassure his son, and himself, that soon enough Baelor would back to his usual self, and they would be able to put the last few days behind them, his own wounded pride be damned. But he could not do that, because he did not know what was to be true, and it would hurt him all the more if he made promises that he could not keep.

"Father," Aegon continued when there was no reply, his voice just above a whisper. "If I had ran to uncle Baelor when Aerion—"

"Aegon," Maekar said, voice sharp. He knew what his son was thinking. He knew because, in the midst of all his what ifs, it had crossed his mind, too. But he was not to let his son blame himself for something that he could not have prevented. "Come here."

Aegon reluctantly walked away from Baelor's side and crossed the room, coming to a stand in front of Maekar. He looked smaller, in all his sadness, and it reminded Maekar of when Aegon was even younger, climbing into his and Dyanna's bed in the middle of the night, seeking comfort from his parents. How easy it had been to hold him close and make him feel protected then.

Maekar held his son's face in his hands as he fought to remain stoic. It hit him then, overwhelmingly so, just how much he loved Aegon, and how he would endure any and all pain for his children no matter how much they challenged him.

"What happened to your uncle is my own fault," Maekar admitted. "I did not mean to harm him, but I did. And for that I will never forgive myself. But it was me who landed the blow. No one else is at fault. Do you understand?"

Maybe if the hedge knight had not come into our lives it would not have come to this, Maekar had found himself thinking.

Maybe if Aerion had not been a coward.

Maybe if we had stayed in Summerhall.

Maybe if I had been a better father.

Maybe if Dyanna were still here.

Maybe if—

Aegon nodded, and stepped closer, his arms embracing his father's waist. It took all of Maekar's strength to not fall apart there and then, unable to remember the last time they shared such a tender moment. He placed a hand on Aegon's back, and with the other he cradled his son's head, closing his eyes.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Maekar did not remember the last time he had slept through the night. Daeron and Aegon had both tried to convince him to rest, properly rest, in the room that had been arranged for him at Ashford castle. Maekar would not have it, refusing to leave his brother's side, and sending his sons away. Guilt and loyalty kept him there, and there was no alternative he would accept. He wanted to be by Baelor's side no matter what happened.

Maekar's own recovery was slow, much slower than what he was used to. He was not resting, he was barely eating, and he slept while sitting on an uncomfortable chair, right next to Baelor's bed. His back and neck ached, but it was not enough to diminish the pain he felt inside, one that was much stronger than what he physically felt. His aching body was almost a comfort to him.

The chair creaked when he sat down once more, with a soft grunt. He watched the rise and fall of Baelor's chest, still breathing, and reached over to hold his brother's hand, tightening his grip on instinct. Maekar wanted Baelor to know, somehow, that he was there waiting for him, that he would send all his strength to him if he could.

He wished that they could swap places.

When they were young, it was Baelor who would come running to him when Maekar hurt himself. Even as a child, Maekar had done everything he could to hide his pain, refusing to show any weakness to anyone. It was bad enough being the fourth son and living in his eldest brother's shadow. But when Baelor held him, when his soft words reassured Maekar, nothing else seemed to matter but the warmth that enveloped him. His brother, his safety, his home. What Maekar had done to deserve Baelor's love, he could not tell. More often than not, he felt unworthy of it, but not even his reckless actions deterred his brother's affection.

Now, in Baelor's place, he felt useless, unable to do anything to comfort his brother. Unable to even know if he would open his eyes again. Baelor would know what to do. Baelor would not have let this happen to begin with.

The exhaustion slowly caught up to Maekar. He leaned down and placed a lasting kiss on Baelor's hand, holding it just as strong, and then he rested his head on the bed and closed his eyes.

His dreams were crueller, filled with darkness and blood. In one, Aerion died at the hands of Ser Duncan while Maekar was held back by Lyonel Baratheon. In another, Daeron was flung from his horse and trampled by another. Sometimes it was Maekar who died. Perhaps it would have been a kinder outcome, but he could not leave his children so soon after the loss of their mother. He would simply have to endure, as he always had.

That night, Maekar's mace struck the back of Baelor's helm, crushing his skull. Even in dream, he could vividly feel the force of his blow vibrating up his arm. His brother's body hit the ground and, unlike every other time, he did not get up. Around Maekar, time stood still, all other knights frozen in place. He dropped to his knees, calling out for Baelor, shaking him, but his brother's eyes were like glass, no light behind them. An agonising wail rose from his throat as his desperation grew, all to no avail. Wake up, he demanded, but nothing that he said or did could change the look on Baelor's face, his lifeless eyes staring into the distance.

Maekar could not breathe. It was as if he was being suffocated, and, as he looked at his brother's limp body, now tightly held in his arms, Maekar knew that he would have followed, in the same way he always had trailed behind Baelor. There had never been a moment of his life without Baelor's presence, and Maekar did not know if he wanted to learn what that was like.

Maekar woke up with a gasp, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His eyes flew open, wet with tears that had fallen while he was asleep, and he could not stop himself for letting out a strangled sob, still feeling the panic coursing through him. With his senses slowly coming back to him, he realised that he was shaking, barely remembering where he was.

"Fuck," he breathed out, willing himself to forget and failing miserably. The feeling was too raw, too real. It could have happened exactly like that.

He rubbed his cheek on the bed and was suddenly aware of the hand on his face, a gentle thumb stroking his cheek, a feeling that was all too familiar and comforting.

"Maekar," a voice whispered, so quietly that he would have missed it had he not been so acutely aware of his surroundings.

His own hand flew to grab the other, fingers wrapping around the wrist, as he lifted his head to look at Baelor.

"Brother," Maekar breathed, desperately hoping that this was real, and not another dream.

The tears threatened to fall again as he took in Baelor's expression. He seemed tired after days clouded by milk of the poppy, but behind his eyes there was concern as he looked at his younger brother.

"Bad dream?" His voice was hoarse, and Maekar had half a mind to tell him not to speak, not until he could get the Maester to tend to him.

"Never mind that," Maekar dismissed, his dreams be damned. He shuffled closer so he could look properly at Baelor, the soft glow of the candles casting shadows over him. "You're awake now."

Maekar touched Baelor's face, noticing the way his eyes fluttered, and trailed his hand down to rest over Baelor's heart. He wanted nothing more than to crumble in that moment, to be held by Baelor and be told that all of it had been but a dream. But Maekar was not the one who needed to be taken care of, not when Baelor looked so weak.

"Are you in pain?" Maekar asked, his voice quiet as if he were afraid to disturb.

"My head." Baelor reached up with his free hand. His fingers grazed the bandage that had been freshly changed earlier in the day, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What happened?"

Maekar hesitated. He wanted to tell his brother everything and beg for his forgiveness, but was not willing to do it so soon, not when Baelor was only somewhat conscious for the first time since he had fallen. Not when he risked disappointing his brother again.

"I will call for the Maester."

"No," Baelor said, and even in his condition his tone was commanding, keeping Maekar in place. "Tell me."

Maekar swallowed. "How much do you remember?"

"The trial," Baelor said. "Trying to hold you back. I do not remember when or how it ended. Aerion, is he—"

"Alive," Maekar confirmed. "The hedge knight, too. Aerion yielded." He said it with difficulty, but after everything that happened, disappointment was not the first thing on his mind.

"I took a blow to the head," Baelor said, slightly confused. "Is that right? I may not remember, but I feel it."

"I'm sorry," Maekar said, his voice sounding frail to his own ears. An admittance in itself. "I do not remember doing it, but no other could have struck you in such a way. I did not mean to hurt you."

"You," Baelor breathed. Surprise was evident in his eyes, but there was something else, too, that Maekar could not identify. "You did this?"

"I thought Aerion was going to die. I would never have been so careless were it not for fear," Maekar continued. His free hand covered Baelor's. "I will spend the rest of my life begging your forgiveness."

Baelor blinked, a moment of silence prolonging as they looked at one another. There was a sinking feeling in Maekar's stomach. The thought of Baelor not forgiving him, distancing himself, of losing his brother in a different manner crossed his mind. Perhaps Maekar was still meant to lose everything, in spite of what happened at Ashford Meadow.

"You speak as if I were dead," Baelor said, not sounding nearly as upset as Maekar expected him to be. "You did what was expected of you. You fought."

Maekar shook his head in disbelief. "I almost killed you. Seven hells, I could have killed you. Why are you not angry?"

"I am alive," Baelor said, a faint smile on his lips, ever so infuriatingly calm. "And you sound as angry as ever. All is well."

"All is not well," Maekar said, voice rising. Immediately, he regretted it, seeing Baelor wince at the volume. "Sorry."

"Do not dwell on your guilt, brother." Baelor tried to sit up, but immediately closed his eyes, wincing in pain.

"You’re not well," Maekar said, realising that this discussion would need to happen another time, when Baelor could understand the depth of Maekar's actions. His head was bound to still be fogged at present. The severity of Maekar's actions were not clear. "I will call for the Maester."

Food and a low dose of milk of the poppy was what Baelor was given. Not enough to make him sleep for a full day, but enough to reduce the pain while keeping him awake, slowly bringing him out of his drowsy state.

The Maester gave Maekar a look of reassurance. Baelor was healing and no longer at risk, but he would need to take it slow and allow his body to recover. That meant his duties as Hand of the King would need to be put on hold. It was not something that pleased Baelor, but Maekar would ensure the orders were followed. Their father and his small council would need to handle their affairs as best as they could.

Summerhall would be a good place for Baelor to be, Maekar thought. Closer to Ashford than King's Landing, too, which meant less travel time. And Maekar could be with him throughout it all. Away from the Red Keep, in Summerhall's quieter walls, Baelor was bound to find some peace.

"Have you been sleeping on that chair?" Baelor's words took him out of his thoughts.

"What does it matter?" Maekar asked, turning away from the window and facing his brother.

"You look tired," Baelor pointed out. He was sitting on the bed, back against the wooden frame. "You have not been sleeping well, I can tell."

"You worry too much." He always had, though. Baelor always cared, even when he was not well.

"You're my brother. Of course I worry," Baelor retorted. "You ought to go and rest. I will still be here on the morrow."

"I am not leaving you," Maekar said, refusing to even entertain the idea. If he was going to worry then he might as well stay close. He did not think he could fall asleep otherwise. "Do not make me leave. Please."

Baelor's expression softened, hearing his brother's plea. He pondered for a moment and gave in to his brother's wish, as he often did. "Then lie next to me. Leave that chair be."

Maekar did not need to be told twice. His feet moved on their own accord, and he slipped into the bed, settling next to Baelor, careful not to crowd him. His older brother lay on his side, mirroring Maekar's position.

"Do not treat me as if I were broken. You offend me," Baelor said with an edge to his voice. "Come closer."

Maekar complied, feeling the heat radiating from Baelor. His fingers traced the outline of the bandages around Baelor's head. The injury was above his ear and, for once, it seemed that it did not bleed through. Healing, he reminded himself.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine," Baelor said, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Maekar's touch. "The pain sharpens at times, but it is no longer unbearable. Worry not, the worst is behind us."

There was a sense of relief that came with those words, and yet Maekar's guilt barely wavered. He did not think it would ever leave him. In time, he would ask Baelor what he could do to appease his guilt, even if that meant punishing himself by locking himself in Summerhall, or worse.

"Tell me about your dream," Baelor said. A distraction, of course. He knew his brother like no other, could tell that guilt plagued him still.

"I dreamed I lost you," Maekar said, reluctantly. His heart clenched when he heard himself utter the words out loud. It made him shudder, as if he feared that he could speak his nightmare into existence. "My own doing. I saw your body on the ground, your lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, and I could do nothing to bring you back. It felt real, too real. I have not felt such despair since Dyanna's death."

Baelor pulled him closer, and Maekar obliged, no longer cautious about his touch hurting his brother. Baelor wiped away a tear that trailed down Maekar's cheek. He did not realise he was crying, but he had held so much inside him for so long, long before Ashford, that eventually it would all have to break loose. All it would take was a touch from Baelor.

The pain of losing his wife was still fresh. She was what had kept him together at Summerhall, the only one who understood each one of their children and knew what to do and say to comfort them, and him. Without her, he was lost, watching as his children walked towards dark paths.

But he still had Baelor, the one constant in his life that he now realised he took for granted. His brother was not immortal.

Maekar’s world had come to an abrupt stop when the Kingsguard informed him of Baelor’s condition. Dread settled at the pit of his stomach, ice in his veins. It had been but moments since Aerion had been in his arms, barely conscious, but alive. Maekar had no time to feel any sense of relief as the panic returned in full force, and with it the thought of losing the person he loved most.

"It was but a dream," Baelor said, his hand finding Maekar's and lacing their fingers. "You have not lost me. I do not intend to let death take me so soon."

"Would that we could be the ones to choose when it happens," Maekar said.

Baelor hummed. "I would grow old, with you by my side," he said. "We could spend our time between Dragonstone and Summerhall. If only I could choose what the future holds for us."

Maekar swallowed. He would be lying if he said that he never thought of a life where he and Baelor could be together, away from the Red Keep and all the expectations that came with the crown. When he was young, he believed it could happen, but the years taught him a pleasant life was not in his fortune.

"You will be King," Maekar said. Bitter, not because he wanted it for himself, but because it would take his brother from him. "That is what your future holds."

Baelor closed his eyes. "It is a distant future, I should hope. And even then, I would have you by my side. Would you want that?"

"Would I want that?" Maekar laughed humourlessly at that. He spent his entire life trailing behind his brother. He was not sure what he would do with himself if he could not follow Baelor wherever he went. "What else am I to do?"

"You speak as if you have no other option," Baelor said, and he looked as if he wanted Maekar to consider all possibilities. "You could choose to never set foot in King's Landing again if that was your wish."

"You fool," Maekar grunted. "You are the only thing that stops me from going mad, even when you do drive me mad yourself. I will not be without you any longer than I have to."

Baelor smiled then, pleased with the answer—an answer that he surely knew was coming. He cupped Maekar's cheek and inched closer, a soft wince escaping his mouth, but before Maekar could tell him to stay still, Baelor was pressing their lips together. Maekar responded immediately, realising how much he missed the feeling, in the midst of the storm that nearly turned his life upside down.

Maekar held back, did not kiss Baelor with his usual roughness, but not for lack of want. He felt his brother reeling him in, trying to get him pliant in his hands as he so often did, and Maekar would give in if he could, spread his legs for Baelor and ask him to make it hurt so his mind would come to a still if only for a moment. But Maekar was the one to break the kiss, unwilling to cause his brother further strain.

"You're doing it again," Baelor sighed, sinking back into the bed. "It is not the first time I've been wounded. You insult me by holding back."

"You wore a helm that did not fit and then took a blow to the head," Maekar said. He wrapped an arm around Baelor's waist and held him close. "Had it been the other way around, you would be much more unbearable than me."

"I cannot deny it," Baelor admitted. He had always been protective towards his brothers, especially Maekar. There was a time when Maekar hated it, the way it made him feel like a child who needed coddling. In time, he relished the attention, craved it more than anything. "It is one of my best traits, taking care of you."

Maekar rolled his eyes, but did not argue against it. Baelor was right. "Sleep," he said instead. "I want us to be out of here and on the way to Summerhall soon."

"Summerhall?" Baelor asked, confused. "I ought to return to King's Landing."

"Nonsense," Maekar said as if the idea was absurd. "Summerhall is closer than King's Landing. You cannot travel such a distance in your current condition."

"I am Hand of the King," Baelor said, and Maekar hated the shift in his tonw. It was no longer his Baelor speaking, but the heir to the throne. "I cannot just go to Summerhall."

"You nearly died," Maekar snapped. "The King and the small council can wait a few days longer for your return. Father will understand. You can perform your duties from Summerhall, if you must."

Baelor looked torn, ever the perfect son, perfect Hand, perfect brother, attempting to find a solution that would benefit all, while putting himself last.

"You will start bleeding again if you continue thinking with such intensity." Maekar shifted closer, his fingers tracing patterns on Baelor's back. "Is it not better to keep them waiting rather than not return because your body was turned to ashes?"

Baelor sighed and, while his tired body and mind may have aided his decision, eventually he nodded. "I will send word on the morrow."

When morning came, Maekar woke up with the feel of the bed dipping. The first thing he did was grunt in protest, until the memories all came flooding back to him. He opened his eyes, and his back protested in pain when he sat up abruptly.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Baelor looked back at him for a second and then continued to get dressed. "I can no longer bear to lie down on that bed. I need to move or I will go mad."

"Must I remind you that—"

"I nearly died? No, dear brother." Baelor tapped his temple. "But my head is still on my shoulders, and I have suffered similar blows in the past. I know the limits of my own body."

"None to your head," Maekar said, getting up as well. "Not in this way. I would know, I was always there, too."

Baelor smiled and approached his brother, pulling him closer by his tunic. "That you were."

"A kiss will not shut me up," Maekar said against Baelor's lips. A tactical distraction that his brother knew would always work well enough.

"I would never want you to shut up," Baelor said, a hint of a smile on his face, before kissing Maekar again. "I quite like the sounds that come out of your mouth."

Maekar ignored the effect the words had on him.

"I have to send word to the King," Baelor said, walking over to the large oak table in the adjacent room. "That is, if you still want me in Summerhall?"

"What an absurd question," Maekar huffed. "We should be on the way today."

"As you wish," Baelor agreed, the response being what he expected, as he dipped the quill in black ink. "Aerion. How is he?"

"Not as broken as when the hedge knight beat him bloody," Maekar answered.

He felt partly guilty that, while his son had been bedridden for a full day, he had been torn between staying by his side or Baelor's. As luck would have it, he had sat by Aerion in the initial hours after the trial had come to an end, long enough to see Aegon come into the room with a dagger in his hand. Maekar felt that he had, once more, failed as a father, and all he could do was hold his youngest son, wishing he could find the words to comfort him.

Maekar had taken Aegon out of the room then, and commanded the Kingsguard to remain outside of Aerion's room, where no one else was to go in. Maekar led the youngest boy to the room he shared with Daeron, and stayed with him until he fell asleep, watching his small body rise and fall under the sheets. A sudden urge to embrace his child and shield him from others, from any harm that could come, took over him. He wondered if his children would be less troubled if he had given them the attention and love they needed over the years. Was it too late for them now, even for Aegon?

"Something troubles you," Baelor said, not taking his eyes from the paper. "Tell me what happened."

Maekar had half a mind to not mention the incident to Baelor, but his brother would have eventually found out, and if Baelor was to know another outcome of Maekar's failures then he would rather be the one to tell him.

"Aegon is troubled," Baelor said after a pause, setting the quill down. He clasped his hands over the table, and leaned forward, a concerned look on his face. "It is not the first time that he wishes to be rid of Aerion. What has caused him such distress? It's unlike him."

"I do not know," Maekar answered sincerely. "They cannot bear the sight of each other. Aegon runs to Daeron or Aemon's room at night. He says it's because of Aerion, but I—" He stopped then, unable to continue.

"You do not want to believe your sons could harm one another," Baelor stated. "But you know what Aerion is like."

"I did not know it was this serious," Maekar defended. "But if I had known, what was I to do? I know Aerion is deeply troubled, but he's still my son. How am I to protect them both from each other and from themselves?"

"I am not passing judgement." Baelor's face softened, hearing the rare vulnerability in his brother's voice. "I wish you had spoken to me about it sooner. We could have found a solution."

Maekar shook his head. How pitiful it would have been to ask his brother's help on matters that concerned him and his own children. It would only have served as another reminder that he was incapable of doing anything on his own.

"I am sending Aerion to Lys."

"Very well." Baelor stood, the letter folded and sealed in his hands. "It will be good for him to spend some time away. It will be good for Egg, too."

"I did not want it to come to this." The last thing Maekar wanted was to be parted with his son. Worse, so soon after his brush with death. At the same time, he could not look at Aerion's face without feeling shame.

"You did what you could," Baelor reassured. He did not intervene in Maekar's decision, even if his own would have been different. It would be better to not discuss. "He can fend for himself in the Free Cities."

Maekar closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Send that letter, will you? I want to go home."

They were to depart before the sun reached its highest point. Only a few more hours to go.

In Ashford castle's great hall, where they broke their fast, Maekar had watched with a barely there smile as Valarr ran to Baelor and nearly crushed his father with a firm embrace. Baelor embraced his son just as tightly, the relief from both evident even at a distance.

The guilt tugged at Maekar again when he thought that not only did he almost lose his brother, but a son nearly lost his father. It made him wonder how Valarr would have turned out if he had been Maekar's own. Perhaps all the good traits could only be passed down from Baelor. Their sons could not have been more different.

"Father?"

It hurt that Aegon sounded scared when addressing him. Maekar had done this, intimidated and neglected all his children to the point where they did not know what mood they would find him in. He would have to make it right, somehow.

"Yes?"

Aegon swallowed, and shifted on his chair to properly face his father. "I would like to squire for Ser Duncan.

"Aegon." Maekar stared at his son, partly in disbelief. He had hoped that, after the recent events, Aegon would have changed his mind, but the opposite seemed to be true. "That man nearly killed your brother. And your uncle could have died, too."

"It was not Ser Duncan's fault," Aegon protested, loud enough for Daeron, sat at the end of the table, to look between the two of them. "There would have been no trial if Aerion hadn't been so cruel. And uncle Baelor chose to do the right thing. He stood with someone who protected the innocent."

The words were like daggers in his chest. Another reminder that he had failed one of his sons, and Baelor, ever so righteous, was the one Aegon continued to look up to.

"He is a good man, Father," Aegon continued when there was no response.

"There are other knights you can squire for," Maekar stated. The last thing he wanted was to have Ser Duncan close to them, a constant reminder of the trial and what he nearly lost. "Have your pick when we return to Summerhall."

"I will learn more squiring for him than with any other knight," Aegon insisted. He would not back down. Maekar did not have to wonder who he got his stubbornness from. "I know I will. I already have. I don't want another."

"Why him?" Maekar asked with genuine curiosity. He wanted to end the conversation, to tell Aegon that he was to say his goodbyes to Ser Duncan and never see him again, but he feared that it would only turn his son on him for good. He had to at least understand.

"He is kind," Aegon simply answered. "He took me as his squire when he thought I was an orphan. He doesn't have much but he promised me I'd have clothes on my back and food in my belly. How many knights would do the same? He has a good heart."

Aegon spoke of Ser Duncan with the affection one would hold for family, their own blood. The affection he would never hold towards Aerion. Maekar did not think he could deny his son this one wish, even if it did not please him.

And so, after breakfast, he went out to look for Ser Duncan, and found him standing by a large elm tree, his eyes widening as he saw Maekar approach with four guardsmen.

"Prince Maekar." He looked scared. More than that, he looked broken. It was a miracle that he, too, was still alive.

"My youngest son seems to have grown fond of you, ser," Maekar said, in lieu of a greeting. "He tells me he will serve no knight but you. He's an unruly boy, as you will have noticed."

"He's a good lad," Ser Duncan answered, and there was a fondness in his voice when he spoke. "Just needs a stern hand, that's all."

"Will you have him?" The words were heavy. They were as much a plea as a request that he wanted denied. If the hedge knight was against it, then Aegon would have to accept it.

"Me?" Ser Duncan was surprised. "You honour me, but I am only a hedge knight."

"That can be changed. There is a place for you at Summerhall, if you wish," Maekar said. "You'll swear your sword to me and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training."

"Prince Baelor said the realm needs good men." Ser Duncan shifted on his foot, putting his weight onto his slightly less injured leg. "He said that to me after the trial."

"True enough. What of it?"

"I will take your son to squire," Ser Duncan said after a moment of contemplation. "But not at Summerhall. Might be he's better served away from castles and servants and—"

"His family?" Maekar cut him off, feeling a fire burn in him. There was no safer place for Aegon than Summerhall.

"If you would consent, I would bring him on the road with me. He'll learn to squire as I did. He'll sleep in inns, stables. Maybe under a tree if we must."

"Aegon is blood of the dragon," Maekar pressed. "He cannot sleep in ditches and eat hard salt beef. My son will not live like a peasant."

"Daeron never slept in a ditch," Ser Duncan answered. "All the beef Aerion ever ate was thick and rare and bloody."

Maekar looked at the hedge knight, astounded by his words. He was brave, that Maekar could not deny. But more than anything, the thought of his son going on the road with only Ser Duncan to protect him made him fearful. They were living in dangerous times. And Aegon was only a child. It was not right.

"He's my last son," Maekar said quietly, feeling his throat close up.

He departed with those words, making his way back to the castle.

Maekar felt Baelor's eyes on him as he paced the length of the room. The ring in his hand felt heavy, but not nearly as heavy as his heart.

"I could speak to Ser Duncan," Baelor offered, breaking the silence. "But I cannot fault him for being done with princes after what he went through."

"It will make no difference," Maekar said, choosing to ignore Baelor's choice of words. His protectiveness towards the hedge knight was something to discuss separately. "He will not come to Summerhall. And Aegon will not be happy."

"You worry that he will run away once more."

"I know he bloody will." Maekar came to a stand in front of Baelor. "I will lose my son if I take him back with me, and I risk losing him, truly losing him, if he goes on the road."

"I have no doubt Ser Duncan will protect Aegon with all he has. He is fond of the boy."

"He is only one man," Maekar argued. The worry Maekar had felt when his son went missing crept back, clawing at him. "Aegon is my boy. He's a kind boy." The last chance I have to make it right, he didn't say. But Baelor understood well enough.

"You must let him make his own choice," Baelor said. "You wish to protect him by keeping him close but, in doing so, you risk making him feel caged."

"He will see and hear things that he shouldn't." Maekar felt himself shaking. "Baelor, he is a child."

"You cannot shield him for the rest of his life." Baelor stood up and walked over to Maekar. "He's smart and headstrong, just like his father. He will not allow others to dictate what he does, even in his young age. You can only stop him for so long."

"I want him to be better than me," Maekar admitted. He wanted his son safe, close to him.

"He has it in him to be a great man." Baelor's hands closed over Maekar's. "We may have enemies across the realm, but we have many friends, too. Aegon will find help if he needs it. He'll have something of yours to keep him safe."

Maekar let out a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure. He knew that whatever decision he made, he could very well end up regretting.

In the end, he nodded.

Later, Maekar held Aegon in his arms, longer than he remembered doing in recent times. His heart pounded in his chest, even stronger when he felt his son's arms tighten around him. Though he could not bring himself to utter the words, he hoped Aegon knew.

He gave the hedge knight a last warning look and then watched his son depart, heart in his throat and Baelor's hand on the small of his back.

Summerhall helped.

Maekar had good memories of it, most of them with Dyanna and their children, back when he felt like he had a purpose. Now those memories were haunted by the loss of his wife and his inability to take care of his children.

Daeron was plagued by dreams he swore would become reality. Aerion picked up fights with everyone who stood in his way and grew increasingly obsessed with dragons. Aegon ran away at every opportunity, preferring to squire for hedge knights than be with his family. Rhae tried to get Aegon to drink what she thought was a love potion.

Six children, and each one of them seemed to take pleasure in trying to send him to an early grave.

Selfishly, he had wanted Baelor to join him in Summerhall so that his brother's presence could bring them some semblance of peace. With Aerion on his way to Lys, he hoped it would not be as difficult. Daeron was the only son who remained close, and his daughters were not as intent in driving him mad as his sons seemed to. He held on to whatever hope he still had left.

"What's on your mind?" A familiar voice. Equally familiar arms wrapped around his waist. Home.

"My family," Maekar readily admitted, his back relaxing against Baelor's chest.

"Something good seems to have come out of the tournament," Baelor mused, his breath on Maekar's neck. "Your love for your children grows deeper."

"A blessing and a curse," Maekar muttered. He mused that the gods took pleasure in mocking him. It was not enough that he could never quite understand how to love his children. No, they had to put Ashford Meadow in their path. Had Aerion returned with them, Maekar would not have known how to coexist with his son after realising just how rotten he was. He was his son, though, and Maekar was bound to love his blood.

"Is it a blessing and a curse to love me, too?"

Maekar's lips twitched, and he turned around in Baelor's arms. That had a simpler answer. "If it is a curse then I would rather be damned to hell than be without you."

"Have you gone soft?" Baelor asked, but the glint in his eyes did not hide how pleased he was with the answer. A slight tease from his brother. Maekar presented a hard shell around all but Baelor, the one person he did not feel the need to hide from, in any sense.

"It is your doing." Maekar touched the side of Baelor's head, ever so lightly. The tourney and the trial had been two weeks past. In that time, they had returned to Summerhall, and Baelor was still in recovery, but faring much better than in Ashford. Maekar tried not to think about his imminent return to King's Landing. "To think I nearly lost you. Forgive me."

"You have apologised enough for a lifetime," Baelor said, his hands sliding up Maekar's chest to hold his face. "That's enough now. It was but an accident, and I blame you not."

"You may have forgiven me but I will never forgive myself," Maekar admitted, wrapping his arms around Baelor and unconsciously pulling him closer. "I would have died with you on that field. My body would have carried on, but I wouldn't be here."

"I do not like when you speak like that." Baelor's brows furrowed, concern on his face. "When that day comes, hopefully not for many years, you must stay strong."

"I can't promise that," Maekar stated. He didn't know if he could promise such a thing when he knew he could self-destruct. "I don't know a life without you. I don't want to live that life."

Baelor had been there every step of the way since the day Maekar was born. The attention Maekar lacked from their parents was given to him tenfold by Baelor. It did not take long until Maekar started looking up to his brother and finding in him the comfort and safety that did not exist elsewhere. He had always been light in Maekar's eyes. His love was what stopped Maekar from descending into a pit of darkness.

"I will always be with you," Baelor promised, resting their foreheads together. "We belong to each other, even in death."

Maekar could not understand how every moment with Baelor felt so light and equally intense, especially when he spoke like that. The effect his brother had on him was nothing short of flames consuming him whole, and he welcomed the feeling, always.

"You keep the broken pieces of my being together," Maekar whispered. "I have always been lacking in everything, haven't I? Always ten steps behind you, never quite enough. Only really worth something when I'm in battle, fighting for something greater than us. But outside the field, I am only the youngest brother, not destined for anything great, not even enough to be a good father. Only useful for my brute strength."

"You are too hard on yourself," Baelor said, his hands sliding down to rest over Maekar's chest. "I have never seen you that way. There is so much more to you."

"I know." Maekar swallowed. "I know, but I don't understand why. Why is it that you can see beyond all the fucked up parts of me?"

"Because you have always been my greatest joy," Baelor said, with a fond smile on his face. He looked at Maekar with adoration in his eyes, and while the look wasn't new, it never failed to floor him. "From the moment I first held you in my arms, I knew our bond was to be special, and I would give my life for you. Then you started favouring me over our parents and our brothers, and it was only me you ever wanted, and I had never felt the need to protect anyone or anything more. We have shared everything with each other. I know you better than I know myself, and there isn't one part of you that I do not love."

"You say that, but—"

"I have never spoken truer words," Baelor silenced his brother before he could continue. "You may find faults in all your actions, but I know what lies underneath it all. You say you could not carry on without me? I would bring destruction to everything around me if I lost you. There is nothing you could say or do that could change how I feel about you because it is easier to love you than it is to breathe. It's time you accept that."

And it was true. Maekar had known Baelor's feelings long enough to know that they were real, but his own insecurities and doubts prevented him from fully accepting that anyone, even Baelor, could truly love him.

"You understand, then, why I would fall apart without you?" Maekar's voice strained. What he felt for Baelor was so strong he could hardly contain it in him. "I would have no more strength to stand. The only thing that would stop me from embracing death would be my children."

The words seemed to strike Baelor with the strength of a hundred swords, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. It was unlike Maekar to express his feelings in such a raw, vulnerable way, but the trial had broken some of his walls. Baelor had to know how he felt.

"I do not want you to do anything reckless," Baelor said firmly. "Maekar, I forbid you to bring any harm to yourself should anything happen to me."

Maekar could no longer bring himself to look at Baelor, feeling shame under that intense gaze. Instead, he chose to hide his face in the crook of his brother's neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in his scent.

"I won't," he said. Whether he could keep that promise was another story.

"Do not think that my sorrow would not be as great as yours. My world would be empty without you," Baelor said earnestly. "But you must not let these thoughts plague you any longer. We are both here, are we not?"

"Yes," Maekar answered, relaxing against his brother. "We are."

"Then let us enjoy ourselves," Baelor suggested. "And speak of death no more."

Maekar leaned back and nodded. "It will be hard enough when you're in King's Landing and I'm here."

"I take no more pleasure in it than you do," Baelor said, leaning in to brush his lips over the corner of Maekar's mouth. "You could return with me if you wished to. And remain as long as you want."

"Father would not be pleased with that," Maekar said, with a bitter taste in his mouth. "He sent me away for a reason."

"I can speak to him," Baelor said, dropping a light kiss on Maekar's cheek. "There is no reason why you shouldn't be granted a short stay, especially if you bring the children."

"Would my presence not distract you from your duties?"

"I spend most days thinking of you," Baelor admitted, unabashedly, with that smug smile that Maekar adored. "I would relish in knowing you were close and I could be with you every night."

"Only at night?"

"And in the morning." Baelor kissed Maekar then, properly this time, catching his brother off guard. "Throughout the day. Anytime we wanted. I would not worry about how you're spending your days, leagues away."

Maekar contemplated the proposal. The truth was that, despite everything, Summerhall had become his home, full of memories of Dyanna and better days with all his children. King's Landing was a distant memory in his heart, a place he rarely returned to. But Baelor would be there, and all the good memories he still held close of that place included his brother.

"I shall think on it," Maekar said, not making a commitment in the heat of the moment. His emotions had been running high, more so than usual, and it was better to return to some sense of normalcy before making a decision.

The thought of being in close proximity with his father was also not one that pleased him. The resentment he carried after being sent to Summerhall and after Aemon was sent to the Citadel against his wishes was still strong.

But—

Baelor.

Always him.

"Come to me," Baelor whispered in his ear, his voice low. "There is no good reason for us to waste any more time. Death could come for us when we least expect it."

"Do not jest, Baelor." He was tempted to shove his brother away, just to prove a point, but the heat of his body, and the touch of his lips trapped Maekar in place.

"I would not dare." Baelor gripped Maekar's waist and walked him towards the bed, lips pressed to Maekar's neck.

"We were discussing important matters," Maekar said, trying to resist his brother's advances, despite his growing need.

"You have my full attention, always."

All it took was Baelor brushing his front against Maekar's thigh. And then Maekar was ripping their clothes off, desperate for skin on skin contact, with frantic movements that seemed to amuse his brother more than encourage him. He shoved Baelor on his back and straddled his thighs, leaning down to mouth at his chest.

"What will it be today?" Baelor asked, his hand finding and gripping Maekar's hair. He always liked it when it was messy. "Do you want me like this, pliant in your hands?"

Maekar contemplated for a second. He did enjoy having control over Baelor. Outside of the four walls that held their secrets, his brother was the one who held the authority, whose commands were obeyed by his men with no hesitation. But when it was just the two of them, Baelor could be stripped of his duty, the image of the perfect heir, and just be a man who wanted to be taken care of, letting Maekar do with him as he pleased.

Maekar loved it. But that was not what he needed at present. And Baelor always gave him what he needed, lived to please him.

"No," he answered, his teeth grazing Baelor's collarbone. "I want you to do what you do best. Make me feel good. Make me forget."

In an instant, Baelor flipped them around. He towered over Maekar as he trailed his hand down Maekar's side to grip his thigh, tight enough to elicit a whimper from Maekar who pulled him down into a biting kiss.

There was an urgency from both of them. It had been too long since they'd had a chance to fall into each other's arms without their minds being clouded with problems. It was only now that Maekar realised how desperately he missed Baelor's touch—the perfect weight of his body, his calloused hands roaming over Maekar's skin, his fingers opening him up, the way he slid inside with a sting that Maekar craved. He wanted it to hurt, needed to feel it the next day so he would feel alive.

"Don't make me wait." He wrapped a leg around Baelor's waist, prompting his brother to keep moving, not caring to wait until he adjusted to the feeling.

Baelor knew better than to dismiss the request, moving his hips to meet Maekar's, and increasing the pace. Maekar closed his eyes, dropping his head back and exposing his neck. He felt Baelor bury his face there, and smiled as his hand found the back of Baelor's head to keep him where he wanted him.

Maekar ached to have Baelor closer, closer. He wanted to be one with him, to be consumed by the dragon and its flames. The desire burned deep inside him, made him hold onto Baelor tightly, his nails digging crescent moons into Baelor's back, and the noises coming out of Maekar's mouth were soft whimpers, growing in volume with each thrust of Baelor's hips.

"Look at me," Baelor whispered, holding Maekar's face and putting pressure on his cheeks so his mouth fell open, thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

Maekar did as told, meeting Baelor's intense gaze through his half-lidded eyes. He darted his tongue out, seeking Baelor's thumb, and then felt it slip into his mouth. Gasping with the way Baelor responded to it, he let out a guttural moan, arching his back.

It made him dizzy, the longing Maekar constantly felt, even when he was right under Baelor. When they were younger, they would slip out of sight and push each other against the nearest wall or table, and Maekar would let Baelor take him in the few minutes they could spare before someone noticed Baelor's absence. That rush was unlike any other feeling, only strengthening once Maekar was sent to Summerhall. The need grew unbearable, rather than dying out, making him count the days until he knew he could feel Baelor's touch again, until he was whole once more.

Baelor's forehead touched his own, and he removed his thumb, licking into Maekar's mouth, swallowing his whimpers with a satisfied hum.

They carried into the night, unable to tire of each other.

"I ruined your back," Maekar said with a hint of pride, his fingertips tracing the red scars that were left by his nails. Mine. To own and to ruin as I please.

Baelor exhaled a laugh. He was lying on his front with his eyes closed, and an arm thrown over Maekar's middle. He looked peaceful like this. "It wouldn't be the first time."

For his part, Maekar was just as dishevelled, and yet he felt lighter than he had in weeks, maybe even months. The pent up frustration had slowly been released in the time he had been spending alone with Baelor. It was cathartic. He didn't want to go back to his gloom-filled days.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Maekar found himself asking, focused on the movement of his fingers.

"I said a lot of things earlier."

"You said you worry about how I spend my days here."

Baelor opened his eyes, studying his brother's face. "You are always on my mind. That should not surprise you."

"No," Maekar agreed. But he liked to be reminded of it. "I simply don't want to be a burden. You have much to concern yourself with as it is."

"The Hand must prioritise the realm above all else, that is true," Baelor said. "But I cannot change the fact that you have always been a priority to me, and will remain as such. Not a burden as you say."

Maekar sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Perhaps one day his insecurities would stop plaguing him.

"You're in your head again," Baelor pointed out.

"My head is fucked," Maekar said. "I should have hit my own skull with the mace. Maybe I wouldn't think so much then."

"Should we go train in the yard on the morrow?" Baelor teased.

That got a laugh out of Maekar. And he realised that it was the first time he truly laughed in months. "You're an idiot," he said fondly. "I will not be training with you so soon, though."

"You won't hurt me," Baelor said. He took Maekar's hand and pulled him closer until Maekar was pressed flush against him.

"I already did."

"Not because you wanted to." Baelor traced Maekar's arm with his fingers, a gentle and comforting touch. "And I trust you never will."

No. Never intentionally, that was for certain.

Maekar tilted his head and placed a featherlight kiss on the scar he left on his brother's head.

The relief that washed over him each time he remembered that Baelor escaped a narrow death was unlikely to ever go away, but Maekar felt slightly less burdened after Baelor's reassurance, and the calmness with which he continued to carry himself.

While everything else in Maekar's life was turned upside down, as he breathed in Baelor and felt his steady heartbeat, he knew that between them all was well.