Chapter Text
This morning, you'd had it all. Granted, it wasn't much, but not many people your age could say they owned their own car, their job paid well, and they made rent each month with minimal sacrifices in the grocery store. Four hours later, one black eye, and your entire world came crumbling down.
"I'm sorry, but we simply cannot employ a teacher who has physically assualted a student," the Dean of King's Landing Private School said with a grave tone to his voice that meant he wasn't really sorry.
"But, I didn't punch him," you tried to express again, but the Dean merely shakes his head. "I'm telling the truth. All I did was intervene; Aegon brought me to the scene and I stepped between the two boys to break the fight. At most I lightly placed my hand on Aerion's chest!"
"Miss, we are past excuses. Kianna will escort you to your classroom so that you may gather your things, but as of the moment you leave my office, you will no longer be a member of our staff. Whether you did or did not hurt a child does not matter. What does, is that there is now a record of a physical altercation on your file, reported by a student. How do you think that will reflect upon our institution, if someone were to hear of such information? Our parents expect the best of us. Lord Damon Lannister alone would withdraw his son if he heard of such! Do you truly expect us to sacrifice our institution's reputation for you?" The Dean pauses for a moment, drumming his fingers on the desk, and then sighs, "If it comforts you, I will personally provide an excellent reccomendation on your behalf. Should you apply to another institution. Aerion has always been a difficult child… yet, we must take his accusation seriously, as the situation is grave."
Betrayed could not hold a candle to the boiling anger in your chest. Yet, King's Landing Private School did have the best reputation in the city. So, with a deep breath to collect yourself, you said, "Thank you for the opportunity to teach at such a prestigious institution. I do hope Tanselle's father does not hold the school responsible for this incident; I'd hate to hear of the involvement of investigators or the Kingsguard."
"As do I. Goodbye, miss, and have a safe trip home," the Dean agreed, nodding slowly.
With no other reason to linger in the stuffy, overly decorated show-room of an office, you rose from your seat and slipped out the door as gracefully as possible. Taking great pains to appear as delicate and non-threatening as possible; if the Dean truly wished to let Aerion charge you with this complaint, let him do so with the full understanding of just how truly perposterous it was.
Outside the office, in a moderatley-sized waiting room one would mistake for a living room if not for the cubicle-style desk in the centre, you expected to find only the secretary, Kianna. Instead, you slammed into a wall of sound, shouting filling your ears. The origin of the commotion made itself clear quickly, as your eyes landed on an irrate man, red in the face, lecturing two young boys. Hands on his hips, dressed all in black with red accents, white hair slicked back, is unmistakably Maekar Targaryen. The young boys before him, his sons: Aerion and Aegon. It gave you no satisfaction to see Aerion's black eye, nor Aegon's tears. On the other side of the room sat Duncan, head in his hands, staring at the floor as if it might be polite enough to give way and swallow him.
You knew all of the men, young and old, in this room well, having taught Aemon, Daella and, until today, Aegon. Four years of your life, down the drain. While you had never taught Aerion or Duncan, both of them in grade eleven, Duncan was Aegon's Knight, which was really just a glorified older peer assigned to the younger students as a mentor to help with homework and be a good role model. Aerion was never accepted into this program. No, Aerion was the student everyone warned you about when you had the first Targaryen child in your class, Aemon. You'd wondered for the whole year how such a quiet and studious child could be related to someone who treated the counsellor's office like a revolving door. Even now, having taught three Targaryen children, you still did not have an answer. However, Maekar was the one you were most familiar with: a widower of eight years, crass and grumpy, who showed up to every parent-teacher interview, every Festival of the Mother concert, every school play, every PTO meeting—if there was an event, Maekar Targaryen was there, alongside his brother Baelor who—
WHAM!
The door to the office swung wide, banging against the end table left deliberately next to it for these sorts of moments. In stepped Baelor, who glanced sheepishly only once at the door, before assessing the room with stern detachment. Eyes swept over the boys, then you, then his brother, and his arms folded across his chest. Dressed in a full suit with a fresh shave and years-old eye bags, he looked to have come straight from work.
"Would someone please explain why I recieved a call in the middle of the day letting me know Aerion got into another fight?" he hissed through his teeth.
"Ah, the King's Hand. We're terribly sorry to have disturbed you; if you step into my office I can explain the situation. Everything has already been dealt with according to procedure: the children have their punishments, and Miss (Y/N) is no longer a member of our staff," the Dean said that same curt tone that he used on you earlier. The one meant to appease people, but not truly apologize.
Baelor nodded with a kingly graciousness and followed the Dean into the office. Before the doors even shut, Maekar rounded, face still alight with fury and demanded: "What do you mean fired?"
"She physically assaulted a student, sir. I assure you, our institution finds this behaviour entirely unacceptable and we handle such matters with grave sincerity," the Dean explained, head ducked as if he was ashamed of his own course of action.
"That boy there—" Maekar jabbed his finger toward Duncan, who flinched— "struck my son numerous times and recieved only a week's suspension. Yet it is the teacher who pried them apart, who is the only reason your fucking institution noticed Aemon's brilliance, that is punished?! You sniveling little shit; what do I pay you for if not for a quality education?"
"We pride ourselves on a respectful, kind staff. Any record of our violence must be—"
Maekar stormed across the room toward the Dean. You barely had time to scramble out of the way, stunned to silence at such a display. Sure, he was not incorrect that you noticed Aemon's brilliance and pushed the issue with the Dean to allow Aemon to work beyond his grade level, which resulted in Aemon's placement several grades ahead of his age. But, you had not expected it to hold such gravity for Maekar, who was now chewing the Dean out on your behalf about the merits of a teacher willing to put herself in danger for the benefit of her students. The Dean looked close to pissing himself out of fear, when Baelor placed a hand on Maekar's chest.
"Brother. Tend to your sons; I will sort this out," Baelor said softly, reaching for the door to the Dean's office to shut it.
Maekar let out a frustrated noise, glaring at the Dean as if silently debating continuing this beratement. Luckily, Baelor shut the door before he can come to a conclusion. With a huff, Maekar storms back to Aerion, who's pressing an icepack to his black eye.
"You are going to rescind your charge."
"No! Father, she—she struck me," Aerion whined, gesturing vageuly in your direction.
"Do not lie to me boy!" Maekar shouted, grabbing Aerion's ice pack to pry it away from the boy's face and force him to look his father in the eyes. "That bruise came from nothing but Duncan's fist. You're lucky you only got a slap on the wrist! I have half a mind to send you to the Kingsguard bootcamp in Lys."
"Father—!"
"Shut it! And ice your bruise! When the Dean comes back out you will beg to rescind your accusation. Breaking a girl's fingers is quite enough. You will not sacrifice Aegon's education for your ego." He gave the ice pack back, straightening his posture to his full height. Clearly done with the conversation.
Behind Maekar, Sir Arlen of Pennytree slipped into the room, called for Duncan and left swiftly. Clearly not wanting to engage Maekar in any shared punishment or bonding exercise. Not that Maekear was a man to entertain such frivalties. The relief in Duncan's posture at the sight of his foster-father spoke volumes, breathing a breath of relief into your heart.
"I am a dragon, I do not beg," Aerion muttered at his lap the moment his father's attention turned away.
"What was that?" Maekar hissed, spinning back around.
"Nothing," Aerion said, ducking out of his father's gaze.
"That's what I thought."
Maekar took a heavy seat in the chair between his sons, and that is when you noticed Kianna was missing. Your one out of this room, your one escape to your car to ugly cry in the parking lot and then treat yourself with one last visit to Tyrell's Garden. The last one you'd probably be able to afford for the next few months, possibly years.
So, like a fool, you stood there, waiting. Gods, you must have looked pathetic—like a dog waiting at the foot of a table to hear Baelor and the Dean's inevitable conclusion that you're still fired.
Something warm slammed against your legs, holding you tightly. When you glanced down, you saw Aegon clinging to your legs to bury his face in your skirt. Only a boy of eight, who swiftly followed his siblings into your class, you couldn't imagine how he must have felt to see his older brother be responsible for getting his teacher fired. You won't claim to know what the Targaryen children talked about at home, but from the way Maekar cited your assistance with Aemon, he likely heard at least a few stories about your class from the rose-coloured glasses perspectives of older siblings. Not to mention having seen his Knight, Duncan, suffer at his brother's hand.
Instictively, you sank to your knees and wrapped your arms around him. "Hey, there, Aegon. You doing okay?" you asked softly.
"No! Don't go! It's my fault, I shouldn't have gotten you; I should have let Duncan—let him—I should have helped Tanselle! You promised to take us to the zoo on Friday. It's only Tuesday!" he sobbed into your arms, gripping your shirt like a boy being told no in a toy store.
"It's a scheduled field-trip, I'm certain you'll still go. Duncan’s teacher will probably take you, since your Knights are going, too," you attempted to reassure him, rubbing his back in an attempt to sooth him.
With big, wet eyes he looks up at you, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks, "But I want you to take us! Daella said your zoo trip is the best because you know all the cool animal facts. Dunk doesn't know any, he just likes to hear them from me—he can't even quiz me on dragons."
"Well, that can't be right, since I've heard from his teacher that Duncan is acing his optional zoology class. Perhaps he's stockpiling animal facts for the trip?"
Aerion's face lit up instantly and he scrambled to dry his eyes with his sleeve. "Really? You think so?"
"Absolutely, bud. And I promise you, whoever becomes your teacher for the rest of the year will be just as good as me. You did the right thing by getting me—always ask an adult for help when you need it. Never try to solve things yourself, especially not if you could get hurt."
"I should have gotten Mister Lannister. They wouldn't have fired him, he has tenure," Aerion sniffled and shot a defiant glare to the Dean's door.
"Hey, no. Remember what we learned in class last week: stewing in should'ves and could'ves won't change them. Learn from your actions, and keep going. I'm honoured you considered me a trusted adult enough to come to me for assistance. That's all that matters, right now."
"My brother and I will sort this decision," a deep voice sounded abruptly from behind you, nearly causing you to jump. Children are loud when they move about, stomping feet and screaming. Maekar had moved so silently that you hadn't noticed he'd left his chair until it was too late.
"Mister Targaryen, you don't have to," you said, rising from your crouched position and adopting a gentle stance, hands clasped in front of you. The same way you stood when speaking with parents or nannies during pick-up. "I appreciate what you said to the Dean; truly, I do, but the last thing I want to do is further inconvience you. The school already had to pull both of you away from work to deal with this situation. The dean has already agreed to give me a positive referral, hopefully with that I will be able to find another job in the city."
Maekar shook his head slowly, brow set like a man who already has a fully-baked plan, "You shouldn't have to. You did not strike my son, the other boy's split knuckles clearly demonstrated he was the one to do so. And not without cause, either. As the intervening teacher, you should not be the one to face the gravest punishment for my son's actions. He knew better."
Had he not been your student's father, you would have almost ventured to call his conviction attractive. Or, well, you suppose now, since he's no longer your student's teacher, you can. Maekar had always been a grump, volunteering for field trips but only to be the stern, no-nonsense parent ready to lecture kids for misbehaviour. To hear him so adamantly insist upon helping you struck that small chord of joy in your heart that had died when the Dean opened his mouth not an hour earlier.
"Thank you. You don't have to, but it means a lot to know my students' parents value me so much as to challenge the Dean on my behalf," you said, ducking your head to hide the small smile.
"Good. Now, sit. You are shaking like a leaf," Maekar said, and steered you toward a nearby seat. Conviently next to Aegon.
The instant you sat down and the plush seat consumed you, relief finally caught up to you. Maybe you wouldn't lose your job, and the Hand of the King would talk some sense into the Dean. A the very least, you could, perhaps, use them for a good reccomendantion on your next application. With their permission, of course. You had enough savings to find a job, especially if you could rely on the two of the most powerful men in the city for their word.
On your right, Maekar continued to scold Aerion, threatening to send him to Lys if he didn't change his behaviour and attempting to nip the problem in the bud. Especially after Aerion commented about Duncan getting away with punching "someone of such import." However, the worst of Maekar's frustration was made known immediately after Aerion stated he went after Tanselle because her latest drama project had the dragon die in the end, and Aerion, seeing himself as a dragon, took offense. The Gods truly blessed you by not forcing you to endure his arrogance in your own classroom. A boy who thought himself a dragon is one thing, but a teenager who insisted he's one is another.
Despite the ongoing argument, the waiting room was relatively peaceful. Aegon had taken to telling all about his day until the fight. Apparently, he and Duncan had gone to see Tanselle's play together, then he'd attended the extra-credit course with Duncan: all students were allowed to pick one of their Knight's courses they could shadow—Aegon had chosen Duncan's sign language courses, stating that he would take High Valaryian when he was older. Several minutes of the conversation were dedicated to Aegon signing to you, since you'd accidentally mentioned you took sign language in university. To say you were rusty was an understatment, but it was something to pass the time.
By the time the Dean's door reopened, you had thoroughly calmed down. Everything was going to be alright.
"I am truly sorry, Miss (Y/N). I did my best to preserve your employment, however, this institution seems allergic to maintaining a competent staff that goes above and beyond to ensure the safety of their students," Baelor stated plainly, the moment he stepped through the door. It was a short trip to cross the room and stand before you, indirectly putting himself between you and the Dean.
"You cunt—!" Maekar shouted at the Dean, rising from his seat.
Baelor only needed to hold his hand up for Maekar to clamp his mouth shut.
"In light of this, and certain other factors, I would like to personally offer you a governess position for Maekar's family. Seeing as it was his brood that caused this mess, clearly he needs some assistance in straightening out his household and setting good behavioural examples."
You didn't know whether to fall to your knees and thank the Hand profusely, or to politely turn down the offer. Gawking definintely wasn't an option, so you opted to speak: "Th-thank you. Truly, that's a rather generous offer, but surely I'd need more qualifications than pity for such an important position."
"I am well aware of your qualifications, Miss. Maekar makes it a point to thoroughly research every teacher employed at this school, especially ones who will be teaching his children, to ensure they are more than qualified. Furthermore, your involvement with Aemon's education brought many things, such as your resume, to my desk two years ago. This is not a decision made from a lack of information, rather one to sufficiently correct several alarming mistakes at once. Please, consider my offer," Baelor explained patiently. Though the Hand of the King did not lean, his demeanor suggested he was leaning against the cubicle-desk behind him. Casual.
"Say yes!" Aegon immediately screams, kneeling on his chair with a big smile only known to kids who don't really understand the implications of adult decisions. "Please! Please? Then you can take us to the zoo and everywhere else!"
At the sight of an over-eager Aegon, Baelor pulled a buisness card from his pocket and held it out to you.
"Here is my contact information. Think this over, and reach out if you would like to accept my offer. I am also willing to attest to your teaching abilities, should you choose to pursue a job at a different institution."
You took it with a grateful smile, "Thank you. This is—it's a lot to process. Give me the afternoon; I'll have an answer for you by morning."
"There is no rush, you can take the week."
"If I do, I will overthink myself into a pit and regret whatever decision I end up making."
Baelor nodded with an understanding smile. "Very well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to return to several meetings and likely enough phonecalls that my poor secretary is drowning."
With that, Baelor was out the door, and you were left with just Maekar Targaryen's brood and a gawking Dean. Well, for just a moment: the Dean hid in his office before Maekar could round on him.
Luckily, Kianna returned before Maekar could open his mouth, and you took the chance to escape the office. Baelor offering you a position is one thing, but you did not want to be swayed by anything Maekar could say—or Aegon, or even Aerion—this is a decision to be made on your own.
You did shoot a smile to Aegon before you departed, though. Halfway between reassuring and a bid farewell.