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The fog that surrounded him was so thick, he couldn’t tell where he was. The sky seemed to twist with smoke and rain.
Maekar became aware of clashing metal and horses and for a horrible moment he thought he was back at Redgrass, in the midst of battle. Suddenly a horse thundered past, its rider was wearing a white cloak and holding a jousting lance. Not Redgrass then, Ashford. He was at the trial, the blasted Trial of Seven, with his blasted son and that stupid lumbering hedge knight. What had happened? Had he been hit on the head?
A phantom pain in the middle of his abdomen reminded him that his brother had unhorsed him with a skilled move. Lances and spears had always been his brother's forte. Maekar tried to walk but he couldn't move his legs. He was being pulled down into the thick mud, with only his mace to prop himself upright.
He desperately looked round for his sons, but the air of the tourney grounds still twisted around him. Daeron was across the grounds, down in the mud, unhurt but unhelpful. Aerion was his true worry.
For many years Maekar had trained his middle child so that his skills matched his arrogance. Yet the more they trained, the more Maekar felt like Aerion was his responsibility alone, and he would not fail his boy today.
Through the fog, he saw Aerion’s helm, as the red spikes stood out against the grey. He was in combat with the hedge knight, who seemed even taller, now a giant, bearing down on his son.
He pulled himself from the mud and started towards his boy. A horse barrelled towards him rode by the damned Baratheon, the Laughing Cock. He grabbed a lance and drove it straight through the horse. Yet he still couldn't reach them, with every step he took they seemed further away.
His legs were heavy and he felt hands on him, the Baratheon’s and the strong arms of his brother.
Please, husband, please. Let me get to him.
“My boy!”
He swung out wildly. But before he could move forward, everyone disappeared into the mud.
~~~
The fog cleared and he was surrounded by banners showing stars with seven points and round faces of the maesters. They were calm and he could somehow tell his boys were alright. Was it over?
Someone was calling out, “Maester! We need a maester!” It was the younger Fossoway. The young knight reached Maekar and stood before him, mouth open in shock. The sight filled Maekar with a horrible dread.
Maekar followed the master without thinking, dropping bits of his armour along the way, until they reached the stands. The idiot hedge knight was there, bloodied and weeping.
“Sorry. I'm sorry.”
In his arms was something that stopped Maekar's heart. His brother, his love, eyes closed and paler than Maekar had ever seen him before.
Maekar dropped to his knees and pushed the knight away.
“Take your hands OFF of him!”
He looped an arm around Baelor's back.
“Baelor, please no.”
He tried to pull his brother up, but Baelor's body flopped back like a doll.
“Up! Get up brother.”
Maekar reached for his brother's head to steady him, but his fingers sunk deep into his skull.
~~~
Maekar jolted so violently, it thumped the heavy bedframe.
For a moment he couldn't see. His heart was hammering in his chest and a weight was still on him so he jolted again in panic. An annoyed rumble sounded beside him. Baelor, on the verge of waking, moved his arm and leg, which had been flung over his brother, to roll away under the covers.
Clarity gradually came back to Maekar. He was home, in the Hand’s Tower of the Red Keep. In bed, with his husband. His alive husband.
Gods below. What a cursed dream.
He sighed deeply and felt like a fool, but his heart was still beating loudly. Moonlight shone into the room just light enough for him to make out Baelor's dark hair peaking over the thick furs covering their bed.
Curse that stupid trial. They were indeed lucky to make it out alive and now he was home, Maekar had to put up with that lumbering hedge knight serving proudly in the King's Guard.
He sighed again. Maekar's mouth felt dry and his thoughts would not rest, so after a moment he pulled himself up to get water from a jug by the window. It wasn't clear how long he stood looking out of the slats in the window, but when he turned back, his husband was sitting up in bed watching him.
“Brother?” Baelor's voice was gravelly with sleep, “What's the matter?”
“Nothing!” he answered, too loudly, too defensively.
Baelor's eyes shone in the dark and slowly he stood from the bed to reach him. Maekar felt too embarrassed to keep eye contact so he watched Baelor's chest as he stood in front of him. His husband was still toned for his age, but Maeker could see glimmers of grey hair amongst the black, matching his beard.
“Husband.” Baelor's tone was almost chastising. “What's the matter?”
Maekar deflated slightly, “It's nothing. It's stupid. Just a stupid dream. Must have been too hot under all those furs.”
“That's not stupid. We both know how bad dreams can get. I am lucky I rarely remember mine.”
Maekar snorted, Baelor was of course referring to the multiple family members, especially Daeron, who were plagued with horrible dreams. When the boy was younger they had taken turns staying with him through the worst bouts of it.
“It wasn't like that, no fucking visions, thank the gods. Just. Past.” Maekar looked up into his husband's eyes. “You were hurt. Killed at Ashford Meadow.”
Baelor looked a little sad but gave a reassuring smile.
“Thankfully that was just a dream. I was certainly grazed though.”
Baelor took his hands, kissed each of his palms in turn and brought them up to his face. Maekar sighed and slid his hands round his husband's head. This time the only thing he felt was his brother's soft hair and a single raised scar. The ‘graze’ Maekar gave him.
He tugged Baelor forward and they met in a firm kiss.
His brother took his hands again and tugged him back towards their bed.
“Come on, we'll take some of the furs off.”
Once they were settled, they reached for each other under the covers. Maekar suddenly felt very grateful.
Now as he drifted off again, he hoped for dreams of kicking that stupid, giant knight down the castle stairs.