Chapter Text
from the moment the sun rose to when it fell, every moment for an entire fortnight, you had not left your husband’s side.
the maesters, called high and far from the citadel to see if they could be of any use in helping save the life of the prince, watched as you refused to be parted.
baelor looked as though he was only asleep. his eyes were shut peacefully, his chest rising with even breaths, his skin as warm as you remembered. but somehow, despite all that the maesters did, he would not open his eyes.
you recall, maybe in the two or three days after baelor had been brought back from ashford, that your maids had pleaded with you to leave his side, to seek respite. to eat something more than scraps, to sleep in your chambers instead of the chair you had set near his bedside.
they had since stopped asking.
you stepped away only to soak in the tub, asking for the hottest water that they could manage, sitting alone until it turned tepid and until your tears had run out. then you’d dressed and gone back to your husband’s side.
you think it was valarr, the elder of your husband’s sons from his first marriage, that tried to convince you that this is not what his father would have wanted. you’d only looked at him sadly—he was closer to you in age and you had always gotten along well with him, but even he could not hide the fear and sadness behind his mismatched eyes.
he was frightened, and usually, he sought out his father when he felt that way.
and yet here he was, trying to offer you comfort where there was none to be found. baelor’s qualities shone in him brightly.
valarr had already suffered the death of one parent, and now, on the precipice of losing another, he still tried to convince you to eat and sleep.
but there was nothing that could convince you. kiera, valarr’s wife, had tempted you with the offer to go pray in the sept with her.
that too felt sweet, as fleeting as it was. kiera was not westerosi, she did not know the gods you had grown up with, but she still offered.
you had caught a glimpse of the two hugging and crying outside of baelor’s chambers when you were headed back in a clean gown with washed hair. the very sight of their tears made you start crying again, even more so when you sat down beside him and wished that there was something you could do to wake him up.
baelor always said he loved the smell of your hair. you thought something magical might happen, something out of a song or an old story you would one day tell your children. that he might wake up and say those sweet words that always make you flush, make you feel special and loved and have since the day you met him.
but stories are for children, and the knife cuts even deeper when you realize any child you could have had would not know baelor. not ever get to see him, to rest in his arms, to be comforted by him.
and you—how could you ever try to marry again? how could you ever replace him? his gentle smile, his sweet laugh, the way his eyes shone when he saw you as though it was the first time all over again.
you had been but a frightened girl when the match was made. you had expected little, not allowing yourself to believe tales of his chivalry and kindness, trying to save yourself from being disappointed.
he had surpassed even your wildest expectations. perhaps that is why this hurts even more—since the day in the sept when he had replaced your family’s cloak with the red and black one of his house, you can’t recall a moment in which you had felt fear.
you think it is because baelor is a balm to the wounds of the world.
you had never felt uneasiness throughout your marriage until he told you he would be participating in the trial of seven, that he would be fighting for ser duncan.
and you had never known true fear, horrid and dark and burning through you, until you saw maekar’s mace hit him, and you saw him collapse in front of all those at ashford meadow.
even now, nothing in the past days has compared to that feeling. it washes through you time and time again. when you fall asleep with your head near baelor’s hand, it comes back to haunt you in your dreams.
you awake, each time, hoping it was just a nightmare. that you’re in bed, warm beside your husband, that he’ll whisper in your ear to go back to sleep, that it was just a bad dream.
instead you awake to maesters. they fuss over your husband and beg you to get sleep and rest in your chambers, and you don’t have any energy left, though you wish you did. you’d shout at all of them—beg and scream at them to do something, to do anything, to fix your husband’s wounds and make him return back to you as he’d always promised. you’d yell that you don’t have your own chambers because you and baelor shared them, that you don’t know what it is to sleep without your husband.
instead you stay quiet, shaking your head politely when they ask if you need anything further. you hold baelor’s hand and pray to the mother to watch over your husband.
-
you’re walking back to the chambers, donning a fresh gown and with a new history book to begin reading aloud to baelor, when you see him outside the door.
you’re not cruel, but you can’t help but think that it is the worst when maekar comes to visit. his grief is all stored behind his violet eyes. though you know it was an accident, that he would never harm his brother on purpose, you still wish that perhaps, he would leave you alone with baelor.
you’re not cruel, you never have been. but you can’t comfort maekar when he is the reason your husband is on the verge of death, on the verge of leaving you forever. when you look at maekar all you can see is the life you should have had with baelor, dark haired, kind daughters and stoic sons and years of joy that have been so quickly taken from you.
you do not wish to speak to anyone else today. perhaps if you say it kindly, he will listen, and you prepare yourself as you approach. but as he hears your footsteps, he turns quickly, his expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.
“come quickly,” maekar says, and the tone of his voice makes your heart beat faster. “baelor is awake.”
you drop your book in the hallway. you rush inside as quickly as your feet will take you, the maids moving quickly in the opposite direction, likely to go find valarr and matarys. the noise that leaves you is entirely unladylike, a desperate, pleading sob mixed with a shout, as you forgo your seat and sit directly on the edge of the bed.
your hands find his, vision blurred with hot tears that rush down your face. you blink, watching as your husband’s eyes find yours, and you smile, for what may be the first time since he closed his eyes two weeks ago.
“husband?” you say quietly. he looks at you but he doesn’t reply for some time, like he’s still piecing together his thoughts.
you feel relief course through your veins. it’s a feeling like nothing else you’ve ever felt before, a special type of joy. the fear of spending your life alone, widowed so young and without the love you had only just began to know fading with each passing moment.
you hold his hand tighter, looking back at maekar with a smile, knowing how he must be feeling right now. the guilt had been swallowing him whole, and it had been affecting you too, in different ways, wondering what you could have done to make him listen to you that day. if only you’d been more convincing, or perhaps, told him about the babe growing in your stomach…
that might have made him stay safely by your side rather than leaving to uphold honor and duty.
such a man was your husband, that he—
you feel baelor’s fingers slip away from your grip. you turn back quickly, worried that something’s happened, that he’ll have fallen asleep again, that you’re still in this waking nightmare, just when you thought it was almost over.
“baelor?” you whisper, eyes brimming with fresh, hot tears.
“i…” he trails off, voice hoarse, sounding especially unlike himself. “i don’t-”
you reach over for a goblet of water, as maekar comes to his brother’s side and helps him sit up. the maesters continue their fussing as you give him the cup, and he takes a small sip.
he looks towards maekar, smiling at his brother, even in this state, and you can only imagine how that must feel for the two of them. you feel relieved for your brother-by-law too, that he does not have to live with the guilt and pain hanging over him for the rest of his days.
your husband was awake, and—
when he looks over at you, his smile fades a little.
“i… i cannot recall what happened-” he starts, his attention mostly on maekar. “brother, i-”
“that’s alright,” you interrupt, taking your seat by his side. you bring your hand to his arm, but before you can, he moves it away. “you’ve been through a great ordeal. we are just so happy you are awake.”
you try to set aside the stinging feeling in your chest. baelor has never avoided your touch like this, even in front of his family. perhaps it’s because the maesters, you think, trying to soothe yourself.
you have to soothe yourself. there’s no one else besides baelor who can help you with that task, and even now—
“and my sons? where are they?” baelor asks, and maekar glances towards you. he seems to know what is coming before you do. you answer him quickly, smiling again, ignoring the tears as they fall down your face.
“the maids have gone to find them, and kiera, too. they should be here any moment,” you say, wiping your eyes with your hands. you blink at him, and then at maekar, and then—
“kiera?” he questions. you look between him and maekar in confusion. “i am sorry, my lady, forgive me. may i have a moment alone with my brother?”
time feels almost frozen. you stare at baelor, your mind spinning. the room feels entirely too hot. the ties of your gown seem almost suffocating.
i’m not a lady, you think sadly, i’m a princess now. i have been a princess since the day in the sept when you made me your wife.
more tears come, and you wipe them away, trying to fight the battle inside your head. it’s all a mistake, you think, all a misunderstanding—
maekar says your name and you’re snapped out of your thoughts.
“perhaps we should give him a moment,” maekar says, and as he looks at you, you can almost read the thoughts inside his head.
how sorry he is. how guilty he feels that he almost killed his brother. the relief that baelor’s alive, the pain of understanding what his actions have caused.
“he’s only just awoken,” you plead, your words coming out in between sobs. “he just needs time, i beg, please-”
your vision is blurry once again, and you wonder how there can still be tears inside of you.
you could fill a well with them, you think, choking back a cry. that is what baelor would always say, because you cried too much and too often and over the smallest things, even when they were shed of happiness.
and he always said he hated seeing you cry.
“do not cry, my lady,” baelor says, and his words only make you feel worse—still trying to be kind and polite, even in his state. “if you could give us only a moment. perhaps you could find me my wife, jena?”
you feel your heart shatter into a million, tiny pieces.