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The moon had already risen by the time the Princess finally left Prince Maekar’s private rooms. Their talk proved… productive, albeit wearisome. Baelor often said his brother had a soft spot for his sister-in-law, softer even than for him. He had remarked before the trial that if anyone was to persuade Maekar to take decisive steps to reform his son, it was Arien.
Baelor… who was currently laid up in their rooms nursing quite the gallant collection of bruises, in addition to the melon-sized one (as Valarr had informed her) on the back of his skull. It was this injury, her son said, which had knocked Baelor out cold when his dented helm was removed.
‘Obstructed blood flow,’ Valarr had said. ‘The dented steel pushed against some vein, I’m headed to him now.’
Their son had behaved most bravely, although he did look very pale. Arien never doubted he would not quit his father’s side until the latter had been pronounced quite out of danger. He would certainly watch over Baelor while she coddled his fully grown brother. To his credit, Maekar did look utterly grief-stricken when the maesters, assisted by Valarr, carried Baelor’s lifeless body to the castle. He really thought he had killed his brother. He was worried about his eldest son, who had broken a foot, he was besides himself with gods know what emotion about Aerion…
Not that Arien could blame him for that. She had almost crushed her own son to her chest when he brought news of Baelor’s safety, although Valarr was at least a head taller than her by now, and she could barely bring her arms around him.
Thank all the Gods it wasn’t you she had mouthed as she embraced him. Although whether she meant that it wasn’t you in the mud, in that battered armour or it wasn’t you brutalising a helpless girl she herself wasn’t sure. Either way, a reassuring grip on her shoulder told her she had been understood, if not heard.
It had taken hours to talk Maekar into some resemblance of sense. Hours, which were now taking their toll on her. She sighed to herself, quickening her step. The Ashford castle had grown quite chilly. Her fingers felt like bony icicles clenched around her elbows. She was tired and on edge, her eyes burnt, her head was beginning to ache. She had still not seen her husband after that terrible procession, which had carried him into the castle motionless and deathly pale. She took a few calming breaths before the door to their chambers.
The first thing to greet the Princess in her marital bedroom was the orange glow of a dying fire reflecting quite picturesquely in the side of Aegon’s bald head.
It was all the diplomacy she could muster to bite her tongue and raise her eyebrows instead. While Egg struggled to formulate an explanation, she spied also the hulking form of the young hedge knight in the corner, where he was doing his best to bend himself nearly in half in the clumsiest bow she had ever seen.
Arien took a deep breath, leaning on the heavy door to shut it with her hip. Her arms were already crossed, her eyebrows already as high as they could go—she opted for an inquisitive tip of her head to prompt the young Prince.
‘The maesters said uncle was to be kept awake.’
Egg cast an anxious glance towards the bed, where Baelor chewed his lip with an honestly apologetic expression. The puppy look on his bruised face sufficed to soften her immediately.
‘I believe that’s standard practice with injuries of the head,’ she conceded. ‘And I imagine you volunteered out of the goodness of your heart?’
Egg nodded heartily.
‘And you dragged Ser Duncan here to…?’
The tall knight’s discomfort was palpable in the air, and Egg was shifting his feet like a horse in the hay.
Arien could be cold when she wanted to, but Baelor always said there was not a pinch of cruelty to be found under the practised frown.
He said it was part of why he married her…
‘Oh, for the love of—’ she sighed. ‘Ser Duncan, sit back down, you look about to fall over. Have the maesters looked you over?’
‘Yes, your grace—’ the man stammered. Man? He looked more like a boy to her now, younger than Valarr was…
‘Is he telling the truth?’ she asked, moving to sit on the covers beside Baelor, who was propped up on at least half a dozen pillows and looking quite out of place in his own bedroom.
‘I saw it with my own eyes, your royal highness,’ he said solemnly, a fond spark in his heavy-lidded eyes, which made something ache deep in her chest.
‘Very well, nephew dearest, i believe you have dragged the good knight into enough scrapes. You will kindly escort him to his bed.’
‘But Aunt—’ Egg interjected, his great eyes growing twice the size until he had the same puppy-dog expression Baelor so shamefully abused.
‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘I know, you’ve been sitting on coals waiting for news. But really, the good Ser Duncan should have waited in bed. He’s more bruise than skin.’
‘Father wouldn’t let me leave the castle and, how was I to know Aerion wouldn’t murder him the second he was out of sight!’
The distress in Egg’s high-pitched voice was so honest Arien felt a brief urge to cradle the boy in her arms the way she used to do when he was a baby.
‘And I suppose a guard could not be placed by his door?’
‘He has no door!’ Egg said with such honest despair it almost made her laugh. ’He sleeps under a tree, and even if he didn’t, Aerion’s not the sort to be stopped by a guard!’
There were tears glistening in Egg’s eyes now.
‘So you hid him here?’ Arien asked softly. Exasperating as it all was, she couldn’t deny the pride that swelled in her chest at the realisation that the safest place Egg could apparently think of was with her husband. He wasn’t far off, either. Where could they go, indeed?
Egg nodded, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his tunic. He was blinking very fast, staring at his feet. Baelor’s calloused hand found hers on top of the covers, offering an apologetic squeeze. The look he quickly shot her was positively pleading over the exhaustion apparent in his features. After all the years they’d been married, Arien knew he could read her like an open book, but she still ran her thumb soothingly along his knuckles.
‘Egg,’ Arien sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘No matter. All things considered, this was far from the worst you could have come up with. Listen now, I give you my word that Prince Aerion will not trouble anyone tonight. Your father will explain the rest at breakfast. For now, you’ll go wake the Ashfords’ steward and have a room prepared for Ser Duncan. If there’s any grumbling, send them straight here. Sir Duncan,’ she shot the hulking man a stern look. ‘If I find out you ran off to sleep under a tree I swear I will finish you off myself. Am I understood?’
‘Your Highness,’ the hedge knight stammered. He looked about to fall over, or possibly fold himself into another comical bow. His blunt, clueless, petrified face awakened in Arien the same feelings children often did when, having accidentally caused some mischief, they instinctively clung to her skirts for protection. Once again she thought of her own son, and made a mental note to enquire further into Ser Duncan’s… affairs—whatever those could be—and make sure at least that he was fed and nursed back to health before running off again into the hedges.
‘None of that,’ she said, offering the boy a reassuring smile. ‘Off you go, both of you, I’d like to assess the damage to my husband.’
Out of the two of them, Egg recovered his senses quicker. Wide eyes bright with joy, he crashed straight into her with all the enthusiasm of gratitude, winding his lanky arms around her neck and smacking a kiss to her cheekbone that would likely bruise them both. Without another word, he grabbed the poor young knight by the arm and pulled him outside, ignoring the latter’s attempts at another bow. The door slammed heavily behind them, and Arien finally found her bedchamber returned to its proper state. Almost.
‘How is he?’ Baelor asked when she leant over him.
The Princess hung her head, defeated. Of course he would ask that first. Of course the noble prince Baelor would remain nothing but, whatever the circumstances.
‘How is he? Well, for one, he’s not laid up with a concussion.’ She huffed, raising her eyes to meet Baelor’s heavy-lidded gaze.
He did not answer at first. He lifted her hand, placing it palm to his bearded cheek as he liked to do. Instinctively she carder her fingers through the coarse hair, the heat of his face stinging her fingertips still chilled from the corridor. His mismatched eyes searched her face, sliding from the top of her head to the tip of her nose and then her mouth.
‘Out of the two of us, I would say my brother has got the shorter end of the stick,’ he murmured, his voice low and hoarse and sweet like mead.
He dragged her palm to his lips now, holding it gently in place as he kissed a lazy path from the base of her thumb to her little finger. He had the audacity to look innocent as a baby while he did so, looking her boldly in the eye.
Exasperating man
‘Maekar is fine. He agreed the boy is a danger to himself and others, if not without some grumbling. He’ll sleep under lock and key today. And tomorrow he’ll be sent away to the free cities.’
Baelor’s eyes grew wide at that, and he pressed her hand tighter. ‘Truly?’
Arien nodded, chewing her lip.
‘My love, I believe tonight you have achieved a feat of diplomacy worthy of the finest chronicles. I do not think he would have listened to any counsel but yours.’
Arien shook her head, shifting closer to slot herself against the Prince’s side. She rested her bony hands gently around his neck, sneaking the icy tips of her fingers under the hem of his shirt, but he did not wince.
‘I believe he was half-convinced already before I even entered the room. The sight of Daeron face down in the mud must have done it. And the imprint of his mace in your helm. You really looked dead when they carried you here—’
‘Nonsense,’ Baelor huffed, cutting her off before the tremor in her voice could spread.
Gently, like always, he guided Arien’s hand to the back of skull, where she had seen the fist-sized dent in his helm. The skin there was slightly swollen and warm to the touch, warmer than the rest of him. But there wasn’t even a bandage, they maesters hadn’t shaved off any hair.
‘Valarr’s helm,’ Baelor said softly. ‘Good steel, that. I was never in any danger.’
‘That young hedge knight was already grieving you. He looked half-mad with terror. He was the one who caught you, you know.’
‘He’s a good man, that one,’ Baelor said, a fond note ringing in his voice. ‘A good knight.’
Arien nodded wordlessly, clasping her hands again behind his neck, trying not to think of Valarr’s own head inside the crushed helm, not to imagine the sight of him in the mud like Daeron—
‘You must think us all such fools,’ he murmured, his breath tickling her cheek. ‘For taking to swords and maces over this.’
Arien did not answer at first. The trial was a buzz in her head, a blur of adrenaline, apprehension and approaching exhaustion. Instead, she snuggled her face in the crook of Baelor’s neck, her hair catching on his dishevelled beard. He was warm with life and smelt faintly of herbal ointments. The muscle moving under his skin, blood pumping right underneath where her cheek rested against his neck—life—it was all life. Arien shut her eyes, her damp lashes sticking together. A heavy hand began to rub gentle circles on her back.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I couldn’t think you a fool for saving a young man’s life. Maybe the gods really did decide, Aerion is…’
‘Shh—’
‘Don’t shush me, you and your gallant selflessness. The boy is mad, Baelor, I thank the gods it wasn’t Valarr he fancied had upset him.’
Baelor’s hand stilled for a telling second before resuming its leisurely rhythm on her back. It was a bitter sort of triumph. Arien would have liked, perhaps, to spare him the worry, but comfort would not do in place of caution. The dent in his helm—in their son’s helm—still stood vividly before her prickling eyes.
‘I’ll tell you more,’ she said firmly. ‘Before I ever regret the way Aerion turned out, I thank the Gods Valarr is nothing like him—’
She felt Baelor’s jaw move, but he said nothing. His other hand buried itself in her hair, blunt nails scratching her scalp, gentle as ever.
His hand, it crossed her mind, must be about where the dent was in his helm. Where Maekar’s mace nearly dug fist-deep into his skull—
‘I thank the Gods Valarr is every inch your son, that he can be left alone with a young maid or a child or an infirm—’
‘Darling—’
‘That he won’t be cruel.’
Baelor dragged her easily into his lap, skirts, boots and all, misplacing the covers and pillows.
‘Come here, you impossible woman,’ he groaned. ‘Valarr is as much your son as he is mine. He may not have your blood, but he lives and breathes your kindness. And one way or another he’s inherited your sense. You needn’t worry about him running headfirst into some foolish scrape.’
‘I used to think I didn’t need to worry about you doing that either,’ Arien wiped her nose on her sleeve.
‘Oh, but didn’t I look rather dashing? Did her royal highness’s heart not flutter even a little to see her old man holding his own?’
Arien punched him in the bicep, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.
‘I wasn’t expecting a loud orgasm in the audience, but a swoon or two—’
‘Jester,’ Arien whispered into his shoulder. The warmth of his hands was seeping like honey into her frame, causing her slowly to melt into his gentle hold.
‘They had to lace me up like some matron to squeeze me into Valarr’s armour,’ he said in a confidential murmur. ‘Thank the Gods we’re a similar height, but in the girth department it would appear I have a decided advantage. They even thought to grease me up—’
An utterly unbecoming snort escaped her, and then she was kissing him full on the mouth, the cheek, under the eye, on the tip of his nose—
His roguish grin as she pulled away filled her chest to bursting with warmth and relief. She traced the smile lines around his mismatched eyes with the tips of her fingers. She bumped her nose against his. He pulled her in again, kissed her again, staring straight into her eyes with boyish merriment.
‘Valarr was here, you know, when I woke up. I think he had threatened one of the maesters at knifepoint to look over Ser Duncan properly.’
Arien smiled at that. She had never had to look far for proof of her son’s kindness, and yet it always filled her with overwhelming pride.
‘The first words out of his mouth was You’ve frightened mother,’ Baelor said, tapping the tip of her nose with his finger. ‘And then he begged me to let those two troublemakers stay.’
‘He wasn’t wrong.’
Baelor pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. ‘I know, love, I know. I do apologise. How would her Royal Highness like me to make it up to her, hmm?’ he dragged his mouth along her jaw, then up her cheek to press a hot kiss to her temple. He tugged her hair loose from its updo, dragging his long fingers through the occasional knot. Gentle, always gentle—he was all gentleness, this sweet man.
‘I’ll think of something, I’m sure,’ she said, but she was hardly thinking anymore. For a moment she allowed herself to melt into Baelor’s frame, enjoying the gentle drag of his nails on her scalp. She was only realising now how stiff her whole body had grown in the last few hours, and how she longed to be rid of her shoes and clothes.
‘Aerion is to be gone by daybreak. Maekar will make all the proper announcements at breakfast. I don’t want to hear another thing about this mess until then.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ Baelor said, pressing another kiss to her forehead. His nimble fingers had migrated to the lacing of her dress, which he worked carefully loose, as skilfully as any lady’s maid.
‘I thought you had grown out of trying to fix every issue by undressing me,’ she murmured, obediently leaning away to let him tug the sleeves down her shoulders.
Baelor laughed. He tugged the dress down her hips, crumpling its many underskirts. ‘It never hurts to try.’
Having tossed her dress artlessly to the floor, he caught hold of her ankles, one after the other, unlacing her shoes with much less care.
‘How long are you to be kept awake?’ Arien asked, stretching her back until it popped. She burrowed her socked feet under the blanket, pressing them flat to his warm calves.
This time Baelor actually barked a laugh. ‘Oh, that—Valarr made it up. To cover for Aegon and Ser Duncan.’
‘Oh, thank the gods,’ Arien sighed. And then, with a fond shake of the head, ‘Clever boy.’
‘Every inch his mother’s son.’
With a careless sweep of an arm, Baelor sent most of the surplus pillows tumbling to the floor. He then folded the covers back, inviting her wordlessly to crawl in beside him.
‘Her Royal Highness has nothing more to worry about today,’ he announced as she settled in against him. The prospect of a night’s sleep was certainly a welcome one…
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before resting his chin there. Soon, his breathing grew deep and even, tickling her forehead. She felt his entire body relax gradually behind her. Instinctively, Arien’s hand ran along the arm he had hooked around her waist, fingers carding through the sparse hair there.
What time was it? she wondered, rubbing her thumb in circles. How long until that dreaded breakfast?
Dreaded? she frowned to herself, Several hours ago the idea of Aerion’s exile was no more than a desperate fantasy. Then, the hour of dread had been her inevitable interview with Maekar, and yet she’d managed. Surely tomorrow would be no different—
Unless some madness possessed Maekar to change his mind—
Baelor’s long fingers closed suddenly around her wrist.
‘Stop that,’ he murmured. ‘You’re fidgeting.’
‘Sorry—’
‘Shush.’ He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another. The arm around her waist tightened. ‘Shush. Stop thinking. You’ve done enough.’
Slowly, she closed her eyes, trying to match her breathing to his. How Baelor managed to remain so cool and collected—she could not tell. The knock to the head could be to blame, perhaps, only, he had been this way ever since she could remember, certainly since they’d been married.
‘D’you want me to tell you a Dornish fairy tale?’
Arien frowned again, craning her head in a futile attempt to look at him. ‘No!’ she blurted, ‘No, why? They’re horrible!’
A chuckle was all the reply she got.
‘Wan’me to tell you ‘bout saddles?’
She considered pinching him this time, but settled for a huff in the end.
‘Saddles…’ she repeated under her breath, provoking another chuckle.
‘Sleep,’ Baelor slurred, ‘Or I’ll tell you ‘bout sword oils.’
‘Maybe tomorrow.’ She stifled a yawn.
Baelor hummed, the sound vibrating pleasantly through his chest. ‘'Morrow’s good. now sleep.’
Impossible man, Arien thought, but his magic worked. Soon, he was snoring softly into her hair, and her eyelids were growing increasingly heavy.
Surely he had already told her all there was to know about saddles and sword oils.
On the other hand, she thought so every time, and every time he managed to surprise her.
Saddles, Arien yawned into the pillow. Leather and wood, not much else to them…
Whatever tomorrow brought would have to wait its turn.