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The day Maekar was born caused celebration. His big brothers piled into their queen-mother's birthing chambers. Daeron stood watching as their oldest and middle child fought over who would get to hold Maekar first, his eyes a dark hue of purple. Daeron held his boy, already a head full of silver strands that reflected gold, a new prince.
In his youth, Maekar was a troubled boy, pulling pranks on maids and maesters of the house when his father and especially since his mother tended to his older brothers. He’d always felt less loved; the love and time neglected by his parents were given to him by his older brothers, especially the firstborn, Baelor.
When visiting his mothers home country of Dorne, Maekar and his brothers, Rhaegel and Baelor, who was 3 to 5 years older, would run off into the gardens, finding spiders, butterflies, and stray cats to play with, Maekar even begging his mother to let him keep one kitten he’d found abandoned, he named her Lou, a gorgeous sphynx he’d slept with every night, until he was ten and four.
Throughout his teen years, he spent most of his time training with the Red Keep’s master-at-arms Ser Quentyn Ball, along with Baelor, whom he squired for some time before being knighted by his father. Maekar was an angsty teen, after developing the pox as a child, giving him scars that people would say left him with a face only a mother could love, some even going so far as to call him a phantom, though they wouldn't dare say that to his face nor around his brothers or father.
Myirah gave her son the love she’d thought to be same as his brothers, though Maekar felt less and left in their shadows, that would happen being the fourth son, he didn’t blame his mother, he’d love her the same as any boy should love the woman who gave them life, she’d nicknamed him her honeycomb, in reference to his scars, a loving gesture.
When the brothers of Maekar started to find their betrothed after Daeron permitted them to set out on finding wives, not bothering to set marriages up, they’d had enough allusions to last multiple rebellions.
Maekar had met in her home country of Dorne, quite accidentally, while traveling with his father and three brothers. Maekar, now aged ten and six, wandered into an orchard, seemingly the only place with outdoor shade from the beating sun, the twigs and berries snapping and popping under his boots, leaving a trail of juices as he pulled his horse along with him, looking ahead he saw an angelic figure, washing her face in a pond. Dropping the reins, he told his horse to stay put.
Maekar cleared his throat. “My lady.”
“Ser.” The young girl stood. Her coarse curls of black hair bounced as she stepped off the rock she once stood barefoot on. Maekar looked at her reflection in the water before his eyes caught hers, a dark purple shade in contrast to his bright ones. “What’s a young lady doing out here all by herself?”
“Taking a stroll.” She picked up her basket filled with oranges and berries.
“With no one to protect you.”
“I don’t think I’ll need much protecting, ser.” She hiked up her purple gown, revealing a small blade tucked into her tights.” Maekar’s eyes fluttered at the reveal of her flesh. His breath caught in his throat. She’d smelled of citrus and strawberries.
“Is that right?”
“I am Dyanna. Do you mind?” She pointed to the apple tree. Maekar stalked to her, picking her up by the hips as she reached for a few green and yellow ones. “Thank you ser–”
“Maekar.” His hand smoothed over his attire, out of his usual red and black, wearing a mix of gold, deep green, and maroon, his mother's colors.
“What kind of name is that?” She asked
“I’m unsure; my mother picked it.”
“And where is she from?”
“Dorne actually.”
“You do not look like a Dornishman.” She tiptoes towards him, her feet and gown sure to be dirty from the dirt and mud puddles. Studying his features, silver hair that reflected gold in the sun, his pale skin that flushed pink, the pox marks that sprinkled his cheeks, and the scar under his nose, he cruised them, wishing he could hide his imperfections from the beautiful girl who stood before him. Her fingertips brushed over his top lip lightly. “How do I look?” Maekar egged her on. Her fingers grazed the side of his face, touching his textured skin. “Handsome.”
“And you?”
“Enough about me.”
“But you haven't said anythin–”
“May I escort you back?” Maekar held out his hand, which Dyanna took with an eyeroll attached.
“Watch your wondering eyes, I wouldn't want to use this on you, Maekar.” Dyanna climbed onto his horse, Maekar got on behind her, his arm wrapped around her waist like it belonged, like a missing piece.
Maekar dropped her back in the city, near the castle King Daeron had prepared for them to stay in. His father and brothers welcomed their return.
“Maekar, where have you been–”
“Sorry, Father.”
“Ah, I see you've already met Lady Dayne. Please come join us for supper; they’ve prepared your favorite Maekar, beef-and-barley stew, for dessert, apple cake with rum to drink.”
“My King.” She curtsied, the sounds of her necklaces and bracelets rattled, music to Maekar’s ears, it reminded him of his mother. Maekar’s eyes looked back and forth between his father and Dyanna. “You know her?”
“We know the Daynes very well, Maekar, have some manners.” That wasn't the first nor would it be the last time Maekar would hear that on this trip.
“You knew?”
“Maekar isn't really a common name….nor is it Dornish.” The way the words slipped off her tongue pleased him. He waited for her body to be fully turned away before smiling at her.
“Clever birdie,” Maekar whispered under his breath, following the closet behind her flowing gown, his fingers playing with the fabric.
“Please join us, Lady Dayne.”
“I would be very delighted.” Maekar’s face was too close to hers as he took her hand, helping her up the steps into the dining area.
Three months later, they were married, They’d soon be known as The Anvil and The Purple Bride.
*
“Last night I dreamed of dragons.”
Maekar’s hand sat atop her round belly, his thumb in her belly button, as his violet eyes looked into hers. “I think it was you, my dragon.” Dyanna smiled at the recollection of the silver dragon flying over the Summer Sea. “A dreamer?” Maekar’s brow flared, worried. He’d heard tales of this happening in his bloodline. Most of them had the dreams, even Maekar had a few at some point in his youth. Targaryens going mad off of the visions or ‘dreams’ they'd have; it was never-ending, sending most of them into spirals or to their own death.
“Possibly,” Dyanna whispered half sadly, she and Maekar had heard plenty of what being a dreamer entails, none sounded amusing. That wouldn’t be the end of it. Dyanna and Maekar would later find that during all six of her pregnancies, she’d experience the dreams of dragons, some harsh, cold, and cruel, others warm and hopeful for what was to come later.
“He will be alright, my love.” Every night, Dyanna lay on her side, as instructed by the maesters. Maekar would arrive late to bed, finding her small hand on her belly, which was 3x it’s usual size. The poor girl. Maekar cursed himself for the discomfort he’d caused her. Dyanna always had to settle him. “It is fine, my love, I love the feeling of having something we created inside of me.”
“I don’t want to bring you harm.” King Daeron had told Dyanna that Maekar’s behavior and worry for her remind him of his uncle, who always looked out for his mother during her time pregnant, something Maekar would remember when naming their 3rd son. Maekar brought his face down to her belly, asking the baby to stop moving so much so his mother could rest, pressing his lips to her belly button. ”He knows your voice.” Dyanna felt a kick to her ribs. She moved his hand to the exact spot, and the baby kicked again.
“We shall name him after the king.” Maekar was the first to hold him, nearly knocking down the wet nurses and maesters to get into the room when he heard Dyanna’s screams come to a halt and small cries fill the room. The kingguards had held him back, anytime her cries came through the doors, “It's not a prince's job mi lord.”
“No, but it is a husband.”
While Maekar was away, whether it’d be fighting another bastard rebellion or being sent to accompany his brother, the hand of the king to do God-awful biddings, Dyanna was in charge, hell, if you asked Maekar, he’d tell you she was head of the house even when he was present. She had quite a green thumb, the garden that spread around Summerhall was full of colors, all expect red, Dyanna was tired of the color being forced all over their lives, she’d told Maekar one night while she put her wild hair up and applied hand cream, as he lovingly watched her awaiting for her return to bed, that the color was a shadow in their lives following them, Maekar was to never sit on the throne why not just expect themselves of Dornish? “Are you even listening to me?”
“I am.” Dyanna gave him a glaring side eye. She could hear the lust in his dark voice.
“I am waiting for my pregnant wife to come to bed, so I may do my duties as a husband.”
“My champion.” Dyanna rested her head on Maekar as he held their second son. “Aerion.”
“Our boy.” Daeron clung to his mother's leg, hiding his head under her silk gown’s train. “Daeron, meet your new brother.” He was freshly one and a half and had just learned to stand on his own as his purple eyes blinked at the baby, who began to cry when the wet maids took him for his bath. Aerion only liked to be held by his parents, especially Maekar. “My little dragon,” Dyanna called him, as he was an exact recreation of her beloved, She’d given birth to his twin, another one of him to love.
Daeron would finally have someone to play with, as a child, he was rather mute, only ever speaking few words with his mother or cousin, Valarr, Dyanna told Maekar that siblings would be good for him, and they were. Aerion made Daeron come out of his shell, Maekar would take them to the Red Keep more often While the men drank Dornish wine and rum, the three small princelings would run about toe gardens, playing games, giving each other cuts and bruises, that their mothers would kiss at night before bed, after Maekar scolded them for misbehaving.
Aerion was indeed a wild and glad child; he’d pull his father and big brother all around Summerhall, playing dragons. Dyanna couldn't count on one hand how many times she’d walked into the boys' shared bedchambers and had to pull Aerion from Daeron's back, pretending he was a dragon rider. “Mother, it's just playing pretend.” She’d give him a soft, concerned look, compared to what Maekar would give.
“You will hurt your brother if you continue like this.” She caressed their faces, wiping their silver and blonde locks from their eyes, both of them leaning into her touch. They were no different than their father; their obsession with their mother would drive them into the madness. “They smell of you.” Maekar would tell her, delivering her sweets at night after he’d tuck the boys into bed, they’d be restless with a kiss from mother or father before bed.
It took five summers after Aerion's birth for Dyanna to fall pregnant again; she’d stopped taking the moon tea, much to Maekar’s happiness. “I want to try for a girl.” She’d told Maekar one night after he’d come to bed, putting the boys to sleep, having to sing Daeron to sleep, still shaken from his dreams the night before.
Aemon had been a relatively easy pregnancy; he was the smallest of the children they had so far, and Daeron was taken with him immediately. Aerion couldn't give a damn, that was until Daella was born, finally a sister. Maekar was more than delighted to have a daughter, showing her off whenever he could. If Maekar found himself in the same room as Daella, rest assured, she was being held by her father.
“May I hold her mother?”
“Make sure to secure her head, love.” Aerion traded the baby for a new picture he colored, it was him once again, riding a dragon, this time with his little sister in tow. Daella, or as Maekar liked to call her, his evening princess, was a replica of Dyanna; her dark hair was pin-straight, though, like her father's and brothers. When Aegon was born a year later, Dyanna cursed Maekar. He was her hardest pregnancy yet. The delivery was something out of the horrors that Daeron would dream. And then there was Rhae, Maekar’s summer star, whom Maekar named after his beloved brother. He remembered when he’d announced her at court, “Why didn’t you name one after me?” Baelor jested to his baby brother. The court knew Maekar’s love for Rhaegal knew no bounds. “Maybe we’ll name the cat after you, Baelor.”
After the birth of all six, Maekar and Dyanna were content, happily running around Summerhall with their own dynasty in tow. Every time the children accompanied them to Starfall, they were stripped of their Valyrian colors. Instead, they wore purple and sandy hues, the same as their father, who had a purple cape flowing behind him at all times, and Dyanna’s star-gold designs sprinkled across her gowns.
*
While on her deathbed from an illness, even the maesters couldn't make out, Dyanna was visited constantly by her children. Aerion would greet his mother only in the mornings, barely able to make eye contact with her, without his eyes welling with tears. She’d force his chin with her hands. “My dragon denies his mother his eyes?” He was angry; he needed to find something or someone to take it out on. Aegon and Daella would spend all day in her private chambers, while Rhae was taken care of by the wet nurses. Dyanna would read to them as her husband sat across the room, looking to the fireplace, in his mind, wishing for the seven to bring him death. He’d told Dyanna this, and she’d slapped him, leaving a red mark on his face. “Don’t leave our children with no one to love them.”
Following Dyanna’s death, Maekar moved the family back into the Red Keep, Summerhall without her was cold, the rooms once filled with sunlight when she walked in were grey, dull, and foggy. The castle once filled with the love and laughter of six children now dead silent, Maekar’s turn was immediate, he’d avoided his children the days following her death, Daeron was too drunk to notice, Aerion…this is when he began to change for the worse, He’d been reading on his families history for sometime but something held him back, Aemon not even a year after being in the Red Keep was sent away, leaving Maekar in tears silently in his chambers, His oldest daughter consoled him.
In his mourning his voice grew deeper, more frightening. His face was covered in wrinkles, aging him to look past his older brothers, you’d think him older when he stood next to them. He tried to stay soft when near his youngest, but found it difficult, knowing she’d never truly know her mother. All of Maekar’s clothes going forward would have specs of purple in Dyanna’s honor; his girls wore nothing but Dornish fabrics as well.
Aerion’s turn went under Maekar’s nose as he became less involved, avoidant, and neglectful. The girls spent most of their time with their governess and Shiea, a bad influence in Maekar’s eyes, but he’d allowed it. Daeron’s face was always in a bottle and his cock in a whore ignoring his duties, which Aerion happily attended to in exchange for his father’s attention, Egg busy with his cat would run off, not too far passed the castle walls, but enough to have Maekar send the knights guard to look after the boy, Maekar deeply loved his children, He just didn’t know how to show it, not anymore.
Back in Summerhall, the castle rested the same; the mix of Dornish and Valyrian culture covered the walls. Anyone who stepped foot in could see it had once been loved. The family portrait Maekar had demanded be made so soon after Rhae's birth was left partly unfinished due to Dyanna’s sudden illness. Maekar remembered laying with her on her deathbed, his last words asking her to haunt him, not to leave him without her presence in his life for eternity.
He couldn't even say her name. When he’d hear his children refer to her, he’d curse under his breath, excusing himself from the room. the small reminders of her in his boys' behaviours and manners, and girls' faces, her nose and lips copied onto Daella, his princess.
Whenever he’d scold one of the boys, mostly Aerion or Daeron, he swore he could feel her small hands resting on his chest and shoulder to comfort him. In the eyes of onlookers, it’d seem as if the princeling had gone mad, and in a way, he did.
The events at Ashford left Maekar completely sour. He’d remembered his youngest coming to him, pleading with him to stand down and not enter the trial. Maekar couldn't help Aerion and Daeron on the battlefield alone, he’d thought, and in a way, he was right. He watched Aerion make a fool of himself. Makear didn’t say it out loud, but other than himself, he’d blamed Aerion for what happened to Baelor. He’d been unable to look his son in the eye after that. He accompanied Valaar and his wife, Keira, back home before setting his sights on Summerhall with Daeron, who spent all his time in the Red Keep being nursed by maestars' nurses and getting drunk when he could. Of course, the king and queen didn’t take well to the news, their favorite son, heir to the throne…dead, and it was Maekar who did him in.
Myriah took the news the hardest, her youngest towering over her as her eyes curdled with tears, her baby boy. It was no secret that Baelor was the favorite, and Maekar understood that he was the firstborn and did everything father asked of him, perfectly. Maekar wasn't a complete disappointment, but how could he ever live up to it that? He couldn’t and perhaps didn’t even want to, not after he’d met Dyanna anyway. She was his reason to be better, and now both she and his brother were gone.
After the sickness took his father and both of his nephews, the throne went to Aerys, though Makear couldn't imagine why; he’d tried to plead with his brother to make him his hand to no avail. Instead, Brynden Rivers was given the task, even later in life, Maekar would say he’d done a fine job.
But as for now, Kiera was left widowed, and Daeron was still unmarried, by the influence of his father offered her the proposition of marriage. It would be good for Daeron, Maekar’d thought, not thinking of the nightmare Kiera had been through, though similar to Maekar’s own experience, Kiera took pity, agreeing to a marriage between her and Daeron; they were friendly with each other, the marriage would be simple and absent of romance, but enough. And so it was, after Kiera fell pregnant, Maekar took her in at Summerhall, doing all he could to help while his son frequented the bars and brothels.
With the home empty beside Maekar and the girls, with Daeron only visiting occasionally, he and Kiera grew close and fond of each other. He’d pray to the seven that Daella and Rhae would grow into the kind young woman she remained through her hardships, as for baby Vaella, named after Kiera’s late husband, Maekar didn’t know he could be so fond of a child. The first time he’d held her, her fingers wrapped around his pinky, reminding him of the times he’d held his own children. Her face and skin tone were the same as her mother's, but something about her hair made it clear Daeron was her father.
Daeron passed when Vaella was no older than five summers; Maekar was more than a grandfather to her. He’d taken to her more than he did his own sons. When Maekar ascended the thrones after his brother’s passing, he kept Bloodraven as his hand and assigned positions for both Kiera and Vaella, whom he made his cupbearer. The simple girl was happy with the task; like Maekar’s children, Vaella was very fond of him; the man whom peasants saw as beastly and unapproachable to her was kind and soft. As a young girl, she’d even referred to him as her papa, something Keira attempted to correct, but it always stuck. Maekar didn’t mind. He'd thought it rather cute, reflecting on his own fatherhood, the mistakes, the trials, he loved his children, he’d hoped they knew that, and they did, seemingly understand their father even when they barely knew him.
While serving as kind the realm was at peace, smallfolks as well as nobles were happy while Maekar ruled, something very little people expected, Maekar was an energetic king thought he didn’t do well with people still, Having Bloodraven as his hand did help, With his daughter in-laws moved in the Red Keep, he saw his grandson Maegor, Aerion named him, a small sweet boy, pale, with his father’s face, but hair similar to Baelor’s, Maekar always thought it ironic. Maekar lived alone enough to see the boy have a love for ponies and soon learn to ride, he’d often find the boy in the stables, hiding from the boys his own age, “They fear me papa, They think me like my father.” Makear knew what the boy meant, they’d thought him Mad. Maekar would comfort the boy the way he could. He'd hoped for him to be a warrior like himself and his father.
When Daella and Rhae married, Maekar begged them to not move far, Daelle had found herself a noble boy to wed, having several children, taking after her mother. They were fond of Maekar. Rhae married at ten and seven but remained in the Red Keep, until her father’s death.