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It all started with a game.
The idea came from some dusty old tome on Valyrian customs, or so Aerys had told his brothers when he finally proposed it. A Valyrian Wedding. Baelor thought, at the time, that his brother must have truly taken leave of his senses, to leave behind his books and come to them to ask such a thing.
“Soon you’ll no longer have time to play with us. Please, Baelor, just this once,” Aerys had begged him.
That was how they had found themselves hiking up the side of the Dragonmont, on that cloudy windy day. The four of them walked half the afternoon, always in a line, Baelor leading and Maekar in the rear keeping Rhaegel from falling behind or wandering off. They walked along the rocky trail, each pulling their thick black cloaks tightly around themselves to keep the cold from their bones as the wind howled. One would have taken them for shadow creatures left behind by the Old Magic the Dragon Lords had used to build their ominous fortress.
Eventually, they reached a place nestled in the dormant volcano’s side. It gave them some refuge from the strong winds, though Baelor remembers feeling his bangs dance around his forehead. He had carried Aerys bag the whole way, despite his brother's protests, fearing he might lose his balance from the weight of it. He laid it on a large flat rock and let Aerys take out all the trinkets he would need for his ritual, while he went to help Maekar start a fire.
Baelor remembers little of the preparations for the ceremony, only that Rhaegel became distraught at the mention of blood and that both he and Maekar had sat with him for quite some time before he calmed down. When Aerys had first made his request, it had been decided that Rhaegel would take the place of the bride while Baelor himself would play the groom. Maekar had even taken the time to braid their brother’s long black hair into the most intricate style he could manage, which wasn’t saying much. In the end, Maekar took Rhaegel’s place, not wanting to force him into doing anything he did not wish. There had been no braids on his hair but his pale locks fell around his face in waves that had long straightened with age. Baelor missed Maekar’s wavy hair from time to time even though it was still as soft as it had been in his boyhood.
By the time the boys were ready, Aerys had sat upon the stone a long piece of dragonglass, a silver goblet, a wine skin, an ornate ribbon and the notes he had taken from the old tome. The last two he had secured under a rock slightly larger than his hand, while he pulled out of his bag two white robes and crimson sashes. To this day, Baelor wonders where in the Seven Hells his brother had found such things. He remembers how mad he had been at Aerys when he had insisted that he and Maekar take off their warm black cloaks and put on those rags. His brother eventually relented when Maekar threatened to take himself and Rhaegel back to the keep if he didn’t stop speaking nonsense.
Aerys had given them a long-winded explanation about what they were supposed to do, which led to Maekar grabbing the dragonglass and Baelor’s hand and dragging him into place all while complaining that he was cold and wished to be done with this nonsense. Thus they started.
From the moment Baelor took that piece of dragonglass from his brother’s hand, every detail, every feeling, had become engraved in his memory.
He remembered the coldness of the dragonglass on his hand, its irregular shape. How he had hesitated just as he brought its sharp edge to Maekar’s lips. He had looked into his brother’s violet eyes, searching for any sign that he did not want this. Instead, Maekar had given him a short encouraging nod. Baelor had tried to be gentle, wanting only to graze his brother’s lip, but the dragonglass was sharper than he realised and as soon as it touched the skin, red blossomed from the wound.
Baelor stared at it for a moment in a trance, watching the blood pull on his brother’s lips and run down his pale chin. He gathered it with his thumb, brought it to Maekar’s forehead and ran it down between his eyebrows, leaving the mark Aerys had shown them. As he pulled his hand, he noticed Maekar’s eyes were wet with unshed tears and he worried he had been too rough. He had opened his mouth to tell Aerys that he would not continue. He was ready to pull Maekar to his chest and apologise until he ran out of breath, but before the words could leave his mouth his brother took the dragonglass and brought it to Baelor’s lips.
All Baelor could do was brace himself for the incoming attack. If there was one thing his brother had never possessed was a forgiving nature. When the sharp edge finally met his lip, the touch was softer than he thought his brother was capable of. There was more pressure in the first contact than what Baelor had used, but when it came time to run the irregular edge through his lip, Maekar had been gentler than he had expected. He savoured the metallic taste of his own blood as he felt Maekar’s thumb touch his chin.
Despite having grown quite a lot in that year, Maekar had still been a head shorter than his brother. Instinctively, Baelor lowered his head so that Maekar could mark his forehead. He took that time to observe his brother. He had seemed as fascinated as Baelor had felt, his eyes locked on the bloody mark he had just drawn.
Maekar returned the dragonglass to Baelor, who took it and cut his left palm before turning the blade in his hand and presenting the handle to Maekar. His little brother didn’t hesitate, he took the knife and cut deep into his own palm. Baelor worried it had been too much, but there was no pain when Maekar looked him in the eye, only determination. Baelor grabbed Maekar’s bleeding hand with his own, never taking his eyes from his brother's. He felt Aerys tithing the elaborate ribbon around their linked hands.
Baelor will never forget the look on Maekar’s eyes, nor the feeling of their blood running down their wrists, falling as one into the goblet of wine Aerys was holding.
To this day, the Valyrian words spoken by Aerys on that windy day still echo in his mind.
Blood of two, joined as one
Ghostly flame and song of shadows
Aerys presented the goblet to Maekar, who took it and drank from it. His brother keeped it on his lips for a moment, browns frowned, before looking at Baelor’s eyes with an intensity that was foreign to such a young face.
Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires
A future promised in glass
Aerys continued in his impeccable Valyrian, as Maekar passed the goblet to Baelor. He looked at the deep red liquid inside and, after taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and took a large gulp. First came the notes of wine, it reminded him of the single cup his father had allowed him to drink during the last banquet, but it was the coppery taste of blood that brought a shiver down his spine. Their blood. His and Maekar’s, blended into one. When he opened his eyes, Maekar was still looking at him with those pale violet eyes, so familiar yet so foreign in that moment. Yet as their eyes connected, Baelor felt a shift around them. His brother tightened his grip on his hand, his breathing seemed to become uneven, his pupils dilated. Baelor felt a pull deep in his chest, forcing him to take deep breaths. Everything became distant : the howling of the wind, the crashing of the waves below, the hard ground under their feet. There was only Maekar, with his darkening eyes and blood trickling down his chin. Aerys' voice sounded far away, like an old dream, the words they had never heard before sounding so familiar. Echoes from a past life.
The stars stand witness
The vows spoken through time of darkness and light
As the last sentence was spoken Baelor instinctively lowered his head and brought their lips together in a kiss. It had been pure, chaste, without an ounce of malice or even lust. Maekar was only nine and Baelor three and ten. According to Westerosi custom, Baelor should have known better - he was already old enough to hear talk of betrothals and squire in tourneys after all - but he loved his brothers and wished to make them happy. He liked to think that that love was equally divided for the three younger boys but the truth was that Maekar had always been the easiest to love. Not because he was easy - much the contrary - but because Maekar was in all things the closest he had to an equal. It was hard to have a relationship with Aerys and Rhaegel. One so immersed in his books that he wouldn’t even acknowledge you, the other lost in his own mind, living in another plane of existence all together. But Maekar was with him. Always. Either by his side or trailing behind him, he was a constant presence that brought Baelor comfort. Baelor who, despite everyone’s praise, had always felt inadequate. Too different. Too dornish, his Grandsire the King had once said to the court, laughing heartily, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
“Whoah! Pretty!” Rhaegel’s voice made them pull back.
He was looking to the sky, mesmerized. Baelor followed his brother's gaze, freezing as he saw a white fallen star leave a trail of silver through the sky. He heard Maekar let out a breath of awe.
He looked back at his little brother, hair dancing in the wind and lips stained with blood. In that moment, Maekar had a wild beauty about him that Baelor had been too young to appreciate, yet it captivated him. He remembers thinking that even with his pox scars, his brother was quite beautiful, like most descendents of Old Valyria were known to be, with his pale moonlight skin and hair and his otherworldly purple eyes. He had hoped that one day some maiden would see him as he saw him and love him as he loved him.
Maekar must have felt his gaze on him, for he turned to him with a questioning look. Baelor smiled, squeezing the bleeding hand that held his brother’s. He pulled him closer and laid his forehead on his. The winds of Dragonstone made Maekar’s hair tickle Baelor’s face, making his heart swell. In that moment surrounded by ash and black sand, he was happier than he had ever been. The warm hand of his brother in his, anchoring him. Maekar. His shadow; his light. Blood of his blood. They had been bound since the day Maekar came into this world screaming and Baelor never wished to be parted from him. In that moment, still with a child's heart, he believed that he could make it so; that this act would seal their bond forever. A child’s dream, sweet and fragile, in a sour and hard world.
The door flew open, making Baelor snap out of his reverie.
“Fuck this place!” Maekar said as he swung the door shut.
Baelor sighed.
“Maekar…” He said in an admonishing tone.
“Don’t Maekar me! This is your fault! I should never have let you convince me to let Daeron and Aegon go ahead without us.” His brother snapped in frustration, before pacing toward the window.
Baelor pushed himself off his chair and walked to his brother. He let his hands run down his brother’s back and settle on his waist, before laying his forehead against his shoulder blade. He felt his little brother take a deep breath and relax slightly.
“They are alright, Maekar, and all this worry does you no good.”
“Well, one of us has to worry, wouldn’t you say?” He asked, as he turned to face him.
He looked tired, he hadn’t slept well during the entirety of the journey to Ashford, even before learning that the boys had not arrived at their destination, and Baelor hadn’t been able to do much about it with so many people around. A strand of silver hair laid over his left eye and Baelor reached up instinctively to push it back behind Maekar’s ear, as he had done a thousand times before.
“It is not that I don’t worry for them. I just prefer to believe that they were simply delayed; that Daeron decided to stop in some inn instead of venturing through flooded roads with Aegon in toe.” Baelor explained gently, running his right hand over his brother’s arm and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Maekar studied him for a moment. Despite the many flaws his brother might have, he always took into consideration a solid argument, especially if it came from Baelor. His brother signed, taking hold of Baelor's waist and guiding him into the shadows next to the window, away from prying eyes.
Baelor’s back touched the stone wall. He felt a small smile pulling on his lips but Maekar wasn’t smiling. There was something in his eyes that rested between sadness and longing.
“We should have stayed at Summerhall,” he murmured, “All of us.”
Baelor caressed his cheek lovingly, his thumb running over his pox scars, right above his beard.
“That would have been lovely but we have work to do.”
Maekar paid him no mind, deciding instead to snuggle against his hand like a cat. Baelor fought back a smile and slid his hand under his chin, forcing him to look at him.
“Promise me you will control your temper,” Baelor’s voice was soft, even as Maekar made a disgruntled sound, “and that you will no longer insult our host nor cuss in front of his daughter.”
Whatever snarky remark Maekar intended died in his mouth at the mention of the girl. Baelor knew how much his brother tried to restrain his foul mouth around his own girls.
Maekar pursed his lips, jaw tight in annoyance, before finally answering.
“I promise I will do my best not to shame you or cause you trouble during our stay,” he mumbled. It was the best Baelor could hope to get out of him.
“Thank you,” Baelor whispered before slipping two fingers into his brother’s collar and pulling him into a kiss.
For the first time since arriving at Ashford, Baelor let himself relax, let the facade fall, surrendering himself to something more primal. His tongue caressed Maekar’s bottom lip, running over the scar he had left there when they were boys. Glimpses of that memory came once more to his mind and he felt himself smile before deepening the kiss, losing himself in Maekar’s taste. As that familiar heat started to gather in his core, Maekar decided to pull back, laying a hand on his chest as Baelor chased his lips.
“Baelor…” He said and Baelor looked at him through hooded eyes, only to see his brother eyeing the door, “Someone may walk in.”
Baelor closed his eyes, letting out a frustrated breath through his nose. He put his hand over Maekar’s, still on his chest, caressing it with his thumb.
“You are right,” he said in a low voice, “I forgot myself.”
When he looked back at his brother, he found him studying him with a frown.
“That is unlike you,” he said in a low voice, worried.
Baelor gave him a half smile, before taking hold of his brother’s hand, turning it and intertwining their fingers.
“I’ve just been thinking,” he muttered against the back of Maekar’s hand before kissing it.
His brother snorted a laugh.
“Oh, you had me worried for a moment.”
Baelor just looked at him through his lashes, unimpressed, but Maekar had that rare silly smile on his face that only appeared when he thought he was being genuinely funny and Baelor never had the heart to tell him he was not.
“I was thinking that, when we are done here, we could go to Dragonstone,” Baelor continued, kissing his knuckles.
Maekar’s brows shot up in suprise.
“Isn’t father waiting for you in Kingslanding?”
Baelor shrugged.
“He has waited this long, he can wait a bit longer.”
Maekar’s mouth hung open for a moment as he searched for what to say. He settled for an incredulous laugh.
“Prince Baelor Targaryen running away from his duties?! Never thought I would see the day.”
“What can I say? You are a bad influence.”
“Ugh, of course it’s my fault…”
Baelor didn’t give him the time to start sulking. He grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into a hug laying his forehead against his.
“Please, my love,” Baelor whispered against Maekar’s lips, “Come with me.”
“Why are you being so insistent?” He asked him, suspiciously.
“I believe the air will do you good,” Baelor told him, and when Maekar hummed unconvinced, he continued, “and I would like to renew our vows.”
Maekar pulled back, confused.
“What?”
Baelor smirked.
“You heard me, love.”
Baelor could see the exact moment Maekar understood what he was alluding to. His brother sighed in exasperation.
“You- Ugh! You madman… And must you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like it was valid.”
“Was it not, my heart?” Baelor cocked his head to the side, playing the fool.
“If it was, it would mean that all our children are bastards, as if there aren’t enough running around as is…”
“Well, according to the law since we have claimed them as our true born children, they are legitimate.”
Maekar rolled his eyes dramatically, much to Baelor’s amusement.
“Only you would choose a moment like this to pull the Book of Laws out of your ass.”
“And what an ass, wouldn’t you say?” Baelor grinned.
“Cheeky bastard…” Markar grumbled, pulling him closer, laying a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
Baelor’s grin only widened. He gave his brother a quick kiss on the lips and caressed his back before asking, “Will you come or not?”
Maekar ran his thumb over his brother's bottom lip, deep in thought, “The idea of you with a bloody lip is very tempting.”
Baelor caught his thumb lightly between his teeth, making Maekar tut disapprovingly and pull his hand back, before grabbing the back of Baelor’s neck and pulling him into a deep kiss, his own warning forgotten. And Baelor, most certainly, wasn’t about to remind him. Not when their tongues were sliding sensually against each other. Not when Maekar had his hand on the nape of his neck, lovingly scratching his skin with blunt nails. Not Baelor when got to run his fingers through Maekar’s soft pale hair, twisting the strands and using them to keep his brother from pulling away. Every time they pulled apart to take a breath, Baelor would whisper against Maekar’s lips a single word: “please”. And Maekar would grumble a multitude of insults: “idiot”, “madman”, “fool”, “old fool”...
Eventually, they forced themselves to stop but even then they remained close, foreheads touching, breathing each other's air. Baelor ran his fingers through his brother’s hair, letting it fall back in a disheveled mess, before bringing his hand to his brother’s cheek, caressing his beard.
Maekar let out a deep breath.
“Let me find my vagabond sons. Then I’ll give you my answer.”
Baelor grabbed his brother’s hand and brought it to his lips, letting the kiss linger on his knuckles, before looking him in the eye.
“We will find them, Maekar. I’ll put an end to this tourney and make every lord, knight and commoner look for them, if need be.”
“Please, don’t,” Maekar groaned, “This fucking nonsense is embaressing enough without the entire region thinking I can’t keep my household in check.”
Baelor kissed his brow and joined their foreheads once more, as was their custom since childhood. He felt Maekar take hold of both his hands and intertwine their fingers.
Baelor smiled.
“Do you remember the words?” He asked.
“Fuck no,” Maekar grumbled.
“Liar,” Baelor laughed.
“It was more than twenty years ago, Baelor. Give me some grace,” he complained.
Baelor remained silent, looking at him expectantly with his mismatched eyes.
“My Valyrian is terrible,” Maekar mumbled, a light blush creeping up his cheeks, “It only got worse with the years. Trust me, you should be the one speaking the words…”
He was avoiding Baelor’s eyes, looking intently at their joined hands. The silence stretched between them forcing Maekar to look at his brother, then at the Hand’s pin Baelor wore, then at his brother’s face, then at the light coming from the window, then back at his face. Baelor just cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrow in challenge. Maekar finally cracked.
“Ugh! Fine! But you start,” he snapped.
His cheeks were now completely red in embarrassment and Baelor couldn’t help but smile at his brother's antics. Despite Maekar’s self-consciousness about his High Valyrian, Baelor’s wasn’t much better. Curiously enough, of the four brothers, Rhaegal was definitely the most fluent, speaking it as easily as the Common Tongue. After their little wedding on the Dragonmont, Rhaegal had spent three moon turns speaking only in High Valyrian, much to the distress of his septas and the servants, as well as their lady mother. When Maekar had asked him why he was doing it he had simply answered, still in Valyrian, that he liked how it sounded. Baelor and Maekar had joined him, speaking with him in their ancestors' tongue. Rhaegal had been a good teacher, especially for Maekar who tended to become frustrated with the Maester constantly correcting his pronunciation. Rhaegal didn’t try to teach them anything, keeping it conversational, asking them to repeat themselves only when their pronunciation was truly atrocious or they used the wrong words.
He stepped closer, kissing Maekar’s cheek before locking eyes with him.
“Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows,” he said slowly, trying his best to articulate the words.
Maekar had closed his eyes as he listened to Baelor’s voice. When he opened them once more, there was a softness to them that he hadn’t seen in some time.
“Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires”, Maekar’s voice trembled with emotion, as he spoke the words, “A future promised in glass.”
Tears had gathered in his eyes. For all of Maekar’s rough exterior, he had always been someone who loved deeply, fearlessly. He had an abundance of love that the world had tried to beat out of him. Very few people had the privilege of seeing it and fewer had ever been on the receiving end of it. It was one of the many things Baelor loved about his brother.
They stood now chest to chest, eyes locked, breathing the same air. When they spoke the final words, they did it as one:
“The stars stand witness; The vows spoken through time of darkness and light.”
For a moment, they stood still letting the words echo around them. Maekar was the first to move, placing a chaste kiss on his brother's lips. Baelor smiled, laying his forehead against his, he brought his hand up to caress his brother’s cheek lovingly.
“My silver Moon,” He told Maekar, affectionately, the valyrian words ever familiar, the same he had whispered into his brother’s ear a thousand times, on the corridors of the Red Keep.
“My blazing Sun,” Maekar retorted softly, the name he had chosen for Baelor long ago, the first valyrian words he had memorized on his own.
Baelor took his hands and guided him to his bed. When he realized what he was doing Maekar planted his feet on the ground.
“Not now, Baelor,” he whispered.
“You need to rest, Maekar. I just wish to hold you.”
Maekar looked at him trying to find a trace of a lie. When he couldn’t, he let himself be led to his brother’s bed. Baelor did take off Maekar’s belt and dagger as his brother scowled, before doing the same to Baelor. They laid down fully clothed. Baelor on his back, as Maekar struggled to find a comfortable position with their feet hanging off the bed. He finally settled on Baelor’s shoulder, his face resting against the curve of his neck.
“I won't be able to sleep,” Maekar grumbled.
“Just try,” was all Baelor said as he began to run his fingers through his brother’s hair.
Maekar held Baelor’s left hand, running his thumb over the smooth stone on his ring. Baelor smiled at the familiarity of the act and let himself relax against the mattress.
Soon Maekar’s breathing became even, regular. Baelor pressed his lips to his brother’s hair. He couldn’t wait for this whole affair to be done with so he could stand with Maekar on the Dragonmont once more.
This time, there would be no hesitation on his part and definitely no chastity in his actions. They were no longer boys, they were men. Men hardened by war. Fathers. They knew what the words meant, knew the weight they carried. Baelor closed his eyes and conjured the image of Maekar as a child, hair dancing in the wind, lip bloodied, but very quickly that image morphed into an older version of him. This Maekar was wearing his training gear, his lip split by Aegor during practice. He had found him in the armory, putting away his training sword and when he turned to look at Baelor it hit him like a crossbow bolt. The light from the small high window caught on Maekar’s hair making it shine like moonlight, his lips stained crimson with his blood, against his pale skin. It had been instinct, a primal urge, that made Baelor take those three large steps and kiss those bloody lips. Maekar had turned five and ten not even a moon before, but for that past year Baelor had been unable to shake this feeling that something was missing and that only Maekar could fill that hole. It was then that he understood. That bloody lip and hair disheveled reminded him of that day on Dragonstone, of that pull, that connection.
When he had pulled away, he felt lightheaded and whole. Until he saw Maekar’s shocked expression and, for a moment, he thought he had shattered the bond he had shared with his brother since he was a babe. Maekar had always trusted him, had always looked up to him, had always defended him and he went and kissed him. To love a man as one loves a woman was a sin, the septons said. What would they say about loving a brother?
Baelor felt tears gather in his eyes and he opened his mouth to ask his brother for forgiveness when Maekar grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him back.
How Baelor’s heart had rejoiced. He had pushed them into the dark corner and pulled Maekar up onto a table and settled between his legs. The funny part was that they simply fitted together. Their lips, their bodies, their personalities. Like two puzzle pieces, they just fitted perfectly. And yet, it wasn’t meant to be. The realm wouldn’t allow it. Duty would prevent it. It almost severed their sacred bond. Almost. Somehow, their love prevailed, through tears and screams, through fights and accusations, through arranged marriages and children, through a rebellion and thousands of miles separating them. They still found it in themselves to love one another.
Now they had fulfilled their duty to the realm and their family. So now, for once in his life, Baelor will be selfish. He will take Maekar to Dragonstone and marry him once more. As they were meant to be, from the very beginning. He loved his sons and he respected Jena while she lived but he needed Maekar like he needed air.
Baelor listened to his brother’s peaceful breaths as he slept, and decided then and there that he would find Maekar’s boys so that he could finally breathe. They will survive this dreadful tourney and they will go to Dragonstone together.
Baelor kissed his brother’s hair and whispered into the golden-silver strands:
“All will be well, Maekar. I swear it. We'll always be together.”