Chapter Text
Maekar!!!— Aha, slow down!!”Baelor, the oldest son and Heir to their father, and most importantly, his big brother’s voice rings through the halls of the Red Keep before ending with a laugh. By now they must’ve shoved and frightened 30 servants.
Early in the day, Maekar had been bored as usual with his studies, Targaryen lineage and Westeros Geography, things he never cared for and certainly didn’t wish to learn, not yet anyway. Already at age one and ten (freshly), the youngest prince learned what it meant to be the youngest son, specifically the fourth. He received the least amount of attention from his mother and father, all too focused on his eldest brother, much like the rest of the realm. Maekar was old enough to know it wasn’t his fault, but he still gets a bit jealous sometimes. But his parents’ lack of love didn’t deter Baelor from giving all his to him.
Out of all his brothers, it seemed Baelor loved Maekar the most; maybe it was because he showed the most promise in the ways of a warrior, much like himself. He fancied swords over books, shields over cups and memorized the oath quicker than any page of a history book that’s been handed to him. Baelor was quick to snatch him away from his tutors whenever he felt inclined to, a tiny power trip he allowed himself. Though he’s certain the realm would scoff at such a selfish use of authority, too bad it’s only reserved for him.
And that brings them to the training yard, after a few minutes of navigating the endless halls and bumbling through the corridors and startling the servants. It was truly a sight to behold, a true display of brotherhood. Baelor walked over to the small armoury and felt the swords beneath his hands. He eventually beckoned Maekar over to him and pulled out one, caressing it lightly.
“This one’s polished nicely, isn’t it?” Baelor remarked with a slight grin.
Maekar glanced at it and nodded his head in agreement; it looked akin to those swords of Valyrian steel that he’d always heard rumoured about in the realm. Of course, this only made him more motivated to become a sword connoisseur, and becoming a Knight kills two birds with one stone. Fight bad knights and collect swords, perhaps even own a Valyrian steel sword himself.
“Come now, let’s spar before the master-at-arms finds out about our excursion.” Maekar nodded and hastily grabbed another sword, this one much more plain-looking, but sturdy nonetheless.
The two princes began to battle, Baelor throwing a quick low arc near his waist, countered by Maekar’s hard block against it, steel scraping against steel. They continue for a couple minutes more before Baelor faints going to the left, leaving Maekar’s right side unguarded. A jab to his stomach and his foot in between his legs spelled the recipe for disaster; Maekar, shocked by this maneuver, grabbed onto Baelor’s shoulder in an attempt to stabilize himself, but all failed as they both fell hard onto the sharp rock and gravel.
The mismatched-eyed prince who was above the other moved first, climbing off the young prince and dusting off his tunic, then raising a hand to help him up. But Maekar instead slapped his hand away, opting to get up himself.
“That move was very unknightly, you know,” Maekar grumbled, then crossed his arms.
Baelor scratched the back of his neck while grinning unapologetically. “Perhaps so. It’s good to learn something new every once in a while though, right?”
Maekar scoffed before returning to the post and sheathing the now dirty sword, with a slight limp; some servant will clean it surely. But he then went still as his brother sneaked beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulder with a pouty face.
“Come on, brother, it’s just a silly move. I swear on my knighthood I won’t attempt it on you ever again, or..perhaps I could teach it to you sometimes instead..?” Baelor’s smile widened with the word “no good” plastered on it. To that Maekar simply replied:
“I’d rather you teach yourself some of those knightly virtues that you love to lecture me with.”
The older boy spiked a laugh before pulling him along; they both walked side by side to the entrance of the Red Keep, but just before they were in earshot of the KingsGuard, Baelor tugged his wrist. Maekar looked back, confused. Baelor then brought a finger up to his mouth and led them both down a series of deserted halls.
Maekar had heard of these once from his other elder brother Aerys. He said these rooms were commissioned by Maegor The Cruel and that the architects who built and designed them, along with the workers who constructed them, were all slaughtered in the castle, earning its name.
Maekar shivered at this thought before refocusing his attention to the door in front of them, Baelor’s room.
“Brother, why are we here?”
The double doors creaked open, like the force behind it was trying to conceal its whereabouts. The two stepped into the room as the door then shut once more, isolating them from the realm. Baelor went first to the fireplace located to the left-hand side of the bedroom, grabbing a few logs, then turning to Maekar. “Brother, would you please grab a torch?” Maekar didn’t look back or question before following through, retrieving the chemical reaction their family has prided themselves on controlling for decades.
Once the fire was lit, the two young princes sat adjacent to each other, each on equally over-detailed chairs facing the pit. The silence was purposeful, a nonverbal conversation phasing between them. Looking over, Baelor glanced at his brother’s figure and paused his ring fiddling for a moment before breaking the silence.
“Are you well, brother?” He tilted his head in curiosity, as well as a hint of insincerity.
Maekar simply groaned before slouching further into the chair, nodding. “I’m sure it’s just a slight bruise, but then again…” He spoke off, before removing his top half. “Something feels damp on my back; could you inspect it? I don’t think I’d reach.”
Baelor hummed and got up, analyzing the younger’s back. And indeed it seemed a few rocks had scratched and irritated his back. So he got up and grabbed some healing salve from his desk, returned to Maekar’s side and started applying it.
Silence fell between them once again, with the sound of the cream in the background filling the air with a smell of coconut, along with the smoked wood and a low scent of carbon dioxide. Maekar stayed incredibly still the entire time, only shivering slowly when the cold cream slid near his spine. But eventually relaxed as before. Baelor hummed in contentment before closing the balm. He patted Maekar’s back, “All is well, brother, just a few scabs.”
Maekar made a noise that could be taken as a grunt, annoyance and relief at the same time, perhaps. Either way, he said no thanks. But Baelor never minded that about him he knew his brother through and through, and loved every bit.
Baelor then made his way to an outdoor balcony, motioning Maekar to follow suit. When closing the distance, he and Baelor both stared at the city, or the stars. The silence was loud enough to blur the sounds from the small folk down below.
“Brother, I’m—“ Maekar paused, then slightly shifted his eyes down. “Scared.”
Baelor turned to look at him with a soft smile and a comforting gaze.
“Whatever for?”
“For the future.” A pregnant pause stood between them again.
“For you.”
The older prince gave a confused expression, urging the younger to explain, to vent his worries. After all that’s what an older brother is for, and at this moment, he is no Heir, no prince of the realm. Just a brother. Maekar then turned to stare at him with teary eyes.
“Brother, I don’t want to grow up. I don’t want to marry and leave this place. Leave you. I don’t want to bear adult responsibilities either. I don’t want you to be so consumed by them that- that I slowly start to forget your face from how little I’ll s-see of you. I just—“
Baelor quickly moved to hug his little brother as soon as his words slowly broke up. He cut him off with a quiet hush, and began rubbing his head. From this angle he couldn’t see Maekar, but could definitely feel the tears soaking up his tunic.
“Shh. Peace brother, all is well. I promise I’ll never do— no. I’ll never leave you so alone in this world.” He stopped and held Maekar’s cheeks in his hands, smiling encouragingly.
“This world shan’t take me away from you.”
“P-promise me.” Sniffle
“I promise. Pinky swear, see?” He intertwines their pinkies and then their hands.
“I’ll never forget you, valonqar, I’d never hurt you so.”
“Father.”
Maekar nodded and closed his eyes. Baelor called out to him once more—
And then—
And then—
“Father?”
And then—
And—
Oh.
Oh, how naive he had been.
Smoke filled his vision, the wind blowing away what was left of Baelor Targaryen, the smell of ash burning his nostrils only left his sense of hearing to the present world around him, though he himself not so present. Maekar blinked once, then twice, then thrice before his consciousness connected all 5 of his senses. Below him stood his youngest son, Aegon.
He stared at him with concern that mirrored Baelor’s so much, along with his hand being held together with his. Maekar tightened his hold around Aegon’s as if that might be enough to have Baelor reappear in front of him, looking alive and well. As if, for one moment he might’ve—
A pained whine escaped from Aegon’s mouth, his tugging on Maekar’s hand to entice him to let go. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize he was gripping him so hard. The similarities are so great, Maekar must distance himself before he does something embarrassing. He swats Aegon’s hand away in favour of clenching his own. His eyes are already beginning to water.
From the smoke, he thinks.
He releases a sigh before turning away and marching back to Ashford’s shitty keep and leaving Aegon dumbfounded with an annoyingly concerned glare. After all, the day is far from over.
What he doesn’t think, is how busy the world remains away from this pyre. How time seems to keep moving despite the Heir leaving. Despite leaving him.
It isn’t fair, he doesn’t think.