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If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'll love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours. - Stephen King, 11/22/63
Maekar had never minded the fact that he looked more like an alpha than a typical omega. Rather, it was often a comfort to him as he was saved from alphas making lewd comments about his body or attempting to court him. He was in no mood to entertain them.
He’d never had interest in an alpha aside from Baelor.
Baelor, his perfect alpha brother and heir to the throne. Six years his senior and the embodiment of everything Maekar wasn’t. Charming, handsome, patient, and, above all, virtuous.
“Baelor the Righteous,” Aerys had remarked years earlier, “That’s what the history books will call you. Or, perhaps, Baelor the Benevolent if they wish to alliterate.”
Baelor had simply chuckled heartily in response and refrained from adding anything further.
Though Maekar had rolled his eyes at the time, scoffing loudly to make his disdain of the nicknames clear to all three of his elder brothers, he knew Aerys was right.
Their eldest brother had always been the best-behaved of the four of them and was adored by the court and smallfolk alike. With their grandfather dead for nearly a decade now, little heed was paid to those that spoke slander about Baelor’s Dornish attributes.
Maekar had grown up worshipping Baelor, and now at ten-and-seven, that idolization hadn’t faded. He wasn’t as easily starstruck as the omega maidens were upon laying eyes on Baelor, but he couldn’t deny how he felt when his eldest brother was near.
Every time Baelor corrected his form while training, or played with a strand of his hair, or pressed a kiss to his temple, Maekar’s heart would flutter as heat rushed through his face. The alpha’s warmth encompassed him entirely and he could feel nothing else.
Baelor was oblivious to the effect he had on the omega. He continued with his brotherly gestures, unaware of how Maekar’s breathing quickened with each second Baelor’s touch lingered. Unaware of how Maekar craved for more than mere brotherly touches. When the pair were side-by-side, he often imagined lunging forward and closing the gap between them.
He’d tried a few times, inching closer ever so slightly until they were barely a finger’s width apart, but he always ended up stepping back.
The fear was too overwhelming.
If Baelor rejected him outright, Maekar wouldn’t be able to handle it. He could fantasize all day about Baelor wanting him the same way Maekar wanted the alpha, but it was just a fantasy. Maekar would not ever dare entertain it as anything more.
Even when he was resting against Baelor’s chest and the alpha’s head was atop his own, Maekar didn’t let himself hope it could be anything other than a brotherly gesture.
For, as comfortable Maekar was with his appearance and the fact that it was the reason no alpha held interest in him as a mate, it also meant that Baelor would never have interest in him beyond the brotherly kind. Maekar would be a fool to think otherwise.
Their father had been procuring potential mates for his heir for eight moons now and Maekar still hated their presence at King’s Landing. The pretty omegas that flitted around the Red Keep in an attempt to woo Baelor.
Maekar was nothing like them. Where they were slim and smooth, he was all muscle and coarse skin. He lacked their grace and elegance. Their faces were unmarred and beautiful, the kind that lit up any room they entered. Maekar’s had been scarred since boyhood, a consequence of surviving the pox. The scars were far from subtle and often among the first features any noticed about him.
More than once Maekar had overheard lords and ladies of noble houses lamenting about how his Valyrian beauty had been ruined by the scars that spoiled his face.
He’d grown accustomed to the remarks, rarely reacting when he heard the whispers and laughter follow him through the Red Keep. His memories of a time without the scars were few. He had seen a mere five namedays when he’d taken ill with the pox.
His mother had spent years trying to rid his face of the scars. As a boy, he’d been slathered with ointments and herbs from all over the realm. At best, they caused a light itching while at worst, parts of his skin peeled off.
The queen had given up by the time Maekar’s eight nameday passed, it was evident the marks would not fade. They would remain a part of Maekar’s appearance forever.
Maekar had sobbed upon hearing his mother’s decision. The pox scars felt like a permanent disfigurement.
“Do not cry, valonqar,” the ten-and-four year old Baelor had said while pulling the wailing Maekar against his chest, “You have battle scars now. You survived the pox! Everyone will see how strong my sweetling is.”
While the words had been a comfort at the time, Maekar was now more than aware of the fact that Baelor had only wanted to cheer him up
There was nothing heroic about his scars. The only word to describe them was ugly.
Queens were meant to be beautiful, and so any omega that Baelor ended up marrying, would have to be beautiful as well. No one had ever used that word to describe Maekar without mocking him.
Baelor’s queen would have songs sung about their beauty, their flawless skin would be the envy of the realm, and they would possess no interest in the training yard beyond watching their mate.
Maekar could never fit that role.
It shouldn’t have hurt. It wasn’t a surprise, Maekar had known it to be true for years. Ever since he’d realized the stirrings he felt when near his brother went far beyond what was considered normal.
And yet, every time Maekar caught sight of Baelor speaking to a potential omega match, his stomach clenched as painful disappointment washed over him.
As long as Baelor remained unmated, Maekar could hope.
While Maekar watched Baelor talk to Lady Jena Dondarrion, these same thoughts darted though his head. Jena had only arrived a few moons prior and immediately garnered considerable approval.
The omega kept to herself, not participating in any gossip of the court. She helped other omegas with their embroidery or engaged in polite conversation with them. She was kind to everyone, the royal family, the court, and even the servants. She complemented Baelor perfectly. The pair were seen talking softly to each other in the library, or laughing while walking through the gardens.
His mother and father were delighted with the prospective match while Aerys and Rhaegel treated her with the same indifference they treated all the other omega visitors.
It was only Maekar who couldn’t stand her.
Every time he came upon her leaning on Baelor’s arm or whispering with her head bowed close to his, he found himself wishing for her to spontaneously combust. Thinking of it brought him immense joy.
His mother forced him to engage with the omega visitors despite his protests, insisting that he should know firsthand his future good-sister as the two of them would end up spending considerable time together.
The thought made his stomach curl. Once Baelor was married, Maekar wouldn’t be able to stick around. Seeing Baelor kissing another omega, taking her as his wife.....it would be unbearable.
Whenever he pictured Baelor’s marriage, Maekar replaced the image of the bride with himself. His mind unintentionally strayed to the two of them at the altar, Baelor’s mismatched eyes staring into his with nothing but love and devotion across the alpha’s face as the sacred vows were spoken.
Maekar couldn’t share these thoughts with anyone, they would all laugh at him for even daring to entertain the idea he could be Baelor’s wife.
Instead, he had no choice but to be around Jena and the other omegas at court. He sat at a distance, rolling his eyes at their trivial discussions and scoffing whenever one said something particularly ridiculous.
No one paid him heed, he wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
Maekar knew they spoke of him when he was gone, making jabs about his appearance and temperament no doubt. Expressing pity for the king and queen that their only omega child was an ill-mannered brat.
He tried to let the insults roll off him, but seeing Jena with Baelor made him all too aware of how he came up short next to her.
Jena was beautiful and gentle, nowhere similar to Maekar’s beastly attitude and appearance, she would be a wonderful queen. No matter how much Maekar wished otherwise.
As the Dondarrion omega’s third moon at the castle came to a close, Maekar grew more aware of the whispers that the eldest prince would be off the marriage mart soon.
The betrothal announcement was expected within the coming fortnight, the king and queen were reportedly growing frustrated with the prince of Dragonstone’s reluctance to choose a bride and were set to name Jena Dondarrion as his future mate.
Maekar knew these were more than just rumours. He had overheard snippets of Baelor’s argument with their parents a few days prior.
“Absoloutely not!” Baelor had shouted loud enough to be heard outside the chamber walls where Maekar was standing with his head pressed to the door.
“.....Ridiculous…..Jena will not ….,” King Daeron II had exclaimed, most of his response mumbled by the thick walls.
Baelor stormed out shortly after, not saying anything to Maekar as he hurtled past him. For as close as the two brothers were, Baelor refused to share any part of his romantic life with Maekar, and Maekar never asked. He knew he would only be hurt.
Despite the alpha’s reluctance to pursue the betrothal, he and Jena seemed as close as ever as Maekar laid eyes upon them as he entered the training yard.
Baelor was in his full training attire barring his helm, smiling down at Jena as she whispered something only the alpha could hear. His eyes crinkled and he threw his head back, the sound of laughter reverberating through the mostly empty yard.
It was uncommon for an omega to be in the yard, even if they were being courted by an alpha. Maekar had been allowed after throwing a fuss when he was a boy, but the others that used the yard were all betas and alphas.
Jena certainly hadn’t come to train, dressed in a full-length dress and heavy jewelry. Her presence was indicative of her closeness with Baelor.
Perhaps that was what made Maekar finally snap.
The yard was the only place he had Baelor to himself. It was theirs. Everywhere else Maekar ran the risk of encountering Baelor with another omega. The hallways of the Red Keep, the gardens, the libraries, all of it had been overtaken.
He avoided ever leaving his room apart from heading to the yard to spare himself the sight. But now Jena was here. In the sole place that still belonged to Maekar. The only part of the castle that still held sacred memories of his youth with Baelor that he could remember without feeling sick.
The yard was where Baelor had taught him how to spar after Maekar had toddled after him shortly after learning to walk, where Baelor had given him his first mace, where Maekar had beaten his bastard uncles for claiming Baelor didn’t deserve the throne.
He refused to lose this too.
“Brother,” Baelor greeted him with a welcoming grin before Maekar could say anything, “I was just telling Lady Dondarrion about your aptitude with the mace.”
“Oh?” Maekar raised an eyebrow while clenching his jaw, he doubted Jena had any interest in his weapon of choice. More likely, Baelor had brought it up and she had decided to not change the subject.
“Yes, we were-”
“Is there a reason,” Maekar began sharply as he cut Baelor off, “That you’ve brought this omega onto the yard without the proper attire?”
“I simply came to get a closer look, my prince,” Jena interjected, looking directly at Maekar, “I have always wanted to hold a sword.”
Maekar ignored the other omega and turned his attention to his brother.
“Have you lost all sense?” he asked Baelor incredulously, “Letting her hold a royal sword?”
“A training sword, valonqar. Only for a short moment,” Baelor’s face bore an easy smile, “The one you used to train with until you were ten-and-one.”
Maekar’s ears began to ring and flashes of red danced around the edges of his vision.
Like all his weapons, Baelor had gifted him that sword. It had gone unused since he’d switched to the mace, but no one else had dared to touch it. At least not until now.
The omega’s stomach stiffened as anger coiled in his gut. The urge to yank out his own mace and smash it against Baelor’s head grew with each passing second.
Maekar scowled, his eyes dropping down to meet Jena’s for the first time and he stepped near, encroaching on her space, “I suppose it must have seemed like a luxury item to the daughter of a fucking nobody lord-”
“Enough!” Baelor’s voice was firm and he wrapped a hand around Maekar’s forearm, “you will not speak to her that way!”
Maekar stared up at the stern look across Baelor’s face, a distinct contrast to his relatively at ease mood a few moments prior. He yanked his arm out of Baelor’s grip and balled his hands into fists.
“What of it?” Maekar inquired with a sneer, clenching his teeth even tighter and shifting his lower jaw forward in agitation, “Is there something special about this omega to you, brother?”
“Apologize to Lady Dondarrion,” Baelor ordered, speaking with the controlled manner of a prince discipling his subject, “I will not ask you again Maekar.”
“And if I refuse? Will you really choose to defend an omega you have known for only a few moons over your own brother?” Maekar spat as he glowered at the alpha.
“I will defend the honour of an omega that my brother has decided to verbally attack over a mere training sword,” Baelor’s voice echoed with quiet power, absolved of its usual warmth, “It’s just a toy.”
Maekar staggered back, the words landing like a blow. He’d always assumed the gifts had as much significance to Baelor as they did to him.
“A toy?” Maekar’s tongue felt thick as he spoke, “The weapon I trained with for most of my childhood is a mere toy to you? Do I truly mean so little?”
Baelor’s eyes widened at Maekar’s question, the expression on his face softening after a moment.
“Maekar, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” the alpha stepped forward but Maekar moved away.
He didn’t care how Baelor intended it and didn’t want to hear whatever explanation he would offer.
Maekar could feel both Jena’s and Baelor’s gazes on him, but purposefully refused to meet either’s eyes. He didn’t want to face Jena’s judgement nor Baelor’s disappointment.
“That sword was mine,” Maekar said softly, hurt seeping into his tone, “You’ve given away everything else we shared….the sword and the yard were all I had left, and now you’ve given those away too."
He didn’t wait to hear what, if anything, Baelor had to say in response. Instead, Maekar took off, running back to the castle, not daring to look back. The wind whipped against his face and he realized he had begun to cry.
His face grew damp and his vision blurred as he put more distance between himself and Baelor. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he briskly stripped out of his training armor.
Gods, what had he been thinking?
The yard had been empty but word travelled fast through the court. Even if Baelor stayed silent about Maekar’s outburst, Jena would no doubt relay the conversation to the other omegas and soon enough the whole of the Red Keep would be mocking him once again.
Heat rushed through his face as the realization slammed into him.
Normally Maekar wouldn’t have cared, but normally he would have had Baelor by his side and that was all that mattered. But now, he’d given Baelor a reason to stand against him and mock him just like the others did.
Baelor’s expression as he spoke to Maekar in the yard looped through the omega’s head. His disapproval evident.
No one would be upset if Baelor joined in on their jokes about Maekar’s poor temperament, in fact, they would probably welcome it. The heir’s favouritism of Maekar was well-known, and the omega was aware it was to the chagrin of Baelor’s alpha companions who were forced to hold their tongue when it came to their opinions of Maekar.
The pain of the prospect of losing Baelor was too much.
The world surrounding Maekar felt fuzzy, the ground no longer stable beneath his feet. He wasn’t aware of anything outside of himself as he stumbled through the hallways.
He finally entered the royal wing, sprinting the last few paces before bursting into his chambers and slamming the heavy door shut behind him.
The omega caught a glance of himself in the full-length mirror he’d tried to hide in a corner of the room. He hated looking at himself. His pox scars were always such a sharp contrast to his pale skin. He wasn’t able to stomach looking at them for prolonged periods of time.
Now, however, Maekar stared at his reflection unable to suppress the normal disgust he felt when he looked at himself. His eyes were swollen red while shiny tear tracks ran down his blotchy cheeks, drawing only more attention to the scars.
“You snivelling disgusting fool,” Maekar snarled at his reflection, “How could you ever think you were enough for Baelor?”
Before he knew what he was doing, Maekar threw himself against the mirror, pummeling his fists into it. He supposed the shattered glass embedding itself into his skin should have hurt, but he felt utterly cold and numb.
The mirror hit the floor with a thud and he fell on top of it, continuing to hit the glass as he seethed. There were no words that could describe the raw hurt he felt.
He was so consumed by his frustration and so committed to the task at hand that he hadn’t realized another presence had slipped into the room. Not until a hand clasped around his shoulder and pulled him up into a strong, steady grasp.
Maekar squirmed in the hold, repeatedly hitting the intruder’s arm that was wrapped around his waist. The movement seemed only to encourage the intruder further as he wrapped his other arm around the omega as well.
The other man slowly brought his face against Maekar’s neck, nuzzling his scent gland ever so slightly. Maekar suddenly became aware of the intruder’s scent….the rather familiar scent.
“B-Baelor,” Maekar stuttered as rage coursed through him once again, “Unhand me at once.”
“You’re bleeding,” Baelor said softly, not loosening his hold, “Sit down and let me treat you.”
Maekar’s eyes fell to his hands, where countless slivers and shards of glass had torn his skin apart. Thin droplets of blood trickled to the floor from where he had been cut.
He tried raising a hand to dismiss his brother but winced from the pain.
“You’re angry, valonqar,” Baelor continued his scenting as he spoke, “But please let me help. I cannot bear to see you in pain.”
The omega said nothing, not wanting to give his brother any satisfaction of thinking all was forgiven. But, at the same time, he didn’t want to fight.
Baelor was here, holding Maekar in his arms and worried about him.
Maekar inclined his head slightly, letting Baelor guide him to the bed so the alpha could treat him, neither of them speaking.
Baelor moved slowly, kneeling and using a small tool to pick out each piece with careful precision. Each time Maekar winced, Baelor would pause and look up, his two-toned eyes full of concern.
Once the pieces were removed, the skin was left red and raw. Baelor wrapped a thin cloth around each, the fabric light enough to not irritate when it brushed against the cuts.
“I shall summon a maester shortly,” Baelor declared, speaking for the first time, “But this should hold until then. Maester Yormwell taught me this when I was a boy. ”
“Is that really all you have to say?” Maekar snapped, the momentary relief fading away, “After what happened in the yard you wish to exchange boyhood stories and pretend nothing happened?”
Baelor sighed heavily, his gaze never straying from Maekar’s face.
“You left before I could say anything else,” Baelor responded, “I-I chose my words poorly, I admit.”
“Oh fuck off-
“Please,” the alpha continued, cutting off his younger brother “Let me finish. Then chide me if you wish to.”
Maekar remained silent.
“I know the past few moons have been difficult with all the talk about me being mated and I know I haven’t been around as much, but believe me, sweetling, I never wanted to hurt you,” Baelor emphasized the last few words, speaking in the gentle tone he reserved only for Maekar, “I know it hasn’t been fair to you that I am spending all my time with other omegas. For what it’s worth, I always wish you were by my side instead of them.”
The words washed over Maekar, they didn’t fully erase the rage and betrayal he’d felt earlier, but it was a start. He felt warmer at the idea of Baelor preferring him to any of the omegas.
“Even Jena?” Maekar questioned, “You prefer my company to hers?”
“Jena is a valuable companion,” Baelor admitted, placing a hand on Maekar’s bandaged one when he noticed the omega beginning to pull away, “But all she is, is a friend. She can’t compare to you in the slightest, nor have I ever expected her to.”
Maekar frowned in confusion, “Is she not to be your bride?”
“I rejected the match, sweetling,” Baelor said with a small smile, an indescribable expression on his face, “Father and Mother are disappointed but I never considered Jena that way. She’s a good friend, which is why I brought her to the yard. I’d hoped to run into you and wanted you and her to be closer.”
Maekar’s heart skipped a beat, he wouldn’t be losing Baelor as soon as he thought after all.
“If Jena isn’t to be my good-sister, why do you care if we’re close?” The omega furrowed his brows, causing Baelor to chuckle lightly.
“A friend for you, Maekar,” Baelor answered, “Perhaps an omega to keep you company.”
“You know I have no interest in that,” Maekar pointed out. Aside from his brothers and his grandsire’s bastards, Maekar rarely interacted firsthand with those near his age. And even then, he certainly wasn’t friends with any of them.
“Just a thought, valonqar,” the alpha assured him, “You need not decide now.”
Maekar nodded, satisfied that the topic wouldn’t continue further.
“Why did you break the mirror?” Baelor mused as he kissed Maekar’s temple, “I know you were upset with me but if I recall, the mirror has been here your whole life?”
Part of Maekar wanted to lie. It had been a childish action based on childish reasoning.
“I didn’t want to look at myself,” Maekar admitted, shame washing over him.
At Baelor’s look of confusion, the omega continued.
“I tire of seeing my scars standing out against my face. They bring nothing but humiliation every-,”
“I love your scars,” Baelor cut in, tenderly brushing one of Maekar’s cheeks with his thumb.
“Don’t jest,” Maekar shook his head. He’d hoped Baelor wouldn’t be cruel enough to draw more attention to his biggest flaw.
“I do not jest about this,” Baelor affirmed reverently, “I love your scars. They’re as beautiful as you. If I’m remembered as Baelor the Benevolent or Baelor the Righteous or whatever godforsaken moniker they label me with, you shall be remembered as Maekar, Beauty of the Realm ”
Maekar scoffed, disbelief seeping his tone “Now you jest for sure. These fucking lesions have rendered me abhorrent to everyone. I hear the ridicule from everyone. Alphas and omegas alike. Nobles and the smallfolk. The realm mocks me and you dare to call me beautiful?”
The alpha must have truly thought Maekar to be a naive maiden if he thought the omega would believe him without question.
“They’re your scars,” Baelor said simply, “I love them as much as I love your hair and your eyes. I love them the same way I love your scowl and laugh. I love them because they’re a part of you and I love everything about you.”
Baelor was impossibly closer now, his head lowered so his lips were only a hairsbreadth away from Maekar’s.
“Baelor, please,” Maekar’s voice cracked as he pleaded, though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for. He had never imagined anyone, let alone Baelor, claiming to love his po scars.
“Tell me what you need, sweetling,” Baelor breathed, cupping the omega’s face with a hand.
“We can’t — I can’t,” He stuttered as Baelor’s amethyst and brown eyes remained fixed on him, “You’re the only one I have ever wanted and I can’t do this only for me to lose you eventually.”
“Why would you ever lose me?” Baelor brought his lips to Maekar’s neck, kissing just below his scent gland, “I have no plans to leave you.”
“Father and Mother wish for you to be married soon, I refuse to be just a whore-
“Never call yourself that,” Baelor’s eyes darkened, “You’re the most beautiful person in the realm. You are no one’s whore, let alone mine.”
“Then what am I?” Maekar pressed, swallowing, “What is this?” He gestured to the almost non-existent gap between the pair.
“The only reason our parents have been trying to find me a bride is because there’s only one omega I’ve ever wanted for a wife, you,” Baelor confessed, “Only you. I never told them because I never wanted to force you if you did not reciprocate. I wanted it to be your choice. It still is your choice. This goes as far as you want it to go.”
Maekar remained frozen, unsure of how to react. His heart was pounding loudly against his chest. How many times had he dreamed of Baelor cradling his face the way he was now? How many nights had he spent wondering if he could ever make Baelor feel the same?
This was a dream. It had to be.
“I love you,” Maekar moved so he was fully sitting on Baelor’s lap and wrapped his arms around the alpha’s neck, “I love you and I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
If this was a dream, this was the part he usually woke up. Dream Baelor never continued the conversation.
Maekar closed his eyes, but Baelor’s scent was as steady as ever. The alpha was holding him just as tightly as a few moments earlier.
“I want you by my side forever. As my mate, the mother of my children, and eventually my Queen,” Baelor professed, once again barely any distance separating their lips, “Will you be my wife, Maekar Targaryen?”
“Yes,” Maekar answered without hesitation, it was more than he had ever dreamed of.
Baelor closed the gap between their lips, and Maekar let himself melt against his alpha. Warmth coursed through him as years of unspoken confessions and emotions bubbled to the surface.
After a moment, the pair broke apart. Baelor’s eyes shone with exhilaration and Maekar had no doubt his own were as well.
“Come now, valonqar,” Baelor rose to his feet and offered him a hand, “We have a wedding to plan.”