Archive of Our Own

“Surely you are intending on disabusing Baelor of this ludicrous notion?” Maekar protested shrilly. 

Across from him, Maester Yormwell refused to meet his gaze.

“My Prince. It would be…unwise to correct Prince Baelor at this time. Informing him that you are not, in fact, mated to each other would only serve to delay his recovery. It would do additional damage to his psyche. Rest assured that I believe this to be a temporary affliction. Your brother will surely regain his memories in full as the head wound heals.” 

Maekar, for a moment, wanted nothing more than to run his dagger through the maester’s chest. 

“So I am to pretend to be his omega for some unknown period of time. Until he remembers that this is incorrect, that we are in fact not mates. That we have never been. That is what you are telling me?” 

The maester nodded, slightly sheepishly. 

“To Prince Baelor, your bond is real. Taking you from him now would have the same effect as separating a newly mated pair, which is immeasurably painful. He would inevitably react very poorly, and if he recovered, which I could not guarantee, it would take weeks longer. I do apologize, but this is the best course of action available to us at this time.” 

“And my father?”

“Your father has written. He is in agreement that this is what should be done. He wishes for you and your brother to return to King’s Landing where your brother can recuperate.”

Of course, Maekar thought sourly. Of fucking course Father is now finally amenable to the idea of Baelor and I being mated. 

There was nothing else to say, no choice left available to him. Maekar knew an order when he heard one. He bestowed one final glare upon the maester, and left the room. 

Maekar was summoned to a private audience with his father as soon as he and Baelor had entered the city walls. 

Stepping into his father’s private solar, he instinctively braced himself for what was to come. 

“Maekar,” his father greeted him coolly. Notably, he did not offer Maekar a seat. Maekar stood before his desk, jaw tensed and hands in fists at his side. 

“The small council is aware that this…situation between you and Baelor is a farce. Not all of them are pleased; however, it is the accepted consensus among us that this is for the best, so as to ensure your brother heals without any setbacks or delays. They will go along with it for as long as necessary.”

Maekar didn’t respond, and his father continued. 

“As for the rest of the court, we have no option but to allow them to believe this to be true. I do not wish to, but I see no other recourse. However, I have no intention of permitting this beyond the very moment in which Baelor regains his memories.”

Maekar tensed slightly, knowing from his father’s tone that whatever came next was unlikely to bring him any joy. 

“You will do this duty for your brother for as long as he needs. You will then be sent back to Summerhall, and I will quietly inform the court that your relationship with Baelor has ended. I will find something to blame it on. Perhaps it would be prudent to imply that you are too old to bear Baelor any additional children. As you are not mated, the separation at this point will not cause your brother any harm.”

“I will see to it that Baelor is then married to a high-borne omega. A political match. These events have shown me just how fragile our line truly is. Baelor requires more heirs, should the worst come to pass. Two sons is no longer sufficient. With any luck, a beautiful new queen-in-waiting and an extravagant wedding shall be enough to remove the memories of this abomination from the minds of most.” 

Maekar swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat. 

“Father,” he began to carefully object, “I do not think that this pantomime is for the best.”

Across his desk, his father levelled him with a flat, unsympathetic gaze. 

“I have it on good authority, Maekar, that it was your unruly pup who caused this whole crisis to come to pass. My Master of Whispers has also seen fit to inform me that it was your mace that almost landed the killing blow to my heir. Perhaps you should be spending more time thanking the Gods that they have spared you becoming a kinslayer, and less time questioning my judgment.” 

Maekar swallowed again, his father’s disapproval plainly obvious. 

“That is all,” his father said dismissively. “Do try not to cause any further trouble while you are here.”

Maekar inclined his head in the slightest of bows, and stalked out. 

The agonies, predictably, began immediately. 

Having left his father’s solar, he took dinner in his own chambers, not wanting to deal with anyone or anything. He was reclining by the fire, drinking a cup of wine and considering if it was a worthwhile endeavour to get properly drunk when there came a knock at his door. 

Annoyed, he went to answer it, taking a half step back at the sight of Baelor in his doorway. There was still a white bandage wrapped around his head. Maekar wished to vomit each time he caught sight of it. 

“Is there a reason you’re not in our chambers?” Baelor asked, entering Maekar’s rooms without having been invited. 

“Our chambers?” Maekar echoed dumbly. 

“Unless these are our chambers,” Baelor said, glancing around. “I admit I assumed that my chambers were the ones we shared, seeing as they are quite a bit larger, but I will freely admit that this may have been an error in my thinking.” 

“Not all mates share chambers,” Maekar pointed out flatly. 

Baelor turned to look at him, plainly disbelieving. 

“Yes, I am aware of this, valonqar. Nevertheless, we surely do, no?” 

Maekar bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood. It made sense that Baelor would assume this. As children, Maekar had snuck into Baelor’s rooms at night for far longer than their parents had considered appropriate. He never slept quite so well as he did when sharing a bed with his brother. 

During the Rebellion, when their forces had been fighting together, they had shared a tent. Getting to collapse in the same bedroll as Baelor after the fighting had ceased had been one of the few things that had allowed Maekar a measure of peace in between the bloodshed and never-ending death. The idea of them not sharing chambers as mates was so absurd as to be laughable. 

Maekar groaned internally, knowing that he could not deny this without raising his brother’s suspicions. 

“Yes. I merely thought you may wish to have some space, as you continue to heal.” 

Baelor furrowed his brow. His scent, that of sandalwood, amber, oranges and smoke, had an edge of bitterness to it that was uncommon. 

“Hardly. I can think of nothing better to aid in my recovery than having you close, valonqar. I will rest much more easily if you are present.” 

Maekar took in a steadying breath, told himself that it would be fine, and then acquiesced as he knew he had no other option but to do so. 

“Fine,” he said, a bit ungraciously. “I will stay in your chambers.” 

He did his best not to read into the way Baelor’s scent evened out as soon as he had secured his agreement. 

Maekar spent the whole walk to Baelor’s rooms steeling himself, wondering, what exactly, Baelor would wish for once they were behind closed doors. In reality, it was rather anti-climactic. 

Baelor simply changed into his sleeping clothes as Maekar carefully avoided looking at the toned, lean muscles of his brother’s frame, before getting into bed and giving Maekar an expectant glance. 

Fighting back the irrational urge to flee, Maekar stripped himself to his smallclothes and got into bed beside his brother. He heard Baelor blowing out the last few candles that were lit, and then did his best not to jump when he felt Baelor lay his hand upon Maekar’s hip. 

“Rest well,” Baelor murmured, seeming to be already on the verge of sleep. By the time Maekar managed to formulate some sort of appropriate response, Baelor was already lost to his dreams. 

For the first week, to Maekar’s cautious relief, things were not so bad. He did not know if the credit for this was owed to the fact that Baelor was still recovering from the physical injuries the trial had inflicted upon him, or if it was down to how busy his brother’s duties as the Hand were making him, but regardless, Maekar hardly saw him. 

Their paths only crossed in the evenings, when Baelor would return looking worn out and exhausted from the day. Even then, his brother demanded very little of him, speaking with Maekar as he had always done, before retiring to bed with him. There, Baelor was so tired that the most he ever did was place an arm across Maekar’s waist, or curl his hand over Maekar’s hip before promptly falling asleep. 

It was, Maekar thought to himself, less intimate than the way they had slept during the Rebellion, when Baelor had curled around him so tightly it had been as if he was trying to fuse their bodies into one. 

Most days, it was all so blindingly normal that Maekar began to wonder if Baelor’s memories would return before things went any further. He refused to admit, even to himself, that a part of him was deeply disappointed at the idea. 

Maekar had taken to spending time in Baelor’s solar during the day. It was quiet there, and private, meaning that it was unlikely he would be accosted by any of the moronic lords who seemed ever present at King’s Landing. 

He had done the same as a teen, working at his lessons while Baelor had worked at his official duties, Baelor’s company improving even the most dull essays that his septons had tasked him with writing. 

He was sitting at Baelor’s large reading desk, trying to figure out a way in which to respond to a letter he had received from Egg that was not simply, “Fuck your hedge knight; return to Summerhall immediately,” when Baelor came into the room. 

Maekar did not need to look up at him to know that Baelor’s day was going poorly. He could smell it on him, his nose wrinkling in response. 

“What are you doing?” Baelor inquired. 

“I am attempting to refrain from sending multiple threats of torture and execution to the fucking hedge knight you and my son found yourselves so charmed by.” Maekar was unable to keep all of his anger and bitterness out of his tone, but Baelor was clearly uninterested in starting an argument. 

“It’s good that Egg is writing to you,” he said placidly, coming to stand alongside the desk. 

Maekar gave a dubious grunt, and went back to his parchment, crossing out yet another line that he’d written. 

Baelor stood there quietly for a few moments before saying, “Maekar?” 

When Maekar didn’t look up right away, he repeated his name once more. 

“Fuck, what?” Maekar snapped, turning his gaze up to him. There was a strange expression on Baelor’s face, one that was unfamiliar to him. 

“Do you think…,” Baelor started, before shaking his head slightly and trailing off. “Nevermind.” 

Maekar rolled his eyes, frustrated. “You’ve already interrupted me. Spit it out, brother.” 

Baelor paused, and then spoke, sounding more hesitant than Maekar was used to. “I am aware that this is an imposition, and you are of course free to say no, but would you mind greatly if I scented you? My head is throbbing, and I believe it would go some way towards relieving the ache.” 

It had not been what Maekar was expecting him to say, though it was hardly an unreasonable request. If he was honest, he had rather anticipated Baelor attempting to scent him much sooner. 

Even so, Maekar did not want to. This was behaviour that was reserved for mated pairs. Actual mated pairs, not ones that existed only in his brother’s addled mind. 

Maekar had evidently been silent for too long, because Baelor shook his head slightly and took a step back from the desk. 

“It’s fine. Forget I asked.”

His scent had curdled, and there were small creases around his eyes that spoke to the discomfort he was in. Maekar’s stomach churned with guilt, as he knew all too well that he was the cause of Baelor’s headache. 

Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand and grabbed Baelor’s wrist, halting his movements. 

“You can. It’s alright. I don’t mind, if you think it would help.” 

Baelor surveyed him, his face remaining somewhat skeptical. 

“You are sure? Truly, valonqar, I do not wish to inconvenience you.” 

Maekar nodded.

“Yes. I’m sure. It is no trouble.” 

The last sentence was a lie, but Baelor’s shoulders relaxed, and he coaxed Maekar into standing. 

“It will be more comfortable to do this on the chaise,” he said, leading Maekar to it. Having resigned himself to the idea, Maekar watched as Baelor sat down across the chaise, his legs extended and his back resting against the arm of it, so that he was half lying down.

Maekar knew the mechanics of this, of course, having done similar numerous times with Dyanna, but seeing Baelor like this was causing his heart to pound hard against his ribcage. 

Baelor glanced up at him. “Come here,” he urged him quietly. 

There was nothing for it. Maekar took a deep breath, and then sat down in between Baelor’s spread legs so that his back was flush to his brother’s chest. Immediately, Baelor wrapped his arms around him, holding Maekar against him and then nosing lightly at the side of Maekar’s neck. 

It was instinct, at that point, for Maekar to tip his head back onto Baelor’s shoulder, turning his head slightly so as to expose his scent gland properly. Behind him, Baelor made a pleased rumbling noise and tucked his face into Maekar’s throat, his mouth resting directly on the gland. He felt it as Baelor began to inhale purposefully, sucking in deep lungfuls of Maekar’s scent. 

“You smell incredible,” Baelor confessed after a few moments, his face still in Maekar’s neck. 

“I do?”

“Mhmm hmm,” Baelor confirmed. “Like candied cherries and vanilla. And the trees of the Godswood. And smoke. It’s lovely.” 

Maekar fought back the flush that rose to his face at Baelor’s praise. Baelor’s own scent was thick in his lungs, getting thicker as Baelor relaxed, his pain dissipating the longer he scented him. Maekar felt himself going loose in Baelor’s hold, his own body releasing the tension it had been carrying. 

It’s just pheromones, he told himself. It’s just a biological response. It doesn’t mean anything, not to Baelor. 

Even so, when Baelor eventually made a regretful noise, saying, “I would much rather prefer to remain here for the rest of the day, but I do fear that I must return to my duties. I have a meeting with the Master of the Port to attend,” Maekar found himself loath to get up. 

He stood quickly, unentangling himself from Baelor’s embrace and missing the warmth of it immediately. Cursing himself as an idiot, he walked back over to the desk, not looking at Baelor as he asked, “Did it help? With your headache, I mean.” 

“Yes,” Baelor said gratefully, following him over. “Thank you.”

Maekar went to nod, but no sooner than had he raised his chin slightly, he felt Baelor lean in and kiss him gently, easily, on his lips. It was a fleeting kiss, a quick peck as if they had done so countless times, over before Maekar had even really registered it. Before he could savour it. 

“I shall see you later,” Baelor said warmly, before walking out, leaving Maekar staring after him. 

Maekar had wanted to feel the press of his brother’s mouth against his own since he was a boy of ten and three. When it became apparent that it was never going to happen, he had taken the desire and locked it away, hidden in a hollow deep down in his chest where it resided as a permanent ache that Maekar largely refused to acknowledge. 

Sometimes, after Dyanna had died, when Maekar was alone in his cold, empty martial bed, he took it out. Prodded at it, the way one would a bruise, as if checking to see if it still hurt, thinking of Baelor’s lips against his, the way his beard would scrape at his chin, his ringed fingers cupping his jaw. 

Never in his imaginings had Maekar pictured it like that. Never had it been so fast, so blasé, as if it were a matter of routine. He had always pictured Baelor wanting it, wanting him. Knowing that Baelor had only done it because of some malaise of his mind was worse than never having experienced it at all. 

Tightening his jaw, Maekar turned back to his letters. A tear dripped off his cheek and landed on the page, the ink spreading. He ignored it. 

The kisses, once they had started, did not stop. Maekar wasn’t quite sure why he thought they would have. “Prince Baelor will behave as if you are mates,” he remembered Maester Yormwell saying, but somehow Maekar hadn’t thought that this was what he’d meant. 

Each time Baelor dropped a casual kiss against his lips, Maekar was convinced that his reaction would make it obvious that this whole situation was a sham. As much as he tried, he could not stop himself from flinching in slight surprise, before he inevitably leaned into the kiss. Baelor, however, never commented, and so Maekar continued to get kissed. 

Baelor’s mind was fine otherwise, was the rub. He could readily recall the precise details of trade agreements, quote crop statistics, discuss matters of history, and navigate the insidious politics of the Red Keep as easily as he breathed. Nothing about him had changed. Nothing at all, except for the fact that he now believed Maekar to be his. 

“I owe you an apology,” Baelor announced without any preamble one afternoon. They were out riding together, a handful of Kingsguards respectfully hovering a few hundred yards behind them. 

Maekar raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Have you done something I am unaware of?” 

Baelor shook his head. With the sunlight streaming down through the trees, caressing Baelor in a shower of golden light, he looked so handsome that Maekar couldn’t bear to gaze upon him directly.

The cursed bandage had finally been removed from his head, the maesters confident that Baelor’s physical injuries had all healed. To look at him now, three weeks on from their return, there were no visible traces of the damage Ashford had wrought. 

“For Ashford.” 

Maekar stiffened in his saddle. He did not wish to speak of Ashford with Baelor. Thus far, they had done an excellent job of avoiding the topic altogether. He was quite happy to go on in the same fashion. 

“You are angry, with me. With how I acted.”

There was no censure in Baelor’s voice. He remarked upon it as if he was remarking upon the weather conditions before a hunt. A fact, and only that. 

“No.”

The denial came instinctively to Maekar’s lips. What right did he have to his anger? How much of a monster did it make him, to still be nursing this grudge against his brother even after he had almost landed a killing blow against him? 

Baelor turned in his saddle to face him. Maekar remained resolutely staring straight ahead. 

“No?” 

“No,” Maekar repeated adamantly, knowing it to be a losing effort. Baelor had seemingly been born with an innate ability to tell when he was lying. 

“I would not blame you, should you be. It is understandable. I took up arms against your son. Had you done the same against Valarr, I daresay I would find myself equally inclined to fury.” 

Maekar tensed further, vexed by the way Baelor seemed to be utterly set on having this conversation. 

“In case I have not made it clear,” Baelor continued, “It is my sincere wish that the time in Lys does Aerion good. If there is a way to harness his anger into something a bit less…volatile perhaps, he can grow into a formidable man. He is still young.” 

“It is not about Aerion!” Maekar snapped.

Baelor made a disbelieving noise. 

“It is not solely about Aerion,” Maekar amended sullenly. “It is about us. About loyalty. About you choosing to place more value on the life of a fucking hedge knight whom you’d just met, than on the life of my son. Of me!” 

He heard Baelor take a grounding breath. 

“Maekar, it was not about me not valuing you and your children. Had I been acting strictly in a personal capacity, I would have been stood beside you on that muddy field before you could have blinked. Unfortunately, my responsibilities as the Hand, as the heir, do not always permit me to act in the way I might wish to.” 

Maekar scoffed. “What was there to possibly gain from involving yourself in that mess of a trial? It was an irrelevant event in an irrelevant town in the middle of fucking nowhere.” 

“Valonqar, do not play at unawareness. You know as well as I that our standing among the smallfolk is altogether more fragile than it once was. We no longer have the luxury of appearing to be high-minded, uncaring rulers who are above the laws of man. Not with the dragons dead.”

“We must be seen to be honorable and just. Had I joined with you, had I watched on as Ser Duncan was killed, the tale of the bloodthirsty, cruel Targaryens murdering a poor, innocent knight would have spread through the realm like wildfire.” 

Maekar gritted his teeth, twisting his reins around his fingers. 

“You have never fought against me before. We have always waged war together.” 

“Should we ever find ourselves in a similar position -,” 

Maekar cut him off. “I do not intend to raise a weapon against you ever again.” 

To his dismay, his voice shook slightly. Beside him, Baelor yanked on his horse’s reins, bringing the steed to a sharp halt, and dismounted. Before Maekar could ask him what in the Seven Hells he was doing, his brother suddenly mounted Maekar’s own horse, straddling the saddle so that he was seated facing Maekar. 

“Sweetling,” he murmured. 

(The pet names were new. Maekar was trying not to dwell on it, lest he lose the last remaining vestiges of his sanity.) 

Baelor reached out a fingertip, thumbed away a tear that Maekar hadn’t realized had escaped his eye. 

“I am unharmed,” Baelor said tenderly. “Nothing that occurred has led to any permanent damage. You need not beat yourself up about this. It was a Trial of Seven, valonqar, and you were defending your son. Your actions on the battlefield were entirely justified. I did what I had to do for the crown, but I deeply regret the position it forced you into.” 

Maekar shook his head, his throat gone tight. He couldn’t stand how Baelor was gazing upon him, so warmly, so lovingly, not while Maekar knew how much damage his mace had truly inflicted. 

Another tear trailed its way down his cheek. Baelor made a hurt sound, and tugged Maekar into his chest, folding him into a tight hug. 

“It’s okay,” his brother whispered into his hair while Maekar did his best not to collapse into sobs against him. “I am perfectly fine, my darling.”

You’re not, Maekar wanted to say. You’re not, and you don’t even realize it. And once you do realize it, I will lose you for good. He knew he couldn’t, however, so he merely brought his own arms around Baelor and clung to him. 

Baelor kept kissing his head, his arms secure around him. He could smell Baelor’s scent, knew his brother to be purposefully releasing it in an effort to soothe him. Maekar hated that it was working, but he hated the idea of removing his face from Baelor’s chest rather more. 

“Go back to your own horse,” Maekar finally muttered, when his composure no longer felt as fragile as spun glass. 

“Must I? I’m really quite comfortable.”

Maekar shoved at Baelor’s chest lightly, fixing him with an unamused stare. 

“Yes. Fuck off.” 

With a light chuckle, Baelor did as he was bade, though as he dismounted, he kissed over both of Maekar’s pockmarked cheeks, and then his lips, devastatingly sweet. It took the remainder of the ride back to the castle for his blush to fade. 

Lord Tyrell had always had a big mouth, and it got bigger the deeper he got into his cups. Gazing upon him disdainfully as he approached the table Baelor and Maekar were sat at, Maekar fought back his revulsion as the man’s unpleasant scent wafted towards them. 

Frankly, had it been up to him, Maekar would have left this feast hours ago. Some celebration in honour of some visiting nobles whose names Maekar had forgotten as soon as Baelor had told him them. A waste of his time, more accurately. 

“My Prince,” Lord Tyrell bellowed, his words slightly slurred. 

Beside Maekar, Baelor tipped his head in the slightest of acknowledgements, his face impassive. 

“I must say, My Prince, that I do rather feel the fool.”

“And why is that?” Baelor asked, barely bothering to conceal his disinterest.

“Here I’ve been, ever since the tragic accident that took Lady Jena from us, petitioning your father to wed you to my niece, and all the while it turns out you’ve been sneaking around with your brother. I suppose you are more Targaryen than you look.”

Maekar bristled at the insult to his brother, a hand reaching down to the hilt of his dagger.

“And speaking of looks,” Lord Tyrell droned on, “I daresay my niece is a far sight prettier than your brother. Fewer scars, you see, and a face that is unblemished. Her figure as well. She is all nice, generous curves for an alpha to grab at.” 

“Another word,” Baelor declared evenly, voice glacial. “Another word, Lord Tyrell, and I shall have your head. I promise you, it would bring me immense pleasure to swing the sword myself.” 

Baelor did not raise his voice. He did not need to. The scent of his anger swept through the hall so powerfully that all other conversations fell silent, the music stopping at once. 

For as drunk as the man was, it appeared his animal instincts had not deserted him completely. He went as white as a sheet, and then, stammering out apologies, turned and fled from the hall. 

As the doors swung shut behind him, Baelor turned to the audience that they had gained, and waved a permissive hand. 

“Please, do continue your celebrations. Let us not allow one man’s ill-behaviour to ruin the evening for us all.” 

Slowly, conversations resumed. Maekar turned to his brother, seeing the tense line to his jaw, the way his hands were fidgeting restlessly with his rings. Baelor had reined in his anger, but this close to him, it lingered in the air. 

“I was unaware that you could have a man’s head simply for speaking the truth,” Maekar said lightly.

Baelor frowned at him. 

“I fear I do not follow.”

“His niece. I imagine she is rather more comely than I am. I do not look like the most beautiful omegas, brother,” Maekar kept his tone even, almost bored, though the words felt like shards of glass leaving his throat. 

Both of Baelor’s eyes darkened. Leaning forward until his forehead was almost touching Maekar’s, he said lowly, “Lord Tyrell would not know beauty if he was struck atop his head by it. You are a sight far more spectacular, more gorgeous, than any omega I have ever set my eyes upon, be it in this court, or in the wider realm. No other possesses your strength. No other possesses your violet stare. No other is powerful enough to stand beside me. I will not have you denigrating yourself in this way, valonqar.” 

Maekar swallowed, searching Baelor’s face for any sign of deception. Finding none, he let out an unsteady breath. It’s the blow to his head, a voice murmured inside his mind, it is making him think things that he would not otherwise. 

The voice was abruptly silenced by Baelor raising his hand and cupping Maekar’s jaw in the cradle of his palm. 

“I would have his head for daring to insult you in such a manner, sweetling. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards you, and it is best that the court understands that.” 

Not giving Maekar a chance to reply, he closed the final space that remained between them and kissed Maekar, his other hand coming up to run gently through his hair.

Helplessly, Maekar sank his hands into Baelor’s surcoat and returned the kiss. When Baelor finally broke away, there was no trace of anger left in his scent, and his eyes were glinting playfully. 

“Ten gold dragons that he’s fled on a ship before dawn.”

Maekar laughed in spite of himself. 

“Saves us the trouble of exiling him.” 

Baelor’s lips twitched in a small smirk. For the rest of the evening, he kept one hand resting lightly on Maekar’s thigh, his thumb moving in small circles over his breeches. Hours after the celebrations had come to an end, Maekar could still feel the phantom caress of his brother’s thumb against his skin. 

Not real, Maekar reminded himself when Baelor placed a sleepy kiss upon his lips each morning when he woke. Not real, as Baelor curled around him at night, holding Maekar against his chest protectively, nuzzling happily at his throat. Not real, each time Baelor called him sweetling, or darling, or sometimes, worst of all, my love. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. Repeating it to himself countless times per day did not seem to be having the impact it should have. 

Baelor’s mind must have been elsewhere, otherwise Maekar knew they wouldn’t have landed in this situation. As it was, Maekar was luxuriating in a hot bath when Baelor walked into their bathing chamber, dressed in nothing more than his braies. 

Both of them jolted in surprise. Maekar expected Baelor to turn and leave, but instead his brother went very still, his eyes sweeping over Maekar’s naked body. 

“Apologies,” Baelor said after a long pause. “I was unaware you were bathing.” He did not, however, move an inch from where he stood just inside the doorway. 

Maekar swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. His brother’s eyes were roaming over every inch of him, taking in his flat, muscular abdomen, his defined pectorals, his nipples pink and tight from the heat of the bath, his strong shoulders and finely honed thighs, the neat thatch of trimmed silver hair atop his cunt. 

He found himself looking over Baelor just the same. His brother was all muscle, from his broad chest and shoulders, to his thick, powerful legs, his skin golden. A warrior’s body, designed for combat. There was a trail of dark hair, interspersed with flecks of silver, running from Baelor’s navel down to where it disappeared into the fabric still covering him. 

The meagre clothing did not, could not, conceal how large Baelor’s cock was, nor did it conceal how it was beginning to thicken with an arousal that was matched by the dampening between Maekar’s own legs. 

They hadn’t had sex. Maekar knew, deep down in his bones, that it was the last barrier he had between himself and Baelor, the last flimsy shred of protection he had against the inevitable collapse of this charade.

If he gave himself to Baelor, if he permitted his brother to bed him, there was no recovery to be found. No world in which he ever walked away from this with anything less than a terminal wound. 

So they hadn’t fucked, even as Maekar woke most mornings to the firm press of Baelor’s half erect cock against his ass. Even as he could smell the musk of Baelor’s arousal when he saw Maekar changing in the evenings. Even as they kissed until Maekar’s lips were numb and his jaw was sore, and it would have been all too easy for Maekar to spread his legs and allow Baelor’s mouth to go where he craved it most. 

He knew most other alphas would have forced the issue by now, but Baelor was far too chivalrous, too honorable, too well-mannered to take anything that he did not believe to be freely given. 

But Gods, Maekar wanted it. Wanted him. Had wanted it, since he’d first presented and gone into heat, and the only thing that had brought him any comfort at all was a discarded tunic that Baelor had forgotten in Maekar’s chambers at some point. 

And Baelor was still staring at him like he wanted to devour Maekar whole, his purple eye so dark that for once it almost matched his brown one. 

Maekar’s restraint cracked, and then broke completely as he rose from the tub, Baelor’s gaze immediately tracking the droplets of water that ran down his pale skin as he moved.

Collecting the towel from where he’d left it when getting into the bath, Maekar dried himself off in a perfunctory manner, before stepping forward into his brother’s space.

At his sides, Baelor’s hands twitched. Maekar could see the visible effort it was costing him not to move, not to pounce on the naked omega stood in front of him. 

“Valonqar,” Baelor forced out through gritted teeth, “Should you not wish for this-,”

“Wish for you to fuck me?” Maekar interrupted with a bravado he did not quite feel. 

Baelor growled, a wave of his arousal washing over both of them. 

“Yes. Gods, Maekar, the things I want to do to you.” 

“So do it, then,” Maekar recklessly goaded him. “Come on, brother, fucking-.”

The remainder of his sentence vanished into Baelor’s mouth as his brother surged forward, grabbing Maekar by the waist and pulling their bodies flush together, licking his way past Maekar’s lips. 

In a show of strength that made Maekar’s head spin, Baelor picked him up, Maekar instinctively wrapping his legs around Baelor’s hips as Baelor carried him into their bedchamber, never separating from Maekar’s mouth for a second. 

Maekar was dizzy by the time Baelor lowered him onto the bed, his brother breaking their kiss to move his head lower, biting and sucking at Maekar’s collarbones, his nipples, leaving red marks lavished into his pale skin, looking up at Maekar to see his reaction. 

“Fuck,” Baelor breathed reverently. “Gods, sweetling, you’re so fucking pretty.”

Maekar felt the unfamiliar compliment like a bolt of lightning to his stomach, his hands reaching down to grab at his brother’s head, need overpowering all his other senses as his hips jerked upwards, feeling the prominent bulge of Baelor’s cock against his aching cunt and moaning at the sensation.  

Baelor let out his own rumbling groan where his mouth was busy sucking a bruise into the delicate skin at the base of Maekar’s throat.

He began to grind against Maekar through his smallclothes, the drag of the cloth against Maekar’s leaking cunt a torturous tease, both of them releasing ragged breaths each time the clothed head of Baelor’s cock caught on Maekar’s entrance. 

It wasn’t enough for Maekar. Running his hands down Baelor’s sides, feeling the firm ridges of his muscles under his fingers, he managed to choke out, “Baelor, please. More.” 

Mercifully, he was not made to ask twice, his brother evidently as desperate as he felt. Kissing his way down Maekar’s abdomen, Baelor settled in between his thighs, spreading them with strong hands. His brother made a small, heated noise in the back of his throat as Maekar’s glistening cunt was exposed to him. 

“Gods. So wet for me already, aren’t you, darling?” 

As his gaze and his words hit him, Maekar registered another bead of slick running down the inside of his upper thighs as his cunt fluttered around nothing. 

Baelor groaned, reaching down to palm at his own cock, a feral cast to his features that Maekar had never seen before. 

“Fuck,” Baelor bit out. “You’re so…your smell, valonqar, it’s-.“ 

His brother didn’t bother finishing the statement, instead choosing to kiss at the inside of Maekar’s upper thighs, his beard scraping at the sensitive skin there.

Maekar moaned, hoping it would leave a rash, that he would feel it the next day, proof of Baelor’s desire for him, and then let out a startled, high-pitched yelp when Baelor closed his lips around Maekar’s clit and sucked at it. 

Maekar trembled as Baelor began to eat him out, alternating between licking broad strokes over his entrance, lapping at him with his tongue, and sucking on his clit, humming around it in a way that had Maekar rolling his hips forward into his brother’s face, seeking more pressure. 

“Baelor,” he whined, “Brother, Gods, your mouth. Fuck, please, please.” 

He was dripping, could see the shine of his slick on Baelor’s lips and jaw as he moved his head. Without removing his mouth, Baelor ran a calloused finger over Maekar’s slit, not pressing in, just teasing. Maekar whined again, unable to prevent it, and then Baelor slid a finger inside of him, into the burning core of him where he wanted his brother most. 

Baelor’s finger met no resistance, Maekar’s cunt soaked and receptive to the intrusion, and so Baelor added a second a beat later, stretching Maekar slightly before he curled his fingers. His brother started fucking them steadily into his cunt, the pads of his fingers rubbing firmly at the sensitive spot inside of him, the squelch of it audible over the ringing in Maekar’s ears.

Maekar’s entire body seized as he came, clutching at Baelor’s hair, vision whiting out briefly as he came undone at the sensation of his brother’s mouth and hands working at his cunt in tandem.

His spine melted into the bedcovers, pleasure radiating through his entire body as Baelor worked him through it until Maekar whimpered, overstimulated, his body shuddering.

“Too much. Baelor, it’s-,” 

His brother pulled back with a wet sound, sitting back on his heels, his face covered in slick and his pupils dilated. Maekar could see the damp spot in his braies where his cock was leaking, and another curl of lust made his stomach tighten. 

“Come here,” he demanded, and Baelor leaned forward, kissing him once more, the shared taste of Baelor’s mouth and his own slick causing Maekar to groan. His brother began to rock his hips forward in helpless little twitches, moaning into their kiss. 

Maekar slid a hand between their bodies, scratching his fingers through the coarse hair on Baelor’s abdomen, before slipping his hand into Baelor’s smallclothes and giving the hot length of him a teasing squeeze. 

“Gods,” Baelor rasped out, hips flexing forward into Maekar’s hand. 

Maekar stroked him a handful of times, running his thumb over the leaking head of his cock, tracing the prominent veins along the length of it, feeling how it twitched and jumped in his grasp, Baelor making needy little groans and grunts against his throat as Maekar toyed with him. 

Losing patience, Maekar released his brother’s cock, pressing another biting kiss onto his brother’s mouth before he pulled back, gazing up into Baelor’s face.

“Fuck me. Need you, Baelor, need your cock in me,” he pleaded. “Need to feel you stretching me open, making me yours.” 

Baelor groaned, his eyelids fluttering, but he immediately reached down to finally rid himself of his last bit of clothing, freeing his cock from its constraints. Maekar’s mouth watered at the sight of it, heavy and thick, flushed red and drooling pearly fluid from the slit. 

Baelor took himself in hand, lining up the head of his cock with Maekar’s entrance, rubbing his clit with it, Maekar instinctively opening his legs even wider to accommodate him.

Just as Maekar was about to snap at him to get on with it, to stop being a fucking tease, his brother pushed into him, the fat head of his cock breaching Maekar and punching all the air from his lungs. 

“So fucking tight,” Baelor groaned as he sunk into him. “Gods, sweetling, you fit around me perfectly. Fuck.” 

Maekar keened helplessly in response, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Baelor’s back as he was impaled by the length of him, his cunt twitching around Baelor with each inch that sunk into him. 

“Yes, just like that, valonqar,” Baelor said nonsensically as he seated himself fully inside of Maekar. His brother paused, giving Maekar a beat to adjust to the size of him, running a soothing hand along Maekar’s flank, staring down with molten eyes at where they were joined. The stretch of it was obscene, Maekar panting wildly into the air. 

“Move,” he finally gritted out, once he had gathered enough air in his lungs to speak. 

Baelor set a brutal, fierce pace, pulling out of Maekar until only the very tip of his cock was inside of him, and then slamming back into him forcefully, repeatedly spearing Maekar on his length. 

Maekar’s eyes rolled back into his head at the onslaught of sensations, his brother’s cock driving into his wet cunt, the head of it unerringly finding that spot inside of him that made Maekar drip slick, the bedcovers soaked beneath them, Baelor’s hands holding his hips hard enough to bruise. 

“Look at me,” Baelor snapped. 

Maekar groaned, cunt clenching, as he forced his eyes to focus, seeing Baelor’s admiring, possessive gaze raking over his face. 

“Good boy.” 

His legs were numb from the pleasure, Baelor’s cock coring him open and making his teeth ache with how good it was. How thick his brother was inside of him. Frantically, he sucked at the tips of Baelor’s fingers, dragging them into his mouth from where they had moved to his chin.

“Mine,” Baelor growled out, biting at Maekar’s neck with his sharp incisors, the slight pain of it only ratcheting Maekar’s desire up a notch. “You’re mine, aren’t you, valonqar? My perfect sweetling, with a perfect wet cunt that’s just for me. Just for my cock.” 

Maekar could only whine at that, body twisting wildly with nowhere to go, trapped as he was beneath his brother’s weight, the hand on his jaw forcing him to keep his gaze upon Baelor. 

“Yours,” he sobbed, desperation coating the words. “Yours, Baelor. Always.” 

Baelor made a wordless, feral sound, his rhythm faltering slightly. Maekar could tell that he was close, could feel the way his knot was starting to catch on the lips of Maekar’s cunt with each thrust.

He went to touch his clit, craving his own peak, but Baelor shoved his hand away, placing his own thumb upon it and rubbing it in time with his strokes. 

“Baelor, I’m going to come, I - fuck, it’s so good. You’re so fucking deep.” 

Baelor groaned, his eyes flashing as he fucked him harder. 

“Come for me, my love. Come on, Maekar, want to see it, want to see you, want to feel you come apart for me on my cock -,” 

Maekar came for the second time with a howl, his orgasm burning through him, cunt spasming around Baelor’s cock as he threw his head back, legs shaking uncontrollably, and nails biting into his brother’s shoulders hard enough that he distantly registered that he was drawing blood. 

“Valonqar, please. Let me knot you, let me fill you with my seed, let me come inside of you.”

“Yes,” Maekar gasped, aftershocks still coursing through him. “Do it, brother. Fill me with your spend, claim me as your own.” 

He heard a ragged, deep moan above him, and then felt the first hot spurts of Baelor’s seed inside of him as his brother spilled, knot swelling as Baelor rutted into him desperately, reduced to nothing but instinct, shoving his cock deeper than Maekar thought possible as Maekar’s cunt milked him through his orgasm, pushing back against him. 

Baelor fucked forward jerkily a few more times, the final spurts of his seed coating the walls of Maekar’s cunt, his knot trapping him in place, his body shaking with the force of it.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, Baelor collapsed on top of him, rolling them over carefully so that Maekar was resting on his chest, Baelor’s knot continuing to occasionally pulse weakly inside of him. 

Their chambers stunk of sex, as did Baelor, heady and thick. Unthinkingly, Maekar stuck out his tongue, licking at his brother’s armpit, tasting the salt of his sweat as he rubbed his nose into the dark hair there, mindless, drunk off of the combined stench of their coupling.

Baelor allowed him to indulge himself as their heartbeats settled, stroking a hand through Maekar’s hair, his other running up and down the ridges of his spine. 

“I love you,” Baelor said abruptly, breaking the peaceful silence that had fallen over the room. 

Anguish lanced through Maekar. He was grateful his face was still hidden in the crook of Baelor’s shoulder, so that his brother could not see the way his eyes were shining with unshed tears as he responded quietly, “I love you too.” 

He was ruined now. Ruined for anyone but Baelor. He supposed that had always been the case. His first word had been Baelor’s name. Womb to ash, Maekar knew who he belonged to. 

It ended on a perfectly ordinary day. He and Baelor were sparring in the training yard (with wooden swords; the thought of raising an actual weapon against Baelor continued to make Maekar’s hands shake) when Maekar released a triumphant sound as he successfully knocked Baelor’s sword out of his hand and tackled his brother to the ground with a laugh. 

“Yield,” Maekar said tauntingly, straddling Baelor’s thighs, already half anticipating the sex they would have later in their chambers, both of them pent up from the tussle. 

Perhaps, he mused to himself, he would ride Baelor. Keep him at his mercy, make Baelor plead and whine to knot him. A frisson of arousal shot through him at the thought, his cunt tightening with desire. 

Beneath him, Baelor opened his mouth to respond, a grin stretched wide across his lips, before he suddenly faltered. A quizzical expression formed on his face, his multicoloured gaze clouding over in puzzlement as the smile faded from his lips. 

“Maekar,” Baelor said very quietly, his eyes locked onto his brother’s, “We’re not mated, are we?” 

For a single moment, Maekar thought of lying. Of feigning unawareness. Of cupping Baelor’s face in his hands, looking into his mismatched eyes and saying, “Of course we are. Why would you think otherwise?” 

He didn’t get the chance to. His heartbeat of hesitation was all that Baelor needed to confirm the memories that had returned to him, just as the maester had warned Maekar they would. 

“We’re not mated,” Baelor repeated again, more certainly, and his face was rearranging itself once more, a look of horror emerging. “This…Gods…it’s…I believed us to be, but we aren’t.” His scent was leaching distress and revulsion, the smell of it thick and bitter in Maekar’s nose. 

Maekar’s ears were ringing, the world spinning around him, his body suddenly cold in spite of the sunshine. Nothing felt real, nothing except for the disgust that was coming off Baelor in waves.

As if he was being guided by some force other than himself, he distantly registered getting up off of Baelor as if he had been burned, and fleeing from the yard. 

The journey back to Summerhall took Maekar three weeks. He spent the first two convinced that Baelor would catch up to him, would appear along the Kingsroad and tell Maekar that he had got it wrong. Each day that passed without sight of his brother made his heart sink further down into his stomach, until he felt as though he no longer had a heart at all. 

Maekar should have been beyond hope. Should have had it beaten out of him, years ago.

When he had asked Father if he could be matched with Baelor, already so in love with him, immediately after he had presented, and his father had laughed outright, saying firmly, “I do not tolerate such abhorrent arrangements between siblings anymore.” 

When he had watched his brother marry Lady Jena, her flaming red hair flowing down her back in silken curls, her perfect, delicate figure encased in a show-stopping gown, Baelor placing their family’s cloak proudly around her shoulders and bestowing her with an adoring kiss as Maekar had felt another piece of his soul shrivel up and die. 

When they had secured victory at Redgrass, and stayed up late into the evening, laughing and celebrating with their men, relief at having lived another day surging through their veins, Baelor’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, telling anyone who would listen how brilliant Maekar was, how it was down to him that they’d won. 

Retiring for the evening, Maekar had thought that this was it, that surely he had proven himself. Surely he was now worthy of his brother. Surely now Baelor would see what Maekar always had, which was that they were at their best when together. When Baelor had turned to him once they were in their tent, Maekar had already been anticipating a kiss. Instead, Baelor had simply reached out and squeezed his shoulder with brotherly affection. 

A thousand moments, a thousand rejections. Maekar had understood from the start that Baelor’s love for him in recent months was a falsehood, a feverish delusion brought upon by the unwise swing of his mace and the cruelty of the Gods. 

He had offered himself up like a lamb to the slaughter all the same. His raw grief now was pathetic. Maekar knew he had no one to blame but himself for his freshly shattered heart. 

A fortnight passed in a cloudy haze. Maekar occupied his days as best he could with the running of Summerhall, with rather futile attempts to stop his eldest son from descending even further into his visions and his cups. No ravens arrived, or at least none from King’s Landing. 

“Are you sad?” Rhae asked him one night as Maekar put her to bed. 

His youngest child’s face was creased with concern as she looked up at him. 

“No,” Maekar said. “I’m not sad, my sweet. Don’t worry about me.” 

He told himself that it was not a lie. You had to be alive to be sad. Maekar was aware that he was already dead in every way that mattered. 

He was out in the courtyard, numbly watching his daughters playing together under the supervision of their septas when he heard the rumbling of hooves and looked up to see the Targaryen standard fluttering in the air. 

Maekar froze, and by the time he thought to run, to flee, it was too late. A herald was already announcing the arrival of Baelor as the man himself dismounted from his horse and walked over to where Maekar stood. 

The smell of him hit Maekar like a blow. He wanted nothing more than to collapse forward into Baelor’s arms, to weep into his chest and beg his brother to fix this, to fix him, to tell Maekar what he needed to do so that Baelor might love him once more. Instead he glared at him fiercely. 

“You did not send word that you were arriving for a visit,” he hissed out. 

Baelor tilted his head in acknowledgement, before raising his voice so that the numerous attendants and servants could hear him. 

“Leave us, please.” 

“Do not,” Maekar corrected sharply, but it turned out that even his household staff was more beholden to Baelor’s commands than his own. Everyone vanished in an instant, leaving Maekar alone with his brother. 

“Maekar,” Baelor started once everyone had gone, moving towards him slightly. 

Maekar threw out a hand, halting him in his tracks. “Do not fucking come near me.” 

Baelor stopped moving, looking at Maekar almost imploringly. 

“Valonqar, I understand that you are upset.” 

Maekar bit out a humourless laugh. 

“Do you? Do you really? Well, then, I suppose that solves everything.” 

“If you would just allow me to explain,” Baelor tried, but Maekar cut him off. 

“No, thank you. I see no need to listen to you explaining in excruciating detail how you do not care for me in the way I wish. Has Father found a replacement cunt for you yet? I’m sure there’s no shortage of pretty omegas who must be positively drenched at the thought of bedding the great Prince Baelor Targaryen.” 

Baelor frowned, his scent unhappy. 

“I care for you more than anything, valonqar.” 

“Fuck you. If you cared, you would have come sooner,” Maekar snarled angrily, “It’s been more than a moon since I left King’s Landing, and I have heard nothing from you.” 

Baelor growled, annoyed with Maekar’s obstinance.  

“I could not. I required time to secure this.”

He thrust a piece of parchment towards Maekar, who pointedly did not take it. 

“Read it,” Baelor commanded. “Read it, and then if you still wish to have nothing to do with me, I promise I shall take my leave at once.” 

Bitterly, Maekar snatched it from his brother’s hand, his face paling as he looked down and saw the heading ‘Royal Acceptance of Marriage between Prince Baelor Targaryen and Prince Maekar Targaryen’ swimming before his eyes. His father’s seal and signature were visible in the bottom right-hand corner. 

“What is this?” he croaked. 

Baelor took a tentative step towards him, then another when Maekar didn’t immediately move away. 

“It is a proposal,” Baelor said quietly, now well within an arm’s length of Maekar. “One that I deeply hope you will accept.” 

“I do not require your pity, brother,” Maekar spat. “You need not marry me simply because you feel bad for me.” 

“Pity?” Baelor said, “This is not pity, Maekar.”

Maekar shook his head. 

“At least have the decency not to lie to me. You were fucking horrified when you regained your senses, when you realized that you had been acting as my mate. When you realized that you had bedded me. I saw it! I smelt it, Baelor. And now you expect me to believe that I imagined your reaction?”

Baelor started visibly at his words, looking as though he’d been struck.  

“I was horrified with myself, not with you. Never with you. I had forced myself onto you, Maekar. Gods, I felt sick when I realized what I’d done.” 

“Forced yourself onto me?” Maekar scoffed, disbelieving. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Baelor pursed his lips, twisted a ring around his finger. 

“I am aware that you were ordered to allow me to believe that we were mated in order to aid in my recovery. As soon as I regained my memories and realized what had occurred, I could understand all too well what our Father’s role in this was. It was not something that you chose freely, valonqar.” 

“Yes,” Maekar snapped dryly. “It was on Father’s orders that I was repeatedly moaning for your knot like a well paid whore.” 

Baelor blanched. “Do not jape, Maekar. It was a reasonable concern.” 

Maekar rolled his eyes. 

“Well, you may rest easy, brother. I enjoyed it. There. Now that you’ve assuaged your guilt, feel free to fuck off.” 

“I did not come all this way to assuage my guilt. I did not tell our Father that I would abdicate my role as heir unless he allowed me to take your hand in marriage simply because I felt guilty, valonqar.”

“Why the fuck did you then?” Maekar burst out, at the end of his tether. 

“Because I love you!” Baelor said, his jaw working as he tried to maintain his usual composure. “Because I’ve been turning down every single marriage proposal that Father’s put in front of me since Jena died as I only wanted you! Because I begged Father to marry you to me when you first presented, and I have resented him ever since for refusing me.”

”Because I have spent my entire life doing my duty, even as it killed me to be apart from you. Even as I only truly felt alive in your presence. Because the time we spent together as mates is the happiest I’ve been since we were children, because I had you by my side each day.”

“When I realized that it was all false, that you were simply humouring my delusions, I wanted to weep knowing that I was about to lose you. That I had not ever truly had you to begin with.” 

“You’ve had me since we were boys,” Maekar blurted out before he could stop himself. 

Baelor’s mouth opened and then closed, his eyes shutting briefly. 

“You mean that? Truly?” 

Maekar hesitated, the old, well-worn fear that Baelor did not care for him in that way rising inside of him. But Baelor was there, standing in front of him with wet eyes, an expression of poorly concealed longing written across his face, his words of devotion swirling around Maekar’s head, and the marriage agreement that his brother had secured for them was still in his clammy grasp.

“Yes,” he admitted at length, terrified, unable to look at Baelor directly. “I’ve wanted you since I first presented. Before that, even. I cannot recall a time when I did not know that I was meant to be yours.” 

A tear streamed down Baelor’s cheek, disappearing into his beard. For a moment, Maekar thought he’d said the wrong thing, his stomach churning, but he did not have time to properly panic before Baelor closed the gap separating them, dragging Maekar into a tearful kiss, his scent reeking of relief. 

“Sweetling,” Baelor breathed roughly when he broke away from Maekar’s lips, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Maekar’s ear. His hand, Maekar noted, was trembling and his eyes were still glassy. “I thought I had lost you for good. That you would despise me.” 

Maekar shook his head, his throat thick with emotion. 

“No. Never. I could never.” 

Baelor let out a half-sob, half-laugh and kissed him once more, more precisely this time. Separating from his brother’s mouth, Maekar leaned forward, tucking his head into Baelor’s throat and pressing his lips against his scent gland, inhaling deeply, letting the smell he loved so much wash over him. Baelor wrapped his arms around him firmly, and kissed his temple. 

“The memories were false,” Baelor confessed softly against his ear, “But I swear to you, Maekar, the emotions behind them were real. It is no surprise to me, that in my muddled state, my mind focused on the one thing I want the most, the one thing I love the most. You. Always you, valonqar.” 

It was Maekar’s turn to sob at that, hiding it in Baelor’s neck. Baelor merely held him more tightly, gripping at Maekar as if he never wished to let him go. 

“You have yet to answer my query, my love,” Baelor pointed out after long minutes had passed, the two of them clinging to each other. “Would you do me the honour of permitting me to take your hand in marriage? To make you my husband, before the realm and the Gods?” 

Maekar raised his head, took in Baelor’s shiny eyes, his wet cheeks, the tiny, hopeful smile hovering on his handsome face. The open warmth and adoration in his gaze was almost enough to undo Maekar completely. 

“Yes,” he breathed. 

Baelor grinned, bright and steady, his scent suffused with joy, and covered Maekar’s mouth with his own.

For the rest of my life, Maekar thought to himself in awe as Baelor kissed him like a man starved. I get to have this for the rest of my life.