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Even Baelor wasn’t free from his brother’s wrath when it came to defending his children.
“He’s just a boy, he makes mistakes. There’s no reason to consider him a threat.”
Maekar’s voice rang out through the solar. The irritation was evident, how dare Baelor accuse Aerion of misconduct?
“Brother, your son tried to take the squire’s head. You’re lucky for his poor aim, else we’d have Lord Lannister breathing down our necks.” Baelor attempted to reason. He knew his little brother well enough that no rationale would persuade him to think ill of his child. Maekar spun around to face him.
“Remember, Baelor, I taught my son in the yard myself. A petty squabble amongst children, nothing more.” He waved a hand as if to finish the conversation.
You watched, reclined on the settee and sipped your wine. Your silken skirts pooled around your legs as the men argued before you. It was not the first time Maekar had been forced into the defense of his second oldest son. Tripping servants to spill soup across the dining table, kicking the small animals the younger children had brought into the household, even the occasional jibe at you. Sly words about your youth, how very different you were from his father. They never quite got to you in the way they intended- you understood they were the only the whispers of an ill child- but they certainly grated on your husband. You decided it was time to speak up:
“Maekar, my dear, maybe Aerion could benefit from spending some time away from the sword; a little more time in the library would do him well, or the Sept.” You spoke as gently as you could, but your Prince still looked as if you’d slapped him.
“He is a Targaryen Prince! God’s know he needs to be strong. How could you even suggest that?”
Maekar was huffing, face red, and you saw you were not going to get any farther with him. Slowly you stood, setting down your glass and moving to your husband. He visibly relaxed when you ran a hand up his arm, fingers tightening around his bicep.
“I meant no harm, my love, only that his disposition may be tempered with the addition of another pursuit.” You gingerly responded, stroking his arm through the thick leather of his doublet. In a rare show of semi-public affection, Maekar gripped your waist in his hand, tugging you a step closer.
Baelor cleared his throat.
“I’ll leave the two of you this evening, it seems your wife may be able to talk more sense into you than I can.”
Maekar grunted as you nodded to his brother, and the older Prince made his leave from your rooms. You didn’t miss the small smile that adorned his mouth as he went. As soon as the door sealed shut, the Anvil was on you. Strong arms circled you, tugging you to his chest as he sunk his nose against the soft flesh of your neck.
“That boy will be the death of me.” Maekar grumbled. You lifted a hand to the back of his head, tenderly stroking the silver strands.
“I sure hope not, I’m far too young to be a widow, and what a nightmare finding a new husband would be.”
You let out a startled yelp as Maekar’s hand slapped down against your ass, dissolving into giggles.
“And what the fuck do you think is so funny? My own son causing me such misery? Or how lucky you'd be in finding some sniveling cunt of a lordling to warm your bed?” You could hear the irritation in your husband’s voice, but it only made you laugh harder.
“My sweet love, how heartbroken I would be to part with you.” You finally managed out, pulling back to look up at him. He rolled his lavender eyes at your outburst, but did not let go. Your giggling softened to an easy smile when you noticed the tips of his ears go pink. You reached up to take a scarred cheek in your hand, stroking your thumb through his beard in the way you knew he secretly adored.
Maekar leaned his head down, pressing his furrowed brow to your forehead.
“Do not laugh at such things, wife. It is far more serious than you know.” His voice was gruff, but had lost the hardness from his earlier arguing. You tilted your head up to kiss his jaw, before pressing a kiss to his chapped lips.
“Have I upset you, darling? I assure you I had no intentions of doing so.”
Maekar shook his head.
“I attest I am far more angry at my son than at you.”
You hummed in response. After a moment, he continued:
“Maybe you’re right. Not in ending Aerion’s training, but sending him to pray in the sept may keep him out of trouble.”
His answer made you smirk.
“It will certainly teach him the monotony of serving through a punishment. Maybe we may even see a Septon emerge from your brood.”
“Our brood. The wall will melt before that boy has a moment of piety in him.” Maekar corrected, and you let out another laugh. You took great pleasure in the sound he let out, not quite matching you but as close as he usually got.
“Now that that's settled, we must move on to the other pressing matter.” You stated, looking up at him smugly. Maekar gave you a confused tilt of his head. Slowly, you trailed a hand down his chest, stopping when your fingers gripped his swordbelt. The Prince sucked in a breath.
“My poor husband has been strung so tightly this evening, it's high time that I unwind him, don’t you think?”
Maekar slowly nodded, a hot intensity piercing you, as you slowly worked to undo the leather. He waited until the steel clattered to the floor before responding in a choked growl.
“Yes, wife, I think you may be right.”
*****
The next time Maekar turned defensive was in regards to you.
Those who spent time at Summerhall knew not to turn their words against its mistress. You were formidable in your own right, a strong woman governing the household, but there was a kindness, a gentleness you had to your words, that your dear husband lacked. Fear of the Prince was not uncommon, and each courtier and knight, scullery and stableboy treated you with the utmost respect.
On rare occasions, Maekar would invite a traveling lord to his table. Never was it by his own free will, instead a letter would come from his father or brother, expressing the importance of duty and the need for a Prince to fulfill it. Ever the dutiful soldier, Maekar would do as he was told.
Not without a load of complaining.
Usually to you.
You amused yourself watching him stomp about your chambers, going on and on about the dreariness of a vassal coming to pledge fealty, or the griminess of some knight who thought he deserved a place at the table for his ability to swing a sword.
Your husband’s reputation preceded him, and his stoic demeanor and crass language was often met with careful smiles and courteous pleasantry. Foreign lords were less obliging when you spoke similarly.
The joke had been just that, a jest made at the expense of the man joining your family for dinner. Both Daeron and Aerion had given you a hearty laugh, the younger children not quite understanding the implications. Even Maekar’s face softened, just a moment, and his large hand had given your knee a squeeze.
“You let your wife speak so brazenly at the dinner table, my Prince.” Lord Gower said, weary and terse after traveling through the Stormlands.
Silence fell across the room.
The children ceased their bickering, spoons froze mid air on the way to mouths, even servants paused refilling wine glasses.
People did not insult the Anvil's wife.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Maekar’s voice rang out, gravely and predatory from a night spent silent.
Maybe Lord Gower was too far in his cups, maybe he wasn’t one to survey a room the way your husband did, or maybe he thought he knew what was best for your family. Whatever the case, he did not pick up on Maekar’s tone. The man chuckled and took a sip of his wine.
“I only mean that a sweet young thing like her could use some discipline, mouthing off like that, someone will get the wrong idea.”
Maekar was already standing, striding around the table to meet the lord where he sat. his hand came down to fist at the neck of the smaller man’s jerkin, lifting him up off the chair.
“You will leave my fucking table, and my hall, now. Do not show your face here again. You can be certain that if you, or any other drunken cunt of a lord, speaks ill of my wife again, I will kill you where you stand.”
No one moved. Lord Gower made to laugh, started a chuckle before Maekar roughly shoved him away from the table. The sound of your Prince’s ragged breath cut through the silence, and you could sense him revving up in retaliation. Before blood could be spilled, you stood, shoes clipping on the tile as you rounded the table to the pair of men.
“My lord husband, let Lord Gower spend the night, and he will leave in the morning. It is important to remember the customs of others are not always the same as our own. Let us be gracious hosts tonight.” Your voice was soft, but the grip on Maekar’s arm told him to sit back down- silently. You were well aware your husband was well beyond apologising, but the squeeze he gave your hand and the heated look in his eye told you he appreciated your diplomacy.
The visiting lord straightened his jerkin, shaking out his hair and attempting to stand tall again.
“Thank- thank you, my lady. I fear it is time for me to retire for the night. I bid you all good evening.” He gave a curt bow to each of you, before turning on his heel and quickly disappearing from the hall. When you turned, you saw five pairs of wide lavender eyes staring back at you. You quickly shoed them back to their dinner before their father turned his wrath back on the table.
“Must you act so barbaric, my dear?” You asked, hands coming up to squeeze Maekar’s broad shoulders. He grunted, finally looking away from the empty doorway and down at you.
“What?”
You snorted, patting his cheek before steering him back toward his seat at the head of the table.
“Your brother will not be pleased when he hears of your ferocity. It may be worth paying Lord Gower a visit to apologise." You heard a snicker from the table, but chose to ignore it.
“You think for one second that I’ll speak to that cunt again? After what he said about my wife? Didn’t even apologize before running off. I should find and gut him.” Maekar’s voice was rising again. You gestured to his seat, calling a servant to refill his wine and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Aegon stuck his tongue out in disgust, but a swift look from you had him turning back to his dinner plate. Sitting beside your husband, you took his hand.
“Dearest, while I appreciate the care you take for me, don’t get yourself into trouble with your father.”
He squeezed your fingers.
“Don’t. Do not think for one moment I will allow a man to sit at our table if he speaks that way to you.” Maekar sounded raw, low and bitter, but there was no doubt to the truth of his statement.
*****
It was a different matter altogether when you were the one who stood up for him.
Few men were bold enough to stand to Maekar Targaryen, but occasionally someone was stupid enough to speak out in torment.
“Look at you, my Prince laying about with your lady wife. Not the man you used to be, huh?”
Lyonel Baratheon may have been the only man alive with the feral recklessness, and the ferocious confidence, speak that way to a Prince of the Realm. Maekar’s face twisted up, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, as Lyonel grinned widely.
Tourneys always had Maekar on edge. Forced proximity and socializing, hours of sitting out in the heat, watching green bots play at war, and being pestered as to why he wasn’t out there with them. You knew why your Prince did not ride in the tilts; men with his pedigree and reputation, and the Anvil had nothing to prove to lesser lords.
“I don’t see you on the field, Ser Lyonel.” You responded, sitting up taller from your seat. The stormlord turned from your husband and laid his eyes on you. He leaned forward in his chair to speak to you.
“Do not fear, dearest Princess, you’ll see me in the yard on the morrow. A pity I won’t get to see the Anvil in his glory. I was quite young when he gained the epithet, you see. I’d like to see if our dragon Prince still has what it takes to live up to the title.”
You could feel Maekar stiffen beside you, muscles tensing. Your hand found his forearm and squeezed gently, before meeting Lyonel’s gaze again with narrow eyes.
“I can assure you, my lord, my husband would have no problem knocking every silly knight in this tournament off his horse. Be glad I’ve convinced him to stay here with me, maybe now you have a shot at winning.”
Lyonel stared at you for a moment, before bursting into laughter, slapping his thigh and leaning back in his chair. He pointed at you as he calmed down and turned to Maekar:
“You have a good woman here, my Prince. Be sure not to let her go.”
Maekar was very obviously finished with the conversation. He rose from his seat and offered you his hand.
“I’m well aware, Lyonel, I certainly don’t need your approval on her.”
With that, the older Prince tugged you out of the golden Baratheon tent to the thunderous cackling of the Laughing Storm. You were glad Maekar missed the cheeky wink Lyonel sent you.
*****
Maekar grumbled the entire walk to your rooms. As a Targaryen Prince, he was offered a place in the keep where the tourney was being held. You kept your hand firmly in his, squeezing his fingers each time his voice rose enough to understand his mumblings.
“Thinking I couldn’t unseat him, I’ve been besting men better than him since before that idiot was born.”
You smirked.
“I know, my love. You’re very strong.”
The Prince’s head whipped toward you as you walked, hearing the teasing in your voice. He stopped, tugging you closer to him.
“Oh, do you agree with that cunt? Is that it? Think what he said was funny, do you?” Maekar’s nose flared as he looked down at you. You traced a finger down the front of his chest.
“I’m serious! You heard me back there. I have no doubt in my mind that you are far more capable than any of the silly lords pretending to battle.” You laughed out, stepping closer and pressing up on your toes to give him a kiss. He leaned into your touch, wrapping his arms around your waist and nipping at your bottom lip.
“Hmmm, I cannot deny your defense of my honor does something to me.” He mumbled against your lips.
“I know, husband, I can feel what my words have done to you.” You emphasised your statement by gripping his cock through his leather trousers. He let out a breath. Your words continued on:
“You always protect me, Maekar, don’t you?”
The Prince let out a choked sound, pressing his nose forward against your cheek.
“Of course I do. You’re my wife, my love, your safety is my priority. I would die before I let something happen to you.” His voice was gruff, not romantic but vulnerable in a way you so seldom heard. You pressed a kiss to his cheek as your arms closed around his shoulders.
“Is it so strange, then, that I would defend my husband against ridicule? Is it not my duty, as your wife, to take care of you?”
Maekar groaned in response. He bent, then, scooping an arm under your knees and picking you up into his arms. You laughed in surprise as he pressed you against his chest.
“Allow me, woman, to show you what your guard does to me.”
*****
You found yourself at the doorway to your chambers. Maekar shouldered it open, stepping through and bringing you around to the bed. As soon as your toes touched the ground, he was on you. Hands on your hips, pressing you against him as his lips met yours. You could feel his hardening manhood against your stomach.
“Maekar, darling-”
“Silence, woman, it's your husband’s job to take care of you.” His words were hash, but there was a teasing quality to his tone as he nipped at your jaw. Fingers slid down your spine, unlacing the back of your gown before he roughly tugged it down your shoulders. You laughed at his intensity, but Maekar remained focused as he peeled your shift from your body. Certainly you’d be able to take your own drapery off with more efficiency, but why interrupt a man so hell-bent in his resolve to undress you?
Maekar’s hands came down to grip your bottom once you were naked for him, wetness of his mouth finding yours again and lifting you to sit on the plushness of the bed. Those long fingers of his moved to encircle your neck, not gripping, but with enough force to lay you down against the sheets.
“You have tended to me this evening, my lovely wife, it is only right I reward you now for your loyalty.”
You playfully rolled your eyes as he kneeled before you, but let out a gasp as he gripped your hips, tugging them to the edge of the bed. It did not matter how many times he pressed his tongue to your cunt, you still felt the sharp thrill run down your spine in anticipation.
Maekar was no different.
Never one for praying to the Seven, he found he much preferred the altar between your legs than the one for the gods. They certainly didn't make sounds as sweet as you.
The prince pressed his long nose to your wet heat, savoring the scent before butting the tip against your clit. Only his firm grip on your body kept you from arching off the bed. There was little tenderness to the way he ate you, instead a ferocity took hold of him. Something deep, animalistic: dragon blood, you presumed. His tongue pressed into you, lapping at the gush of slick dribbling from your opening.
He grumbled praise against your folds; completely unintelligible but sending shivers up your body from the vibrations. One hand released your hip, only to come down and press two fingers into your cunt. You whined as he curled them, thrusting in and out as his tongue laved over your clit.
“Oh my Gods, Maekar, my love, please.”
You were begging, pleading, aching for a release; hands burying themselves in his silvery locks to anchor yourself. He knew exactly how to take you apart. He arched his digits as he thrust, finding a spongy spot deep in your warmth. You sang for him, shouting his name as he pushed you over the edge. Maekar continued to lap at you, sucking his fingers into his mouth before pressing them back inside, eager to pull any slickness from you to his lips.
When he found himself satisfied, he stood, leaning over you to press a kiss to your mouth. You were weak for him, mouth opening to allow his tongue to invade, licking your taste into your own mouth. The kiss was short lived, however, as he gripped your thigh and flipped you down onto your stomach.
“Warn a woman, darling. Gods, you're strong.”
Maekar gave you a slap on the ass before bending down to kiss the cheek.
“I work at it, little lady, to keep you safe.”
Your hips were in his hands again, only this time to lift you up onto your knees. You heard him unbuckle his swordbelt, tossing it down before relieving his cock from its confines. You could picture it in your head without having to see it, the angry red tip, the soft white hair, the vein along the bottom that made him swear when you licked it.
The head bumped your clit, and you whined for him. Maekar’s large palm slid down your back at the sound, rubbing a circle above the cleft of your ass before gripping himself to line up with your aching heat. He sheathed himself in one movement, burying his length in your warm embrace. Your cunt wept for him, a squelching sound filling the chamber.
You heard him begin to moan, desperate, feral, needy in a way only you saw. A bonelessness took over you, and you tried desperately to lean up onto your hands to try and meet his thrusts. Maekar reached down, sliding his hand under you to pull your back up to his chest.
The new angle made your head swim.
His cock pierced into you, bouncing you back against him.
“Thats it, lovely, take it, take me.” Maekar growled, mouth pressed to your hair. He wrapped one arm around you to grip one of your bouncing breasts, the other pressing to your stomach to feel himself bulging in you.
If someone was to press their ear to the door, they would hear your whimpers competing with his grunts. You were fully engulfed in him, the sharp pistoning of his hips beginning to stutter. The sweet Prince moved his fingers to your clit, softly circling it to bring you closer with him.
Starlight shone in your vision as you came again, screaming out your husband’s name. He followed soon after- quieter, teeth to your neck- painting your insides with his hot spend.
Maekar held you up as you both shuddered. You sagged in his arms, unable to hold yourself up from his onslaught.
“That's it girl, I have you.”
His voice was gruff and hoarse as he laid you down on your stomach, following beside you and tugging you under his arm to press against his chest. You lay quietly a moment as you caught your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maekar’s kiss found your hairline.
“Are you alright then? Wasn't too rough with you?” The older man asked.
You nodded, wiggling closer to press your forehead to his throat.
“You always know how to treat me, my love.”
Maekar gave you a huff in response, petting your hair and tucking his face against the strands.
“The least I can do, for the woman who stood up so valiantly for me tonight.”
You knew, despite his teasing tone, that there was a depth of seriousness to what he’d said. You gave him a gentle, languid scratch of your nails down the hard muscle of his back.
“How could I stand back and let some drunken fool talk down to you, when I know firsthand how strong and capable you really are?” You emphasized your statement with a pinch to his side. Maekar he gave you a firm swat on the ass in response.
“Careful, girl, or you’ll see how strong your man really is.”
You certainly hoped so.