Chapter Text
Baelor paces as Maekar labors.
Jena’s wails play through his mind, high and frightened, pleading for him even though the maester had tried to bar him from seeing her. He remembers cursing and making his way to her anyways, the scent of iron thick in the air.
Her gown was so red it appeared black, and when he clutched her hand her skin was cool. She’d used the rest of her feeble strength to push their babe out, but Valarr had lived scarcely three days before his soul fled his body, mother and son reunited once more.
Maekar is strong and hale, he consoles himself, for Jena had been confined to her bed for the duration of her pregnancy. It will not happen again.
He strains his ears but there is no yells or grunts or groans, and when the maester emerges from the room his demeanor is calm and placid.
“Your Grace, it is a healthy alpha boy,” he announces, and Baelor swallows thickly before asking about his brother.
“The prince is recovering well,” the old man assures him. “There were no complications.”
Baelor mutters his thanks before hurrying into the chambers, and Maekar looks startled by his sudden appearance.
“I am not fit to look upon,” he grimaces, and it is only then that Baelor notices the matted hair around the omega’s face and the sweat coating his skin.
“I have never seen a more wondrous sight,” he says truthfully, and Maekar flushes fiercely.
Baelor chuckles lightly as he approaches the bed, only to pause as he spots the small bundle in the crook of Maekar’s arm.
“Do you want to hold him?” His brother murmurs, his tone careful as he cradles the boy closer to his chest.
Baelor’s words are stuck in his throat, but he nods and wills his feet to move, his hands steady as Maekar passes the babe to him.
He can only stare at first, at the pale skin and silver hair, and he cannot help but to think back on his first child, dark haired and tawny, an image of his own making.
“He looks like you,” he says quietly. “Father will be pleased.”
Maekar’s scent sours in the air, and Baelor glances back at him sharply.
“And you?” His brother challenges, his jaw squared. “Are you pleased with him?”
Guilt pools low in his stomach.
“Of course,” he murmurs, as he brings the babe closer in order to properly scent him, and he watches as the tension in Maekar’s shoulders eases.
“He is perfect.”
He gingerly kisses his son’s forehead before handing him back to the omega, who immediately scents him as well, a gentleness in his expression that is at odds with his gruff appearance.
“I mean to name him Aenar,” Maekar announces, and Baelor nods, for it is a fine name.
“Aenar,” he repeats softly, and a low ember ignites gently beneath his chest.
The days seem longer as Baelor continues to learn how to rule the kingdoms, and exhaustion weighs heavy on both his mind and body.
He visits the royal nursery when he is able, studies his son and waits for Maekar to appear, as he so often does.
Aenar is perhaps the most well behaved child in the realm, for when he is not sleeping he is smiling, and Baelor finds himself grinning back at the boy when his brother makes his presence known.
“The heir to the iron throne spends his days cooing at his babe,” he teases.“If only the other lords could see you now.”
Baelor rolls his eyes good-naturedly before eyeing Maekar in the doorway, a smirk splayed across his handsome face.
“And where were you?” He questions dryly, and Maekar sighs.
“I had to see the maester,” he grumbles, as he enters the room and plucks Aenar from his crib. He clears his throat before giving Baelor a searching look. “The man says I am fully recovered from the birth. You can visit my chamber tonight, if you wish to.”
Baelor hums. He had taken Maekar near on every night until he had conceived, and he had not visited the omega’s chambers since then.
They had acted more as brothers than mates in the time apart, and Baelor found that it agreed with him. Yet he was keen enough to know that Maekar would not take a rejection lightly.
“If you do not mind,” he decides on, as he runs his fingers through the downy silver hair on Aenar’s head, and Maekar scoffs.
“I would not mind a good fuck,” he drawls, and Baelor’s lips twitch. Even now Maekar’s bluntness could surprise him, and he found himself both exasperated and fond.
“The servants linger outside,” he warns his brother lightly.
“As if I give a shit,” Maekar all but growls, and Baelor laughs in full this time.
He kisses Aenar’s cheek before kissing Maekar’s as well, and he pretends not to hear his brother’s breath hitch as he steps away.
“I must return to my duties,” he informs the omega. “I will most likely take my supper in my solar, so I will see you tonight.”
Maekar nods, and Baelor makes his way from the room, his brother’s pleased expression lingering in his mind.
It is nightfall by the time he makes it to Maekar’s chambers, and something akin to anxiety festers within him.
Maekar is comely, he reminds himself firmly. No alpha would consider bedding him to be a chore.
When he steps inside he falters, for his brother is on the bed in nothing but his small clothes, the desire in his eyes blatant.
“Come here,” Maekar demands, and Baelor can do nothing but obey. The omega tugs at his clothes as soon as he is in reach, his fingers almost frantic. “It has been nigh on a year since you’ve last fucked me.”
It is moments like this that remind Baelor of how young his brother still is. Only seven and ten, and still in the throes of want and passion that consumed all who were freshly presented.
The alpha was no different at that age, but the way in which Maekar pulls out his cock still has him feeling flustered.
“Patience my love,” he chides gently, the endearment strange on his tongue, but Maekar only preens.
He spreads the omega’s thighs and shifts his small clothes to the side, and his eyes darken at the way his brothers cunt is already leaking.
Maekar sees him looking and gives him a wicked grin. “If you don’t hurry up and fuck me I’ll find an alpha who will,” he taunts, and Baelor snarls before he is upon him.
His cock slides in easy, and he and Maekar both moan in tandem. “Yes,” his brother hisses, as he throws his head back, his pale throat on full display.
Baelor leans in to mouth the skin there, his teeth biting gently, and Maekar trembles and wraps his legs around him, urging his cock deeper.
“Baelor,” Maekar chants, as if he were some divine being, and something about it puts his teeth on edge, has him fucking his brother even harder until he is reduced to nothing but pants and whimpers.
He doesn’t last long after that; the scent of Maekar’s slick, the warmth of his cunt, and the fact that he hasn’t fucked in so long has him spilling his seed after a few more thrusts.
He grunts and touches between his brothers folds before he can start complaining, rubs his nub with rough fingers until Maekar cries out and shudders as well, the sheets beneath them soaked.
He feels strangely tired afterwards, and when he pulls out from the omega he knows then and there that he will stay the night.
Maekar voices no objections as he makes no move to leave, a small smile on his face.
“Sleep Baelor,” he murmurs, a hint of a command underneath, and the alpha is powerless to deny him.
His dreams are wretched, as they always are.
His clothes are covered in blood and the smell of death is in the air. Jena lays lifeless in his arms while she cradles Valarr, and then he blinks and it is Maekar and Aenar instead, their eyes glassy and their skin grey.
He wakes up gasping so hard that he fears he will be sick, and he startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“You still call out for them,” his brother says quietly, and they both know who he speaks of.
Baelor swallows and takes a steadying breath. “I can’t forget them,” he says miserably.
Maekar’s voice softens further. “I would never ask you to.”
He pauses and draws Baelor nearer. “I know you will not believe me, but I cared for them as well.”
Baelor clenches his eyes shut. “I know you did,” he objects fiercely. “You were always a better brother than me.”
Nausea churns in his gut, and he speaks the words that have been stuck in the back of his throat for much too long. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, ashamed. “For how I treated you. I was young and foolish, and I regret all of it, truly.”
“I know you are,” Maekar sighs, sounding far older than his years.
It is not forgiveness, but it is acceptance.
Baelor will have to live with that.
He slips away between meetings when he has a rare bout of free time, his destination being the training yard.
He finds his brother there, just as he expected.
Maekar had been complaining that he’d grown soft after the birth of Aenar, and now he could be found with a sword in hand nearly everyday, going through drills with the master at arms.
Baelor stands and watches him; the sun gleams off his silver hair and he barks out a laugh at something Ser Calton says, and it has been some time since he has seen his brother so at ease.
“Might I spar with you Maekar?” He calls out.
The omega turns to him, a grin still on his face, though it turns slightly mocking. “If it would please you. But take caution Baelor, I will not go easy on you.”
Baelor laughs. “I would be insulted if you did.”
He takes a moment to put on his leathers and fetch his sword, and when he returns he see’s that Maekar has sent Ser Calton away.
He raises his eyebrows. “You did not want an audience?”
Maekar rolls his eyes. “It would not do well for your reputation for anyone to see you fall on your arse.”
Baelor laughs once more as they start circling each other. He lunges at his brother, and Maekar easily blocks him, an unimpressed look on his face.
“You have grown slow,” he complains, and then he is the one to attack.
They dart to and fro, Maekar landing enough hits to make Baelor promise to himself that he will find the time to train more, and by the time they finish he is bent over his knees panting.
“You have learned some new tricks,” he rasps out, grudgingly impressed.
Maekar chuckles and wipes the sweat from his brow. “I have, haven’t I?”
He looks so pleased, his skin flushed and glowing, that Baelor hardly realizes that he’s moved until he reaches for the omega and pulls him close, pressing their lips together without thought.
He feels Maekar jerk in surprise for a moment, but then he is kissing him back, his hand coming up to cup Baelor’s jaw.
When they pull apart he feels a warm rush of affection for his brother, and it must show on his face, for Maekar studies his expression as though he is seeing it for the first time.
“You are happy,” he declares, and Baelor is saddened by how surprised he sounds.
“Of course I am,” he says easily, trying to ease Maekar’s uncertainties.
He kisses him again, uncaring if anyone sees, and for once, it doesn’t feel like a betrayal.