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Someone made the comparison at dinner.
It was not offensive in the slightest. One of the Lords had commented on what a fine proposal Baelor had put forth that day and determined that he would make a great king. He nodded his head and accepted it graciously and with the appropriate humility and grace that an heir ought, ignoring the snort from his brother— Maekar found these platitudes to be the worst part of any court appearance and he had stopped reacting or publicly encouraging them back when they were boys. Baelor expected the conversation to move on, but it did not and the Lord made the comparison.
Jaehaerys and Alysanne come again.
Maekar did not merely snort this time. His face flushed with delight as he let out a loud mocking giggle, almost reverberating through the room. “The Good Queen?” He jeered, and ignored the dangerous look Myriah was sporting. “Do you hear this horseshit brother? No one has ever accused me of being good before!”
The Lord’s face dropped sharply and Baelor cut in before Maekar could do more damage. “Thank you, Lord Tarly, you honor us with your praises. It is a testament to our King and Queen, of course.”
Thankfully, the Lord turned his attention onto their father then, who accepted the praise gracefully and engaged the Lord in conversation so that Baelor could manage Maekar and stop their mother from killing him.
One of those matters was easier than the other, but Baelor had much practice in both.
On the walk to their chambers, Baelor prudently did not mention the comparison. He had intentions for the evening that would require him to remain in his brother’s good graces. He remained placid as the servants dressed them for bed and did not say a word when Maekar dropped into bed beside him, complaining about the lackluster food— especially the porcine pastries, which Baelor had to agree with. Understuffed and overbaked. He would send for the Steward when he woke tomorrow and make sure Maekar received better ones for breakfast.
Then his brother brought it up himself.
“And that fool Lord— pity Jaehaerys did not have a disagreeable, ugly wife so the comparison could be more apt.”
“I do not have a disagreeable, ugly wife,” Baelor challenged.
“How dare you say that,” Maekar bit back, but there was no heat to it.
“Foul-mouthed, perhaps?”
“I have no doubt Alysanne would have fainted at the mere knowledge of me.”
“Perhaps he only meant to compare your wombs. We have as many children as them, after all,” Baelor said, and then slipped it in. “Well— nearly.”
Maekar snorted. “What, you wish to compete with the Conciliator now?”
“If you’re offering.” Baelor seized the opportunity. He slid his arm around Maekar’s waist and pulled him closer, turning his head and leaning in to kiss the very edge of his mouth.
Maekar reared away from him, laughing. Then when he realized he was the only one doing so, Baelor received a furious look. It went straight to his cock.
“Is that a fucking jest?” He asked, incredulous.
Baelor nipped at the edge of his jaw. “Why not?” He attempted to be casual. “It’s been some time since we’ve had a babe in the nursery.”
“You greedy thing,” said Maekar, eyes wide with delight. He slapped at Baelor’s wandering hand and pulled himself fully onto his lap. “Eight children are not enough for you?”
Baelor inhaled sharply, envisioning it. “We need only have three more to beat their record. Eleven is not so far from eight.”
“Father will geld you.” Maekar snorted. “He told us to stop after Aemon.” Grabbing the ends, his brother pulled off his samite nightgown and tossed it to one side, revealing the vision that was his body. Baelor pressed a kiss to the flat of his breastbone and felt a delirious lust run through him.
“And did we? Besides, don’t you want another little one? Rhae is nearly seven— I know you miss it.”
“Miss the screaming?”
“Miss the way a babe feels cradled in your arms. And the way they look at you.” Baelor began sucking little bruises onto his neck, lapping at the sweat-salt that shimmered in the moonlight. “The way they suckle at your teats?”
He could not resist pawing at them now, crushing the left one in his tight grip as his brother whined. The flesh spilled over his fingers, the pink-white breast too weighty for him to cup entirely. Maekar stretched out every garment he owned.
“At last, you admit it,” Maekar laughed, a bit mean. “You lecher. All this to see my teats swell even more?”
“Not just your teats, my love,” said Baelor, and lowered his hand to grope furiously at Maekar’s stomach. It had never managed to go back to its original shape, despite all of his brother’s efforts. Good, he thought privately. The mere sight of it made him stiff— the sloped curve, the sag of the loose skin, the hundreds of faint white lines that covered it.
The way it quivered as Baelor fucked him.
Maekar scowled and leaned into his touch. He clasped strong hands over Baelor’s shoulders and dug into the meat of it, marking him. “Is there no end to your perversity!”
“Just one more?” He whined as Maekar ground down on his cock. “I want to fuck a babe into you.”
Maekar’s face remained scathing but he did not stop. “You would love it if I stayed round and helpless in your bed forever, wouldn’t you?”
“Round and helpless in my lap, too.” He breathed out and kissed him desperately. “Oh, love— harder!”
“Absolutely not,” gasped Maekar, rutting the seam of his cunt directly over Baelor’s cock. “I am not birthing another one of your fat-headed children just to stir your blood.”
“Fat-headed?”
“Shut up,” Maekar snarled and sank down, clasping Baelor firmly in his burning-hot cunt.
“Maekar.” He moaned, and his brother planted himself still at the base of his cock, unmoving, pulling at his shift. He raised his arms obediently and Maekar ripped it off. “My love, please, ride me properly!”
“What did I say?” He snarled. “Greedy pervert.”
But he began to move, riding up and down in Baelor’s lap, steadied only by the hands on his waist. Baelor groaned desperately. Maekar was always so hot, so wet inside, squeezing his length so tight that it almost chafed. And the very sight of him too, miles and miles of pink flesh jiggling with every movement. Baelor was mesmerized by his teats especially, massive and bouncing in his face, the dark nipples just begging to be bitten.
His brother whined when he did, bruising Baelor’s shoulders with thick fingers, his face flushed with excitement. “Baelor,” he moaned. “Oh fuck!”
“Imagine how big they’ll get,” he rasped, and leaned back against the pillows to simply watch him. “Your teats heavy with milk.”
“You want me to be your cow,” Maekar gasped, indignant.
“Yes,” said Baelor, and slapped at the right teat. Maekar snarled. He shoved at Baelor and began riding faster, gripping him with a furious abandon. “I want to see them leaking day and night, all for me.”
“For the babe!”
“You make enough for the both of us.” Baelor said, remembering the sweet taste of him. “Aching and sore. And your belly, too.”
He moved his hands to cup it. “I can’t wait for it to swell so big that you can’t see anything in front of you.”
Maekar whined, his movement steadily unbalanced. He was bright red in the face, silver hair sticking to it all askew, unraveled in the way that only Baelor was allowed to see. His thighs slapped hard against bare skin, making obscene noises. Heat coiling in his gut. he began to thrust his hips upwards.
You never look more beautiful than when you are carrying my babes.” Baelor rasped as Maekar clenched around him even tighter. “I won’t be able to stop myself from mounting you all hours of the day.”
“Do you stop yourself now?” His brother slurred, but Baelor ignored him, focusing on the dual fantasy of Maekar above him as he was now, and Maekar with child.
“Because that’s what you’re good for, born to take my cock and be bred like a mare.”
“Baelor!” Maekar spasmed, shaking desperately as he fell forward, but Baelor was prepared for it. He rolled them over and shoved Maekar’s muscled thighs flat to his chest. His brother groaned. “Fuck, spend in me!”
“Use your manners.” He chided, rutting furiously into his silken cunt. “I’ve given you eight babes already, thank me properly and ask me for another.”
“Thank you!” Maekar cried, and his voice shook as thick tears streamed down his crimson face. He felt the pressure inside of him mounting. “Thank you for fucking your children into me—oh fuck, Baelor, please! Another one, please, spend in me! I want your babe, please!”
The heat burned through Baelor’s face, his hands, his cock, the room darkened as Maekar’s tearful begging consumed him entirely. He demanded it once more, thrusting down with a feral pace as his brother wept his gratitude. Baelor slammed into him again and again and again until the spark reached his groin where it released, white-hot pleasure coursing under his skin. His vision went entirely and he collapsed onto his brother, spilling.
Maekar groaned faintly as he landed atop him, still choking back little tears, but accepted the kisses Baelor pressed to the parts of him that he could reach. He waited for their breaths to steady before carefully rising, pulling his cock out slowly.
Baelor crouched down the bed, planting his face directly in front of Maekar’s fucked-out cunt. His brother whimpered and pulled at him to come back, but Baelor did not move until he saw the lazy spill of white emerge. With a ravenous air, he lapped at the dripping seed in sheer selfish indulgence, chasing the taste of himself and his brother. He dug his tongue into the slick opening and licked and sucked until Maekar was whining, entirely overstimulated.
“Shall I fuck it back into you, my love?” Baelor whispered, and snorted at his brother’s angry grunt.
Giving his cunt a final kiss, he managed to pull away, collapsing to his side. Baelor pulled Maekar closer to lie flat on his chest and stroked idly through his luminous hair for a time.
“Baelor,” Maekar said, rubbing his cold nose into Baelor’s chest. “Do you really want to?”
“Hmm?” He asked, fairly unthinkingly.
“Have another babe?”
“Oh,” said Baelor and kissed the top of Maekar’s head. “Yes, of course. I would have another eight babes with you if I could and still ask for a dozen more afterwards.”
“Father would strangle you. And then he will waste away with guilt and the realm will be ruined because the new King is six and ten.”
“You have such faith in Valarr.”
“His ability does not preclude his age.”
Baelor laughed. “I suppose he is so capable that I forget how young he is.”
They said nothing for a few moments.
“Would you bear another?” Baelor asked, curious. “Tell me true, it is not only my decision.”
“You were not wrong. I do miss having a babe,” Maekar said, and knocked his forehead against his chest. “Valarr and Aerion do not need me around like they used to, Aemon is at the fucking citadel—”
“—He agreed to go, my love, you know I would not have forced him.”
“It still does not bring him here, does it?” Maekar snapped. “Either way, Matarys spends all day squiring, Aegon cannot stop begging to start— it is only Daella and Rhae that still speak to me, and who knows for how long.”
Then he grunted, and said in a terribly thick voice, “and Daeron.”
“And Daeron,” Baelor said gently, allowing Maekar a moment to regain himself. He too had no less guilt over their eldest.
Maekar said after a moment. “I do not have to drink moon tea in the morning. It probably will not take anyway, I am too old to be quickening.”
“Mother was around your age when she had you.”
Maekar groaned. “Be quiet. I think you have annoyed me enough, I am going to sleep now.”
Baelor only laughed and kissed his forehead. The next morning, Maekar did not drink his tea, and every morning after that Baelor hoped he would receive good news.
Four moons later, Maekar told him.
“We would like to announce something,” Baelor said happily that morning at breakfast. He placed a gentle hand on Maekar’s stomach and smiled at his family. “Muna is with child. You will be getting another sibling.”
Silence.
His brother’s face turned dangerous. “Well, do not all congratulate us at once!” He snapped.
“What wonderful news,” Valarr said immediately, pasting on an obviously false smile. He stared at the people beside him in dismay— Kiera who looked amused and Daeron who downed his wineglass.
“Congratulations, dearest goodmother.” Kiera smiled.
She would have said more, but Daeron rudely interrupted her. “Seven fucking hells, Kepa.” He looked disgusted. “Get off him!”
“Daeron!” Maekar growled, but their children were not finished causing unnecessary trouble.
“Do you think Muna has an illness,” said Matarys, to Aemon, but really it was to the whole table. “Like barrenness, but the opposite?”
“What rot!” Maekar exclaimed. “I have no fucking illness!”
“I’ll look it up when I go back to the Citadel,” Aemon ignored him, as if Matarys had expressed a reasonable doubt.
“What if I have it!” Daella said angrily. “That is so unfair! I don’t want nine children!”
“Who would!” Daeron exclaimed, spilling over his hand as he poured himself another glass.
“Put it down, fool!” Maekar hissed at their eldest.
Daeron did not acknowledge him, continuing to slosh wine everywhere. Meanwhile, Aerion was terrorizing his younger siblings.
“They’ll have to sell one of you to make space,” he said, teeth gleaming as he looked at Aegon. “Probably you, I’m sure.”
“They’ll sell you first, you boil-faced fuck!” Aegon snarled back.
“Do not curse.” Baelor said, and knew it to be entirely futile— Maekar could not utter a sentence in the absence of one. “Muna has no illness, no one is selling anyone, nothing is wrong. We are simply excited to welcome another child to our family.”
“I want a sister,” Rhae announced imperiously. “I am sure Lady Shiera will know a potion for it— Muna, will you take one if she shows me how to make it?”
“There are no potions for that, Rhae, and I have told you to stop speaking with her!” Maekar fumed, turning even more red. He would have kept going, but Aerys and Aelinor had walked in and for once they both looked to be of a pleasant mind.
“Good day to you all,” Aelinor said. Before Baelor could respond, Aemon— the traitorous fruit of his loins, melted under the sight of his favorite uncle.
“Muna is with child,” he blurted out and then turned very red.
“Another one?” Aerys said and let go of his wife’s hand to hold them over his head for a moment.
“Yes, another one!” Maekar snapped. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing at all.” Aerys’ face seemed to glow, as opposed to his wife’s which had just dropped.
“My heartiest congratulations!” Aelinor tried. She did not quite manage it, but neither Baelor nor Maekar would let on, and they accepted it with great grace and humility. Or at least, Baelor did.
As his children continued to scream, Daella tugged at Maekar’s wrist. “Can we invite Aelor and Aelora when you have the babe?” She asked.
“Yes of course— we should speak to Mother about it,” Maekar turned to him. “Rhaegel likes being the first one to see the babe.”
“I do not remember him being in the birthing room,” teased Baelor. “Surely I am the first.”
“What is this about a birthing room?” Myriah’s voice came out of nowhere.
His head jolted up, following the noise to find her standing at the door with their father. Her eyes looked at him first, then landed sharp on Maekar, accusatory. Daeron had gone entirely blank, as he had once done very often in their grandsire’s court.
Baelor sighed, looked at Maekar sitting very stiffly to his left, and knew he would have to do a great deal of managing.
“Maekar is with child,” he said, injecting as much cheer into his voice as he possibly could.
“Seven hells, another?” Myriah groaned.
“Why does this family not understand the difference between good and bad news!” Maekar seethed. Baelor immediately placed a hand on his thigh, grounding him with the contact.
“A ninth child.” Daeron’s face dropped and he looked at Baelor with a familiar expression. Baelor would not forget that face– one look at it and it sent him spiraling into the past, eight and ten years prior, standing in his father’s solar, desperate and guilty.
It had been an ill-conceived idea from the beginning, but neither Maekar nor Baelor had any better ones. “Five moons, Father,” Maekar had said. “You must wed us. You have no choice.”
“Oh, I have no choice, do I?” Their father replied, angrier than Baelor had ever seen before. “Enough of this! I will suffer no bastards in this family. Maekar— you will go to Summerhall and when the babe comes it will be given to the Faith. Baelor, you will pick some proposed alliance and be wed before the year has ended.”
“No!” Baelor cried.
Their father finally looked at him for the first time since they’d entered his solar. The fury that Maekar had aroused melted away from his face, leaving nothing but sheer devastated disappointment, choking what air remained in his chest.
“I am ashamed to be your father,” he said, and Baelor had crumpled.
In the end, it was Maekar who forced their father’s hand, running away at eight moons. He hid in the woods for three days eating only berries and fish. On the fourth, Bloodraven’s bird carried a message of surrender and a desperate plea to return, but by then the labor had come on and the babe was born a Waters.
Naming the babe after him had not warmed their father’s heart; it was only after Valarr that forgiveness had come. Baelor would not forget it, but neither would he allow another child of his to be treated like his poor Daeron.
“We are very happy on the matter and we hope to present you with a healthy grandchild very soon.” Baelor said, rather pointedly.
Their father looked from him to Maekar to the floor, and then silently marched to his seat and collapsed into it. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his forehead before saying, with audible exhaustion, “Baelor, can you not manage to spill anywhere else? Must I fetch your brother a chastity belt?”