Chapter Text
His father, King Daeron, had died.
Baelor and he were still in his bed, in the Tower of the Hand; there were already signs of dawn breaking through the black mantle of the night, and his brother, as every day before leaving to fulfill his duties as Hand of the King, had his mouth on his throbbing cunt, eating Maekar to lessen the ache that each felt for the other until they would meet again to have breakfast with all their children in Maekar’s solar.
Maekar moaned against the back of his hand when Baelor took a particularly strong suck, perfectly aware that there were two Kingsguard posted outside their chambers, and he had little desire for them to learn about their activities.
Baelor played with Maekar’s asshole while licking his pussy and rubbing his clitoris with his sharp nose. The omega was on the verge of coming when a knock pulled them both from their bliss:
—Lord Hand! Prince Baelor! It is urgent!— Followed by another knock.
Baelor connected his bicolored eyes with Maekar’s, who sighed and made a gesture toward Baelor, granting him permission to withdraw without giving him an orgasm.
The crown prince smiled apologetically, helping his brother lower the fabric of his nightgown to cover his lower half and the large belly of eight and a half months of pregnancy.
Baelor adjusted his sleeping trousers, rinsed his mouth with water from the pitcher that remained on the table at the center of the room, and moved to open the door, unable to put on a shirt as the knight would not stop knocking. —What is all this, Ser Roland?— The prince’s voice, though firm at being interrupted, was still soft and gentle in Baelor’s unique manner.
Ser Roland swallowed, tightening his hand around the pommel of his sword. —The king, Your Grace. He has… Died.— He announced with a veil of sadness and a heavy voice. —The maids found him in his bed. The maester said it was not long ago, two hours at most. I am very sorry, Prince.—
Baelor gripped the wood of the door tightly, processing the words spoken. He tilted his face slightly, seeing the white blur that was Maekar’s hair come to his side and take him by the hand. —My love…— Maekar looked at Baelor with sadness and concern in his eyes.
Baelor breathed, but it was ragged, and the air burned in his lungs. —Our father, he…— He did not finish speaking the words; he simply leaned into his brother and let his face fall against Maekar’s neck.
Maekar did not even order Ser Roland to withdraw; the knight bowed to them and left them alone.
The omega wrapped his brother in a strong, steadying embrace, knowing how deeply Baelor was hurt by his father’s passing. Maekar hurt as well, but it had always been known that Baelor was the light of King Daeron’s eyes, just as his father had been an important figure to Baelor. If anyone was going to miss the king the most, it was his firstborn.
Maekar swallowed, knowing what this meant. He could not think only as a grieving son; he had to think as the future king consort. There would be more pressure on him, on his children, and more watchful eyes and sharp tongues ready to judge the family of the new king.
While Baelor would have to meet with the Small Council, Maekar would have to do the same with his own council; his children.
His eight pups would face more pressure now that their father would ascend the throne; more marriage proposals, new titles. Gods, his precious Valarr would have to be named heir very soon. At least his firstborn was an alpha; he could avoid marriage easily and choose freely, but his other children would not be so fortunate:
Daeron, Aerion, Matarys were omegas of marriageable age and childbearing. Aemon, Daella, Egg, Rhae had not yet passed their eleventh nameday; they could live without that responsibility for a few more years, but his older pups had to be instructed quickly by their mother.
There needed to be discussions about what qualities to seek in a suitor, which lords should be definitively ignored, and what to expect in raising their own pups.
Gods! Deals would have to be prepared with lords of great houses to maintain their loyalty to Baelor; even if everyone loved his husband, it was better to strengthen alliances, and the best way was through marriage promises. Maekar had heard about the first child of the new lord of Storm’s End, son of Lord Lyonel and Duncan the Tall, named lord consort and Lord Commander of the Baratheon guard in turn. A marital alliance would have to be proposed between the newborn Baratheon and one of his children or grandchildren, if necessary.
There would be a period of mourning for his father, as tradition dictated; Baelor would be crowned ten days after the mourning for the late king.
The omega brought a hand to his swollen belly when his baby kicked, even as he held his shattered husband.
Oh, he thought, his ninth child would be born a child of the king.
Maekar had ten days to prepare himself to be king consort and prove that his family was worthy.