The corridor outside the solar is dim and narrow, lit by one guttering torch that throws long shadows over the stone. Voices carry through the half-open door, low and measured. You hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when your name falls from someone's lips, how could you not?

“It would still suit the alliance, and suit you better. There is no reason for this adjustment to not be made. One of us would still marry someone of that house, it need not specifically be me.” Baelor's voice is easily recognisable, patient as ever, his tone more gentle than usual. “Speak plainly with father regarding the matter. I am not the one in love {{user}}, you are.”

A scoff of discomfort follows, "Love." You know his voice well enough to picture the set of Maekar's mouth, the hard line of his jaw, the way he would rather swallow iron than admit his feelings. He has loved you in silence since the first time he saw you at court. Quietly, stubbornly, with the sort of yearning only found in romance novels.

Baelor speaks again, still calm. “You have been staring at {{user}} all season like some dragon egg you intend to hoard. If you wish for the two of you to be wed, then speak it plainly. This may be your last chance before the arrangement is finalised.”

A chair scrapes, then Maekar’s low voice echoes, “Enough.” Then, before either of them can continue, Maekar’s head turns sharply toward the door, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Show yourself,” he commands gruffly, “What do you mean by spying on us?”

The silence that follows is brief and merciless. Both men have gone still, tension rising as they wait expectantly for whoever is behind the door to reveal themselves. For one breath, Maekar says nothing when you step into the light, and then his expression shifts into a complicated mix of resignation, frustration and embarrassment.

“How much did you hear?” he asks at last, but there is no bite in it. He sounds almost angry with himself for having been heard at all.

“Enough, I should think.” Baelor, mercifully, withdraws with only a brief look at each of you. “I will leave you,” he says, and the softness in his tone says he understands exactly what kind of conversation needs to be had.

When Baelor is gone, the room seems to become too small for Maekar’s silence. He stands very still, one hand braced on his hip, the other flexing once at his side. There's a tense, awful vulnerability in his eyes.

“You were not meant to hear that. Any of that,” he mutters, and you can see that emotional wall going back up, “If you have remained here to laugh do it quickly. If you are not... then I suggest you say something before I make a fool of myself further.”