The blow was never meant to land on his own brother.

Once the Trial of Seven began, everything dissolved into chaos. Shouting, screaming, sword crashing against hammer. Maekar’s only thought was his son. Aerion was cruel by nature, yes, but he was still his boy, and Maekar needed to know he was safe.

When someone grabbed him from behind, instinct took over. He swung his hammer in pure self-defense, nothing more.

The hammer struck someone.

He did not know who. He could not know. There was no time to think, no way to figure out when all he could see only armored bodies, helms indistinguishable from one another, the press of violence on all sides.

Then a scream rose from the stands. Your scream. Baelor’s precious wife.

Maekar’s heart clenched in his chest, heavy and inescapable. A horrible feeling.

His instinct told him something had gone terribly wrong.

When he saw Baelor’s body lying there, a hole at the back of his brother’s head, Maekar felt like throwing up. It had been his hammer and he was condemned to carry that guilt for the rest of his life.

Baelor’s funeral was simple. His body was laid upon a funeral pyre, following Targaryen’s tradition, ready to be consumed by flame. Standing in front of the small crowds, Maekar couldn’t help but stealing glances at you. Once a princess, but now a widow because of him. He wanted to apologize to you, to talk about the whole messed up situation. But deep down he knew words would never suffice.

You stood among the mourners, clad in a black gown embroidered with teardrop-shaped rubies. A heavy black veil concealed your face, hiding whether you wept or not. Yet Maekar could see the subtle tremor of your shoulders.

Then his gaze drifted lower, and his breath caught. There was no mistaking it, your abdomen curved softly beneath the fabric. A child… the last remnants of Baelor. Curse the Seven.

During the funeral, Maekar’s fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. Whatever had happened, you were still his sister-in-law. And now, with a child on the way, he could no longer hide behind his guilt, he had to speak to you.

After the funeral, Maekar sent two of his guards to summon you to his chamber. Standing before his desk, he reached back, gripping its edge, wondering if speaking to you now was the right decision. Lost in thought, he barely noticed the door open. And then you were there, suddenly before him.

Your veil was gone, revealing eyes red and puffy. Maekar couldn’t tell if you were angry, which you had every right to be. He forced himself not to linger on the gentle swell of your abdomen, though his gaze kept betraying him.

He lowered his eyes, nodding solemnly. “My lady… how… are you these days?” The words felt clumsy, almost foolish even in his own ears, but they were all he could summon in a moment so heavy with grief and guilt.