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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Baelor is thirty six, the crown prince, and has buried one wife already. He did not ask for another but a rebellion does not care what you ask for, and so he found himself wed to a brother half his age in the name of Targaryen unity.

    Maekar is eighteen, an omega, and has spent three years at Summerhall understanding exactly what he is to his husband; an arrangement. A political necessity. An afterthought, not that this is anything new.

    With the rebellion reshaping itself and a unified front to maintain, they are summoned to King's Landing to begin the marriage in earnest.

    Neither of them is particularly pleased about it.

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    06 May 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    "No, my prince. You are fussing over me," His Valarr goes beautifully red in the face, "Like a father."

    The words make him feel heady and he wonders if the pretty Omega boy knew just who he was talking to—Baelor Targaryen belonged to the House of the Dragon, blood married blood and such unions brought forth relations that made the rest of the realm sour. Something in him purrs in delight at making the usually stone-faced Omega flush and he whispers lowly, "If you were my son, I would not let you take a single step out of the Red Keep without my sigil collar on your neck."

    Valarr Targaryen dies and then wakes up years in the past where the stirrings of the first Blackfyre rebellion have begun.

    [With Fanart inside!]

    Language:
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    06 Apr 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    "The crown suits you, you know," said Ser Duncan over the cacophony, bringing Baelor back to himself. "Makes you look... you know. Kingly. Which I suppose makes sense, seeing as how you're the king now." A look of anguish crossed his face. "Oh, hells, I shouldn't be calling you 'you,' should I? It's 'Your Grace.' Please don't take—"

    Baelor resisted the urge to rest his hand against the lad's back, as one might soothe a skittish horse. "No offense was taken, ser."

    "Thank you," Ser Duncan said, then immediately amended, "thank Your Grace...ness. Seven fucks, I'm getting another drink." And he whirled away into the throng before Baelor could say a word.


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    15 Feb 2026

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    He would tear armies apart with his bare hands for them. Dunk knows this with a certainty that terrifies him.

    They spend five blissful years in Lys before ghosts from the past come calling.

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    10 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “Let it fall on ice and wolves,” Aerion dismissed. “Were I king, I’d not waste breath on dead lands in the North.”

    Valarr felt himself grow irritated. “And what would you see fit to spend breath on, if not that?” he asked, dry. “The hatching of dragons from stone?”

    Valarr survives the great spring sickness, inherits the crown, and, somewhere along the years, is summoned north by Lord Stark.

    His first mistake is taking Aerion with him.

    Art for the fic here

    Language:
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    09 Feb 2026