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The Red Keep was bustling with its usual restless energy. In the council chamber, voices rose and fell behind heavy doors as matters of the realm were debated. In the yard below, the newest knights were put through their training, steel clashing under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Servants hurried through corridors carrying out their endless errands, their footsteps echoing through the stone halls.
And in one of the guarded rooms within the keep, three princes had locked themselves away.
Murmurs drifted through the door, too faint for the guards to make sense of, but loud enough to suggest something was very much underway.
“Sit straight, Aerys,” came a small but insistent voice from inside.
“Argh, Maekar, you just pulled my hair.” Aerys complained, wincing as he tried to reach up.
“Don’t touch your hair.” Maekar replied at once, swatting his brother’s hand away before he could ruin his work.
Aerys huffed in annoyance but obeyed, though not without a muttered complaint under his breath.
This had been the scene inside the room for the past hour.
Seven-year-old Prince Maekar wanted to give his eldest brother something truly meaningful for his nameday. Baelor always received grand gifts, rich fabrics, fine swords, things that glittered and impressed, and Maekar had spent a long time thinking about what he could possibly give that would stand apart from all of that.
It was only after much thought that he had come to what he believed was a brilliant idea.
He had seen and heard enough to understand in his own limited way that people gave Baelor a hard time for his looks. There were moments when certain remarks hit harder than intended, when the court’s jests strayed just a little too far, yet Baelor never reacted nor complained. But Maekar had noticed the quiet sadness that followed, the way his brother would still smile, though it no longer reached his eyes.
Two weeks ago, when Lord Dasfut had made an offhand remark about Baelor’s hair, Maekar had seen the way Baelor had fallen silent for the rest of the day. The memory had stayed with him.
So, in his childish understanding of the world, Maekar had decided that he would fix it.
If Baelor looked different, then Maekar could turn himself to look like him. He had always wanted to look like his eldest brother anyway. If they all looked the same, then no one would have anything to say, and Baelor would never have to feel that way again. And what better day to do it than his nameday, when he was meant to be happy.
The idea pleased Maekar so much that he couldn’t help the wide smile spreading across his face as he ran through the halls, giggling to himself and earning suspicious looks from his mother and the servants he passed.
“I am such a genius,” he giggled to himself, already beginning to piece the plan together in his head.
He would have to find his brothers first.
Baelor would be happiest seeing all of them together. Though, if he were being honest, it also meant that if they were punished, he would not have to face it alone.
Rhaegel, Maekar’s elder brother and the closest to him in age, had not taken much convincing. A few promises of sweets, and of going to watch frogs together later, had been more than enough to win him over.
Aerys had proven far more difficult.
Unlike Maekar and Rhaegel, Aerys was old enough to understand what appearance meant in the royal family, and how closely it was watched. He had also noticed the way the councilmen spoke, the expectations already placed upon Baelor, and the burden his elder brother was forced to carry. And though he would never admit it aloud, he loved his brother. And if Maekar’s stupid plan could bring him even a moment of happiness, he would endure the embarrassment of it, if only for a day.
And that's how the whole thing had come to be, bringing them, inevitably, to the present moment in the chambers.
Rhaegel, who already had dark hair, had been spared the ordeal. He now sat comfortably on the bed, swinging his legs idly as he watched Maekar attempt to force Aerys into cooperating.
Maekar, for his part, had somehow acquired black ink and mixed it with crushed charcoal, producing a substance he had confidently declared suitable as dye. He had tested it on his own hair first, with results that were uneven and messy, but satisfactory in his eyes.
Now, halfway through Aerys’s hair, Maekar leaned back with a dramatic sigh and declared that his hands ached and that he was hungry.
They still had time before the council session ended, where both their father and Baelor were in attendance, and so, satisfied that the plan was progressing well, they agreed to take a short break.
Since neither Maekar nor Aerys could risk being seen in their current state, they sent Rhaegel to the kitchens to fetch something to eat.
However, Rhaegel, being Rhaegel, somewhere along the way became distracted by a colourful insect, and his task was quickly forgotten.
Meanwhile, inside the room, Maekar and Aerys, left waiting and hungry, were beginning to grow impatient and bored.
Aerys eventually gave up, and pulled a book into his lap and began to read.
Maekar, with nothing left to do, nudged his foot against Aerys.
“Aeryssss,” he began, dragging out the name. “Aerys, Aerys, Aerys.”
Aerys ignored him.
“Play with me while Rhaegel comes back. Please.”
Aerys only let out a distracted huff and turned a page.
After a while, Maekar, who was not known for having much patience anyway, was done. He slid off the chair, announced that he would find Rhaegel himself, and made for the door.
Aerys, without looking up, waved a hand in vague agreement.
Maekar pulled on his cloak, making sure it covered his hair well enough, and set off in search of his brother.
He went to the kitchens first, only to discover, upon asking, that Rhaegel had never even made it there.
Now thoroughly annoyed, Maekar grabbed a handful of biscuits from the pantry and made his way back. The day was warm, and the heat had begun to melt the mixture in his hair. Black streaks ran down his face, and when he tried to wipe them away, he only managed to smear them further.
He scowled, already devising several inventive ways to strangle Rhaegel.
As he approached the stairs, the doors to the council chambers at the far end of the corridor opened, and councilmen began to spill out in small groups, still engaged in conversation.
Maekar froze.
In a panic, instead of taking the stairs as intended, Maekar turned sharply and dove into a nearby bush, crouching low and trying to steady his breathing.
If Baelor saw him now, the surprise would be ruined. And if his father saw him, he was certain he would not even be given a chance to explain himself before being taken for a beating. His father got cranky and far more disagreeable after council meetings. No, if he was to be caught, then he would make sure he did not go down alone.
So intent was he on this line of thought that he did not notice the presence beside him until a voice spoke.
“What are you doing here?”
Maekar let out a sharp, startled scream, one which he would later deny ever making, and fell backwards onto the grass, the biscuits scattering from his hands.
Rhaegel stared at him, equally startled, the colourful insect still clutched carefully in his hand.
“Me?!” Maekar exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, entirely forgetting that he was meant to be hiding. “What am I doing here?!”
He pointed at himself with exaggerated indignation.
“What are you doing here?! Weren’t you supposed to get us snacks? We were waiting for you.”
Before Rhaegel could answer, the bushes were parted once more, and they found themselves face to face with Baelor and their father.
“Maekar?” Baelor asked, clearly bewildered.
“What are you both doing here-” their father began, before stopping short as he took in Maekar’s state.
He drew in a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Baelor continued to stare.
Maekar’s mind raced, searching desperately for an explanation that would not see him punished immediately, when suddenly footsteps sounded behind them.
“Maekar! Rhaegel! The guards said the council session is over, come we-”
Aerys came to an abrupt halt as he saw them, the rest of his words dying in his throat.
Silence fell as all eyes turned to him.
His hair was half black and half its original pale white, and dark streaks marked his face and clothes where the dye had run.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then, Maekar broke into a wide, triumphant smile, his teeth stained black as well, and stood up proudly from behind the bush and pointed at his elder brother.
“It was Aerys’s idea.”
-------x--------
The next day, Maekar and his brothers stood beside their parents to welcome the guests for Baelor’s nameday.
They had been washed and scrubbed clean as thoroughly as their mother could manage, though not without a scolding that had lasted far longer than the washing itself. Their father had swiftly declared their punishments. Extra lessons on etiquette for a month, and no sword training for Maekar.
No one, not even for a moment, had believed him when he insisted it had been Aerys’s idea.
Maekar had sulked for the better part of the evening at that, seated firmly in the corner of the hallway in protest, declaring to anyone who would listen that he had been terribly wronged and was, in fact, the true victim in all of this.
He had sat there looking up at anyone who passed with wide, pitiful eyes, waiting for someone to take pity on him.
Everyone had promptly ignored him.
By morning, Maekar had decided that he was a dragon, and he would bear the consequences of his actions with the pride of one.
And so now, despite it all, Maekar stood proudly by his parents’ side, his hair a blotched greyish shade. What had once been meant to be a rich black had faded after repeated washings, but he bore it like a mark of honour.
Aerys, on the other hand, wore a woollen cap, which he kept tugging down in a futile attempt to hide his half-black, half-white hair.
Across the hall, their grandmother Naerys caught his eye and offered him a mischievous, almost approving smile.
Maekar grinned back at her, pleased.
Throughout the ceremony, Baelor had tried, and failed, to hide his grin whenever he so much as glanced in their direction.
For Maekar, that alone was enough. He would happily endure any punishment in the world for this.
~~~~
Later, it was mentioned, almost in passing, that Lord Dasfut would not be able to attend the remainder of the feast, having been struck by a rather unfortunate stomach ailment.
The news was received with mild concern and quickly forgotten amidst the celebrations.
And if Maekar, at some point, discreetly disposed of a small, empty sachet he may or may not have poured into Lord Dasfut’s wine…
Well.
That was no one’s business but his own.