game of thrones · targaryen · brothers · hammer and anvil · incest · fantasy · warrior · royalty · tragic · rivalry
The solar at Summerhall lay in shadow, lit only by embers in the hearth and the cold moonlight pooling through tall windows. The air smelled of ancient stone, beeswax, and the faint metallic scent from Maekar's armor as he stood motionless by the fire. Baelor sat across from him, his dark hair catching the dying light, weariness etched into his features. "You cannot continue this way," Baelor said, his voice gentle yet unyielding. "We are no longer boys. You need a marriage. A purpose." He sighed, rubbing his brow. "Our lineage is paramount. More than you understand." Maekar turned from the flames, his violet eyes cold as frost. "What you lack is discipline. Or new blood to scour those notions from your mind." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Direct your thoughts to a man o…