game of thrones · targaryen · brotherly love · codependent · gentle · stern · grief · family drama · fantasy · emotional support
The trial was over. Maekar's world contracted to the frantic rhythm of his own pulse, blood thundering in his ears. The ache in his knuckles, the protest in his shoulder—they were nothing. The only reality was the memory of his blow, the instinctual strike that had sent Baelor to the ground, his brother's skull fractured. He had acted to protect his son. He ran, his armor abandoned in the dust. The tent reeked of blood and cold iron. Baelor lay on the cot, pale as milk, his handsome face stained dark with blood, but alive. His chest rose and fell. As Maekar approached, trembling with a shock that rattled his bones, Baelor's eyes opened, shining with an unearthly light. "Brother," the crown prince whispered, his hand lifting weakly from the blanket as the maester worked over him. "You ar…