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bumblesimagines · 9 days ago

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Second Chances

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While the life of nobles has many privileges, politics and alliances spare no feelings. Deals are often struck.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD/GoT warnings, labor and death, age gap mention, death of lucerys mentioned, emotionally stunted father alert, Aemond (subtly) being a lil shit

~~~

It was a stormy night amid summer when (Y/N) Baratheon came to the gripping realization he was a widow at the age of nine and ten. The ear-piercing wails of the newborn babe in his arms, freshly cleaned by the somber midwife, mixed with the familiar pelting of the rain.

He wasn't sure what to make of the sight in front of him. He wasn't sure what to make of the wailing bundle in his arms. There were a lot of things, he realized, he wasn't sure of.

His wife, Lady Elowen Tully, was laying in their marital bed in the beige nightgown she loved so much because of the floral designs on the hems. It was a gory sight. And (Y/N) couldn't look away.

Her nightgown was soaked and partially sheer from a mixture of sweat, blood, and other birthing fluids he wasn't familiar with. The blood was most prominent. There was so much of it. It was everywhere; her gown, her thighs, their sheets, on the midwife and Maester Edrick, on the floor.

Elowen had always been a girl of shorter structure. How did she have so much blood in her?

The baby was still crying. He hadn't really looked at it- at her yet. He couldn't. There was so much blood.

He knew the moment Elowen woke him up in a frenzy that it'd be a hard labor. She'd been frantic, sputtering about the blood between her thighs because nobody ever mentioned blood when her mother and his own spoke to her of childbirth. He thought it would be a small complication.

There was so much blood.

He barely processed the door opening and shutting, its stupidly loud hinges squealing like a captured rat. He was too busy looking at his wife, too busy staring at the blood dripping onto the dark stone floor when the midwife covered Elowen's lower torso.

"(Y/N)," His father's voice rumbled like thunder. A Baratheon trait. Their voices were loud and hard and meant to pierce through the thundering of the storms that were a constant presence over their home. "Look at me."

(Y/N) looked down at his daughter instead. She made him nauseous. She looked like her mother. "It's a girl." He barely recognized his own voice from how quiet it was. Shaky. Not a Baratheon trait.

His father looked grim, uncertain. "I heard." He nodded, his voice tight. "You're young. You'll have a son eventually."

Borros Baratheon wasn't known for his emotional intelligence. He was a warrior, a man to be reckoned with on and off the battlefield. He didn't cry or get excited. Always somber, always serious.

(Y/N) wanted his mother.

Clearing his throat, Maester Edrick shuffled closer. His clothes were still stained red but his hands dripped with water. "Does she have a name?" He asked carefully, his weary green eyes watching (Y/N)'s face.

Elowen believed the name would come to her once she looked upon their child's face. She'd been gone before their daughter could begin screeching.

"Uhm," (Y/N) raised his head and set his eyes on the vase on the nightstand. Elowen always kept flowers on her nightstand. "Azalea."

"Lady Azalea Baratheon." Maester Edrick nodded. "That is a lovely name."

The blood felt neverending. The stench was overwhelming.

His daughter was still crying. Her face was scrunched up and her toothless mouth was open to release her constant shrieking without stopping for even a second to catch her breath. His arms moved slowly, tentatively, bouncing her like he'd seen his mother do with his youngest sister. Azalea's face was bright red, and finally, she stopped.. only to suck in a breath and start her insistent screeching again.

He felt compelled to shake her into silence, to get her to understand that her mother's corpse was a more pressing matter but he only cradled her further into his chest.

"Please be quiet." He exhaled into her small ear, and the soft skin of her head pressed into his neck. Her tiny hands freed themselves from the golden-colored cloth she'd been expertly wrapped in to clutch at his tunic. Her crying ceased, and he felt relieved for a fleeting second.

Maester Edrick's pity was suffocating. "The silent sisters will tend to her with the utmost care, (Y/N)." He spoke softly, his voice almost coaxing.

(Y/N) didn't understand at first until he realized everyone in the room was still and staring at him. He swallowed and moved forward, past Maester Edrick and his grimacing face and past the midwife who bowed her head to cover the sorrow on her face. He stopped near the nightstand where the candle had long gone out and stared down at the woman he'd married when he was a month shy from six and ten.

Someone, one of the servants or Maester Edwrick, had the kindness to shut her eyes. She almost looked as if she were sleeping, if it weren't for the crimson staining her skin and clothes. Most of the color had already drained from her face, leaving her once naturally flushed cheeks a ghostly pale color. He willed her to open her eyes, to gasp for air and return from the dead, but she remained limp on the bed.

He hadn't realized he was trembling until he reached out to touch one of her light auburn strands, frizzy and wild from all the frantic tossing and squirming. He rubbed the string of hair between his fingers. Her hair was always soft and vibrant, so bright against the natural darkness of Storm's End. Everything about her was so, so bright.

"Her grandfather-"

"A raven will be sent to Riverrun right away, I assure you." Maester Edrick's sounded closer than he expected. He felt that familiar bony hand rest over his shoulder. "But right now, you and the babe must rest, My Lord. The wet nurse and I will watch over her throughout the night, I promise."

He kept Azalea cradled to his chest. His last piece of Elowen. "No, she- she'll stay with me."

"My Lord-"

"She'll stay with me."

Azalea stirred in his arms. She was so small. How could she be so tiny, so fragile? She was wrinkly and looked more like a balding old man than the toddlers he was used to seeing. Cassandra liked to say all babies were ugly. She was half right.

(Y/N) couldn't stand to be in the room anymore and so he walked away from their marital bed, from their room. The strikes of lighting outside illuminated the dimly lit hallway and the rumbles of thunder vibrated through his body.

Azalea hardly flinched. A true Baratheon.

He stepped into the darkness of one of their many guest bedchambers, empty; Storm's End was never on the top of anyone's list when they considered which castle to visit.

(Y/N) moved toward the bed and maneuvered his daughter onto one arm, using his hand to tug at the sheets and blankets until they formed an oval shape just the size of his little girl.

Gingerly, he placed her in the center and crawled into bed beside her. Azalea didn't stir. Her chest slowly rose and fell and her balled-up fist tightly clutched at the cloth wrapped around her.

Sleep would be fleeting, he knew that well. She'd wake soon enough with demands and shrieks until the wet nurse arrived but he'd tolerate it. Tolerating things was what he was good at.

(Y/N) stared at her for a little while longer. Nothing felt real.

He loved his parents.

His father was Lord Borros Baratheon, a man of few words and many actions. He was a warrior, a glory-seeker, a man with a permanent scowl and a love for battle. His father placed a sword in his hand the moment he was strong enough to carry it and was certain he'd every bit of Baratheon.

His mother was Lady Elenda Caron. She was what every noblewoman was expected to be; poise, peaceful, honorable, duty-bound. She completed her tasks as mother and Lady of Storm's end diligently. She knew Storm's End better than her husband.

He was proud of his parents. He loved them. He wanted to shove them into the raging waters that surrounded Storm's End and be done with their puppeteering.

(Y/N) hadn't looked at his mother since they departed from Storm's End. He kept his stare forward and focused on his three sisters, partly to keep an eye on Azalea who sat comfortably on Ellyn's lap and partly to remind himself of his missing sister.

Ever since the dreary night when Prince Lucerys lost his life in their waters, their mother never failed to remind Maris it'd been her words that'd sent Prince Aemond into a rage. Their mother detested the embarrassment it brought onto their family.

Maris wasn't known for holding her tongue. She was witty and clever and never failed to speak her mind, regardless of the situation. She was meant for great things, but she was her father's daughter and her anger controlled her.

Their mother decided the only thing that would teach Maris humility was joining the silent sisters. None of them had been thrilled at the idea.

As for the irritation he felt for his father...

Exactly two moons prior, a letter arrived at Storm's End from King's Landing; a proposal made by the ruling regent Prince Aemond. He'd left before they could decide which of the Four Storms he would marry, and to make up for his lack of answer, he offered a better betrothal:

One between Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower and the future Lord of Storm's End.

His beloved Elowen Tully was dead. The moment the air fled from her lungs and the life drained from her body, he was an eligible bachelor back on the marriage mart. It was an offensive idea and one that everyone treaded on lightly around him.

But his father believed three years was an adequate enough time for grief, never mind the fact his granddaughter couldn't even read fluently yet.

It was useless protesting or arguing with a man like Borros, especially once his mind was set on something, and (Y/N) could only huff and grumble about it whilst his sisters celebrated the idea of joining the royal court.

He watched the three of them lean toward the windows with excitement and anticipation while the carriage made its way up the road leading toward the Red Keep, their eyes big and wide. Ellyn held Azalea in her arms and pointed out things for the little girl to see. It was heartwarming to watch, but his bubbling annoyance made it hard to focus.

"Heir and future Lord of Storm's End, (Y/N) Baratheon, his mother, Lady Elenda of Storm's End, and his daughter, Lady Azalea Baratheon." The herald's voice shouted into the quiet bustle of the courtyard. The gates shook while they slid shut behind the carriage. "And his sisters: Lady Cassandra Baratheon, Lady Ellyn Baratheon, and Lady Floris Baratheon."

Cassandra immediately straightened the skirt of her golden dress, her palm pressing eagerly over the wrinkles while Floris combed her fingers through the raven waves resting over her shoulders until they were perfect.

"A smile would not kill you." His mother muttered, fingertips gently prodding at her hairnet until it straightened. "It is not every day a man marries a queen."

(Y/N) said nothing and took Azalea into his arms so Ellyn could tug at the sleeves of her dress. His daughter settled comfortably in his embrace and observed her aunts curiously, too young to understand their franticness in ensuring their appearances were nothing less than perfect.

Once the door to their carriage opened, (Y/N) held his breath and stepped out, his hold on his daughter tightening until his feet were firmly on the ground. Azalea grasped onto his collar with uncertainty and her lips jutted out into an uneasy pout.

He couldn't blame her. He felt the same way.

His mother and sisters shuffled out of the carriage after him, their giddy chatter swiftly ending with a single look from their mother.

"Welcome to King's Landing," Prince Aemond's sharp voice sliced through the air, his long legs carrying him in strides toward them. He looked pleased with himself. "I hope the journey was not strenuous."

(Y/N) was beginning to wish his father had accompanied them.

"Your concern is most gracious, Your Grace." (Y/N) bowed his head and felt his adams apple bob with a swallow. His mother looked satisfied with his answer, and he sighed softly with relief. "We couldn't be more grateful for your consideration."

Prince Aemond's smile was anything but comforting. "My mother will be returning from Baelor's Sept soon. She is a pious woman. I do not recall hearing of a sept in Storm's End."

"We have a godswood." (Y/N) felt tempted to shrug but his mother inhaled sharply through her nose, so he added, "We can have one built for Her Grace."

Prince Aemond nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Good, good. We can discuss more once you have settled in then, My Lord. Your belongings will be taken to your bedchambers; Ser Arving will escort you to them."

The Red Keep was, as expected, undeniably red, but only when the sunlight peeked through the grey clouds overhead. The massive walls encircling the castle reminded him of Storm's End, but that was where the similarities ended.

He found no joy in following the knight through the dimly lit halls of the Keep. The air was thick and dreary, hardly what he expected from the Crown's home but his sisters appeared in awe of everything.

"His Grace hopes to host the wedding soon, My Lord." Ser Arving told him, one large hand pulling on the doorknob to one of the bedchambers and nodding his head toward his sisters.

"Soon?" (Y/N) repeated with a side step to avoid being trampled by the three when they hurried into the room with shouts of who it would belong to. Satisfaction made his lips quirk when he caught sight of his mother's flushed cheeks.

Ser Arving nodded. "His Grace believes it is best to have the wedding before the battles continue. He wishes for a private affair, perhaps in the coming week."

(Y/N) almost choked on his spit.

"Week?" He managed, voice almost wheezy from a withheld cough. Azalea looked at him and her pout morphed into a deep frown. His hand gently patted her back until she relaxed again. "Surely, Her Grace would rather have a peaceful wedding once the fighting is over with."

Ser Arving shrugged but had the decency to look understanding. "Her Grace hasn't spoken of the wedding, My Lord."

(Y/N) had a feeling they had similar opinions on the marriage. Perhaps that meant he could convince her to speak with her son.

"I see."

His sisters and mother were given apartments in the same hall, roughly the same size as their rooms back home but they all seemed effortlessly thrilled with them. Ellyn and Floris were always the easiest to please. He presumed Cassandra was just eager to emerge herself in the life of a courtier.

Ser Arving led him further away from his family and a gnawing anxiety in his stomach grew. He wanted to be home in Storm's End with his father urging him to use their army in a fight against Rhaenyra Targaryen's men instead of the Vulture King in the Red Mountains.

Truthfully, the Baratheons cared little for which Targaryen sat the throne. Prince Aemond had simply struck the better deal between the two parties whilst Princess Rhaenyra relied on an oath taken by his late grandfather. Prince Lucerys never stood a chance against his uncle.

Ser Arving stopped before two tall sets of doors and murmured a greeting to the man standing by them. He was tall with tan skin, coal-black hair, and equally dark eyes. Dornish. His father would've scoffed at the very sight of him.

"Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Criston Cole, My Lord." He introduced himself with a humble bow, strands of his hair falling over his forehead. (Y/N) caught the small, quick smile he sent Azalea and decided he liked the knight. "Her Grace returned from the Sept recently, My Lord. She awaits your arrival inside."

Gods be damned.

(Y/N) held back a sigh. "Thank you, Lord Commander."

The doors groaned softly when opened and he reluctantly stepped inside the bedchambers, his hold on his daughter tightening when the doors shut behind him. He pressed a kiss to Azalea's temple and gingerly placed her on the floor so they could properly greet the Queen Dowager.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) bowed his head and observed Azalea as she grabbed part of his pant leg into her fist and clumsily curtsied. Her big (E/C) eyes peered up at him expectantly and he nodded approvingly.

When he finally looked at his would-be bride, he first noticed her auburn hair which looked so strikingly similar to Elowen's. Everything about her was similar to Elowen; her fair skin that looked slightly flushed, the way her hair curled, the auburn color that was just a shade darker, and her slim figure.

Grief constricted his heart and he averted his eyes to stare at the table she'd been sitting at. Bronze bowls filled with raspberries and blueberries, small biscuits and cakes placed expertly on scalloped-shaped stands, and steaming cups of tea.

"My Lord," Queen Alicent greeted softly, her voice and dark eyes melancholy. She looked tired, and weary, as if merely standing was a chore. "I would have welcomed you to King's Landing sooner but I was busy."

"It's alright."

He had an inkling she would've busied herself with something else if she hadn't visited the sept.

(Y/N) reached down to give Azalea his hand, his shoulders forming an awkward hunch as they approached the small rounded table. Queen Alicent scooped a pillow from the nearby couch and smoothed it out over one of the chairs for Azalea.

"Hello." She greeted warmly, her eyes crinkling with the delight of someone fond of children. She had grandchildren, he recalled as he helped Azalea sit. Were they to become his grandchildren? "You can have whatever you desire, My Lady." Her words had a lightness to them.

Azalea blinked her big eyes at him. She was quiet. His mother claimed she inherited it from both him and Elowen. They'd been very awkward children, almost too shy to function on most days.

He took a plate into his hand and scooped the berries onto it with a spoon before cutting a slice of one of the cream cakes. As expected, Azalea dug into the cake slice first, smearing her lips and big cheeks with white frosting but it only made Queen Alicent smile wider. There was something sad lingering in it.

"Most lords would rather keel over than take such care of their children." Queen Alicent said gently, her attention largely focused on Azalea. She folded a napkin over her finger and carefully wiped the frosting on Azalea's chin.

"She's my firstborn." (Y/N) muttered and wrapped his fingers around one warm cup, strong hints of mint assaulting his nose once he lifted it to his lips. "She's everything to me."

Queen Alicent nodded, understanding yet her eyes glided elsewhere, almost distantly. She'd been young when she had her firstborn to King Viserys, younger than he and Elowen. Five and ten, he believed. The news spread quickly throughout Westeros, with many softly spoken questions of Rhaenyra and her status as heir. Two more sons later and she remained grasping onto it until Aegon was abruptly crowned. He pitied her, somewhat.

"You are not much older than Aegon. That is a fact that... unnerves me." Queen Alicent revealed gently and leaned back into her seat, looking ever more regal as she set her arms over the rests and gazed back at him. "The Realm may be tearing itself apart but there are still eligible young ladies. Lord Jasper Wylde has plenty of daughters, many of whom are still without husbands."

(Y/N) took a delicate sip of the tea, mindful as to not burn his tongue, and set the cup back down on the table. "If I may speak plainly, Your Grace?" He waited for her to nod, and then took a breath once she did. "I am grateful that House Baratheon meets the Crown's expectations, and that we were considered to begin with, but I do not wish to marry. I know I will be expected to father many children to continue House Baratheon's lineage but.. I am content as is right now."

Queen Alicent nodded again. "It is to my understanding that you still grieve your wife. I cannot fault you for that."

"I appreciate it, Your Grace. Everyone has expected me to pretend as if Elowen wasn't everything to me once. I only ever wished for... for sympathy. For understanding."

"For someone to say how sorry they are for what happened to you." Queen Alicent's voice sounded strained whilst she spoke as if her chest was constricting from simply uttering those words. Her fingers curled inward and formed tight fists over the armrests when he nodded wordlessly. "I'm sorry for your tragic loss. It is not easy losing a loved one."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I'm sorry about.. everything."

Queen Alicent let out a breathless chuckle and raised her hand to run her fingertips over the edge of her eyebrow. Her shoulders lowered the slightest bit and her gaze softened, a newfound warmth emitting from her. "Aemond claimed you'd be a good match for me. He said you'd care for me better than my late husband. I was doubtful, for young men are often arrogant and impatient, but fatherhood and loss seem to have matured you."

"Your Grace?"

"You do not want a new wife; I do not want a new husband. I believe, perhaps, we can save each other from much more unfortunate fates. We can marry and not consummate the marriage. Once you are ready to move forward, our marriage can be set aside by the High Septon and we will both be free of duties others wish to thrust upon us for their own gain."

"That is... clever."

"It is." Queen Alicent smiled. "What do you say?"

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