Chapter Text
Unexpectedly, your frustration softened.
Not completely, but enough.
Before fully thinking through the gesture, your hand moved quietly across the table and settled gently atop his.
Warm skin met warm skin.
Not because the touch itself was improper, but because it was you who initiated it.
You, who had guarded your space so carefully since arriving within the Red Keep.
You, who rarely reached for others first, unless comforting the boys.
And now your hand rested over his as though the gesture had come naturally to you.
As though touching him no longer felt entirely forbidden.
And Baelor froze instantly beneath your touch.
You felt it immediately: The slight inhale he took. The subtle tension shifting through his hand beneath your own.
Slowly, he looked back toward you, and you smiled.
Not politely.
Not carefully.
Genuinely.
With the same softness you reserved only for the boys.
“Thank you for trusting me,” you said quietly, giving his hand the faintest squeeze as though emphasising the sincerity behind your words.
Because you did not lie merely to soothe people, that had never been who you were.
You spoke honestly, openly, reserving that kind of sincerity for only a very small number of people throughout your life.
And despite everything, the misunderstandings, the confrontation, the frustration, you truly were thankful for his trust.
The King had been right.
You were a stranger from a small, forgotten village with no noble blood, no family name powerful enough to shield you, no wealth or status to justify the place you now occupied within the Red Keep.
Yet Baelor had entrusted you with the people most precious to him.
His sons. His future kings.
Not because of your birth or appearance.
But because somewhere beneath all those layers of grief and stubbornness and fear, he had seen you clearly.
And because he had seen you clearly…
He trusted you enough to place his entire world within your hands.
The words seemed to strike him harder than any accusation ever had.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
The candles crackled softly nearby while distant wind brushed faintly against the tower windows, yet somehow the rest of the world itself seemed to fade quietly away around the two of you.
Baelor’s eyes searched yours silently. Closer now... Far too close.
Sitting side by side at the table, the distance that usually remained between your chairs had somehow disappeared without either of you noticing when exactly it happened.
Warmth mingled where your hands remained pressed together atop the wood, skin against skin, neither one attempting to pull away first.
Your breathing slowed faintly without permission as awareness settled heavily between you in a way neither of you could ignore any longer.
Not merely comfort. Not merely affection.
Something warmer.
Something dangerous.
You noticed his gaze fall then, Briefly, instinctively, toward your lips.
The movement was subtle enough that another person may never have caught it, yet you did. You always did.
Observation had long ago become instinct after the war, sharpened by months spent reading expressions, movements, and silences before danger could fully reveal itself.
And suddenly you became painfully aware of your own breathing.
Of the closeness between your faces.
Of the warmth of his hand beneath yours.
Of the way candlelight softened the harsher edges of his features until he looked less like the feared Hand of the King and more like simply… Baelor.
Your lips parted faintly as you inhaled, tongue brushing unconsciously across suddenly dry skin.
Baelor noticed.
You knew he did by the subtle shift within his expression afterwards, by the way something darker entered his gaze almost imperceptibly.
And had a mirror stood before you then, you suspected your own eyes would have betrayed the same dangerous softness.
Neither of you moved away, not immediately.
And for one suspended, dangerous moment, you genuinely wondered whether he would finally close the remaining distance between you.
Part of you waited for it.
Another part questioned whether perhaps you should be the one to move first instead.
Not because of love, but because closeness itself had become intoxicating.
The shared quiet. The trust that was slowly built between you. The warmth lingering after weeks spent learning one another piece by piece beneath guarded conversation and careful restraint.
And Baelor...
Gods, Baelor looked tempted.
You could see it openly now, within the tension tightening subtly across his face, within the way he leaned forward almost unconsciously until barely a breath remained between you.
Your eyes drifted upward toward his, silently questioning...Waiting.
For one terrible moment, Baelor almost forgot every reason he should stop.
The crown.
His position.
Your fragile trust.
The risk of ruining whatever had slowly begun growing between you.
All of it faded beneath the simple, devastating reality that you were still there.
Still close. Still looking at him. Still waiting.
A wiser woman would have pulled away then.
Would have stepped back before the moment could become something irreversible. Yet you did not.
No.
You remained exactly where you were, equally tempted despite every warning your mind attempted to offer.
Your gaze dropped briefly toward his mouth as well, drawn helplessly toward the shape of lips now close enough that you could make out every faint crease and shadow softened beneath candlelight.
You were focused on his lips as well, drawn helplessly toward their closeness now that the distance between you has nearly vanished entirely.
They were softer-looking than you expected, parted faintly with a restrained breath, every subtle detail illuminated beneath warm candlelight.
His breath brushed warmly across your skin. Close enough that it sent a faint shiver through you despite the heat lingering within the room.
The distance between you narrowed further somehow, impossibly intimate now.
The air between you had changed completely now, heavy with something neither of you had openly acknowledged before tonight.
A single movement was all it would take.
The faintest tilt forward. Nothing more.
And you would kiss him.
For one suspended heartbeat, you truly thought one of you might finally do it.
That perhaps Baelor’s restraint would finally fracture beneath the closeness, beneath your touch still resting over his hand, beneath the dangerous softness settling openly between you after weeks of carefully guarded distance.
Or perhaps your own restraint would fail first.
Because gods... You were tempted too.
Far more than you wished to admit.
Yet you did not pull away.
No.
You stayed exactly where you were, temptation curling slowly beneath your skin despite every sensible thought attempting to rise above it.
The thought unsettled you almost as much as it thrilled you.
You had not expected this when arriving within the Red Keep.
Had not expected quiet suppers and soft laughter and lingering looks to slowly become something capable of making your pulse race whenever he stepped too close.
Yet here you were.
Sitting before a prince of the realm while openly wondering what his mouth would feel like against yours.
Your eyes lifted back toward his.
Baelor looked equally lost within the moment now, whatever careful composure he usually carried around himself thinning visibly with each passing second.
You could see it in the tension gathered across his shoulders. In the meantime, his breathing had slowed in the restraint tightening behind those mismatched eyes fixed entirely upon you.
He leaned forward another fraction without seeming to realise it himself, until only a breath separated you.
Your own breath caught softly within your throat.
A wise woman would have stopped this long ago.
Would have moved away.
Would have laughed softly and broken the moment before it grew dangerous enough to consume either of you truly.
Yet neither of you moved.
You remained there, silent and waiting, your hand still resting over his while your thoughts tangled hopelessly between caution and desire.
Your gaze dropped once more toward his lips. And for one reckless moment, you nearly closed the distance yourself.
You nearly did it.
The realisation flashed through you so suddenly that it left heat rushing upward along your neck and cheeks alike.
Baelor noticed, You knew he did.
Not because he spoke, but because something shifted within his expression immediately afterwards. Something darker. Hungrier.
The restraint in him was thinning further with every heartbeat spent this close to you.
And gods... The way he looked at you then nearly undid you entirely.
Like a man trying desperately to remember himself while every instinct begged him to forget.
His thumb shifted faintly beneath your hand. The smallest movement imaginable, yet somehow it grounded him again.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Baelor inhaled through his nose. Not like this, he thought.
Not while emotions still lingered raw between you after conflict and confusion and vulnerability, neither of you fully understood yet.
Not when trust itself still felt fragile enough to bruise.
The realisation visibly hurt him.
You could see it.
See the battle waged silently behind his eyes while temptation fought against restraint.
And in the end... Restraint won.
Baelor pulled back first, not abruptly or coldly... Reluctantly.
As though every inch of distance forced between you cost him effort.
The sudden absence of his warmth altered the room immediately, leaving behind something breathless and strangely hollow in its place.
Then gently, almost carefully, he withdrew his hand from beneath yours as though fearful roughness might shatter the fragile atmosphere entirely.
You looked downward briefly afterwards, attempting to steady your breathing before the silence swallowed you both whole.
And the first thing that escaped your mouth was: “Your mother frightens me far more than your father.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
An awkward attempt to break the unbearable tension lingering between you.
Because deep down, you feared that if the silence stretched even a moment longer… Neither of you would have stopped a second time.
For one heartbeat, Baelor merely stared at you.
Then suddenly, softly... He laughed. Real laughter. Warm and low and utterly genuine.
The sound eased the tension coiled tightly around your chest almost instantly, allowing air back into the room where moments before there had only been heat and dangerous silence.
“She frightens most men at court as well,” he admitted, amusement lingering beneath his voice. “You are hardly alone.”
You exhaled a faint laugh of your own, grateful for the return of something lighter between you. “She looked at me as though she already knew every secret I ever had.”
Baelor’s smile deepened subtly at that, softer now than before. “Then you should consider yourself fortunate,” he replied. “Usually she waits before doing that.”
A groan escaped you beneath your breath while he chuckled again quietly, and somehow the heaviness hanging over supper gradually softened afterwards into something gentler.
Easier.
Though never entirely harmless again.
After supper, you left the Tower of the Hand with a lighter heart yet a far more clouded mind.
While the change of topic and the occasional laughter had eased part of the lingering tension between you, it would have been foolish to pretend the moment near the table had truly disappeared.
It followed you, quietly, persistently.
Like warmth lingering upon skin long after a hand had already pulled away.
The halls of the Red Keep had grown quieter by the time you descended the tower.
Torches flickered softly against stone walls while passing servants lowered their voices beneath the lateness of the hour.
Somewhere far below, beyond the thick castle walls, King’s Landing still breathed with distant life and noise, yet up within the higher levels of the Keep, night had finally begun settling properly.
You barely noticed the walk back toward your chambers.
Your thoughts remained elsewhere entirely.
Back in the solar.
Back beside the hearth.
Back at the table, the distance between you and Baelor had nearly vanished altogether.
By the time you finally entered your room, the silence greeting you felt almost too loud after the intimacy of the evening.
For a brief moment after closing the door behind you, you simply stood there in silence, fingers still resting loosely against the wood while the evening replayed itself endlessly within your mind.
Then your gaze drifted instinctively toward the armchair near the hearth.
Toward the dark cloak still folded carefully across its back.
You had almost forgotten about it entirely during supper.
Almost.
Slowly, you stepped closer before thought could stop you.
Your fingertips brushed lightly against the heavy fabric, tracing absentmindedly near the clasp where his hands had secured it around your shoulders upon the beach.
And instantly, the memory returned with dangerous clarity.
Warm fingers at the back of your neck.
His closeness.
His breath mingled with the sea breeze while he stood far too near.
Your stomach tightened faintly. Gods.
You pulled your hand back almost immediately afterwards as though the fabric itself had suddenly become too warm beneath your touch.
The hearth still burned softly near the wall, filling the chamber with gentle warmth and amber light.
Ellyn had clearly come and gone already while you were away; fresh water rested beside the bed, blankets properly turned down, candles lowered for the night.
Spur barely lifted his head from where he slept before the hearth before deciding you were not interesting enough to abandon sleep for.
You almost envied him.
Slowly, you changed for bed and slipped beneath the covers, yet the softness of the mattress and warmth trapped beneath heavy blankets did little to quiet the restless beating of your heart.
Instead, you found yourself staring upward at the ceiling long after extinguishing the final candle beside your bed.
And as you lay there within the dark, your thoughts returned helplessly toward the same moment again and again.
The closeness.
Gods...
You always sat in the same chairs during supper.
Always maintained the same careful distance between you, enough space to preserve propriety and caution and all the invisible lines neither of you openly crossed.
Yet tonight that space had somehow disappeared without either of you noticing.
For one suspended moment, it truly had.
You swore you could still feel the lingering heat of him near your skin even now, despite him being nowhere close.
And his gaze…
The darkness that had entered his mismatched eyes while looking at your face, then your lips.
The restraint is visible there.
The way he had stopped himself.
A muffled groan escaped you before you shamelessly dragged your pillow over your face in embarrassment.
You would be a liar if you claimed the same thoughts had not crossed your own mind.
Gods, you had been tempted. Far more than you wished to admit aloud even to yourself.
Part of you had genuinely wanted to close that final distance just to see what would happen.
To discover whether he would follow or retreat.
Whether his lips would feel as warm as the rest of him did, standing close enough to breathe against your mouth.
“By the Seven…” you mumbled weakly against the pillow, suddenly feeling like an utter fool.
You were no sheltered maiden untouched by men or unfamiliar with attraction.
You had kissed boys growing up, had nearly lost both dignity and clothing within barns and hidden fields at least twice before one of your siblings ruined the moment through catastrophic timing.
You understood desire.
Understood temptation.
And because you understood it, you recognised exactly what had nearly happened tonight.
It was just the moment, you told yourself firmly. Just closeness. Just emotion. Just the shared vulnerability after difficult days and softer conversations.
Nothing more.
You repeated the thought like a prayer despite how unconvincing it sounded even within your own mind.
Because deep down, another truth unsettled you far more.
You had wanted him to kiss you.
And perhaps what unsettled you most was not even the almost kiss itself... But the realisation that you had been the one to reach for him first.
You had touched his hand without thinking.
Had offered comfort without hesitation.
Had sat there and allowed the closeness between you to grow instead of stopping it while you still could.
The memory alone sent a fresh rush of heat across your face beneath the pillow.
Not the Hand of the King.
Not Prince Baelor Targaryen.
Just… him.
The man who looked at you as though he truly saw you beneath every wall you carried.
The man whose ridiculous need to care for you both irritated and warmed you in equal measure.
The man whose mismatched eyes seemed to follow you long after leaving every room.
You groaned softly again and buried your face deeper into the pillow as though the fabric itself might smother the humiliating thoughts before they multiplied further.
Unfortunately for you... Baelor fared no better.
Far above within the Tower of the Hand, he still sat awake long after your departure, one arm draped heavily across the chair while dying embers flickered weakly within the hearth before him.
His goblet rested forgotten within his hand, Untouched.
He had not moved for quite some time now.
Instead, he simply stared at the fire while replaying the evening endlessly within his mind, no matter how hard he attempted to think of literally anything else.
The way you had thanked him.
Gods.
That alone had nearly undone him.
Your hand over his had felt impossibly warm and soft against his skin, smaller than his own yet strong all the same.
Not the delicate, untouched softness noble ladies prized so highly, but real softness marked faintly by traces of labour and life. Human. Yours.
And your face…
The candlelight had transformed you into something dangerous entirely without meaning to.
Your eyes had darkened while staring at him.
Your lips parted softly beneath unsteady breath.
The warmth in your expression as you thanked him carried such genuine sincerity that he felt almost ashamed sitting beneath it.
Baelor groaned quietly and passed one hand slowly down his face in frustration as though the gesture itself might somehow drag him back toward reason.
His trousers remained painfully tight against his groin, every thought of your face and your closeness only worsening the situation further.
He ignored it stubbornly, refusing himself even the smallest relief.
This was punishment enough for what he had almost done.
Idiot, he thought bitterly while leaning his head back against the chair. You could have frightened her away entirely.
He was no longer some green boy ruled blindly by lust and curiosity. He was a prince of the realm. A father. A widower.
And you...
You were the woman he trusted most with his sons.
The woman he had nearly lost once already through his own failures and misguided attempts to protect what never needed fixing in the first place.
And now here he sat, long after midnight, haunted not only by guilt over what almost happened…
But by the terrible realisation that part of him desperately wished it had.
He had been tempted. Gods, he had been tempted.
The closeness between you.
The trust.
The softness in your eyes while thanking him.
You could have pulled away at any moment.
Could have stood. Broken the moment. Left him sitting there alone with his shame.
You had not.
And worse still... You had touched him first.
Not out of duty. Not politeness. Not an obligation. But gently. Openly. Willingly.
The memory of your hand settling over his had undone something within him far more thoroughly than the almost kiss ever could.
Because for the first time since meeting you, Baelor could no longer pretend the longing existed only within himself.
You had stayed.
And that truth tormented him almost as much as the memory of your lips only inches away from his own.
Slowly, Baelor set the untouched goblet aside and released a long, exhausted breath into the empty room.
For one reckless fleeting moment, Baelor nearly stood.
The impulse came suddenly and without reason; sharp enough that his body had already shifted forward before sense finally caught hold of him again.
He could still picture you leaving his solar only moments earlier.
The sound of your footsteps fading down the tower.
The softness lingering within your eyes before you disappeared beyond the door.
Part of him wanted to follow.
Gods, part of him wanted to stop you before distance and walls and propriety returned between you again.
To call you back.
To finish what almost happened between the two of you at the table.
To let you touch him more.
The thought alone sent fresh guilt crashing heavily through him.
With a quiet curse beneath his breath, Baelor leaned back into the chair once more and dragged one tired hand across his face.
Idiot.
He did not look toward his bed, did not even attempt sleep.
Because deep down, while replaying the evening again and again beneath dying firelight, he already understood something dangerous neither of you had spoken aloud.
Neither of you had truly wanted him to pull away.
And that realisation would haunt him far longer than he would ever dare admit.