『 : ̗̀➛Two parts of a whole, destined to find their second half, and when the sun finally sets on them, the last ember of hope glows in their eyes. ☄. *. ⋆ 』
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While staying in Braavos, Maekar attended many festivities. It was obvious to all that the young man knew how to enjoy himself. Ladies were never a problem for him, and the more time he spent with them, the less he was looking forward to marrying and settling down. He relished in the freedom of his youth and had no intention of giving it up anytime soon.
Still, the conversation with the Lysene whore sparked something in his chest. An old feeling he had long forgotten began to resurface. The wooden dangling necklace had with a few pints of ale and too many nights spent in brothels, became just that: a dangling wooden necklace. Yet as he now stood in the corner in one of the seedy taverns of Braavos, his hand, now more than ever in past months, held onto it. His fingers absentmindedly traced the intricate carvings on the pendant, memories flooding back of a time when he had been someone different, someone more grounded. Someone more him-like.
And suddenly, he remembered all the times he spent by her side, reading poems he had written in her name, and the way she would smile and laugh at his words, her eyes lighting up with admiration.
He wondered now what she was doing. Was she happy? Did she still think of him? Did his brother take good care of her?
Baelor.
It felt like a dark cloud loomed over his head every time Maekar thought about his brother. He loved Baelor dearly. But he also harboured a deep-seated resentment towards him. It was an emotion he struggled to reconcile—a complex mix of affection, admiration, and quiet envy. For Baelor had everything Maekar desired: a wife, a home, and a life. Yet, Maekar was stuck in a seemingly endless carousel of revelry and excess.
Still, Baelor had the audacity to be unhappy.
Ungrateful fool.
Despite his internal scoffing, curiosity tugged at the edges of Maekar's mind. Baelor, unhappiness? It was a notion that felt almost surreal. Baelor, the golden son, the paragon of duty and perfection, was unhappy?
All because he wanted that girl. That girl who cast him aside in favour of her father. That girl who told him there was no hope and Baelor still lusted over her. That spoilt girl who had the audacity to reject a prince.
And there he had it. Baelor was not much different from Maekar after all.
A scoff escaped from Maekar's lips. How ironic, yet oddly fitting. He took a long draught from his cup, the ale burning down his throat in a hot trail. Baelor's fixation was a mirror image of Maekar's own unrequited desires. They were both in the same miserable boat, albeit rowing in different directions. Both in love with women who will never return their affections—no matter the reason.
