art blog(derogatory)
Keni
Kiana Khansmith
RMH
shark vs the universe
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
DEAR READER
izzy's playlists!
todays bird
will byers stan first human second
Sweet Seals For You, Always
tannertan36
Stranger Things
trying on a metaphor
Andulka
sheepfilms
Show & Tell
#extradirty
⁂
styofa doing anything
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@heavensfiction
@heavensfiction .☘︎ ݁˖
about me!
bea, she/her, 18+ (so mdni pls)
links :)
masterlist: all characters
ongoing: river of gold (multichapter; jaime lannister x reader)
recent: winds of change (oneshot; valarr targaryen x reader)
important stuff
i write for fun and am here to have a good time, so pls keep things respectful and light-hearted when interacting <3
i'm back... are you guys still here 👀
does anybody want a daredevil/ddba fic... if so feel free to give me ideas/reqs :p character options are in the tags 👀
ps: to my asoiaf/akotsk/hotd followers don't worrry!! i haven't lost my spark of inspiration for my fantasy fics, i just wanna expand a little :)
y'all the valarr craze got to me a little too much and i am now sick near spring... but worry not i'm still writing even if at a slower pace 😭
y'all im still not at 100% lord help me i feel like i actually lived the spring sickness
y'all the valarr craze got to me a little too much and i am now sick near spring... but worry not i'm still writing even if at a slower pace 😭
quick poll...
i have two oneshots that i'm working on, and i can finish one of them up by the end of the weekend. what would you guys prefer to see first?
pick your poison...
rhaenyra targaryen (hotd)
valarr targaryen (akotsk)
valarr oneshot will be out in a couple of hours xx
ramblings about my fic...
nobody asked, but here are some observations and future plans for my jaime fic, aka river of gold; you can find it here
- character creation
one of my favourite things during character building— whether it's drawing the outlines of a personality for the reader or creating ocs— is definitely how the process allows a lot of sociological thinking.
the reader, being from a main house, as an example, is in contact with the lannisters far more than her new friends (from smaller houses). but even though she was raised with a certainty of her status, but she was still brought up with different references when compared to cersei, whose house is more affluent than the reader's.
wealth also plays a role on how characters come to be and how interactions go. alys, being from a smaller yet ambitious house, is always careful with her words and image, curating her court persona to be as perfect as the reader is from a more influential family, which leads her to feel more comfortable with her own opinions, much like meredyth— who is from a smaller but very rich house.
- meals and eating habits
another focal point for me in this story has been eating habits. since i get to tell a story with multiple chapters, i also get to build a relationship with food for each character that reflects their position, role, and mental + physical state.
in every chapter, at least one meal is described. and meals (historically and on this story) are an opportunity for socialisation and interaction. following this logic, eating goes beyond survival— it's an act that carries both personal (emotional) and public (social) meaning, and we will watch how the reader's relationship with food will evolve with her.
- public vs private life
though i haven't gotten the opportunity to work on this as much, another thing i want to explore is the difference between private and public spaces as stages for socialisation.
so far, i've written a balance between interactions in open and closed spaces, but very few are truly private, given that there's usually more than two people in the room, and conversations are interrupted— as they would've been at the time— by people coming in and out of rooms (everything was communicated either by word or on paper, and even letters were delivered by people)
in the future chapters, i plan to dive into the private lives of character a little more; i think it's a nice way to develop characters by showing instead of telling.
- concluding...
besides having a passion for history and writing, i also love sociology, which influences the way i develop characters and plotlines. throughout this fic, i hope i can write a well constructed story that you guys enjoy :)
quick poll...
i have two oneshots that i'm working on, and i can finish one of them up by the end of the weekend. what would you guys prefer to see first?
pick your poison...
rhaenyra targaryen (hotd)
valarr targaryen (akotsk)
RIVER OF GOLD - J. LANNISTER
- chapter IV -
pairing: jaime lannister x reader
word count: 3k
summary: stolen glances make up for unspoken words.
warnings: nothing too bad really, cersei being her manipulative self, reader makes new friends and allies, reader and jaime upgraded to eye contactship status, not proofread im sorry- i have a quiz tomorrow :')
notes: i'm exploring other characters' povs, jaime will be next so stay tuned bc a lot will be developed soon... also i am following tyrion's show personality as you guys will see. lastly, i have come up with two ocs for this fic that you will be introduced to on this chapter :)
masterlist
The days and weeks following your awkward moment with Jaime were… odd.
You still hadn't found out what compelled him to leave you so abruptly that day, but ever since, your interactions had drastically reduced. He began to opt for the seat farthest away from yours at the dining table, and you had never seen him so dedicated to his station in the Kingsguard. It confused you, but you left it be— as much as you were able to— and focused on getting to know the ladies at court, hoping to stop depending on your sister's list of friends and find companions of your own.
You registered the number of the page you were at in the anthology you were still reading, gently shutting the book and placing it by your side. Tyrion, who was keeping you company at the library, noticed your movement, setting his own volume down as he waited for you to speak.
“What do you think of the ladies at court?” you spoke up with a hesitant tone, earning a quiet laugh from your reading partner.
“Don’t you reckon your sister will have a more informed opinion than me?”
You traced the corners of the book that sat on your side. “I don't believe Lysa's circle of social climbers is the most reliable company. Do you?”
Your gaze met Tyrion's with a mischievous smile. A lady such as you shouldn't be so upfront, but you and him shared a similar sense of humour. A genuine friendship had been growing between you and the younger Lannister, which gladly surprised you. Besides your handmaid, Tyrion had become the only person in the Keep whom you trusted enough to have open conversations with. You were still getting to know the ladies at court, his sister was no gentle flower, and his brother… oh well.
What could you say of Jaime Lannister? He was undoubtedly a very skilled swordsman, a controversial member of the Kingsguard, and… an odd friend of sorts, you believed. Until he became a fugitive in the halls of the castle, avoiding you like a plague. It was a shame, really, but it thankfully didn't affect your friendship with his brother.
“I have no strong opinions of the feminine half of the court,” Tyrion replied, “my dearest sister has never approved of the ‘little monster’ chatting with her fine court. ‘Not now’ and ‘we’re busy’ were the most common greetings I received, and I haven't wandered around her ladies’ parties ever since.”
The mention of Cersei’s doings had your face contorting briefly, before you fixed your features into a neutral expression. You had never possessed a good impression of the Queen, but your recent proximity to her youngest brother had opened your eyes to some aspects of her true nature. Tyrion was not that much younger than you, and you trusted one another with stories of the hardships you had or still faced— such as deceased mothers and egocentric older sisters. Lysa was a dumb, innocent sweetheart compared to Cersei, you came to find out.
Your eyes roamed your surroundings before you spoke again. “Firstly, I'm sorry about your sister's cruel behaviour, that's no way to treat a little brother.” You paused for a moment at the thought of Edmund— you wondered how he was doing without you to plead his case to your father whenever he wanted to sleep in instead of training in the early morning. “And, if that's the case, I suppose I will have to trust my… two female friends at court.”
“You have good judgement,” Tyrion said with a humorous tone, “though speaking of friends… my brother hasn't mentioned you in a while. What happened?”
Of course this would fall on your head eventually. You looked up at the ceiling in resignation; the library had beautiful frescoes, at least. “I have no clue. He was being his usual insufferable self after dropping me off at my door, then Cersei walked by and he switched up completely before joining her and the King. I have no real idea as to why. Your sister doesn't seem to dislike me that much, at least not openly— her ladies in waiting even sweet talk me.”
Tyrion started out with a small smile at your initial comments, but his face quickly turned serious at your mention of Cersei's presence during what happened in the corridor to your chambers. “I see. It is truly a mystery, then,” he commented. Something under his tone and eyes was unclear to you, but you could tell it differed from his words.
The day went by, and you were finally rewarded with an exquisite supper to restore your energy. You had been engaging in courtly events more actively lately, and it was no easy feat. Your self assigned mission was to make a good impression and find friends amongst the noble ladies. It had been surprisingly successful so far. Over the past few weeks, you managed to meet a couple of girls other than your sister’s friends, and they seemed more authentic than you had expected.
Supper was served, and you enjoyed it with your recent friends. Across the table was Lady Alys Florent, and to your left sat Lady Meredyth Stokeworth— your newly found saviours at court. Alys, as her name alluded to, came from the Reach, and was offered a room in the Red Keep to step in after a lady who had passed away during childbirth. As for Meredyth, her family resided north of King's Landing, which allowed her to spend a great deal of time at the Keep.
Alys and Meredyth knew each other for a while now, but they still welcomed you into their little group. Alys was almost three years your senior, whilst Meredyth was the same age as you. Alys, carrying the Florent upbringing, which shared much in common with the ways of the Tyrells, was sweeter with her words and enjoyed the game of chess that socialisation in the capital involved. Meredyth, on the other hand, grew up in the Crownlands, and was utterly bored by court intrigue and unnecessary ceremonies, though she did know how to play the part when needed. You hoped you could build a bond with them at least somewhat like the one you cherished with your eldest sister, Catelyn.
“You were awfully morose during the Queen's afternoon tea,” Alys stated, looking at Meredyth with a knowing grin.
“It’s hard to not be bored to oblivion and back when an afternoon tea turns into an hour of watching Jocelyn Swyft try to score points with the Queen,” the young Stokeworth huffed quietly, setting the cutlery she held down on her plate. “what even is the point, anyways? She's already her lady in waiting.”
“Mere! You said you would behave.” Alys glanced your way before turning back to your other friend. “You will shock our new friend this way, and she's the only lady left whom you haven't scared away.”
“She’s not impressionable like Queen Cersei's ladies in waiting,” Meredyth retorted, “Why do you think she befriended us and not the plain arse kissers?”
“I indeed do not wish to join the Queen's party of tortured souls,” you acquiesced, hiding your smile with your goblet of arbor white.
Alys gave you and Meredyth a look of disapproval. “You two will get us in trouble with those tongues of yours,” she stopped mid sentence, looking left and right before proceeding, “... but I do agree.”
“So my point stands,” Meredyth said with a look of triumph on her face.
Alys rolled her eyes. “You won't stand if you make your points known so openly and frankly—”
Your friends fell into their usual light-hearted bickering, but you caught a white shadow behind them out of the corner of your eye. There was no evident reason for you to seek it, but you looked up anyway. And when you did, you saw him— standing a few yards away, with his emerald eyes fixed on you, was none other than Jaime Lannister. You attempted to hold his gaze, but he looked away almost immediately, walking away from your sight.
You felt a nudge on your shoulder, forcing you to snap back into reality. “What do you think?” Meredyth asked.
“Of?” You blinked, confused.
“You weren't listening, I think,” Alys spoke, “Mere was asking if you knew Queen Cersei's brothers.”
“Oh.” Your lips parted, but no words came for a good moment. “No— I mean, only Tyrion, the youngest.”
You felt your heart beat a little faster in your chest at the lie you had just told.
The night went by, and soon after came the morrow. It was time for breakfast already, but Tyrion had an insistent little thought on his mind that wouldn't dissolve, which in turn forced him to get to the bottom of it. On his own.
A dwarf who had been scorned by his father and older sister since the moment of his birth, Tyrion grew up knowing the paths in his future were incredibly limited, especially compared to his older brother. And yet, to all the Lannisters’ shock and consternation, right before Jaime— the golden heir— could become of age and follow Tywin's footsteps, King Aerys named him for the Kingsguard. Tyrion still remembered the disgrace that took his father that year. It was a year of grief; all that Tywin had worked for, his legacy, his lineage— all gone.
All of a sudden, after his brother's mandatory abdication of the Lannister titles and claims, it was Tyrion who was on the frontline of the succession. Yet, surprisingly, the event didn't taint their relationship like it did with so many siblings. But then, Jaime had always been the closest Tyrion had to a friend— until you approached him, that was. And out of love for his brother, Tyrion had ignored what he knew deep down for a while now. What he knew had been happening since his childhood, that made Cersei revel in the downfall of her family's legacy.
You were a refreshing presence in the sea of snakes that slithered along the Red Keep. Unlike the cruel and manipulative Cersei, Tyrion recognised a genuine soul in you— and he could also tell his brother saw it as well, perhaps even before him. There was more to Jaime than what met the eye, but Tyrion observed how the two of you interacted. The fish was in the process of catching the lion by the hook, but he watched that process come to a surprising halt recently.
When you told him about what had happened before things between you and Jaime froze, everything made sense. But fear not, he thought to himself. He was going to have his say in this. So here he was, in his sister's chambers, out of his own— albeit begrudging— will. Cersei had held her teeth over Jaime's neck for long enough already.
“What brings you here to bore me with your presence?” Cersei enquired, her voice low and annoyed, eyes not moving from her goblet.
Tyrion took the liberty to walk farther in, standing right by the table his sister enjoyed her breakfast from. “Good morrow to you as well,” he replied with feigned enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, however, their discussion was interrupted before Tyrion could even think of making any arguments. The door opened, and from the hallway came the last person he could've wanted in the room at that given moment.
Jaime stepped in without a clue of the tension in the air, greeting his siblings with one of those grins of his that could make an unaware passerby believe he was utterly happy all the time.
“Join us, Jaime.” Cersei set her goblet down, gesturing at the free chairs; Jaime complied. What a novelty, Tyrion thought. “Was there something you wanted to say… little brother?”
His sister's tone was so trained whenever they had company. Serpents do release their venom strategically, after all.
“It seems my memory has forsaken me this time,” he responded, equaling her moderation with his own tone, “though our brother here owes me some catching up, I believe.”
“Do I?” Jaime asked, his smile widening.
“Have you talked to our friend yet?”
Cersei's expression faltered with a frown. Jaime's grin fell.
“We haven't been exactly on talking terms—”
“And you shouldn't be.” Cersei placed her hand on Jaime's arm, her nails resembling claws in Tyrion's eyes. “It isn't very appropriate for a member of the Kingsguard to go about chasing little fish.”
“Is that what you think, brother?” Tyrion questioned, watching his sister's grip grow tighter.
“I—” the young knight hesitated, “Cersei’s right. I simply got distracted during a moment of boredom.”
Tyrion felt his sister's scorching gaze on him. “Is that all?” she asked.
“It appears so. Excuse me.”
The younger Lannister left the room in defeat. This was going to be harder to untangle than he had initially thought. Despite the current situation, though, there was one thing he still trusted— sooner or later, you would have Jaime slip out of Cersei's claws.
Your day had been uncommonly joyful so far. Breakfast was delectable, and surprisingly free from Lannister interventions, which you were already thankful for. But on top of that, you had assuredly made two new friends for good.
Alys and Meredyth were unexpected yet welcome additions to life at court. Meredyth was closer to you in age and feisty spirits, which allowed you to gossip about all the pompous hypocrites of high society with her. Alys, in contrast, appreciated ceremonies more than you and Mere— probably due to being brought up in a house that aspired to match the grandness of its higher lords, you considered. The three of you shared a good balance, and you were grateful to have feminine company other than your maid’s in the castle grounds.
The King was busy somewhere none of you knew, and the queen hadn't summoned her court today, preferring the privacy and solitude of her quarters. A free day, finally. You and your lady friends chose to spend your afternoon in the gardens— the perfect spot to disappear and relax in.
“I’m so glad to be away from my thickheaded family for however long the divine forces allow me,” Meredyth sighed, looking at the sky above dramatically.
“Surely they can't be that… challenged,” you laughed, “the Stokeworth fortune still stands, that is no easy feat.”
Alys took your arm, intertwining it with hers. “I usually lecture Mere on these things, but I'm afraid her relatives really are a bit… thick, as she says,” she giggled, almost a whisper.
“Laugh all you want, you two.” Meredyth bent her arm over her forehead, posing like a damsel in distress. “I am doomed!”
“With a face and curves like yours, I'm sure you'll manage to escape well enough,” you quipped, bringing Meredyth closer with your free arm.
“That is what I always tell her.” Alys looked at your friend, then nodded in your direction. “Though what about you?”
You tilted your head. “Me?”
“Do you miss your family?” she asked plainly.
“More than her, certainly,” you chuckled, but your tone betrayed you, “but yes, I miss them. It gets better, but I still miss my siblings a lot, especially my eldest sister.”
“Catelyn, right?” Mere mused, “My sister saw her once, not long before her wedding. Falyse said her cheekbones were ‘too sharp’, which is her bitter way of saying your sister is very pretty.”
“Cat is very pretty— and a great sister. I begged my father to let me go with her to the North at first. That's how desperate I was to avoid this place.”
“And your sister, Lysa,” Meredyth added, “Poor Lord Arryn— even if he's already old and dull. I have no idea how you charming Tullys were behind that one.”
Alys caressed your arm, and threw a stern look of disapproval at your friend. It reminded you of Cat. “You’ll see that the three of us will have enough fun here to make the time fly,” she assured, playfully nudging you with her elbow, “we will all be married to eligible lords before the blink of an eye.”
You and the girls continued your stroll, reaching the outer hedges that were clearly visible to the castle. The three of you had let go of each other's arms by now— Alys was busy smelling the rose hedges, meanwhile Mere had left to check the vines near the exit.
Before you could call for any of your friends, you felt a lingering gaze on you, a distant presence somewhere. Your eyes moved intuitively, following your gut. And when you looked up, there he was again, though farther away than last time— in his white armour, with his spun gold locks framing his face and eyes squinting slightly under the waning sunlight. You stood still where you were in the garden, as did he from the balcony, eyes meeting without a word. None of you dared to make any moves.
The bells of the Great Sept rang loudly, cutting through the previous silence. You made your way to the garden’s exit, in a rush to join Alys and Meredyth. The afternoon was reaching its end, and it was best to retreat before dusk. Your friends chattered merrily ahead of you, their eyes focused on the path ahead. You took the opportunity to glance back at the balcony. Jaime was still there. Your throat grew tight, almost like a knot had taken hold of it. You couldn't fight the feeling that the two of you had to break this silence, one way or another.
taglist:
@dahling-dahlia @senatorpadmeamidala
RIVER OF GOLD - J. LANNISTER
- chapter IV -
pairing: jaime lannister x reader
word count: 3k
summary: stolen glances make up for unspoken words.
warnings: nothing too bad really, cersei being her manipulative self, reader makes new friends and allies, reader and jaime upgraded to eye contactship status, not proofread im sorry- i have a quiz tomorrow :')
notes: i'm exploring other characters' povs, jaime will be next so stay tuned bc a lot will be developed soon... also i am following tyrion's show personality as you guys will see. lastly, i have come up with two ocs for this fic that you will be introduced to on this chapter :)
masterlist
The days and weeks following your awkward moment with Jaime were… odd.
You still hadn't found out what compelled him to leave you so abruptly that day, but ever since, your interactions had drastically reduced. He began to opt for the seat farthest away from yours at the dining table, and you had never seen him so dedicated to his station in the Kingsguard. It confused you, but you left it be— as much as you were able to— and focused on getting to know the ladies at court, hoping to stop depending on your sister's list of friends and find companions of your own.
You registered the number of the page you were at in the anthology you were still reading, gently shutting the book and placing it by your side. Tyrion, who was keeping you company at the library, noticed your movement, setting his own volume down as he waited for you to speak.
“What do you think of the ladies at court?” you spoke up with a hesitant tone, earning a quiet laugh from your reading partner.
“Don’t you reckon your sister will have a more informed opinion than me?”
You traced the corners of the book that sat on your side. “I don't believe Lysa's circle of social climbers is the most reliable company. Do you?”
Your gaze met Tyrion's with a mischievous smile. A lady such as you shouldn't be so upfront, but you and him shared a similar sense of humour. A genuine friendship had been growing between you and the younger Lannister, which gladly surprised you. Besides your handmaid, Tyrion had become the only person in the Keep whom you trusted enough to have open conversations with. You were still getting to know the ladies at court, his sister was no gentle flower, and his brother… oh well.
What could you say of Jaime Lannister? He was undoubtedly a very skilled swordsman, a controversial member of the Kingsguard, and… an odd friend of sorts, you believed. Until he became a fugitive in the halls of the castle, avoiding you like a plague. It was a shame, really, but it thankfully didn't affect your friendship with his brother.
“I have no strong opinions of the feminine half of the court,” Tyrion replied, “my dearest sister has never approved of the ‘little monster’ chatting with her fine court. ‘Not now’ and ‘we’re busy’ were the most common greetings I received, and I haven't wandered around her ladies’ parties ever since.”
The mention of Cersei’s doings had your face contorting briefly, before you fixed your features into a neutral expression. You had never possessed a good impression of the Queen, but your recent proximity to her youngest brother had opened your eyes to some aspects of her true nature. Tyrion was not that much younger than you, and you trusted one another with stories of the hardships you had or still faced— such as deceased mothers and egocentric older sisters. Lysa was a dumb, innocent sweetheart compared to Cersei, you came to find out.
Your eyes roamed your surroundings before you spoke again. “Firstly, I'm sorry about your sister's cruel behaviour, that's no way to treat a little brother.” You paused for a moment at the thought of Edmund— you wondered how he was doing without you to plead his case to your father whenever he wanted to sleep in instead of training in the early morning. “And, if that's the case, I suppose I will have to trust my… two female friends at court.”
“You have good judgement,” Tyrion said with a humorous tone, “though speaking of friends… my brother hasn't mentioned you in a while. What happened?”
Of course this would fall on your head eventually. You looked up at the ceiling in resignation; the library had beautiful frescoes, at least. “I have no clue. He was being his usual insufferable self after dropping me off at my door, then Cersei walked by and he switched up completely before joining her and the King. I have no real idea as to why. Your sister doesn't seem to dislike me that much, at least not openly— her ladies in waiting even sweet talk me.”
Tyrion started out with a small smile at your initial comments, but his face quickly turned serious at your mention of Cersei's presence during what happened in the corridor to your chambers. “I see. It is truly a mystery, then,” he commented. Something under his tone and eyes was unclear to you, but you could tell it differed from his words.
The day went by, and you were finally rewarded with an exquisite supper to restore your energy. You had been engaging in courtly events more actively lately, and it was no easy feat. Your self assigned mission was to make a good impression and find friends amongst the noble ladies. It had been surprisingly successful so far. Over the past few weeks, you managed to meet a couple of girls other than your sister’s friends, and they seemed more authentic than you had expected.
Supper was served, and you enjoyed it with your recent friends. Across the table was Lady Alys Florent, and to your left sat Lady Meredyth Stokeworth— your newly found saviours at court. Alys, as her name alluded to, came from the Reach, and was offered a room in the Red Keep to step in after a lady who had passed away during childbirth. As for Meredyth, her family resided north of King's Landing, which allowed her to spend a great deal of time at the Keep.
Alys and Meredyth knew each other for a while now, but they still welcomed you into their little group. Alys was almost three years your senior, whilst Meredyth was the same age as you. Alys, carrying the Florent upbringing, which shared much in common with the ways of the Tyrells, was sweeter with her words and enjoyed the game of chess that socialisation in the capital involved. Meredyth, on the other hand, grew up in the Crownlands, and was utterly bored by court intrigue and unnecessary ceremonies, though she did know how to play the part when needed. You hoped you could build a bond with them at least somewhat like the one you cherished with your eldest sister, Catelyn.
“You were awfully morose during the Queen's afternoon tea,” Alys stated, looking at Meredyth with a knowing grin.
“It’s hard to not be bored to oblivion and back when an afternoon tea turns into an hour of watching Jocelyn Swyft try to score points with the Queen,” the young Stokeworth huffed quietly, setting the cutlery she held down on her plate. “what even is the point, anyways? She's already her lady in waiting.”
“Mere! You said you would behave.” Alys glanced your way before turning back to your other friend. “You will shock our new friend this way, and she's the only lady left whom you haven't scared away.”
“She’s not impressionable like Queen Cersei's ladies in waiting,” Meredyth retorted, “Why do you think she befriended us and not the plain arse kissers?”
“I indeed do not wish to join the Queen's party of tortured souls,” you acquiesced, hiding your smile with your goblet of arbor white.
Alys gave you and Meredyth a look of disapproval. “You two will get us in trouble with those tongues of yours,” she stopped mid sentence, looking left and right before proceeding, “... but I do agree.”
“So my point stands,” Meredyth said with a look of triumph on her face.
Alys rolled her eyes. “You won't stand if you make your points known so openly and frankly—”
Your friends fell into their usual light-hearted bickering, but you caught a white shadow behind them out of the corner of your eye. There was no evident reason for you to seek it, but you looked up anyway. And when you did, you saw him— standing a few yards away, with his emerald eyes fixed on you, was none other than Jaime Lannister. You attempted to hold his gaze, but he looked away almost immediately, walking away from your sight.
You felt a nudge on your shoulder, forcing you to snap back into reality. “What do you think?” Meredyth asked.
“Of?” You blinked, confused.
“You weren't listening, I think,” Alys spoke, “Mere was asking if you knew Queen Cersei's brothers.”
“Oh.” Your lips parted, but no words came for a good moment. “No— I mean, only Tyrion, the youngest.”
You felt your heart beat a little faster in your chest at the lie you had just told.
The night went by, and soon after came the morrow. It was time for breakfast already, but Tyrion had an insistent little thought on his mind that wouldn't dissolve, which in turn forced him to get to the bottom of it. On his own.
A dwarf who had been scorned by his father and older sister since the moment of his birth, Tyrion grew up knowing the paths in his future were incredibly limited, especially compared to his older brother. And yet, to all the Lannisters’ shock and consternation, right before Jaime— the golden heir— could become of age and follow Tywin's footsteps, King Aerys named him for the Kingsguard. Tyrion still remembered the disgrace that took his father that year. It was a year of grief; all that Tywin had worked for, his legacy, his lineage— all gone.
All of a sudden, after his brother's mandatory abdication of the Lannister titles and claims, it was Tyrion who was on the frontline of the succession. Yet, surprisingly, the event didn't taint their relationship like it did with so many siblings. But then, Jaime had always been the closest Tyrion had to a friend— until you approached him, that was. And out of love for his brother, Tyrion had ignored what he knew deep down for a while now. What he knew had been happening since his childhood, that made Cersei revel in the downfall of her family's legacy.
You were a refreshing presence in the sea of snakes that slithered along the Red Keep. Unlike the cruel and manipulative Cersei, Tyrion recognised a genuine soul in you— and he could also tell his brother saw it as well, perhaps even before him. There was more to Jaime than what met the eye, but Tyrion observed how the two of you interacted. The fish was in the process of catching the lion by the hook, but he watched that process come to a surprising halt recently.
When you told him about what had happened before things between you and Jaime froze, everything made sense. But fear not, he thought to himself. He was going to have his say in this. So here he was, in his sister's chambers, out of his own— albeit begrudging— will. Cersei had held her teeth over Jaime's neck for long enough already.
“What brings you here to bore me with your presence?” Cersei enquired, her voice low and annoyed, eyes not moving from her goblet.
Tyrion took the liberty to walk farther in, standing right by the table his sister enjoyed her breakfast from. “Good morrow to you as well,” he replied with feigned enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, however, their discussion was interrupted before Tyrion could even think of making any arguments. The door opened, and from the hallway came the last person he could've wanted in the room at that given moment.
Jaime stepped in without a clue of the tension in the air, greeting his siblings with one of those grins of his that could make an unaware passerby believe he was utterly happy all the time.
“Join us, Jaime.” Cersei set her goblet down, gesturing at the free chairs; Jaime complied. What a novelty, Tyrion thought. “Was there something you wanted to say… little brother?”
His sister's tone was so trained whenever they had company. Serpents do release their venom strategically, after all.
“It seems my memory has forsaken me this time,” he responded, equaling her moderation with his own tone, “though our brother here owes me some catching up, I believe.”
“Do I?” Jaime asked, his smile widening.
“Have you talked to our friend yet?”
Cersei's expression faltered with a frown. Jaime's grin fell.
“We haven't been exactly on talking terms—”
“And you shouldn't be.” Cersei placed her hand on Jaime's arm, her nails resembling claws in Tyrion's eyes. “It isn't very appropriate for a member of the Kingsguard to go about chasing little fish.”
“Is that what you think, brother?” Tyrion questioned, watching his sister's grip grow tighter.
“I—” the young knight hesitated, “Cersei’s right. I simply got distracted during a moment of boredom.”
Tyrion felt his sister's scorching gaze on him. “Is that all?” she asked.
“It appears so. Excuse me.”
The younger Lannister left the room in defeat. This was going to be harder to untangle than he had initially thought. Despite the current situation, though, there was one thing he still trusted— sooner or later, you would have Jaime slip out of Cersei's claws.
Your day had been uncommonly joyful so far. Breakfast was delectable, and surprisingly free from Lannister interventions, which you were already thankful for. But on top of that, you had assuredly made two new friends for good.
Alys and Meredyth were unexpected yet welcome additions to life at court. Meredyth was closer to you in age and feisty spirits, which allowed you to gossip about all the pompous hypocrites of high society with her. Alys, in contrast, appreciated ceremonies more than you and Mere— probably due to being brought up in a house that aspired to match the grandness of its higher lords, you considered. The three of you shared a good balance, and you were grateful to have feminine company other than your maid’s in the castle grounds.
The King was busy somewhere none of you knew, and the queen hadn't summoned her court today, preferring the privacy and solitude of her quarters. A free day, finally. You and your lady friends chose to spend your afternoon in the gardens— the perfect spot to disappear and relax in.
“I’m so glad to be away from my thickheaded family for however long the divine forces allow me,” Meredyth sighed, looking at the sky above dramatically.
“Surely they can't be that… challenged,” you laughed, “the Stokeworth fortune still stands, that is no easy feat.”
Alys took your arm, intertwining it with hers. “I usually lecture Mere on these things, but I'm afraid her relatives really are a bit… thick, as she says,” she giggled, almost a whisper.
“Laugh all you want, you two.” Meredyth bent her arm over her forehead, posing like a damsel in distress. “I am doomed!”
“With a face and curves like yours, I'm sure you'll manage to escape well enough,” you quipped, bringing Meredyth closer with your free arm.
“That is what I always tell her.” Alys looked at your friend, then nodded in your direction. “Though what about you?”
You tilted your head. “Me?”
“Do you miss your family?” she asked plainly.
“More than her, certainly,” you chuckled, but your tone betrayed you, “but yes, I miss them. It gets better, but I still miss my siblings a lot, especially my eldest sister.”
“Catelyn, right?” Mere mused, “My sister saw her once, not long before her wedding. Falyse said her cheekbones were ‘too sharp’, which is her bitter way of saying your sister is very pretty.”
“Cat is very pretty— and a great sister. I begged my father to let me go with her to the North at first. That's how desperate I was to avoid this place.”
“And your sister, Lysa,” Meredyth added, “Poor Lord Arryn— even if he's already old and dull. I have no idea how you charming Tullys were behind that one.”
Alys caressed your arm, and threw a stern look of disapproval at your friend. It reminded you of Cat. “You’ll see that the three of us will have enough fun here to make the time fly,” she assured, playfully nudging you with her elbow, “we will all be married to eligible lords before the blink of an eye.”
You and the girls continued your stroll, reaching the outer hedges that were clearly visible to the castle. The three of you had let go of each other's arms by now— Alys was busy smelling the rose hedges, meanwhile Mere had left to check the vines near the exit.
Before you could call for any of your friends, you felt a lingering gaze on you, a distant presence somewhere. Your eyes moved intuitively, following your gut. And when you looked up, there he was again, though farther away than last time— in his white armour, with his spun gold locks framing his face and eyes squinting slightly under the waning sunlight. You stood still where you were in the garden, as did he from the balcony, eyes meeting without a word. None of you dared to make any moves.
The bells of the Great Sept rang loudly, cutting through the previous silence. You made your way to the garden’s exit, in a rush to join Alys and Meredyth. The afternoon was reaching its end, and it was best to retreat before dusk. Your friends chattered merrily ahead of you, their eyes focused on the path ahead. You took the opportunity to glance back at the balcony. Jaime was still there. Your throat grew tight, almost like a knot had taken hold of it. You couldn't fight the feeling that the two of you had to break this silence, one way or another.
general masterlist
game of thrones
jaime lannister
river of gold (multichapter - ongoing)
a knight of the seven kingdoms
valarr targaryen
winds of change (oneshot)
blood for blood (oneshot - coming soon)
house of the dragon
rhaenyra targaryen
goddess (oneshot - coming soon)
i have a though ab a witch/sorcerer or just a reader who dabbles in magic or whatever tf right. and she’s to be wed to valarr but knows of the dark haired targ theory and tries to get rid of that “curse”
this is such a good idea!
i already have a few thoughts on how to write a oneshot with a reader who has magic— it's a perfect match for the whole targaryen blood ritual stuff after all
thank you for interacting with my fics! i'll be working on your prompt :)
how do we feel about another valarr oneshot... 😜
btw this was my resolution after spending two days trying (and failing) to write about aerion bc i could NOT take his wildfire drinking self seriously 😭😭😭
every single dialogue i tried to write made me think boy sit down and chill tf out there are NO dragons in this room and no you are not the exception calm yourself PLEASE
with that being said aerion fans pls don't take this too seriously, AND also finn bennett did an amazing job at portraying him 🧘🏻♀️
how do we feel about another valarr oneshot... 😜
WINDS OF CHANGE - V. TARGARYEN
pairing: valarr targaryen x reader
word count: 2.8k
summary: at the hardest time of his life, valarr finds comfort in loving and being loved by you.
warnings: established relationship (reader and valarr are engaged), death (s1ep5), grief, mature & melancholic themes, hurt/comfort, love match; not proofread (yet)
notes: first time writing anything regarding valarr! in honour of season 1 coming to an end i will probably be writing a few akotsk oneshots between the chapters for river of gold. hope you enjoy xx
The brightness of the sun had long taken over the skies above King's Landing, enveloping the capital in a still darkness. Lazily slouched in your armchair, you watched the slow movement in your chambers, the dim light from your candles dancing back and forth, haphazardly projecting light and shadow on the objects in the room.
A long and lonely week had passed since your betrothed had left you behind in the city to head for Ashford Meadow. The tourney he would attend was intended to last three days, but with the journey to the Reach… he wouldn't be back before at least a couple days, that was certain. You didn't receive many updates— you were, in fact, extensively sheltered— but you kept your ears trained on the gossip that ran up and down the halls. Last you heard, through the raven that came after his arrival at the Meadow, he was alright. Not that you thought otherwise; Valarr was a gallant royal who was truly worthy of his title, just like his father, Prince Baelor.
The repeated thumping in your chest felt a little erratic when your intended surfaced in your mind. It was all a wonder to you, how fast it had all fallen in place. In a few weeks’ time, you would go from a young noble maiden to a Targaryen consort— a match far greater than what your parents had expected when the royal family came to visit your home a year ago— initially, your father had planned to approach Prince Makear with a proposition. Thanks to the Gods, however, Prince Baelor came along to show his respect, and with him came his eldest son, who caught your eye and reached for your hand sooner than any of his cousins even moved to approach you. And from then until now, the two of you had become progressively more inseparable, to the point where your betrothal was no surprise to anyone at court when it was announced.
Upon finding yourself curiously unable to sleep with the weave of thoughts circling your conscience, you rose up from your seat, heading to your window instead. You appreciated how open the windows in the castle were, how they allowed you to extend your horizons far beyond the high walls of the Keep. You observed the city below, the hairs on your nape standing up— just from the chill of the stone you were supporting your forearms on, surely— everything was well. You took a deep breath, one that came out shakier than you wished, but that was quite sufficient in calming your nerves. All was well, you murmured to yourself.
A gentle breeze rolled in, warmer than you had expected it to be. Winter really had come to an end. And by the grace of the divine, Gods be good, you would wed your lord husband to be by the next moon, in the comfortable warmth of spring, and everything would be alright, you thought. Spring would bless the Seven Kingdoms, bringing forth abundant harvests and melting down the snow and peril of winter— and with its many gifts, you prayed it would bless your marriage with healthy children and peaceful days, and all would be well.
Your joyful daydreaming seemed to settle your anxious thoughts, allowing you to enjoy the moonlit scenery before you with much more ease. But before you could relax properly, you heard a sudden surge of heavy footsteps outside your chambers— causing the hair behind your neck to rise again. The door opened with a loud thud, and you quickly turned around— only to be met with none other than your betrothed.
Valarr looked utterly wrecked, despite his attempt at straightening his posture and fixing his expression. The young prince in your chambers had never looked so vulnerable, so… human. Though he was clad in thick armour, his hair was disheveled, his eyes glossy; the freckles on his cheeks subtly streaked with a couple of dry tears that you knew were held back in public. You rushed to his side, closing the door and ensuring it was locked. You were almost at the end of your courtship, but it was no harm to be cautious.
As soon as you locked the door shut, you felt Valarr’s hands on you, guiding you to face him, careful not to hurt you with the edges of his armour. His lips landed on yours with a feeling you had never sensed from him— something akin to despair. “What happened?” you asked, recovering your breath. He didn't respond, his eyes frozen forward, vaguely aiming at the floor behind you.
Amidst his silence, you moved to rid him of his armour, quietly working on removing the dark metal from his body as deftly as you could; plate after plate, the heavy armour came off entirely. The young man in front of you fell to his knees, staining his cheeks with fresh tears, and you followed him to the floor.
“He’s gone,” Valarr broke the silence between you, his voice still struggling to come out louder than a whisper. Your brows furrowed with concern. “Who…?” you questioned with a quiet tone as well, your stomach turning at all the possible answers.
“My father,” Valarr replied as his teary eyes bore into yours. Your mouth fell open and your eyes were filled with water. It was impossible— you thought— you had heard your betrothed wrong. A king to be as strong-willed as Baelor doesn't simply die at a tourney.
“My uncle– at the trial, he–” Another sob interrupted his words, and your confusion only deepened. A trial, he said? “I shouldn't have lent him my armour, I should have been the one to fight— how could I?” His head fell on your shoulders and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. Your shock and grief could be postponed. Your beloved was the current urgent priority, especially when he had just lost the only other person who made him a genuine priority as well.
“Breathe,” you hushed, “I’m here. I won't leave you.”
After a while, you felt the arms you were caressing become tense again. The Targaryen stood up, lending you his hand for you to join him. The two of you sat on the edge of your window, where you had stood right before he had barged into your chambers. The young prince— soon to be king, given his grandfather's advanced age— seemed to have regained his usual composure, his expression returning to its standard tranquility. This was something you were working hard to break, his restraint that would seldom leave him, even in private.
“We will have to be wed this week,” Valarr murmured, and you let out a soft hum before he continued, “I’m deeply sorry about it. I know you had grand preparations for it, but we've already lost my father, and the people want to know their future queen—”
You quickly placed a hand on his arm, interrupting his line of thought. You couldn't believe your own ears and eyes. His father had just died— violently, you assumed— and he was worried about upsetting you over your wedding being brought forward?
“Worry not, my love.” You looked down at his hands, taking them into yours. “To me, it doesn't matter when nor where we get married, as long as you are the one I will bind myself to. And I am the one who is sorry about everything— your father didn't deserve to leave us this soon.”
His eyes softened, drifting away from your face to the landscape outside as he sighed. Dozens of minutes went into Valarr explaining the events in Ashford Meadow. From his younger cousin's disappearance to his return with Ser Duncan, and then the misadventures involving Aerion— oh, how you despised that brat, you thought silently— there were many events and details to be told, and you listened to every little bit. And unfortunately, your betrothed got to the point you dreaded most.
“I told him my armour was too tight, but he wouldn't listen. My father decided to defend Ser Duncan as a true king should, seeking justice for the vulnerable without exceptions.” Valarr let out a trembling breath. “He got hit by my uncle’s mace, and the helmet… did nothing. Absolutely nothing. They said his brains fell out of his skull as soon as they took it off.”
You couldn't imagine his pain. There was a moment of stillness between you, a heavy silence enveloping the two of you before he went on.
“We burned his body this afternoon. I ran here with my horses soon after. But the hedge knight was there.” His words were quieter with each sentence, and you could sense a guilt that slowly announced itself. “I was so enraged with what had happened at the tourney, that I… I did something my father would have never done. I put the weight of his death on Ser Duncan's shoulders. I told him ‘begone’... that it should’ve been him instead.”
“Your father would've been proud of you, as he always was.” Your left hand found his cheek, and you felt a little heat rise to your own face as he leaned into your touch. “And I’m certain that Ser Duncan, being the good knight you described, will forgive you— if he hasn't already.”
Valarr's shoulders relaxed at your words, almost as if he had just received a septon’s forgiveness after confessing a sin. Your fingers smoothed the sides of his hair as you observed his saddened features, stopping to toy with the white streak you held a special fondness for. And whilst you found contentment in the fact he had opened up to you today like never before, your heart ached whenever you saw the restricted tears in his eyes. You noticed how his ocean coloured iris looked more watery, but both eyes— blue and brown— conveyed the same grief, as did his posture, no matter how many ways he tried to fix it.
“My lady, if I may ask such a thing.” The young man stood up, but his gaze fell on the floor before daring to climb your figure. “May I stay in your chambers tonight? My heart longs to stay near you.”
Suddenly, the air was thicker than ever. You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears; your lungs had the air knocked out of them, urging you to say something, to finally break the last barrier between you two. You rose from your seat, your feelings scratching your throat. This was your chance.
“As does mine,” you responded, bringing his hand to your chest, “you are welcome here whenever you wish.”
Your eyes wandered to the side, awaiting words far too polite for what you felt running through your veins— instead, you were met with a pleasant surprise— your betrothed's lips slowly met yours, seeking comfort in a way that made your skin feel hot to the touch.
“I love you,” he said between breaths, his hand to the small of your back. “Don’t leave me, please.”
“Never in a thousand years,” you sighed, “I am yours.”
Unexpectedly, Valarr pulled back, his mouth still slightly agape. You looked into his eyes, observing how the colourful rings of his irises had been consumed by his expanding pupils. Something about how you phrased your feelings ignited a fire within him, further tearing the already thin line of propriety that held him back. You were his, even before any vows.
“You make me burn,” he whispered against your neck, his hot breath simultaneously burning your skin and causing chills to run up and down your spine. You felt a warm hand tracing the laces of your nightgown, stopping at the bare skin of your upper back before doing anything else. “May I?” he asked, and you were certain you had never heard a man sound so tender. Your acceptance was heard right away, and your garments found the floor very soon.
Valarr's mouth explored your neck with softness, and unwaveringly eager to discover as much skin as possible. His hands and lips were gentle on your body, almost torturing you in your anticipation. You felt his mouth wander lower and lower, eliciting pleased whimpers from your throat and evoking a chill from within your spine; too caught up in your pleasure to keep quiet, the sounds you let out became progressively less discreet, reverberating in the otherwise silent room.
Far sooner than you expected, between kisses and suckles, Valarr's strong hands slid down, and his thumb found your sweetest spot with ease. Your moans and whimpers grew progressively harder to tame; you felt his free hand caress the side of your face in a tender manner, soothing your desperation. This would be a night to remember, spoke the ever present voice in your head.
Rays of sunshine swept through the curtains, making it evident that a couple of hours had already passed since the breaking of dawn. The incoming radiance began to infiltrate your eyelids, forcing you to open your eyes and witness the day that had come to be.
Your squinting eyes roamed the scenery surrounding you, soaking in the visual evidence of everything that had taken place the night before. Between dismantled armour, discarded clothes, and ruffled sheets, you thought back on the memories you had just recently made, smiling unconsciously as you looked at all the objects scattered all the way from the door to your bed.
Your fingers were quick to find the tousled light brown strands belonging to the head that rested on the pillow next to yours. You relished the simple feeling of your intended’s soft hair between your fingers; so much had happened when you were apart, but having him in your bed now was surely reassuring. Seeing him sprawled out on your sheets reminded you of a little secret that you both held dearly since the initial blossoming of your affections. Valarr might be a prince set to inherit the throne and serve the people, but with you? He was only your lover, your companion for all seasons of life— you expected nothing of each other except for unwavering support and affection, and you always had it, unquestionably.
A heavier, conscious breath echoed in the room, and you noticed Valarr crack his eyes open, his features illuminated by the gentle sunlight infiltrating your bedchambers.
“Good morrow,” you greeted him with a grin, carefully pushing a few stray locks away from his face, which earned a content noise from him, followed by a reciprocal greeting. The young man rolled over, propping himself on his elbows to sit up.
“What time is it?” he inquired, looking out the window, two-coloured eyes sparkling with the light that splendoured his face.
You carded your fingers through his hair once more, focusing on your favourite silver strand. “I’m not certain, but it looks like the sun rose around two hours ago,” you replied.
“I should confer with the small council today. This morrow, really,” he stated, his tone matter-of-factly, yet slightly frustrated at the same time.
“I understand,” you acquiesced without resistance, aware of the responsibilities and expectations placed on your betrothed, “I can get dressed for the day whilst you sort things out. I know you have lots to do.” You motioned to get out of bed at the end of your sentence, but were stopped before your feet could hit the stone floor.
“In a bit,” Valarr protested, his hand lightly gripping your arm, “Nobody enters that council room before breakfast has fully run its course, and I need this a little longer before I face them all day.” You felt his arms wrap around your waist as you lay back down, followed by his head on your shoulder.
Your eyes mapped out each and every feature of the young prince before you, engraving all the details of his constitution in a deep safe within your mind. You traced the edges of his jawline and collarbones with your fingertips, his muscles relaxing under your touch. Being with Valarr was so easy, and you couldn't have been more grateful that it was him who approached you; out of all the possibilities laid for the two of you separately along the way, you still ended up choosing one another willingly.
Duty would soon call, and he would have to leave the safe haven of your chambers to join the real, harsh world outside. But, for the time being, you had him in your bed, and you were glad. Everything would work out for the best, no matter what challenges life threw your way. You were sure of it.
omg thank you all SO much for 200+ likes on this simple oneshot within half a day!!
feel free to comment and/or send asks sharing ideas, headcanons, really anything you would like to see here or discuss 🫶🏻
WINDS OF CHANGE - V. TARGARYEN
pairing: valarr targaryen x reader
word count: 2.8k
summary: at the hardest time of his life, valarr finds comfort in loving and being loved by you.
warnings: established relationship (reader and valarr are engaged), death (s1ep5), grief, mature & melancholic themes, hurt/comfort, love match; not proofread (yet)
notes: first time writing anything regarding valarr! in honour of season 1 coming to an end i will probably be writing a few akotsk oneshots between the chapters for river of gold. hope you enjoy xx
masterlist
The brightness of the sun had long taken over the skies above King's Landing, enveloping the capital in a still darkness. Lazily slouched in your armchair, you watched the slow movement in your chambers, the dim light from your candles dancing back and forth, haphazardly projecting light and shadow on the objects in the room.
A long and lonely week had passed since your betrothed had left you behind in the city to head for Ashford Meadow. The tourney he would attend was intended to last three days, but with the journey to the Reach… he wouldn't be back before at least a couple days, that was certain. You didn't receive many updates— you were, in fact, extensively sheltered— but you kept your ears trained on the gossip that ran up and down the halls. Last you heard, through the raven that came after his arrival at the Meadow, he was alright. Not that you thought otherwise; Valarr was a gallant royal who was truly worthy of his title, just like his father, Prince Baelor.
The repeated thumping in your chest felt a little erratic when your intended surfaced in your mind. It was all a wonder to you, how fast it had all fallen in place. In a few weeks’ time, you would go from a young noble maiden to a Targaryen consort— a match far greater than what your parents had expected when the royal family came to visit your home a year ago— initially, your father had planned to approach Prince Makear with a proposition. Thanks to the Gods, however, Prince Baelor came along to show his respect, and with him came his eldest son, who caught your eye and reached for your hand sooner than any of his cousins even moved to approach you. And from then until now, the two of you had become progressively more inseparable, to the point where your betrothal was no surprise to anyone at court when it was announced.
Upon finding yourself curiously unable to sleep with the weave of thoughts circling your conscience, you rose up from your seat, heading to your window instead. You appreciated how open the windows in the castle were, how they allowed you to extend your horizons far beyond the high walls of the Keep. You observed the city below, the hairs on your nape standing up— just from the chill of the stone you were supporting your forearms on, surely— everything was well. You took a deep breath, one that came out shakier than you wished, but that was quite sufficient in calming your nerves. All was well, you murmured to yourself.
A gentle breeze rolled in, warmer than you had expected it to be. Winter really had come to an end. And by the grace of the divine, Gods be good, you would wed your lord husband to be by the next moon, in the comfortable warmth of spring, and everything would be alright, you thought. Spring would bless the Seven Kingdoms, bringing forth abundant harvests and melting down the snow and peril of winter— and with its many gifts, you prayed it would bless your marriage with healthy children and peaceful days, and all would be well.
Your joyful daydreaming seemed to settle your anxious thoughts, allowing you to enjoy the moonlit scenery before you with much more ease. But before you could relax properly, you heard a sudden surge of heavy footsteps outside your chambers— causing the hair behind your neck to rise again. The door opened with a loud thud, and you quickly turned around— only to be met with none other than your betrothed.
Valarr looked utterly wrecked, despite his attempt at straightening his posture and fixing his expression. The young prince in your chambers had never looked so vulnerable, so… human. Though he was clad in thick armour, his hair was disheveled, his eyes glossy; the freckles on his cheeks subtly streaked with a couple of dry tears that you knew were held back in public. You rushed to his side, closing the door and ensuring it was locked. You were almost at the end of your courtship, but it was no harm to be cautious.
As soon as you locked the door shut, you felt Valarr’s hands on you, guiding you to face him, careful not to hurt you with the edges of his armour. His lips landed on yours with a feeling you had never sensed from him— something akin to despair. “What happened?” you asked, recovering your breath. He didn't respond, his eyes frozen forward, vaguely aiming at the floor behind you.
Amidst his silence, you moved to rid him of his armour, quietly working on removing the dark metal from his body as deftly as you could; plate after plate, the heavy armour came off entirely. The young man in front of you fell to his knees, staining his cheeks with fresh tears, and you followed him to the floor.
“He’s gone,” Valarr broke the silence between you, his voice still struggling to come out louder than a whisper. Your brows furrowed with concern. “Who…?” you questioned with a quiet tone as well, your stomach turning at all the possible answers.
“My father,” Valarr replied as his teary eyes bore into yours. Your mouth fell open and your eyes were filled with water. It was impossible— you thought— you had heard your betrothed wrong. A king to be as strong-willed as Baelor doesn't simply die at a tourney.
“My uncle– at the trial, he–” Another sob interrupted his words, and your confusion only deepened. A trial, he said? “I shouldn't have lent him my armour, I should have been the one to fight— how could I?” His head fell on your shoulders and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. Your shock and grief could be postponed. Your beloved was the current urgent priority, especially when he had just lost the only other person who made him a genuine priority as well.
“Breathe,” you hushed, “I’m here. I won't leave you.”
After a while, you felt the arms you were caressing become tense again. The Targaryen stood up, lending you his hand for you to join him. The two of you sat on the edge of your window, where you had stood right before he had barged into your chambers. The young prince— soon to be king, given his grandfather's advanced age— seemed to have regained his usual composure, his expression returning to its standard tranquility. This was something you were working hard to break, his restraint that would seldom leave him, even in private.
“We will have to be wed this week,” Valarr murmured, and you let out a soft hum before he continued, “I’m deeply sorry about it. I know you had grand preparations for it, but we've already lost my father, and the people want to know their future queen—”
You quickly placed a hand on his arm, interrupting his line of thought. You couldn't believe your own ears and eyes. His father had just died— violently, you assumed— and he was worried about upsetting you over your wedding being brought forward?
“Worry not, my love.” You looked down at his hands, taking them into yours. “To me, it doesn't matter when nor where we get married, as long as you are the one I will bind myself to. And I am the one who is sorry about everything— your father didn't deserve to leave us this soon.”
His eyes softened, drifting away from your face to the landscape outside as he sighed. Dozens of minutes went into Valarr explaining the events in Ashford Meadow. From his younger cousin's disappearance to his return with Ser Duncan, and then the misadventures involving Aerion— oh, how you despised that brat, you thought silently— there were many events and details to be told, and you listened to every little bit. And unfortunately, your betrothed got to the point you dreaded most.
“I told him my armour was too tight, but he wouldn't listen. My father decided to defend Ser Duncan as a true king should, seeking justice for the vulnerable without exceptions.” Valarr let out a trembling breath. “He got hit by my uncle’s mace, and the helmet… did nothing. Absolutely nothing. They said his brains fell out of his skull as soon as they took it off.”
You couldn't imagine his pain. There was a moment of stillness between you, a heavy silence enveloping the two of you before he went on.
“We burned his body this afternoon. I ran here with my horses soon after. But the hedge knight was there.” His words were quieter with each sentence, and you could sense a guilt that slowly announced itself. “I was so enraged with what had happened at the tourney, that I… I did something my father would have never done. I put the weight of his death on Ser Duncan's shoulders. I told him ‘begone’... that it should’ve been him instead.”
“Your father would've been proud of you, as he always was.” Your left hand found his cheek, and you felt a little heat rise to your own face as he leaned into your touch. “And I’m certain that Ser Duncan, being the good knight you described, will forgive you— if he hasn't already.”
Valarr's shoulders relaxed at your words, almost as if he had just received a septon’s forgiveness after confessing a sin. Your fingers smoothed the sides of his hair as you observed his saddened features, stopping to toy with the white streak you held a special fondness for. And whilst you found contentment in the fact he had opened up to you today like never before, your heart ached whenever you saw the restricted tears in his eyes. You noticed how his ocean coloured iris looked more watery, but both eyes— blue and brown— conveyed the same grief, as did his posture, no matter how many ways he tried to fix it.
“My lady, if I may ask such a thing.” The young man stood up, but his gaze fell on the floor before daring to climb your figure. “May I stay in your chambers tonight? My heart longs to stay near you.”
Suddenly, the air was thicker than ever. You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears; your lungs had the air knocked out of them, urging you to say something, to finally break the last barrier between you two. You rose from your seat, your feelings scratching your throat. This was your chance.
“As does mine,” you responded, bringing his hand to your chest, “you are welcome here whenever you wish.”
Your eyes wandered to the side, awaiting words far too polite for what you felt running through your veins— instead, you were met with a pleasant surprise— your betrothed's lips slowly met yours, seeking comfort in a way that made your skin feel hot to the touch.
“I love you,” he said between breaths, his hand to the small of your back. “Don’t leave me, please.”
“Never in a thousand years,” you sighed, “I am yours.”
Unexpectedly, Valarr pulled back, his mouth still slightly agape. You looked into his eyes, observing how the colourful rings of his irises had been consumed by his expanding pupils. Something about how you phrased your feelings ignited a fire within him, further tearing the already thin line of propriety that held him back. You were his, even before any vows.
“You make me burn,” he whispered against your neck, his hot breath simultaneously burning your skin and causing chills to run up and down your spine. You felt a warm hand tracing the laces of your nightgown, stopping at the bare skin of your upper back before doing anything else. “May I?” he asked, and you were certain you had never heard a man sound so tender. Your acceptance was heard right away, and your garments found the floor very soon.
Valarr's mouth explored your neck with softness, and unwaveringly eager to discover as much skin as possible. His hands and lips were gentle on your body, almost torturing you in your anticipation. You felt his mouth wander lower and lower, eliciting pleased whimpers from your throat and evoking a chill from within your spine; too caught up in your pleasure to keep quiet, the sounds you let out became progressively less discreet, reverberating in the otherwise silent room.
Far sooner than you expected, between kisses and suckles, Valarr's strong hands slid down, and his thumb found your sweetest spot with ease. Your moans and whimpers grew progressively harder to tame; you felt his free hand caress the side of your face in a tender manner, soothing your desperation. This would be a night to remember, spoke the ever present voice in your head.
Rays of sunshine swept through the curtains, making it evident that a couple of hours had already passed since the breaking of dawn. The incoming radiance began to infiltrate your eyelids, forcing you to open your eyes and witness the day that had come to be.
Your squinting eyes roamed the scenery surrounding you, soaking in the visual evidence of everything that had taken place the night before. Between dismantled armour, discarded clothes, and ruffled sheets, you thought back on the memories you had just recently made, smiling unconsciously as you looked at all the objects scattered all the way from the door to your bed.
Your fingers were quick to find the tousled light brown strands belonging to the head that rested on the pillow next to yours. You relished the simple feeling of your intended’s soft hair between your fingers; so much had happened when you were apart, but having him in your bed now was surely reassuring. Seeing him sprawled out on your sheets reminded you of a little secret that you both held dearly since the initial blossoming of your affections. Valarr might be a prince set to inherit the throne and serve the people, but with you? He was only your lover, your companion for all seasons of life— you expected nothing of each other except for unwavering support and affection, and you always had it, unquestionably.
A heavier, conscious breath echoed in the room, and you noticed Valarr crack his eyes open, his features illuminated by the gentle sunlight infiltrating your bedchambers.
“Good morrow,” you greeted him with a grin, carefully pushing a few stray locks away from his face, which earned a content noise from him, followed by a reciprocal greeting. The young man rolled over, propping himself on his elbows to sit up.
“What time is it?” he inquired, looking out the window, two-coloured eyes sparkling with the light that splendoured his face.
You carded your fingers through his hair once more, focusing on your favourite silver strand. “I’m not certain, but it looks like the sun rose around two hours ago,” you replied.
“I should confer with the small council today. This morrow, really,” he stated, his tone matter-of-factly, yet slightly frustrated at the same time.
“I understand,” you acquiesced without resistance, aware of the responsibilities and expectations placed on your betrothed, “I can get dressed for the day whilst you sort things out. I know you have lots to do.” You motioned to get out of bed at the end of your sentence, but were stopped before your feet could hit the stone floor.
“In a bit,” Valarr protested, his hand lightly gripping your arm, “Nobody enters that council room before breakfast has fully run its course, and I need this a little longer before I face them all day.” You felt his arms wrap around your waist as you lay back down, followed by his head on your shoulder.
Your eyes mapped out each and every feature of the young prince before you, engraving all the details of his constitution in a deep safe within your mind. You traced the edges of his jawline and collarbones with your fingertips, his muscles relaxing under your touch. Being with Valarr was so easy, and you couldn't have been more grateful that it was him who approached you; out of all the possibilities laid for the two of you separately along the way, you still ended up choosing one another willingly.
Duty would soon call, and he would have to leave the safe haven of your chambers to join the real, harsh world outside. But, for the time being, you had him in your bed, and you were glad. Everything would work out for the best, no matter what challenges life threw your way. You were sure of it.
dropping a little valarr oneshot soon whilst i work on chapter 4 for river of gold 😝
oneshot will be posted in a bit xx
ps: this is the closest I've gotten to writing smut on here 🙈