heyo what’s up

I’m feeling 26. she/hers

[justmyworldiguess]

And So It Begins

valarr targaryen x afab!reader

based on this idea! a big thank you to @bornasfools for letting me cook — also the photos are not mine, credits to the owners <3

part 4 of ? first part / second part / third part

warnings: smut, vulgar language, valarr x reader have nicknames for each other, some outfit description, deception in the relationship, conflict, court politics, more of reader being torn between duty and desire, really cute moments together that are also a tad cringy, reader has visions but isn't a dreamer per say

taglist: @outpostsworld

a/n: since I have already started one feel free to comment on any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3 I know things seem to be progressing quickly but there is more to come and uncover, trust me. hope you all enjoy!

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

You wake to the sound of the bustling noise, the camp roaring with life and chattering as a pool of sunlight slips through the crack of the red and black silken tent flap.

As to be expected, Valarr’s pavilion is a substantial upgrade from the ones you have been sleeping in since you started traveling with the royal caravan. Massive and luxurious with room to hold a cackling fire in a bronze pit, wooden postings of ornately carved dragons with spikes as well as roaring mouths full of razor sharp teeth, and a huge bed wrapped in the finest fabrics outside the clothes the Heir’s heir bore, the sight was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

You felt the bare arm of your lover wrapped around your naked waist, his snores ghosting your hairline as he held your back close to his chest under a bundle of warm furs, his legs entangled through yours. You shifted your body to look at him, not wanting to wake him just yet, simply admiring his serene face at rest and how the faint morning light seemed to catch the lines on his face. Soothingly rubbing his forearms you leaned foreword to kiss him lightly on the center of his freckled chest.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Eager to get up and stretch you try to quietly untangle yourself from his grasp, which works better than you thought it to be. You move to the end of the bed and leaned back to stretch your arms, admiring the way the light catches on the elaborate Tyroshi rug as you slowly move to sit on it, interlocking your legs and crossing your arms over your limbs — head titled to rest your cheek on your knees.

You think of that night in the garden: the wonderful sex but more importantly, the connection between you and the Young Prince as well as the peace you felt once you properly came to terms with your feelings — especially since they were reciprocated even more than you initially realized. Valarr had been an attentive lover. He carried you back to his bedchambers, once the two of you fixed yourselves to look somewhat presentable, because he heard you mention your body aching under your breath. He gave you a bath, and only relented in joining you when you coaxed with a sweet kiss and the promise of not trying anything funny (you went back on your word but he ended up not minding it anyway). After finally washing off and dressing yourselves, the two of you settled in bed while a fire roared in the hearth — your heart warm as his fingers soothingly traced circled on the expanse of your skin.

Leaving in the afternoon for King’s Landing the next day after the royal caravan was packed up and ready to go, the two of you ended up breaking your fast in his bed chambers to further bask in each other’s company. Then, after dressing in your riding leathers, the two of you met the rest of House Targaryen in the courtyard of Highgarden, waiting to extend their gratitude to House Tyrell for the hospitality as well as the fun festivities.

Kiera knew immediately when the two of you walked over together, linger closer than usual as Valarr’s arm gently brushing your own, though his hands were wrapped behind his back. The Tyroshi noble had a shocked look in her eyes while Daeron grumbled crankily at her side — arms folded and dressed in all black as he stared off at servants preparing the horses like he was eager to head home. Amusing enough was that he was the first one to say something after seeing the two of you together, closer than usual.

“Finally.”

Kiera had swatted his arm again and while Valarr gave his cousin a look that read something along the lines of ‘shut up, you imbecile’ he did not deny anything, thank the gods. So neither did you.

Valarr got pulled to discuss something with his father before they left for the journey and as soon as he left your side, not before mumbling near your ear that he would be back, Kiera flocked over with a dazzling smile and a look of high anticipation.

“By the gods, you must tell me everything.”

And then you do.

You initially wondered how much would change after your night together, and frankly a small part of you went down the rabbit hole of intially thinking Valarr wanting to keep this arrangement entirely off the radar for the sake of his reputation, despite stating to you that he did not care who knew. While he preferred to only be very affectionate when it was just the two of you alone, the matter of hiding a lover among a layer of secrets like so many other men in his position of power ended up not being the case. The first night on the Kingsroad back to the crownlands, and his home, Valarr quietly told one of the servants to bring your stuff to his private chambers from now on and was unbothered by some of the looks his family gave him as a result.

Whether it was a quiet sense of defiance or confidence, you still weren’t sure. You were simply relieved not to be cast aside in the shadows because while you didn’t mind the backlash from everyone else, the royal court still unhappy with your peculiar ways and abilities, you found that you could not handle it if it came from him.

As you got up to warm your body by the fire you heard the bed shifted, a groan echoing in the tent. He was awake.

You turned to see Valarr rubbing his face with a bejeweled hand, nose scrunching in a boyish charm. You smiled while crossing your arms, feeling the morning chill on your naked skin.

“Good morning, My Dragon.”

The Targaryen moved to stretch his bare legs on top of the silky blankets, his cock on full display in all its mouthwatering glory. You remembered the first time you took it with your lips, along with the pretty little sounds he made, how it made you nearly cum right there on your knees on the stone floor. Unabashed, Valarr looked up at you sleepily.

“Why are you out of bed?”

You let your arms drop to playfully hold your hands over the fire, noticing how his two-toned eyes traced your breasts that were now on full display. “I needed to stretch my legs.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked tired, my love, and peacefully at rest. I did not want to disturb you.”

“It’s cold without you.” The small whine in his voice is very apparent and it only makes you more smug, knowing he would show such a submissive side to you and you alone. “Come back to bed.”

“Say please.”

Valarr groaned, rolled his hips when he sees your eyes wander to his dick hungrily. “Please, My Moon Princess.”

The sweet nickname makes you warm in the chest as you walk back and crawl into his open arms, kissing him sweetly multiple times on his lips as he eagerly indulged in your touch. You rest your head against his shoulder, mouth ghosting his collarbones while his hands slowly trace your bare spine. The action is innocent enough, until his palms ghost down to grip your ass. You smile against his skin.

“You naughty prince.”

“You are a tempting angel, how can I resist?” He exhales sharply as your hand wanders to trace the toned lines on his stomach.

“So are you,” You angle to look down before lifting your head to face him, blinking up at him through your lashes, knowing he could not resist such a gaze from you. Valarr debated internally (or at least pretending to) before he sighed.

“How can I refuse you?”

“You can’t,” You wink before moving down his body, littering kisses wherever you go, before you reach his cock. After pumping the length a few times with your dominant hand you waste no further time as you take it with your lips immediately, causing the prince to moan as his hands fly to grip your silver-gold hair, bucking as he slowly fucked your mouth.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

It is a few days ride from King’s Landing, after many weeks of lavishing in your lover’s arms and feeling more content than you ever had been before, especially since arriving in Westeros, when a royal attendant appears with a letter for you.

Valarr was in a council meeting with his father and had managed to string Daeron along, begrudgingly, so Kiera and yourself are sitting by a fire lit in a bronze brazier in his pavilion, deep in discussion as you felt a weird sense of deja-vu from the journey to King’s Landing to Ashford.

“What is it?” Your friend asks, shifting at the uneasy expression on your face after you thank the servant and break the seal, immediately dispersing who it is from. You read the contents quietly, sucking in a breath as you process what is written in High Valyrian.

“It seems I am to have a visitor when I return to The Red Keep.”

“A friend from The Sisterhood?”

You jostle at the words, partly because she connected the dots concerningly quickly and also at the rush of everything coming back — who you were at your roots and why you were sent here in the first place. “A mentor.”

Kiera surveyed you quietly, observing. For a girl who remained so cheerful and forthcoming she has proven herself (with time) to be perceptive. Very perceptive. Whether she chose to share such enlightments she has learned from her surroundings, however, has become a guessing game on its own. “Is that a good thing?”

You found herself unable to answer her, suddenly very ashamed. You were suppose to ensure everything in this initial mission for the Azor Ahai and while it looks like you are completing the steps efficiently you knew your heart was not the same after spending time here — and falling in love. It is why took you continuously made a potion and put it in your tea, developed by The Sisterhood during the times of Old Valyria that worked as a contraceptive more effective than even moon tea. It is why every night in Valarr’s arms it seemed that you held him tighter than the one before, as if it every moment was the last.

It is why you knew you needed to tell him the true reason why you were sent here, and how your initial target was him, but have delayed in doing so fear of losing his favor. And he was not the only one.

You found yourself looking over at Kiera, wondering what she would think if she were to find anything. Surely, she would not feel too betrayed? Maybe she could help you convince Valarr that while initially coming here to seduce him and bear his child, your love for him was profound and true? The guilt swarms you once more at the thought of asking her to help you with such a burden. You should face it alone: it was decided.

So you faked the best smile you could before bring the dragon-carved chalice to your lips, the beads from your head veil clinking against the side of your jaw with a sense of rhythmn you have found comfort in, even though Kiera was bummed you decided not to done more hairstyles showing off your ‘beautiful Valyrian locks.’ “I’m sure it is simply a chance to see Westeros and how I am doing.”

Hopefully, was the word that echoed in your mind.

Kiera raised a dark eyebrow. “You know for someone so skilled in many things, you are unexpectedly a really bad liar.”

Your right eye twitched at her remark, hitting a little closer to home than she may have realized. “I am not.”

“Yes you are.”

You dropped your head. “Nothing gets past you does it?”

“Little that I allow.” There was a teasing smile on Kiera’s lips though her warm brown eyes flickered with concern. She just wanted to help you as a friend, share your burden: it was so painfully obvious in her face that you thought of caving for a mere moment. Surely a noble lady like herself, the girl you knew who was cheerful and did nothing deceptive, especially to the ones she loved, could be trusted with this sacred knowledge? It would alleviate a weight of your chest that you always had to carry as you were raised to think this prophecy, and the power you wielded in playing a part to seeing it proceed, was bigger than you. Bigger than anyone you knew.

You end up caving, at first. You start to say something after taking in a shaky breath as Kiera leans foreword immediately to listen with great care.

“I..”

“By the gods, those insufferable cunts!”

You turn to see Daeron stomping over, followed by his cousin. The look on his face bred trouble: a stormy expression was in his eyes and though he flocked to your side just as Daeron did his wife he was not his usual self. You immediately close your mouth and brush away what you were about to say — you wouldn’t say it here before them.

Not yet.

“What is it?” Kiera forehead furrowed in concern, reaching up to curl her fingers around the edge of his deep red cape as the prince poured a heaping flask of wine into his goblet before attempting to down it in mere seconds. “My Love, please ease on the wine, like we have talked about.”

Daeron ignored her soft plea, finishing the wine in his goblet before slamming the cup on the small table between you and Kiera so hard the wood rattles lightly. Valarr sighs sourly, his body molding over you like a shadowy shield as he reached down to lightly brush a kiss on the top of your head.

“Daeron-”

“No! No, I will not have it!” His cousin held up a finger in the Young Prince’s direction, expression bordering on fury. “You were too compliant in there anyway — nodding and smiling politely when you should have told them all to fuck off!”

“What else was I supposed to do? I’m second-in-line to the Iron Throne,” Valarr slender fingers come to rest on your shoulders, tensing slightly, like he was using you as a means to ground himself. “We don’t have dragons anymore. I can’t revolt before council men when I need them on my side for the future for the realm and use the threat of dragon fire if they refuse.”

“So god damn honorable,” The Drunken Prince continues heatedly, moving to pick up his chalice once more. “If I were you I would told those petty lords to take their declarations and stick it up their—”

“Okay, that is enough from you,” Kiera stood up from her seat and swiped the goblet from his grasp, causing him to pout instinctively. “Whatever you are upset about Valarr is your cousin and not the one responsible for the manners of the royal court. So breathe and tell us what is going on.”

Despite the tensity upon entering in the silken pavilion, neither of the Targaryen princes want to confess what has happened at the council meeting that is so clearly bothering them. But you had a feeling; and a vision.

Petitions at a long, polished table by a round of nobles dressed in refinery and trying be as convincing as possible under the silk barrier of the tent. All of it is weighed by Baelor considering all the offers on paper before he looks at the Targaryen prince next to him, eerily stony and still.

‘It has been long enough,’ he attempts in a diplomatic manner, though it only causes his son to stiffen slightly in response.

“It has come, hasn’t it?” You looked up at Valarr. “Marriage.”

His face was grim, lips pinched, yet he said nothing. He didn’t need to anyway. You had pieced it together and Kiera was quick enough to follow. She winces, almost as if she is sympathetic, before tugging on Daeron’s arm.

“Let us leave them.”

He protests all the way out the door, the silken flap of the tent fluttering closed behind them as if it gave way to extra dramatic effect.

You stand to your feet, breaking away from Valarr’s grasp as you trailed to the fire at the hearth. You stare at the flames as if they will make sense of this, although you should’ve known better. Valarr was unmarried as the firstborn grandson of the king and the firstborn son of the Hand and heir — of course he would negotiated to be married. He could not prevent it anymore than you could.

Then why did the mere thought hurt so much?

Damn it. Damn it all.

You feel his gentle hands on your back, smoothing against the lines of your tense muscles under the silk of your dress. It was a reminder that no matter how nicely you dressed, how friendly you were with everyone, how useful you were at the royal court, the blood you carried from the Old Valyria and The Sisterhood (even being of noble blood) did not exist here, or was of any use for Westerosi standards. You had no father who could pay a dowry and the only lineage you were truly acquainted with came from a mother who was long gone. You might as well have been a bastard, something wretched according to many in Seven Kingdoms.

The point was you did not fit in the equation in anyway. Not in their books.

Valarr brought you to his chest, arms wrapping around your waist as you turned to nuzzle the side of his neck. He said nothing at first, simply holding you as he rested his cheek on your forehead. You thought it would anger you but you could see that you understood: what was there to say after all of this was so fresh? So vulnerable? The both of you could only dwell in each other’s arms for now, holding each other close. A reminder that even if he did eventually marry, you had him at this moment. That is what mattered.

You spoke after a moment, face still half pressed against his body. “What did you say?”

He sighed deeply. “I had to maintain the act of proper decorum before the council. Smile and say I will take all the offers in great consideration. But I made my feelings aware to my father in private.”

You stilled at the thought. Baelor may be a good man who wanted the best for his son but he was still a royal and a diplomat. He knew being of House Targaryen meant having sacrifices, even if that meant having his son marry a total stranger to strengthen alliances. “What did he say?”

Valarr paused. You waited patiently. “He doesn’t disapprove. He likes you and knows all that you have done for the realm, despite mistrusting you in the beginning. But he claims it is not as simple as that. Not politically.”

“It never is.”

The Targaryen prince exhales sharply. “I will figure out a way to remedy all of this. Push it off at the very least. Give me time.”

You could only hum in response, your heart sunken. The matter of him changing his father’s mind was unlikely but Valarr knew Baelor better than anyone, understandably. Maybe he could convince him to hold things off — for now.

But what then? Would he marry you? Would he even want to do so? It is one thing to become personal with a member of the royal family, engaging in all the matters of affairs but the legal acknowledgement by a septon himself, but a lifetime as the prince’s wife is heavy with responsibility that would (eventually) lead to becoming queen. It isn't a matter of could you do such a thing: it is more of a matter of whether you would willingly and, more importantly, would the realm even be at peace knowing the one they call the ‘Valyrian Witch’ had married their future king?

There were so many seeds of doubt, spinning in your mind helplessly as you stared off in the distance. Valarr seems to noticed this because he moves to gently cradle your cheek in an attempt to pull you out of your mind once more.

“Forgive me,” He states softly, his thumbs soothingly rubbing against your skin as you looked up at him, your hand moving up to smooth the fine fabric of his doublet. “If only I wasn’t the Heir’s heir and the son of my father. Things would be easier.”

“You can’t apologize for things you can’t control,” You reached up to bring his forehead to rest against your own, both of your eyes closing instinctively. “You cannot change these things anymore than I cannot deny my ability with the abilities they fear so much.”

“I love you.”

The confession is quiet, quick, yet no less profound. It simmers around the two of you, both of you stilling: you because you are hearing it aloud for the first time and him because he actually said it. You move away from him now, eyes studying his own, the prince’s two-tone hauntingly beautiful as ever. He seems to grow nervous at your silence and looks boyish once more, though his hold on you never wavers. You only pause a moment, knowing what you were about to say has been true for a while now, even if it initially too scared to confront it.

“I love you too.”

It is the biggest you ever see Valarr smile since you have met him: the light reaching his eyes, genuinely. He leans to kiss you deeply, both hands cradling your cheeks while you tightly grip the collar of his tunic, like you were afraid he would disappear in a moment’s notice.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

When you arrive in The Red Keep, you receive word of someone waiting for you in your private bedchambers in The Maidenvault.

The look on your face speaks for yourself and while Kiera keeps to herself her true feelings on the matter, Valarr does not. He asks if you want him to be there with you and you kindly wave him off, telling him to go rest while you would see him at dinner. He only complies after he pressing a lingering kiss on your hand, an action that causes Daeron to jokingly gag in the background and Kiera to smile in spite of herself.

You find yourself stopping outside the door to your room, a whole other persona taking over as you fix your clothes and straighten your posture. Exhaling shakily, you pause with your hand on the door handle before pushing it open.

A familiar woman is lingering by the fire in the hearth, dress in shrouds of black combined with a head veil that allowed strings of red beads to layer across her face in intricate patterns. You trace her inquiring gaze, her silent yet not unkind presence, and think of the sister who read you bedtime stories while allowing you to sleep in your bed as a young girl because you were afraid of menial things like the dark.

“Sister Laena.”

Your mentor turns and looks at you softly, holding out her hand. In a customary fashion of greeting in The Sisterhood you walk and lean down, grabbing her fingers and lifting it to your forehead quietly. She smiles as you do so, headpiece glimmering under the candlelight in your room.

“It has been awhile, my dear. How are you?”

“I am well,” you step back and clasp your hands together once more. “I hope your long journey was most agreeable.”

“I made it here safe enough, though I was surprised to be greeted by a steward of the castle, who told me that most of the royal family was away in the Reach.”

You shift a little. “I apologize for that. Had I known of your arrival sooner I would have stayed behind and given you a proper welcome.”

Sister Laena waves you off. “No matter. You have been busy with House Targaryen, gaining their trust and familiarizing yourself in their ways, in more ways than one.”

Those words make you much more uncomfortable now than they did upon your initial arrival to Westeros. “They have been very thankful since I revived their Hand and heir. I have been given a place at court and chances to show off my abilities.”

“So I have heard,” Your mentor studies you carefully, expression unreadable. She was known to be unassuming and very guarded: she reflects Valarr in that way. “And the Targaryen prince? Is he fond of you?”

You stiffen lightly though if Sister Laena notices anything she does not say it. Not yet. “He is, Sister.”

“Good.” A pleased look enters your mentor’s face, almost like she is relieved to hear such news. “That is good. Are you with child yet?”

You bit your lip, massaging the skin between your fingers with your opposing thumbs. “I am not.”

“Why not?”

“Other matters affect the situation at hand. It is complicated, unfortunately.”

Sister Laena’s brow furrows. “How so?”

“They want the prince to marry — to a noble lady in order to secure more political alliances.”

“And he is not obliged in taking a mistress?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have but it offended you. Like you were meant to be cast aside as the other woman all for a cause, even if you believed you deserved to marry the man you loved. “We haven’t spoken of it yet, Sister.”

Your mentor’s right twitches. “Why is that?”

“The news is very fresh. We received word of this, and your incoming arrival, a few days ride from King’s Landing.”

Sister Laena studies you. “You must make haste, child. The Head Lady is growing impatient. She has spoken of your lack of detail in your letters and there is whispers among our sisterhood of your betrayal.”

That stung a little. It has been awhile since you have been gone, almost two years, but your faction should know better than anyone that these things take time. You also knew, deep down, you cannot fault them for thinking so when they are not here. Especially since you have quietly taken measures not to become pregnant because you haven’t had a conversation with Valarr yet.

“I understand, Sister Laena”

“Good,” She leans over to rest a hand on your shoulder, face light for a moment, before assuming her usual position. “I have some business to attend to in the Seven Kingdoms. The Head Lady wants me to travel for some matters involving the prophecy. I have been tasked to return to check on you in a few moons time. I hope that you will have succeeded in what we have discussed by then.”

You bowed your head, ignoring the anxiety spiking in your stomach. “Of course, Sister Laena.”

Your mentor looks at you for a long time after that, deep in thought as she seems to be considering her next words carefully. Very carefully. You tense under the full scrutiny of her leveled gaze as you look away and mentally prepared for what she was going to say next.

Then she calls your name — softly.

Surprised, you glance back at her, watching her struggle to take the next breath:

“Be careful, my dear. The Sisterhood may be far from here in the Ruins of Old Valyria but they are always watching. To disobey them is a risk you have to prepare yourself for, as well the consequences.”

Later that night you sat on your bed — hands clasped between your knees and the folds of your skirt. Only one thing seemed to echo on your mind as you stayed there for a while: long after she had annouced her departure and promised to write as soon as she was available. Did she know?

The unsettling feeling ruminated for awhile, long after you went to bed and sent word to Valarr that you would miss dinner in the Great Hall and would be resting in your own room that night, making up the excuse that you were weary from your travels and needed to be alone for just a day or so. The Young Prince understood (he always did) and only beckoned you to his bedside should you feel lonely and change your mind.

It is just for tonight, you tried to tell yourself as you held the blankets up to your chin and stare lifelessly at the ceiling well past the four-poster bed. I will rest on these matters of hand in my heart and become a woman who dealt and buried them tomorrow as I seek my lover’s embrace.

Only they did not go away as quickly as you would have wanted.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

“You are quieter than usual these days, my love.”

You look up from reading a book on the history of the YiTi empires at your seat by the fire in the Targaryen prince’s solar, looking Valarr at his desk reviewing petitions and ledgers from council meetings. His father has been sending more paperwork his way every moon, in hopes of preparing him for the role of future heir, hand, and king. “I am simply thinking.”

“More than usual?”

A corner of your lips lift at the light jest, your lover turning to gaze at you fondly, resting his cheek on an open palm propped up on an elbow. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I have been working,” Valarr gestures to the endless amounts of paperwork at his desk. “I am simply taking a break to look at my beautiful woman’s face.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Such a flirt.”

“I thought you liked that in a man.”

“I like a gentleman.”

“Thank the gods I am one.”

You laugh and he smiles, softly.

“But I am serious. Since you met your mentor a few days past, you haven’t been yourself. I am not one to indulge on personal affairs but I want to know you are okay.”

You softened, closing your book as you look over at him staring at you earnestly. You set it down and walk over to him at his desk. He dropped his propped up hand and move to accept you between his legs, parting them as his palms reached out to stroke both sides of your waist. He looks up at you, eyes warm as you reach to comb your fingers through his short dark hair.

“I am alright, My Dragon. I just have a lot on my mind.”

The Young Prince remains unconvinced, studying you closely as you comb tresses through his hair. He relents after you tug the silver strand tracing behind his left ear. “If you wish me not to know now, I understand. But please promise me you will come to me if it becomes too much.”

“I promise.” You ignore the feeling of guilt sweeping your chest once more as you look at him gently — leaning down to kiss him on his head, his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips. He accepts it happily, a contented exhale through his nose as his hands knead at the skin by your hips through the thinner fabric that was your night shift.

When the two of you finally broke apart Valarr found himself still seeking your embrace, attempting to chase your lips with his own, causing you to giggle lightly.

“You need to finish this paperwork, my love.”

“It can wait,” Valarr gets out of his chair and scoops you up bridal-style like his did that fated night in Highgarden after the ball, causing you to uncharacteristically squeak, arms instantly moving to wrap around his neck. “My Moon Princess needs to be pleased.”

You don’t fight him then — not when he laid you on his bed and proceeded to lean down and kiss you senseless, your hands fiddling with the laces of his tunic so it can be pushed off his arms easily. You let your hands travel to his bare skin under his thin cotton shirt, leaning foreword to suck a sweet spot on his neck that has the Targaryen prince gasping, gripping the headboard with a sense of unbridled strength that never ceases to amaze you.

You try not to think of Sister Laena’s words, her warning, as the two of you lose yourselves in your desires for each other bodies. You hold him a little closer that night, silently praying to the Valyrian Gods that they will forgive you for choosing him first and also praying for mercy if Valarr were to ever find out, knowing he may feel betrayed and hurt.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

It is next morning that you find Kiera in the royal gardens, on a mission of your own.

She is petting a tomcat that is known to frequent The Red Keep in her lap, purring under her soothing rubs on its black-and-white fur and rubbing its head against her arm of Tyroshi silks, the noble lady from Essos humming a tune under her breath. You recognize it

You hated ruining her solitude with some weighted confidental information but you had nowhere else to go. Valarr needed to know and you didn’t know how to tell him without breaking his heart completely. Kiera was the next best bet — she knew you better than anyone, maybe even better than your lover (for now), and she had welcomed you with open arms the moment you arrived at the royal court in King’s Landing. You trusted her and, with that trust, you were decided to take a risk because you simply couldn’t do this alone. It was killing you inside.

She looked up at you, smiling, only to falter slightly at the sight of your serious expression as you sat down next to her.

“I need to tell you something. About me, and The Sisterhood. But no one else can know,” You clasp your hands together in your lap, head bowed as you tried to prevent them from shaking lightly. You were more terrified than you realized. “Can I trust you?”

She did not hesitate, leaning a free hand to grasp one of your own with a gentle security. Kiera nodded earnestly. You sucked in a breath once more.

Can’t believe I’m going to do this.

“There is another reason that The Sisterhood sent me here that no one else knows about.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

[justmyworldiguess]

kinda freaking out cause a legend in lyonel fics followed me back today WHAT-

@punk-in-docs thanks for giving me the time in day. I am currently also writing a lyonel fic alongside my valarr series so I will dedicate it to you teheh

[artisanjelly]

reminder for all hockey fans:

netflix is making a hockey show called "the sticks" that is based on a very real tragedy that occured in canada in 2018.

the show follows a minnesota high school team after their bus crashes and coming back to hockey afterwards.

in 2018, the humboldt broncos' (a junior A team made up of 18-22 year olds) bus was hit by a tractor trailer on a highway intersection. 16 people (10 players, 2 coaches, and 4 team staff members) were killed, along with 13 other players severely injured.

the memory of the humboldt broncos crash is an incredibly sensitive subject carrying a lot of trauma to both the survivors, their families, and deceased's families. the trajectory of hockey in canada was changed significantly after this tragedy.

despite this, netflix has decided to make a show using the death of young hockey players for profit. they did not consult the survivors, nor the deceased's families. they stole a canadian story for a feel-good cash grab.

i understand wanting to watch shows about hockey, but this is not the show to watch. do not give it attention, as the humboldt broncos' memories deserve to be theirs and theirs alone to share.

[justmyworldiguess]

And So It Begins

valarr targaryen x afab!reader

based on this idea! a big thank you to @bornasfools for letting me cook — also the photos are not mine, credits to the owners <3

part 3 of ? first part / second part / next part

warnings: valarr gets jealous and finally snaps, some deception in the relationship, reader is conflicted between duty and desire, kiera x daeron actually have a good relationship despite his alcohol issues, reader is a baddie but she gets shy from compliments of men (same girl), slight mentions of blood magic/alchemy, outfit description, SMUTTT MINORS DNI

taglist: @outpostsworld

a/n: I know I said possible slowburn but hahaha… also I had way too much fun writing this chapter, I love having the free will to do what I want. a little longer than my usual but nevertheless I hope you enjoy. I have been insanely overwhelmed and blessed by all the likes, comments, follows, and repost, thank you so much everyone!

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

The danger of your feelings slipping through the cracks started almost half a year since you had a place at the royal court during a visit to Highgarden, where House Tyrell reigned as leige lords in the Reach, to attend their annual spring ball.

It was the first time you would travel to attend a celebration since you assumed a position at the royal court. Kiera had never been before either and had spared no details in enlightening you, telling you of all the things she heard about the castle seemed to bloom flowers throughout all the seasons. After House Lannister, House Tyrell was the richest noble house in the Seven Kingdoms so the parties held in Highgarden were of the upmost luxury.

“It will be so exciting,” She beamed as the two of you took a walk through the royal gardens, soft pink hair tumbling down her shoulders in beautiful curls. “We can come up with a theme together and piece together our costumes to match. Maybe you will get to show off your hair.”

“My hair?” You seemed amused at the mere excitement of something you were used to seeing in the privacy of your bedchambers — at dawn and dusk every day.

“You always cover it behind those head coverings and veils,” She nodded to the lilac one you wore today, lined at the edge with gold solid pieces that seemed to resemble large coins. “I know it is customary with your sisterhood faction but I can’t help but wonder what your silver-gold hair would look like under the glowing light in the ballroom.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was nice to be with Kiera — you felt like a girl who could be merry with her life and worry about the simpler things. You had pieces of that in The Sisterhood but there was always this high purpose of serving the prophecy of Azor Ahai that was always a lingering tension between every action and conversation. And a small, selfish part of you did not want to go back to that life. You wondered if that had anything to do with the luxury you were living: would you be saying the same things if you lived among merchants in King’s Landing? Most likely not if you were a peasant from Flea Bottom. “Why don’t we focus on your hair, My Lady? Don’t you want to your lord husband to abandon his wine cup at the mere sight of you in all your glory?”

“He already will. He had promised me,” Kiera affirmed, a smile on her lips while her dark brown eyes shined with a sense of mirth. “I did promise a passionate night of love-making if he did not drink the whole night but that is beside the point.”

You grunted, squinted your eyes shut. “I did not need that kind of imagery in my head.”

“Do not be jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

“Are you sure?” Kiera looked at you. “Are you going to deny that you do not want a certain affections of a particular prince at the festivities?”

You coughed suddenly, as if the air slipped from your lips and you had briefly choked on your spit. You patted your chest rapidly before looking to her with the

She raises her eyebrows, unbothered. “The Young Prince spends more time with you these days than his own father. That alone speaks for itself.”

It’s not like you could deny her. By this point everyone at the royal court knew of how often Valarr spent time with you. It seemed like, despite the occasional whispers and rumors, associating with the Heir’s heir gave you a sense of protection. But that could also be the fact that the royal family has grown to trust you as time has passed since you stepped in to interfere. You weren’t followed everywhere heavily guarded anymore and you even visited Myriah from time to time at her request in her little court in the Queen’s Ballroom where she and all the women of the royal family, along with their ladies-in-waiting, chatted and sipped tea while also working on embroidery pieces. You had cemented your life here in the inner circle as The Sisterhood had wanted and the Head Lady had instructed.

And even after everything, you still had failed a crucial part of the mission: seduction.

It wasn’t like you haven’t tried. There would be nights where you would dress yourself in a way that called eyes to you and summon Valarr to your bedchambers to share wine by the hearth in the fire — with the initial attempt to get him to bed you like The Sisterhood had wanted. But then something always happened, a book would fall on a floor, a servant would burst into the room only to squeak her apologies profusely at the sight reserved for privacy, or even an attendant was sent asking for the Young Prince, and then you knew you had back off. Cowardly or Honorable, you still weren’t sure.

After he left, politely kissing your hand like the gentleman he was even when you weren’t officially a highborn by Westerosi standards, you laid in bed at night absolutely wracked with guilt. Manipulating the game is what you trained to do and yet with Valarr. You also worried he would never talk to you but if he picked up on something he never mentioned. He would just see you later that week and acted like he always did, an apprentice with questions once more, and the two of you never spoke of what almost happened.

So maybe he just wasn’t attracted to you.

Yet your body was in no doubt attracted to him for every time you smelled the prince’s mouthwatering scent of jasmine and pine you had inwardly chide at yourself to calm down instead of pushing against the nearest wall and kissing him breathless. You also woken up on more than one occasions with a particular sense of heat between your legs after dreaming of the heir’s heir taking you on a silken bed — rolling his hips against your sweaty skin while a fire gleamed in his eyes as you made long, delicious markings down his naked and toned back. It was getting to a point where you were almost embarrassed on how you, and your body, was acting. Who knew you would be so easily swayed by a gentlemanly prince with a handsome face?

But it also didn’t stop there — he also was stubbornly climbing his way into your heart. He stayed resilient, honest, forthright, and so goddamn charming through everything that he made you feel things: powerful things. And that terrified you more than anything else.

You know what the sisters would tell you if they ever heard what you were saying. Duty above all, they would remind you. Do not be weak to cave to your desires. Azor Ahai is our upmost priority. So you repeated those things like a mantra in your mind whenever you felt yourself slipping to close to the line of boundaries where you would snap.

You could tell the Head Lady was getting frustrated with your lack of progress in her letters. She demanded updates and you were running out of excuses — and time. It would not be long before she sent a messenger demanding what was going on at present or demand you leave. Maybe she would even kill you? You hoped that last train of thought was merely a vivid speculation of your own imagination. You had enough friends, allies even, in The Sisterhood.

Right?

Your heavy train of thought is cut off by a gentle hand on your own. You hear Kiera’s soft voice.

“Are you alright? I did not wish to upset you.”

You shake it off quickly, patting her hand back as you force a smile. “I am alright. It seems the heat is getting to me — that is all.”

She remains unconvinced but says nothing as you change the topic at hand:

“If you want to match, what theme did you want to choose?”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

Planning for such a fun event takes up more time than you realize.

While you offer ideas and input it is ultimately Kiera coming up with the costumes after realizing she had a little more availability than yourself — and she seemed more than pleased to do so. She also offered to have dresses made for the both of you using the silks she had gotten from Lys as well as ornaments from Myrish, embracing At first you refused as some of it were gifts from her family. However, the Tyroshi noble looked so crushed that you ended up relenting in the end. She was knew what she was doing of course — Kiera could be a cute little sly fox in sheep’s clothing when she really, really wanted something.

She was charming that way.

The journey to Highgarden ended up being a little longer than Ashford but it seemed significantly more enjoyable, at least on your end. The last time you were in the Reach you were navigating your footing on foreign land among people who did not trust you entirely. Not yet. Now you felt more confident about your life in the Seven Kingdoms as well as the people you were with, for the most part at least. You had become close and comfortable with your strawberry-roan courser by then and had even given her a name: Summer Rose. When the royal family, and their entourage, finally arrived to the land of the liege lords in the Reach what bestowed before you held you in quite a shock.

A beautiful land worthy of enriching storytelling.

Endless green fields stretched on as far as you could see on the Roseroad into the capital with bountiful produce that seemed to shine under the beaming sun in the all blue sky. The colors were so vibrant: everything seemed full of life and like a spitting image of the fairytales some of you and the other trainees in The Sisterhood would read on your beds late at night when everyone was supposed to be asleep. Butterflies of all kinds of shapes seemed flutter across every trace of land in this area of the Reach and small animals bustled across growing farmland to peek their little heads over small bushes in order to look at all the guests that were arriving this time of the year.

And the home of House Tyrell was breathtaking.

Mazes of tall gardens wrapped the beautiful castle of gleaming white marble like an extra layer of protection and sense of beauty. It was warm — warmer than King’s Landing — and so the thicker fabrics of those in the royal caravan were shed to wear lighter, more flowing pieces of dress with thinner fabric at hand. The women at the court in Highgarden also displayed more low-cut, backless dresses that showed off their airbrushed skin — smiling charmingly behind lacy fans while their elegantly coiffed hair was threaded with shimmering gold fabric, flowers, and glinting beaded jewelry.

Once Lord Tyrell joyously greeted House Targaryen, and the formalities of introductions were underway, everyone was able to steer off to their visiting chambers to unpack and rest for the day before they underwent the chaos of the festivities later that week. After taking a bath and changing into fresh clothes you met Kiera by her private bedchambers, which were conveniently close to yours, so the two of you could explore the beautiful castle along with its massive garden. And then, after checking out all the fountains and cluster of flowers in each section of the both the two of you ran into a predicament: you got lost.

Naturally.

“Maybe we should have taken a guard with us,” You mused as Kiera led the both of you in a circle once more. “Or one of your ladies. Or all of them.”

The Tyroshi girl did little to argue with you, only seeming to sigh at the sign of the sun dipping lower in the sky and casting hues of purples, pinks, and red. “We are going to be late for dinner. Do you think we could find a guard from House Tyrell to lead us back?”

Luckily, the two of you didn’t need to comb far for help at hand. As if the gods heard you a clear voice called on the other end of the courtyard.

“Ladies — are you lost?”

One of Lord Tyrell’s sons came walking toward the both of you, graced and poised as his stylish green and gold seemed to shine under the sunlight. His curly brown hair was short and seemed to frame his heart-shaped face with a strong nose and high cheekbones. You remember him from this morning — he had made some of the ladies-in-waitings blush and giggle after he charmingly kissed their hands and even winked at you in passing, despite the fact that you were more in the back with the attendants. He seemed like a noble who was honorable enough, only with a flirty edge.

A little too flirty for your liking.

He bowed to Kiera, who tipped her head politely, while you made a quick curtesy. “Forgive us, Ser. We wanted to explore these gardens and seemed to have lost our way. Do you mind having sending someone to show us where the Great Hall is so we can spare House Targaryen’s reputation of being poorly-timed guests?”

“I have a better offer,” He added, chin angled up high as he clasped a hand on the chest of his richly embroidered doublet. “I can take you there myself.”

You dipped your head. “We wouldn’t want to impose on your current activities.”

“Nonsense,” He waved your concerns off with a simple wave of his hand. “Rescuing two women from the luxuries of my family’s gardens is the kind of thing. Two very beautiful women in fact.”

Kiera smiled courteously, looked amused at your particular expression when you rolled your eyes at his turned back. “Follow me, Ladies,” He called over his shoulder.

While he initially acted a little insufferable Boras Tyrell, as he introduced himself on the journey back, had redeemed himself on the walk into the castle and eventually, to the Great Hall. He was respectful of the fact that Kiera was married and very much a dutiful wife, their conversation more of friendly banter than. As for you, well, if he knew you weren’t a highborn he spoke little of it. He actually treated you like a person he hung out with and barely seemed to lift his eyes when he pieced together who you were.

“So you revived Baelor Targaryen with blood magic?” He said aloud, struggling to overcome his shock as the two of you entered the Great Hall in conversation, the loud sound of clinking metal and large crowds of people talking as they gathered to eat. “That is impressive.”

“Not to all,” You admitted aloud honestly. “They call me the Valyrian Witch at the royal court and for awhile were not too happy at my existence.”

“Why not? Any use of magic and alchemy is impressive.”

You turned to him in light surprise, as he looked confused at the weight of your stare.

“What?”

“Forgive me, My Lord,” You looked away, quickly clearing your throat as you tried to shake off your visible emotion. “I assumed you practice the Faith of the Seven.”

“I do.”

“So you don’t find my ways immoral or evil?”

“I’m a man of faith, not a religious zealot.” He bumped your shoulder teasingly, causing you to freeze briefly from the casual use of contact. “And you don’t need to call me, My Lord. You can use my name as I wish to use yours.”

“If you wish it…” You hesitated, causing him to lift his eyebrow. “Boras.”

The third-born son of House Tyrell grinned brightly, his dazzling smile seeming to send rays of sunshine across the richly decorated room. He then grabbed your arm before tugging on it eagerly. “Come sit with me. I want to hear more of this.”

You looked over at Kiera, watching all of this with a shit-eating grin on her face. Fuck. She was definitely going to give you a hard time when the two of you were alone again. “Is that alright, My Lady?”

“Go on, lovebirds,” She waved her hands in a shooing matter, dark brown eyes twinkling merrily before she tucked a pale pink curl behind her ear. “I need to check on my lord husband anyway. Make sure he doesn’t spoil himself on all that Arbor gold wine.”

“Give him my best regards,” Boras added merrily before walking off, pulling you along with him before you can properly protest. The two of you sit towards the front by the head table where House Targaryen and House Tyrell have joined but find spots a few seats below with some of the other nobles. When you ask him why, the man shrugs and claims that he prefers the company of the ones who serve his family because they feel more authentic and real. You comply, seeing it as reason enough.

The two of you eat dinner together as he introduces you to some of his friends of noble blood, who nod their heads to you politely enough, while he asks you questions about The Sisterhood and Old Valyria. He seems genuinely enraptured with what you have to say as the both of you find yourself in a deep conversation as you help yourself to the endless food full of all kinds of delicious food and wine at that table.

The only problem is the burning holes you feel on the back of your head the whole night.

When you finally leave the Great Hall for the night with Boras offering to escort you back to your chambers with his arm like a proper gentleman, the last thing you see in that massive room is the heated gaze of Valarr’s intense stare: expertly cutting his food without glancing down and lifting his goblet to drink the wine as he never took his eyes off you — his expression taking that hauntingly attractive yet absolutely unreadable nature once more.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

The day of the spring ball, everyone bustling in their rooms to get ready as they were dressed and out the final touches on their outfits, you were able to be convinced to forgo your usual head coverings so your silver-gold hair could be properly styled.

“Just this once,” You said offhandedly as Kiera started brushing your hair with a sense of excitement, taking on the task of personally styling your hair while her ladies worked on hers. “I haven’t been to a ball before so it is only fair that a little fun is ensued.”

The pink-haired beauty leaned over your shoulder to press her cheek sweetly against yours, clasping both of your shoulders with her hands, the golden ring glimmering under the soft candlelight. “You will not regret it.”

In the end she did a wonderful job — not just with the hair, which was a beautiful interwoven style of braids and flowing tendrils, but also the costumes themselves. The two of you went as the sun and moon, gleaming hues of gold and silver respectively, and she had led the charge on creative choices so phenomenally that you couldn’t help but feel breathless at the sight of yourself in the polished mirror carved with ornate roses in her private bedchambers.

Wrapped in silver silks, midnight blues embroidered with constellations of the night sky, elaborate headpieces that sparkled with the different aspects of the nightfall, and the variety of jewels glittering among the silver jewelry you were generously given, you had felt yourself at a loss for words as you examined you reflection in the mirror. Kiera stood off to the side with her bejeweled hands clasped happily to her mouth — looking equally as stunning in stunning hues of gold dipped into red and orange, embroidery of suns with a dragon’s outline flying across her waistline while her elegantly coiffed updo is framed by a spiky gold headdress that reflects the traveling light of the rays on the sun while sparkling gold flecks are dusted on her cheeks and eyelids.

“You look absolutely beautiful.”

“So do you,” You reach out to link arms with her as the two of you take a moment to revel at your reflections. “You did a wonderful job, Kiera. Thank you — truly.”

The noble woman beamed at you. “I just wanted to show you that true beauty shines no matter where you are from. And tonight, every highborn at the ball will turn their heads and never forget this.”

She was not wrong. As the two of you descended down the stares you felt whenever the both of you walked past were long and heavy. You weren’t sure if it was the hair or the costumes but you tried not to think on it.

Daeron and Valarr had decided to meet the two just outside the doors leading into a massive courtyard where the ball would be held, the latter politely offering himself as an escort so you would not have to enter alone with the married couple. Ever since the interaction with Boras earlier that week, and the son of Lord Tyrell taking most of your time to show you different parts of Highgarden, the Young Prince had seemed distant. Never impolite but definitely more internal and reserved than usual. He kept his conversations with you brief and he seemed like he had so much on his mind that when Boras materialized during gatherings in the garden or after breakfast fast to pull you away Valarr almost seemed relieved that you were leaving.

However, as the two of you approach them, the Heir’s heir is absolutely shocked at the sight of you: stunned beyond words as he simply freezes at the sight of all your rarity, glowing under the light in the warmly toned castle. Daeron seemed just as starstruck, taking in the sight of his wife as she walked over to him holding her skirts, beaming like the angel she was.

“By the Gods, My Love, just take me right here.”

Kiera reached out to swat his arm, though she seemed pleased by his response that reflected pure awe, while you to try, and fail, in holding back a laugh at the sight of the prince attempting to move away from her physical berating. Valarr broke from his stunned trance and cleared his throat. You turn to look at him as he finally said your name, soft and awestruck.

“You look simply radiant.”

You felt your cheeks flush at his sincere compliment, tipping your head as your internally chided yourself for acting so flabbergasted by the compliments of a prince so easily. Even if it was Valarr. “Thank you, My Prince. You are also a sight to behold before sore eyes.”

And he was. Foregoing his usual house colors for white and purple, the latter bringing out the mesmerizing color in his left eye, he had black dragons richly embroidered across his tunic while his cropped dark hair seemed to curl in waves under a bejeweled circlet that made him seem almost otherworldly. Paired with a velvet shoulder wrap of rich wine and polished boots that shined as if they were crafted just this morning, he was mesmerizing to look at alone. Yet a dazzling smile ghosted his lips as if he had never heard this before as he extended an arm out to you, which you accepted. The two of you followed an excited Kiera and amused Daeron outside, wondering what the night would hold.

Despite the sun having set hours ago, the air outside was warm and refreshing, a light breeze allowing. The courtyard among the maze of gardens outside Highgarden, which was decorated for the ball, was full of light and magic. Fireflies fluttered around in the air to fill the outside air with light along with the gleaming bronze braziers lining the edge of the large white cobblestone floor. A grand fountain stood in the middle of Ser Alester, the ancestor of House Tyrell, and from the top of his head across to the balcony’s edge that overlooked the main courtyard were beautiful streams of flowers, silken ribbon, and crafted work of all shapes and sizes.

Nobles milled about on the floor, dressed in colorful clothes with all kind of lavish adornments and ornaments. A band of musicians were playing a merry tune by the table of the biggest array of food you had ever seen in your life while the attendants of House Tyrell milled about to refill golden wine chalices with a mere gesture of hands. The sight was stunning and it took you a moment to stop reveling at the scenery before you and collect yourself with the proper sense of decorum that was always expected at Westeros.

The four of you had made your way to the food table, everyone turning to greet the members of the royal family with a sense of flattery you were used to hearing constantly. However, you all had barely eaten some sweets and gotten some fresh goblets of wine when you heard a clear voice calling your name.

Boras appeared by your side as he greeted everyone with the proper formalities, beaming and dressed in revelry of pale green that was embroidered with golden leaves that match the earrings glinting under the firelight buzzing a few mere feet above your heads. You foolishly fail to see the smile slip from Valarr’s lips as he stiffens at the sight of the Tyrell noble as you politely smile at him in greeting.

“Boras.”

“My Lady,” He nearly gasps as he turns to loook at you, taking your right hand as he brings it up to his lips. “You are a marvelous sight to behold at this party.”

You shift awkwardly at his dramatic declaration, though you bow with a courteous manner while Kiera watches with a bemused expression, noticing Daeron gives Valarr a quick look over his shoulder. “Thank you. You are quite the picture yourself.”

“You flatter me,” He smiled charmingly, linking arms with you before looking at the other three. “Mind if I steal her for a dance?”

He stared down at Valarr in particular, an eyebrow raised. What the fuck.

The Targaryen prince does not cave into the chiding remark and look, although something shifts in his gaze. “That is of her choosing rather than mine.”

The son of Lord Tyrell gives you a pleading look, causing you to sigh.

“One dance.”

“You won’t regret it!”

As much as you didn’t mind his company you can’t help but find that you do, feeling a pair of eyes burn the back of your head once more.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

He ended up dancing with you for much longer than he promised.

The night is beautiful with the sense of music, trickling of water sparkling under the moonlight, and laughter filling the air as the benefits of remaining apart of the royal court truly began to shine on days like these.

Regardless of Boras’s hovering you were enjoying yourself, though you couldn’t help but feel relieved when a familiar figure appeared behind the Tyrell boy, tapping his shoulder smoothly as throngs of bodies dressed in the absolute finery swirled around you to the beat of a cheery tune full of laughter and smiles.

“I would like to dance with the lady, if it is all the same to you.”

A flash of irritation pricks Boras’s eyes but as bold as he is, he is also wise enough not to challenge a man of royal blood and the Heir’s heir at that. So he tips his head and steps back, allowing Valarr to assume his place. Your heart can’t help but flutter as the two of you assume the position, shivering lightly as his lightly calloused fingers ghost against the curve of your back, while his other hand is interlaced with your own.

Soon, the silence is broken by the Targaryen’s observation.

“He seems quite taken with you.”

You look up at Valarr as he moves you around to the beat of the music. “You think so?”

“I know a besotted man of little virtue when I see one.”

A smile curved your lips despite the even expression on the Young Prince’s face. “Little virtue? You must not like Ser Boras, My Prince.”

He seemed to pout slightly at your use of formalities for him, breaking his serious expression. “I thought I told you to call me Valarr.”

“I simply wanted to address you properly before your people.”

“We are talking in High Valyrian — no one can understand us.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Except your family.”

“Oh forget them,” The Heir’s heir exhaled rather dramatically, looking so charmingly boyish that it caused you to chuckle in spite of yourself. “Who cares?”

“You seem unlike yourself, Valarr. Almost like you are jealous at the attention every lady has been receiving from the third-born son of Lord Tyrell.”

“Not with every lady,” His beautiful two-toned eyes connect with you, the hand at your waist gripping the thin silken layers with a tighter grasp than usual. “Just one.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

The night ended with Kiera getting drunk, funnily enough.

It took everything in you not to die laughing as you help her into Daeron’s arms, watching him grumble crankily about how he had touched not one drop of and yet she was too wasted to honor her end of the bargain.

“Now you know how it feels,” You found yourself teasing, the prince giving you a look as his wife wrapped her arms around him, face pressed against his neck as she tried (and failed) to stifle her giggles.

After you got to the point where the one they call the Drunken was waving you off, saying he would be fine taking care of Kiera from here, you decided to take a walk through the gardens once more as the ball begins to fade along with the firelight’s glow, well past the Hour of the Wolf.

A sudden desire is felt to feel the soft grass on your skin so in the shadows behind a tall, amassing bush that was elegantly cleaned and polished you stripped off your stockings and pulled off your shoes. You can’t help but exhale in relief at the cold feeling of the ground on your skin: it was such

As you walked quietly through the royal gardens, you found your mind traveling to the beautiful night. Especially the Young Prince’s subtle confession.

You remember how much it shocked you then, needing a moment to process before the tune changed and your interlocked gaze was interrupted by a noble lady from House Lannister asking if she could steal a dance from the prince. You forgot in moments like those how vied after he was — both politically and physically — since unlike Boras, Valarr did very little to play with the affections of ladies who sought after him, though he was never impolite.

Naturally, it only made him more attractive.

You sighed, torn once more as you strayed from a path to walk towards a darkened veranda overlooking the endless farms and beautiful source of provisions House Tyrell profited so highly from. After spending so much time with these people, these wonderfully lovely people despite their high-rank and class that gave them every reason to be snobbish and rude, you felt like your calculative edge was slipping. It was hard to accept though you wouldn’t trade the memories for anything.

And then you see him.

Standing alone on an elegantly carved balcony overlooking the Reach, a wine goblet in hand as he sipped the sweet Arbor gold everyone praised constantly in Westeros. The air around him seemed melancholy, staring off in the distance as the loosened tunic he wore shined a soft purple.

His conveniently turned to face you while you were still there, staring at him, and just like that his face changed. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” You walked over to him as you found no use in turning away and hiding. “I thought you would be retired in your bedchambers after all the dancing.”

The Young Prince shrugged. “I was restless. I am not ready to sleep yet.”

You hummed in agreement, leaning foreward as you rested your hands on the cold marble, titling your head up to feel the night breeze ghost your face gently. “It’s nice isn’t it? Feels like a dream to live here.”

Valarr stiffened again. He keeps doing this what is going on with him? “I’m sure you can find ways to move to the Reach if you enjoy Highgarden so much.”

“What?” You looked dumbfounded, a tad hurt by his words. “Why would you say that?”

“Are you serious?” The Targaryen prince turns to look at you almost sourly, handsome face darkening slightly. “That Tyrell flirt has been peeled to your side since the moment you got here. If you negotiate through terms of marriage I’m sure you could find a place to be of use here.”

You scoffed. Unbelievable. “And here I thought you were a gentleman. Remind me never to trust the charming whims of a prince like yourself so easily.”

“I am a gentleman,” He turned toward you, eyes glinting under the fading moonlight. “That is why I am giving you an alternative. He seems fond of you and you would be happy here.”

You laughed incredulously. “You are unbelievable, My Prince. Just because I enjoy the Reach does not mean I want to live with a suffocating player.”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You dont share the same affections for him?”

“I am fond of him in terms of kinship and conversation,” You crossed your arms, annoyed and bathed in a beautiful light of silver with your dress from the ball glinting under the light. “He is actually interested in what I do as a member of The Sisterhood as opposed to immediately deeming me wicked and avoiding me like the plague.”

He hesitated briefly before speaking once more. “It’s just you have been avoiding me since we got here.”

You shrugged, eyes downcast even if you wanted to protest otherwise. Why should you even be ashamed? It’s not like you could refuse a man of high rank. Not in this world. “You seemed withdrawn: I didn’t want to bother you. Boras also seemed to want to interrupt every engagement where we were talking and I am in no place to question the motives of nobility, or so I am taught.”

The Heir’s heir was quiet to your confession, suddenly feeling foolish and immature. After a moment he sighed deeply. “Forgive me. I made a hasty judgement. It was unfair of me.”

“It was.”

Valarr sighed again, rubbing his face with his palm. “I am not like this. Unsensible, brash, impulsive. And yet you bring out this side of me: one that I think I am often incapable of, except in my own mind.”

You dipped your head. “Forgive me.”

“That is not what I meant.” He dropped his head dejectedly for a moment before angling it back at you. “You have an effect on me unlike anyone else. I should be careful and wary. And yet the more I know of you, the more I am drawn to you, utterly unable to let go.”

Suddenly the tension shifted, like a viper sliding in the shadows. You felt him move after a groan that sounded like a final resolve that was making its choice, taking steps until you were less than a few feet away from each other. You turn to look at him, suddenly feeling warm.

Very warm.

The heat is radiating off Valarr’s skin as his face lingers mere inches from yours with the hunger in his mismatched eyes being unpalatable, his perfect lips parted as his tongue flicked out to lick the skin subconsciously, smelling sweetly of fresh wine.

Then something activated and his confidence took over. The dragon blood in his veins, or so it seemed. Whatever it was, it could have had you tremble in fear but coming from Old Valyria, it just made you hot. Hotter than ever before, actually.

“Do you truly think I haven’t noticed this whole time?” He backed you against the nearest marble wall, hands lightly gripping your arms as he forced you to press your back against the smooth surface. “How you beckoned me like an enchanting siren only to pull away at the last moment and leaving me to resort to menial provide my own release?”

His words cause heat to flush to your cheeks once more. You tried to say something, anything, but what could you do? You were scared to him the real reason as to why “I didn’t know you wanted it.”

“Of course I wanted it,” He moved to grip your chin, firm but not overpowering, as he tilted your head to the side to run the bridge of his nose against your neck. “I want you. I desire you.”

Heat pooled at your belly with such a declaration, your eyes following the beautiful and haunting side profile as he inhaled the sweet perfume Kiera insisted you dappled on every inch of your exposed skin. “Are you sure, My Prince? What if I bring you pain and suffering with the burdens I bear?”

He falters, drawing back to look at you with a gaze that is sweet once more, though the heat and lust never quite fades away. “Let me decide that.”

“But I’m not—”

“I don’t care.” His voice almost sounds bitter and angry, although deep down you know it’s not at you. “Let those stupid nobles try to come between us and try to seize my father’s throne. By the gods, let my father or even my grandsire try to separate us. I would rather die than not have you.”

It was a bold declaration wrapped in a wave of desire. But it didn’t matter anymore: such a confession made you realize that you wanted him, plain and simple. And you weren’t going to sit here and wait while you process such a thing — not anymore. No, you were going to seize the opportunity and take what you truly wanted.

You hook your arms behind Valarr’s neck and bring his lips to your own.

The Young Prince responds greedily, his hands moving instantly to cradle your cheeks. Moans echo from both of you as the kiss becomes hungry and passionate, chins dipping to explore inch of both of your mouths at every angle. Your hands move from the back of his neck to hold onto the collar of his beautiful tunic, gripping so tightly that your knuckles go white.

“Take me please,” You mumble in High Valyrian the moment the kiss breaks in heavy pants. “Take me right here. Spread my legs and fill me up with your cock so no one ever claims me again. Be the dragon I know you are.”

That seemed to activate a primal side of him that was absolutely feral. A dark look glittered in his eyes as he scooped you up, which threw you off entirely, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“We are going to fuck among nature as the gods have intended,” He declared almost proudly, holding you close as you instinctively hook your legs around his strong waist. “I’m going to have my moon princess under the stars and no one, not even my grandsire the king, is going to stop me.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

You laid against the soft grass under the gleaming moonlight, a blanket, as Valarr thrusted into you with a sense of pleasure unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Beautiful silks were kept on, bunched down to your waist to reveal your breasts to be fondled and licked to the Young Prince’s content while you fumbled with the lacing of his breeches to pull them down to well past his knees. His lips traveled against every inch of your skin, hands that were not pinching your nipple coming to lace with yours against the soft ground of nature in the garden.

Just like the dreams you had woken to.

He whispered praises under his lips in High Valyrian, nearly shuddering every time the two of you communicated in the language during the heat of the moment, his nose brushing against yours as he stole a kiss between every roll of his hips against your sweaty skin.

“I got you, My Love,” he whispered as he felt the whine slipping from your lips at the feeling of the pressure building, the peak creeping closer by every moment. “Let go for me.”

So you do. Your orgasm hits you in a wave of emotions: you scream his name and he follows not too long after, with a grunt.

You think it is the end until Valarr starts kissing down your stomach.

“Valarr?”

“I must have a taste,” He confesses, eyes full of desire as he kisses your left inner thigh. “I need that beautiful cunt in my mouth.”

A lick against your folds cause you to moan and hunch your back, one hand thrashing out to grip whatever strand of grass you can hold while the other moves to hold Valarr’s head so you can roll your hips against his face. His tongue makes quick work of exploration, flicking your clit with a sense of expertise that makes your eyes roll to the bad of your head.

“Fuck, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Instead he works harder, gripping your thighs as they wrap around his head while he laps your sweet juices that only seemed to pool out. The wave of your second orgasm is quicker than your first and while you all but scream loudly in ecstasy, your left fingers comb through his silver streak, tugging on it accidentally. It elicits a shudder through his body as he lifts his head up to look at you with a hooded gaze, your release still coating his chin as he licked his lips eagerly.

Oh.

In moments Valarr ends on his back, now the one looking confused as you swung your other leg over to straddle his lap, though his arms eagerly wrapped around you, leaning foreword to press hot kisses against your collarbones.

“What is this?”

You look down at him, a light in your eyes dancing wickedly. “The dragon has claimed me. It is only right that I ride him properly.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

[friendlylifecherry]

[justmyworldiguess]

And So It Begins

valarr targaryen x afab!reader

based on this idea! a big thank you to @bornasfools for letting me cook — also the photos are not mine, credits to the owners <3

part 2 of ? first part / next part

warnings: reader is called a witch, mentions/depictions of blood/blood magic/sorcery/poisons, court politics, murder attempt, maekar is kind of an asshole, period-typical sexism and xenophobia, kiera x reader have a cute friendship, reader has visions but isn't a dreamer per say, some outfit description

a/n: so thankful for all the love that has been shared with this series so far! I am still figuring out how long this is gonna be so bear with me :)

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

It didn’t take long for the word to spread of what you had done.

The witch who revived the honorable Baelor Targaryen after seducing the Young Prince. The woman sent from the Seven who was an ascended member of the Faith called to undo an injustice with the power of the New Gods and Old. Tales spun as they always did, becoming crazy and more drastic than the next but you found little care in such theatrics. You were simply glad to be a shell of yourself again and, more importantly, alive.

Baelor did have to be looked over and treated by the maesters, his brother and son abandoning their fight over you to assist him in any way they could, but he would live miraculously. Following what happened you were surrounded and been escorted to a spare room in the Ashford castle by guards with food and fresh clothes at Valarr’s command until someone from House Targaryen would send for you. You remember passing all the astounded looks that watched you be taken away in a swarm of black-and-red: savior some would say, witch, others would argue.

In the end it was all open to interpretation and it would stay that way. Even when you revealed your true intentions to Valarr you made sure to craft a story that left some crucial parts out — especially the matter of the prophecy and being sent here to seduce him so you could give birth to his child. You sighed about that as you sat on the bed, deep in thought once more. Suddenly reviving Baelor seemed like the easier part of the mission that was given to you.

When a royal attendant entered the room you were being held in and asked for you to gather in the council room of the castle it was well past nightfall, when you were debating dressing yourself for bed. You let yourself be led by a woman holding a glimmering torchlight in a darkened hallway to the last room on the right that was guarded by the Kingsguard. They both watched you wearily as you were granted entrance inside while the royal attendant gave you a supporting look.

Baelor was there in the flesh, looking healthy as ever, much to your relief. Dressed in his usual silks after being scrubbed clean and stripped of his son's armor he sat in the center of a long table with Valarr by one side and Maekar on the other. The three of them watched you walk to the stand in the center of the room, all analyzing you carefully. You felt an odd sense of deja-vu as you remembered the last time you were brought before people of high power and you could not help but wonder what would happen now. You sucked in a breath.

It was a moment before the heir spoke aloud. “I understand that I have you to thank for my life.”

You tipped your head. “You humble me, My Prince. I simply offered my skills in service to House Targaryen.”

The Targaryen prince nods his head. “Valarr has regaled all the details, along with my brother. I believe he owes you an apology for the way he behaved earlier.”

Maekar grunted in response and you had a feeling that was the closest to the apology, despite his brother and nephews’ disappointed looks. However you let it slide off your shoulders as you nodded your head in gratitude.

Baelor sighed. “Considering these unusual circumstances, we are put on at an odd sense of crossroads. The realm is thankful for your services to the Crown and House Targaryen, though traits of your deception and use of magic has not been ignored by certain parties.”

It sounded like the Faith had gotten word of your falsehood guise of a silent sister and were not too happy. That was to be expected — you just hoped it did little to dissuade House Targaryen from choosing to spare you life.

“However considering that I am alive and well at present, as well as the defenses my son has given me on your behalf, I feel it is only right that I grant you a reward of your choosing.”

“Of my choosing?” The gears were turning before you even asked the question.

“Yes.” Baelor looked weary of this decision. You noticed was considerably easier to read than his son, who was much more reserved and internal, and that was a surprising because of his age and experience. But then you figured it was because he didn’t feel the need to shelve everything under the surface. The formality he ensued with people seemed genuine and real — at least real enough. “You can think on it until we depart for King’s Landing..”

“I already know what I want.”

His dark eyebrow raised but he didn’t seem too surprised. Neither was Valarr but he was also looking at you with an expression you could not quite decipher which was a tad frustrating. As for Maekar it was clear he still was not happy with you — distrustful, which was fair. But you weren’t here to please everyone.

“I would like a place at court.”

Everyone in the room paused, Baelor taking a light breath. “A place at court?”

“Yes, My Prince,” You dipped your head once more. “The practices I learned in The Sisterhood could be very beneficial for this realm. I know many things: magic, healing remedies, traces of Old Valyria that The Sisterhood has preserved that could be brought back to practice among those of dragon blood.”

The heir to the Iron Throne studied you, taking a long look of calculation before he asked his next question. “Nothing in the histories involving Old Valyria mentioned The Sisterhood.”

“It is not common faction known to many,” You admitted. You remember asking the Head Lady how much you could reveal bout The Sisterhood before you left for the journey here in case you got fat enough where people started asking questions — a lot of them. She had given her permission, within reason: the plan to enforce the prophecy of Azor Ahai had to be excluded among with many of the secrets The Sisterhood have preserved for not only hundreds but thousands of years, even back when Old Valyria was still alive as a massive conquering empire. “During the time of Old Valyria many of the dragonlords knew very little. Except for my ancestors.”

“Ancestors?” Valarr interjected, intrigued.

You nodded. “I am a descendant of House Belaerys.”

Baelor’s brows furrowed even more. “I thought all the members went extinct following the Doom.”

“That part of history was altered for reasons I still do not know.” Those words were true to some extent: a daughter thought to be dead only to join The Sisterhood and ultimately escape the wrath of the Doom and preserving the last of her lineage as the Valyrian Gods had willed it. “Both of my parents have Old Valyrian blood but it is my mother who carries the lineage of House Belaerys.”

The room grew silent once more, this time with shock. Maekar grumbled ‘fucking hells’ under his breath while Valarr side-eyed his father, who debated everything silently.

“I must still speak with my father and the small council further but I will ensure that we grant your wish. But you must understand the apprehension: we know little of your world at hand and even your intentions pass the saving of my life, gods willing. It will take time for trust to build in this new relationship that will hopefully be beneficial for the both of us.”

“Of course, My Prince,” You complied. “If I must be watched constantly or go scarcely anywhere without a multitude of guards so be it. All I need is a place to work and call my own and I shall be content. You do have a library, yes ?”

In spite of bridging a conversation of tensity and apprehension, full of distrust and unanswered questions, Baelor cracks a smile in spite of myself. “The Red Keep is one of the biggest castles in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course we have a library.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

It is on the journey back to King's Landing, on the road among grassy plains and forests full of thick stagnant trees stretching on for miles, when Valarr approaches you.

You hear the sound of jooves thundering lightly in the dirt as his all-black courser pulled up to match the stride of your strawberry-roan palfrey, another gift from the Crown. Among his fine silks of black edged with silver metal and embroidery he wore a purple shoulder sash sealed with a dragon brooch on his left shoulder that brought out the hues of his lilac eye, looking unfairly breathtaking. You tried to swallow down the lump that climbed in your throat.

“You can ride a horse after spending a life-hood underground?”

“I did not say we have yet to travel for important endeavors,” You responded lightly, steering your mount around a big rock in the road. “And I personally love to ride. I thank your father once more for the gift, although I still need to name her.”

“It’s the least he can do in the measures of you saving his life.”

You smiled. “So you do not deem me an untrustworthy witch sent to befall you all to ruin?”

“I do not.” Valarr looked at you, honestly reflecting in his two-toned gaze. You wondered if this was considered a vulnerable moment between you two, considering how much he clearly keeps bottled inside based on mere observation. “How could I after you accomplished what I thought was impossible, knowing the risks?”

“Some say magic like that is dark and corruptible.”

“Well I believe you are neither those things.”

That surprised you a little bit. You stiffen to the slightest degree, giving him cause to continue. “I know men of manipulation who pass and linger at the royal court and try to get my father and grand sire to do their bidding with the threat of destabilization — I’ve observed those things in the shadows. But you seemed heartfelt. Genuine.”

Yet The Sisterhood prided itself on masters of manipulation for the greater good. Guilt should not have pricked your skin, not when you knew what you had to do in the path laid before you, but you still felt it. If your mentors were here they would chastise you for having a ‘moment of weakness’. At least the means of seduction would be easier knowing that he was a man of handsome face and chivalric nature, though you immediately could not help but chide yourself at the thought as it felt too immoral.

In the journey that followed back to the crownlands, the Young Prince accompanied your side on more than one occasion. Small conversation gave way to slow familiarity and he asked a lot of questions about Old Valyria that you found you didn’t mind answering. The two of you conversed often in High Valyrian, to allude to some sense of mystery to the royal household around you or to remain private in your topics neither of you were sure. If the other members of House Targaryen were bothered on the matter they spoke little of it although Maekar had a habit of fixing you with a hard stare on more than one account in passing.

Over the course of the next fortnight two members also made an effort to join your group: Valarr’s cousin, Prince Daeron Targaryen, who was a weary drunk that scarcely allowed his alcoholic issue to dissuade his matter of making small talk in fuse of boredom and his lady wife, Kiera of Tyrosh, a resilient spirit wrapped behind a gentle soul who knew better than most what it was like to have to adapt to the customs of Westerosi society. You found that you valued her company more than you initially expected: the two of talked of Essos fondly as you had traveled to the Free Cities with The Sisterhood on more than one occasion and she ended up accompanying your side on horseback the rest of the journey back.

You tell yourself it’s apart of your task to adapt to your surroundings and buy in truth, you also desperately welcomed the company. Under the disguise of a silent sister you were not allowed to speak to anyone in terms of chastity and piety toward the Faith and the Stranger himself and while it was little issue to lay quiet to be able to speak more freely was a welcoming respite. By the time you all arrived to King's Landing you had developed a comfortability of the people you rode with (at least most of them) and felt safe enough to think that maybe people in The Red Keep would be warmer to you than you realized.

You are quickly proven wrong.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

Adapting to the royal court was hard, brutal even.

Quick to calling you the 'Valyrian Witch' the nobles did their best to avoid looking at you whenever you passed or be short with their customary greetings. Sometimes, they did not even greet you at all. You had been fortunate that Kiera stuck by your side through everything and did her best to help you adjust to everyday life and manners of the royal court. She explained to you, after breaking fast a sennight after you arrived in King's Landing, that unfortunately in the Seven Kingdoms differences were often looked down upon instead of celebrated compared to other forms of civilizations. House Targaryen being united with House Martell was a recent example of this as well as the First Blackfyre Rebellion: many ignorant nobles were known complained about the amount of people from Dorne seemed to frequent the royal court and surround the king, who was more of a scholar himself than a warrior.

Regardless of the troubles, you did your best to wear a title with a badge of honor. Baelor kept his word and was able to convince his father to grant you a seat at court, though you were dispatched two guards who followed you around constantly. You had been assigned private quarters that were more than enough for someone of your station, as much as anyone would feel when they stayed at this expansive massive red stone castle surrounded with drum-towers tipped with iron ramparts and layered with it own secrets. Like many, you had read of Maegor of Cruel and his construction of the tunnels behind walls of the castle and you were determined to use them to your advantage in any way possible.

No one knew of your station, why you allowed to have bedchambers in The Maidenvault like any other highborn instead of staying where all the servants were in the castle, even if it was because you saved the life of the Hand and heir of the Iron Throne. This pricked a bone with many of the nobles who felt you inferior to them, be it your foreign roots or low rank or both.

Then, on one night in particular, the fruition of your trained abilities were thrust into the limelight which garnered attention and revisited the matter of why you held the spot you did in the royal court.

Dinner had been served just like any other day in the Great Hall, the massive room full of loud japes and combined laughter among the highborn as royal attendants cloaked in hues of black and red walked around on a mission to leave no stone unturned with drinks and. Music played lightly in the background by a band of musicians and there was even a court fool dancing around in front of some of young children of the nobles and royal family alike — clapping in delight while their parents chided them lightly to eat their food.

At the high-end table of House Targaryen Kiera had initially wanted to reserve a seat for you beside you, her way of defying everyone's mockery of you by having you claim a seat they always secretly wanted because of the power it brought. However, while you thanked her for her willingness to strike back at the hateful words spread among the royal court, you knew you should not sit among members of the royal family unless you deserved it. You were smart enough to know when it was good to draw the line on the attention on yourself during certain points.

You took a seat towards the back for the room where the lower nobles sat like you always did, who seemed to grow used to your presence by now although no one talked to you. Food was served and you dined in silence with little avail, already thinking about what you should work on once you get back into your lair and wondering if you should swing by the royal library to check out another book on YiTi history records on healing practices that may be beneficial to learn about for future development.

Then you saw it.

It was a small vision, barely there for a few moments, but clear enough to stay with you. A spilled goblet on the stone floor and a slumped figure dressed in yellow silk embroidered in orange suns while the room filled with overwhelming crowds and screams of horror.

You sat up so fast the man next to you almost spit out his wine and turned quickly to look at the members of the royal family dining together deep in discussion. At the center of the table Queen Myriah Martell was sitting beside her lord husband, smiling at something he was saying — dressed in a pale yellow silk dress of the softest silk with orange suns glinting under the warm light in the room. Then your eyes caught a servant making its way over to her through throngs of people in the midst of laughter and music, a single goblet of wine on a polished gold tray, and your head ached so much in that moment you knew nothing else could explain such a feeling.

You acted fast. Getting off the bench at the dinner table the with a sense of speed that earned more looks, you hastened yourself over to the head table at the center of the room on the other side — brushing past people laughing and drinking with a sense of glee as they stood to talk to each other from time to time. When you made it before House Targaryen at their seats, eating and talking to each other at a long table full of more people than you initially realized were in the family, while the servant sets the new chalice full of wine before the queen, who tips her head in gratitude.

It is when she grabs the polished cup and lifts it up to drink that you quickly express your concerns loud and clear.

“You do not want to drink that, My Queen.”

Everyone stopped at the head table, Myriah looking over at you in confusion. Beside her Maekar chooses to scoff aloud.

“Another premonition of yours, Witch?”

“Yes,” You countered smoothly, ignoring the jab. “Someone has poisoned that wine with the intent of harming a member of the royal family.”

“A strong accusation,” The Anvil leveled you down with a hard stare, a warning gaze flashing in his purple eyes. “Can you prove it?”

You leveled up your chin. “I can.”

Myriah’s dark eyes flickered to Daeron and Baelor, who both looked at each other to speak merely with their eyes alone. Meanwhile, Maekar scoffed incredulously.

“Please tell me you are all not listening to this woman.”

“She brought Father back from the Stranger himself,” Valarr argued, leaning forward in his seat next to the Hand and heir as he stared Maekar down. “Why do you still doubt her, Uncle?”

Maekar’s jaw tenses but he ends up saying nothing. Kiera looks at Myriah and makes an effort to ask the important question:

“What do you think, My Queen?”

Everyone turned to the Dornish woman, still holding the dragon-carved goblet as she thinks for a moment. The King sits back and quietly waits for her response, along with his son, a subtle sign that he trusts her to make the final decision on the matter. It seemed that they wisely heed her counsel more often than not.

“I am open to judgement with some element of proof.”

She slides the goblet across the table, giving you agency to move with a curt nod. You move forward to accept it into your hands before taking a sniff under your nose. Everyone waits at the head table with bated breath, the court fool still off to the right dancing with the children and the rest of nobles eating and laughing over the music. You deciphered the killing method at hand instantly.

“It is Tears of Lys,” You turned to the serving attendant who set the goblet on the table, frozen and head bowed as they stepped back the moment you made the accusation. “Who is this from?”

The serving girl tipped her head. “It is what the queen always drinks, Miss.”

You stared her down. “You are not telling the truth.”

“I am, Miss.”

You circle around the table to walk over to her before anyone can interject. You stop until you were mere inches away from her face before lifting the goblet out to her. “Then you drink it.”

The anxiety creeps onto her face, the red flooding to her cheeks as her pupils grow large. She looks at the drink and the King who stares at her expectantly. She looks back down at the goblet held out to her before she finally cracks.

“Forgive me.” She confessed, bowing her head once more, looking ashamed and sheepish. “Lord Hightower knows Myriah Martell is fond of the Dornish red wines so he paid me in coin to deliver this drink and bade me to say nothing. I do not know if it has been tampered with.”

The confession left every one at the head table one edge. Daeron leans over to grab his lady wife’s hand as a means to steady himself.

“Is he here?” You suddenly ask aloud in High Valyrian, turning to look over at the other members of House Targaryen. The King’s purple eyes flickered to his son while the Queen went eerily still. Baelor cleared his throat while Valarr shifted at his side, his jaw tense.

“Visiting to discuss a marriage proposal with his daughter and one of my sons. A man of chestnut hair dining among nobles in the Reach.”

You set the goblet down on the edge of the polished table and calmly turn to scan the audience. You see him in silks of green and silver: a proud man with short hair in the color that the Hand described, along with a dimpled chin and an unreadable expression. He is oblivious to accusations being harbored on the other side of the large room, the change in tune causing people to make their way onto the dance floor, and merely lifts a goblet towards the royal family with a sudden big smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Baelor nods to him, fiddling with the rings on his fingers that match the gears turning in his head while Daeron sucks in a breath. You take it as a moment to pitch an idea as you face them once more.

“If we seek an audience with him privately, I can further prove his guilt on the matter at hand.”

Maekar rolled his eyes. “You are bluffing.”

“Enough, Maekar,” Daeron barked, clearly having enough of his little snippets. The Anvil snapped his mouth shut like a child who was scolded although it seemed like he inwardly grumbled under his breath before turning to look away. He turned to the Kingsguards flanking him on both sides, gesturing to one of them. “Ser Donnel.”

One of them steps forward, a handsome man in the customary gleaming all-white armor with short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. “Your Grace.”

“After everyone departs for the night escort Lord Hightower to my private chambers — tell him the Hand wants to meet with him and discuss important matters.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

Lord Hightower was not only a touch tipsy when he entered the solar as Daeron commanded but he also couldn’t fathom the sight of you standing beside the King, the Hand and the Heir’s Heir — like you were someone of important value.

You saw the disgust in his face, which he poorly tried to conceal, as Baelor gestured him to come closer. He bowed deeply as his eyes flickered to the attendant who stood off to the side with her head bowed and hands clasped, eyes shining with tears.

“Your Grace. My Princes,” he nods to three men of House Targaryen gathered before him, smelling faintly of alcohol, which garners everything in you to wrinkle your nose distastefully though you hold yourself back. Not the time.“What is the meaning of this?”

Baelor tilts his head carefully, studying the man before him. “Lord Hightower despite the whispers of your family’s involvement with House Blackfyre during the First Rebellion the Crown had dismissed those concerns because of the unwavering loyalty you have given to House Targaryen since you have become the governor of Oldtown in your father’s stead.”

Lord Hightower tips his head, humbled. “You flatter me, My Prince. I simply want to repair efforts that have seemed to befall my house in terms of many doubting our allegiance.”

“Unfortunately, I have received news that you have done otherwise.”

The man’s head flicks back up, confused. “What?”

You bring the dragon-carved goblet still full of the same wine with poison over to him, setting it down on the table right in front of him.

Lord Hightower’s eyes widen, face growing taut as he speculates the sight before him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Do you care to explain what this is, My Lord?” Baelor asks, coldly, anger struggling not to bubble into his collected expression.

Even after the tears written on the royal attendant’s face, the fact that the Queen seemed alive and well when she departed to her bed chambers for the night mere hours before, and the matter of him was being brought an audience with the three leading royal members of the family, the foolish noble still had the galls to play the dumb act. “I do not know what you mean, My Prince.”

“That is a wine goblet served to my lady mother at dinner. One that has been identified with traces of poison and the intent to kill the Queen,” He leaned forward in his seat. “That is treason and the punishment for that is death. We already have a confession that you were the last one to tamper with the drink before paying the one who served it to give it to my mother. I should have you sent to be executed on the morrow but I am deciding to show you mercy if you confess and considering sending you to the Wall. I would caution you to choose carefully.”

It didn’t work. Instead, Lord Hightower grew outraged. “That is blasphemy, My Prince. Whatever nonsense you have been told is lies and I can prove it.”

“Then we will offer you the same choice that we did to woman who confessed of the crime at hand,” Baelor gestured to the drink, sitting before him on the polished wood table that is his desk. “Drink the wine.”

Lord Hightower hesitated, dark eyes moving over to you as you stood there quietly, before slowly making a move to grab the goblet with shaky hands. It reaches to mere inches below the chin before the act drops completely.

The dragon-carved chalice is wretched to the side, blood red wine spilling onto the floor, and he pulls a dagger strapped deep to the confines of his waist before anyone can move to stop him in time. He makes a move toward you, eyes ablaze in fury as he screeches something along the lines of “You Valyrian Witch! This is all your fault!”

Fortunate for you, combat was not entirely excluded from the matter of training in The Sisterhood.

You duck out of the way as he swipes the air with the blade with a sharp swing, before shoving hand at his jugular with enough strength that not only does it knock the air out of his lungs but also sends him stumbling back on his leather boots, hands flying to his neck as he coughs erratically.

Guards immediately swarm him on both sides and seize him while Valarr flocks so your side with a hand on his sword, prepped and ready, a protective act that causes your heart to flutter even when it was clear you were more than capable of protecting yourself.

The Hand sighs. “How disappointing that you chose this.”

“House Targaryen must burn!” Lord Hightower screeches as he thrashes “They allow Dornish people to swarm the royal court and have casted out Daemon Blackfyre — a true warrior — who is more deserving of the Iron Throne than a man who prefers books to swords.”

Daeron looked unfazed by such a traitorous declaration, probably because it was something that he has been hearing it his whole life. Yet, in a siege of annoyance, you spoke up in his stead.

“A kingdom cannot be ruled by brute strength alone, you impotent fool.”

A smirk struggled not to twitch on Valarrs lips, still lingering by your shoulder as he did his best to collect himself.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

“How did you know?”

That was the first thing Valarr asked you after the two of you were dismissed by the Hand with a weary look in his eyes, who spoke of needing to talk with the King on the matters at hand, walking down the dimly lit hall followed by the sound of clinking metal that was the assigned guards following the both of you.

You tilted your head. “That it was poison? I had a vision.”

“When you smelled it,” The Young Prince stopped to look at you, causing you to do the same. “I thought Tears of Lys was clear in color and odorless to make it hard to distinguish.”

You hummed. “If one studies enough alchemy anything is noticeable. I was able to find traces of it still clinging to the side of the chalice. My theory is that Lord Hightower put the poison in the wine haste, an inexperienced man in such things despite the rumors surrounding House Hightower with their dapple of poisons.”

Valarr stares at you, little interest in hiding his amazement. “You are incredible.”

You did everything you could to fight the red from rising to your cheeks, thankful for the softer glow from the gleaming torches lighting and that fact that it was nightfall. “That is kind, My Prince.”

“That is the truth.”

You found yourself scoffing lightly in spite of yourself. “I fear the rest of the royal court does not share your feelings.”

“To the Seven Hells with them,” He stepped forward to grab your hand, his palms soft at touch despite the callouses on his fingers from the endless hours in the training yard practicing with his sword. “Will you teach me?”

“A prince who learns of alchemy and poisons from the Valyrian Witch?” Your eyebrows are raised. “Are you not worried of the rumors that will surround you once it is discovered?”

“I am not.” Valarr’s voice is firm with resolve. “I wish to learn many things from you, in truth. When we speak about the Doom, about Old Valyria, I feel connected to my ancestors. It is a comforting feeling.”

The confession softened you. You remembered feeling the same way as he did as a young child learning of the histories: of dragons, the lords, the house you were descended from because you had no concept of your lineage with the death of your mother and the absence of your father. The Sisterhood really was the only family you had.

“I felt the same when I was in training,” You ended up admitted to him — even if that was not a necessity. He was charming that way. “If My Prince wishes to learn I will teach you.”

“Just promise me one thing.”

You nod.

He keeps holding your hand, his thumb instinctively moving against the skin. “That you will forego the formalities from now and just call me Valarr.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

After that incident, it seemed that the royal family’s opinion of you had improved significantly.

The Queen gave you gifts in silks, ornaments, and dresses. She had learned of the customary attire as a member of The Sisterhood from her eldest grandson and had bejeweled head coverings and veils made for you to wear — a sweet gesture that also made you wonder just how Valarr had spoken of you to her. The King had decided to make you the official poison tester of all the meals for House Targaryen and Martell respectively, a task you did not mind because it actually gave you something to do besides researching in your spare time and apprenticing the Heir's heir on everything in terms of Old Valyria. As for Maekar, well, he hadn't warmed to you entirely (not yet) but he knew your were liked enough by his kin that it would be wise not to challenge you so openly.

At least, not as much.

It was then that you finally sent a letter by raven to the Head Lady of your successful endeavors. She had been pleased in her response, according the coded message behind her elegant scrawl of words you decoded privately every night. It was a method agreed upon before you left to sail for Westeros: the leaders had a feeling that your letters were to be intercepted at one point, by the Crown or someone else, and they were not wrong. She had encouraged you to proceed to next stage of the plan, no matter the costs, and while you wrote back being diligent and abiding there was a part of you that was hesitant. Seducing a man you had no tied feelings to was an easy task but attempting to seduce a man you had gotten to know and were slowly growing attached to was another matter entirely.

And that was what happens when one gets the opportunity to personally get to know a man like Valarr Targaryen.

The journey back from Ashford was nothing compared to the inner shell of the Young Prince that bore his soul to you the more time the two of you frequented together in private. If it wasn't in the royal library then it was the gardens or the training yard after he finished combat with the master-at-arms and sometimes, even your solar. The same prince who always was poised, elegant, collected, before people at royal petitions or dinners or tourney and nameday celebrations he was required to attend.

The amusing thing was that the two of you weren't attempting anything remotely scandalous. He was your pupil in many ways so you would spend all this time teaching him things you had known for years about his ancestors because he was hungry for the connection and then naturally, you would talk of other things. Like his family.

As time slipped by, you learned many things about House Targaryen because of Valarr. The dynamics of his father and uncles as well as him and all his cousins. The stories of his cruel cousin Aerion that seemed too entitled to even acknowledge your presence (unlike his older brother) who wasn't always a beast by nature and his little cousin Aegon that everyone called Egg, who was currently traveling the realm as a squire to the same hedge knight who had challenged the Brightflame. A small world — so it seemed.

Just as you expected word of Valarr frequenting a lot of his time with you seemed to spread. Eyes were wary and many were jealous, for currying favor with the grandson of the King was a gateway into cementing power for one's honorable house because it could lead to becoming in-laws with House Targaryen, especially since the prince was still unmarried.

A painful realization, you admitted to yourself, deep down.

You thought maybe you could fight whatever you were feeling and its growing power: become the calculated individual you were trained to be. But emotions were a powerful thing — one that would soon come to play and have you see that this was simply the beginning of it all.

And it was not about the mission.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

[justmyworldiguess]

And So It Begins

valarr targaryen x afab!reader

based on this idea! a big thank you to @bornasfools for letting me cook — also the photos are not mine, credits to the owners <3 I said I would tuck this in my back-pocket for later but I had a vision and I quickly found I would not be content unless I wrote it down.

part 1 of ? cause it ended up getting too long next part

warnings: slight use of gore, depictions & mentions of blood/magic/sorcery, major inspiration from bene gesserit in dune, reader is a descendant from house belaerys but looks are not specified except for hair being silver-gold, some outfit description, reader has visions but isn't a dreamer exactly, possible slow/slower burn, baelor does die but it is short-term don't worry <3

a/n: didn't think I would come back writing back on this blog, and for a different fandom for that matter, but here we are. excuse the shitty title and fact that the sisterhood is simply called that instead of something more I could literally think of nothing else. bold & italics are high valyrian for anyone who was wondering. hope you all enjoy and I am more than happy to write more pieces with this kind of reader if people want me to :)

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

After a long journey by sea, the site of the port at King’s Landing was a welcoming sight.

You had never been on a boat before, raised your whole life underground in the old ruins of Valyria as a member of The Sisterhood because the toxins following the Doom made the home of your ancestors uninhabitable. Shortly after boarding for your mission overseas, you had the unfortunate realization that you got violently sick after every crashing wave hit the boat. Seasickness, they called it. Whatever it was, it felt like death. You were left abed for many days on the journey, none of the healing practices you learned in your training seemed to suffice your upset stomach. By the time you arrived in Westeros the eagerness to be on dry land succumbed to your entire being that you nearly forgot about your initial fear of taking on this heavy-bearing task in the first place.

You never initially understood why you were chosen. You may have possessed all the abilities given to you in training as a member of The Sisterhood since you were a mere child: speaking languages fluently from many known forms of civilization in the world, a sharp mind engrained with the histories as well as the tense world of deadly politics, blood magic, and the art of absolute discretion, but it wasn’t like you were the most acute student or star pupil. To many you were simply another face in the sea of members and you were okay with that. The Sisterhood gave you enough to be fulfilled in your life: an enriching education, a community of women you have called both your sisters as well as your family, and a deeper purpose of fulfilling the ultimate prophecy of Azor Ahai that would lift the world out of darkness. So when you were summoned into the council room with all the leaders in the sect, standing in the middle like some prisoner on trial, you were incredibly confused.

Then the ruling leader of The Sisterhood, known as the Head Lady, confessed why they had chosen you for this mission.

“I had a vision,” She told you firmly, eyes ablaze beneath a silk gray veil that seemed to shift across the facial lines of her sharp face, surrounded by glimmering red beads and smooth nearly translucent pearls stitched in the customary lacy head shawls that everyone wore. “Azor Ahai will be born within the next few generations. She will lift us out of the darkness and bring back all the dragons we have lost. And she will come from your blood.”

While mesmerized with her words, you had also been very befuddled, since all the history books and knowledge surrounding this great prophecy had initially believed a man would be reborn as the Azor Ahai. You had mentioned it then but the Head Lady merely shook her head in response.

“The Valyrian Gods showed me the crucial pieces,” She stated further in High Valyrian, the first language and common tongue of The Sisterhood as a way to hold on to their roots. “A girl of silver-gold hair, cradling dragons to her chest like they were her newborn child, surrounded by salt and smoke under a red shooting star in the blackened sky. I saw you and the child swollen in your baby, blessed with the seed of a dragon prince. The boy you give birth to will lead the future of the Seven Kingdoms in Westeros. Your ancestors were members of House Belaerys who came to us to serve and now they have shown their true purpose for the cause: you.”

Her instructions have been clear and firm: disguised as a silent sister, you would infiltrate the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, the home of the ruling family in Westeros. Within the next year you would travel to a tourney that would cause precious blood to shed, where you would reveal yourself and revive a man of honorable character with a promising future. Whatever transpired you must seduce the prince of House Targaryen with the silver streak in his air and give him a child because it was through his line. And whenever it happened, the gender had to be a boy.

“You must not attempt the Azor Ahai,” The Head Lady ordered, mouth firm and set as a thin line under the fabric of the veil that rippled across her face like sheer molten liquid. “It is too soon and a plan we have not prepared for. When you are pregnant, conduct the blood magic ritual and ensure that the child will be a boy. Only then will the prophecy ensure the utmost success.”

It was a terrifying burden to be put on your shoulders, one you now saw as something that was completely out of your control because it was decided because of your existence alone — by your lineage and bloodline. You had never met the mother who birthed you, for she died while you were a swaddling infant, and you had never encountered one of the many fathers selected by The Sisterhood to allow their faction to grow because of the blood magic ritual, which allowed the practitioner to choose the gender of the pregnant women’s offspring after making a blood sacrifice. All you had was the sisters who raised you, educated you, and the sisters-in-training who encounter the same obstacles as yourself and became members at your side.

The first few steps off the boat were a great deal more wobbly than you liked to admit. It took you a moment to collect yourself through deep breaths and calming routines, a sailor who had been on the boat with you for the past moon being kind enough to help you toward the entourage waiting to take you to the Great Sept until you found your proper footing.

The anxiety really started to shift when your caravan finally made its deep into the cress folds of the city — the sun dipping lower in the sky as dipped into hues of oranges, pinks, and deep reds. You did your best to remain calm and serene as the High Septon met you at the entrance of the lavishly crafted building, the dome decorated in hues of gold, silver and glass. He greeted you politely before showing you to your quarters and rattled off lightly about your daily routine, seeming proper and kind enough. More importantly, however, he seemed completely convinced of your act in servitude to the Stranger which was a welcoming relief in the believing nature of your abilities. You grew up studying the Faith of the Seven along many other religions in one of your required sessions back in the ruins of Old Valyria but it wasn’t until the mission was given to you that you truly doubled down on the mannerism, habits, and lifestyle of the adopted practices of a silent sister.

As it turns out, not being able to talk as a matter of chastity and piety in service to the Stranger turned out to be a blessing for you. It trained you to listen well to the gossip surrounding you as went about your business, which was summoning to prepare the noble dead a great deal more earnestly in the viperous world of the royal court than you may had initially realized. The next six months were dedicated to adjustment and observation: you interacted little with anyone but the silent sisters you were dispatched with in the castle and when you did stray from your somewhat menial tasks it was in covert operations donning a darkened cloak with a pulled hood. Any other person may have found the waiting act stifling but you had spent years training for this: you were raised to halt, calculate, and plan in silence, even if it took close to many years.

You didn't glimpse a member of the royal family until four moons in when you came to prepare the aging body of a dedicated lord who used to fight with two of the King’s sons during the First Blackfyre Rebellion. King Daeron’s eldest and youngest stood in solitude with their magnificent shrouds of black while the silent sisters moved about to prepare the body, which suffered a poisonous bite from a snake while the man was out hunting with his fellow lords and friends.

The sight of blood, organs, and having to boil off dead skin unbothered you because of all the healing practices and blood magic tricks you learned as a member of The Sisterhood (yet seasickness still got you, ashamedly) but you juggled the tough task of pretending you were completely immersed in your work and subtly peeking over to see if either of the royal members of House Targaryen bore the sole silver streak in their hair. Of the two the Hand and heir to the Iron Throne was the only one with dark hair and he had many silver strands decorating his receding hairline and thick yet neatly trimmed beard, which could only be a sign of older age if anything else. The other prince was entirely silver-gold in both the hair on his head and his beard, a common trait that could only allude to his Valyrian bloodline.

You went to bed that night feeling disappointed, wondering if the sign would be as clear as you believed it to be. So, under a soft bated breath, you very, very quietly prayed to the Valyrian Gods in your mother tongue for a clear sign as to complete the mission and ultimately, take the steps into saving the universe.

Then in the seventh moon, after one particular week of unbearable summer heat that left you practically drenched in sweat in the dark attire lined with cotton you always donned, you saw him.

He was in the training yard of the Red Keep, hard at work with the silver blade in his hand as he fought fiercely against the opposing knight. You were walking by in the direction to the private chambers of a noble who died peacefully in his sleep following old age when you glimpsed a sight of the beautiful man with cropped dark hair, dressed in a purple gambeson that brought out the lilac in his stunning two-toned eyes, the other one being dark brown. His skin was pale and freckled: his face bore a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. But most of all there was a single silver hair streak — one that ran from the hairline on one side of his head down to the tendrils that wrapped behind his left ear.

While he wielded his sharp blade against his opponent in the training yard, you were struck with a vision that must have been sent from the Gods themselves. The same face smiling against your cheek as he cradled the child in your swelling belly. The same man who stood before you in the flame colored robes with a faint marking of blood on his forehead, a cut down the middle of his lower lip, and a knowing glint in his mismatched eyes while a priest recited High Valyrian in the background that echoed through the sound of choppy waves crashing against the shoreline of Dragonstone like some kind of chant.

You were overcome with a wave of emotions that sent you through a plethora of time and space in a way that was unlike everything you had experience before in the world of magic, sorcery, and firm belief in prophecies. Then another person called his name, a boy a few years younger with copper hair boring a sage green gambeson and a mischievous smile on his freckled cheeks.

“Valarr!”

The dreamy prince turned around with a reserved expression that went with his poised posture and allowed a small smile to curl at his lips at the sight of the redhead, causing something in your stomach to tumble in spite of itself.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

You had ruminated in your room the weeks that followed, pouring over books you brought from home, trying and fighting to believe the fact that the one they call the Young Prince lingered on your mind was because he was the centerpiece of your mission rather than the fact that he was dreamy and chivalrous. You had willed and prayed that you would be granted another vision on how to navigate this journey now that the person of interest has been made clear but the results have been unsuccessful. In a brief moment of panic you debated writing to The Sisterhood only to scold yourself immediately afterwards. The Head Lady only wanted updates after your cover was revealed and you had been more successful on the path of endeavors sending a letter now would you expose your identity and most likely call for your head.

Then the answer came to you in a different way.

The Ashford Tourney was taking place at the end of the year and you were among the many selected silent sisters to attend with the royal caravan since an event full of jousting was to guarantee blood being spilled and even the occasional death of highborn standing. Once you were given your task you immediately knew that this was the next step of your mission. Someone of honorable character with a promising future would die at this event and it would be on you to revive him. But whether you would be convincing enough in the attempt would be entirely on your skillset.

A million things could go wrong in this bold phase of the mission: you could be deem a witch after you reveal yourself and be hung like a criminal, before or after you revive the man of honorable character, you could be sent away despite their appreciation for your endeavors in saving their future king, you could even be successful in it all and yet fail in seducing Valarr and giving him a child. It was all on you in that moment and you had to be calculative, prepared in the way you were taught in The Sisterhood in times of crisis.

You would not be a coward, you promised yourself. You would not let them down.

The journey to Ashford was long, longer than you realized it would be on foot. As a lower member of the Faith you were not given a ride so you walked the entire journey at the very back of the caravan. You spent most of your time watching, listening to guards make lewd jokes and sing bard songs that seemed to be very popular in Westeros. Westerosi culture was very interesting to you: it claimed to be one thing yet completely contradicted such practices in another. Humanity was a long spectrum of individuals that would always make mistakes despite the rules laid out for them but over the last nine moons of adapting to life in the Seven Kingdoms, you have seen more unsettling corruption among high position officials that were supposed to protect the weak and innocent than you ever wanted to see. In times like those it was hard to remain quiet but you knew if you stepped out of line and defended you would risk your identity being exposed.

The sight of the grassy land being hoisted by hundreds of colorful pavilions and an arena being set up in preparation for the tourney was both a welcoming sight and an unsettling one. After so many months of waiting, preparing for this moment, it had finally come and now you could only pray that you would find the right moment to complete the revival act on the right person.

You expected a full week of jousting, preparing dead bodies of noble men before sending them off to the afterlife in peace, and

However, you were quickly proven wrong after a mere few days.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

A hedge knight struck a prince of Targaryen, everyone was saying, a new throng of gossip so outrageously popular it reached those serving the Faith themselves. A meeting was held with the accuser and the one they call the Brightflame demanded a Trial of Seven, an ancient tradition of the religion sect you had served in disguise for long enough that it sometimes felt that like you actually were one of them, with the winner being the ones deemed innocent by the gods.

“Aerion,” A squire scoffed in passing by the back entrance of the castle of Ashford, the seat of House Ashford that was being hosted for the royal family during the progress of this nameday celebration for the Lord Ashford's daughter. “Only he would do something so craven.”

“The hedge knight is the one in the wrong,” A stable boy argued by his side, trying to keep up with the other man's quick sense of space. “He struck a man of royal blood.”

“Boy. That cruel prince is scarcely any more of a man than you and I are.”

You had swapped your robes for your simple travel wear then, scouring the whole arena of stalls merchants set up to sell during the events under the guise of purchasing something when in actuality, you merely wanted hear all the gossip of what was going on since you couldn't exactly ask anyone when you were supposed to remain silent. The smallfolk had no problem brandishing details to anyone who asked and the nobles were worse but it in the end it didn't matter: it was a dangerous battle that would most likely get many people killed and you were going to have attempted what The Sisterhood called the resurrection, on the right man. And that absolutely terrified you.

You had only read about the practice. It was a kind of magic that took a lot of energy and the right pronunciation of certain words in High Valyrian. One mess up could be catastrophic and if it didn't work it would take awhile before it could be attempted again. There was a story of a sister who tried once and not only did it leave her with health problems the rest of her life but she had to wait a decade before she did again, a cautionary tale that hesitated many members in performing the rites unless they felt absolutely ready and confident.

You were neither of those things.

The morning of the tourney you paid a merchant a bag full of golden dragons to swap clothes with you, mainly because you couldn't fathom waiting in solitude while this all happened. If disaster struck it was going to be in front of your eyes alone. Pulling the hood of your cloak over your head to hide your face you weaved through the throng of bodies crowding by any space of posting on the outside of the arena. The rain from the night before had left the ground trampled and unbearably muddy — the air thick with fog and so damp with moisture that it left droplets on the fabric of your borrowed clothes.

You managed to squeeze into a space among the crowd that at an angle provided a clear enough view of the arena and the competitors so you could see what would occur in the time that followed. You saw knights in gleaming armor preparing themselves, recognizing the sigils from the books you poured over as a child about Westeros and all its noble houses.

It is there that you watched, with bated breath, as the hedge knight attempts to rouse the crowd with an inspiring speech so he can have one more man on his team to make the seven. He spoke true words, genuine ones, yet the societal structure of the realm would deem many to. But then the massive gates carved with the sun creak open and you hear the sound hooves rattling against the muddy ground, followed by a man's voice, speaking clear and proud:

“I will take Ser Duncan's side!”

The gasps that surrounded you at the sight of Prince Baelor Targaryen, the Hand and the heir of the Iron Throne, were loud and echoing. A man of royal blood siding against his own kin — why? That was the question everyone was mumbling among themselves as they turned to each other. Then one spectator among the group of people on the side of the arena you were in called aloud something profound. You didn't hear any of it, too lost in the sound of chaos slowly breaking around you as Prince Maekar Targaryen rode over to his brother and the hedge knight to demand the truth, except for one small piece:

“-the great and honorable Baelor Targaryen.”

Under the hood of your cloak, your body froze in spite of itself while your eyes widened.

An honorable character with a promising future.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

The outcome of the battle was bloody and nearly victorious on the side of the accuser, that you were well aware of, but you didn't know Baelor died until hours later when the silent sisters were summoned.

You had changed back into your old clothes and assumed your position among members of the Faith like you had been there the whole time, a royal attendant entering the castle with a grim expression as he asked for the preparations of the burial worthy of a king. Since he was of fire and blood there was very little the sect that served the Stranger could do: his body would burn in the flames of his armor.

Or his son's armor.

Valarr had come to the room by himself to watch as the silent sisters worked, dressed in all black and bearing a grim expression. The tourney was the first time you saw him since and whenever you were able to catch a glimpse of him you found that he was always serious and reserved, polished and collected without so much of a second thought. People at the royal court would talk as you passed them or worked in the background and said that he was bold and full of promise. Everyone would believe he had the makings to be a great future king — after Baelor of course.

Now, in the dim light of the dark surrounded only by woman who served the Stranger, he seemed like a shaken gray shell of himself. If you weren't too busy plotting your next move in that moment you would silently grieve for him because the realm may have lost a But you were going to prevent that.

If he believed you.

The Young Prince quietly uttered for the dismissal of the silent sisters, leaving all of them to shuffle out of the room with great haste, yourself included. However, instead of following the other women back to your quarters you turned and posted yourself just outside the doorway as you remained still and silent in the darkness of the hallway.

For a long time the Targaryen prince said nothing. You waited for something, anything, before you finally heard his voice finally breaking:

“Oh, Father.”

You felt guilty witnessing a vulnerable moment, listening to his sobs and cries as heard the heavy thumping at what you guess was knees hitting the cold stone floor. But you were running out of options. You needed to talk to this prince, alone, and convince him to let you preform the ritual before the funeral happened. The body was scheduled to be burned on the morrow and once it rescinded to ash there was nothing more you could do. Valarr was your key into this: convincing the new 'heir' to the Iron Throne would give you enough protection to have him hold off the guards and other concerned individuals long enough until you could finish the revival ritual.

If you could successfully finish the ritual.

Fucking Hells. Fucking Hells. Fucking Hells.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You could do it: you had to do it. It was for The Sisterhood, for the cause of the greater good of the world.

For the prophecy.

You sucked in a sharp breath, steeling to collect yourself with any ounce of strength you had left, and slowly moved from the shadows to step into the room. Valarr's dark shadow remained slumped over his father's pale, dead body but he seemed to still at the mere presence of you as you stepped into the room. It was only when you paused before taking another step as he began to speak with a voice brimming with unbridled anger, still facing away from you.

“I thought I told you I wished to be alone with my lord father.”

You bowed your head. “I require an urgent word with you, My Prince. It is of the upmost importance.”

Valarr turned to look over at you, two-toned eyes rimmed red from all the recent crying, gaze growing taut at the sight of a silent sister speaking so freely to him when they are known to make a vow to remain silent along with the chastity. Not to mention the matter of you speaking to him alone. You knew what he was thinking: death. You had come to kill him.

He quickly reached for the blade strapped to his belt but you were quicker. You lunged and pulled the beautiful sword out of his scabbard before his hands could firmly grasp the item, the action causing a light sound of unsheathed metal, and swung it around skillfully enough to point the end towards him.

Valarr dark brown eye twitched angrily as he assumed the defense position. The tip of the sharp blade pointed toward his chin as he begrudgingly held up his hands. “Whatever you wish of me please be done of it quickly. I have already lost enough.”

If this was any other situation such words would tug at your heart, filling you with incredible weight. However you sighed, feeling exasperated despite knowing how unreasonable it was. He was grieving and confused: it was only right he felt this way considering everything that was going on.

“I am not here to hurt you.”

The Targaryen prince's face scrunched in confusion before he demanded the next question. “How do you know High Valyrian?”

You pulled the headdress of the silent sister's attire off your head, revealing a head full of gleaming silver-gold hair. Up until the tourney you had been using Tyrosh dyes you were given by the Head Lady to color your hair black since the Valyrian features were extremely noticeable in Westeros because they were very uncommon, unlike Essos. You had washed your hair shortly before the journey to Reach and had kept completely it concealed since with the highest sense of discretion.

Valarr's two-toned eyes widened in shock as you angled your head up proudly. “I am of the blood of Old Valyria. It is my mother tongue.”

The end of the Young Prince's dark eyebrows scrunch together. “Are you from Essos?”

You nodded. He exhaled shakily, the blade still pointed to him cautiously, though to lowered now to his stomach. “Why is a woman from one of the Free Cities here with her blade, threatening a prince of the realm?”

“It is a means to get you to listen to me without resorting to madness,” You argued, nodding to the sword still tightly in your grasp. “And I am not from the Free Cities.”

“Then where else would you be from?”

“The ruins of Old Valyria.”

A dark laugh slipped out of Valarr’s lips. “Old Valyria is gone because for the Doom. It is no longer uninhabitable.”

“That you know of.”

If Valarr wasn't confused before, he definitely was now.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

It took a moment to talk Valarr off a block that had him calling for guards with a mere yell.

What you told him understandably concerned him and so you had to find a convincing point that talked him off this hypothetical ledge that would send you to your death and that took way longer than you would have liked.

By the time things calmed down considerably the two of you found yourselves sitting on the floor in the room, the candles burning well past their prime as they dripped close to the end of their time. The sword lay forgotten on the other side of the room, dangerously close to the stone table where Baelor's body still lay. Somehow, in all of this, the matter of discussing this before a dead body was the least of both of your concerns at present.

Valarr sat beside you with an absolutely befuddled expression, running a hand through his short dark hair while his opposing arm rested on his propped knees, looking charmingly boyish as he contemplated what you just told him.

“This still doesn't make any sense.”

You sighed. “It doesn't have to make sense. I merely need you to take my word for it.”

“How can I?” He turned to look at you in almost an accusatory manner. “Rescerructing my father? That is the kind of magic that gets people killed.”

“In the Seven Kindoms.”

The Young Prince raised an eyebrow. “Do the Free Cities allow such magic?”

“Many places in Essos do,” You scoffed. “People are not bound by all these rules like the ones who live in Westeros here. Magic is still very much a mystery but it is taught in places like Maureen and Valyria. Even respected.”

“Not here,” Valarr stated. “If you attempt the matter before the funeral starts you will be seized and executed.”

“Which is why I need you to hold the guards off until I complete the resurrection ritual.”

The prince looked at you pointedly. “And why would I do that?”

“Because deep down, I think you would seize any opportunity to bring your father back.”

Valarr debated your words for a moment, eyes tracing every inch of you as he studied who you were as well as your intentions while you shifted lightly under the heat of his gaze. “Have you ever done it before?”

You could have lied to him then, pulled the manipulation strategies the Sisterhood taught you whenever it came to infiltrating civilization and political groups. But you looked at this prince, this man, who was grieving the loss of his father as any human would and you found that in that moment you simply could not do it. You did not want to get his hopes up only to crush it all in a moment’s notice because you failed the mission.

“I have read about it and studied the practice .”

His jaw clenched tightly. “Then why should I trust you?”

“It would be wiser if you didn’t,” You admitted honestly, clasping your hands in your lap and turning to look at him once more. “But then again, what do you have to lose?”

After much argument, speculation, and debate, the two of you eventually reached an agreement: he would let you preform the ritual and if you failed you would give your life, since in the end you would rather die than return to the Sisterhood after failing your mission.

You desperately hoped this would work.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

The morning of the funeral was a dull gray and the sickest your stomach has felt since you were on the boat sailing through the Narrow Sea.

The ceremony was halted until late morning after everyone had broken fast in the castle. Now disguised as a septa, courtesy of the prince and his boundless connections, you lingered at the back of the royal family and other highborn nobles who would attend the burial site.

Valarr kept his word: he held off the burning of his father’s body as late as he could, to the point where his family was starting to get very irritated.

“Do not give your father the dishonor of this,” you heard Maekar lightly scold him, purple eyes hard with tension while the lines on his grumpy face seemed to only grow deeper since he found out the death of his brother. “You are the heir now, Nephew. Don’t be foolish.”

It was after that comment when Young Prince had finally turned to acknowledge him — two-toned eyes burned like hot ambers that seemed to show a fraction of the dragon blood he possessed. “Uncle, I think out of everyone it is wise that you speak little of this matter.”

So Maekar said nothing more after that.

The procession was held in haste of the unexpected tragedy among a set of grassy hills in the Reach, a small crowd of highborn and royalty gathering as they waited for the presiding septon to begin his funeral rites. However before he could even begin you began your move.

“Stop the funeral.”

Everyone turned to face you, seeing you dressed in the robes of the septa, as you made your way before everyone. You turned to face them all like a priest sent from the heavens above.

“By the will of the gods I will restore this man and bring him back to life.”

The bold words, as you predicted, sent confusion spreading across the nobility like a plaguing disease. Whispering became rampant and everyone turned to look at each other.

“Father what is this?” Little Prince Aegon turned to glance up at his father in confusion, tears still swimming in his eyes, no doubt involving the recent death of his uncle. “What is she saying?”

“It is nothing,” Maekar was quick to dismiss turning to the men-at-arms in polished black and red armor. “Seize her.”

None of them moved. The whiskers on the prince’s beard twitched as he glared at them, irritated.

“Are you all deaf? Obey your prince this instant and seize this craven woman!”

“You will do no so thing.” Valarr stepped confidently forward, blocking the path between you and the crowd, his uncle in particular. “This woman is trained in the ancient Valyrian practices that can revive my father and she is going to attempt the ritual to resurrect him.”

A flurry of gasps and shocked looks splintered through the small crowd as you made your way to the body in the center. Yet the one they call the Anvil was not having it.

“How dare you?!” He sneered, lunging for you only to be blocked by Valarr, who struggled to keep him in place. Maekar turned to look at him in shock, betrayed. “Valarr what have you done?”

“The Gods presented me with an opportunity and I am taking it,” The Young Prince explained coolly. If he was doubting his decision at all like he was when he was talking to you the night before it did not reflect in his face and demeanor. A truely collected prince of the realm. “The woman agreed to pay with her life should she fail at achieving the resurrection.”

“What did you do?!” His uncle roared once more, strong enough to easily shove Valarr back without so much of a second thought. The heir’s heir stumbled to the ground as the remaining Kingsguard took his place in holding back the older, forced to use size in numbers as to hold him back. Maekar turned to the men that were supposed to serve and protect the royal family and struck a deadly look at each of them as he fought against their iron grip. “Stop this! Unhand me at once!”

“Forgive us, My Prince,” One of them said, bowing his head. “Without the king here Valarr holds authority as next-in-line to the Iron Throne.”

The grumpy man scoffed distastefully in response, though it did little to sway him from fighting against their impossibly tight grasp.

There is was scarcely any time to think, much less be afraid. You had to act fast before Maekar lost his grip and stumbled forward with the intention of killing you in a sense of blind fury. So you got to work immediately.

You pulled out your items from a small pouch you brought on the journey over to Westeros and started without so much of a second thought, mumbling the incantation in High Valyrian quickly and clearly as possible. You heard senses of fear spiking behind you, unrest trickling through the small group of highborns as Valarr barked orders to the men-at-arms to spread out and keep everyone at bay. You focused entirely on your work, repeating the steps in your head like a mantra over and over as your hands worked quickly across the prince's dead body.

The final step was the blood slit from your arm as an offering to the Valyrian Gods which you smeared on Baelor's nose. Then you said the final words and waited, which was the most anxiety-inducing part.

For a moment there was nothing and you believed yourself a failure. The one they call the Breakspear was impossibly frozen, gray in skin, and very much dead. Your heart sank, believing you had failed and would have to pay the price with your head.

Then Prince Baelor gasped: eyes flying open, the color returning his skin as he stumbled to sit up in a flurry of coughs. You grabbed his arm to help steady him, hardly believing the sight with your very own eyes.

You did it, gods willing. It actually worked.

For the first time that whole morning since dawn had broke everyone had gone completely silent and behind you, you heard Valarr cry aloud in High Valyrian:

“Father.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

[mitzukiyapping]

— THE MISSING DRAGON

PAIRING — House of the Dragon/A knight of the seven kingdoms x afab!Targaryen!reader

SUMMARY — Rhaenyra‘s younger sibling found themself in a different timeline, in the future. Not knowing what had happened, they tried to find someone they know, not knowing they’re alone now.

AUTHOR‘S NOTE — I am so freaking sorry that this took so long. I desperately tried to finish this while trying to balance school life and such. I can’t write more than five paragraphs a day and it kills me.

WORD COUNT — 2k words

EDIT — check out @justmyworldiguess !! She has posted a fanfic based on this Oneshots/draft with some changes — it’s on ao3. It’s called ‘A Comatose Dragon‘ by @/justkeepblabbering

Based on this idea

MASTERLIST

Divider by @uzmacchiato

Rain was pouring onto Y/n as they sat up on their dragon, Eclipse. His dark, slim figure flew over the battlefield, over the men stabbing each other with their swords. It was hard to tell who is from which side, with all the blood covering them. They were sent to help the people on their sister’s side, eliminating the people of the green side.

The only thing they could do was fly to the other side and burn the enemy’s reinforcement, which still stood there, waiting for a signal to storm forward. Some began trying to flee as they saw the creature coming near. Y/n let out a loud, ‘Dracarys‘ when they were close enough.

Eclipse opened his mouth, fire flying out. Men screamed as they were surrounded by the flames, melting their armour onto their skin. Just as they were about to shout another command, out of the corner of their sight, they saw a scorpion being positioned. Directly in their direction.

Immediately Y/n directed their dragon to fly up. They hoped that the men would not be able to see the, anymore if they both vanished in between the clouds. Reaching the thick clouds, they let out a shacking breath. They didn’t know how long they could stay there, the possibility of their dragon and the, dying by a bolt was terrifying.

After a few second Y/n began feeling weird. Dizziness suddenly started consuming their senses. Though, their eyes popped wide as even Eclipse began swaying. „sȳzorys, Eclipse!“ (calm, eclipse!), they shouted, hoping it would reach him.

Their panic grew as they little by little flew lower, Eclipse slowly losing strength. Words in high Valyrian bubbled out of their mouth as they tried to get him to regain his senses. The words stopped as they left the cover of the clouds. Even the creature seemed to regain his senses as he stayed in the air.

The field filled with men just moments prior was empty. Not a single human stood on the complete, now untouched, land. Y/n’s eyes swept over the ground while their brain tried to come up with a solution. Though, not a single idea came up. This wasn’t possible.

Y/n armoured hand came up to their face. With a big swing they slapped themself. Opening their eyes again and looking around they came to realization that this wasn’t a dream. The ting of pain spread in their cheek. So much that they felt a bit of blood spill from a cut on their lip.

Letting out another anxious breath, they commanded their dragon to begin flying. Y/n didn’t say where, but it seemed like Eclipse knew where the both of them should go. Their sight remained on the floor as they flew, noticing how terrified people reacted every time they saw the dragon in the air.

Soon, a coast came in sight, with it, the endless sight of water. Eclipse kept flying, and they let him. Y/n did have an idea now where he might be leading them. And they were correct when an island came in sight with a castle. It was Dragonstone. Hope bloomed at the thought of seeing their sister, of telling her what had happened. Of seeing their nephews again and their great-cousin Rhaenys.

After landing, they were practically running to and in the castle. Passing every corridor, they became slower with every corner they passed. Everything looked so… left behind. Even though there were no signs of any dusts or any spider webs, not a single soul was in sight.

With time, hope began to fade away. And as the doors to the council room were in front of them, they hesitated. Even as their hand lingered in mid-air, hesitation stopped them.

What if they weren’t in there? What would they do? What happened?

What if the people that they needed right now weren’t in there?

Closing their eyes and breathing in, they pushed the doors open. And what welcomed Y/n wasn’t what they had hoped for, it was silence. Nothing but silence — it was so loud. As they looked around, they couldn’t bring themselves to move. It was like their body turned to stone. Only after what felled like hours did they take a step forward.

„Rhaenyra?“ Not louder than a whisper was Y/n’s voice. Nothing. Only silence responded. Once again, they tried to call out for their sister, and once again they were met with nothing. Desperate, Y/n turned around and fled the room, running down the familiar halls, calling out name after name. Their sister, uncle, nephews, great cousin, anyone.

Checking every room they came across, tears threatened to fall. The build-up confusion and frustration of finding no one boiling over - being too much. And then, they did. Without stopping they fell down their face, drawing a path of wetness. Y/n succumbed to the floor, knees giving up. Trying to wipe away the tears, breathing became harder. It felt like their lungs were collapsing with how much they sobbed. They remembered how sad their sister was when their father died. How everything began to collapse and a war began. Since then, they couldn’t sleep in peace, fearful that they might get betrayed by the people that came along to Dragonstone. Just like what happened to their nephew, Jaehaerys. The boy’s dead still plagued them like their shadow. Not to mention their other nephew, Lucerys. Killed by his own family. Both too young to die.

A loud roar tear them from their thoughts. Their eyes swept to a window, seeing the darkened sky outside. Like a spell it caused them to collect their mind again. Only one possible solution came to them in mind. One that made somewhat sense. Either Rhaenyra has successfully overthrown the enemy. Or the green team has defeated the black side. They threaten the thought of Alicent killing their sister, but they couldn’t push the idea away.

They tried to ignore why everything was so strange after feeling dizzy in the sky, dismissing it as not receding that much air that way up in the sky.

Gathering their strength, Y/n pushed themselves to their feet again and ran down the halls, toward their awaiting dragon. They had to see what happened, to what happened to their family. With that goal in mind, Eclipse began to fly away from the island as they reached him. Away from the castle where once was their family, filled with warmth and now was cold.

It did take some time to reach the capital of the kingdom, king’s landing. The castle on the cliff came in sight first, towering over everything. It felt familiar, and yet, like a prison — seeing it. Knowing that they had once lived there — before the dance of dragons started. That they once roamed the halls with their sister, unaware of all the chaos beginning to unfold slowly.

Once being unaware of the pressure of being the King’s child. Unaware of the jealousy from their sister, that she didn’t want to have against them. Unaware of the plan their father had for them, of marrying them of first to one of their siblings. Unaware of Alicent trying to get rid of them.

They were just too unaware — too young and naive. Only when Y/n got older did they slowly learn the plan that the people around them had decided for them. And only then did they refuse what their future had held for them. They refused the marriage to any of their siblings.

They quickly wiped the tears away that threatened to spill again. This wasn’t the time, they told themselves. They had to see what happened. With new determination they reigned Eclipse toward the dragonpit. Y/n looked in surprise toward the folk as they also began to scream once they both flew over them, just like the people on the land.

But the biggest surprise came when they were near the dragonpit. It was destroyed. Wordlessly they stayed in the air, mouth open. Eclipse let out something akin to a whine. Regaining back their senses, they shifted him toward the walls of the city. There they landed him outside, on the ground, a small distant away from the gates.

Getting off from the dragon, they landed with a quiet ‘thud‘. Leaning their forehead against his scalps, they took a deep breath before stepping away from him. Their feet dragged them forward, as one hand settled on their sword. The gates opened as men on horses rode out. Stopping in their track, Y/n watched them with narrowed eyes. Not even one looked familiar.

Even though they were from the Knight guard, based on their armour, they didn’t look like the one Y/n knew. Not a single Knight looked like one of those that stayed in Kingslanding after the war began or one that came along to their sister’s side.

From what Y/n could see, they were all tense, starring not only at them but also Eclipse. Some man rode forward as the rest stayed behind him, aside two others being right behind him on either side of him. The man had brown hair with a beard, some white being here and there.

The two others were two young men. The, probably, older one looked like just the man in front of them, just with a white streak in his hair. The younger one though had light brown almost orange hair. They were probably his sons, based on their appearances. Y/n didn’t want to get ahead of themself, but they did have some traits of their family. Yet, they lacked the eye colour and the famously white hair.

„Who are you?“ The man asked. Y/n could see that he tried to be calm, but his gaze flickered to their dragon, tensing up everytime he did. „And how- how is it possible that you have a dragon…“ Eclipse roared, as if sensing that they were talking about him. Some men stepped back in fear.

Only the younger son looked at it in admiration, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. Y/n gazed over all of them, their thoughts running wild, question after question. „Where is Rhaenyra?“ They demanded, ignoring the question from the man.

He hesistated before answering, „I- I am sorry, but there is no Rhaenyra that we know of.“ His horse stirred, making him even more nervous. „My name is Baelor Targaryen, son of Daeron Targaren the second, heir to the throne and first inline. So please tell me, who are you and what is your business.“

Y/n felt unease, not knowing how to handle the situation. They hadn’t heard of a Daeron or Baelor Targaryen. How is this possible, they asked themself. The words lingered on the tip of their tongue, wanting to know the answer. „I am here to see Queen Rhaenyra.“ They answered simple and quick.

Murmuring broke out under the armored men, switching glances between them. Even the two boys looked surprised. Baelor covered his surprise with a neutral face. „Correct me if I am wrong, but, are you looking for Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, first born of King Viserys Targaren the first?“

They nodded, nervously waiting for what comes next. It uneases them with how their sister, was called Princess instead of her right title. And even more with how the man formed his question. It sounded so weird, but they couldn’t grasp on what it is. „Princess Rhaenyra had died around a hundred years ago.“

The sentence made them stop. It went through their head for about a hundred time till they actually acknowledged what he said. „What?“ Breathlessly they muttered. „That isn’t true.“ They shock their head, looking over every man that stood before them, hoping to now see someone they recognize. At least someone, to tell this that this wasn’t true. No one. Nothing happened.

Eclipse whined behind them, nudging them with their snout. As if he knew what had happened, as if he felt what was wrong. Y/n rested a hand on his head, steadying themself. Taking a deep breath to ground themself and hold back the tears again.

„Did-“ Baelor took a step near after getting of his horse, „Did you perhaps not know this?“ It was strange for him to meet someone that didn’t know of this. The story of the dance of dragons is widely known across the reign. There was barely anybody that didn’t know story.

„Rhaenyra is my sister.“ They mumbled.

Written by @/mitzukiyapping !! Do not repost this anywhere else or translate it without my permission. — 2026

[justmyworldiguess]

@mitzukiyapping was very kind to let me use this idea and run with it! Check out their oneshot as well 💜

[slavicafire]

in this new year I want you to be alright. I hope you move out. I hope you have enough money to feel safe. I hope you abandon shame and forgive yourself. I hope you get enough sleep and some good news. I hope you laugh a lot and the heaviness of the world eases a bit. I wish you to be alright.