𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Valarr Targaryen x Fem!Reader. 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2k
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Avoiding Valarr had proven to be a far more difficult task than you had anticipated, but it became impossible when you acquainted yourself with someone new, and he didn’t give you an opening to run. Finally, he found himself in your company, and you found yourself questioning everything you had convinced yourself to be true.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canon divergent, no use of Y/N, reader's house is not mentioned, reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to style, reader and Valarr are both at least 20, more jealousy, more yearning, reader doing some wild mental gymnastics, tension!!!!!, my only editor is myself so keep that in mind
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so sorry this is a couple days later than promised! I had some unexpected stuff come up:) this is not my best work but the next part is my favorite!
𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 three days had passed, and you were already ready to lock yourself in the deepest cell of the castle until your madness waned. Despite your greatest efforts at avoiding the areas you knew Valarr frequented, it seemed as if the Gods had taken it upon themselves to torture you. No matter the time of day, no matter the corner you turned, he was always there, and he was never alone. He was always accompanied by a lady and her septa, or by several ladies and theirs. They would always be smiling and quietly talking amongst one another, and you would be turning on your heels to escape them, regardless of what your original destination had been.
“The Gods are mocking me, Aely,” You groaned as she fussed with your hair, early morning sunlight slipping through the breaks in your curtains to cast an effervescent glow in your chambers, “I am being punished. For what, I am not sure, but I know that I am.”
“They are not mocking you, my lady. It is only part of the festivities,” She lightly assured, more than privy to the cause of your frustration. After all, she had been the one subjected to your incessant tirades from the moment you heard the horns blare with the arrival of the first house.
“Well, I know that,” You frowned, and she instantly brought her hand around your head to push the pad of her finger on the wrinkle between your brows, “I just— I can not escape these festivities no matter where I go. Not even the Godswood has been safe.”
“Have you tried to participate,” She suggested with a gentle hum as if it were the obvious solution before she returned to her work, “You are in contention for the prince's hand, are you not?”
“Everyone is,” You huffed, distracting yourself from the tightening in your throat by picking at the loose thread on your chemise, “I do not see why that is important.”
“Because,” She drew out, eyes meeting yours in the polished steel, “You have done nothing but avoid the young prince, while the other ladies seek him out to better their chances. I am merely suggesting that maybe it is time you seek him out.”
“Why? To better my chances,” You wryly snorted with a roll of your eyes.
“No, my lady,” She let out an airy laugh, “I believe your chances are not in the slightest jeopardy. I only believe it might put an end to your torture, and to his as well.”
“What torture has he endured,” You hastily turned around in your seat, your hair falling from her hands as you squinted up at her in confusion, “Too many ladies giving him compliments? Too much fussing about how well-dressed or attractive he is? Lords offering too much coin and land to secure the prince's hand?”
Aely’s brows rose at your outburst, a teasing smile toying on her face as she placed a steady hand on your shoulder, “Your silence is torture enough for Prince Valarr. Do you not remember the time he had misplaced your favorite book and you didn’t speak to him for nearly a fortnight? I still have yet to see the prince mope about the halls so pitifully. I believe they had to call upon the maester because Prince Valarr had worried himself so sick he was completely bedridden until you visited him.”
Your shoulders slumped at her recollection, because yes, you do remember. You remember it quite well, actually.
Valarr had prudently approached you one afternoon to tell you that he had lost the one book you had brought from home, and you had been utterly heartbroken. It was one of the few things in your possession you truly cared for, and knowing that it had been he who lost it upset you far more than if it had been anyone else. He, of all people, knew how important it had been to you. He had tried to speak to you several times. He had begged for your forgiveness, and he had sworn he would find it again, but you refused to even look at him. It wasn’t until Matarys had found you in the library one morning and had offhandedly mentioned that his older brother had fallen ill that you excused yourself to rush to his chambers.
His guards had let you into his room without question, and you had stepped through the wooden doors to see the maester leaning over Valarr as his head hung off his bed and over a bucket. Maester Doran noticed you first and had firmly instructed you to leave, but the sound of him calling your name had been enough to pause the Gods-awful dry heaving coming from the prince long enough for him to find the strength to look at you.
At his request, you had carefully approached his bedside with your hands nervously wrung together in front of you. Valarr’s hair had been stuck to his forehead with sweat, his face horribly pale and sickly, and you had to tear your eyes away from him before the uncomfortable tightening in your chest became unbearable. You had shifted your gaze to Maester Doran and firmly asked what had happened. He had told you that it was a simple sickness, one that would remedy itself with time and plenty of water, but not even he could ignore the way color found its way back to Valarr’s face as he looked up at you.
Apologies had tumbled from Valarr’s mouth so quickly that it made him heave again, and you had instinctively fallen onto the bed beside him to place a hand on his upper back. You had rubbed soothing, gentle circles between his shoulder blades until he finished, and you gave silent gratitude to the Gods that they had not made you faint of stomach. When he bashfully looked at you again, you had told him that, while you were still upset that the book had been lost, you would forgive him, but only if he would find you more to read. He had managed a groggy smile and a promise that he would never stop searching the Seven Kingdoms and beyond in search of any book you could ever want.
The next day, Valarr had been able to get out of bed without getting sick all over the castle, and within the next week, he had found the lost book.
“We were children then,” You shook the memory off, resettling back into the chair so Aely could finish your hair, “That is not relevant now that we are adults. He likely does not even remember that, and even so, he would not let such things affect him.”
“If you believe so,” Aely lowly replied, and you could tell that she was anything but convinced, but she let the matter fade into nothing.
Once you had finished preparing for the day, you decided that a walk through the courtyard might benefit you. Perhaps the warmth of the sun and the smell of the tides might lift your spirits. When you stepped through the grand doorway, you carefully scanned the confines of the walls, and found that, fortunately for you, the Gods had granted you the absence of Valarr and his cohort of potential brides. Without their wavering and haunting presence, you would be able to peacefully stroll about the grounds and wander from one corner to another without worry.
You allowed yourself to observe some of the Kingsguard as they sparred with one another, to watch as people flurried about because they had something to do and somewhere to be, and to listen when your ears picked up on noteworthy gossip. You spoke to those who greeted you, held conversations with those you had seen at court before, but mostly, the only company you kept was that of your lady. Despite your role and status, you had never been one who enjoyed the social aspect of nobility, and you wanted to enjoy the small window of time you got to yourself. However, it wasn’t long before your good luck had seemingly run out, and the curtains to that window were drawn.
The focus of everyone around you shifted towards the entrance to the castle, their heads bowing and their conversations coming to an abrupt halt. You hoped, prayed, that your eyes were going to fall on His Grace the King, or even his lady wife, but of course, that was the wishful thinking of a fool. It was Valarr that traipsed through the castle doors, and he was accompanied by a young woman you easily recognized.
Kiera of Tyrosh. She was as beautiful as she was vibrantly decorated, her people known for their indulgence of dyed fabrics and ornate headwear. The mere sight of them made envy claw at your skin, its jagged nails chipping away at the composure you had worked so hard to build because you were well aware of just how agreeable a union between the two would be. It would unite two prominent and formidable houses. It could, and likely would, undermine any lingering Blackfyre support that remained in Tyrosh. It was the perfect picture of the ideal political marriage with the benefits greatly outweighing anything else.
The realization was nauseating. It made you want to bury yourself in your blankets while Aely refused to fill your cups, but it also reminded you what this entire ordeal was truly about. It was not the ordinary gathering of the noble houses you had been used to. It had little to do with anything other than finding Valarr a wife and securing a marriage that would benefit the kingdom. The crown was in search of an alliance, of political gain to strengthen their claim to the throne. They were in search of power, which your house had little of to offer the king in comparison to others, and it seems as if you had forgotten that that was better than any currency in the realm.
You swallowed thickly and blinked away the pinprick behind your eyes and found the courage to tear them away from the pair. You could feel the piercing gaze of your lady heavily pressing on the back of your skull, but you ignored her silent worries as you put one foot in front of the other and kept your head high. You knew what needed to be done. You simply needed to adjust the course you had previously set out on and take advantage of what was laid out before you. There were just as many unwed men as there were ladies in the Keep, and you could not afford to let such an opportunity go to waste.
You observantly skimmed the yard, eyes flitting around from person to person until they settled on a man clad in sky blue and white. He stood at a table outside of the training circle where he picked up blades, maces, and axes, measuring the weights of them in his hand as if he were selecting his companion to battle. He appeared to be not otherwise be occupied, and, before you were able to talk yourself out of it, you made your way towards him and formed a rough idea of a plan in your head.
Carefully settling yourself beside the unfamiliar man, you pretended to be interested in the assortment that was displayed on the table. You recognized most of the pieces, but some were unfamiliar to you and you fought the urge to ask Valarr about that crept into your mind. He had always answered your nonsensical questions, but it was not he who stood beside you, and it was not he you needed to be thinking of.
Not even a few moments had passed when you caught the still of the man’s hands as they hovered over the steel, and you bit the inside of your cheek to hide the brash smile that tugged at your mouth. You had gotten his attention, just as you had hoped.
“Hello,” You bashfully greeted with a shy smile, giving him a brief glance while your fingers danced over a leather bound hilt.
“Hello,” He smoothly replied, inclining his head into a formally polite bow, “I am Ser Edwyn, of House Arryn, and you are the lady…”
You turned completely towards him to sweetly gave him your name, allowing him to tenderly take your hand and place a gentle kiss to your knuckles. When he let your arm fall, he slightly stepped to the right, and it gave you a near perfect view of Valarr as he hovered not far from where you stood. You had expected to see him engaged in his conversation with the Tyroshi lady to his left, but you were stunned to find that his gaze was fixed on you. He was watching you with closely measured curiosity, and, even with such distance between the two of you, you could still see the nearly imperceptible tension in his shoulders.
“Is the lady interested in weaponry,” He playfully asked, bringing your attention back to him while he gestured to the table beside you.
“In truth, no,” You lightly laughed while your eyes subtly took him in.
He was attractive, to put it plainly. He was tall with a sturdy enough build. He had sandy colored hair that brushed the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck. His eyes were the pale blue that his house was known for, and he had the same hooked nose, as well. His presence wasn’t commanding, it didn’t demand the kind of respect that Valarr’s had, but it was captivating all the same. He was most certainly the kind of man that had never experienced trouble with women, and the kind of man that women never struggled to find appealing. He was also without a wife, if your memory served you correctly.
You shifted direction, relaxing your shoulders and burying any thought of Valarr in the depths of your mind so that you were able to focus entirely on the man before you. While marriage might be a bit of an overreach after a first meeting, you saw no harm in entertaining the second son at the very least. It wasn’t as if you had anything to lose, remaining unmatched unlike most of the ladies your age.
“I only came over in hopes that you would notice me,” You continued as you admired him, your tone coated in sugar and honey, “I hope that is not too forward, Ser.”
“It is not,” He shook his head as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, “I am grateful you approached me. If I am to be honest, I noticed you from the moment my family arrived, and have not stopped since.”
Well, that was certainly not the response you had been expecting. Perhaps this might be easier than you had thought it would be.
“Is that so,” You tilted your head with a coy smile, “What has prevented us from introduction before?”
“Truthfully, you are quite difficult to catch,” His confidence wavered as he nervously shifted on the balls of his feet, an act you found to be endearing, “You are elusive, and when you do grace a room with your presence, Prince Valarr happens to find your side quicker than anyone. If we hadn’t been invited to the castle knowing the prince searched for a wife, one might think he was already spoken for based on sight alone.”
His words hadn’t been malicious. They hadn’t been intended to have any effect on you at all, you’re almost certain of that. Yet they landed like a blow to your chest, leaving you dazed and scrambling to force air into your lungs.
“Oh,” You slightly frowned, collecting your bearings that his comment had sent scattering to the dirt beneath your feet, “I can assure you the prince is not spoken for, nor am I. We are only friends.”
“That is good news,” Edwyn’s eyes sparked with hope, “Wil—”
The sound of someone shouting at him shattered the budding tension you had carefully curated, or maybe it had already been broken at the mention of Valarr, you could not tell. Your gaze was pulled to an older man who wore the same blue and white colors, and you instantly noted that his attention was already on the two of you. The man glanced at you a beat longer than necessary before giving Edwyn, who you assume is a son or nephew based on the features they shared, a discreet look of approval. Edwyn incoherently mumbled something under his breath at his summons, but he straightened his back and squared his shoulders when he returned his focus back to you.
“Might I see you at the tourney on the morrow,” He asked, shifting closer to you the faintest bit.
“You will,” You curtly nodded, ignoring the holes that a certain prince was burning into the side of your head.
Despite the shortness of your conversation, Valarr was being annoyingly persistent in reminding you that he was there merely a few steps away from you. He was known to be soft spoken, yet he had purposefully spoken at an octave loud enough for his voice to filter into your conversation. He ensured that he remained just within your line of sight, or that you remained within his, anytime that he moved about. Whatever it was he was trying to accomplish, you did not pay it any mind. You gave the man in front of you all of your attention, and you were content in keeping it that way until he took his leave.
“Then I shall see you then,” He gave a smug smile as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and hinged his hips into a bow.
When he was rising back to his full height, he reached for your hand again. The skin of his palms were rough and worn from years of training, starkly differing from your own that had never seen such hardship. He kept your gaze as he brought your knuckles to his lips, and you didn’t bother to fend off the warmth that flooded your cheeks from the gesture. It was minutely intimate, and it was only when he let go that you found the strength to speak again.
“I look forward to seeing you, Ser,” You breathlessly let out, inclining your head in farewell.
With one more tempting look, he left for his father or uncle, whoever the older man was to him, and you pivoted on your heels to search for Aely. She remained only a few steps away from you with a delicate smile on her soft features, but there was something hidden in the depths of her gaze. Something that said I know what you’re doing without having to actually say the words, but you chose to act as if it wasn’t there at all.
“I would say that meeting was a success,” You excitedly pointed out with a pleased grin.
The image of his blue eyes peeking over your hand flashed in your mind, but they slowly morphed into a pair of eyes you had spent almost half your life dreaming of. Deep blue meshed with brown peered back at you as if they were reclaiming your thoughts, surplanting themselves at the forefront of your memories to not ever be forgotten. You tried to shake it off, to shove the memory of him away, but when one would leave, two more would take their place.
“I would have to agree,” Aely interrupted your inner turmoil, her voice laced with light knowing, “Though, I must ask. What is it you were trying to accomplish? Gaining Ser Edwyn’s affection, or Prince Valarr’s attention?”
You gaped at her accusation, and, while it was light and playful, shame still filled your veins all the time. An endless pit of guilt opened in your stomach because you knew, in a way, there was some truth to her words. While you would like to believe you would have sought Edwyn out regardless, it was no use to deny that your displays had been amplified because of the heavy presence that clung to you like a second skin. Whether it had been unknowingly or not did not matter now that awareness had been brought to it.
“I— I do not know what you mean,” You weakly mumbled with sunken shoulders and downcast eyes.
“My lady,” Aely hurriedly started, taking a careful step towards you, “I only je— Good morrow, my prince.”
She cut herself off, formally greeting Valarr with a curtsy as he approached the two of you. When her head rose, she caught your gaze and tossed an almost apologetic look in your direction that made your brows furrow. As you turned to face him, you prepared yourself to see Kiera still at his side, but the only person that accompanied him was Walter, one of his sworn shields. It would be a lie if you said you hadn’t felt the tiniest bit of satisfaction seeing that he was without her company, but you didn’t let that show as you mimicked Aely’s movements.
You straightened your back and folded your hands together at your waist, resisting the urge to bury your fingers in the fabric and grasp at the material. Your gaze fixed on Valarr as he stood a few feet away from you, the sun reflecting off the streak of silver hair that contrasted the chestnut brown and brightening the hue of his two-toned eyes. The deep red in the seams of his clothing nearly glowed under the light, and your fingers subconsciously traced at your own that lined your bodice.
“Hello,” Valarr acknowledged the both of you by name, his eyes merely passing over Aely for a moment before they settled on you, and there was no mistaking the way they instantly softened, “Are the two of you enjoying the nice weather?”
“We are,” Your brow quirked at the simpleness of his question, “Is the weather up to your standards, my prince?”
“It is agreeable,” He curtly nodded, the edge of his mouth slightly turning upwards in poorly concealed amusement, “Would you like to take a walk with me, so that we may enjoy it together?”
“Me?”
The word tumbled out before you could catch it, and you swore you heard Aely muffle a giggle from beside you. You tossed a pointed glare over her shoulder, but you were only met with a crinkly eyed grin and a cheeky dip of her head. When you returned your attention to Valarr, you had to stifle a gasp from how far he had bridged the gap between you. He was within arms reach now, his presence shrouding you in a haze that disorientated you far more than you already were.
“Yes, you,” He lightly chuckled with humor twinkling in his eyes, “It would be a great honor if you said yes. I’ve quite missed your company.”
Valarr was gazing down at you so intensely that it was no longer the sun that beat down on you that caused the heat that crawled against your skin. It wasn’t the humidity or the temperature that made your pulse quicken, or made your palms grow clammy as they nervously pressed against your abdomen. That honor belonged to your longest friend, to the man you loved and couldn’t have, and to him it will always belong to.
With a small shake of the head, you feebly cleared your throat and asked, “Where would you like to go?”
You ended up in the Godswood, which was not unusual for either of you. It was where the two of you spent a great deal of your time together, always under watchful eyes, and where you had always gone anytime you were in search of sanctuary. If it were any other day, it would be almost entirely empty, but with the castle bursting at its seams with people, there were a few who had found their way into the forest. Whether they had been in search of quiet or had set out to explore every inch of the Keep was unknown, but what you did know was that their stares had not stopped tracking the two of you from the moment your feet stepped onto the stone path.
While the hairs on the back of your neck rose from their scrutinizing gaze and their faint whispers, Valarr was seemingly unfazed as he led you through the trees. He only came to a stop when you reached the very same alder tree he had found you crying under all those years ago, and he began to untie the thread of his silk cloak. As he made work of spreading the fabric out on the earth between the roots, your eyes searched for Aely and found her settled on one of the benches, her body angled just enough for her to see the two of you. Walter stood not far from her, shoulders squared, eyes wide and alert, hand readily on the pommel of his blade, but also engaged in hushed conversation with your lady.
You had always wondered what the two of them discussed when they found the others company, but she would always brush you off when you would ask. On occasion, you would gingerly warn her away from any potential feelings she might harbor for him. You would remind her that he had taken an oath that was not to be broken, but she countlessly reassured you that was not a concern you needed to have. That, however, did not subdue your relentless curiosity, and you made a mental note to ask again when it was only the two of you later.
Once Valarr was pleased enough with the way his cloak lay on the grass, he rose back to full stature and turned to you with an outstretched hand. He was softly smiling at you, and he was giving you the very same look he always did. He always looked at you as if you were the only person in the room, no matter how full it was. He would look at you as if your presence alone brought him far comfort that not even he knew he needed. His gaze would always soften in a way that you noticed was only ever given to you, and it always made the same dangerously warm feeling fester behind your rib cage. It made you want to cross the line you had drawn and let it bleed into territory that you believed was not yours to claim.
You hurriedly cleared your thoughts before you slid your hand into his, a spark crackling against your palm, tingling across the skin all the way to where your heart lay beneath your chest. It made a sharp intake of breath catch in your throat, and you nearly yanked your arm back out of instinct, but you managed to make a quick recovery. You worked a gentle smile to your features, and while he didn’t mention your reaction, you knew that he noticed. He was irritatingly perceptive, especially so when it came to things you would like him to miss.
With his assistance, you settled onto the makeshift blanket, and he followed you shortly after, ensuring that there was a respectable distance between you. You could feel his gaze piercing the side of your face, but you avoided it and chose to focus on tucking your feet under your thighs and adjusting your dress so that your modesty remained intact. You ran your hands along the lavish fabric to give the appearance that you remained occupied, but, truthfully, you were simply buying yourself enough time to steady the heavy thrum of your heart.
“I hope you know that I meant what I said,” He spoke first, voice steady and even.
Your eyes shift over to him, observing how carefree he looked as he used his palms to bear all his weight and leaned backwards with crossed one ankle over the other. You couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight bent around his frame and made him look positively otherworldly. You knew that Targaryen’s were known for their divine features, everyone did, but you would swear to the old Gods and the new that Valarr was the most beautiful of them all. Even without their signet of silver hair and violet eyes, you believed that he would rival anyone in his lineage, and, to you, there would be little to debate on the matter.
“Which time,” You tilted your head in curiosity, teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek.
“When I said that I have missed your company,” He shamelessly admitted, his gaze unwavering as he focused on nothing but you, “We have not spent much time together since everyone has arrived.”
Your eyes widened a fraction at his blatant honesty, but they quickly fell to your lap before you quietly murmured, “That is true. Though, I did not think you would notice, or mind, for that matter.”
“Of course I noticed,” He spoke as if you had offended him by implying differently, “And I mind a great deal. I know that we have spoken at the feasts, but it feels as if you have been ignoring me otherwise. Maester Doran has been worried that I might fall ill again.”
The corners of your lips twitched at the reminder of your conversation from mere hours ago, and when you peered up at him, you found that he was already knowingly smiling back at you. It appears you had been wrong in assuming that he had forgotten that stretch of time all those years ago, and that knowledge made your neck and face warm. You had always assumed that he deemed the moments the two of you had shared trivial in comparison to all else, that they were not worthy enough to be remembered by a man who had the privilege of endless experience at his fingertips.
You could practically hear Aely’s playfully smug voice in the back of your mind. She would ask if you truly believed that the man who once had a tapestry woven with a near identical image of your favorite meadow would ever mark a memory with you as unworthy. Then, she’d pretend to believe you when you had come up with an excuse for that like you always did, and you would have to silently reassure yourself that you were right. That it was all happenstance and Valarr had not done those things for any certain reason. Though you couldn’t help but think…. What if you had been wrong? What if everything you had chalked up to coincidence was anything but, and you had missed what everyone else claimed to have seen?
You thought of the words Ser Edwyn had spoken to you earlier; about how one might have assumed that the prince was spoken for because of how often he sought you out. You thought of how certain lords would whisper that the presentation was a sham when it was clear as a summer's day that the young prince had already chosen a bride anytime that you would pass by. You thought of the way Valarr had rarely ever let you entertain the other boys at court, of how he would find excuses to pull you away when you would speak to them or of how they would suddenly avoid you at all cost the following days.
The idea alone seemed unfathomable because, while Valarr might have a reputation of being mild mannered and reserved, he had never been one to shy away from the truth. Surely he would have said something if he had felt something for you, right? Unless… What if he had kept things to himself for the very same reason that you did? Certainly that had not been the case. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t make sense.
“My deepest apologies, my prince,” You swallowed thickly, reverting back to formality because, when you would get lost in yourself, it was all that you knew, “It shall not become habit, I swear it.”
“Valarr,” He softly corrected over the gentle rustle of leaves and distinct chatter, “You know that I prefer when you call me by name, instead of my title.”
“I’m sorry, Valarr,” Your lips shaped the letters of his name and something excitable gleamed in his eyes, “I won’t make that a habit, either.”
A comfortable silence fell over you, blanketing you in the kind of solace that very few had been able to bring you. While you knew that you had been in a cage of your own making the last few days, you had still missed his company and you felt like a piece of you had been rediscovered all over again now that he was right beside you. It was no use to deny that Valarr had become heavily intertwined with your life that, but, if you let yourself think about it for too long, it terrified you.
The thought made your stomach twist and your chest tighten because you knew that, sooner rather than later, he would be wed. More importantly, you knew that even if Valarr shared the same feelings as you, people like him didn’t have the honor of marrying for pleasure or love. They married for duty, to strengthen alliances and solidify power. He would ultimately be the husband to some high born lady and they would be thrust into the chasms of courtly duties with the friendship the two of you shared to be long forgotten.
“What is it you discussed with Ser Edwyn,” He slowly questioned as he tapped a finger against his cloak, and you swore you detected the faintest hint of jealousy in his tone.
Your eyes flickered to him, brows raised in slight confusion as he attempted to appear unbothered. It might have fooled you if you had been anyone else, and if you hadn’t spent the better part of your days learning even his faintest tells. There was a nearly minute clench to his jaw, and an unnerving stillness in his gaze that made your heart race.
“Nothing of importance,” You revealed with a passive shrug, fingers working into the roots of the grass to distract yourself, “It was only an introduction, and he asked if I will be at the lists on the morrow.”
“I am certain he means to ask for your favor,” He dryly scoffed before his voice lowered and he cast a discreetly nervous glance in your direction, “Wou– Would you grant him with it?”
“Perhaps,” You nodded after a brief pause, eyes shifting across his face in search of unspoken meaning, “Unless you believe I should not?”
As the words left your mouth, an over enthusiastic breeze rushed towards you and tossed the loose strands of your hair in your face. You thoughtlessly brought your hand up to push everything back in place, but it seemed as if a few pieces were purposely evading you. No matter how many times your fingers would brush them, they would slip from your grasp. You heard Valarr let out a quiet chuckle, and you had every intention of throwing a pointed glare in his direction, but the sight of him leaning forward halted your movements, and everything around you suddenly went very still.
He shifted his body weight onto his left hand as he closed most of the space between, bringing his free hand up to your face as your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes stay trained on his face as the pads of his fingers brushed against your forehead and along your temple to tuck the wisps behind your ear. A shiver ran down your spine as he pressed his thumb against the soft part of your cheek, the skin beneath it sparking alive with a fire so wild that you were not sure it could ever be contained now that it had caught.
He doesn’t conceal the way his eyes dropped to your lips, nor did he bother to remove the palm that cradled the side of your head, and it made your head spin. He was closer to you than he had ever been to you before. Close enough that you could feel the warm air that passed through his lips fan across your chin. Close enough that you could practically count each individual freckle that dusted across his nose. Before you knew what was happening, you swore that Valarr had leaned in the slightest bit, or maybe it had been you, but the moment came to a prompt end as the echo of someone loudly clearing their throat snapped the two of you from your daze.
Valarr pulled his hand back to his side and air finally found its way into your lungs again, the skin that had been previously covered by his touch left cold in its absence. You absently blinked at the silk under you as your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts turning cloudy as you tried to pinpoint just exactly what had just happened. Not even you and your affinity to ignore what was right in front of you could pretend like that had been naught.
Valarr settled back into his previous position as if nothing had happened, but the gleam in his eyes was brighter than you had ever seen before as he said, “I believe you should give your favor to the man you believe to be most worthy of your honor.”
So we know Aerion usually stays on his best behavior when Maekar is around, and that's why he only killed Hardyng's horse when Maekar wasn't there. But what if he acted out because Maekar specifically left to look for Daeron and Egg? Aerion's supposed to be the golden boy and daddy's favourite, but now suddenly Maekar is fretting over his missing brothers instead of paying attention to Aerion. Maekar skips Aerion's joust because he is more concerned with finding Daeron and Egg. Aerion's jealous ass was probably seething that his "inferior" brothers were stealing his limelight and Maekar's focus. Killing the horse both released his anger and ensured he earned back his number 1 spot as Receiver of Maekar's Undivided Attention. Just look at this face:
"Oh father isn't here for my joust because of those other two? Watch this then, uncle. Daeron and Aegon think they're so funny well I'm about to be hilarious."
I definitely think Rhae and Daella were trained how to fight and had their respective weapons of choice too. Maekar strikes me as the type of guy who wouldn't stop at the boys, he'd make sure all of his kids had skills to take care of themselves.
I've got a lot of respect for smut writers. you write something incredibly sexual, it's probably somewhat of a look into your own soul, and then bitches are too scared to leave kudos of comments half the time, so it looks as though everyone hates your work. And yet yall still do it, and I love that
─ content: fluff | pining | perhaps a minor crime |
─ a/n: Thank you as always for likes, comments, rebloggs, and your continued requests. I love these so much 🖤 Side note, if you would like to be added to a tag list, please let me know.
Maekar does not consider writing a reply when he received your father’s rejection. He’s a man of action. He spurs his mount at dawn, leather reins creaking under his grip. Dust still clings to his boots when he strides into your father's great hall — stone pillars rising on either side, tapestries muted by too many winters. No herald announces him, no trumpets sound. Your father, caught between courtesy and surprise, can barely draw breath before Maekar stands before him. He's not particularly eloquent as he lays out his terms simply: a promise, a place at his side, a bright future. Your father's stiff shoulders slacken imperceptibly. In that hush of stone and torchlight, the Prince of Summerhall's quiet certainty proves more persuasive than a hundred letters.
Baelor reads the neat lines of the rejection twice, tucks the letter into a carved mahogany desk, and formulates a plan. He is a patient man. Within the week, he learns of every coin owed, every alliance forged at banquet tables, every noble household that had glanced your way. Then, he begins to unravel your prospects — one intended suitor falls to misfortune, a proposed alliance dissolves. Each evening, the list of options grows shorter until, at last, Baelor's proposal returns unchanged. Confronted with these narrowed paths, your father bows his head and gives the answer Baelor has waited to hear.
He holds your father's letter at arm's length and watches the flames consume the words. The paper curls, turns to ash, and drifts away. Aerion has chosen you. He arrives unannounced on a night lit only by a full moon, guides you by hand to an old shrine hidden behind brambles. Moss mats the stones; silence blankets the forest. A purifying fire is laid among weathered runes. He takes your hands, heat flickering in his eyes, and speaks vows older than any law. The smoke coils upward as you consummate the union there in the woods. When dawn breaks, the rite is done: two souls bound beyond your father's reach. You stand together in the sunlight. Your heart pounds with a love so fierce it leaves you breathless, and you realize you would have followed him through anything.
He finishes his breakfast before starting a fresh letter. His second letter mirrors the first proposal in every courteous phrase. However, in the final paragraph, he tucks inconvenient truths and fabrications that cannot be disproven. Snippets of ledger entries, a servant's overheard confession, a rumor too unsettling to ignore. The ink is polite, the penmanship impeccable; the unpleasant bits read like footnotes. The note closes with an unspoken threat that hangs heavy in the lines. “I urge you to reconsider.” Your father stands in his solar, the corners of his mouth tighten, and then he answers with a single word: yes.
He appears at your garden gate one gray afternoon, coat shoulders dusted with rain, eyes bright with unshakable hope. He speaks of leaving, of riding east to lands neither of you has ever seen, a chance to remake yourselves where no one knows your names. His voice trembles with belief. You point out the small details: empty coin purses, uncharted forests, hungry nights ahead. He simply brushes aside each worry with a gentle, urgent promise: "I will become whatever you need." The wind stirs the blossoms at your feet; something inside you unravels. You almost slip your hand into his, almost step into the unknown. For a heartbeat, you are ready to follow him anywhere — until the weight of home and duty pulls you back.
He tucks your letter away with a soft sigh, understanding at last that your love isn't meant to be. He wears his devotion quietly. You marry another, and two years later, a tournament takes place. When Lyonel enters the lists, he challenges your husband. There is no cruelty, only the fierce precision of a man who rides for one true goal. The crash of wood and steel echoes like a confession. He wins, when he dismounts, he bears a crown of wildflowers in place of a victor's wreath. He settles the crown onto your head with trembling reverence, his gaze unflinching. Even then, after the dust has settled, he never stops loving you.
When you have the time could you please write something with Egg?? He is soo lovely and there isn't enough people writing about my favorite little shit <3
Hi! Omg yes. I love my son, he brings chaos to the function, where would we be without him really? But I actually have the perfect thing
Egg meeting an old Valyrian goddess!reader, I think Eggs sees her as a mother or older sister figure because he doesn’t remember Dyanna very well.
What if the reader was an old valyrian goddess, she follows the Targaryen’s to Westeros because she’s the goddess of dreams or something, and she wanted something to escape the doom of valyria. During the tourney Egg meets the reader.
Goddess!reader who placed the dream of the undoing of Valyria in Daenys the dreams mind, because she was trying to escape as well, what good are gods with no one to think about them.
You know the future, you know what will happen and you try to help, but you sometimes only make it worse.
Though there are times you do actively cause, you're an old god whose name most don’t even know in these lands.
The dreamers all know your face, they know you like an old friend who appears where you are not wanted.
But reader has met/ been seen by almost all the Targaryens at one point or another, your a fleeting creature that has and air of doom that follows you.
Goddess!reader who follows Daeron and Egg to the inn because she smells something is off. She really wonders why Maekar would let Egg go off with Daeron.
And you're right, Daeron's drunk and all of Egg’s hair is gone.
She sits on the other side of the room and Daeron looks at her every now and then like she’s a ghost, come to bring ruin, to him.
You watch Dunk walk in and Daeron freak out before leaving. Dunk smiles softly at you as he eats and you return it before stepping outside, to watch Egg climb his way up the horse, he falls the first time and there is a little, “dammit.” That comes out his mouth that you're sure he got from his father.
You laugh at him though, all of Maekar’s sons are dragon dreams. Egg has seen you in his dreams, when he sees you he looks at you the same as why Dearon did like a ghost, of a friend he never met.
All you say to him is “you should be more careful.” Before leaving. His lucky one of the lucky Targaryen’s that you’ve offered some words, little do you know this is about to become your child.
He sees you at Ashford, each time he sees you he asks your name and you finally give it after the third time because he won’t stop till you do. It’s nice to hear someone say your name again. He ask you too much about yourself and to make him stop you ask about his life.
When he tells you his is Dunk’s squire and you ask, “won’t your brother be upset?”
“I don’t have a brother.” He lies to you, because what else is he gonna do? But he knows that you know his lying, he just doesn’t quite know how you know so much. He just gives you a “wtf” look
You make sure he eats, during the tourney, make sure he is safe for the most part where you can, he comes and finds you when he can’t stomach wherever Dunk could get them.
You eventually join Dunk and him because Dunk is sweet and you have a soft spot for him because you know how this story is about to go.
Egg and you shit talk, you still remember Valyria when you were worshipped and he is a prince, sometimes Dunk brings up the way he’s just lived on the road and you two have a look of “what does that even mean.”
You find him after his back with his family. He looks very princely and you laugh and the stark difference, but something also breaks your heart at seeing the little boy so sad. Like his light was snuffed out.
He finally asks why you look so familiar.
And you're honest with him in the best way you can, “I’m older than the dragons,” he really doesn’t know what that means, “we’ll meet again.” You tell him to ask you to leave, disappearing just as his father appears.
Maekar asks Egg who he's talking to, because he doesn’t need another crazy child, Aerion is far too much.
And he tell him your name, and Maekar recognizes it, some old god he read about during his studies long ago, and then he goes on his way. Maybe if he remembered what you were the god of he would’ve made Aerion stop the trail before it started. Because where you go disaster follows.
I lied, I said I was writing dark! Valarr trust that will come, because I eat up dark! Valarr, but I miss him. And I think he's sweet and nice. No smut.
Based on the one where Baelor helps the Valarr wife have an heir. I'm gonna write about Baelor and Valarr’s wife soon.
To Produce an Heir ♡ 1st part
Valarr never really finds out that the children aren't his, he has been compared to his father his whole life, of course, his kids are going to look like Baelor.
His son has his eyes, and the baby girl has his wife’s hair, and he's sure the next one will be a good mix. (Bealor and Valarr keep her very busy)
Or maybe he does know deep down and chooses to ignore how his father behaves around his wife. The way his hand always lingers around her body, when he thinks he isn't looking.
But his wife loves him, Valarr knows that. She wakes him up with soft kisses to his face and is his escape from court when it's too much.
She sings lullabies to their children, and he listens from just far enough away that you don't know he's there. When she’s busy helping his father, he’ll sing it to their son and daughter.
Valarr likes it when she runs her hand over the white streak in his hair. His father doesn't have that streak that's all him. He thinks the next babe will have a touch more of him.
His wife kisses him desperately whenever she comes back from helping his father with work, like she’s trying to prove how much she missed him. (aka getting her back blown out and feeling bad about it, omg who said that?)
He places kisses on her hands, all the time, especially in court when lords come to bother him with requests to ask his father. His wife stands beside him, not listening to the lord, she plays with his hand, and he kisses the back of it, as a way to pay more attention to you in that moment.
At dinners, Valarr’s fingertip draws swirls on his wife’s thigh through her skirt, and her eyes never leave his face. It's a look of awe when she thinks he's not looking, her eyes wander to his father’s seat, but as soon as he turns to ask her something she can't help but look at anything but him.
“You look quite pretty, tonight.” Valarr says they aren't married and don't have two children. He still flirts because he likes the way his wife’s smile widens, and her cheeks blush.
“My husband said the same thing,” She replies, leaning closer to him, “he might be jealous you said that.” She tempts him by playing along.
“Is he any good at fighting?”
His wife shakes her head, “Quite good, I'm afraid you wouldn't stand a chance.” and she kisses Valarr.
Sure Valarr has his suspicions, and he hears the court ladies whisper about how much time his wife spends with his father.
He doesn’t let himself think about rumors too much because then he will over think everything, and something dark will grow in his chest, when his father makes a joke to you when the two of you are seated together during a tournament that he has to compete in.
Sure he wonders, but he pushes all that away when he sees his pregnant wife, bouncing one babe on her hip and she smiles for him and only at him she offers that smile.
He never wonders if you love him and that’s more important to him, you are his and he is yours.
daeron’s voice softening when he tells dunk about the kind of person aerion used to be….like obviously he loves aemon and egg as best he can and has a soft spot the size of all seven kingdoms for daella and rhae, but aerion…aerion was his first baby. he was the first one to climb into daeron’s bed whenever his own room felt too big and lonely. the first one to hear about daeron’s nightmares dreams and rubbed his back whenever he woke up screaming in the middle of the night. who probably begged daeron every weekend to go fishing with him. who would tell daeron every single thing he learned about dragons that day, and then some. the last person who fully knew daeron before he started living at the bottom of his cups.
Headcannons about Daeron and his wife’s sex, because even if he has to share, he still reminds you that you're his wife. (I’m going with the idea that the reader was Valarr’s and Aerion’s lover)
My ask are open
smut
Daeron didn’t think he’d ever get the chance to marry her. Who would want to marry a man whose nickname is his name, the drunken? He wouldn't marry him either.
You didn’t really want to marry him. You didn’t have many other options. And in the right light, he is handsome. He is very handsome, but you ignore that because the Targaryens are wild and you're tired.
He's not as greedy as Valarr or as cruel as Aerion. Daeron’s somewhere in between.
He comes to your bedroom later after he has had a few drinks, and you’re on the bed in the same night gown he first saw you in, before you were married.
He likes the way the silk feels when he lies on the bed beside you. He's always soft at the beginning. He likes tracing the outline of your body as if he's trying to commit it to memory, as he’ll lose you.
He likes kissing your body. He starts at your neck, where faded bruises from Aerion mark your skin. Then your collarbone, before he starts pulling the dress down and off of you, then he focuses on your breasts. (I think he has mommy issues. Who said that?)
But he moves on down your stomach, he likes exploring your body, likes knowing every piece of you, because you're his. You're his wife. His hand is between your legs the whole time, the pace is so slow you start rocking against it out of neediness, and he pulls away so you can’t.
Because yes, he may want to please you, but he’ll do it his way. You don’t get to have a shortcut, cum before he wants you to, no, why would he do that?
He wins, he gets you in public, and he gets you here right now. Spread out nicely and moaning softly that you need him, your breath caught in your throat, because he's slower than his brother and cousin. Because he doesn't have to steal you away, he can take all the time he wants.
He's not fast and greedy like Valarr, who takes you as if he stole you, because he doesn’t get a lot of free time, so when he does, he doesn’t let either of you wait.
Maybe if he were a better man, one that didn't need to drink his dreams away, he wouldn't let anyone steal you away ever, he would defend you and your honor better. But he does try, he stops Aerion from being as bad. You don't cry as much anymore.
He likes it when you beg for him, and it's not like the way you call out Valarr’s name because he's needy and has to hear you say it or he won't help you finish, or the way you beg Aerion, feeding into his ego with your fear because Aerion says dragons are to be feared.
No, he likes the way you beg and call his name like you can't get enough of what he gives you, because he wants you to want him. “Please, Daeron…” because you don’t like waiting.
Maybe you want him, maybe it's out of survival, maybe you can read him like the others and see what his desires are, and give it to him.
Neither of you really knows.
He likes it and thinks it's the first option, as he kisses your inner thigh, because why else would you be this wet already if you didn't want him the same way?
The only places he ever left marks on your body are your thighs, bite marks, and hickeys.
Then he finally pulls his dick out to fuck you, and he likes the way your eyes roll when he starts because you've been waiting too long.
He likes the way your hands wrap around his neck to pull him close as he thrusts into you.
He likes that you beg him not to stop when he slows down again, how you start bucking your hips because he's tired, and then he laughs because he's pretty sure you don't do that with Valarr or Aerion.
And he crashes a kiss onto your parted lips. And picks his pace back up because he knows that you want him to, he likes feeling wanted, he doesn't feel it often.
