𑣲 Aerion Targaryen
° Two Bright Flames (Aerion x Princess! Reader) ~ (1) • (2) • (3) • (4) • (5)
° Getting cornered in an empty corridor by Obsessed! Aerion
° College Aerion would be like (Modern! AU)
° Tainted Desires (Aerion x Reader x Valarr) ~ (1) • (2)
° Things left behind (reunited lovers, angsty, smut) + Previous to Things left behind
𑣲 Valarr Targaryen
° An arranged marriage with him would be like..
° Hugging Husband! Valarr after the tourney
° Tainted Desires (Aerion x Reader x Valarr) ~ (1) • (2)
𑣲 Draco Malfoy
° Shadows of our Past (Childhood friends to lovers) ~ (1) • (2) • (3)
° The Yule Ball ~ (1) • (2) • (3)
° In Between Pride and Penitence (Enemies to lovers) ~ (1) • (2) • (3)
𑣲 Fred Weasley
° Worth it (in which a prank backfires in a surprisingly good way)
° Who's your boyfriend? (based on the lyrics of the song)
° I thought you knew (miscommunication)
(A/N: this is all I got so far, but I write for a lot more fandoms, so feel free to request some fics if you'd like! Here are some fandoms I write for:
Akotsk/ GOT
Harry Potter
Supernatural
Jujutsu Kaisen
Gangsta
House MD
Percy Jackson & the Olympians / Heroes of Olympus + Magnus Chase )
Two Bright Flames (Aerion Targaryen x Princess! Reader)
Summary: Royal courts forgive very little, especially when careless words can become weapons in the wrong hands. And when accusations of treason arise, loyalty suddenly becomes a thing people are willing to prove at any cost. (*Previous chapter -» here)
The days following the feast passed in a strange, uneventful manner.
From morning until evening you had to endure carefully arranged group activities — rides along the outer grounds, supervised walks through the gardens, demonstrations of hawking and swordplay. Your sisters were always present, and so was Prince Aerion.
You kept your distance as much as courtesy allowed. Aerion, for his part, made no further efforts to provoke you. No sharp remarks, no interruptions. And while it should have brought you a sense of relief, the matter left you feeling uneasy instead.
The quiet did not feel like peace, and, much to yours and everyone else's misfortune, the quiet didn't last much longer either.
--
The summoning came well past midnight.
You had barely sunk into sleep when suddenly, the doors to your chambers were thrown open with such force that they struck the stone wall behind them. Lamplight flooded the room, and for one disoriented moment, you thought some disaster had struck upon the castle. Then you saw the guards - armored, grim-faced, standing in the doorway.
“Up. All of you, at once.”
There was no room for protest. Within minutes, you and your sisters were led into the corridor — still in your nightclothes, hair unbound and hastily wrapped in whatever robes you had managed to snatch. The chill of the stone floor bit through your thin slippers as you were hurried along the torchlit passageways. The late hour made everything feel unreal, like a fever dream from which you had not yet fully woken.
Lyessa found your side in the corridor and clung to your dress with trembling fingers.
“… what is happening?” she whispered, her voice thin with fear.
“I don’t know,” you murmured back, wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
When the great doors of the throne room came into view — already standing wide open, light blazing within — your unease only sharpened.
The room felt transformed into something harsh and merciless under the glare of too many torches. The air itself seemed tight with tension, as though the entire room was holding its breath. At the center of it all stood Maekar Targaryen, rigid behind the long table before the throne, his expression harsh with barely contained fury.
To his right stood Aerion, pale hair gleaming in the torchlight, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his eyes were sharp and watchful. Not far from him lingered Baelor Targaryen, grave and silent, alongside several other high lords whose presence alone made your pulse stumble.
Before you could gather your thoughts, movement at the far end of the chamber drew every eye—
Valeriane was being dragged forward by two of the guards.
She looked nothing like the composed elder sister you knew so well. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, her nightgown was wrinkled from the rough handling, and her face was already blotched and wet with tears. Valeriane stumbled as the two men forced her to her knees before the table.
Your mother stepped forward first, her posture straight despite the hour and the indignity of the summon.
“My prince,” she said, voice tight with barely contained despair, “what is the meaning of this?!” the woman demanded.
The effect of her words was immediate, as Maekar practically jumped to his feet. His fist came down upon the table with a crack that rang through the chamber like thunder, making several people, as well as yourself, visibly flinch.
“You dare stand before me and feign ignorance?” he roared, his voice filling the vast hall. “You would have me believe you know nothing of your daughter’s treachery?”
Shock rippled visibly through the gathered sisters.
You felt Lyessa’s fingers tighten painfully at your sleeve.
Your mother’s composure wavered. “Treachery?” she repeated, both outrage and disbelief etched in her tone. “My prince, you speak in riddles. My daughter has done no such-”
“Enough.”
The word cracked like a whip.
Maekar leaned forward, eyes blazing.
“Your eldest daughter,” he said, each word precise and cutting, “has been in secret corespondence with Lord Rowan of House Rowan — one of the most persistent enemies of House Targaryen. And in those letters, she saw fit to recount the happenings of my court, under my own roof.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
No one moved.
No one even dared to breathe.
Valeriane broke first.
“I didn’t - I wasn’t conspiring!” she sobbed, the words tumbling over one another in desperate panic as tears streamed down her face. Her shoulders shook violently. “I swear it, I didn’t mean - I didn’t know - ”
“Silence, girl.” Maekar’s voice cut through her breathless ramble.
At the table, Prince Baelor shifted at last, one hand lifting in a quiet gesture toward his brother.
“Brother,” he said evenly, his voice low, “rage will not uncover the truth any faster. Let the matter be spoken plainly.”
But Maekar did not look away from the trembling girl before him.
“There must be some mistake,” your mother insisted at your side, her voice rising despite herself. “My daughter would never betray the Crown. Our house has been loyal to House Targaryen for generations—”
“Has it?”
With a sharp motion, Maekar snatched a bundle of parchment from the table and hurled it across the stone floor. The letters scattered at Valeriane’s knees like fallen leaves.
“My spies intercepted every one,” he said coldly.
Valeriane stared down at the parchment for a moment before she collapsed forward, weeping uncontrollably now, her earlier composure completely shattered.
"You wrote of matters discussed within these walls as though they were harmless court amusements." Maekar said, voice barely controlled "You spoke of private tensions within the royal household, of rumors surrounding succession, of which bannermen appear restless beneath the Crown. Tell me, girl - did you imagine Lord Rowan sought your corespondance for the pleasure of your handwriting?"
Valeriane lowered her head even further, shaking visibly now, but Maekar was not yet finished.
"House Rowan has spent years searching for weakness within this court." Maekar said sharply "And you, in your vanity, offered him precisely that - these things may seem trivial to a girl hungry for attention, but in the hands of our enemies, they are worth more than gold."
There was a moment of silence before Valeriane spoke again.
“I didn’t mean treason,” she gasped through tears. “Please - please, your Grace-”
“I would call it exactly that,” Maekar replied, his expression like iron. “And treason, as it is known, is paid for in blood.”
Lyessa made a small, strangled sound beside you, nearly loud enough to cover up your own gasp. You felt the room tilt — what you were hearing felt surreal. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Aerion's oddly pleased expression. He seemed visibly entertained by the scene that played out in front of him, and that realization only made your blood boil.
The room had gone so still that the crackle of the torches seemed deafening.
Your mother moved then, taking a couple of steps forward, nearing the high table. Though her face had gone pale beneath the torchlight, her voice remained surprisingly calm.
“Your Grace,” she said, and now there was no mistaking the urgency of her words “our loyalty is not in question, whatever foolish mistake my daughter may have made. We would do anything to prove the devotion of our house.”
Maekar’s gaze sharpened.
“Anything?” he repeated incredulously.
Their mother inclined her head.
“We came here ready to bind our families by blood,” she said clearly. “One of my other daughters will wed your son, as a visible and unbreakable pledge of our loyalty to House Targaryen.”
You felt your pulse stumble at your mother's words. She couldn't be serious — how could she agree to tie your family down to these unreasonable, cruel people?
Aross the room, Aerion straightened sharply.
“Father- ”
Maekar did not even look at him.
“Hold your tongue.”
Aerion’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing briefly across his face, but he did not speak again.
Maekar leaned back slowly, his earlier fury shifting into something more calculated. His eyes moved across the line of sisters, weighing, measuring.
Then, without notice, he rose from his seat. Without a word, he stepped away from the table and began approaching the place where you and your two sisters were standing.
Maekar didn't even spare a look to Lyessa, who was half-hidden behind you. His attention passed over her entirely, settling on the two elder sisters instead.
You felt Ysoria straighten beside you, as if bracing herself. Your gaze dropped at once, fixed somewhere on the ground at your feet, as if that might spare you from being noticed. Once you felt Maekar stop right in front of you, though, you knew you couldn't avoid meeting his gaze anymore. Slowly, you lifted eyes to meet his own.
The prince studied your face for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he turned his head slightly towards your mother.
"I believe she is the most suitable." He said simply, in a tone that could only be described as final.
The words sent your stomach plummeting down, and you felt your feet nearly give away under the weight of realization. You opened your mouth then, a protest forming before you could stop it — but you forced it back down, as always.
You looked past Maekar and towards your mother, a silent, urgent plea in your eyes. The woman did not meet your eyes.
"As you wish, Your Grace" she said, inclining her head with a quiet acceptance.
So, that was it — the decision was final. An unshakeable feeling of dread began spreading throughout your body, numbing your senses as it went. You lowered your eyes once again, hands tightening at your sides in an attempt to steady yourself. You didn't't even need to look at the table to know that Aerion was fuming — after all, you could practically feel his gaze burning holes into you.
“They shall be married within the week,” Maekar added, his tone just as firm. “I see no reason to delay the matter any further.”
No one argued.
No one questioned it.
Maekar stepped back at last, as if the matter required no further thought, and that was the end of it.
---
The walk back to their quarters passed in a strained, brittle silence. When the doors finally closed behind them, that same silence shattered. Your mother turned towards Valeriane in a flash and, without warning, struck her sharply across the cheek.
The sound crackled across the room. Valeriane staggered backwards with a small cry, her hand flying to her face as tears started spilling once again.
"You foolish, reckless girl!” your mother hissed “Do you have any notion what danger you have placed us all in? Coresponding with a known enemy of the Crown — under this roof of all places! Have you utterly lost your senses?”
“I didn’t mean—” Valeriane sobbed, her voice breaking helplessly. “Mother, I swear I didn’t—”
“ You nearly cost us everything,” the woman cut in sharply, though her voice trembled faintly.
Your sister lowered her head, shame written clearly all over her face. You took a step forward then, trying to catch the eye of your mother. You were desperate for something, something you couldn't quite name - reassurance, perhaps?
You finally opened your mouth. "Mother—”
“Not now.”
The words came sharp and immediate. For seemingly the first time that evening, the woman finally met your eyes. Her face was still pale from the events of the night, and she looked tired. Truly tired.
"We will say nothing further tonight." she said, turning to look at each sister one by one "Not one word."
And that was the end of it. No explanation. No comfort.
---
That night, sleep never truly came, and by the time morning finally rolled in, servants were already filling the room.
They moved through your chamber briskly, gathering gowns, books, jewelry, ribbons - every trace of you packed neatly into trunks and carried away while you watched from your bed.
Through all that agitation, a maid slipped next to your bed, head bowed "My lady" she said gently, though there was a certain urgency in her tone "I have been instructed to inform you that your belongings are to be moved to new chambers at once — closer to Prince Aerion's apartments, by order of His Grace, Prince Maekar."
Your fingers tightened faintly in the bedsheets, but you nodded your head in quiet acknowledgement.
Once everything was packed and sent away, your maids helped you get ready for the day to come. You were bathed, your hair washed and perfumed, your skin scrubbed until it practically glowed. Fine silks - far more elaborate than anything suitable for a simple breakfast - were laid out for you. You felt a bit overwhelmed by all this extra attention that was being put into you.
-
Soon enough, you were finally led out of your chamber.
Breakfast had been laid out onto one of the eastern balconies overlooking the sea, the long table shielded beneath a canopy of pale silk. The royal family was already gathered, though none of those present seemed to be interested in the food in front of them.
Prince Maekar sat at the head of the table, his presence intimidating as ever. To his side lounged Daeron, a goblet of wine already resting in his hand despite the hour. His pale eyes flicked towards you briefly as you approached the table, and something strained between amusement and pity crossed his face before he took another sip.
Aegon sat further down the table, absentmindedly pushing pieces of fruit around the plate with his fork. At the sight of you, however, his posture straightened slightly, a sort of relief brightening his expression.
Aerion did not look up at all.
He sat beside his father, one hand loosely wrapped around a cup, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the balcony as though the entire arrangement bored him beyond measure. There was something deliberate in the indifference of his actions, as though he wanted it to be clear that he had no desire whatsoever to be there.
Only when you finally reached the table did he lift his eyes, and the look he gave you was cold enough to still your steps.
There was no warmth, no civility behind his gaze. Only that sharp, unapologetic glare that made it painfully clear he did not want you there.
One servant pulled out a chair somewhere near the far end of the table - thankfully distant from where Aerion was sitting - and you quickly claimed your seat, smoothing out your skirts in an effort to appear less stiff.
"My lady" Maekar greeted, his tone significantly warmer than it had been in the throne room. "I trust you rested well."
"Well enough, Your Grace." you replied, nodding your head in the slightest.
Meekar gave a faint hum in response. The conversation that followed remained painfully formal, and you listened, politely, as Maekar eventually drifted the subject to the wedding preparations already in motion.
"As I've said before, the wedding will take place in one week's time" he said, leaning forward in his seat as he spoke "Until then, it would be wise for you and my son to become better acquainted. A harmonious match benefits both of our houses."
Across the table, you could've sworn you heard Aerion scoff. While you couldn't exactly blame him for his lack of willingness, the sound still stirred something inside you. Of course none of you were happy to have to spend even more time in eachothers presence, but he could at least be civil.
-
Soon enough, the subject shifted from wedding arrangements, and you allowed yourself to sink slightly into your chair, thankful for the change. You listened only in fragments as Aerion spoke to his father about an upcoming tourney which was set to take place in less than a fortnight.
As servants stepped forward to clear the table, Maekar rose smoothly from his chair and glanced between you and Aerion, before suggesting that you both take a stroll through the gardens. 'Gives you a chance to talk freely', he'd said.
So you found yourself at Aerion's side once again, moving through the castle's gardens beneath the pale morning sun that did little to warm the tight knot in your chest.
Servants and guards trailed behind you at a respectable distance, near enough to observe, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. Aerion said nothing while they remained within easy earshot, but his silence was not at all comforting. You kept your gaze forward, trying to at least enjoy the pretty view.
The two of you just turned down a narrower gravel path, with hedges rising thick and tall on either side, when his hand came out of nowhere. His fingers closed around your arm as he yanked you a step closer. Your breath caught, but you did not stumble.
"Do not", Aerion said under his breath, voice low and edged like steel "Mistake this farce for willingness. I did not want this match, and you would be wise never to expect husbandly devotion from me when doors are closed."
Up close, his expression was sharper than usual, violet eyes boring into yours as you lifted your gaze, staring back at him.
"I should be most surprised if it were otherwise, Your Grace" you replied, voice calm and even."You have been nothing if not consistent."
For a brief moment, something flickered across his face - not quite anger, not quite surprise. He studied your face, gaze moving slowly across your features as though he was searching for a crack in your composture.
"You will learn", he said at last "that my patience for insolence is not endless. Once we are wed, I will expect obedience. Nothing less."
You held his gaze for a while longer, but you did not answer him. Your silence seemed to satisfy him more than any protest might have. His hand dropped from your arm at last, and you resumed walking as through nothing had passed between you.
Several minutes passed in silence before Aerion spoke again.
"Tell me" he said, eyes fixed ahead "Were you truly ignorant of your sister's corespondace?"
"None of us had the slightest suspicion." You answered plainly.
From the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth tilt faintly - not quite a smile. A soft, thoughtful hum left him.
"My father showed uncharacteristic mercy." Aerion went on, voice cool. "Had the matter been mine to judge, your sister would be hanged for high treason."
The words were deliberate. Spoken carefully. Bait.
If he expected outrage, pleading, or even visible discomfort, he was up for disappointment.
"Well, then" you said evenly, turning to face him "my sister should thank the Gods it was His Grace who sat in judgement rather than you."
For the first time since they had left the castle, Aerion’s composure slipped—only slightly, but enough. His jaw tightened faintly, though the corner of his mouth threatened the shape of a smirk despite himself.
He held your gaze for a moment longer, eyes sharp with irritation and something more reluctant beneath it as he stared down at you - a dangerous sort of amusement he would never willingly admit to taking from your defiance.
The rest of the walk was spent in silence.
___
*I started writing from second person pov cause it felt easier lol. Also, the Taglist is open, so comment if you'd like to be added.
Two Bright Flames (Aerion Targaryen x Princess! Reader)
Summary: She only meant to stop a needless cruelty, acting on instinct when she stepped between a furious rider and a frightened child. Only later does she realize the man she publicly defied in that village square is the very prince her family has come to court — and by then, the damage is already done. Soon enough, she will learn exactly whose pride she wounded… and how little he is inclined to forget.
She had not yet grown accustomed to the new place.
Her family had arrived in King's Landing only hours before - four daughters, along with their mother, presented beneath banners and trumpets. Although the reason for house Trgaryen inviting them here wasn't ever clearly stated, she knew what it meant. Noble daughters were not summoned across kingdoms for idle visits.
They had come to be seen. To be weighed. And, hopefully, to be chosen.
As soon as they passed the great doors of the castle, they were welcomed by Prince Maekar and his older brother, prince Baelor. Her mother stepped forward at once with a gracious smile, thanking the princes for the honor of the invitation and praising their hospitality.
Baelor accepted the woman's praises with a polite smile, while Maekar's sharper gaze moved over to the girls in measured silence. When Maekar finally spoke, he remarked that the journey must've been a tiring one - and advised that they should rest. Their formal presentation, he informed them, would take place that same evening at a feast held in their honor, where the court would properly receive them.
With that being said, the sisters were escorted to their chambers. After a short while of unpacking, silence settled over their quarters. Only one sister felt restless, pacing her room, still dressed in her travelling clothes. After a few moments of pondering, she decided she would take advantage of the napping hours and try to sneak outside of the castle. Surely, there was no harm in that - she only intended to take a short stroll through the village that stood just outside the castle walls.
Sneaking out proved to be way easier then she'd hoped. Once she passed the gates, it only took her a couple of minutes to get to the town square.
She stood at the edge of the main road, taking in her surroundings. Her fine traveling gown was hidden beneath the plain cloak she had borrowed from one of the servants. The hem was too plain, the wool too coarse for someone of her status, but that was precisely the point. The less she resembled a visiting noble lady, the less attention she would draw.
The village square was alive in a way the castle could never be. Smoke curled lazyly through the air above her, mixing with the slight fog that remained from earlier that morning. Wet cobblestones glistened beneath her feet, still slick from an earlier rain, and the air carried scents of damp earth, smoke and fresh bread. People hurried past her, their voices filling the silence of that late morning.
She let out a quiet breath, surprised at how strangely... at ease she felt standing in the middle of all this.
The calm, unfortunately, did not last.
The sound of hooves rolled in first, distant but quickly growing louder, and it's effect on the villagers was immediate. Conversations faltered as people moved aside to create space for the incoming riders. A murmur began to ripple through the small crowd. A few moments later, a group of men wearing dark leather and polished armors entered the square, their presence heavy with authority.
At their front rode a man who carried himself with a sort of careless arrogance that left everyone staring. His horse was tall and black, restless beneath its rider.
The man's pale hair caught the faint morning light; he was dressed in a long, black cloak that flowed behind him; the dark clothing visibly contrasted with his overall pale complexion. His chin was slightly lifted in unconscious superiority.
Just as the riders were getting closer to where she was standing, a small boy, cheeks flushed and laughing breathlessly, darted past her in pursuit of a scruffy little dog. He was only watching the animal, not the road, not the fast approaching riders.
The dog bolted across the square. The boy followed...straight into the path of the black stallion.
The animal shrieked and reared violently, its front legs striking the air as it threw its rider hard into the dirt; the man's sharp curse cut through the square as he hit the ground.
For a heartbeat, everything froze. Then, slowly, deliberately, the fallen man pushed himself upright.
He was not injured, that much was clear. Whatever bruises he might have gotten were clearly less painful than the blow to his pride, judging by the way his expression darkened as he fixated the now trembling boy. His hand went to the sword at his hip, steel ringing sharply as it left it's cover.
"You puny little rat-" the man began, his voice echoing off the stone walls "You dare cast me from my saddle!?"
He began moving towards the boy.
"Wait!"
Without thinking, the girl found herself stepping forward, placing herself between the drawn blade and the frozen child. She lifted one arm instinctively, as if that could prevent him from approaching any further.
The man stopped short, not out of obedience - but because of the sheer audacity of the interruption. His pale eyes roamed her face for a moment.
"He caused me to be thrown from my horse" he snapped, eyes flashing with fury "A dragon, brought low by the foolishness of a peasant. Step aside this instant and let me teach him his lesson".
She met his gaze without flinching, ignoring the knot that begun to tighten in her stomach. 'A dragon', she thought to herself - that could only mean he was of royal blood. A distant cousin, she hoped, silently praying that he would prove out to be some minor royalty that she'll never be forced to encounter ever again.
There was no coming back now, not after she'd been so reckless as to intervene. Hopefully, this incident wouldn't reach the ears of her mother, who'd be utterly mortified to learn that her daughter had dared to defy some prince.
"I shall do no such thing" she finally said, voice steady despite the hammering in her chest "He surely meant no harm - he is only a child, after all".
His expression hardened, but she didn't give him a chance to speak.
"And, is a mere fall all it takes to injure a dragon?" She continued, the word dragon coming out almost mocking. "I would think your grace to be made of something way more...durable. Perhaps I was wrong".
His eyes flared, jaw tightening as he seemed at a loss of words. Judging by his lack of a retort, she presumed that he wasn't used to being talked back to, much less insulted.
That stunned pause was all the opportunity she needed - without looking at the boy, she gestured him to flee while he still had the chance. She felt him scramble away, small feet slapping the stone as he disappeared into the crowd.
The pale haired rider watched as the boy left before his eyes landed on her again. This time, all that anger which was previously meant for the child had settled on her instead.
"How dare you speak to a prince in such manner ?" He snarled, stepping closer now, his presence suddenly heavy, intrusive "Perhaps it is you who requires to be taught a lesson".
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up underneath the hood of her cloak. Still, she forced herself to appear unmoved by his threat.
"You would not touch even a hair on my head if you knew what was best for you, your grace,” she said calmly, and the title sounded far closer to an insult than to a sign of respect.
One of his pale brows lifted incredulously; then, the corner of his mouth curved slightly upwards.
"And who might you be?" he asked, voice edged with a dangerous sort of interest.
The girl only shook her head beneath her hood, already taking a step back.
"I would sooner you remain wondering". she replied vaguely.
He scowled "I will learn you name" he said, tone growing more irritated "No one speaks to me thus and vanishes".
She offered him a small, practiced smile "You may certainly try"
Without waiting for his reply, she turned away and pushed through the small crowd that had formed. She swore she could almost feel his gaze burning into the back of her head as she vanished.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
She returned to the castle before the gates were shut for the evening, slipping through a narrow side passage meant for servants. Laughter sounded faintly from her elder sisters’ chambers - bright, eager, already full of expectation for the evening ahead. She did not join them. Instead, she slipped into her own room. Only when the heavy doors of her room thudded closed behind her did her pulse begin to settle.
Dust clung stubbornly to the hem of her gown, and a faint streak of dirt had somehow made its way on her arm. She stared at the smear for a long moment before undressing and crossing over to the washbasin. Cool water rippled under her fingers as she scrubbed the evidence away.
By dusk, everyone was awake and moving. Somewhere in the far end of the castle, music had already begun to play. She waited quietly as the maids dressed her in pale blue silks, braiding her hair and adding different pieces of jewelry to her hair, neck and ears.
Valeriane, her eldest sister, suddenly entered her room, followed by Ysoria, the second daughter. Watching the girl's face for a moment, Valeriane made an unsatisfied sound.
"You might at least attempt to appear pleased” Valeriane remarked, adjusting a bracelet at her wrist that surely didn't need any more adjusting.
“I am pleased,” she answered plainly.
Valeriane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You look as though you are marching to a funeral.”
Ysoria laughed under her breath. “Perhaps she fears the prince.”
“That is childish,” Valeriane said coolly. “The prince is said to be intimidating, yes - but powerful men often are.”
She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at Valeriane's theatrics.
---
They were summoned soon after that conversation ended.
The great doors that led to the hall slowly opened before them and the sisters were led inside, their mother walking close behind them. The music swelled and one by one, the nobles' conversation quieted down, all eyes turned towards the center of the room.
At the far end, sitting at a vast U shaped table, sat the royal family.
She kept her gaze lowered, not yet feeling brave enough as to face their hosts. To their side, a man dressed in formal robes cleared his throat.
"Presenting the daughters of Lord Vaelor of House Arryn!"
Valeriane stepped forward first, her chin lifted high while her hands rested nearly at her sides.
"Lady Valeriane Arryn, firstborn of her house!" the man announced.
The eldest daughter bowed with flawless precision, followed by a soft murmur of approval coming from the court.
"Lady Ysoria Arryn, second daughter!"
Once her older sister moved aside, Ysoria took a step forward and bowed deeper than necessary, face breaking into a bright smile.
Then came her turn. Her heart began to pound so violently she thought that those near her might hear it.
She felt a hand lightly poke her back, then came her mother's voice "Chin" she whispered "Lift it"
She hadn't even realized she was still facing the floor. The man's voice rang out once more.
"Lady Y/n Arryn, third daughter!"
Her name rang across the hall. She stepped forward and finally lifted her eyes towards the table.
The moment her eyes met his, her breath caught sharply in her chest.
Seated beside Prince Maekar was none other than the fallen rider from the village - dressed in black and red and sitting rather slumped in his chair. He was already watching her, eyes narrowing and pale brows lifting in the slightest as a flicker of recognition passed over his face.
Then, she saw his eyes grow wide as realization finally hit him.
His gaze moved over her every feature - slow, assessing, unashamed - as if to make sure he was seeing correctly. Then, that same thin, mean smile began to curl at the corner of his mouth.
Heat rushed to her face, and she tore her eyes away from him at once, stepping aside more quickly than grace allowed to make room for Lyessa.
"And finally, Lady Lyessa, youngest daughter!" The herald concluded.
Lyessa gave a short, careful bow, which earned a soft approval from the gathered court.
Only after Lyessa retuned next to her did she dare to lift her gaze again, only to find the man's attention still on her. The smirk had not faded - if anything, it had sharpened.
Before they were seated, the same herald from before began introducing the hosts as well - names and titles flowed one by one, and at last, she finally learnt who he was.
"Prince Aerion of House Targaryen, son of Maekar, blood of the dragon!"
Two Bright Flames (Aerion Targaryen x Princess! Reader)
Summary: Days spent beside your betrothed do little to improve the distance between you. As the wedding draws closer, the walls of the castle begin to feel more like a cage than a home — so, when an unexpected opportunity to escape your fate finally presents itself, the temptation to seize it may prove impossible to resist.
The days that followed settled into a routine you found increasingly difficult to escape.
By Maekar's command, you were rarely permitted a moment beyond Aerion's orbit. Shared meals became expected. Walks through the gardens, afternoons spent observing training, evenings spent beneath the glow of chandeliers and the eyes of the court.
Everything was carefully arranged under the disguise of allowing the two of you to become better acquainted—as though proximity alone would force affection to bloom.
At first, you endured everything with quiet resentment.
Aerion, for his part, remained every bit as sharp-tongued and infuriating as you remembered. He dismissed servants carelessly, spoke with open arrogance when displeased and seemed utterly incapable of restraining his temper for the sake of others. He had a particular talent for making even the simplest of conversations feel like a challenge laid at your feet.
And yet, the more time you spent around him, the harder it became to associate him with the monster you initially thought him to be.
Not because he made any efforts to get in your good graces — he did not. But, every now and then, glimpses of something else slipped through the cracks.
A fleeting look. A rare moment of restraint when he would have normally overreacted. The occasional glimpse of something beneath the arrogance and mockery that seemed far more complicated than you cared to admit.
You were reluctant to soften even in the slightest towards him. Perhaps because it felt safer that way.
---
One late afternoon, after yet another suffocating day of courtly obligations, you managed to escape to one of the quieter garden foyers. A pot of tea stood forgotten beside you, paired with a plate of biscuits you equally ignored.
You stared ahead, so lost in thought that the sound of someone coming up from behind you made you jump.
"My apologies" came a familiar drawl. "I didn't mean to startle you."
You turned your head to find Daeron standing beneath the archway, looking unusually sober.
"Why so glum?" He asked as he approached.
The question earned a quiet huff from you. "It is that obvious?"
The faintest smile curled on his lips as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
"Only to those with eyes."
Despite yourself, you smiled. Daeron seemed pleased by this small victory. He sat down o a chair across from you, stretching his legs comfortably before glancing your way.
"Trouble with your betrothed, I assume?"
You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I often wonder how anyone manages to tolerate him for longer than a few minutes."
Daeron let out a snort. "That makes two of us."
His answer pulled a short laugh out of you. For a moment, a comfortable silence settled between the two of you.
Then, Daeron's expression shifted. His gaze drifted towards the gardens below, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely lost in thought.
"He wasn't always like this, you know."
You let out a doubtful scoff. The sound made him glance briefly in your direction
"Hard to believe, I know." He admitted. "But it's true. When we were little, Aerion was..." He paused, searching for the right word "...easier."
The word explained very little, which made you raise a questioning brow.
"He smiled more" He continued "Laughed, even. Back then, he used to follow Father everywhere like a shadow. Always so desperate for his approval."
Something in Daeron's expression softened as he spoke. "He adored our mother, too."
You found yourself strangely silent. You were trying - and failing - to picture a smiling little Aerion. Daeron stared ahead for another moment before he spoke again.
"But, Aerion learned young what the court rewards." He started. "Everything he does now.." he shrugged slightly "I think he believes it necessary. Better to be feared than overlooked - weakness has no place in court."
The words lingered between you long after they were spoken. Daeron rose not long after, offering you an easy salute before disappearing back towards the castle.
Long after he was gone, you remained seated there in silence. Despite knowing better, you found your thoughts returning again and again to what Daeron had said.
---
The day before the wedding arrived far sooner than you would have liked.
As though the ceremony itself were not enough to occupy your every waking thought, you mother found yet another matter that required 'immediate attention'.
"A gift" she informed you over breakfast, her tone rather serious "It is customary."
You looked up from your plate. "A gift?"
"For your future husband." She clarified. "It need not be extravagant. Merely thoughtful."
Thoughtful. You nearly laughed - there was very little about your relationship with Prince Aerion that inspired thoughtful sentiments.
Still, you didn't bother to argue. Later that morning, after much thought and very little inspiration, you found yourself seated besides a goldsmith's sketches, staring at dozens of possible designs.
A sword was not even in question in your mind. A crown felt absurd. In the end, you settled for a pin - on which you requested that a dragon would be carved.
"A dragon?" Your mother repeated, as if weighing the idea.
You nodded your head "It seems fitting."
In truth, you simply could not think of anything else that suited him. The choice was appropriate. Impersonal. Safe.
The smith promised it would be completed before the wedding feast.
--
By late afternoon, you found yourself once again seated in Aerion's chambers. This arrangement became almost familiar, though neither of you seemed particularly pleased by the circumstances.
Aerion sat near the window, having returned from training. Usually, this meant you could finally return to your chambers as he rested—but not today.
The injury on the prince's arm was shallow, annoying rather than dangerous. Still, you were forced to wait while a servant fetched the Maester.
"It is nothing serious," he admitted at last "But I would rather not have it neglected the day before a royal wedding." The old man said, eyeing the thin line of blood that ran along Aerion's forearm.
Aerion seemed particularly offended by the inconvinience. "It's barely a scratch." He said for, perhaps, the third time.
The Maester barely spared him a glance. "Even scratches fester when ignored."
You remained quietly in your chair, not fully understanding why you were there in the first place. Still, you didn't dare interrupt their constant back and forth.
The argument might have stretched even more had hurried footsteps not suddenly approached the two men.
"Maester" the servant said urgently "you're needed at once. One of the stable boys has been trampled."
The old man's expression tightened. "Gods help us."
He rose at once, already gathering his things. Aerion looked almost glad.
"The cut is shallow" the Maester said quickly. "It requires cleaning and a fresh dressing, nothing more."
The man then reached into his satchel and withdrew a small ceramic jar. Without much thought, he pressed the jar into the nearest available hands.
Yours.
You blinked, taken aback.
"First you must clean up the wound with a damp cloth, then apply a thin layer of this salve and bind it. Shouldn't be too hard." The Maester didn't even spare you a look as he spoke, already moving towards the door. "I shall return later this evening."
"Maester-" Aerion began, voice rising slightly.
"Not to worry lad, you will survive" the old man spoke over his shoulder, and with that he was gone.
Silence settled over the chamber. You looked down at the jar once more before lifting your head to face the prince.
Aerion looked back at you and immediately shook his head.
"No." he said simply.
You stared at him, taken aback by such a childish behaviour.
"Your Grace " you insisted, already starting to grow irritated.
Seeing as he remained unconvinced, you crossed the room, retrieving a damp cloth from the wash basin before returning by his side.
Aerion raised a brow "Are you so eager to please that old fool?"
"I am only trying to avoid unnecessary complications, Your Grace" you said evenly, though a hint of impatience crept into your voice.
The prince stared at you for a few moments, as though searching your face for some sign that you might abandon the matter. Finding none, he pressed his lips into a thin line before crossing the chamber and lowering himself onto a nearby daybed.
Almost letting out a relieved breath, you followed him, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between the two of you before sitting beside him.
You reached for his forearm, fingers settling lightly around his wrist so you could get a better look. Immediately, one pale brow rose.
"If holding my hand was truly what you were after" he remarked, a smug note threading into his voice "you need only have asked. This seems like an unnecessarily complicated approach."
You lifted your eyes just long enough to throw him a look, your gript tightening slightly "It is for support"
"Naturally." Aerion's mouth curved with satisfaction.
Deciding not to indulge him further, you forced your attention back to the wound. Thankfully, he remained quiet for the rest of the ordeal, only occasionally tightening his jaw when the salve touched the cut. You suspected it stung him more than he cared to admit, but his pride would sooner have him bite off his tongue than acknowledge it out loud.
"There" you concluded once the bandage was secured.
You barely made it halfway to your feet when a hand closed around your wrist. Before you could react, his other hand caught your remaining arm - and your world lurched.
You landed back against the cushions with an undignified sound, skirts going everywhere as both your wrists were pinned above your head with insulting ease.
Aerion loomed over you, one knee braced against the mattress for balance, silver hair falling slightly forward as he stared down at you. Up close like this, his expression seemed sharper. More dangerous.
"What are you doing?"
His grin widened "Thought we might rehearse"
You stared at him in disbelief.
"Tomorrow, half the realm will be watching us." he said, voice low "I thought it worth seeing how you handle yourself under scrutiny."
Heat rushed to your face despite your best efforts. "You cannot be serious." you bit back, trying to wiggle your wrists out of his grip.
His eyes trailed over your face, studying every trace of outrage and embarrassment that crossed your features. Apparently pleased with the result, Aerion released without warning and sat back as though nothing had happened at all.
Everything was over just as abruptly as it started. You remained stunned for a moment longer before scrambling upright. Aware of your current disheveled state, your hands flew to your hair first, then your sleeves, then the folds of your skirts.
Aerion was leaning back against the cushions, eyes lazily trailing your shape as you attempted to gain back some dignity.
"Gods, relax" his mouth twitched upwards "You look ready to faint. I was merely amusing myself."
The words were careless, but his expression said something else. You forced your hands still at your sides, lifting your chin despite the lingering heat in your cheeks.
"A rather elaborate effort for a passing amusement." You replied evenly, though your tone carried an edge.
His eyes narrowed slightly at that.
"Do not flatter yourself." Aerion said, voice turning cutting again "You were a convenient target for boredom. Nothing more."
The room fell quiet, yet the air between you remained tight.
Aerion did not speak again.
He had already leaned back into the cushions, one arm resting along the length of the daybed as though the entire exchange had been no more than a brief interruption in an otherwise untroubled afternoon.
You inclined your head only slightly, a forced curtsy.
For a moment, his eyes flicked to your face again, as though noticing the formality. He gave no reply.
You took his silence as a dismissal, and were quick to make your way towards the door. Only when you reached the quiet of your chambers did you allow your body to relax.
---
Dinner had ended earlier than usual. Or rather, it had ended earlier for you.
You had scarcely finished the last of your meal before being informed — by both your mother and no fewer than three servants — that a bride ought to be well rested before her wedding day. The implication had been clear enough. You were to return to your chambers, sleep soundly, and wake prepared to become the future Princess of Dragonstone.
The prospect did little to encourage a good night's sleep.
Rather than taking the most direct route back, you found yourself wandering through a quieter stretch of the castle, following a corridor that curved along the outer wall. Tall windows overlooked the darkening grounds below.
You were so lost in thought that you nearly missed the voices. At first they were little more than a murmur, drifting from somewhere ahead. Then, as you passed a partially opened door, a clear sentence reached your ears.
"No, it has to be tomorrow night."
You slowed at once. The voice was familiar.
"No one will notice we're gone until morning," it continued. "Half the court will be drunk by midnight, and the other half will be too busy pretending not to be."
Your eyes widened. Daeron.
Curiosity quickly took hold, and you approached the door, leaning closer to the narrow gap.
Inside, another voice answered, quieter "...Father will notice eventually."
Aegon.
There was a brief silence before Daeron let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Father notices everything eventually," he said. "That is not the point."
The younger prince muttered something too low to make out. Daeron's reply came sharper this time.
"If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. You're welcome to devise your own escape if you believe you've discovered a better plan."
Escape. The word settled heavily in your thoughts.
They were planning to leave. Not for a ride beyond the castle walls. Not for some midnight adventure. Truly leave.
A strange feeling twisted in your chest. For one fleeting moment, a ridiculous thought crossed your mind — If only there were some way you could go with them.
The idea was absurd enough to almost make you laugh.
Inside, movement sounded suddenly closer. Your stomach dropped.
"Egg," Daeron said, sounding exasperated, "I told you to close the door properly."
Footsteps approached. You barely had enough time to straighten before the door swung wider, and Daeron appeared.
For one brief second neither of you moved. His eyes widened. Yours probably did too.
Well.
You folded your arms across your chest and lifted a brow. "You're leaving tomorrow night, I gather?"
The color vanished from Daeron's face immediately, and his gaze flicked once down the corridor. Then back to you.
Without warning, he seized your arm.
You scarcely had time to protest before he hauled you through the doorway and shut the door firmly behind you. Gods, this was the second Targaryen to jerk you around today.
The room was small and plainly furnished, likely some forgotten sitting room tucked away from the main halls. Aegon was already on his feet.
The younger prince looked positively horrified. "My lady—"
Daeron released your arm only to grasp both your shoulders instead, frowning down at you.
"This is not what you think."
You stared at him, then slowly raised a brow. "Oh? So when you said, 'No one will notice we're gone until morning,' what exactly did you mean?"
Daeron closed his eyes.When he opened them again, he turned toward Aegon. A silent plea for assistance.
Aegon, unfortunately, appeared even more distressed than before.
"Please," the younger prince said quickly. "Please, My Lady, do not tell our father."
The sincerity in his voice was almost painful. You looked between them, then finally gave a small nod.
"I will not tell anyone."
The relief was immediate. Aegon visibly relaxed. Daeron released a breath through his nose and finally let go of your shoulders., muttering a 'thank the Seven'.
"Because I intend to come with you." you continued.
Silence.
The expressions on both princes' faces were almost identical. Shock.
Daeron recovered first. "No."
You crossed your arms. "You have not heard my argument."
"I do not need to."
You narrowed your eyes.
Daeron pointed at you. "You are the bride. People ought to notice you missing within a quarter of an hour."
You considered that for a moment, brows drawing together as you searched for some flaw in his argument.
“Then we leave after the feast is over,” you said at last, as though the solution were obvious.
Daeron stared at you.Then one corner of his mouth twitched.
“You seem to be forgetting something.”
You frowned. “What?”
“There are certain,. expectations attached to one's wedding night, are there not?”
Realizing he meant the bedding ceremony, heat rushed to your face so quickly it felt almost painful.
“I suppose,” you muttered through gritted teeth, “we leave after that, then.”
A snort escaped him.
“You say that as though it's a scheduled council meeting.”
Your glare sharpened. Daeron raised both hands in surrender before shaking his head.
“There is no way of knowing how long any of that will keep you occupied, and we'll have little time as it is.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued before you could.
“Besides,” he said, studying you more carefully now, “why do you even want to come?”
The room quieted. Aegon looked between the two of you.
“I understand Aerion can be...” He paused, searching for a charitable word and failing. “Difficult. But that cannot be the only reason.”
You pressed your lips together.
“Trust me,” you said dryly, “that is reason enough on its own.”
That earned the faintest huff from Aegon.
“But, if you must know ” you added after a moment, “I should like to see more of the realm.”
Your gaze shifted between them.
“Where exactly are you going, anyway?”
Another look passed between the brothers. Aegon answered first. “Ashford.”
Daeron groaned immediately.
“That was not the plan.”
“It was my plan.”
“The entire reason I'm leaving is because I have no desire to spend my days riding in circles while lords cheer from the stands.”
“You like tourneys.”
“I like watching tourneys.”
You rubbed at your temples. “Fine. Ashford. Somewhere else. It hardly matters. We can decide the destination later.”
Daeron's eyes narrowed.
“We?”
“Yes, we.”
“I thought I made it abundantly clear that there's no way you can come with us.” His tone remained surprisingly patient.
You folded your arms. “Then I suggest we find a way to make it work, because I'm not letting you leave without me”
Daeron stared at you. “I am beginning to understand why my brother finds you so irritating.” he muttered darkly.
--
After several more minutes of heated debate, the three of you finally managed to piece together something resembling a plan. It was far from perfect, and Daeron remained firmly convinced it was a terrible idea. If you were to leave with them, there was only one true obstacle: Aerion.
The solution that emerged was supposed to be simple enough - if, let's say, a few drops of essence of nightshade were to find their way into Aerion's cup at the right moment, mixed with the generous amount of wine he was all but guaranteed to consume throughout the night, it should be enough to leave him unconscious for the remainder of the night.
By morning, any confusion could easily be attributed to the celebrations . With a bit of luck, he would assume everything had proceeded exactly as expected.
It was not a perfect plan, but it would have to do.
--
Not long after, you slipped from the room and made your way through the quieter corridors of the castle in search of the maester. Fortunately, you found him still awake in his chambers, sorting through bundles of dried herbs by candlelight.
When you explained that your nerves had left you unable to sleep before the wedding, the old man seemed entirely unsurprised.
"Every bride believes herself the first to suffer such anxieties," he said kindly, walking towards a shelf. "And every bride discovers she is not."
He retrieved a small glass vial containing a dark liquid and pressed it into your hand.
"A single drop mixed with wine or water should suffice," he instructed. "No more than that. It will encourage sleep."
You accepted it with careful hands.
The vial felt surprisingly light tucked away within your sleeve as you thanked him and made your way back through the castle. Once you made it back to your chambers, you placed it carefully on your bedside table, staring at it intently for a long moment.
Sleep did not come easily.
But at least now, you had something worth losing sleep over — because tomorrow night, if fortune favored fools, you intended to disappear.
Two Bright Flames (Aerion Targaryen x Princess! Reader)
Summary: Days spent beside your betrothed do little to improve the distance between you. As the wedding draws closer, the walls of the castle begin to feel more like a cage than a home — so, when an unexpected opportunity to escape your fate finally presents itself, the temptation to seize it may prove impossible to resist.
The days that followed settled into a routine you found increasingly difficult to escape.
By Maekar's command, you were rarely permitted a moment beyond Aerion's orbit. Shared meals became expected. Walks through the gardens, afternoons spent observing training, evenings spent beneath the glow of chandeliers and the eyes of the court.
Everything was carefully arranged under the disguise of allowing the two of you to become better acquainted—as though proximity alone would force affection to bloom.
At first, you endured everything with quiet resentment.
Aerion, for his part, remained every bit as sharp-tongued and infuriating as you remembered. He dismissed servants carelessly, spoke with open arrogance when displeased and seemed utterly incapable of restraining his temper for the sake of others. He had a particular talent for making even the simplest of conversations feel like a challenge laid at your feet.
And yet, the more time you spent around him, the harder it became to associate him with the monster you initially thought him to be.
Not because he made any efforts to get in your good graces — he did not. But, every now and then, glimpses of something else slipped through the cracks.
A fleeting look. A rare moment of restraint when he would have normally overreacted. The occasional glimpse of something beneath the arrogance and mockery that seemed far more complicated than you cared to admit.
You were reluctant to soften even in the slightest towards him. Perhaps because it felt safer that way.
---
One late afternoon, after yet another suffocating day of courtly obligations, you managed to escape to one of the quieter garden foyers. A pot of tea stood forgotten beside you, paired with a plate of biscuits you equally ignored.
You stared ahead, so lost in thought that the sound of someone coming up from behind you made you jump.
"My apologies" came a familiar drawl. "I didn't mean to startle you."
You turned your head to find Daeron standing beneath the archway, looking unusually sober.
"Why so glum?" He asked as he approached.
The question earned a quiet huff from you. "It is that obvious?"
The faintest smile curled on his lips as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
"Only to those with eyes."
Despite yourself, you smiled. Daeron seemed pleased by this small victory. He sat down o a chair across from you, stretching his legs comfortably before glancing your way.
"Trouble with your betrothed, I assume?"
You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I often wonder how anyone manages to tolerate him for longer than a few minutes."
Daeron let out a snort. "That makes two of us."
His answer pulled a short laugh out of you. For a moment, a comfortable silence settled between the two of you.
Then, Daeron's expression shifted. His gaze drifted towards the gardens below, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely lost in thought.
"He wasn't always like this, you know."
You let out a doubtful scoff. The sound made him glance briefly in your direction
"Hard to believe, I know." He admitted. "But it's true. When we were little, Aerion was..." He paused, searching for the right word "...easier."
The word explained very little, which made you raise a questioning brow.
"He smiled more" He continued "Laughed, even. Back then, he used to follow Father everywhere like a shadow. Always so desperate for his approval."
Something in Daeron's expression softened as he spoke. "He adored our mother, too."
You found yourself strangely silent. You were trying - and failing - to picture a smiling little Aerion. Daeron stared ahead for another moment before he spoke again.
"But, Aerion learned young what the court rewards." He started. "Everything he does now.." he shrugged slightly "I think he believes it necessary. Better to be feared than overlooked - weakness has no place in court."
The words lingered between you long after they were spoken. Daeron rose not long after, offering you an easy salute before disappearing back towards the castle.
Long after he was gone, you remained seated there in silence. Despite knowing better, you found your thoughts returning again and again to what Daeron had said.
---
The day before the wedding arrived far sooner than you would have liked.
As though the ceremony itself were not enough to occupy your every waking thought, you mother found yet another matter that required 'immediate attention'.
"A gift" she informed you over breakfast, her tone rather serious "It is customary."
You looked up from your plate. "A gift?"
"For your future husband." She clarified. "It need not be extravagant. Merely thoughtful."
Thoughtful. You nearly laughed - there was very little about your relationship with Prince Aerion that inspired thoughtful sentiments.
Still, you didn't bother to argue. Later that morning, after much thought and very little inspiration, you found yourself seated besides a goldsmith's sketches, staring at dozens of possible designs.
A sword was not even in question in your mind. A crown felt absurd. In the end, you settled for a pin - on which you requested that a dragon would be carved.
"A dragon?" Your mother repeated, as if weighing the idea.
You nodded your head "It seems fitting."
In truth, you simply could not think of anything else that suited him. The choice was appropriate. Impersonal. Safe.
The smith promised it would be completed before the wedding feast.
--
By late afternoon, you found yourself once again seated in Aerion's chambers. This arrangement became almost familiar, though neither of you seemed particularly pleased by the circumstances.
Aerion sat near the window, having returned from training. Usually, this meant you could finally return to your chambers as he rested—but not today.
The injury on the prince's arm was shallow, annoying rather than dangerous. Still, you were forced to wait while a servant fetched the Maester.
"It is nothing serious," he admitted at last "But I would rather not have it neglected the day before a royal wedding." The old man said, eyeing the thin line of blood that ran along Aerion's forearm.
Aerion seemed particularly offended by the inconvinience. "It's barely a scratch." He said for, perhaps, the third time.
The Maester barely spared him a glance. "Even scratches fester when ignored."
You remained quietly in your chair, not fully understanding why you were there in the first place. Still, you didn't dare interrupt their constant back and forth.
The argument might have stretched even more had hurried footsteps not suddenly approached the two men.
"Maester" the servant said urgently "you're needed at once. One of the stable boys has been trampled."
The old man's expression tightened. "Gods help us."
He rose at once, already gathering his things. Aerion looked almost glad.
"The cut is shallow" the Maester said quickly. "It requires cleaning and a fresh dressing, nothing more."
The man then reached into his satchel and withdrew a small ceramic jar. Without much thought, he pressed the jar into the nearest available hands.
Yours.
You blinked, taken aback.
"First you must clean up the wound with a damp cloth, then apply a thin layer of this salve and bind it. Shouldn't be too hard." The Maester didn't even spare you a look as he spoke, already moving towards the door. "I shall return later this evening."
"Maester-" Aerion began, voice rising slightly.
"Not to worry lad, you will survive" the old man spoke over his shoulder, and with that he was gone.
Silence settled over the chamber. You looked down at the jar once more before lifting your head to face the prince.
Aerion looked back at you and immediately shook his head.
"No." he said simply.
You stared at him, taken aback by such a childish behaviour.
"Your Grace " you insisted, already starting to grow irritated.
Seeing as he remained unconvinced, you crossed the room, retrieving a damp cloth from the wash basin before returning by his side.
Aerion raised a brow "Are you so eager to please that old fool?"
"I am only trying to avoid unnecessary complications, Your Grace" you said evenly, though a hint of impatience crept into your voice.
The prince stared at you for a few moments, as though searching your face for some sign that you might abandon the matter. Finding none, he pressed his lips into a thin line before crossing the chamber and lowering himself onto a nearby daybed.
Almost letting out a relieved breath, you followed him, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between the two of you before sitting beside him.
You reached for his forearm, fingers settling lightly around his wrist so you could get a better look. Immediately, one pale brow rose.
"If holding my hand was truly what you were after" he remarked, a smug note threading into his voice "you need only have asked. This seems like an unnecessarily complicated approach."
You lifted your eyes just long enough to throw him a look, your gript tightening slightly "It is for support"
"Naturally." Aerion's mouth curved with satisfaction.
Deciding not to indulge him further, you forced your attention back to the wound. Thankfully, he remained quiet for the rest of the ordeal, only occasionally tightening his jaw when the salve touched the cut. You suspected it stung him more than he cared to admit, but his pride would sooner have him bite off his tongue than acknowledge it out loud.
"There" you concluded once the bandage was secured.
You barely made it halfway to your feet when a hand closed around your wrist. Before you could react, his other hand caught your remaining arm - and your world lurched.
You landed back against the cushions with an undignified sound, skirts going everywhere as both your wrists were pinned above your head with insulting ease.
Aerion loomed over you, one knee braced against the mattress for balance, silver hair falling slightly forward as he stared down at you. Up close like this, his expression seemed sharper. More dangerous.
"What are you doing?"
His grin widened "Thought we might rehearse"
You stared at him in disbelief.
"Tomorrow, half the realm will be watching us." he said, voice low "I thought it worth seeing how you handle yourself under scrutiny."
Heat rushed to your face despite your best efforts. "You cannot be serious." you bit back, trying to wiggle your wrists out of his grip.
His eyes trailed over your face, studying every trace of outrage and embarrassment that crossed your features. Apparently pleased with the result, Aerion released without warning and sat back as though nothing had happened at all.
Everything was over just as abruptly as it started. You remained stunned for a moment longer before scrambling upright. Aware of your current disheveled state, your hands flew to your hair first, then your sleeves, then the folds of your skirts.
Aerion was leaning back against the cushions, eyes lazily trailing your shape as you attempted to gain back some dignity.
"Gods, relax" his mouth twitched upwards "You look ready to faint. I was merely amusing myself."
The words were careless, but his expression said something else. You forced your hands still at your sides, lifting your chin despite the lingering heat in your cheeks.
"A rather elaborate effort for a passing amusement." You replied evenly, though your tone carried an edge.
His eyes narrowed slightly at that.
"Do not flatter yourself." Aerion said, voice turning cutting again "You were a convenient target for boredom. Nothing more."
The room fell quiet, yet the air between you remained tight.
Aerion did not speak again.
He had already leaned back into the cushions, one arm resting along the length of the daybed as though the entire exchange had been no more than a brief interruption in an otherwise untroubled afternoon.
You inclined your head only slightly, a forced curtsy.
For a moment, his eyes flicked to your face again, as though noticing the formality. He gave no reply.
You took his silence as a dismissal, and were quick to make your way towards the door. Only when you reached the quiet of your chambers did you allow your body to relax.
---
Dinner had ended earlier than usual. Or rather, it had ended earlier for you.
You had scarcely finished the last of your meal before being informed — by both your mother and no fewer than three servants — that a bride ought to be well rested before her wedding day. The implication had been clear enough. You were to return to your chambers, sleep soundly, and wake prepared to become the future Princess of Dragonstone.
The prospect did little to encourage a good night's sleep.
Rather than taking the most direct route back, you found yourself wandering through a quieter stretch of the castle, following a corridor that curved along the outer wall. Tall windows overlooked the darkening grounds below.
You were so lost in thought that you nearly missed the voices. At first they were little more than a murmur, drifting from somewhere ahead. Then, as you passed a partially opened door, a clear sentence reached your ears.
"No, it has to be tomorrow night."
You slowed at once. The voice was familiar.
"No one will notice we're gone until morning," it continued. "Half the court will be drunk by midnight, and the other half will be too busy pretending not to be."
Your eyes widened. Daeron.
Curiosity quickly took hold, and you approached the door, leaning closer to the narrow gap.
Inside, another voice answered, quieter "...Father will notice eventually."
Aegon.
There was a brief silence before Daeron let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Father notices everything eventually," he said. "That is not the point."
The younger prince muttered something too low to make out. Daeron's reply came sharper this time.
"If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. You're welcome to devise your own escape if you believe you've discovered a better plan."
Escape. The word settled heavily in your thoughts.
They were planning to leave. Not for a ride beyond the castle walls. Not for some midnight adventure. Truly leave.
A strange feeling twisted in your chest. For one fleeting moment, a ridiculous thought crossed your mind — If only there were some way you could go with them.
The idea was absurd enough to almost make you laugh.
Inside, movement sounded suddenly closer. Your stomach dropped.
"Egg," Daeron said, sounding exasperated, "I told you to close the door properly."
Footsteps approached. You barely had enough time to straighten before the door swung wider, and Daeron appeared.
For one brief second neither of you moved. His eyes widened. Yours probably did too.
Well.
You folded your arms across your chest and lifted a brow. "You're leaving tomorrow night, I gather?"
The color vanished from Daeron's face immediately, and his gaze flicked once down the corridor. Then back to you.
Without warning, he seized your arm.
You scarcely had time to protest before he hauled you through the doorway and shut the door firmly behind you. Gods, this was the second Targaryen to jerk you around today.
The room was small and plainly furnished, likely some forgotten sitting room tucked away from the main halls. Aegon was already on his feet.
The younger prince looked positively horrified. "My lady—"
Daeron released your arm only to grasp both your shoulders instead, frowning down at you.
"This is not what you think."
You stared at him, then slowly raised a brow. "Oh? So when you said, 'No one will notice we're gone until morning,' what exactly did you mean?"
Daeron closed his eyes.When he opened them again, he turned toward Aegon. A silent plea for assistance.
Aegon, unfortunately, appeared even more distressed than before.
"Please," the younger prince said quickly. "Please, My Lady, do not tell our father."
The sincerity in his voice was almost painful. You looked between them, then finally gave a small nod.
"I will not tell anyone."
The relief was immediate. Aegon visibly relaxed. Daeron released a breath through his nose and finally let go of your shoulders., muttering a 'thank the Seven'.
"Because I intend to come with you." you continued.
Silence.
The expressions on both princes' faces were almost identical. Shock.
Daeron recovered first. "No."
You crossed your arms. "You have not heard my argument."
"I do not need to."
You narrowed your eyes.
Daeron pointed at you. "You are the bride. People ought to notice you missing within a quarter of an hour."
You considered that for a moment, brows drawing together as you searched for some flaw in his argument.
“Then we leave after the feast is over,” you said at last, as though the solution were obvious.
Daeron stared at you.Then one corner of his mouth twitched.
“You seem to be forgetting something.”
You frowned. “What?”
“There are certain,. expectations attached to one's wedding night, are there not?”
Realizing he meant the bedding ceremony, heat rushed to your face so quickly it felt almost painful.
“I suppose,” you muttered through gritted teeth, “we leave after that, then.”
A snort escaped him.
“You say that as though it's a scheduled council meeting.”
Your glare sharpened. Daeron raised both hands in surrender before shaking his head.
“There is no way of knowing how long any of that will keep you occupied, and we'll have little time as it is.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued before you could.
“Besides,” he said, studying you more carefully now, “why do you even want to come?”
The room quieted. Aegon looked between the two of you.
“I understand Aerion can be...” He paused, searching for a charitable word and failing. “Difficult. But that cannot be the only reason.”
You pressed your lips together.
“Trust me,” you said dryly, “that is reason enough on its own.”
That earned the faintest huff from Aegon.
“But, if you must know ” you added after a moment, “I should like to see more of the realm.”
Your gaze shifted between them.
“Where exactly are you going, anyway?”
Another look passed between the brothers. Aegon answered first. “Ashford.”
Daeron groaned immediately.
“That was not the plan.”
“It was my plan.”
“The entire reason I'm leaving is because I have no desire to spend my days riding in circles while lords cheer from the stands.”
“You like tourneys.”
“I like watching tourneys.”
You rubbed at your temples. “Fine. Ashford. Somewhere else. It hardly matters. We can decide the destination later.”
Daeron's eyes narrowed.
“We?”
“Yes, we.”
“I thought I made it abundantly clear that there's no way you can come with us.” His tone remained surprisingly patient.
You folded your arms. “Then I suggest we find a way to make it work, because I'm not letting you leave without me”
Daeron stared at you. “I am beginning to understand why my brother finds you so irritating.” he muttered darkly.
--
After several more minutes of heated debate, the three of you finally managed to piece together something resembling a plan. It was far from perfect, and Daeron remained firmly convinced it was a terrible idea. If you were to leave with them, there was only one true obstacle: Aerion.
The solution that emerged was supposed to be simple enough - if, let's say, a few drops of essence of nightshade were to find their way into Aerion's cup at the right moment, mixed with the generous amount of wine he was all but guaranteed to consume throughout the night, it should be enough to leave him unconscious for the remainder of the night.
By morning, any confusion could easily be attributed to the celebrations . With a bit of luck, he would assume everything had proceeded exactly as expected.
It was not a perfect plan, but it would have to do.
--
Not long after, you slipped from the room and made your way through the quieter corridors of the castle in search of the maester. Fortunately, you found him still awake in his chambers, sorting through bundles of dried herbs by candlelight.
When you explained that your nerves had left you unable to sleep before the wedding, the old man seemed entirely unsurprised.
"Every bride believes herself the first to suffer such anxieties," he said kindly, walking towards a shelf. "And every bride discovers she is not."
He retrieved a small glass vial containing a dark liquid and pressed it into your hand.
"A single drop mixed with wine or water should suffice," he instructed. "No more than that. It will encourage sleep."
You accepted it with careful hands.
The vial felt surprisingly light tucked away within your sleeve as you thanked him and made your way back through the castle. Once you made it back to your chambers, you placed it carefully on your bedside table, staring at it intently for a long moment.
Sleep did not come easily.
But at least now, you had something worth losing sleep over — because tomorrow night, if fortune favored fools, you intended to disappear.
Heyyy love loveeeeee ur Aerion stories. You’re a great writer. Was just wondering if you were gonna continue two bright flames …👉🏻👈🏻.. it’s totally cool if you don’t btw, I know life happens. just the story was so good and had me on my toes aaaaah
Heyy, I'm glad to know you liked it! Honestly I just kinda forgot about it, but thanks for reminding me. I just posted a new chapter, here's the link. Hope u enjoy!
Two Bright Flames (Aerion Targaryen x Princess! Reader)
Summary: Royal courts forgive very little, especially when careless words can become weapons in the wrong hands. And when accusations of treason arise, loyalty suddenly becomes a thing people are willing to prove at any cost. (*Previous chapter -» here)
The days following the feast passed in a strange, uneventful manner.
From morning until evening you had to endure carefully arranged group activities — rides along the outer grounds, supervised walks through the gardens, demonstrations of hawking and swordplay. Your sisters were always present, and so was Prince Aerion.
You kept your distance as much as courtesy allowed. Aerion, for his part, made no further efforts to provoke you. No sharp remarks, no interruptions. And while it should have brought you a sense of relief, the matter left you feeling uneasy instead.
The quiet did not feel like peace, and, much to yours and everyone else's misfortune, the quiet didn't last much longer either.
--
The summoning came well past midnight.
You had barely sunk into sleep when suddenly, the doors to your chambers were thrown open with such force that they struck the stone wall behind them. Lamplight flooded the room, and for one disoriented moment, you thought some disaster had struck upon the castle. Then you saw the guards - armored, grim-faced, standing in the doorway.
“Up. All of you, at once.”
There was no room for protest. Within minutes, you and your sisters were led into the corridor — still in your nightclothes, hair unbound and hastily wrapped in whatever robes you had managed to snatch. The chill of the stone floor bit through your thin slippers as you were hurried along the torchlit passageways. The late hour made everything feel unreal, like a fever dream from which you had not yet fully woken.
Lyessa found your side in the corridor and clung to your dress with trembling fingers.
“… what is happening?” she whispered, her voice thin with fear.
“I don’t know,” you murmured back, wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
When the great doors of the throne room came into view — already standing wide open, light blazing within — your unease only sharpened.
The room felt transformed into something harsh and merciless under the glare of too many torches. The air itself seemed tight with tension, as though the entire room was holding its breath. At the center of it all stood Maekar Targaryen, rigid behind the long table before the throne, his expression harsh with barely contained fury.
To his right stood Aerion, pale hair gleaming in the torchlight, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his eyes were sharp and watchful. Not far from him lingered Baelor Targaryen, grave and silent, alongside several other high lords whose presence alone made your pulse stumble.
Before you could gather your thoughts, movement at the far end of the chamber drew every eye—
Valeriane was being dragged forward by two of the guards.
She looked nothing like the composed elder sister you knew so well. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, her nightgown was wrinkled from the rough handling, and her face was already blotched and wet with tears. Valeriane stumbled as the two men forced her to her knees before the table.
Your mother stepped forward first, her posture straight despite the hour and the indignity of the summon.
“My prince,” she said, voice tight with barely contained despair, “what is the meaning of this?!” the woman demanded.
The effect of her words was immediate, as Maekar practically jumped to his feet. His fist came down upon the table with a crack that rang through the chamber like thunder, making several people, as well as yourself, visibly flinch.
“You dare stand before me and feign ignorance?” he roared, his voice filling the vast hall. “You would have me believe you know nothing of your daughter’s treachery?”
Shock rippled visibly through the gathered sisters.
You felt Lyessa’s fingers tighten painfully at your sleeve.
Your mother’s composure wavered. “Treachery?” she repeated, both outrage and disbelief etched in her tone. “My prince, you speak in riddles. My daughter has done no such-”
“Enough.”
The word cracked like a whip.
Maekar leaned forward, eyes blazing.
“Your eldest daughter,” he said, each word precise and cutting, “has been in secret corespondence with Lord Rowan of House Rowan — one of the most persistent enemies of House Targaryen. And in those letters, she saw fit to recount the happenings of my court, under my own roof.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
No one moved.
No one even dared to breathe.
Valeriane broke first.
“I didn’t - I wasn’t conspiring!” she sobbed, the words tumbling over one another in desperate panic as tears streamed down her face. Her shoulders shook violently. “I swear it, I didn’t mean - I didn’t know - ”
“Silence, girl.” Maekar’s voice cut through her breathless ramble.
At the table, Prince Baelor shifted at last, one hand lifting in a quiet gesture toward his brother.
“Brother,” he said evenly, his voice low, “rage will not uncover the truth any faster. Let the matter be spoken plainly.”
But Maekar did not look away from the trembling girl before him.
“There must be some mistake,” your mother insisted at your side, her voice rising despite herself. “My daughter would never betray the Crown. Our house has been loyal to House Targaryen for generations—”
“Has it?”
With a sharp motion, Maekar snatched a bundle of parchment from the table and hurled it across the stone floor. The letters scattered at Valeriane’s knees like fallen leaves.
“My spies intercepted every one,” he said coldly.
Valeriane stared down at the parchment for a moment before she collapsed forward, weeping uncontrollably now, her earlier composure completely shattered.
"You wrote of matters discussed within these walls as though they were harmless court amusements." Maekar said, voice barely controlled "You spoke of private tensions within the royal household, of rumors surrounding succession, of which bannermen appear restless beneath the Crown. Tell me, girl - did you imagine Lord Rowan sought your corespondance for the pleasure of your handwriting?"
Valeriane lowered her head even further, shaking visibly now, but Maekar was not yet finished.
"House Rowan has spent years searching for weakness within this court." Maekar said sharply "And you, in your vanity, offered him precisely that - these things may seem trivial to a girl hungry for attention, but in the hands of our enemies, they are worth more than gold."
There was a moment of silence before Valeriane spoke again.
“I didn’t mean treason,” she gasped through tears. “Please - please, your Grace-”
“I would call it exactly that,” Maekar replied, his expression like iron. “And treason, as it is known, is paid for in blood.”
Lyessa made a small, strangled sound beside you, nearly loud enough to cover up your own gasp. You felt the room tilt — what you were hearing felt surreal. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Aerion's oddly pleased expression. He seemed visibly entertained by the scene that played out in front of him, and that realization only made your blood boil.
The room had gone so still that the crackle of the torches seemed deafening.
Your mother moved then, taking a couple of steps forward, nearing the high table. Though her face had gone pale beneath the torchlight, her voice remained surprisingly calm.
“Your Grace,” she said, and now there was no mistaking the urgency of her words “our loyalty is not in question, whatever foolish mistake my daughter may have made. We would do anything to prove the devotion of our house.”
Maekar’s gaze sharpened.
“Anything?” he repeated incredulously.
Their mother inclined her head.
“We came here ready to bind our families by blood,” she said clearly. “One of my other daughters will wed your son, as a visible and unbreakable pledge of our loyalty to House Targaryen.”
You felt your pulse stumble at your mother's words. She couldn't be serious — how could she agree to tie your family down to these unreasonable, cruel people?
Aross the room, Aerion straightened sharply.
“Father- ”
Maekar did not even look at him.
“Hold your tongue.”
Aerion’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing briefly across his face, but he did not speak again.
Maekar leaned back slowly, his earlier fury shifting into something more calculated. His eyes moved across the line of sisters, weighing, measuring.
Then, without notice, he rose from his seat. Without a word, he stepped away from the table and began approaching the place where you and your two sisters were standing.
Maekar didn't even spare a look to Lyessa, who was half-hidden behind you. His attention passed over her entirely, settling on the two elder sisters instead.
You felt Ysoria straighten beside you, as if bracing herself. Your gaze dropped at once, fixed somewhere on the ground at your feet, as if that might spare you from being noticed. Once you felt Maekar stop right in front of you, though, you knew you couldn't avoid meeting his gaze anymore. Slowly, you lifted eyes to meet his own.
The prince studied your face for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he turned his head slightly towards your mother.
"I believe she is the most suitable." He said simply, in a tone that could only be described as final.
The words sent your stomach plummeting down, and you felt your feet nearly give away under the weight of realization. You opened your mouth then, a protest forming before you could stop it — but you forced it back down, as always.
You looked past Maekar and towards your mother, a silent, urgent plea in your eyes. The woman did not meet your eyes.
"As you wish, Your Grace" she said, inclining her head with a quiet acceptance.
So, that was it — the decision was final. An unshakeable feeling of dread began spreading throughout your body, numbing your senses as it went. You lowered your eyes once again, hands tightening at your sides in an attempt to steady yourself. You didn't't even need to look at the table to know that Aerion was fuming — after all, you could practically feel his gaze burning holes into you.
“They shall be married within the week,” Maekar added, his tone just as firm. “I see no reason to delay the matter any further.”
No one argued.
No one questioned it.
Maekar stepped back at last, as if the matter required no further thought, and that was the end of it.
---
The walk back to their quarters passed in a strained, brittle silence. When the doors finally closed behind them, that same silence shattered. Your mother turned towards Valeriane in a flash and, without warning, struck her sharply across the cheek.
The sound crackled across the room. Valeriane staggered backwards with a small cry, her hand flying to her face as tears started spilling once again.
"You foolish, reckless girl!” your mother hissed “Do you have any notion what danger you have placed us all in? Coresponding with a known enemy of the Crown — under this roof of all places! Have you utterly lost your senses?”
“I didn’t mean—” Valeriane sobbed, her voice breaking helplessly. “Mother, I swear I didn’t—”
“ You nearly cost us everything,” the woman cut in sharply, though her voice trembled faintly.
Your sister lowered her head, shame written clearly all over her face. You took a step forward then, trying to catch the eye of your mother. You were desperate for something, something you couldn't quite name - reassurance, perhaps?
You finally opened your mouth. "Mother—”
“Not now.”
The words came sharp and immediate. For seemingly the first time that evening, the woman finally met your eyes. Her face was still pale from the events of the night, and she looked tired. Truly tired.
"We will say nothing further tonight." she said, turning to look at each sister one by one "Not one word."
And that was the end of it. No explanation. No comfort.
---
That night, sleep never truly came, and by the time morning finally rolled in, servants were already filling the room.
They moved through your chamber briskly, gathering gowns, books, jewelry, ribbons - every trace of you packed neatly into trunks and carried away while you watched from your bed.
Through all that agitation, a maid slipped next to your bed, head bowed "My lady" she said gently, though there was a certain urgency in her tone "I have been instructed to inform you that your belongings are to be moved to new chambers at once — closer to Prince Aerion's apartments, by order of His Grace, Prince Maekar."
Your fingers tightened faintly in the bedsheets, but you nodded your head in quiet acknowledgement.
Once everything was packed and sent away, your maids helped you get ready for the day to come. You were bathed, your hair washed and perfumed, your skin scrubbed until it practically glowed. Fine silks - far more elaborate than anything suitable for a simple breakfast - were laid out for you. You felt a bit overwhelmed by all this extra attention that was being put into you.
-
Soon enough, you were finally led out of your chamber.
Breakfast had been laid out onto one of the eastern balconies overlooking the sea, the long table shielded beneath a canopy of pale silk. The royal family was already gathered, though none of those present seemed to be interested in the food in front of them.
Prince Maekar sat at the head of the table, his presence intimidating as ever. To his side lounged Daeron, a goblet of wine already resting in his hand despite the hour. His pale eyes flicked towards you briefly as you approached the table, and something strained between amusement and pity crossed his face before he took another sip.
Aegon sat further down the table, absentmindedly pushing pieces of fruit around the plate with his fork. At the sight of you, however, his posture straightened slightly, a sort of relief brightening his expression.
Aerion did not look up at all.
He sat beside his father, one hand loosely wrapped around a cup, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the balcony as though the entire arrangement bored him beyond measure. There was something deliberate in the indifference of his actions, as though he wanted it to be clear that he had no desire whatsoever to be there.
Only when you finally reached the table did he lift his eyes, and the look he gave you was cold enough to still your steps.
There was no warmth, no civility behind his gaze. Only that sharp, unapologetic glare that made it painfully clear he did not want you there.
One servant pulled out a chair somewhere near the far end of the table - thankfully distant from where Aerion was sitting - and you quickly claimed your seat, smoothing out your skirts in an effort to appear less stiff.
"My lady" Maekar greeted, his tone significantly warmer than it had been in the throne room. "I trust you rested well."
"Well enough, Your Grace." you replied, nodding your head in the slightest.
Meekar gave a faint hum in response. The conversation that followed remained painfully formal, and you listened, politely, as Maekar eventually drifted the subject to the wedding preparations already in motion.
"As I've said before, the wedding will take place in one week's time" he said, leaning forward in his seat as he spoke "Until then, it would be wise for you and my son to become better acquainted. A harmonious match benefits both of our houses."
Across the table, you could've sworn you heard Aerion scoff. While you couldn't exactly blame him for his lack of willingness, the sound still stirred something inside you. Of course none of you were happy to have to spend even more time in eachothers presence, but he could at least be civil.
-
Soon enough, the subject shifted from wedding arrangements, and you allowed yourself to sink slightly into your chair, thankful for the change. You listened only in fragments as Aerion spoke to his father about an upcoming tourney which was set to take place in less than a fortnight.
As servants stepped forward to clear the table, Maekar rose smoothly from his chair and glanced between you and Aerion, before suggesting that you both take a stroll through the gardens. 'Gives you a chance to talk freely', he'd said.
So you found yourself at Aerion's side once again, moving through the castle's gardens beneath the pale morning sun that did little to warm the tight knot in your chest.
Servants and guards trailed behind you at a respectable distance, near enough to observe, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. Aerion said nothing while they remained within easy earshot, but his silence was not at all comforting. You kept your gaze forward, trying to at least enjoy the pretty view.
The two of you just turned down a narrower gravel path, with hedges rising thick and tall on either side, when his hand came out of nowhere. His fingers closed around your arm as he yanked you a step closer. Your breath caught, but you did not stumble.
"Do not", Aerion said under his breath, voice low and edged like steel "Mistake this farce for willingness. I did not want this match, and you would be wise never to expect husbandly devotion from me when doors are closed."
Up close, his expression was sharper than usual, violet eyes boring into yours as you lifted your gaze, staring back at him.
"I should be most surprised if it were otherwise, Your Grace" you replied, voice calm and even."You have been nothing if not consistent."
For a brief moment, something flickered across his face - not quite anger, not quite surprise. He studied your face, gaze moving slowly across your features as though he was searching for a crack in your composture.
"You will learn", he said at last "that my patience for insolence is not endless. Once we are wed, I will expect obedience. Nothing less."
You held his gaze for a while longer, but you did not answer him. Your silence seemed to satisfy him more than any protest might have. His hand dropped from your arm at last, and you resumed walking as through nothing had passed between you.
Several minutes passed in silence before Aerion spoke again.
"Tell me" he said, eyes fixed ahead "Were you truly ignorant of your sister's corespondace?"
"None of us had the slightest suspicion." You answered plainly.
From the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth tilt faintly - not quite a smile. A soft, thoughtful hum left him.
"My father showed uncharacteristic mercy." Aerion went on, voice cool. "Had the matter been mine to judge, your sister would be hanged for high treason."
The words were deliberate. Spoken carefully. Bait.
If he expected outrage, pleading, or even visible discomfort, he was up for disappointment.
"Well, then" you said evenly, turning to face him "my sister should thank the Gods it was His Grace who sat in judgement rather than you."
For the first time since they had left the castle, Aerion’s composure slipped—only slightly, but enough. His jaw tightened faintly, though the corner of his mouth threatened the shape of a smirk despite himself.
He held your gaze for a moment longer, eyes sharp with irritation and something more reluctant beneath it as he stared down at you - a dangerous sort of amusement he would never willingly admit to taking from your defiance.
The rest of the walk was spent in silence.
___
*I started writing from second person pov cause it felt easier lol. Also, the Taglist is open, so comment if you'd like to be added.
~ Summary: A scorching summer afternoon by the lake spent with your lover, Aerion — back when the future was still something you could ignore—before choices, before distance, before the day that changed everything.( read 'Things left behind' here)
Pairing: smalltown! Aerion x smalltown! Reader
° Masterlist
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The heat that day was relentless.
The kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel slow and heavy. The lake shimmered under the sun, light bouncing off the surface, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and water.
You sat at the edge of the dock, legs dangling lazily over the side, toes just barely brushing the surface. The wood beneath you was hot, but not enough to make you move. Not when he was behind you.
Aerion sat close, one leg bent, the other stretched out, your back resting against his chest. His shirt was soft against your skin, warm from all that heat. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, not heavy, there. Present.
He didn’t say much. He rarely did.
But he listened. He stayed still when you talked, letting out a thoughtful hum every now and then. His fingers absentmindedly traced along your arm, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
“And then she said I should consider applying early,” you were saying, your voice a little softer now.
Aerion didn’t respond right away.
He shifted slightly behind you, one hand coming up to adjust the cap he had placed on your head earlier - the same one he’d pulled off his own without a word when you started squinting too much under the sun.
“Mm,” he finally hummed.
You smiled faintly, leaning back into him a little more. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“Yeah,” he said.
That was it. The word sat there, simple and flat, and for a second, you weren’t sure what to do with it.
You glanced out at the lake again, watching the way the water moved.
“I can't believe I'll be leaving this place soon” you added after a moment, quieter now.
He stilled behind you. The hand on your arm paused, fingers going still against your skin.
“…Yeah,” he said again.
Something in your chest tightened.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. “You ever think about that?”
“About what?”
“Leaving.”
A beat passed in silence.
Then, “Not really.”
Your brows pulled together slightly. “Not even a little?”
He shrugged behind you, the movement shifting both of you slightly. “This place is fine.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly now, the brim of his cap shadowing your eyes. “You don’t ever feel like… you want more than this?”
Aerion met your gaze, calm, unreadable. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” you said, a small, frustrated breath slipping out. “Just, more. Something bigger. Something that isn’t… this.”
He frowned slightly “What’s wrong with 'this'?”
You stared at him - it felt like you were speaking two completely different languages.
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” you said quickly. “I just - I don’t want to stay here forever.”
He didn’t answer.
His gaze drifted past you, toward the lake, like he was thinking about it - or maybe avoiding to give you an answer.
That silence stretched too long.
“You could come with me,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “If I get in. We could figure something out.”
That made him look at you again. Really look this time.
“You think I’d fit there?” he asked.
The question caught you off guard. “I mean - yeah, why wouldn’t you?”
He let out a quiet breath, something almost like a humorless laugh.
“C’mon” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.
“What does that mean?” you pressed.
“It means,” he said, a bit more firmly now, “that’s your thing. Not mine.”
You pulled away from him completely now, the loss of his warmth immediate.
“So you’re just… not even going to try?”
He frowned. “That’s not what I said.”
“It kind of is,” you shot back, the frustration bubbling up . “I’m offering you a way out, Aerion, and you’re acting like it’s a joke.”
“I’m not” he said, his voice lower now. “I’m being realistic.”
“Or you’re just scared,” you snapped.
That landed.
“Yeah,” he said after a second. “Maybe I am.”
The honesty of it should’ve softened you.
It didn’t.
Instead, it made your chest feel tighter.
“So that’s it?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “You’re just going to stay here? Forever?”
He didn’t answer- and somehow, that was answer enough.
You stood up abruptly, the sudden movement causing Aerion to almost loose his balance.
“Forget it,” you muttered, brushing your hands off . “I don’t even know why—"
You cut yourself off, shaking your head before turning away, starting down the dock.
“Hey—” Aerion called after you.
But you didn’t stop.
The wood creaked under your steps as you walked faster, your chest tight.
Behind you, he didn’t move right away. Then, a few moments later—
Footsteps.
His hand caught your wrist before you could get any further. The sudden pull made you turn, stumbling half a step back toward him, your heart still racing from the argument.
His cap was still on your head, the brim low over your eyes. You didn’t fix it - instead, you tilted your head down just a little more, letting it shield your face, hiding behind it like that might somehow make this easier.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then his other hand came up, fingers brushing the edge of the cap, pushing it back just enough to reveal your face.
Your eyes met his.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, something unreadable sitting behind his gaze as he dipped his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze before you could look away again.
“C’mon,” he murmured, voice low, softer than before. “Don’t be like this.”
You shook your head, trying to pull your wrist from his grip, turning your face away. “I’m not- just let go, Aerion”
But he didn’t.
Instead, he tugged you forward, closing the distance in one smooth motion until you were flush against him. One arm wrapped around you, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you firmly into his chest.
You let out a small, muffled protest, your voice lost against his shirt. “Aerion- ”
He held you there anyway.
“Aerion, I can’t breathe” you complained, pushing weakly against him, your hands caught awkwardly between you. "Let go of me"
A quiet, almost amused sound rumbled in his chest, the vibration passing through you.
“Not until you hug me back, I won't” he said stubbornly.
You scoffed against him, half annoyed, half something else. “You’re unbelievable.”
Still, he didn’t budge.
You stayed like that for a second longer, resisting purely on principle, your hands still hovering awkwardly between you. But the longer he held you there, the harder it became to keep up the fight.
With a quiet huff, you gave in. Your arms slid around him, resting along his back, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.
You felt the shift in him immediately. His hold loosened just a fraction -not enough to let you go, just softening his grip.
A moment passed. Then another.
The tension slowly began fading away as the two of you sat there.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a while, his voice low. “I just… don’t like thinking about it. Or talking about it.”
You didn’t answer right away, just hummed softly against his chest, not quite forgiveness, not quite agreement.
Eventually, his arms eased from around you, letting you pull back. His hand lingered for a second at the back of your head before dropping at his side.
Then he reached for your hand, not fully holding it - just brushing his fingers against yours, enough to guide you as he stepped back toward the dock.
“C’mon,” he muttered.
And you let him lead you back toward the water, a smile beginning to form on your lips.
-
He slipped into the water first, quick and easy. One moment he was on the dock, tugging his shirt over his head, stepping out of his pants without a second thought - and the next, he was jumping in, water splashing everywhere as he disappeared under the surface.
When he looked back up at you, his hair was wet, pale strands clinging to his forehead, his expression lighter than it had been all afternoon. There was a grin on his face now as he urged you to get in the water.
You stayed where you were, perched stubbornly at the edge of the dock, arms wrapped loosely around your knees.
“Don’t wanna get my clothes wet, Aerion,” you complained, nudging the water with your foot but not committing. “And I don’t have my bathing suit.”
He huffed softly, shaking his head. “Your underwear’s fine, baby. C’mon, just get in.”
You shot him a look, unimpressed.
He squinted back at you, clearly not buying it. Then, without warning, he flicked a splash of water in your direction.
You gasped, jerking back, a surprised laugh bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “Hey!”
A flash of satisfaction crossed his face.
“Don’t make me come get you,” he warned, but there was something playful under it- even if the edge of impatience was starting to creep in.
You held his gaze for a second longer, trying to stay firm - but you composture was already slipping. The corners of your mouth twitched.
“Ugh, fine,” you muttered, finally giving in.
Your fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly-
Then you paused.
“... Turn around then” you added quickly, your voice dropping just a little.
He blinked at you, one brow lifting.
“I’ve seen you naked before,” he pointed out, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Heat rushed to your face instantly. “Aerion,” you whined, shooting him a look.
That only made his mouth twitch, like he was trying not to smile. Still, after a second, he rolled his eyes lightly and turned around without another word.
You didn’t rush.
You tugged your shirt off, then your shorts, movements just a little more careful now, suddenly aware of the open air, the heat on your skin, the way he stood just a few feet away in the water - even if he wasn’t looking.
“Okay,” you said after a moment, a bit quieter now.
He didn’t turn right away.
Then he glanced back over his shoulder - and when his eyes landed on you, something softened, just briefly, before that familiar, easy grin returned.
“Well?” he said, turning fully now. “You coming, or what?”
You huffed under your breath, but there was no real bite to it as you slid off the dock, the water cool against your skin.
-
The grass was warm beneath you, sun-soaked and soft, warm even under the shade of the trees. Your clothes were discarded a few feet away, forgotten in the rush of cooling off, leaving you both sprawled out in damp underwear, skin still damp from your swim.
You lay on your back, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. Aerion hovered over you, propped on one elbow, his skin still warm, his hair drying into soft, uneven strands that brushed against your fingers as you absentmindedly played with it.
He didn’t say anything.
He rarely did in moments like this.
Instead, he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss just below your jaw. Then another, lower this time, along the curve of your neck. You exhaled softly, tilting your head to give him more space without much throught.
His lips moved further, unhurried, trailing along your collarbones, lingering there for a second before drifting lower. The touch was light, but it made your breath catch all the same.
Your fingers tightened slightly in his hair as he continued, brushing his parted lips over your skin, mapping too-familiar ground.
When he dipped lower, alarmingly close to the hem of your underwear, something in you tensed.
Your eyes opened just as your hand tugged gently at his hair, pulling his head upwards so he could face you.
“Not here,” you whispered, your voice a little more breathless than you intended. Your eyes flicked toward the open space beyond the trees, suddenly aware of how exposed it all felt. “Someone could see us.”
It wasn’t impossible. The lake wasn’t completely deserted - just quiet enough to forget that other people existed.
Aerion paused, looking at you, his expression unreadable for a second before he scoffed.
“No one’s out in this heat,” he muttered, like the thought barely registered as a real concern.
Still, he didn’t move back down.
Instead, he hovered there for a moment longer, studying your face, like he was weighing whether to argue or let it go.
“Always worrying,” he murmured, not unkindly.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it, your hand still loosely tangled in his hair.
“And you never worry enough,” you shot back softly.
That earned you the faintest hint of a smile against your skin. He looked at you for a second longer before dipping his head back down, like he was making sure - really making sure - you weren't going to tell him to stop this time.
His fingers brushed along your hip before curling lightly around the band of your underwear, testing, waiting- giving you just enough time to pull away if you wanted to.
This time, you didn’t stop him.
Your breath caught instead, your fingers tightening just slightly in his hair, eyes searching his for half a second before drifting shut.
As he tugged down at the soft fabric of your underwear, you let yourself relax under his touch. Even though there were still plenty of unresolved things between you two, you let them slip your mind, just for the moment.
Summary: You were supposed to leave him behind. That’s what everyone said. That’s what you told yourself. Four years later, you come back to the town you swore you’ve outgrown - only to find that some things never changed… and some feelings never faded.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, p in v, heavy kissing, riding him in his car
Pairing: small town! Aerion x small town! Reader
° Masterlist
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The day you left your small town for college was the last time you saw Aerion.
Back then, everything felt smaller than it really was - the narrow roads curling between fields that never seemed to end, the familiar hum of neighbors who knew too much.
You had always known you were meant to get out of that place. You worked for it in a way no one else around you quite understood, chasing perfect grades with a kind of stubborn desperation, clinging to the promise that somewhere beyond that town, there was a life waiting for you.
Aerion had never had that kind of vision.
His family’s name carried weight in all the wrong ways. People spoke about them in lowered voices, followed by a shake of the head or a pitying glance. A drunk older brother who picked fights he couldn’t finish, a father who existed more as a rumor, always gone on some vague, questionable business, leaving his sons to raise themselves.
Your parents never bothered to soften their opinions about him; to them, Aerion was exactly what the others said he was - trouble, a distraction, a boy going nowhere.
They said it wasn’t entirely his fault. They blamed his fathe for letting his children roam wild, for never being there to teach them better. But that didn’t change their conclusion. Aerion, to them, was still a bad influence. Still someone who would drag you down if you let him.
And yet, somehow, you found your way to him anyway.
It started simply - walking the same road home from school, lingering a little longer each time, conversations stretching from casual to something deeper before you even realized it.
You were the only one who bothered to look beyond that rough, careless mask he wore. Where everyone else saw a troublemaker, you saw the quiet, kindhearted boy underneath it all - the one who softened when no one else was looking, who carried more than he ever let on, who just needed someone to believe he could be more than what the town had already decided he was.
You spent endless nights together, stretched out beneath open skies or hidden away from prying eyes. He taught you how to slow down, how to breathe, how to exist without the constant pressure of chasing perfection. He made you laugh until your sides hurt, pulled you out of your own head, made you feel like maybe there was more to life than only chasing the future.
Your parents noticed the change before you did. The late evenings, the slipping focus, the way your attention drifted when it should have been fixed firmly on studying. They warned you, again and again, that he would cost you everything you had worked for.
You told yourself they were wrong, and kept seeing him anyway.
But the truth had a way of catching up.
The letter came on a hot summer afternoon - you had gotten into your dream college. Everything you had worked for, every late night, every sacrifice - it had all led to that single moment. You should have been nothing but happy. Instead, dread coiled tight in your chest.
Because you didn’t know how to tell Aerion.
You walked all the way to his house under the burning sun, the heat pressing down on you. His place looked the same as always - worn, a little neglected, the kind of place that seemed to be stubbornly standing. Your fingers trembled when you knocked.
Aerion opened the door with that easy grin you knew so well, the one that made everything feel simpler - until his eyes dropped to the letter clutched in your hand.
His smile vanished instantly.
His expression fell, like something inside him had snapped apart. His mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
“You got in,” he said finally, his voice flat in a way you had never heard before.
You nodded, almost apologetic. “It’s… it’s my dream school, Aerion. I - ”
“Yeah,” he cut in, a short, humorless sound leaving him. “Of course it is.”
The words weren’t cruel, but the way he said them made your chest tighten painfully. You stepped closer, reaching for him, for something familiar, but he didn’t move.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted, your voice faltering. “I was scared.”
“Scared of what?” His gaze snapped back to yours, something raw and unguarded flickering there. “That I’d ask you to stay? Ruin your perfect plan?”
“That’s not fair,” you said quickly, the heat behind your eyes rising too fast. “You know it’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” he shot back. “Isnt this what you've been working for your entire life?”
“This doesnt have to mean gooodbye." you insisted, stepping closer despite the way he seemed to retreat without moving. "Aerion, you could come with me. We could figure something out. You could get a job, or-”
He laughed then, and it hurt more than if he’d yelled.
“And do what?” he asked, the bitterness in his voice cutting deep. “Be what, exactly? You think I just walk into your world and suddenly fit?” He shook his head, that same pained, ironic smile pulling at his lips. “I’m not like you. I’m not good at anything. That’s just not who I am.”
“It could be,” you said, the words breaking as they left you. “If you just tried- ”
“There's no use in trying” he snapped, and the force of it made you flinch. For a moment, the anger burned bright in his eyes, but it faded just as quickly, leaving something heavier behind. “All I can do,” he said more quietly. “Is let you go."
The words settled between you, heavy and final.
You felt something in your chest tighten, panic rising sharp and sudden. “I don’t want that,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He looked at you then, really looked, and whatever he saw seemed to hurt him more than anything else. His expression softened just enough to make it worse.
“You’re not losing anything,” he said, though his voice betrayed him. “You’re getting everything you ever wanted.”
“Not if you’re not in it,” you said, tears slipping free despite your efforts to hold them back.
For a second, it seemed like he might reach for you. His hand twitched at his side, just enough to give you hope-
then he stepped back.
“Go,” he said quietly.
The word felt like a door slamming shut long before it actually did. You stood there for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to say anything else, to stop you.
He didn’t.
The door closed between you with a final, hollow sound, and you were left standing in the heat, the letter still clutched in your hand.
You left town not long after, and haven't looked back since.
---
Four years later, you finally came back.
You told yourself it was just for the summer - that it made sense, now that college was over, to return home for a little while before deciding what came next. But the truth was, you had stayed away longer than necessary. You had buried yourself in lectures, deadlines, new faces - anything that would keep you from thinking about the one thing you had left behind.
The first year had been the worst. You hadn’t known how to let him go, not really. There were nights you lay awake staring at your phone, your thumb hovering over his name, chest tight with everything you wanted to say. You had almost called him a thousand times. Almost texted. Almost gone back.
But every time, you stopped yourself.
Because no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t forget the way he had looked at you that day - like he had already made peace with losing you. You remembered the way the door shut in your face.
So, in time, you learned how to move on. Or at least, how to pretend you had.
--
Now, back in town, everything felt the same and not at all. The roads hadn’t changed, neighbors still waved as if no time had passed - but you weren’t the same person who had left.
Your parents never mentioned Aerion. Not once. You knew they avoided it on purpose, drifting around his name like it might reopen something inside you. Maybe they thought you had forgotten. Maybe they hoped you had.
A week passed, and somehow, you didn’t see him. Not once.
It was strange. A part of you had been bracing for it - half-expecting to turn a corner and find him there. But the days slipped by quietly, uneventfully, and there was no sign of him anywhere.
You found yourself wondering, despite everything, if he had left town after all. If maybe he had proven everyone wrong and gotten out of this town, just like you had.
You didn’t dare to ask.
Instead, you lay stretched out on the back porch one lazy afternoon, soaking in the warmth of the sun, watching clouds drift slowly across the sky. It was peaceful in a way you hadn’t realized you missed.
Your mom’s voice broke through it.
“We’re out of eggs and bread,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Why don’t you run to the store? Stretch your legs a bit.”
You didn’t argue, only got up, slipped on your shoes, and made your way through town, offering polite smiles and greetings to people you hadn’t seen in years. They welcomed you back like you had never left.
The convenience store looked exactly the same, right down to the faint hum of the lights overhead. You grabbed what you needed without much thought, your mind drifting somewhere else entirely-
And then you felt it.
That strange, sudden awareness, like your body recognized something before your mind could catch up.
You turned slightly, just enough.
And saw him. Aerion.
It was just a glimpse at first. Pale blonde hair, unmistakable even from a few steps away. But that was all it took. You would have known him anywhere.
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it almost hurt.
No.
Not like this. Not here.
Before you could think it through, your body moved on instinct. You turned sharply, abandoning the items in your hands as you made a beeline for the exit, your breath coming faster with each step. You didn’t want to face him - not yet, maybe not ever. Not when you weren’t ready, not when just the sight of him unraveled you this easily.
Behind you, you heard it.
Your name.
His voice.
It stopped you for half a second - just long enough for panic to spike higher - before you pushed forward again, shoving the door open, only to freeze.
Rain poured down outside in thick sheets, the kind of sudden summer storm that swallowed everything in seconds. The sky had darkened, and now what lay beyond the doorway was nothing but gray and rushing water.
You let out a quiet curse under your breath, glancing up at the downpour, your pulse still racing. For a split second, you actually considered it - just stepping out into it.
You shifted your weight forward-
And then you heard him, right behind you.
“Not a good idea,” Aerion said.
You hesitated, your body angled toward escape. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, couldn’t face him - not yet, not when just hearing his voice had already undone something in you. But the silence stretched, and slowly, reluctantly, you looked at him.
He looked… almost the same.
Maybe a little taller, more grounded. His features were sharper now, less boyish than you remembered, but unmistakably him. And somehow, that made it worse, the familiarity of it all. It pressed against your chest, that old ache rising up like it had never really left.
His gaze rested on you, not soft, not quite hard either - just… searching.
You didn’t know what to say.
“C’mon,” he said after a second. “I’ll drive you home.”
Your brows pulled together instinctively, your head shaking before you could stop yourself. “You don’t have to. I’ll just wait it out.”
He barely paused, glancing at the rain as it hammered down against the pavement. “It’s gonna last a while,” he said, his tone firm, leaving little room for argument. Then, softer, he added “It’s not trouble. Really.”
You opened your mouth to protest again, but something in his expression told you it wouldn’t matter. He had already decided.
So you nodded.
The two of you rushed out into the rain together, the downpour instantly soaking through your clothes, your shoes splashing against the pavement as you ran. It didn’t matter how fast you moved - you were drenched by the time you reached his car, breathless and dripping as you climbed inside.
The car looked just like you remembered. The front seat was one long bench, forcing you closer than you were ready for.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
You both sat there catching your breath, the only sound being the rain pounding against the roof. Your hair clung messily to your face, and when you glanced at him, his pale blonde strands were plastered to his forehead in the same way.
After a second, he reached forward and started the engine, the car rumbling to life before he pulled out of the parking lot. The silence stretched as he drove, filled with everything neither of you seemed ready to say.
Then, finally, he spoke first.
“Didn’t know you were back in town,” he said, his voice quieter than before, careful. “Would’ve dropped by to say hi if I did.”
You swallowed, your gaze fixed ahead. “Mm.” It was barely a response, but it was all you could manage.
He glanced at you then, just briefly at first - but when you didn’t say anything more, his eyes lingered a little longer, tracing the side of your face like he was trying to memorize it.
“You look well,” he added, softer now. “City life suits you, after all.”
The comment made you suddenly aware of the way you looked at that moment - your damp clothes clinging uncomfortably, your hair a mess from the rain, the fact that you had left the house without a second thought. A faint heat crept up your neck despite the chill, and you lifted a hand, running it through your hair in an attempt to fix it.
“You look…” you started, finally turning to meet his gaze. “The same.”
The words lingered between you, heavier than they should have been.
You looked at him for a second too long, taking in the sharper lines of his face, the familiar slope of his nose, the way his hands rested steady on the wheel - and something inside you twisted. Because he wasn’t the same. Not really. And neither were you.
“You didn’t come by,” you said suddenly.
It slipped out before you could stop it, quiet but cutting through the air all the same.
His grip on the wheel tightened, just slightly. “What?”
“You heard me,” you said, turning toward him now. “I left, and you didn’t even bother to come see me. No goodbye, no nothing."
A beat passed.
Then, “You left” he said, like that explained everything.
Something inside you flared, hot and sudden. “Yeah, I left,” you snapped. “That was kind of the whole point, remember? I got into college, Aerion. I told you I was going.”
“That’s not what I-”
“No, because from where I was standing,” you cut in, your voice rising despite yourself, “it looked like you didn’t care at all. You just… let me go. Like it didn’t matter.”
The car slowed.
You barely noticed at first, too caught up in the sudden rush of it, the words you had swallowed for years clawing their way out.
“I begged you, Aerion,” you continued. “I asked you to come with me. I gave you an out, a chance, and you didn’t even try. You just stood there and- ” you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head, “ and then you shut the door in my face.”
The car rolled to a stop on the side of a quiet, empty road, rain still falling steadily around you.
Only then did you realize he had pulled over.
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
For a moment, he didn’t look at you. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed ahead like he was holding something back with everything he had.
Then he turned.
“You think that was easy?” he asked, his voice low, strained in a way that made your chest tighten. “You think I wanted to do that?”
“It didn’t look like you didn’t,” you shot back, even though your voice wavered.
He let out a short, disbelieving breath, running a hand through his damp hair. “Of course it didn’t,” he muttered. “Because you only saw five minutes of it.”
You frowned, something uncertain creeping in. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said, looking at you now - really looking, “you walked away, and that was it. That’s all you saw. You didn’t see what came after.”
Your breath caught slightly. “After what?”
“After I realized I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life,” he said, the words rough, like they’d been buried too long. “After I stood there like an idiot, thinking I was doing the right thing, letting you go, because I thought I’d just ruin it for you if I didn’t."
"Aerion- ”
“I went after you,” he cut in, his voice sharper now. “Two days later. I came to your house, ready to tell you I’d go with you. That I’d figure it out. That I didn’t care if I didn’t fit, I just..” he broke off, exhaling hard. “But you were already gone.”
The words hit you like a blow.
“What?” you whispered.
“You were gone,” he repeated, quieter now. “Packed up, left, just… like that. And I stood there like an idiot on your porch, talking to your mom, realizing I was too late.”
Your chest tightened painfully, your mind scrambling to catch up with everything you thought you knew.
“You didn’t- ” your voice faltered. “You didn’t try to stop me before that.”
"I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he shot back. “You had everything in front of you. Your parents hated me, thought I held you back - I figured if I followed you, I’d just prove them right.”
“I asked you to come,” you said, your voice breaking now. “I wanted you there.”
“And I didn’t believe I deserved that,” he said.
Rain filled the silence that followed.
You shook your head, tears threatening to slip free now. “So you just… gave up?”
“I didn’t give up,” he said, his voice dropping. “I was trying to do right by you.”
“It didn’t feel like that,” you whispered. “It felt like you didn’t love me enough to fight for me.”
That landed. You saw it in the way his expression shifted, something sharper surfacing in his eyes.
“I loved you enough to let you go,” he said quietly. “Even if it killed me.”
Your breath hitched.
The space between you felt smaller now, charged with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
You just stared at each other, the weight of years pressing down on both your shoulders, heavy and raw. Every unspoken word, every regret, every missed chance hung between you. After all this time, you realized it had all been a massive miscommunication. He had wanted to come with you, had tried - just a little too late.
One of you must have leaned first - it wasn’t clear which - but the moment your lips met, the world narrowed to just the two of you. You melted into each other, relief and desire mingling together.
The kiss started slow, hesitant, as though you were learning each other’s shape all over again, but that didn’t last. Soon, your hands were in motion: yours cupping the sides of his face, thumbs brushing along his jaw, while his hands roamed to your waist, sliding over your hips, your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer.
He nipped at your lower lip, teasing, asking for entrance with a tilt of his head. Without thinking, driven by some sudden, urgent need, you shifted, one leg draped over his lap, straddling him.
A groan slipped from him into the kiss at the feeling of you pressed against him. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer to him.
A few moments later you had to break the kiss, the air between you thick and heavy. Your foreheads rested together, chests heaving, damp clothes clinging uncomfortably yet somehow you barely noticed. One hand slid from your thigh to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, holding you steady as his gaze searched yours.
"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he murmured, his eyes soft.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you pressed your lips to his again. He responded instantly, just as eager. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing over yours, exploring, teasing, and demanding in a way that made your pulse race. Your hands tightened in his hair, tugging him closer, matching his hunger.
You could feel his bulge pressing against your inner thigh, rough denim grazing over your thin cotton shorts. You shift forward, intentionally dragging your ass against it, teasing. That earned a low, warning sound that vibrated deep in his throat. He gripped your hips in an attempt to steady you.
Deliberately ignoring his warning, you ground your hips a few more times, each time earning a faint sound from him. When the kiss broke again, his eyes searched your face, looking for hesitation, for a single sign that you weren’t in this with him fully.
In response, you leaned down to press a wet kiss to his jaw before your hands reach for the zipper of his jeans. You pulled him free from his pants, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy - it felt like forever since the last time you touched him like this.
He exhaled sharply at the feeling of your hand wrapped around him, eyes squeezing shut as he muttered a curse under his breath. Feeling encouraged by his reaction, you raise your hips, shifting your shorts aside and positioning the tip so you could lower yourself on him.
As you slide down, painful inch by painful inch, Aerion throws his head back against the headrest, cursing under his breath. It takes everything within him to not force your hips down, instead letting you adjust in your own rhythm.
Once you finally meet his base, your mouth falls slightly open at the overwhelming feeling of him, all oh him, inside you. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips, trying your best to keep a steady pace.
You were both a mess , breaths coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you gently but firmly, while your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. Every movement, every press, every brush of skin against skin was electric, setting your nerves alight.
Your names fell from eachothers lips almost like a prayer, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to your release.
"Fuck, baby" Aerion gritted out, burrying his face into the crook of your neck "Just like that, don't stop. "
The sound of his voice, rough and urgent, stirred something inside you. It made your movements quicken, desperately chasing the release of that tight knot in your stomach.
With one final thrust, the knot finally snapped as you came undone, his name falling from your lips as it did. He followed only moments later.
--
The storm outside finally began to ease, the rain slowing to a steady drizzle against the roof of the car. Inside, you lay pressed against him, bodies still tangled, breathing slowly returning to normal.
His hand rested lightly on your back, fingers tracing absent patterns as he tilted his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to your hair. You leaned into him, chest rising and falling against his, feeling the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.
“You know,” he murmured after a while, his voice low, “I’ve thought about this… all the time, in some way, for the past four years.” He paused, letting the words sink between you. “I never stopped wanting this. Wanting you.”
You smiled softly against him, closing your eyes for a moment, letting the rain and the quiet wash over you. “Neither did I” you admitted, voice barely more than a whisper.
For a while, you didn’t need to say anything else. The past, the missteps, the lost years—they were still there, but they didn’t feel heavy anymore.
He tightened his hold slightly, just enough to anchor you both, and murmured, almost to himself, “We’ll figure it out. Together ”
Summary: breakfast leaves behind more tension than expected, so, naturally, a walk through the garden seems like the perfect way to cool off. Still, it seems trouble follows you around, no matter where you go.
Pairing: Aerion x reader x Valarr
1 ° 2
° Masterlist
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The next morning, there’s a soft knock at your door.
When you open it, Valarr is already standing there, one hand resting lightly against the frame. He tells you that his father sent him to fetch you for breakfast.
Nothing more.
Still, he doesn’t move right away. His eyes linger, just for a second too long, before he finally steps back to let you follow him downstairs.
--
The kitchen is nothing like you expected - it's brighter than the rest of the house, with large windows letting in the soft morning light and thin lace curtains shifting slightly with the breeze. There's a neatly set wooden table, plates already laid out, the smell of fresh sweets lingers in the air.
Valarr sits beside you without hesitation, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Baelor is already there, coffee in hand, looking more awake than anyone else. He greets you easily, falling into conversation without much effort, asking about your father, about the drive. Maekar sits at the other end of the table, a newspaper spread neatly in front of him. He barely looks up, only occasionally lifting his eyes over the page, listening more than speaking.
For a while, the morning is calm. At least, until Aerion walks in.
He doesn't greet anyone, doesn't slow down as he enters the kitchen. He looks like he's just rolled out of bed - white tank slightly creased and hair still messy from sleep, like he didn't bother fixing it on the way down. There’s already a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward as he moves.
He doesn't take a seat.
Instead, he leans back against the counter, posture loose, like he owns the space around him. His eyes move across the room, slow and assesive, taking everything in - the food, the table, the people that are gathered in the kitchen... and finally, they land on you.
His gaze lingers for a moment, one pale brow raising faintly as he watches you take a sip of coffee.
"Aerion, put that out " Maekar says, not even looking up fully.
Aerion barely reacts at first. He takes one last drag, slow, unbothered, like the request means nothing to him. Then, with a quiet scoff, he pushes himself off the counter just enough to flick the still-lit cigarette into a nearby glass of water. It hisses fainly on impact.
Beside you, Baelor gives him a look - disappointed, but not surprised. Valarr shifts slightly beside you, a faint grimace crossing his face.
Aerion, on the other hand, looks almost entertained. His gaze slides over the table again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy huff.
"Didn’t know we were playing hosts so seriously now.”
His voice is low, rough from sleep, but there’s a mocking edge to it.
Valarr doesn’t turn to look at him. “Someone has to.”
Aerion’s lips curl slightly at that, not quite a smile. He shifts his weight, arms crossing loosely over his chest as his eyes flick back to you - briefly this time, but enough to make you notice.
“The show you put on is so cheap,” he says, tone lazy. “When was the last time we were all sitting in the kitchen like this?”
A beat passes in silence, and you can see them lowering their eyes. Aerion's gaze moves between them again.
"That's right. Never "
Maekar lowers the newspaper slightly, fixing him with a look. “Aerion.”
Aerion just tilts his head, smirk still in place. "Just pointing things out."
The room falls quiet after that. You can still feel his eyes on you, sharper this time - like he's trying to get a reaction from you. You focus on your plate instead, on anything that gives you an excuse not to look up.
--
Baelor suggests it casually - that Valarr should show you around the grounds, since you haven’t been here in years.
Valarr agrees just as easily.
-
The estate stretches farther than you expected. What you saw from the front doesn’t do it justice - out back, paths cut through freshly mown grass and older trees, patches of sunlight breaking through the leaves. It’s quiet out here, the kind of quiet that feels oddly comforting.
Valarr walks beside you at an unhurried pace, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, pointing things out as you go. His voice calm and even, smooth in a way that makes it easy to listen to him talk. There's just something about him, an undeniable charm that makes it impossible for you to really focus on what he's saying.
Still, something in you stays guarded. You know better than to settle too quickly.
At some point, almost casually, he mentions that the nearest town is about a twenty-minute drive from here. “Not much within walking distance,” he adds, glancing at you briefly. It’s said simply, like a fact. Still, it lingers.
You nod, looking ahead again, and your eyes land on something. At the center of the garden stands a large fountain, pale stone worn just slightly, water spilling gently over its edges in a steady, soothing rhythm. The basin is wide, the rim smooth and low enough that someone could easily sit along the edge. The sound of the water fills the air.
You step closer without thinking, drawn in by the beautiful view. Valarr watches you, and you can feel it even without looking directly at him.
-
Eventually, you drift toward the shade of a nearby tree, the grass cooler beneath your feet. The fountain’s sound softens slightly from here, blending into the quiet hum of the garden.
Valarr lingers for a moment before speaking - he says something about getting drinks, that he’ll be back shortly.
You nod, watching as he turns and heads back toward the house, his figure disappearing along the path.
And just like that - you’re alone.
The quiet settles in again, thicker this time. You let out a small breath, leaning back slightly against the tree, your gaze drifting lazily across the garden.
You don't notice Aerion at first. There’s no sound, no warning - just the sudden awareness of someone else standing there. Close.
Your breath catches slightly as your eyes snap toward him.
“Aerion -” His name slips out before you can stop it.
There's a brief pause, and something in his expression changes. It’s subtle, but it's there - the slightest shift behind his eyes, something sharper giving way to something else. Not softer, not exactly. Just… different.
He takes a step closer.
You don’t move, feet remaining glued to the spot. Your stay still, grounded, your attention fixed on him as he closes the distance. He tilts his head slightly, studying you for a second, then crouches down just enough to bring himself at your level, hands still tucked into his pockets.
You wait for it - for the sharp comment, the mockery, the same cutting tone from earlier...
but it doesn’t come.
"I didn’t get your name.”
His voice is quieter than before, tone lacking that initial bite. You blink at him, thrown off by the shift, by the way he's looking at you now.
You tell him your name, and the moment it leaves your lips, you feel strangely exposed - like you’ve given him something you can’t take back.
He hums quietly in response, then repeats the name slowly, like he's testing it, feeling the shape of it on his tongue, seeing how it fits. His eyes don’t leave your face as he says it, watching for something - your reaction, maybe. Or just… you.
A subtle shiver runs down your spine, and you’re not sure why. Before either of you gets the chance to say anything else, a quiet sound cuts through the moment.
A throat clearing.
You turn your head and find Valarr standing a few steps away, a glass in each hand. For a second, he doesn’t move. His gaze isn’t on you - it’s fixed entirely on Aerion. There's something in his eyes that wasn't there before - something tighter. Colder.
Aerion notices it too, and he straightens slowly, that same loose posture settling back into place. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, subtle but unmistakable.
"Aerion,” Valarr says, his voice flat, controlled in a way that feels strained. “ I'm surprised to see you outside the house in broad daylight.”
Aerion huffs softly at that, like the comment barely registers, and the smirk doesn’t fade. His eyes flick down to the glasses in Valarr’s hands, then back up again, something sharper settling behind them.
“Ah,” he drawls, stepping closer. “I see you’ve brought me a drink. Really, you shouldn’t have bothered.”
Before Valarr can react, Aerion reaches out and takes one of the glasses from his hand. He doesn’t hesitate, lifting it to his lips and taking a long sip, his throat moving as he swallows.
Aerion lowers the glass slowly, then turns his attention back to you.
"Oh,” he says, as if only now realizing. “Sorry, was that yours?”
There’s no real apology in his voice.
“My bad.”
He steps closer again, just enough to press the glass into your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does. The corner of his mouth lifts, that same infuriating smile settling in place.
You look at him, unconvinced. Behind him, Valarr looks like he’s seconds away from saying something he might regret.
Aerion doesn’t give him the chance.
He turns, already walking off, but not before reaching out and giving Valarr a firm pat on the shoulder as he passes - just a little too hard to be friendly.
“Enjoy the rest of the tour,” he adds lightly.
And then he’s gone.
You both watch him leave, your gaze following his figure as it moves further down the path. The sunlight catches in his hair as he walks, glinting against the lighter strands, and for a moment, it almost looks white.
Then he disappears.
The quiet that follows feels heavier than before.
When you turn back, Valarr exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head once, like he’s dismissing it - but there’s still something lingering in his expression.
“Sorry about that,” he says, his voice smoother now. He lifts the remaining glass slightly. “Here. You can have mine.”
You shake your head, offering him a small smile. “No, it’s fine.”
For a brief moment, it looks like he might insist.
His gaze lingers on you, something unreadable flickering there before it settles again. Then, slowly, he nods.
“Alright.”
He steps closer, coming to rest against the tree beside you, not quite touching but close enough that you’re aware of him again, of his presence, steady and grounding.
You turn your gaze back toward the garden, toward the fountain, the quiet movement of water catching the light.
After a moment, you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of the lemonade.
Summary: Left behind while your father's away on business, you’re sent to stay with relatives you barely even remember. The house is familiar enough - but the people in it aren’t, and the attention you receive is harder to ignore than you expected.
Aerion x reader x Valarr
─────────────────────୨ৎ─────────────────────
After a four-hour drive that felt far longer than it should have, the car finally slows, gravel crunching beneath the tires as it pulls up in front of the huge mansion ahead.
You still can’t quite believe the situation you're in - being forced to leave the comfort of your home just to come and live with people you’d met only once in your life. All because your father couldn’t be bothered to take you along on his newest business venture.
“It’s for your own good,” he had said, barely sparing you a glance from whatever document had captured his attention. “You wouldn’t like it anyway, always being on the road.”
Not that he had ever asked.
He never did.
So now you’re here - left in the care of Baelor and Maekar, distant relatives your father used to be close with. Close enough, apparently, to trust them with you.
--
The house is bigger than you remember - not that you remember very much, though. After all, you haven’t been here since you were seven.
The two brothers are standing just inside, already waiting for you.
The first man - Baelor, you assumed - greets you first. He offers you a welcoming smile, the kind that really reaches his eyes. There is something reassuring in the way he looks at you, something warm that makes this place feel just a little less foreign.
Beside him stands Maekar, his expression more restrained, his posture straighter, gaze sharper. Still, there is a faint smile there too - guarded, but not unkind.
A third figure steps into view, catching you off guard - you’re not sure how you hadn’t noticed him sooner.
He looks around your age, maybe a little older. He's tall, composed, standing with his hands tucked into his pockets like he has no reason to be anything but at ease. His brown hair falls slightly messy, and a lighter streak runs through it - subtle, but noticeable enough to draw your attention.
Then there were his eyes.
Mismatched ... and fixed on you.
Baelor's voice cuts through the silence "I'm not sure if you remember my son, Valarr." The man says, resting a hand on his son's shoulder.
You shake you head lightly.
Valarr gives a small nod of aknowledgement - but his eyes don't leave you for even a second. His gaze drags over you slowly, deliberately, as if committing every detail to memory. It's not subtle, and it definetly doesn't feel proper.
You shift your weight from one leg to the other, suddenly very aware of the way you're standing.
Valarr notices. You can tell he does, judging by the way the corner of his mouth curves slightly upwards. Not quite a smile, but something that almost resembles one. Subtle. Knowing.
“Valarr, do you know where Aerion is?” Maekar cuts in, his voice smooth but firm, stepping just slightly forward as if to break whatever had settled in the air.
Valarr’s eyes linger on you for a second longer. When he finally does peel his eyes away from you, it’s slow, almost reluctant, as if tearing his attention away takes effort.
A small, indifferent shrug follows.
“Out” he says simply.
Nothing more. No explanation. No concern.
Maekar exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head just slightly, looking unmistakably irritated.
'Aerion? ' you think to yourself, raking your memory for a clue as to who that might be. Maekar's son, most likely.
You don't get the chance to dwell much on that thought, as you're already being led away by Baelor, as he offers to show you around the house.
--
Later, when the house had quieted down and the initial weight of everything began to settle, you find yourself wandering.
It’s not intentional, not really. You just wanted a glass of water.
The hallways feel different at night - longer, dimly lit, the soft glow from the wall lights leaving parts of the house in shadow. Your try to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb anyone at that late hour.
In your search for the stairs that lead downstairs, towards the kitchen, you round a corner -
and walk straight into someone.
The impact is solid, enough to make you stumble back a step. A sharp breath leaves you, and above you, a low, irritated grunt follows.
You take a step back, eyes wide, opening your mouth to apologise. "I'm so -"
"Who the fuck are you?"
You blink, clearly taken aback by such a blunt reply. You lift your eyes towards the stranger.
He’s taller than you, and he's standing close enough now that you have to tilt your head slightly. A worn leather jacket hangs off his shoulders, carrying the faint smell of cigarettes and something stronger - cologne, sharp and heavy. His pale hair is somewhat disheveled, like he's just come in.
His eyes land on you properly now, narrowing just slightly as he eyes you down.
Just now realizing he'd asked you a question, you open your mouth to speak, to explain - but he beats you to it.
"Ah,” he exhales, like he’s already figured it out. “ I know.”
His gaze drags over you, slower now, more deliberate.
"You’re the orphan my father took in, right?”
There’s something in his tone - mocking, dismissive - that makes your brows pull together immediately.
"I’m not an orphan,” you snap back, sharper than you intended. Really, what's this guy's problem?
For a moment, he just looks down at you, unimpressed. Then something flickers behind his eyes, something dangerously close to interest.
"Then why are you in my house, hm? ” he asks, voice lower now, quieter, but no less cutting.
Your jaw tightens. You glance away briefly, your hand curling at your side
"My father’s away on business,” you say, bitterness slipping through despite yourself. “And he couldn’t be bothered to take me with him.”
It sounds worse when you say it out loud. More pathetic. You hate that.
There's a brief pause, and when you finally look back at him, he's still watching you. His expression is mostly unreadable, but there’s something new in his eyes now. Something faintly amused.
"Tsk,” he clicks his tongue . “That’s a shame.”
It doesn’t sound like he means it.
Your eyes narrow slightly, irritation building again, but before you can say anything, he’s already moving.
“Try not to stand in my way from now on, yeah?” he adds, casual, dismissive - as if the conversation is already over.
He brushes past you, his shoulder knocking into yours harder than necessary, and keeps walking without a second glance.
You turn, glaring after him as he disappears down the hallway, irritation still buzzing under your skin -
Only to realize you’re not alone.
Valarr is standing a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall, posture relaxed. His eyes are on you - focused in that same way as before, like he’s been watching everything unfold.
“You shouldn’t pay Aerion any attention,” he says, voice calm, almost reassuring. “He’s just an asshole.”
So that’s Aerion, you think.
Valarr pushes himself off the wall and steps closer, closing the distance between you with an ease that feels a little too natural. Before you can react, his hand settles on your shoulder.
The touch is firm - too firm to be casual - as he steps closer, leaning down just enough to bring himself into your space. Close enough that you can feel the shift in the air, the way his presence seems to press into you.
“If he gives you trouble,” he murmurs, voice lower now, meant only for you, “you can always come to me.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes your breath catch slightly.
His grip lingers, thumb pressing just slightly as if to emphasize the point, and for a moment, it feels less like reassurance and more like something else entirely.
Something… possessive.
You look up at him, caught off guard by how close he is, by the intensity in those mismatched eyes now fixed on you again.
Your throat tightens just enough to make speaking feel difficult, so you settle for a small nod instead.
Valarr holds your gaze for a moment longer, as if waiting for something more than that small nod. When it doesn’t come, his grip on your shoulder lingers just a second too long before finally easing.
His hand slips away, but the warmth of it seems to stay, pressed into your skin.
And then he turns. Just like that, he simply walks away, his steps quiet against the polished floor as he disappears down the opposite end of the hallway, leaving you alone.
The silence settles in again, heavier now.
The reason you came out here slips your mind entirely. Instead, your thoughts linger elsewhere. On the way Valarr had looked at you, or the way Aerion had spoken to you. On the way both of them had made you feel in completely different ways -
⋆ Aerion shows up to campus like he’s doing the university a favor. Leather jacket even in inappropriate weather, cigarette already lit, motorcycle parked illegally.
⋆ His major is something unexpected — astrophysics or ancient languages — just to make the contrast worse.
⋆ He skips lectures constantly, mouths off to professors when he does appear, yet his exam results land near the top of the curve every single time. He doesn't oesn’t brag though. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t care if people think he cheated.
⋆ Aerion is covered in tattoos that disappear under dark sleeves and reappear at inconveniently distracting moments, when one of his sleeves slides up or a button is left undone. Maybe has a lip piercing. Maybe more.
⋆ Intimidating enough that most people admire him from a safe distance. Attraction is there, undeniable and frustrating, but so is the instinct for self preservation.
⋆ He has absurdly sharp humor that he only deploys when he’s bored, and it usually leaves people wondering if they've just been flirted with or insulted.
⋆ Aerion speaks like he’s perpetually bored of the conversation before it even begins, his voice low and edged with dry amusement. He scoffs more than he laughs, answers in short, dismissive phrases or quiet grunts that somehow carry more attitude than full sentences ever could.
⋆ Claims parties are beneath him, yet sometimes appears anyway, leaning against a dark wall with a drink in his hand. If you ask why he’s there, he’ll deadpan: “Free booze.” The faint smirk suggests that isn't the whole truth.
⋆ The type who would light your cigarette for you and insult you in the same breath.
═══════════════════════════════════════════
✧ Valarr Targaryen
✧ Valarr is the kind of person you can’t help but notice in passing. He moves through crowded hallways with quiet ease, always looking effortlessly put together - crisp button-downs with the sleeves rolled just so, well-fitted polo shirts. There is a natural confidence in the way he carries himself, something composed and self-assured that draws attention without ever seeming to ask for it.
✧ He is intelligent in a way that feels effortless. His grades are immaculate, consistent to the point of intimidation. In lectures, he rarely sits among the restless clusters of students. He prefers the back or the far side rows, leaning slightly into his chair, looking almost relaxed, one arm draped over the desk, long fingers loosely holding a pen he barely even uses.
✧ Valarr never raises his hand. Never competes for attention - yet when a professor calls on him, he straightens just enough, and his answers arrive in calm, measured sentences. Professors simultaneously admire him and find him deeply unnerving. He studies in private libraries, drinks espresso like it’s medicine, and takes his notes in elegant handwriting that looks like it belongs in historical archives.
✧ Girls constantly try elaborate strategies to get his attention - staged confusion, accidental seat sharing, soft voices asking for tutoring - but Valarr recognises performance instantly, and he steps around it with polite detachment. If he does agree to tutor someone, it’s because he has judged that they genuinely need help.
✧ Valarr speaks little outside of necessity. He does not initiate small talk, does not seek out social interaction for its own sake. And yet he is never rude - if someone approaches him, he listens attentively to what the other person has today before offering a thoughtful answer.
✧ He rarely attends parties. When he does, he stands slightly apart from the chaos, sipping wine he probably brought himself, observing everything with faint amusement.
═══════════════════════════════════════════
⤷ Daeron Targaryen
⤷ Officially a computer science student. Unofficially a nocturnal creature sustained by caffeine, cheap alcohol, and questionable life decisions. His real education seems to happen at 3 a.m, surrounded by glowing screens, empty bottles and unfinished coding projects that only make sense to him.
⤷ He attends morning lectures only in theory - usually slumped in the back row, hood up, half-asleep or scrolling through forums on the free campus Wi-Fi.
⤷ Daeron looks permanently exhausted - dark circles under his eyes, messy long blonde hair, oversized sweaters that smell faintly of smoke. He always speaks in a low, slightly husky voice that always sounds like he’s just woken up, words slipping out with an absent sort of carelessness that makes it seem like he isn’t trying to impress anyone, which only ends up making him weirdly, frustratingly attractive.
⤷ Brilliant in flashes. Terrifyingly so. He can solve complex problems in minutes if he feels like it. He usually doesn’t feel like it. His grades are chaotic - some stellar, some barely passing - but he always scrapes through in the end.
⤷ At parties he drifts between groups like a ghost, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He somehow always ends up drunken in a corner, or smoking something questionable with people he's met only 5 minutes beforehand.
⤷ Girls don't usually chase him, mostly because he looks like he hasn't slept since 2012, but he doesn't seem to mind, and doesn't do anything to chance anyone's perception of him. Romance simply feels like too much effort.
⤷ Yet when someone catches him in a rare lucid mood - talking softly about a game design, technology, or the future - you can actually catch a glimpse of the man he could be if he ever decided to care.
═══════════════════════════════════════════
~ A/N: this post was inspired by the amazing fanart from above. If you enjoyed this concept, feel free to request any ideas you might have!
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who wandered off.” Draco's eyes flicked over her with slow, deliberate interest. “Let me guess - Durmstrang boy got bored already? Pity.”
She stared back at him, unimpressed. “And what’s it to you?”
He shrugged lightly. “Just pointing out the obvious, that's all.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you try minding your own business for once, Malfoy?”
One pale eyebrow arched. “Malfoy, eh? Why so formal all of a sudden?”
She huffed softly. “I just thought it was more appropriate,” she said, crossing her arms. “Seeing as we’re not exactly close anymore.”
His expression darkened instantly.
“Yeah, well, you’ve only got yourself to blame for that,” he snapped, pushing off the wall and stepping closer.
Two Bright Flames (Aerion Targaryen x Princess! Reader)
Summary: even after a stressful morning, the challenges of that day are far from over. The evening brings another feast - and with it, another opportunity for the prince to publicly demand her attention.
The shared chamber was unusually quiet, considering all the girls that stood within it. The four sisters were each occupied with their own things; Valeriane had spread her embroidery across her lap, though she seemed more interested in admiring her work than actually improving it; Ysoria hovered nearby with a book she scarcely turned the pages of, while Lyessa sat before the mirror, fingers fussing endlessly with her sleeves. She herself sat by the window, staring at the gardens below.
The door opened without warning, and their mother swept in accompanied by one of the household servants. Valeriane was already halfway to her feet before a word had even been spoken.
“The prince has requested your presence in the yard,” their mother announced smoothly. “You are to witness his training.”
Valeriane lit up as though personally summoned by the gods. “How thoughtful of him,” she exclaimed at once, gathering her skirts in a flurry of excitement. “He must value our opinion greatly!”
The girl exchanged a quiet look with Lyessa, whose mouth twitched faintly in shared understanding. 'Thoughtful' was hardly the word that came to mind.
---
The yard was alive with the sharp sound of steel when they arrived, the late afternoon sun glinting off the blades. Sweeping her eyes across the yard, past Aerion's duel, she notice a smaller figure sitting slumped on the bench. Aegon looked thoroughly unimpressed, having the expression of someone who had endured this spectacle many times before. Apparently, not even princes were spared the obligation of admiring Prince Aerion at work.
The girls settled onto the bench; Valeriane perched forward with eager attention while Ysoria leaned close beside her, trying to mirror the same enthusiasm. Lyessa barely looked toward the practice ring at all, her fingers once again fiddling with the shiny fabric of her dress.
She turned her attention to the fight happening in front of them. Aerion fought well - there was no denying the sharpness of his movements or the confidence in his attacks. He fought cleverly, yes, but not always cleanly. Sly tricks, dressed in the finery of skill. Each time he won, he turned his head toward their bench with unmistakable expectation, silver hair shifting with the motion, eyes bright with the hunger for admiration.
Valeriane never failed him. Her applause rang clear and eager, Ysoria quickly following. She, on the other hand, kept her hands folded neatly in her lap - she wasn't going to encourage his unfair ways.
The pattern repeated itself until, at last, Aerion’s opponent yielded. The prince lowered his practice blade and, after a brief pause, he turned toward their bench.
“You,” he called, gaze settling squarely on Valeriane. “Bring me a cloth.”
For a heartbeat the air seemed to still. Even the servants standing along the yard’s edge looked faintly startled. It was, quite plainly, not a task meant for noble hands. Valeriane, however, flushed with delight.
“Of course,” she breathed, already rising. She hurried forward with barely contained excitement, accepting the offered cloth from a nearby servant as if it were a ceremonial token.
Aerion’s mouth curved into a sharp-edged smile as he took it from her, the expression too knowing to be accidental. He dabbed at his brow with slow, deliberate movements, fully aware of the effect he had created.
“He enjoys an audience rather too much.”
She startled at the quiet voice behind her and turned to find Aegon now seated behind her. His expression held mild disdain as his eyes fixated his brother. She inclined her head faintly in agreement and returned her gaze to the yard. Aerion was already offering his arm to Valeriane, and as he did, his eyes did not settle immediately on the girl who so eagerly stepped forward to take it. Instead, his gaze slid past her shoulder, landing squarely on her , where she sat upon the bench. The look lingered just long enough to not be seen as accidental.
Her brows drawed together, trying to make sense of his behaviour. Only then did Aerion’s attention return to Valeriane, his expression changing back into that passive one as she slipped her hand onto his arm. Together they began their walk back toward the castle. Halfway across the yard, Valeriane cast a look over her shoulder - a bright, victorious smile meant very clearly to say 'see' ?
The girl answered her sisters look with a small, encouraging smile of her own. If the prince’s attention had shifted elsewhere, then she, for one, was more than content to let it remain there.
---
As if that day hadn't been tiring enough, another dancing feast was announced in the evening. The great hall had once again grown warm with candlelight, music, and the hum of conversation. Golden light spilled over tables as servants drifted between the nobles, their job being to keep their glasses full at all times. Laughter rose and fell in pleasant waves.
At the high table, however, Prince Aerion had grown noticeably still.
At first he had endured Valeriane’s attempts at conversation, a curt reply here, a faint nod of the head there. But the performance did not last long. Before the second jug of wine had even made its way down the table, his attention had drifted entirely. He leaned back in his chair with unmistakable boredom, long fingers idly turning the stem of his goblet as though the entire hall had failed to offer him anything interesting. His gaze wandered the room without focus.
Valeriane tried her best to reclaim his attention, her voice rose bright and eager above the surrounding noise. When she leaned closer to suggest a dance later in the evening, Aerion did not even pretend to consider it. He gave a faint shake of his head, nothing more.
The dismissal was quiet enough that only those nearby noticed, but the effect was immediate. Valeriane’s smile faltered, and she leamed back into her chair looking awfully glum.
Further down the table, the girl sat beside Aegon, blissfully spared from the tension. The younger prince proved once again to be excellent company, and before long he had launched into an enthusiastic explanation involving falcons, tourneys, and many other things. She found herself smiling despite the long day. His enthusiasm was difficult to resist, and she listened politely as he continued his speech.
Later still, she found herself introduced to Prince Daeron, whose reputation for charm proved to be entirely deserved - at least in the early stages of the conversation. Daeron greeted her with a warm bow and a smile that came easily, relaxed in a way that felt refreshing.
“I must apologize on behalf of the entire royal household,” he said lightly, settling into the seat beside her. “The court seems to have grown even more unbearable than it usually is”
She raised a brow “Is that so?”
“Oh, without question,” Daeron replied. “Feasts are dreadful things. Far too many people pretending they enjoy each other’s company.”
“That does sound unpleasant.” she replied, lips softening into a small smile.
“You have no idea,” he sighed dramatically before taking another sip of wine. “Though it improves after the third cup.”
Unfortunately, by the third cup, his words began to wander. His stories became longer, louder, and progressively less coherent. She listened politely for as long as she could manage before gently excusing herself.
By then the musicians had begun another lively tune, and the floor had filled with spinning couples. Colored skirts swirled beneath candlelight while the steady rhythm of the music rang in the background.
For a brief periods of time, the evening was almost peaceful. Her mother appeared at her side once, leaning close with a smile.
“Y/n, dear,” she murmured softly, her gaze flicking toward the high table. “You might consider requesting a dance of His Grace. It would be… most wise.”
“I am quite spent from today's activities, Mother,” she replied gently. “I would not wish to make a poor showing.”
Her mother studied her for a long moment, clearly displeased, though unwilling to push the matter. At last, she withdrew.
___
Across the hall, Valeriane had apparently recovered her spirits and was currently dancing with some eager young lord, her laughter bright enough to carry above the music. Ysoria and Lyessa sat several seats away, occupied with the serious task of demolishing an impressive cluster of grapes.
For the first time that evening, her shoulders loosened slightly.
'If I slipped away now, no one would notice' she thought to herself while insistently eyeing the nearest exit. The thought had barely begun to form when a voice spoke beside her.
“Going to make a run for it?”
She went very still.
Prince Aerion was leaning against the next chair, one shoulder lazily braced against its carved back, a sly grin plastered on his face “Are you simply so eager to return to the village,” he continued mildly, “along with the poor folk?”
She did not look at him immediately. When she finally did turn to face him, her expression was perfectly composed.
“I find, Your Grace,” she said quietly, “that almost any other corner of the realm proves more restful than here.”
One pale brow arched. For a moment he said nothing at all, simply watching her with that unsettling stillness - as if he was deciding whether she could actually prove as entertaining.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Seeing he had no intention of saying anything else, she drew in a breath.
“If Your Grace has concluded his lecture,” she began smoothly, already shifting in her seat, “I would- ”
"So eager to be rid of me.”
The interruption came cool and immediate. His gaze held hers for one long moment, sharp and assessing. Then, he stepped back and extended his hand.
“Dance with me.”
It was not phrased as a request. Around them the subtle hum of conversation shifted. Heads turned. The nearby lords and ladies pretended not to stare with the sort of intense interest that meant they were listening to every word.
Across the floor, she could practically feel Valeriane’s attention snap toward them. For a good moment, she considered refusing.
Then she rose.
The bow she offered was shallow, and no deeper than required.
“As Your Grace wishes.”
Her hand settled in his. His fingers closed immediately, firm and unyielding, the grip just shy of painful. Her brows knit faintly at the pressure, but she did not pull away. Instead her own fingers tightened slightly in silent answer, her polite smile fixed carefully in place as he led her toward the center of the hall.
Behind them, at the high table, Prince Maekar and her mother exchanged looks of unmistakable satisfaction.
At the center of the floor, however, the air between prince and princess held nothing but quiet disdain.The music rose around them as the dance began.
Aerion’s hand settled at the small of her back, light enough to appear proper yet firm enough that she felt the quiet command behind it. Her own hands rested stiffly upon his shoulders, her body angled just far enough away to preserve what little distance the dance allowed. She fixed her gaze somewhere beyond his shoulder and held it there.
“You must take some pleasure in this,” she said at last, voice low and controlled.
A slow, satisfied smile curved his mouth. “My lady overestimates her own importance,” he replied lazily. “It is not your company that entertains me.”
His fingers shifted at her back, guiding her through the next turn with effortless control.
“It is the look of quiet misery you wear whilst enduring it.”
Her eyes flicked to his.
“Perhaps,” he added, “it is you who enjoys herself.”
She gave a small, offended breath through her nose.“You mistake me entirely, Your Grace. My feelings toward you have never been in doubt.”
One pale brow lifted. “Have they not?”
He shrugged faintly. “If that comforts you, by all means… continue believing it.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And what precisely is that meant to imply?”
For a moment something flickered behind his gaze. Instead of answering, he spun her sharply with the next rise of the music. Her skirts flared before he drew her back into place, his hand settling once more at her back.
It was clear he would only speak when it pleased him. Not before. Her jaw tightened.
Several more turns passed in strained silence before she spoke again.
“You would do well to cease these little performances, Your Grace,” she murmured. “They give the court ...unfortunate ideas regarding your intentions.”
Aerion made a soft, unimpressed sound. “And what ideas might those be?” he asked, feigning cluelessness .
Her head turned sharply then, eyes narrowing with a look that questioned whether he took her for a fool.
“That you are courting me.” she replied, the words clipped despite her efforts to remain calm “And though you and I are well aware that no such thing is occurring, the rest of the court might not be so enlightened.”
For a fleeting instant something like dry amusement crossed his face.
“My affairs are my own concern,” he replied coolly, tone dismissive “If the court chooses to weave foolish tales, that is hardly my burden.”
His gaze lingered on her face.
“I have no desire at present to saddle myself with a wife,” he added after a moment, as though the matter bored him entirely. “Though half the realm seems determined to arrange it regardless.”
That made her look at him fully. “And you felt compelled to share this with me… why?”
One of his shoulders lifted in an idle shrug.
“Perhaps you might pass the sentiment along to your sister,” he said lightly. “It would spare us all a great deal of ...enthusiasm.”
Relief flickered in her chest despite herself, though it was quickly followed by reluctant sympathy for Valeriane.
“I shall do no such thing,” she replied evenly. “She would not believe me in any case… and I have no wish to wound her pride unnecessarily.”
For the briefest moment, his eyes sharpened.
Then the music ended. She stepped away at once, offering the barest courteous bow.
"Your Grace.”
Before he could say anything else, she turned and began walking away, heading back towards her seat at the high table. In the corner of her eye, she could see her mother trying to catch her attention, probably so that she could congratulate her on the great honor that she was once again 'blessed' with.
The masquerade ball ( Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader) ~ Part 3
~ Summary: A week of searching brings more than answers - it brings closeness neither of them anticipated. As stolen glances and lingering conversations ignite unexpected feelings, a cruel twist of fate forces Benedict to confront a truth he may never forgive.
The following week was spent endorsed in their search for the mysterious lady. Soon enough, it became a daily routine - morning strolls through the park where they questioned every eligible young woman they encountered, afternoons spent lingering far longer than necessary in drawing rooms, and dinners during which their conversations strayed far from their intended purpose - and neither of them could quite recall who had first abandoned the subject.
Somewhere between shared glances across crowded paths and laughter that came too easily, the urgency of the search began to dull. The hours they spent together seemed to stretch, and without either of them naming it, the search itself was no longer the only reason they sought each other’s company.
It frightened her how natural everything felt between them - how there was never a dull stretch of conversation, or a strained silence that demanded to be filled. Instead, something warm and comfortable settled between them without invitation - easier smiles, longer glances, a quiet understanding that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.
She had nearly told him the truth more times than she could count. Each time, the words gathered in her throat, threatening to spill out, only to fade underneath the weight of doubt. What explanation could she possibly offer him? How could she make him understand that she had not meant to deceive him - that she had simply waited too long?
°•°•°•°
By the time the next ball arrived, she'd almost forgot the entire purpose of their time spent together.
The ballroom glowed underneath the bright chandeliers, light spilling over silk gowns and smooth floors. The music swelled as couples spun across the dance floor. Benedict found her quickly enough, his presence pulling her down to earth once more.
They agreed, quietly, to split up.
"I will search the west end,” he said, leaning closer so only she could hear, his breath warm against her ear. “Meet me on the terrace when you are finished?”
She nodded, though her pulse betrayed her.
After he left her side, she spoke to several ladies, smiling when necesary, nodding at answers she scarcely even registered. When the moment came, she slipped away toward the terrace, the night air cool and sharp against her skin.
Benedict was already waiting for her. He stood with his elbows resting against the stone balustrade, shoulders tense, gaze fixed on the gardens below. The lamplight carved sharp shadows along his face, and for the first time since she had known him, he looked unmistakably defeated.
Her heart clenched at the sight - she hated seeing him like this.
“Any success on your side?” she asked softly, though the answer was written plainly across his face.
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head before turning to her with a faint, crooked smile that held no real humor.
“I am beginning to think she will never reveal herself,” he admitted. “Perhaps she does not care for my apology at all.”
She hesitated, then reached out, placing a gloved hand against his shoulder - a small gesture, but one that carried more weight than she let on. He turned to face her, surprise flickering briefly across his expression.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” she asked, her voice careful, restrained. “What difference would it truly make if she forgave you?”
Benedict was quiet for a moment “It is not merely the apology,” he said at last. “It is the need - the insistent, maddening need to speak with her again.”
His fingers curled against the stone railing. “I felt something that night. Foolish, perhaps - we shared only minutes - but it was enough to unsettle me entirely.”
Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest upon hearing this, and she tried her best to conceal her strange excitement. Thankfully, she didn't need to say anything just yet, because Benedict was apparently not done.
"She was unlike anyone I have known,” he continued, his voice lowering. “Sharp and utterly unimpressed by what I was meant to be. She saw me, and she did not flinch.” He met her gaze then “I want her to forgive me so that she might give me the chance to know her properly.”
She stared at him for a moment, mouth opening slightly as she was struggling to find the right words. She decided then that she was going to tell him - right then and there, no matter the consequences that might follow.
Unfortunately, she didn't get a chance to even open her mouth.
"Benedict!” Colin’s voice cut through the moment. “You will not believe this - I believe I have found her!”
The word escaped her before she could stop herself. “What?”
She cursed herself instantly, but Benedict was already smiling, hope reignited in his eyes.
“I must speak to her at once,” he said, and before turning away, he glanced at her once more “Thank you - for everything.”
He disappeared into the ballroom, and she followed, dread spreading further inside her chest with every step she took.
She saw them before she heard them. Her stomach dropped the moment she recognised the young woman standing before Benedict - Romilda Smythe - of all people. She had never liked Romilda, as she found her entirely too fond of herself. Surely, she was undeniably desirable, but even that couldn't compensate her unlikeable character.
"Yes,” Romilda said smoothly. “That was me. And truly, Mr Bridgerton, there is nothing left to forgive.”
Benedict hesitated only briefly before he spoke "I must admit, this brings a great relief." He said, then extended his hand. "May I have this dance?"
Romilda accepted immediately, and they made their way towards thecenter of the room, hand in hand.
She could only watch as they glided across the floor, feeling completely defeated. The irony of it all, and what she hated to admit to herself, was how undeniably alike her and Romilda appeared at first glance. They shared the same hair, the same height, even similar grace of movement. It was no surprise that Benedict could be fooled by her.
She must have looked awfully glum as she watched them, because soon enough she heard Colin's voice from beside her "Are you quite well?" He asked, casting her a rather concerned look.
She nodded, forcing a polite smile "Perfectly" she replied, though that couldn't have been further from the truth.
•°•°•
The following evening delivered no mercy. Another ball, another sight she wished desperately to avoid.
Benedict stood near the edge of the room, Romilda's arm looped through his, her grip possessive and unmistakable. He smiled politely, attentively - but he appeared rather distracted, eyes searching the room instead of focusing on the woman beside him.
She tried not to stare at him for too long, but she felt like she couldn't look away. Unfortunately, they locked eyes a few moments later, and Benedict's lips spread into a pleasant smile. A faint redness spread across her cheeks as she quickly looked away, then she turned to leave. Much to her misfortune, Benedict was quicker, as he appeared by her side only moments later.
"How are you this evening?" He asked once they were face to face, voice courteous but peasant as always.
"I am well, thank you, Mister Bridgerton." She replied plainly.
His brows furrowed "Please - call me Benedict. Surely we are well beyond such formalities."
She nodded her head, her gaze slipping past him and landing on none other than Romilda, who watched them with thinly veiled hostility.
He followed her gaze. "I still cannot believe she forgave me" Benedict admitted quietly.
She only hummed in response, afraid her voice might betray her.
"Though" he added, lowering his voice "I confess I do not quite feel that initial spark."
Her gaze snapped to him, startled "Why is that?"
Benedict shook his head "She feels ... different somehow." He started, but before he could elaborate further, Romilda appeared at his side, all sweetness and false charm.
"Mr Bridgerton, might I borrow your friend for a moment?" Romilda asked, glancing up at him.
Though he seemed taken aback by the request, he nodded "Of course."
With that, Romilda's hand closed around her arm, firm and unyielding, practically dragging her into the hallway. The girl shook off Romilda's grip, giving her a confused look "Romilda, I do not understand the purpose of this -"
"You had your opportunity " Romilda snapped, giving her a pointed look "To tell him it was you whom he was searching for. And yet you . So why can you not leave him be?"
She stared at her in utter shock "How...How did you-" she began
"Oh, please", Romilda scoffed "You insult my intelligence. I watched you both that night - I saw everything."
Anger flared inside her chest at the realization "You lied to him!" She accused, taking a step forward.
Romilda gave a mild shrug "I simply took advantage of your hesitation. You were simply... foolish enough to step aside."
Before she had a chance to say anything back, a voice came from behind them.
"Is this true?" Benedict's voice rang through the corridor.
The two of them turned in sync, both girls looking equally shocked. Benedict's gaze was fixed on her alone; hurt, anger and diselief were written plainly across his face. For a few torturous moments, silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Romilda's voice broke the tense moment "My lord, this is not -"
"Leave us" Benedict commanded, not even bothering to glance her way. "Now."
Romilda didn't need to be told twice. She quickly gathered her skirts and fled the scene, leaving the two of them in that awful, dreadful silence.
She could not move - she simply stared at him, lips parted in mute disbelief. The weight of his gaze was pressing against her chest, stealing the air from her lungs. She had imagined this moment countless times - rehearsed explanations in the quiet of her room, told herself she would be calm, composed. Now, faced with reality, she felt completely helpless.
“Why?”
The word left him quietly. He took a step closer, expression tightening, jaw set in a way she had never seen before.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he continued, his voice low but unsteady, as though he was holding back stronger emotions than he let on.
She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
“I… I didn't know how,” she began. “There was never a moment that felt right, and the longer I waited, the more impossible it seemed to explain. I did not know where to begin…”
He gave a sharp, incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair before pressing his palm briefly against his forehead.
“During this past week,” he said, looking back at her with disbelief “you could not find a single minute to tell me the truth? Not one ?”
His voice rose slightly, the restraint beginning to shatter.
“You watched me lose what little composure I possessed,” he went on, taking a step away before turning back toward her again. “You allowed me to question half the young ladies in society, to make a complete fool of myself before the entire ton - all while you stood beside me, smiling as though nothing were amiss.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor, shame flooding through her. He studied her in silence for a moment, his eyes searching her face as though trying to find some explanation that would make sense of it all.
“Was that your way of punishing me for what I said that night?” he asked finally, his tone quieter now.
She looked up at once, startled. “What? No - no, that was never-”
“Because if it was,” he interrupted, “then you must be exceedingly satisfied with the result. You succeeded beyond measure.”
The accusation struck harder than she had expected. Instinctively, she reached out a hand toward him. He stepped back - the small movement felt like a blow.
“And to think,” he continued bitterly, “that I was so desperate to win back your favour. That I convinced myself your silence meant indifference rather than… than this.”
“I forgave you,” she said quickly, her voice trembling despite her efforts. “I forgave you long ago. You must believe me. I never meant to cause you distress - I never meant for any of this to happen.”
For a few seconds, he simply stared at her . Then, without warning, he closed the distance between them.
One step and suddenly he was standing far too close. She could feel the warmth of him even through the layers of silk and lace, could see the rise and fall of his chest as though he, too, were struggling to maintain composure. He looked down at her with an intensity that made her pulse stumble, his expression shifting into something far more complicated.
“Do you know what the worst part was?” he asked quietly.
She did not trust her voice enough to answer, so she shook her head.
“The worst part,” he continued “was that I had begun to forget about the masked lady entirely. The more time we spent together… the less that brief encounter seemed to matter. What we had felt infinitely more real than anything that happened that night.”
Her breath caught. For a fleeting, terrifying second, hope flickered within her chest.
“Of course,” he went on after a pause that stretched unbearably long, “that was before I discovered just how cruel you were capable of being.”
The words struck like a dagger, yet the way he was looking at her told a different story altogether. His eyes moved over her face as though memorising every detail, his breathing uneven, his restraint visibly fraying at the edges. It made her knees feel weak, made it difficult to remember what he just said.
Neither of them moved for a good minute.Then, slowly - almost unconsciously - they both leaned forward.The space between them narrowed to nothing. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, could see the faint tremor in his hand where it hovered at her side, as though he was fighting the urge to reach for her. The world beyond the corridor seemed to fall away entirely. For a heartbeat, it felt inevitable.
Then Benedict abruptly stepped back.
His expression hardened at once. He straightened his posture and gave her a stiff, painfully formal bow - a gesture that felt colder than any harsh word he had spoken. Then, without another glance, he turned and walked away.
She could do nothing but stand there, rooted to the ground, watching him disappear down the corridor - feeling, for maybe the first time in her life, impossibly small.
† Hugging Husband! Valarr Targaryen after a tense moment in the tournament
AKOTSK Masterlist
The tournament grounds had been alive with noise since the morning - colorfull banners dancing in the wind, the sound of hooves hitting the earth, the shouting of nobles and smallfolk alike rising and falling with each clash of lances.
From her place in the stands, she watched knights in painted armors charging at one another beneath the hot afternoon sun.
She tried to fake a polite interest. After all, she was newly wed to Valarr Targaryen, and it would be improper for the prince’s wife to appear indifferent during a tourney in which he participated. Despite the excitement rippling through the crowd, her thoughts wandered often to the quiet, reserved man she had married only weeks before.
They had scarcely spoken beyond what courtesy required.
Valarr had never been unkind - never sharp or dismissive - but there was a distance about him, a certain restraint that made conversation end before it could truly begin. Though his manners were flawless, it was difficult to tell what thoughts lay behind those mismatched eyes of his.
When his name was announced for the next tilt, she found herself leaning forward in her seat in anticipation.
Across the field, Valarr guided his horse forward, sunlight glinting along the edges of his armor as he rode into position. Even from a distance, she could feel his calmness - no display meant to impress the crowd, only a silent steadiness that set him apart from the louder knights who had come before him.
His opponent - a broad-shouldered knight whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember - lowered his lance first. A moment later Valarr did the same.
The signal was given, and the horses surged forward. The ground seemed to tremble beneath the thunder of hooves as the two riders advanced toward one another, lances ready, the crowd’s roar swelling with anticipation.
She gripped the edge of her seat, holding her breath.
The impact rang out like a crack of thunder. Wood splintered.For a terrifying moment, the strike went wrong.
Valarr’s opponent’s lance struck with brutal force, gliding off the prince’s shield and shattering, but the blow drove him sideways in the saddle. His horse stumbled a half-step as the broken lance scraped dangerously across the plates of his armor.
A collective gasp tore through the stands.
She was on her feet before she knew it, fingers clutching the rail so tightly her knuckles ached. For a dreadful moment it seemed the prince might fall, might be thrown beneath the hooves, or worse.
But Valarr did not fall.
With a sharp pull on the reins he steadied his horse, his balance returning with ease. The crowd’s shock shifted quickly into shouting. Soon enough, the tilt ended and the outcome was declared.
Valarr had won.
The words barely reached her ears. By the time the herald’s voice came, she was already moving.
The stands blurred behind her as she hurried down the steps and across the edge of the field. The noise of the crowd dulled to a distant hum as she approached the place where the knights were gathering, her heart still racing from earlier.
She reached him just as he was dismounting.
Valarr had removed his helm, hair damp at the temples from the effort, his expression calm despite the dust clinging to his armor. When he turned and saw her approaching so quickly, confusion flickered across his features.
“My lady, what - ”
The rest of the sentence never came.
Her hands found the back of his neck before she could stop herself, and in the next breath she had drawn him down into a sudden embrace, her face pressed against the solid plates of his breastplate.
“Gods,” she blurted, the words coming out tangled “I was so worried - I thought, for a moment, I thought you were going to -”
She broke off helplessly. For a few seconds Valarr did not move at all.He stood there as though struck, clearly taken aback by the unexpected comtact. Through the layers of steel she could feel the rise and fall of his breath, now coming out rather unevenly.
Then, slowly, one of his hands lifted. It hovered for the briefest moment before settling against the small of her back, the touch light, cautious, as though he was uncertain whether he was supposed to return the gesture.
When she finally pulled back, the realization of what she had done struck her at once. Color rushed to her face, and she stepped away, lowering her gaze and clasping her hands together.
“My apologies, my prince,” she said quietly. “I do not know what took over me.”
Valarr said nothing at first - he simply looked at her. His eyes moved slowly over her face, and there was the faintest hint of color rising along his cheekbones.
“It is… no trouble,” he said at last, voice quiet. “If anything, I ought to apologise for causing you distress.”
She shook her head gently and offered him a small, relieved smile.
“I am only glad you are unharmed, my prince.”
For a moment longer he stared her in silence, lost in thought, looking like he was just starting to realize something. It was like he was just now seeing her clearly for the first time.
___
In the days that followed the tournament, something about Valarr had clearly changed. Not dramatically, though, and not in any way the court would notice.
But she did.
Before, their conversations had been brief and careful things - polite exchanges at meals, formal greetings when they passed eachother in corridors. Now, he lingered a little longer when he spoke with her. At supper he occasionally asked for her thoughts on small matters: how she found the court, whether she had grown accustomed to the Red Keep, whether the gardens pleased her.
The questions were simple, almost awkwardly phrased, as though he were learning how these conversations were meant to work. Sometimes he would fall silent halfway through their exchanges, searching for what to say next. To her, all of this was… unexpectedly endearing.
She began to notice other things as well. The way his gaze found her more often in crowded rooms. How he seemed faintly distracted whenever she laughed with others at a feast, only to recover himself moments later with his usual composure.
It was all subtle, but it was there.
___
One night, weeks later, the Red Keep had grown quiet during the evening.
Moonlight peeked through the tall windows of her chambers, lingering across the stone floors. She stood near the open window, looking out across the vast gardens that rested below.
She did not hear the door open behind her.
Nor the quiet footsteps that followed.
So, when a pair of arms slipped gently around her waist, palms settling cautiously at her hips, a startled yelp escaped her before she could stop it. She twisted halfway around in surprise to find Valarr standing behind her.
Up close in the moonlight, his expression held an unusual uncertainty. His hands had already loosened slightly at her waist, ready to release her at the first sign of protest.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice low and close to her ear. His breath brushed faintly across her skin, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “I did not mean to startle you.”
There was a brief pause before he added
“Is this… acceptable?”
She blinked at him, still a little surprised, but then she nodded as her lips grew into a smile.
He seemed to relax at that. She then turned carefully within his arms until she faced him, the movement bringing them even closer. His hands remained where they were, steady but hesitant, unsure whether to tighten their hold.
For a moment, she simply looked up at him. Then she lifted her arms and slipped them around the back of his neck, fingers lightly grazing his soft hair. Valarr stilled at the gesture. Not in rejection. More like someone caught off guard by a gesture they had not expected.
After a second his arms tightened in response. One hand slid up to rest flat against the middle of her back while the other settled more firmly around her waist, drawing her closer until the space between them disappeared.
The sudden closeness revealed something she had not fully noticed before. How carefully he held her. How reluctant he seemed to let loose once he had allowed himself the contact. It occurred to her then that Valarr might not be accustomed to such simple affections. The thought made her heart melt.
His gaze lowered to hers, mismatched eyes softening in a way she had never quite seen before. Half-lidded. Warm.
She rose slightly onto her toes and leaned forward until her forehead rested gently against his. For a moment he seemed surprised. Then, the corners of his mouth curved into the faintest smile.
It was not a grand expression, as it was meant for her and her alone.
Standing there in the quiet of the moonlit chamber, with his arms wrapped around her and the soft wind drifting softly through the window, it felt like something far more meaningful than a simple hug.
