A.N: Hi my loves! 🩷 Thank you so so much for your amazing support, you've made me so happy! 🩷I hope you'll like this one as well, and please let me know what you think🩷 ILYSM, kisses! 🩷
Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Reader
Summary: Every skill needs honing.
Word Count: 4,2k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes, medieval era expectations and viewpoints on marriage and gender. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Being the lady of the castle was no easy task even under normal circumstances, and these two weeks had been nothing but chaos.
But in your opinion, you were getting much better at it.
You and Robb made quite a successful team in Lord and Lady Stark’s absence. Everything in Winterfell was being handled quite effectively; the lady guests were welcomed and entertained while the lords held meetings with Robb. Preparations for the coming winter continued in the background not only for the bannermen and their families, but also for the small folk in Wintertown and all over the north. While most northerners still saw you as an outsider, you were beginning to prove yourself, and you were certain that Silas and your father would’ve been very proud if they could see you now; you had already sent both of them ravens to tell them all about it.
And in happier news, Bran had woken up last week. Though Maester Luwin said he could never walk again, you were thankful to the gods that he was alive, everything else could be sorted out.
Needless to say, Bran didn’t see it that way.
“Have you two seen Rickon?”
Both Jon and Theon stopped eating their breakfast and looked up at you at the same time.
“Wasn’t he with you and Robb?” Jon asked and you shook your head.
“Robb went to visit Bran in his room, I figured they would want to talk alone. The last time I talked to him, he wasn’t really…” you trailed off and shrugged. “Which is expected.”
“Aye, he wasn’t really interested in talking to me either.”
“He just needs time,” Theon said. “That’s it—oh, there’s Rickon.”
You turned your head to find Rickon absolutely covered in mud, making you gasp. The little boy didn’t seem like he minded the mud on his clothes at all, judging by the toothless smile he gave you when he reached the table.
“Hello!”
“What’s happened?!” you asked, covering your mouth with your hands and he looked down at himself.
“I was playing with Shaggy.”
“In the mud?”
“Aye!”
You seemed to be the only one who was shocked at the state of him, because instead of reacting in any way, Jon just ruffled his little brother’s hair while Theon let out a laugh. Rickon grabbed a piece of cheese from Theon’s plate without even wiping his hands, then darted through the hall before you could stop him, almost crashing into Robb’s legs on his way out. Robb looked over his shoulder to check where his little brother was rushing off to, then approached you and pressed a kiss on your temple.
“Here you are,” he said and touched the small of your back before he sat down, so you took the seat next to Jon’s. “Where’s he going?”
“To the yard, I’d say,” Jon answered while you stared at the entrance, your mouth half agape.
“He’s covered in mud,” you managed to say, “and he ate food without cleaning his hands.”
“He does that.”
Your eyes widened. “But that’s not healthy!”
“He has never fallen ill his entire life,” Jon said and Robb nodded.
“Besides, it’s Rickon,” he stated as if that was enough of an explanation, and reached out to steal a piece of bread from Jon’s plate, but Jon swatted his hand away.
“Go get your own plate!”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Then keep your hands off my food!”
“So you’re saying you won’t share your bread with me? Your brother? Your blood?”
“Aye, that’s what I’m saying—”
“Did someone at least tell Rickon that it’s not good manners to walk around covered in mud?”
“Multiple septas did.” Robb filled himself a drink and offered you, but you shook your head. “He doesn’t listen.”
“Besides, he’s northern,” Theon said. “He’s not gonna grow to be one of those flowery Reach knights with their southern manners and poems—”
“What is it with your animosity toward poetry, Greyjoy?” you asked with a frown. “Is it because you can’t read?”
“Your brother asked me the same thing—I can read!”
“Allegedly,” you pointed out, and Robb and Jon exchanged glances, both biting back identical grins. “I’ve heard Ironborn look down on literacy to the point of accusing people who can read as sorcerers.”
“Well, seeing the raids on the Reach, we’re still better fighters than—”
“None of that,” Robb interrupted him while you glared at Theon, and Jon heaved a sigh.
“How’s Bran?”
“As expected,” Robb muttered. “I don’t think staying in that room is going to make him feel better. I’ll get him out to the yard the moment Maester Luwin says we can.”
“That should help.”
“I hope so.”
“Has father written back yet?”
“No ravens arrived,” Robb said while Jorelle made her way to you. “Should be any day now, though.”
“My lady, you wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Lady Sabitha,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”
Theon nodded at Jorelle with a smirk.
“Lady Jorelle,” he greeted her. “Hello.”
Robb and Jon both looked from Theon to Jorelle with the exact same expression of boyish wonder on their faces, and Jorelle raised her brows, eyed him up and down, then chortled.
“Absolutely not, Greyjoy.”
Robb stifled a laugh and kicked Jon under the table while Jon pressed his fist on his lips to hide his smile. Theon sat up straighter, clearly not discouraged as he puffed his chest.
“But I’m…”
“Greyjoy, I understand that you lack subtlety so I’m going to be as direct as my manners allow me,” you told him and stood up from your seat. “If you ever bother my ladies-in-waiting, I’ll make sure you can never speak a word to them or anyone else ever again. I’m sure the whole castle will thank me for it.”
There was a proud grin on Robb’s face as you pecked him on the cheek, then you threw an arm over Jorelle’s shoulder and you both walked away from the table, giggling.
After your small meeting with Lady Sabitha, the rest of your day was considerably idle. You visited Bran, you spent some time with Rickon, and now you and your ladies-in-waiting had nothing to do but remain in your room and gossip until dinner time. You laid in your bed, with Jorelle by your side and Wylla laid on her stomach at the foot of the bed, reading a book. Alys was braiding Lyra’s hair and Barbrey was embroidering something for her new gown on the sofa across the hearth, occasionally holding it up for Alys and Lyra’s opinion.
It reminded you of the Reach, back when you and Margaery and your friends would spend time together before the jousts.
“Jo?”
Jorelle turned her head to see you better. “Hm?”
“What kind of husband do you want?”
The question gathered everyone’s attention in the room. Alys stopped braiding Lyra’s hair, Lyra’s head snapped around and Barbrey looked up from her embroidery, her eyes widening. Wylla pursed her lips without pulling her gaze off the page, but you could tell her ears perked up with the way she stopped following the lines. Jorelle craned her head to see you better.
“What brought this on?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” you said. “You know, when Greyjoy tried to talk to you earlier today—”
“Gods no!”
“No, obviously not him!” you said in a rush. “None of you will wed him, are you jesting? I hate him, he’s vile.”
“He’s your lord husband’s best friend,” Wylla pointed out and you shrugged.
“I still hate him, Robb knows it,” you said. “But it made me think, it’s clear you have admirers, all of you.” You motioned around the room. “Silas fixed my betrothal, and it took him such a long time to make a decision. And you’re my ladies-in-waiting, it’s my responsibility to find you good suitors. I’m determined to find you the best men in the realm, but I can only do that if I know what kind of husbands you want.”
Alys thought for a second. “Perhaps we should make a list.”
“Good idea!” You jumped from the bed and rushed to the desk to grab the inkpot and the quill, and parchments. You dipped the quill into the inkpot, then wrote all their names on different parchments and pointed at Lyra with your quill.
“Lyra, are you certain—”
“I won’t wed, I’m certain,” Lyra cut you off. “Men can be so annoying.”
“She’s not wrong on that one,” Jorelle muttered and Lyra gave her a grin.
“I can also fight Greyjoy if he bothers you.”
“Not needed at this point, but thank you Lyra.”
“Me next!” Barbrey said, sitting up straighter. “I want a southron husband.”
“Where in the south?” you asked and Barbrey frowned as if the thought hadn’t hit her before.
“Um, the Reach?”
“The men of the Reach are full of audacity, I’ve found,” Jorelle grumbled and you shot her a smirk.
“I think you mean the men of Dorne.”
Jorelle bit back a laugh and held up her hands. “All the same to me.”
“And I want him to be a knight,” Barbrey added, her nose stuck in the air. “Like…like that knight you danced with on your wedding.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Loras?”
“Yes, The Knight of Flowers!” Barbrey said. “Oh he was so handsome!”
“Barbrey.” You tried to control your expression. “You would not want Loras as a husband.”
“Why did you not?” Alys asked and shifted her weight. “I mean I know Lord Robb is the love of your life, but before that? The Knight of Flowers is your best friend’s brother, and you two looked like the perfect southron lady and the knight when you danced.”
Well, there were many reasons; the main one being that your brother was Loras’ type and not you, regardless of how you two looked while you were dancing.
“Loras is like a brother to me,” you said. “We could never see each other like that. How about you, Alys? What kind of husband do you want?”
“I don’t want a southron,” Alys said. “I don’t want to be so far away from my family. I want a brave northern fighter, but he must be handsome, and my age.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
Her cheeks got pink and she averted her glances.
“…No.”
You arched a brow. “Alys.”
“I don’t have anyone in mind, I just—”
“She admires the heir of House Ryswell,” Wylla sang without looking up from her book, making Alys gasp.
“I do not!”
“You danced with him at the wedding and you were flustered afterwards.”
“Wylla!”
“How else are you going to get the husband you want if you keep it a secret?”
“What kind of reading is that?” Jorelle asked her, gesturing at the book in front of Wylla. “You keep chiming in.”
“Yes well, while you are all listing your requirements for suitors…” Wylla wiggled her brows and turned the page before she held it up so that all could see the vulgar illustration. “I’m learning how to keep my future husband under my spell.”
The room exploded into chaos in a second. Alys jumped from her seat at the same time with Barbrey, who nearly face planted on Lyra in her haste to rush to Wylla. Jorelle sat up in bed and snatched the book from Wylla’s hands, holding it out of her reach while she all but wrestled her to get it back.
“Jo!”
“Where did you find this?”
“Let me see! Let me see!”
“What does it say?”
“Oh it says everything.”
“Barbrey, stop pushing!”
“You won’t even wed, Lyra, no need for you to see!”
The title of the book was familiar to you; it was very famous all over the south. Of course all the septas and the maesters forbid it, saying that it was not appropriate for ladies, but that had never stopped you or any of your friends. All it required was a couple gold dragons given to the right maid, and a ball thrown in someone’s honor so that you and your friends could gather in one of your bedchambers while the rest of the household was busy with the guests.
Though, you were rather surprised to see it was famous enough to be found in the north as well.
“That’s disgusting!” Barbrey let out a squeal as she leaned in to grimace at the drawing. “So very disgusting!”
“Then stop looking?”
“I cannot!”
You pressed your fist on your mouth so that you could hide your smile, leaning back to the table while they all gathered around the bed and turned the page.
“But I don’t—but—” Alys stammered. “My lady mother said, on my wedding night, I’m to just lay there.”
“So did mine! My husband will know what to do, she said.”
Gods, the north really was different than the south, this was yet another proof of it. All your ladies-in-waiting were the same age as you, women grown, and yet they were clueless when it came to certain things because the north was incredibly strict on such matters.
Jorelle turned the page again and yelped in surprise, a scowl twisting her beautiful face. “Seven hells, I’m not doing that!”
“Let me see—”
“I’m a lady,” Barbrey insisted. “I care not what the book says, I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near…that thing.”
“Do all men know about this?”
“I’d say so.”
“Do you suppose there’s a book for them as well?”
“A book?” Wylla asked with a scoff. “They have no need to read about it. What do you think they do in brothels, hold hands?”
“Lady wives don’t do such things,” Alys insisted while Jorelle lifted her head as if she just remembered your presence in the room. “I’m sure of it.”
“I still don’t understand the—the physics of this?”
“You know what Lyra, you were right. If this is what will be expected of me, I’m not going to wed either.”
“My personal feelings aside, it does sound very uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie.”
“Is it?” Jorelle asked you, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Is it very uncomfortable?”
Stunned silence fell upon the room as all the girls turned their heads to stare at you while you bit back your grin.
“Hm?”
“Oh but she doesn’t do that!” Alys said in a haste. “She’s the most graceful lady of the south, Jo.”
“And she’s been quiet since the beginning of this conversation,” Lyra pointed out, narrowing her eyes at you. “Too quiet.”
Barbrey held up the book and pointed at the illustration on the page. “Did you do this?”
Wylla elbowed her. “Barbrey!”
“What? Lord Robb is mesmerized by her, everyone knows it!”
“Because she is beautiful, you idiot, not because she does such tricks!”
You dragged the tip of your tongue on your lip, then heaved a dramatic sigh.
“You see, I would tell you,” you said. “But since such conversations are unladylike, you’d have to swear—”
“I swear it! I swear on my honor!”
“Me too!”
“So do I, on my honor and house!”
“Aye, on my house too!”
“I will never breathe a word, I swear it.”
“…That it doesn’t leave this room,” you finished your sentence with a laugh. “Very well then.”
They all plopped down on your huge bed, their attention fully on you as you jumped to sit on the desk.
“Lady Olenna, my best friend’s grandmother always said the marital bed is the way to keep one’s husband mesmerized,” you said. “It matters even more than how you look, how much wealth your family has, or what your house is; that right there is the key, she would say.”
“So you knew about all these things?”
“I did,” you said airily. “The south isn’t as strict as the north, and though I lacked practice, I didn’t lack knowledge.”
“Yes well,” Alys grumbled. “In the north we lack both for some reason.”
Barbrey raised the book again, pointing at the page without a word and you nodded, making all of them gasp.
“You did that?!”
Well, they didn’t need to know how you did exactly that in Robb’s solar the other day.
“I reacted similarly when I first heard about it,” you admitted, “It sounded intimidating, the idea of doing that with some faceless husband in the future that I couldn’t even imagine. And unlike what everyone keeps telling women, you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I wouldn’t, if I didn’t want to. However, Robb is…” You tried to find the right words. “I desire him so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t even think or breathe. I don’t speak for all married women obviously, but for me it wasn’t uncomfortable.”
“I’d be so embarrassed to do that though,” Wylla muttered and you cleared your throat.
“At first I was too, but then—” You fixed your skirts just so that you could do something with your hands. “He’s never made me feel uncomfortable, no matter what we’re doing. That’s why I find the marital bed so much fun.”
“Fun!?”
“Of course,” you said. “It can be very pleasurable you know? For women as well, not just men.”
“I heard it’s terrible for women.”
“It’s not terrible.” Your laugh echoed in the room. “Not even close. When you wed someone who loves you, they simply want you to be happy. Not only outside, but also in your bedchambers.”
Barbrey pointed at the next page, making you hiss in a breath.
“Um, no.” You grimaced and shook your head. “Not that, I would not.”
Jorelle leaned over to peek at what it was before Barbrey showed you another illustration.
“How about this?”
“Oh.” Your face grew hotter. “He does that. A lot.”
Jorelle’s jaw dropped. “You’re jesting, surely!”
“I thought at first his beard would be a problem, but as it turns out—”
“Your lord husband kisses you there?”
“Yes.”
“Why? That doesn’t lead to an heir.”
“Well.” You pressed your palms on your cheeks to soothe the fire. “Not everything is about siring heirs.”
“But how come no one said it’d be fun?” Wylla asked to the room. “All I kept hearing was the importance of heirs, why was I not told it could be fun?”
“I think unfortunately many women don’t know,” you said. “But thankfully I know, because I wed the love of my life, and so will all of you. I’ll make sure of it.” You winked at Lyra. “As long as you want to wed, of course. There’s always the option not to.”
“I’ll take that option,” Lyra stated. “I’m uninterested.”
“I’m interested,” Barbrey pointed out and shuffled the pages before she held up the book again. “Not the other thing, but I want to try this.”
You leaned in with the rest of the girls to see the illustration better. Jorelle narrowed her eyes while Wylla tilted her head, Lyra’s lips curled downwards and Alys put a hand on her hip, letting out a hum.
“Oh I haven’t tried that one yet either,” you said after a beat and held out your hand to motion at the book. “But as my best friend would say, every skill needs honing. May I?”
An hour before dinner, you had already changed your gown and had your maid do your hair while your ladies-in-waiting went to their own bedchambers to get ready. You had dismissed your maid to read some more in secret, so engrossed in the book that you had lost the track of time, hence why you didn’t even hear Robb’s approaching footsteps until the door opened. Your head whipped up and you jolted in bed as if someone pricked you with a needle, a gasp catching in your throat.
“My love!” you squealed, closing the book and pushing it under the bed in haste. “You’re back!”
“I am.” He came closer to peck you on the lips before he flung himself on the bed, and tilted his head. “Why are you out of breath?”
Seven hells.
“I was reading poetry,” you said after a pause, waving a hand in the air. “It always evokes feelings in me, I get very emotional.”
Confusion pinched his brows and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, then pushed yourself from the bed to make your way to the big table, earning a groan of displeasure from him.
“Come back.”
You let out a giggle and held up a cup, but he shook his head, so you only filled one cup with wine before you returned to bed. After taking a sip, you put the cup on your bedside table and let him pull you back in the bed so that you could straddle him while he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling to your bosom.
“Gods, you smell so good,” he murmured and you stifled a laugh.
“How was your day?” you asked, playing with the auburn curls at the nape of his neck, and he hummed.
“Busy. Yours?”
“Not as busy,” you said. “What’s happened?”
“There’s some unrest between two families up in the mountains,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “Norreys and Burleys. Both too stubborn to speak to each other without drawing swords.”
“Oh my poor love,” you cooed, a smile curling your lips when his shoulders relaxed. “And you must be the peacemaker?”
He nodded. “In person, probably.”
The simple sentence was more than enough to wipe your smile off your face, your body tensing up. The memory of what had happened the last time he was away flashed before your eyes, your stomach doing a painful flip as you gulped. You knew that he had no idea, you had made sure that he would have no idea, but it didn’t mean you were ready for him to leave once again, this time for more than just one week—probably for a moon, with how far the mountains were from Winterfell.
But what were you supposed to say?
I don’t feel safe here when you’re away?
That was out of the question. Lady Olenna would’ve reprimanded you if she heard you even consider saying such a thing; a lady didn’t demand or plead, she made people think they wanted what she wanted all along.
In the subtlest manner, of course.
“Oh my,” you said. “Well, I’m quite excited to meet them then. Do you suppose their wives will come with as well? When you invite those lords here?”
He pulled back to give you a fond smile.
“You misunderstand me, sweeting—”
“I suppose they will, considering the distance,” you cut him off. “And I understand why, if you went off to the mountains to settle such dispute, it’d take what? Almost a moon for you to come back? Gods, it’d break my heart so terribly.” You curled your fingers over the back of his hand so that you could press his palm on the soft swell of your chest where he could feel your heartbeat. “To be away from you for that long. I’d miss you so, so much.”
Robb’s eyes darkened with desire as they lingered on your cleavage, then snapped up to your lips again. “Would you?”
You knew you were supposed to come up with a seductive remark as an answer, this was the perfect moment; and yet what you ended up saying was more of a heartfelt confession rather than some southern wordplay.
“I know the whole north says it’s just because we’re newlyweds, but…” You lowered your glances, your heart skipping a beat at the heat of his gaze alone. “Robb, I don’t believe anyone understands how much I crave you, all the time. It’s intimidating sometimes.”
He swallowed thickly, his other hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, tracing the line of your bottom lip with his thumb as he tilted your head up.
“And why is it intimidating, my beautiful wife?” he asked, the deep rumble of his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you before he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your chest while tugging at the front laces of your gown. “My heart is at your command forever, you know this.”
You had to try really, really hard to focus and pull yourself together through the haze of want, especially with the way you could feel the proof of his desire under you.
“I thought, for—” A curt laugh escaped you. “I feared for a moment just now, that you would go to them and not the other way around. But you would not, surely?”
He paused for a second, then he lifted his head to look at you; his eyes heavy-lidded like he was as intoxicated with your presence as you were with his.
“Of course not.”
You nodded, batting your lashes. “They’ll come here instead?”
“Aye,” he murmured. “They’ll come here instead.”
You couldn’t stop the proud smile lighting up your face before he grabbed your waist and flipped you under him, making you squeal.
“Robb! My love, we have guests for dinner—”
“They’ll wait,” he growled as he trailed his lips down your neck, untying the laces of your gown. “The whole castle, the whole north, the whole realm. If my wife craves me, they’re all going to wait.”
George R. R. Martin and his commitment to brown-haired firstborn pretty boys who exist purely to suffer emotionally, briefly thrive, and then meet an absolutely unceremonious tragedy.
summary: valarr has always been wary of his soon to be wife. but after darkness strikes ashford, she shines a light.
valarr targayren x witch!fem!reader
w.c: 3.9k
c.w: reader is a follower of r'hllor, resurrection, coldish reader, valarr likes his bethrothed more than he lets on, hurt/comfort ? idk how else to tag it, minor spoilers for next weeks ep, making up lord of light bullshit, not proofread!
a.n: when i was sobbing my heart out over baelor but then here comes head homo lyonel in the preview looking fine as fuck
Valarr has always had mixed feelings about his betrothed.
whenever they met, albeit it these meetings were scarce, he thought she was nice. she was kind, respectful, smart, every time they met he had almost forgotten why he was wary of her in the first place.
yet every single time she reminded him why he tended to keep his distance during his visits. she was a witch, one who practiced all sorts of magic to further her knowledge and strength. she was the daughter of an important man in tyrosh which was enough for his father to agree to the two of them married.
she traveled to westeros at least once a year, sometimes she came to dragonstone, sometimes she went to kings landing, it simply depended on where he was at that time even if his father was not there.
this year however she was not in dragonstone or kings landing but instead she was in ashford. she always came to westeros around the same time every year, but this year due to the tourney valarr thought her visit would be postponed and he almost thanked the gods. yet the gods were not so merciful as she still made the trip out. his father informed him this would be last time traveling to westeros as she would be permanently moving to dragonstone. she had arrived to ashford two days after him after dropping off your stuff at dragonstone.
it was obvious you had no idea what was going on. the atmosphere was so tense. many a squire and servant almost bumped into you as you walked by. the clouds completely covered the sky leaving a thick fog over the land. the ground was muddy, full of foot and horse prints, if you were not watching your step you would have slipped. you had thought this was supposed to be a happy affair to celebrate some lord's daughter but if you did not know any better you would have thought this was someone's funeral.
you did not even announce yourself once you saw the man you were looking for. he looked grimmer than the men sitting on their horses."my lady i am sorry you had to arrive to such a grim sight." he ceased his pacing as soon as you arrived though it was obvious on his face he was worried. he was wearing what you liked to call his princely uniform, though you would never tell him that, he tried his best to shot you a polite smile though it dropped rather quickly as that worried look struck his face once more. "did something happen my prince? things are rather frightened out there."
he gives you the run down of the situation. ser duncan had attacked prince aerion after aerion attacked a puppeteer during her show. prince daeron has also accused ser duncan of kidnapping his younger brother prince aegon. now aerion had demanded a trial of seven. "trial of seven?" your face was laced with confusion as you stared at him. you were a follower of r'hllor, the lord of light, you had no spent much time studying the seven. valarr was not a very devote follower so you had never saw the need.
he ended up explaining to you the basics. there was the accused and the accuser. each had to find six other champions to defend each side. whoever won or was still alive by the end was declared innocent while the other party remained guilty. yet there was something still bothering you. "you would not be so upset if things were so simple." valarr takes a deep breath like he's trying to compose himself. "my father came to ask me for my armor. he intends to take the side of ser duncan."
you reach out and grab his shoulders, turning his body to face yours. he could not hide the shock on his face as you wrapped your arms around his body pulling him into a deep hug. you remember your mentor telling you that when her children were feeling unwell she would give them a hug and make her body warm so they would relax. clearly she was right as you felt his whole body relax out of the very tense state it had been in. he lets out a content sigh as he leans his head to lay against the bare neck of your skin.
you did not really understand the logic of it. if an innocent man could only get weak men to defend himself but the guilty man could get the strongest fighters how was that fair? how could the gods judge something like that? "if ser duncan is innocent there will be no reason for the gods to punish your father."
that clearly had been the wrong thing to say as he quickly tenses up, pulling away from you just as quickly. your brows furrow at the almost furious look on his face. "well I'm very thankful for your kind words my lady but i should be off." he stormed off, headed towards the stands were he would watch the joust. a frown grows on your face as you watch him leave. you were just trying to be nice, it was true if he had explained it correctly, if ser duncan was innocent what reason was there for prince baelor to die?
"my lady if i may speak?" you whip your head to one of the servants who had been standing around. 'how long was he even there?' you don't bother to voice your thoughts out loud before you nod. the man, whose name you don't know, ends up telling you about the last trial of seven where everyone but his ancestor maegor had died. "so he's worried about his father dying.." "yes my lady."
he ends up saying no more, simply bowing before walking off. you end up realizing there were also a couple more servants in the room who walked out as well leaving just you. you had not intended to be rude, yet that always seemed to be the case when speaking to him. you should go and try to find him.
nothing terrible will happen you are certain of it.
—
prince baelor was dead.
you had found out when after the battle men had rushed towards you, no not you valarr to inform him of what had happened to his father. you barely remember the aftermath, it was so chaotic you did not even get to see the look on valarrs face until a bit later where he seemed perfectly fine.
the room was quiet, cold. the only sounds that could be hear were the sounds of grinding in a mortar while the tyroshi witch grinding up what seemed to be a potion. maekar so lost in his grief did not even seem to mind the lady was in the room while he was dealing out aerions punishment, lys was far too close to tyrosh for your liking you decide you'll send word to your father later to not allow him in should he end up making his way there.
with the potion you had been making finished and a quick prayer to r'hllor you will end up needing it, you slip it into the pocket of your robe. you manage to slip out the room as maekar and the hedge knight begin to speak to each other faintly hearing the talk of kinslaying. being a kinslayer did not matter much to you yet it seemed to be very taboo in westeros, maekar in particular seemed rather distraught about it. you make a mental note to keep your past family relations a secret.
it got even quieter the further into the halls you went. you freeze upon the sight of valarr leaning over a desk in an empty room. you could hear the faint sniffles as his shoulders shake. he was so composed earlier when speaking to the men of lord ashford on how to properly set up a funeral and where they would burn baelors body. he looked like the exact description of a great prince. yet now he looked just as he should, a young man crying for his father.
with a few steps towards him you stare at his back from the doorway. you consider walking over to him and offering him some comfort. maybe you could try hugging him again. yet all you do is turn your back and walk out the room. you knew all you would do is just make him upset like you always seemed to. you were unaware of the eyes that had turned to watch you leave, wishing you had stayed and held him.
the servants who were preparing the princes body for the burning both looked alarm at your entrance to the room before bowing their heads. "i would just like to offer the prince a private prayer in honor of my lord if that is acceptable." neither of them can refuse you as you are now to be the next queen so they end up backing away, giving you a moment with the prince. his eyes were closed, you were happy to see they had closed up the wound on the back of his head so you would not have to do it. one of the men almost stop you as you reach a knife up to cut a small chunk out of his hair but do not dare make a move, too nervous of what you would do.
your hands press together and you begin to speak to your lord in high valyrian. you did not know if it was even going to work but it was like there was a calling in your body to try. you were so sure baelor was a figure the world needed and your lord would recognize that.
it took you seven tries. its almost comical, the number. but the crowned princes eyes shoot open and he takes a deep breath in. one of the servants passes out.
maekar stops speaking as soon as shouts of his name flood his ears. all eyes are locked onto the door before it even had opened. everyone had gathered in the main hall, assuming the ceremony would happen soon since they had been working on the prince body long enough. the door slams open and everyone stares at the man who looked so pale it was like he saw a ghost.
"what is it boy?" today was the last day maekar wanted any sort of nonsense certainly not from some servant boy. "prince baelor…" the room went deadly still as the boy took a deep breath like he couldn't even say it. "he's alive." every single person stood up from their chairs, other than daeron who was bound to his chair from his foot injury, in shock. "what in the hells are you talking about boy."
"the tyroshi lady witch," valarr sucks in a noticeable deep breath, "she came in and um she did a ritual a couple of times then he woke up." maekar without another word stormed out of the room and off to find baelor. everyone in the room paused for a shocked moment before rushing after him. daeron simply stared after them, the vision of dunk with a dead dragon flooding his mind, the vision suddenly catches fire and burns away in his mind as if it was never there at all.
when maekar opens the door he does not even know what to expect, but he does not expect you to be applying a salve to some of his brothers wounds, his dead brother, who was sitting up looking very alive. "why so pale maekar? you look like you've seen a ghost."
one of the servants call out lord ashfords name as he faints, managing to catch him before he falls. everyone else was seemingly frozen in place except you, who was taking care of baelor still without even looking at the group, and valarr who hesitantly took a few steps towards his father.
"my boy.." baelor's hand lifted to reach out to him and valarr practically fell into his fathers arms, sobbing while his father strokes his back just like he did when he was younger. "its okay my boy its okay. I'm okay." maekar looks to the back of baelors head and gasps as he sees the wound is gone. "my savior gave me a potion which closed the wound."
baelor gives you a fond look as valarr lifts his head from his father to stare at you. he could barely believe it. you did not even look surprised. "the potion was only able to slightly heal it, you'll need to drink it regularly and have the salve i am giving you applied daily until your other wounds heal."
baelor assures you he will while valarr continues to stare at you in wonder. he notices you're holding onto chunks of hair and only then does he notice the big bald spots in his fathers head. there were seven different spots clearly sloppily cut out of his head, the cut work worse in different areas, you must have been getting desperate at some point.
"how is this even possible?" duncan must have meant to say it in his head but he had spoken aloud. everyone in the room was thankful someone finally asked the question on everyone's mind. you kept your back turned as you continued to mix up more salve. it takes you a minute to speak as if you do not know how to put your thoughts together.
"my lord is very merciful. he knew today was never meant to be his final day." everyone in the room had hundreds of more questions to ask but you simply move to leave the room without another glance. "it is time for my prayer. good day." they all watch you leave. valarr can hear someone lightly as if they should stop you but baelor raises his hand in rejection.
duncan begins to sob, holding his hand to his mouth to quiet himself. baelor sighs and stands up, rejecting the help offered to him. "lets have this conversation else where shall we? its rather cold in here." unable to refuse him the room clears out all walking slowly to ensure baelor was following them, baelor lingered behind a bit his eyes on valarr who looked conflicted. "there's somewhere else you should be than here boy."
valarr's face contorted even more, he wanted to see you. more than anything. "but father…" he also did not wish to leave his father not right now. baelor however made the decision for him. "you should speak to her. she can answer your questions better than i."
you end up stumbling back into the room where daeron was sitting all alone. he had not even touched the wine in which was brought to his side. too lost in his thoughts, mumbling to himself. "how is this even possible.. my dreams they always.." daeron can barely believe it. the visions that had haunted his life, the vision in which in encouraged him to lie on an innocent mans name, had not come to pass. "your dream did come true. do not begin to doubt your powers now. i simply corrected it after the deed was done." when you finally look at him he sees the familiar haunted look in your eyes that stare back at him in the mirror.
"do not dwell on it." you say nothing more as place your stuff down and turn out the room. daeron is once again left alone with his thoughts. he thinks of a dream he had many years back. you were surrounded by fire looking as peaceful as ever with your eyes closed, cradling a dead dragon in your hands before the dragon opened its eyes. he had never thought much of it but now he was pondering it. maybe it was truly about baelor but if you could bring a man back to life maybe you could bring back the dragons.
valarr finds you outside sitting alone in front of a fire, your hands clasp together while you spoke a prayer in valyrian. he approached you slowly. you do not even acknowledge him as he sits down next to you. he is not close enough to where he is touching you. yet he is still close enough to where you must notice is presence.
he simply sits in silence, the sound of your voice soothing him as all his emotions of the day washed away. he would have to ask you what you were saying at a later date. he has a lot he should be saying to you. he does not say anything even as you grow completely quiet. he only speaks when you speak. "you can ask me whatever you wish to. i will answer you with complete honesty."
there are so many things he wished to say in this moment. so many emotions he wished to express. questions he needed to ask but he could only express one thing in that moment. "why?" you do not answer, simply hum curiously encouraging him to further explain himself. "why did you go through all the effort? the man servant said you must have done the ritual seven times before it worked." one of them had mentioned it in passing when he told them he was looking for you. the servant looked quite pale.
you don't hesitate to answer him, "you were upset earlier when you thought he was going to die so i decided to at least try my best to bring him back. if he did not wake up after that last attempt i was going to give up."
he's stunned into silence. "for me?" it comes out meeker than he intended it to. you never said anything you did not mean even if the other court ladies or men would find it offensive so he knew you were being very serious when you had said that.
"who else?" he is over come with so many emotions. regret for any of his prior words, grief for a death that did not come, and a new overwhelming emotion blooming in his chest he could not put a name on, a feeling that began to ache as you looking into his eyes. "i am sorry."
he laughs uncomfortably. scratching at his neck in the hopes of the lump growing there to leave. "whatever for?" the look on your face is so sorrowful/ you have no reason to be sorrowful. you had done more for him than you probably even realized. "i was rude to you earlier. i am sorry."
he racks his head around trying to remember what you were talking about, the day so chaotic his memories are all jumbled up. he suddenly remember your earlier conversation and his chest hurts even more. "do not say you are sorry. it is i who.." his words are so strained, his hand crawls up to grip at his chest. your face turns into one of shock as you lightly say his name. there was so many words that needed to be spoke. so much air to be cleared between you.
yet you say nothing. you reach over and grab the hand on his chest. the two of you stay like that for a few moments as your eyes do all the talking. the fire lightly cracks in front of you, your eyes glowed in the fire. he realizes he had never truly taken the time to look at you. you were truly beautiful. "let us start over." your hands lace together as it almost seems like fire grows larger at your union. you glance at it for a moment before looking back at valarr. "i would like nothing more."
there is no need to look back when there is a long future ahead for the two of you, for now you can simply try again. it is not long before a guard comes to summon you, he stands as far away from you as possible. valarr finds himself opening his mouth to comment but you simply tug him along with you as you walk back to the castle. "i am a blood mage. i have always been one. these people simply now see me for who i am."
"but you saved him." "yes. but all they see is i brought a dead man back to life. even if they like him… that scares people." he does not comment any more not wishes to argue with you. he finds himself furious but holds his tongue. they should be throwing themselves at your feet and thanking you.
the two of you enter the main hall hand in hand. baelor sits at the head as if nothing had even happened. a smile on his face as he sees the two of you. maekar and lord ashford look pale, the lord even had one of his men fanning him. baelor summons his son to his side, valarr hesitates to leave you but you lightly push him towards his father nodding reassuringly at him.
once he finally takes his place baelor begins to speak. "you have done the realm a great service. you have my eternal thanks." you simply shrug not even a smile finds its way to your face, "ill be by your room tomorrow with the salve and the potion for you to drink." baelor laughs, the smile on his face remaining, "anything you wish for you shall have."
you look thoughtful for a few moments, the room is quiet as they all await for you to speak again.
"I'd like to be married in the way of my lord your grace. that is all."
baelor looks confused for a moment before he speaks, "ah you mean with the fire pit? yes of course consider it done. but you know, you are free to ask for anything else."
"i already have anything else i could want my lord." your eyes flicker for a moment to valarr but your gaze returns to the crowned prince. baelor catches the look and his grin grows even larger, "I'm sure you do." valarr looks away as his father turns to his, his ears beginning to burn.
baelor stands with a light groan, "I do not know about anyone else but i am starving. let us go eat." baelor looks to his brother and holds out his hand to help him up, maekar hesitates looking between his brothers face and hand before grabbing it and standing. they must have had a very long and needed conversation after you had left. "there are a lot of people who wish to speak to you you know?"
valarr immediately finds himself back at your side as you groan, a deep frown finds its way on to your face, this was the last thing you wanted. valarr grabs your hand once more and your face softens as you two stare at each other. there was a long road ahead but the doors that had been locked shut had finally opened for the two of you and there was a whole other world on the other side.
it wouldn't be a quick process. your personalities, your cultures, your lifestyles, your beliefs, you two would continue to clash. yet valarr finds himself believe things will all work out when he feels the warmth in your palm.
