#games of thrones

[soncee]

The Dothraki follow only the strong.[15]—Jorah Mormont to Daenerys Targaryen, A Game of Thrones

[pedrospascaled]

A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS | 1.01 - The Hedge Knight

[amaris-whisperer]

With Jace l Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst to romance, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, canon divergence Summary: You grew up alongside Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, loving him in silence while believing your betrothal was nothing more than a cold political arrangement. Convinced he deserves a lady wife he can actually love, you leave a farewell letter behind and secretly join Lord Corlys’s fleet disguised as a common soldier. But when the Triarchy ambushes the ships at the Gullet and Jace flies ruthlessly low into danger, secrets are laid bare in the smoke of a brutal war. Note: My Masterlist

The first episode made me so down all day. Knowing what was going to happen didn't make it hurt any less, so I spent the entire day giving him the happiness he truly deserves.

--

I remember the salt air of Dragonstone from the day I arrived as a child. My mother was an Arryn, and her blood tied us to Lord Corlys Velaryon. Because of that proud connection, Princess Rhaenyra welcomed us into her court.

I spent my youth running through the stone corridors alongside the Princess's sons. While Luke and Joffrey laughed and played, I always found myself drawn to Jacaerys.

He possessed a solemn gravity even back then. I watched him protect his younger brothers and saw his deep desire to please his mother. I fell for him early on, long before I understood what love meant.

When the realm began to fracture, Rhaenyra called my mother and me to the Painted Table. The Queen needed to lock down her alliances. She utilized my mother’s Arryn blood and Velaryon ties to anchor the fleet and the Vale.

Rhaenyra formally offered a betrothal between Jace and me. I was secretly breathless with joy, but the heavily political nature of the match soon hardened a belief in my mind. I wasn't a woman to be loved. I was just a vital piece on a war council map.

Jace accepted the match flawlessly. He was the picture of a perfect, loyal gentleman. He always escorted me to feasts and spoke with immense kindness. He always put his mother’s wishes first.

But there was no fire between us. He kept a strict, maddeningly respectful distance. He never stole a private moment.

One evening, we walked along the high cliffs of the castle. The wind blew my hair across my face, and Jace reached out as if to tuck it away. Then, he stopped himself and dropped his hand.

"The wind is sharp tonight," Jace said, looking out at the dark sea instead of at me. "We should return inside. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill."

"I don’t mind the cold, Jace," I told him, stepping closer to him. "And I don’t mind the wind."

He took a step back, maintaining that perfect distance. "A prince must care for his future lady wife. It’s my duty."

Always duty. Never desire. Throughout our adolescence, the cruel rumors about Jace being Ser Harwin Strong’s son grew louder. I loved him fiercely regardless of his hair color or his bloodline. The rumors didn’t matter to me.

But I watched the whispers deeply wound his pride. The more the court questioned his legitimacy, the more rigid and distant he became with me. He treated me like a fragile glass doll. It felt as though he feared his very presence would stain my high-born reputation.

When the war officially erupted, Jace flew off to secure alliances. The weight of his emotional absence finally crushed me. I looked at the impending violence and realized I couldn’t force him to marry a woman he only viewed as a chore. He deserved to find a lady wife he could truly love.

I sat at my wooden desk and dipped my quill in ink. My hand trembled as I wrote a final, deeply emotional farewell letter.

"You are free, Jace," I wrote in tears. "The alliance is secured regardless of our marriage. You deserve to find a lady wife you can truly desire when this war is won."

I left the letter on his desk where he would find it upon his return. I stripped out of my fine silk gowns and packed them away. In their place, I put on a suit of common sailor’s steel that I’d secretly gathered. The armor was heavy and cold against my skin.

I slipped into the dark of the Dragonstone docks, avoiding the castle guards. Lord Corlys’s war galleons were preparing to depart for the Gullet. Sailors were moving quickly in the dim torchlight. They were loading weapons and checking ropes.

I pulled my helmet low over my face to hide my features. I blended into the crowd of men and stepped onto the deck of a massive warship. My heart pounded against my ribs, but my mind was made up. I was fully prepared to serve the realm on the front lines. If I couldn’t have his heart, I would meet the Stranger as a soldier.

--

Now, all I feel is that the armor is too large for my shoulders. It chafs against my neck, and the heavy metal boots make it difficult to balance as the flagship rolled over the waves. I hold my breath, keeping my head bowed as footsteps echo down the wooden corridor.

Lord Corlys Velaryon is conducting his final inspection before we reached the Gullet. I stand in line with the other sailors. I hope the shadows of the lower deck would hide me.

The Sea Snake stops directly in front of me. His sharp eyes scan my oversized breastplate, then move up to my face. He frowns and steps closer. Before I can move, his large hand reaches out and knocks the helmet clean off my head.

My hair falls  around my shoulders. The sailors around us gasp, but Corlys only stares at me. His face turns a deep, angry red.

"Get to my cabin," Corlys barks. "Now."

I follow him into his quarters. The door slams shut behind us. Corlys turns on me, his fists clenches at his sides.

"Are you completely mad?" Corlys yells. "You are the Prince's betrothed. You belong safe on Dragonstone, not hiding on a warship like a foolish thief. Have you lost your mind over some childish lovers' spat?"

I grip the hilt of my sword to keep my hands from shaking. I look him dead in the eye fearlessly.

"It is not a childish spat, Lord Corlys," I say. "I left because I am nothing but a political pawn to Jace. He doesn't love me. He only tolerates me because his mother commanded it."

Corlys scoffs, turning his back to me. "You threw your life away because you feel unloved?"

"I freed him," I shout back, the tears finally burning my eyes. "I wrote him a farewell letter. He deserves a lady wife he can actually desire, not an obligation. If I’m to be a piece on a war board, I choose where I’m placed."

I take a deep breath. The image of Princess Rhaenys who had always been my role model pops up in my mind.

"I have always admired Princess Rhaenys," I tell him. "She was the bravest woman I ever knew. When her time came, she did not hide in a castle. She flew into battle and died with her dragon. I want to be brave like her. If I am to die in this war, I want it to mean something. I want to die fighting."

The anger seems to drain out of Corlys at the mention of his late wife. His shoulders sag, and the hard lines on his face soften into deep grief. He looks at me for a long time, then he lets out a heavy, tired sigh.

"You are a fool," Corlys says quietly, crossing his arms. "You have completely misjudged the boy."

"I have not," I reply. "He always keeps his distance from me."

"He keeps his distance because he respects you," Corlys say. "Jace doesn't see you as a duty. Only a few weeks ago, before he flew north, the Prince came to my chambers in secret."

I freeze, watching the old admiral closely. "Why would he do that?"

"He begged me to use my influence with the Queen," Corlys reveals. "He asked me to push your wedding forward. He wanted to marry you immediately, before the fighting grew any worse. Jace told me he could not bear the thought of facing this war without you as his wife."

My heart stops. The heavy armor suddenly feels weightless as I stare at him in utter shock.

"He wished for a life with you," Corlys continues. "Even during a war. He will never lose you, and he will never let you believe you have no place in his heart. Jace will come for you."

Before I can find the words to respond, a loud horn blasts from the deck above. The ship lurches violently as a sudden explosion rattles the wooden walls. The Triarchy has found us.

--

Jace stood in his chambers, holding the crumpled farewell letter in his shaking hand. Rage and panic consumed him when he realized she had disguised herself and slipped onto one of the Sea Snake’s warships. He turned to leave, but Queen Rhaenyra blocked his path.

"You cannot go after her, Jace," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice tight with worry. "The fleet is sailing into a trap. I need my heir here."

Jace looked at his mother, his eyes flashing with a desperate anger. "I already lost Luke. I will not lose her."

He brushed past the Queen without waiting for permission. He ran to the dragonpit and mounted Vermax. Baela saw the fury in his face and immediately mounted Moondancer, flying right beside him as they soared toward the Gullet.

They arrived just as the horizon erupted into fire. The Triarchy had ambushed the Velaryon fleet. Jace roared, ordering Vermax to breathe fire upon the enemy ships. But his mind was not on the strategy. His eyes scanned the chaotic waters, desperate to find the flagship.

--

Down below, the flagship cabin shakes violently. Dust and splinters rain down from the ceiling as an explosion rocks the vessel. Lord Corlys doesn't waste a second. He grabs his broadsword from the table and rushes toward the door.

"Stay here," Corlys orders over his shoulder.

I don't  listen to him. The words Corlys has just spoken about Jace are ringing in my ears. Jace loves me and wants to marry me. I can't stay hidden in a dark cabin while the world burns outside. I finally have a reason to live.

I follow Corlys up the wooden steps and burst onto the main deck. The scene is pure chaos. The sky is choked with thick, black smoke. Triarchy warships are closing in from all sides. They are raining flaming arrows down upon the fleet.

A stray arrow thuds into the deck right beside my boot. Triarchy soldiers begin to swarm over the railing. I draw my own sword. I'm no longer a sad girl running away from a broken heart.

"Defend the line!" a voice shouts through the noise.

A Triarchy soldier lunges at me with a long spear. I parry the blow. I step inside his guard and drive my blade forward. He falls to the deck. Another enemy comes at me, and I slash at his chest.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing screech cut through the sound of crashing waves. A flash of olive green scales tears through the grey smoke. It is Vermax.

"Jace!" I cry out.

Jace is in the saddle, but he isn't fighting with his usual discipline. He flies erratically, spinning and dipping through the sky as he scans the decks below. He is completely consumed by panic, looking for me.

"He is flying too low," a sailor next to her yells.

Vermax skims just feet above the waves. Jace is completely exposed to the enemy siege weapons. He is blinded by fear, desperate to find me.

"Get higher, Jace!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Look up!"

On a nearby Triarchy galleon, a massive iron scorpion swung into place. The weapon points directly at the low flying dragon.

The scorpion releases with a heavy, mechanical thwack. The massive iron bolt slices through the air and struck Vermax squarely in the shoulder. But he can still fly.

The dragon lets out a little shriek. Vermax tilts violently to one side. The force of the impact shakes the saddle, and Jace is dislodged from his seat.

He falls through the air and hit the water with a massive splash, disappearing instantly beneath the churning waves of the Gullet.

--

I don't hesitate. I unbuckle the heavy steel breastplate and let it clatter to the wooden deck. I kick off the heavy boots that were weighting me down. The sea was burning, covered in patches of flaming oil, but Jace was down there.

I run to the edge of the ship and dove headfirst into the freezing water. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. The water is choked with ash, splinters, and blood. I surface, gasping for air, and swim frantically toward the spot where Jace has hit the waves.

The current is strong, pulling pieces of wrecked ships all around me. I see a flash of silver armor beneath the surface. Jace is thrashing, his heavy gear dragging him down into the dark.

I dive under and grabbed the strap of his tunic. I kick my legs with all my strength, forcing us both back up into the air. Jace coughs violently. He was semi-conscious, his eyes rolling back as he fights to stay afloat.

"Jace, look at me," I shout, fighting the heavy waves to keep his head above the water. "I have you. Stay with me."

His eyes focus on my face through the stinging sea spray.

"You," he whispers weakly. "You came."

"I'm here," I said, gasping for breath. "I'm not leaving you."

A giant shadow suddenly blocks out the smoke above us. A loud shriek echoes across the water. Vermax is bleeding a little from his shoulder, but he refuses to leave his rider behind.

The green dragon hovers dangerously low, skimming the water. He dips his massive webbed wing and tail right next to us. The wind from his wings whip the waves into a frenzy, making it hard to see.

"Hold onto me," I tell Jace, pulling his arm over my shoulder.

I wrap one arm tightly around Jace's waist. With my other hand, I grab the thick, rough ridges of Vermax's tail. I pull us both up with a desperate surge of strength, securing our wet bodies against the dragon.

Vermax feels our weight and lets out a fierce roar. He heaves his body upward, lifting us completely out of the freezing sea. He turns away from the main battle, banking sharply toward a small, deserted rocky island in the distance.

I look back through the smoke and see a flash of pale green in the sky. Baela is riding Moondancer right behind us. She roars in defiance, dropping down to burn a Triarchy ship that is trying to aim an arrow at us. She keeps the enemy busy, tracing our path to make sure we make landfall safely.

Vermax flies low and heavy. I hold onto Jace as tightly as I can, refusing to let go as the cold wind rushes past us.

Vermax crashes heavily onto the rocky shore of the lonely island. The dragon lets out a low groan, collapsing onto the gray stones from exhaustion. I slide off his tail and immediately pull Jace with me. He is bleeding from a deep gash on his thigh. I drag him toward a large boulder away from the water.

I sit him down against the stone. I quickly tear a long strip of cloth from my wet shirt, pressing it firmly against his wound to stop the active bleeding.

"Hold this down," I tell him, my hands shaking from the cold and fear.

Jace suddenly brushes my hands away. The adrenaline seemed to erase his exhaustion.

"Are you completely insane?" Jace shouts at me with his cracking voice. "You disguised yourself as a sailor? You threw yourself into the middle of a sea battle? You could have died!"

"Seriously, Jace? Right now?!" I scream back. "I was trying to leave you! I left you a letter! I gave you your freedom because you never wanted this match! You spent years keeping your distance from me, treating me like a duty, a political chore for your mother!"

Jace stares at me. He doesn't seem to care about the blood soaking through his clothes or the intense pain in his leg as he confesses his truth.

"A duty?" Jace roars, grabbing my wrists tightly. "You think you are just a chore to me? I kept my distance because I love you, you fool!"

I freeze, staring at him in total shock as the words hung in the air. 

"Look at me!" Jace cries out, his voice breaking with deep emotion. "Everyone knows what I am. A bastard. A Strong. Every day I have to look at the lords who whisper about my hair, about my blood. You are a high born lady of House Arryn. I thought I was a curse inflicted upon you. I kept my distance out of respect because I wanted to prove I was worthy of you first!"

The anger vanishes from my chest, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming warmth. "I never cared about the whispers, Jace. I only ever cared about you."

"I don't want anyone else," Jace whispers fiercely. "I went to Lord Corlys because I wanted to marry you now. I can't face this war without you."

Before I can answer, Jace pulls me forward by my collar. His lips meet mine in a desperate kiss. It tasted of salt water, copper, and years of unspoken longing. It is fierce and messy, born from the terror of almost losing each other.

Suddenly, Jace lets out a sharp gasp and pulled back. He winces in agony as he shifted his weight onto his injured leg.

"Be careful!" I scold him, pushing his shoulders back against the boulder. "You are heavily injured. Stop moving around like an idiot."

He lets out a weak, painful laugh. His hand still tightly grips around mine. "We marry before the week is out. I mean it."

A shadow falls over the beach as Moondancer lands nearby. Baela slides off her dragon and runs toward us, her face covers in soot.

"The fleet broke the Triarchy," Baela calls out. "We won the battle. Let us get you both home."

Jace endures the blinding pain, dragging himself back onto Vermax's saddle with my help. I climb up behind him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist as the wounded dragon took off into the sky.

As we fly back toward Dragonstone through the clearing smoke, I press my ear against Jace's back, listening to the steady, rapid beating of his heart against the wind.

I know the war is far from over. But with his heart beating against mine, I know the distance between us is gone forever. I'm ready to face the war as long as I face it with him.

With Jace.

[userhotd]

FUTUR FATHER! JON SNOW 𝜗ৎ HDC

𝓟airing : jon snow x pregnant wife! reader

future father! jon who becomes twice as stubborn about your safety, much to your amusement.

future father! jon who starts accompanying you almost everywhere, claiming it’s only because “winter is dangerous.”

future father! jon who always offers you the warmest furs, even his, without a second thought.

future father! jon who catches himself smiling whenever he notices you resting a hand over your growing belly.

future father! jon who talks to the baby when he thinks you’re asleep, telling them stories about the north and promising they’ll always have a home.

future father! jon who melts the first time he feels the baby kick against his hand.

future father! jon who quietly starts carving a tiny wolf-shaped wooden toy during long evenings by the fire.

future father! jon who lets ghost rest beside you every night because he trusts the direwolf to watch over his family.

future father! jon who promises himself your child will never grow up doubting where they belong, the way he once did.

future father! jon who kisses your forehead every morning before leaving, lingering just a little longer than he used to.

future father! jon who whispers, “you’ll never have to earn my love,” while resting his hand over your belly, already determined to give his child what he never truly had.

future father! jon who dreams less about battles and crowns now, and more about teaching a little one to ride through the snow, introducing them to ghost, and watching them grow up surrounded by people who love them.

taglist : @pinkdoeweirdo, @lustedbby, @silkaurum, @sczlxdy, @starxs-s, @vlarrtrgryn, @killa-mermaid, @sockz306, here to be add <3

© userhotd ‎ ‎𐙚 don't copy, translate or repost my work without my consent. english isn’t my first language so sorry for any grammar mistakes or faults <3

[franzoarts]

The Stark Family

[foolishleclerc]

what is a crown without your love? - valarr targaryen

pairing: valarr targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader summary: on the eve of duty and separation, two targaryens meet beneath the moonlight and finally give voice to the love they were never meant to name. some promises are whispered in secret and meant to last beyond a single lifetime. warnings: incest i mean they're targaryens, forbidden love, angst, royal duty vs love. no use of Y/N. word count: 2.5k, this is part i of ii.

The wind that night was fierce, cold enough to feel like needles hitting her skin, and yet she didn't seem to notice, as if it was insignificant compared to what was happening inside her.

The gardens of the Red Keep lay silent beneath the silvery moonlight. The feast had ended hours ago, and the torches burned only dimly, almost extinguished. She was supposed to be in her chambers by now, resting after a long day, but her head wouldn't allow it, her heart ached in her chest enough to keep her from sleeping even if she had wanted to.

She sat rigidly on the bench, her hands clasped in her lap, her knuckles almost white against the silk of her dress. Black, of all the options she had chosen the one that was completely black, as if she were preparing to attend a funeral.

And it somewhat felt that way. Her heart had been sentenced to death, the love she felt had to die to fulfill her duty.

She could hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel, but she didn't even lift her head, there was no need. She could recognize that gait anywhere, the rhythm, the weight of the footsteps.

“Princess,” she heard him say in a low voice a few steps away from her, as if he were afraid to get any closer.

“Cousin,” she replied with the same formality.

When she finally looked up, she saw him standing there, hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on her. He was supposed to know how to keep his composure, how to pretend, how to hide his feelings, because after all he would one day be king, and he'd been raised for it since childhood. But his expression, his eyes, the way his lower lip seemed to tremble, betrayed him. Even in the dim light of the moon and stars, she could see the sorrow in his gaze, the pain in those mismatched eyes she loved so much, eyes that had always looked at her with adoration.

For a long moment none of them spoke, remaining silent, as if they were afraid of deepening the sorrow.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he blurted out, breaking the silence.

“No,” she said. “You shouldn’t have done it, Valarr,” she added, pronouncing his name softly, so sweetly, so gently that he felt his heart clench in his chest.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “And yet…”

And yet he could not help it, he could not contain the urge to seek her out, the need to be close to her.

They had spent years in the labyrinth that was the Red Keep, pretending not to feel the attraction between them, that force within them that seemed to ask them to get closer to each other.

Cousins. Engaged to other people. Pieces on a game board where it seemed their role was simply to submit and be dragged along by a destiny forged by men who had been dead for a long time, but who still had the power to influence their lives, to ruin their lives.

“I must depart at dawn,” Valarr said, pronouncing each word slowly, as if he didn’t want to, as he walked toward where she sat. “My betrothed awaits, the alliance must be secured.”

She felt her throat tighten, even though she already knew, because of course she did. Being the daughter of a Targaryen, just like him, she understood alliances, she understood sacrifice.

“I’ll be married before the year is out,” she replied, avoiding his gaze and fixing it on the gravel, as if it were the most interesting thing in the kingdom. “A good match, politically speaking.”

“Politically speaking,” Valarr repeated, the words sounding bitter in his mouth. Without thinking too much, he moved even closer, gently holding her jaw to lift her head so she looked at him.

The touch was brief, fleeting, but it felt scorching, as if touching her knowing he had to let go burned him. He quickly withdrew his hand, while she watched him with eyes filled with despair.

"Forgive me."

“Why?” she whispered, even though they were the only ones there. “Because you are a human?”

Valarr shook his head, closing his eyes and remaining silent before speaking again, his jaw clenched. “For failing you like this.”

“You haven’t failed me,” she began, standing up and facing him, their eyes meeting more easily. “You’re simply fulfilling your duty, the role you must play for the kingdom.”

“And you yours,” he added in a distressed tone, as if it pained him to utter those words.

They both stood like that, so close that they could feel the warmth emanating from each other in contrast to the cold of the night, but at the same time so far apart that an oppression had settled in their chests.

They could have gotten closer, they could have closed the distance between them if they wanted to, and the gods knew how much they wanted to, but they couldn't.

“I tried,” he began, the composure he’d been trying so hard to maintain cracking, not completely, but enough to make her want to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be all right, that this was how things were meant to be. “Seven hells, I swear I really tried,” he murmured, her name sounding dangerous on his lips, like a sin he was tempted to succumb to. “To be the son my father expects, the heir the kingdom needs, the man my betrothed deserves. I’ve prayed, I’ve reasoned, I’ve tried to bury all these feelings so deep I thought they were dead.”

“But?” she breathed.

“But it was all in vain, because every time you enter the room, everything I thought was buried, everything I thought was forgotten and overcome, rises again like a dragon from the ashes.”

Valarr's words felt like a direct blow to her heart, she felt her knees seem to weaken, almost wobbly from the intensity, the feeling, with which he was looking at her, the sincerity with which he uttered all those words.

“You can’t say that to me, Valarr,” she whispered, averting her gaze because she knew that if she continued to look at him, she would eventually break down. “You’re not being fair.”

He raised his hand, gently placing it on her cheek to make her look at him again, revealing her eyes glistening with tears. Her name escaped his lips, feeling like a prayer, a plea.

“I couldn’t keep it inside any longer, every time my eyes fall on you I feel my heart trying to escape from my chest to go to you, my hands tremble longing to touch you, everything in me asks me to please keep you close.”

A new silence fell between them, but it didn't last long because she spoke, her voice trembling, broken. "Do you think I don't feel it? That I'm immune?" she questioned, her voice filled with pain and grief. "Do you think it's easy for me? I've always done my duty, smiled when I had to, spoken only when I was allowed, and submitted to an arranged marriage because that's supposed to be the only value I have." She paused, closing her eyes to savor Valarr's touch, the way he held her cheek as if she were the most precious thing he owned. "I've knelt in the sept every day since the news reached me, praying, begging for the strength to try to love the man I'm supposed to marry… But every prayer ends the same way."

Valarr whispered her name with equal parts gentleness, adoration, and sorrow.

“With you, you’re the only thing I can think about when I imagine getting married, taking vows, having the ceremony that will bind me to someone else for life,” she confessed, letting out a sob. “Because it’s always been you, Valarr.”

The last vestige of control he had was shattered.

Raising his other hand, he cupped her face in both hands, while she placed her palms on his chest, feeling his heart pound under her touch, as if it beat purely and exclusively for her. He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the closeness, a refuge in the cold night.

The world beyond them seemed to blur: the throne, the banners, the weight of their names. There was only breath, heartbeats, and the unbearable truth that suffocated them.

They couldn't, they shouldn't. There was a duty to fulfill, agreements they couldn't break even if they wanted to. It was something above them, something bigger than them.

“My heart and my soul are yours,” he said, the words low and reverent, as though spoken before the Seven themselves. “In this life and in the next ones.”

Her breath hitched.

“I would look for you,” he continued, voice rough now, stripped of prince and heir and duty. "I would find you in every life, no matter what. Whether we were born as princes or paupers, as strangers across a crowded market or enemies on a battlefield. I would know you. I would feel you," his thumb brushed over her cheek, reverent. "Because I believe we are bound to find each other over and over again. I believe our love transcends time, I believe it transcends life itself. The gods may place crowns upon our heads and chains upon our wrists, but they cannot unmake what we are to one another, what we feel to each other."

Tears slipped down her cheeks then, though she smiled through them, something fragile but luminous.

“You speak of other lives,” she said softly. “And yet in this one, we belong to others.”

His eyes closed briefly, as though the words had wounded him. “I know,” he replied, the truth between them, cruel and unyielding. “If I weren’t who I am, if I were only Valarr…”

“You are only Valarr,” she interrupted gently. “When you are with me.”

The simplicity of those words and the love, the longing with which she looked at him, ended up completely disarming him.

At that moment the prince leaned towards her with a slowness that echoed the centuries of his lineage, not like a conqueror claiming a trophy, nor like a thief in the night snatching a forbidden secret, but like a man on the edge of the abyss, memorizing every detail to carry with him, like a memory to treasure in moments when everything seemed to collapse, when life no longer had any meaning.

His lips met hers in an initial brush as soft as the feathers of the birds they loved to watch together as children, yet charged with a desperation that burned like the Valyrian fire coursing through both their veins. The kiss deepened, slow at first, as if time itself had stopped to allow them to savor every stolen second, as if the gods were showing them a measure of compassion, a few seconds where they could succumb to what they felt before they had to relinquish it forever. Her hands, trembling with the weight of the inevitable, rose to rest at the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in the strands of his hair, like threads of destiny she refused to let go of.

It was a reverent kiss, like an act of worship before a living altar, where every movement of their lips was a silent prayer. Begging for forgiveness of the sins that the crown and their names compelled them to commit, for the devotion that throbbed in their chests like a wounded heart, and for the piercing pain of a loss that already settled upon them like an impending storm, drawing near to destroy everything in its path.

She felt the warmth of his breath mingling with hers, an exchange of souls that transcended the flesh, where the salty taste of the tears they were both shedding melted into the sweetness of a love that could never be. The intensity grew like an unstoppable tide, their bodies pressed closer, as if they wanted to merge into one, defying the cruel fate that sought to tear them apart.

Each caress of their tongues was a whisper of broken promises and shattered dreams, a whirlwind of emotions that engulfed them in a vortex of passion and melancholy. The whole situation was romantic, because of the purity of the feelings between them, a bond forged in the fire of years past. But it was also tragic, dramatic, and desolate, because they both knew that this moment was ephemeral, a temporary and fleeting refuge before the inevitable farewell to fulfill their pacts.

When they finally parted, their lips swollen and their breath ragged, their foreheads remained pressed together, an invisible bridge keeping their souls connected. Their eyes met, reflecting everything that kiss had stirred in them both, everything they were feeling in that moment: a mixture of eternal longing, a love that burned brighter than any crown, and the crushing weight of what would come next, the unforgiving world waiting to claim its due.

“In another life,” she whispered.

“In every life,” he corrected, reinforcing his belief that they were destined to always meet, that he would always find her even if life put obstacles in his way.

It was then that they heard the midnight chimes, reality falling upon them with a suffocating weight, which seemed to want to crush them, crush their illusions, their hearts.

It was as if with each chime the gods were mocking them, reminding them that duty called.

A sigh escaped Valarr's lips, gathering all his strength to pull away from her, to stop clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping him standing. And quickly, the cold filled the space between them, as if trying to extinguish the flames between them, as if trying to put out their fires.

“I will carry this in my heart forever,” he said. “It will always be you, no matter what happens, no matter who comes or what they do, you will always own my heart.”

“I will too,” she replied in a broken whisper, as if the mere act of uttering those words hurt more than a thousand needles piercing her skin.

For a moment they both stood facing each other, memorizing each other's shape under the silvery moonlight, as if they feared that turning around would betray them and they would forget each other, even though they knew it was impossible.

They could never forget each other.

And so, she watched him leave, walking uncertainly, not wanting to go far, but knowing that it was what he had to do.

She wanted him to turn around, she wanted one last look, but she also knew that was a terrible idea, because it would only prolong the suffering for both of them.

It felt like being in hell, paying for crimes they hadn't committed, and it hurt terribly.

Some loves were not meant to be fully experienced.

And yet they could end up being eternal.

[thelittlebirdandthemeandog]

How can you call yourself a fan of an author or his story and at the same time humiliate and hurt him in front of his own fanbase and a colleague in a public meeting?

How can you look into the eyes of a man who has called the Starks and Daenerys his only children, since him and his wife had infertility problems, and say that he has no desire to see his story come to an end?

How can you look into the eyes of a man who sacrificed his time and his mind and his passion and his heart to create a story that millions of people love and tell him that none of this matters because he's an old man now and his life is now winding down and he should leave the conclusion of his life's work to the colleague who sits next to him?

And how do you think that colleague must feel knowing how many sacrifices and sleepless nights there are to reach the end of a book in seeing his colleague so mistreated by his own fanbase when he himself said that he could never accept it and that their styles are too different?

[ i am talking about the person at Worldcon that said to Martin that he is too old and ready to die and that he should let Sanderson - that was right next to him - wrote the last 2 books. ]