MAKE IT COUNT. — VALARR TARGARYEN
pairing: valarr targaryen x fem!maekar’s daughter!targaryen!reader
synopsis: in which it’s your name day and a tournament is being held in your favour. however, you hadn’t expected a certain relative who you loved for as long as you could remember to participate.
tags: targcest, maekar is a bit of an asshole, jealous!valarr, protective!valarr, yearner!valarr, a few not detailed combat scenes included, childhood lovers, aerion being irritating as expected, mutual pining, hurt/comfort.
word count: ~3.7k
based on this request. gif credits to rightful owner. [inbox/requests: open]
a/n: i got so carried away with this one :,) introductory fic on this brand new blog with my underrated husband!!! enjoy. :) likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated. english isn’t my first language. <3
Is one’s nameday supposed to feel like this? You think.
So ominously anticipating?
And yet, it seemed like it was. Being Maekar The Anvil’s daughter was no easy feat. Having many siblings, including one who was gradually drowning into his own pile of madness as he grew older, is also no easy feat. However, all of that had to be forgotten today. Especially, today. The tournament being held in King’s Landing was about to take place very soon.
Your handmaidens were tightening the seams of your gown specifically designed for the day’s occasion, crimson red lines stitched on the ebony colored dress which was hugging your upper body with its velvet fabric. Truly, how could such an extravagant gown feel so light? Another question that you took account of to contemplate in your bath later that day.
Unusually so, your brain was filled with many questions. You always had been curious about many things. Since the moment you grew into having the ability to talk and comprehend. A rather, irritating mannerism, as your father would call sometimes whenever you’d bother him with your silly questions during his Master of Coin duties.
You couldn’t help but think, however, of one person. One person who has never questioned your attributes and your curious nature. One person who would be willing to answer all of your concerns, your worries. Your very own cousin, Prince Valarr Targaryen.
Since the minute the young Prince had laid eyes on you years ago it felt like the gates of the seventh heaven opened themselves to him, and you, at the mere age of eight, were standing in the center of it. That’s when he realised. When his young brain had sorted it out, you would be his center. And he had to take advantage of that. Make you his, in any shape or form.
As the years passed, and the both of you entered your teenage years. Words, gestures and affections got bolder and more profound. Of course, with the blessing or curse—which you still weren’t able to determine—, having Maekar Targaryen as your father meant having the moon and the sun follow you at all times. He noticed. Noticed the amount of time you’d spend in each other’s presence, noticed the glances you’d exchange with one another.
Foolish love, your father would think. As the dragons in the Targaryen dynasty had left no trace since almost a century ago, the arranged marriages between the Targaryen family members had ceased. And with useful alliances being formed with other noble houses in order to restore the realm’s power after the impactful Blackfyre rebellion, Maekar had always intended to marry most of his children to lords and ladies of such sort.
Therefore, a few moons prior to your nameday, the Master of Coin demanded you restrict yourselves from interacting so freely with Baelor Targaryen’s firstborn son. And when that warning came, you swore you felt the earth dropping beneath your feet. Your safe space, your comfort person, the man who you could bet your life was a living gift for the realm and for yourself by the Gods, officially wasn’t allowed to speak with you. Embrace you and hold you to his chest whenever you’d feel too suffocated to exist or confide in you about his pressure as second heir to the Iron Throne, as you’d soothe him with your sweet words and your touch landing on his soft skin, his two-toned eyes getting lost in your violet ones. Which by now, he essentially thought was his favorite sight to behold.
So there you were, your hand maidens having left by your own command, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. Wishing there was the person you so intensely needed, to reassure you, tell you that all would be well. You could feel your eyes tearing up at the reminder of his absence, carrying the weight of living up to the expectations of your very own family.
Regaining your composure, you walked out of your chambers, having strictly advised yourself to look happy at all times. No one should be able to sense the emotion conquering you that almost could be defined as grieving, a man who’s alive and well. It’s your name day, be grateful father and the realm took the initiative to hold a celebration for you. You remind yourself.
As time passed and having already arrived with the rest of your family at the tournament, you had settled on your seat. Between your father and your brother. After the announcers had officially declared the start of the tournament dedicated to the firstborn daughter of Maekar Targaryen, cheers erupted from the audience. Your siblings and father remaining as stoic as possible. Showcasing the signature Targaryen expression.
As you fiddled with the fabric of your dress, holding it so tightly you felt your grown crumple beneath your fingertips. Your breathing got heavier, and you realise, that even a glimpse of the silver streak on his hair, of his two-toned eyes, of his figure, anything of him would be able to calm you down. And then it hit you, he wasn’t there. You hadn’t spotted him, and he couldn’t be competing in this tournament. Father had sworn to you he wouldn’t compete, he wouldn’t even consider it. Maekar would make sure of it. So where was Valarr? He despises me, you thought, he officially resents me now, your breathing got even heavier. It’s only natural he wouldn’t wish to speak with me, after everything-
“What is the matter, sister?” Aerion made you snap out of your thoughts, your gaze snapping to his. Convincing your father to also subtly observe the interaction between his children that was about to occur. “Cannot function without your Prince, not even on your nameday?”, a smug smile present across his lips. You let out a loud sigh, not even bothering to reply, being already so overwhelmed by the entire event.
“Let her be, son. It’s your sister’s name day.”, Maekar looked over to his son, with his signature judgmental gaze. “Try not to make a fool of yourself until this tournament has concluded, will you?” he turned his gaze towards the fighting area, while the shouting of the audience could be heard, eager for the two first participants to enter the venue. Aerion didn’t reply to his father’s words and simply let out a sigh of irritation as he sat back in his seat, as if he was a little child despite his actual age.
And yet, with everything going around you. You still couldn’t think straight. Ten and eight, is the age you were turning, about the time you’d been married, the court would whisper. And you sensed it, your hand was to be offered today. And you had no idea who would take it, something that sent a shiver down your spine at the mere thought of being betrothed to a stranger. More importantly, someone who isn’t Valarr Targaryen, your beloved cousin.
The kind wind blew a few thin strands out of your hair, which was held up in a stunning braided bun, sapphire jewellery decorating your skull, your neck and your hands, you suddenly found interest in your unique bracelets and rings. Fiddling with them, your gaze landing on your lap again. Trying to distract yourself from looking effortlessly depressed at your very own celebration.
A rider was heard galloping on his horse, arriving at the centre of the venue, “Ser Tybolt Lannister, of house Lannister, lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West!”, the announcer exclaimed. Cheers came from the bleachers, encouraging the young warrior. As he looked around, his gaze landed upon you, the princess who he’d compete for her honour. Her hand. Tybolt Lannister flashed a small grin towards you, confident in his win. You looked back, observing his long golden hair and overall lion-like appearance. The songs weren’t wrong about him being a living lion, you thought. The man a few feet away from you and beneath you wasn’t titled “Shield of Lannisport” for nothing. A skillful knight, you had heard. His opponent would surely be given a hard time by the man who practically competed with the sun for who shines more. Yet, his predatory gaze made an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach.
“And Ser Valarr Targaryen, of house Targaryen and firstborn son of Prince of Dragonstone, Baelor Targaryen!” the announcer exclaimed once again, and you felt like the oxygen had been completely knocked out of your lungs. Something you were probably sharing with your father to your right, “Fucking hells…” he muttered straightening his back and spotting his brother next to him. Who happened to be as unaware as Maekar was.
“You had no idea of this?” Maekar said sternly, the Prince shrugged in mutual confusion and replied, “No, brother. He had informed me about his absence today. Said he’d travel for a few days to Dorne. Not competing for my niece’s hand.” he informed the furious Targaryen, as the silver-haired man let out a scoff of disbelief.
There he was, in all his glory and beauty. Valarr Targaryen, your Valarr. On his horse, making his way towards his position inside the venue, his two-toned eyes practically being glued to yours. Almost finding your reaction to his sudden appearance amusing. He had missed you so much. Valarr could’ve sworn all his sanity had left his mind during the time you had ceased to talk to one another, and yet, he had been able to construct this entire plan. For him to be eternally tied to you. By law and by love, with no shame. He was the young Prince after all, he had his own privileges to take advantage of.
Of course, Valarr wouldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t let another man touch you, let alone look at you as if you were some meat to grab without consequence. Without him reminding these men, who were unworthy of your love and your attention, that the Princess’ heart had already been claimed a countless moons ago. His title and his privileges be damned, he was going to marry you. Spend the rest of his life with you. And no uncle or father of his was going to change that. Ever. The young Prince thought as he turned to glare at his opponent and was met with a smug look on the Lannister’s face. Making Valarr scoff under his breath.
You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, as the two men settled in their positions. Ready to strike. Your emotions probably had never been more tangled than they were right now. You were afraid. Afraid that your beloved would be hurt while attempting to rightfully ensure your wedding, in front of everyone else. Get out! you wanted to scream. I don’t want you hurt and ridiculed for my own sake! you wanted to scold him, take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.
But then you didn’t. You just didn’t.
You wanted him to keep going, to fight for you with all of his being. As this was the only true chance the both of you had to shamelessly love each other. To hold and to taste one another. To continue the Targaryen lineage together. Tied together by heart and by law. So you just stayed quiet, feeling your eyes slightly tear up due to the overwhelming sensation you could feel inside your ribs.
As the fight and also first round began, the Lannister lad already seemed exhausted from constantly having to dodge the young Prince’s forceful attacks. Meanwhile, Valarr hadn’t even dared to take his eyes off of his opponent. Observing him, one could bet his right hand the man was competing to attain eternal wealth. Hence why he looked so determined to capture his victory.
The young Dragon and the Lion were sparring one another on top of their horses for a while, Valarr evidently having the most impactful strikes. One more of those, and Ser Tybolt Lannister is on the floor. The two-toned eyed man makes his way over to the fallen knight, the edge of his spear pointing at his chest. “Yield.” a low rumble released from his throat, loud enough for all to hear. As gasps were heard from every corner of the venue.
Tybolt yields. Valarr advances to the next round. For your hand, your honour. And you felt like crying. From joy or from anxiety, you weren’t so sure. Not yet. However, at the announcement of his advancement you released a breath that felt like you had been holding since your eyes noticed his shiny armor. Since they spotted his eyes through the gaps of his helmet.
Any minute now, you were expecting your father to burst into flames by the events happening right before his eyes. Albeit to your own surprise, your father stayed quiet. Observant. Furious, you were sure of it. But restrained, quiet. As if he had internally declared to himself any further attempt to separate the two of you was of no use. Perhaps, Maekar Targaryen was confiding in the Gods. Praying that they would make the young Prince falter and trip. Make him lose as gracefully as he could and finally put this situation to rest.
The Gods sure do love utilizing the concept of irony. Overly so, sometimes.
By now, you had ensured the fact that your heart would leap out of your body. Just like that. Seeing a slightly bruised Valarr who had been on his horse fighting knight after knight for your honour, would surely be the death of you. Wouldn’t it? But no, it couldn’t be. You had to live. He was yours and you were his. For once and for all. You hadn’t let a word slip out of your mouth since your arrival at the tournament. Only swift and heavy breaths, gasps and exclamations.
The final battle of the Princess’ name day tournament. There it was. Whoever would win, would have the ability to demand as a prize what he thought deserving of himself. Valarr Targaryen stood opposite some Hightower noble man, ready to give his life if needed. For you. As aforementioned, you had barely spoken so far. But every time your Valarr would win, it seemed as if you'd speak to him. With your eyes, your mind, in some way. You had this profound feeling that he was receiving every single one of your internal phrases and monologues. How you were encouraging him silently. Advising him to hold on just a little longer. A little longer so you could rush into his embrace and never untangle yourself from him.
The Hightower knight was good. Actually, he was magnificent. And there was no denying that. You were worried that Valarr was too spent from fighting worthy warriors this entire time. Perhaps, Ser Hightower was more durable. And certainly undesirable, as you had no wish of being wed to this man.
The Hightower knight struck Valarr, almost making him lose his balance off of his horse. As he held his weight from the horse’s saddle he got up stealthily. The Hightower knight had turned around, boasting about his supposed achievement of taking down the son of the heir to the Iron Throne. To Hightower's dismay, Valarr Targaryen had regained his composure and was galloping towards him. The minute the knight realised what had occurred behind his back, he was swept off his feet. And Valarr could start sobbing out of hope, joy and relief.
He briefly looked up at you, at your face, at your eyes that were ready to release a river of tears from the variety of the nerve racking emotions conquering your heart. He pointed the sharp edge of his spear at the knight’s chest, “Yield!” Valarr yelled this time. Louder than all of the times he’s won so far. For all the realm to hear. For Maekar Targaryen to never forget. To remind him that fate works in mysterious ways.
“I-I…” the Hightower knight had lost all of his oxygen and certainly all of his pride. “I yield.” he submitted to the Prince above him. And there it was, the crowd was buzzing with excitement. House Targaryen had been victorious once more, as expected. Maekar Targaryen, however, felt defeated. As now, he wasn’t able to go against your marriage. Your love and adoration for one another.
The moment his victory had been announced, you let out a sob. Of relief and pride for Valarr. Your Valarr.
You saw him gallop towards you, taking his helmet off, now being able to clearly observe his two-toned eyes. Noting down how his very own were threatening to spill tears from them. “My princess,” he bowed his head subtly as a sign of respect, “my Queen of love and beauty.” he uttered and the crowd swooned. All of the Targaryen royal members were surprised at this confession of their young Prince.
You smiled, so widely your jaw hurt a little. But you couldn’t help it, not when you were to be betrothed to the man you’ve always cherished with your heart. “Allow me,” he looked up at you, delighted to say the next sentence, “to take your hand. Marry you under the protection of the seven Gods and make you mine.” you noticed a tear slip out of his eyes as he declared his urgent need.
“I would be foolish to deny such a proposal, my Prince.” were the first few words that came out of your mouth all evening. And now the crowd was cheering, enthusiastic about witnessing the newest betrothal, who would become King and Queen of the seven realms in a few years from now.
_____________________________
You were running among the halls of the Red Keep, looking for the man you so eagerly wish to speak to. After so many moons and words being shoved down your heart. So deep you’d like to believe they would disappear. But in reality, they never did.
There was a feast taking place in your honour, to celebrate the feast and the participants. But your feet lead you to your place, a little corner in the gardens filled with nature and many creatures to look after.
You looked around, letting the fabric of your gown fall from your hands, as you had been desperately needing to get here the minute your eyes lost track of Valarr at the tournament.
You had lost hope for a split second, not having spotted him anywhere around the garden. Yet, your breath hitched as your gaze landed upon his back. Valarr Targaryen was bent down on his knees, cutting down flowers, as it seemed. Purple tulips. Your favorite kind, you once confessed to him many years ago. At this very spot.
One of the things you had asked your mother before her passing, was about these flowers. As they had truly fascinated you in every aspect as a small child. “They represent elegance, dearest.” Dyanna Dayne would inform you while you were picking the petals of the stunning flower, noticing how close they were to each other. “On other occasions, love as well.” she grinned at you, observing your features and the expressions they’d make. “One day, I want someone to love me so much they’ll give me tulips!” you exclaimed so enthusiastically, making your mother giggle.
And now here you were, practically staring at your cousin, who was picking the same flowers in hopes of giving them to you. Valarr still hadn’t taken notice of your figure. Until he placed one of the tulips right next to him, turning his head around and meeting your gaze.
“Cousin,” Valarr instantly stood up, “I hadn’t noticed you there. Excuse me for that. I was just-“, “Stop talking.” you said with a stern tone. Valarr’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “What?” he frowned softly. You started walking towards him with almost an angered demeanor, “I said stop talking, my Prince.” and with that, you grabbed his face. Leaning your face to his and connecting his lips with yours.
All the flowers he had been holding fell from his grip near your footwear, but you didn’t pay mind. You slowly felt Valarr’s hands wrap around your waist and pull you even closer, the heat radiating off of his body. As your lips danced with his, you pulled away to catch your breath. Both of your foreheads are leaning against one another.
“I am sorry,” you shook your head, “I didn’t mean to cut you off I just-“, “I know.” he reassured you softly. Just like he always has, for years on end. “I missed you, my fire.” he let out a shaky breath, about to break down from the ongoing conversation. Valarr raised his hand to caress the side of your face, tilting it upwards to look into your violet eyes for what seemed like eternity.
“I couldn’t allow them. Couldn’t allow them to take you away from me. I would not be able to live with the idea of another man kissing you, touching you like I am supposed to.” You shook your head at these words, “I’m yours, my Prince. Eternally yours. Any other way would have been equal to death for me.” you both leaned closer as your nose brushed against his.
“I love you.” Valarr confessed as if it had been his greatest and yet his proudest sin. Holding your face in his hands like they were merely created for such a purpose. “I love you, husband.” you said as he grimaced at you, feeling at permanent peace.
As you leaned to kiss one another once more, the both of you had been thanking everything sacred. Anyone and anything that had led you to this moment, right here, in each other’s arms. A place you both wish you could never move from.
For once, you had anticipated your future. In spite of its heavy involvement in politics and royal duties, you had your soulmate by your side. Your lover, and nothing else mattered. Every obstacle to be met, you’d have him to stand with you and that’s all it needed for you to be content in your life. Additionally, so was he.
© tcrgarien, 2026
