The Song Of Dragons
Chronicle I | Chronicles | Next Chronicle
Synopsis: You wake up in the fictional world of a series you have yet to finish: AKOTSK. But you're not about to pass up the opportunity to make right the wrongs in this universe.
Pairings: Where the blood flows
Note: There's no fixed Character x Reader endgame (yet), reader's presence may complicate things for SEVERAL characters. I started this out of a whim because Baelor died. (Baelor come home, the kids miss you)
You've watched a total of 0 episodes for got, 3-4 episodes of hotd, and the 6 episodes of akotsk (for people that HAVE seen all of them, please forgive me, I have devastatingly not finished them all especially GOT and its very very abundance of seasons, and yes, I haven't read the books) before standing in front of the Ashford Meadow's entrance.
A sight you've only seen in front of a screen not long ago.
"Oh give me strength," you sigh, rubbing your nape before entering the archway.
Miraculously, your wearing not the clothes you had back then, or should you call it the future?
Nevermind, instead, you're wearing a dirtied and worn outfit, secured with a rope on your waist so you wouldn't look like a kid with a too big of a tunic on her
You suddenly remember egg and dunk in the inn.
A smal chuckle blurts out of you, causing few of the passerbys to look to your direction weirdly.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
Major freaking aura loss on day one.
You stomped your way among the crowds, your shoes barely protecting you from the mushy mud. You thought about how if you would've woken up like weeks early here then you would've ran straight to King's Landing and held Baelor hostage till the lady Ashford's name day passed.
But no, you arrived on the day of her freaking birthday, you don't even know if the series is already starting around you without even knowing about it.
That was why you're marching into the festivities with no clear goal in mind.
You look around in awe as performers, knights, and lords alike co-exist in the same atmosphere, you see a squire patting a horse aggressively.
What didn't register to you until now was the stench.
Eugh.
You freeze in the middle of the path.
Disgusting.
You gag, quietly. Tears bundle up in your eyes as you cover half of your face in a crushing grip.
You're fine.
You went into a light jog to run away from the smell, who in the seven kingdoms smells THAT horrendous, you're scared.
You frown, turning your head behind you as a last resort to finding the source, you're actually terrified, what in the world.
That was until you ran straight into a wall.
You swear you felt the side of your face reverberate.
Then a hand caught unto your arms, steadying you before you trip backwards.
The man asks if you're alright.
Oh and you almost forgot, for some reason, you understand what they're saying to you without translation, for sure they're not speaking english but somehow your brain translates it like it's always been there your whole life.
Everyone around you seemed to form a good ol bubble around you to pass, not one of them meeting your eye, not even their robes and dresses touch you as they pass.
"Forgive me," he says again, lower and clearer as he lets go of you."Are you alright?"
Oh you recognize that streak of white hair in brown in this economy.
"I-I,"
You're dreaming, you're actually dreaming.
"You've gone pale, Miss. Did I hurt you?"
You blink into existence.
"Prince Valarr, I-I'm sorry, I should've seen you," you cast eyes down, then you realize you should probably bow, and so you did.
Albeit awkwardly, with half of your body tilted down to a perfect 90 degree angle.
"Miss," Valarr almost stutters, looking around that almost seemed like a call for help.
"You need not do so.” His hand hovers around you.
"Please forgive me, my prince," you bite your cheeks.
Just kill yourself why don't you.
After a beat, he answers.
"You need not worry yourself. There was no harm done,"
You hear a huff in his voice but you're too scared to look him in the eyes.
"You—"
"Prince!"
His head whips behind him.
You take a small peek at the voice but Valarr makes it hard to spot him.
"If you will excuse me," he says, turning back to you.
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Excuse you. I mean—” Silence.
Then immediate regret.
"I'msosorry,"
The corner of his mouth twitches before it quickly schools away.
He inclines his head, formal again.
"All is well."
Then he turns and leaves.
The crowd around you quickly replenishes the space again.
You're bumped, jostled, ignored.
Finally, when the back of his head disappears from your sight, you snap out of your reverie.
"He's so.." you mumble. Your mouth twitches to a grin.
Dreamy, hot, handsome, everything all in one.
You touch your arms, specifically where he held you When. You. Almost. Fell.
Your stomach does the summersalts. A giddy feeling threatens to burst out of you.
You force yourself to breathe and start walking again, determined to act like a normal person and not someone who just met a Targaryen and survived.
Then your belly rumbles.
As you passed by a stall grilling meat.
Ugh you'd kill for a doner kebab right now.
Your stomach growls again, louder this time, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since like... forever.
You follow the smell of...
Well the smell of food.
It takes you to a very very much more crowded space, vendors yelling about orders.
Cooks cooking loudly.
Waitresses moving in lightning speed.
You spot a busy stall.
Super busy in fact that the laid out barbeque is left alone, people crowd the front of the stall, you don't see any staff from where you are, probably blind with the crowd covering them.
Your chance.
You feel guilty. Yet less than you probably should be, hunger is absolutely eating your organs right now
You stare at the food.
It should be long forgotten now should it? It's almost spoiled now at best, they'll only throw it to the dogs at the end of the day.
Why not just eat it now?
Your stomach rumbles yet again.
Your hands tingle as it reaches for the food.
You make sure your near enough that you can quickly snatch the food away. But far enough so they won't be suspicious of you.
Then a figure flanks beside you before you can reach it.
You snatch your hand away in milliseconds, looking down, you feel embarrassment creep up your face.
"One of these please," the figure, a man, points to the food you were about to take.
"And water if you may,"
"Coming right up!" The staff hands the hooded man his order. Your eyes follow as he drops coins unto the table.
The sight made you still.
The sigil.
The color of blood, a three headed dragon stares at you, it gleams from the sunlight directly hitting it.
Then, in a motion too smooth to be casual, he hands you the bag.
Your eyes flick up to the man, trying to peek up the hood.
"You are not in want of food?" He says, voice formal and gentle.
You blink profusely, you open your mouth but no words come out.
He tilts his head, letting the hood slip slightly, enough for you to see, but not for the throng of festival-goers around.
“Y-Your Highness!” you blurt, bowing quickly, eyes fixed on the ground.
Baelor Targaryen stands in all his glory in front of you, peoole didn't seem to recognize him, with all of them in a hurry to get somewhere and his clothes. Dirtied and muddied, his hood fraid at the seams, his shoes are soiled and used.
He lifts his head slightly, gentle eyes locking unto yours in an unhurried sense.
“Eyes and ears are everywhere. Speak carefully.”
You stutter, quickly nodding. Baelor reaches out, fingers brushing against yours as he takes your hand in his, he places the food in your grasp.
"That should do it." He says, voice calm and kind.
“The food tastes better when it’s yours to hold honestly,” he murmurs, hooded eyes on yours.
"I'm s-sorry," you tilt your head down, eyes casted on the ground.
"All is well." Your eyes flick up to him.
Just like his son.
You remember the Trial. Dunk holding him up from falling to the ground. His crushed skull.
You can't fathom how his death was looming over him, that days from now, he'll be on the ground cold.
You clench the paper bag.
He sees it, your eyes seemingly far away from your soul looking into his, like you're trying to find, or perhaps forget something by looking at him.
Curiouser and curiouser.
A beat goes and he speaks.
“My duties call; I must depart.” You snap out of your mind.
"O-Of course I— Thank you, uh, sir," you shift on your feet. "For everything,"
Your stomach grumbles once again, this time, physicsl enough that he heard it.
You pause, your eyes slowly lifting up to his, you see the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the hint of a smile.
Then as quickly as he arrived, he turns and leaves.
