COMPLETE MESS
You’re not entirely sure why you don’t want to marry; all you know is that you have no desire to leave King’s Landing—especially if it means being apart from your cousin.
ft. valarr x cousin!reader genre/warnings: canon typical creepy old man and canon typical targcest - reader is a maekarling but no white hair (described as "dornish colouring" but nothing specific). no smut because... i didnt want it to get like long for a first fic LOL. it is also mentioned that readers birthday during almost-summer (it takes place in kings landing so really isnt it always summer ?). no use of y/n. wc: 5.3k not proof read.
It was no secret to anyone that you and Valarr were close. As children, the pair of you were glued together whenever your family visited, and whenever you were back home in Summerhall, ravens would tire from the number of letters you two were sending back and forth.
“Val!” You squealed as the boy chased you through the gardens, giggles bubbling alongside a familiar warmth in your chest. “You won’t get me!”
“I will!” He calls from behind, little hands reaching for the air. “If you let me catch you, I’ll give you my lemon cakes, dove!”
You remember it like it was yesterday. The loss of your mother hadn’t felt real until you realised there was no one to read you stories anymore. No one to sneak sweets from when father wasn’t looking, no one to kiss your brow when tears prickled in your eyes.
It was no surprise that after your mother's passing, Maekar had sent you to live with your uncle and aunt in King's Landing. Still, you remembered the heaviness in your chest as you left Summerhall, the ache in your stomach when you realised the finality of your mother's absence. Your father, ever distant, held you with stiff arms before you departed, his duty as a father etched deeper than any tenderness. You wondered if he grieved the way you did, or if your longing for closeness would forever go unanswered.
Both Baelor and Jenna adored you, and those who did not know you would often mistake you for a daughter of theirs with your Dornish colouring, unlike your actual siblings. You, at age ten, had slotted into their family as if you were always there, a child between Valarr at three and then, and Matarys at four.
You stuck to Valarr so much, Baelor wondered if his search for brides was unwarranted. Once, you had come to him in tears at ten and four, talking of his son kissing the young lady Lannister, and a headache had formed at his temple. You had cried so much that the man thought he should be worried as to whether the pair of you had made promises you shouldn't have.
Someone sits beside you in the library, and you do not lift your head. You already know who it is by the way he had walked over, footsteps solid but dignified.
"You snitched on me."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
You ignore him, ducking your face down to continue reading your book about Queen Visenya.
"Don't disregard me, cousin. I know it was you, because no one else knows that spot."
Irritation flares up in your stomach. "Yes, because it was our spot. And you brought her there."
"Was?" Valarr blinks. "Don't you mean is?"
"No," you bite, scowling at him. "Was. It is not our spot anymore because that girl knows where it is." You slam your book shut.
He stares with wide eyes, unsure of how to move forward. "Are you mad at me?"
You glance at him, the expression of anger he was expecting being something closer to anguish. Rising to your feet, you grab your book and leave before he can get another word out.
It had taken a week for the two of you to make up, finding yourself so frustratingly lonely that you had no choice but to forgive him, even if you were still upset about it.
It was the lip of summer time. The winds were turning from the freshness of spring to the familiar heat from the south. Evenfall was coming later and later, leaving you little time to catch the stars. You were not long from the anniversary of your birth, having changed much in the years you have been in the capital. You arrived as a child, full of grief, and now you were almost a woman.
"Cousin!" A voice from behind you calls. Your eyes meet the short redhead, his curls bouncing as he skips to you. "I made something for you," his words are shy, blush accompanying his freckles.
"For me?" Your tone is as soft as his is. Matarys opens his palm to show you a small wooden carving, a tiny dragon egg. "Oh, Matarys, thank you. This is very sweet of you."
The boy grins, overjoyed. "For your nameday," he rocks back and forth on his heels. "Brother helped me because mother says I'm still too young to carve alone." There is a slight huff after Matarys finishes speaking, clearly not agreeing with his mother's words.
"Valarr helped you?" You ask as your hand finds his hair, brushing a curl out of his face.
"That I did," says the man, having somehow managed to sneak up on you. A half-smirk plays on Valarr's face as you turn, your surprise evident. "Did I startle you, dear cousin?"
A squint appears on your face. "Stop creeping around like that."
"I am not creeping," Valarr grins, then turns to his brother. "Mother is asking for you." The young boy pouts before scurrying away.
You pocket the little trinket Matarys had given you, sighing. "You are creeping, Val. You should know better than to approach a lady from behind without addressing yourself." Your chin tilts up with a small 'hmph'.
He laughs, outstretching an arm for you to take— which you do, hooking your hand around his elbow. Valarr walks the pair of you through the Red Keep and to the gardens, the almost-summer air making evening strolls particularly pleasant. "Father told me Lord Tully asked for your hand."
A scoff escaped your mouth, accompanied by a disgusted expression. "That fat old man is delusional," Valarr stifles a laugh. "He is thrice my age and twice a widower. Who does he think he is?" You huff again.
"Unruffle your feathers, cousin." He is still laughing. "Even if he wasn't so old, I doubt grandsire, my father or yours would give him your hand. What good would marrying a Tully do? They're already loyal." His hand slips over yours on his arm, his thumb gently brushing the soft skin. "Do you have anyone in mind?"
You are caught slightly off guard by the question, clearing your throat. "Anyone in mind?" You parrot back to Valarr, to which he nods. "No, not particularly." Your voice is quiet, as if you didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Valarr hums, leading you further into the gardens. "I suppose you haven't been around many appropriate suitors in your time at the Red Keep," he jokes. "And if Aerion were to have his way, Gods forbid, you would be his." You baulk at that and shake your head. "I know, cousin. I do not think anyone is pleased at the idea of giving you to Aerion." A shiver passed through you at the thought of marrying your brother- he was cruel to your younger siblings. You were only ever spared of such torment because he felt entitled to you.
You tilt your head up, gazing at the stars. "What about you?" You ask next.
He pauses, halting in his leading. You look to him, curious as to what made him stop.
"I do," Valarr says, uncharacteristically soft. "Have someone in mind, I mean."
You swallow down the sudden lump that had formed in your throat, looking ahead again.
Valarr exhales, turning to watch your face.
"Though I doubt anything will come of it," he remarks casually. "I am probably to marry according to grandsire's wishes. And part of me doubts she would want me even so."
"Who wouldn't want you?" You blurt out, shocking even yourself. "I mean, you are a prince and heir to the heir. You would be king one day, who would say no?"
Your words make the corner of Valarr's lip curl up. "Your kind words are appreciated, cousin. But I am afraid me being a prince is not anything special to her." He gives you a sly look. "I am one of many, you know."
A smile graces your face at his attempt at humour. "Perhaps you are one of many princes, but none ofisem are you." You hadn't meant for your words to sound so… gentle.
Valarr hums, that same soft grin from before appearing again. "You are quite a charmer." That grin curled into a smirk. "Do you say that to all the men whose arm you are on?"
You scoff, rolling your eyes as you try to hide a smile. "Shut up, Gods."
“Do you think you were born to be a prince?”
Valarr looks up from where he was reading, seeing that you had given up on your own endeavour. “You are supposed to be studying Valyrian.”
“I am. Now answer the question.” You huff.
There’s a snort followed by the clearing of a throat. “I think I could’ve been content as the son of a lesser lord.”
“Hmm.” is the only response you give him, resting your chin on your hand.
“Why?” He questions next, curious as to why I brought it up.
You ignore his question, replying with your own. “Is a lesser lord the least you could do?”
Valarr blinks, confused now. “I… I don’t see why not… but why are you asking such questions?”
You turn the book around, showing off the page you were on. It details the Free Cities, of the apparent sights there were to see across the sea.
“We have ancestors who eloped to Essos. I don’t know if I could do it, you would have to give up everything— your name, title, money, everything.” Your fingers point to the part of Braavos.
Valarr finds himself hanging onto your words as you explain.
“Do you want to go?” He blurts out. “To Essos?”
There is a pause.
“Perhaps one day, yes.”
“You will be of age soon,” the lady Jena brushes through your hair. “Less than three days.”
You hum, eyes locked onto your own face in the mirror. The dark colour under your lashes was hard to miss, evidence of your torment.
“The maester would make you a draught, dove.” Jena leans down to kiss the crown of your head. “I do not like seeing you like this, my girl.”
You look up at her in the mirror, a tired smile gracing your features. “I am okay, Auntie. Sleep has been escaping me in anticipation of my nameday, is all.”
She pets your head, reaching down to caress your cheek. “If you say so, dove. Do not let it eat you alive. If there is no one to your liking, I am more than sure we can look elsewhere.”
A knot forms in your stomach as your throat bobs.
You didn’t want to look elsewhere.
Your nameday had come quickly, and with it the weeks' worth of incoming celebrations, just in time to catch the last of the spring air and with it was the rush of guests.
Your family were the first to arrive at the Red Keep, having appeared in the evening of the day previous. Your father had greeted you with a pat on the head and a tight smile before retreating to his room. You greeted half of your siblings before darting away, successfully hidden from the pest that was Aerion with the excuse of last minute nameday preparations. After that, there was no pause in the constant flow of arrivals over the next few days.
You find yourself in the gardens, watching your younger sister Daella and Matarys chase after each other. There was to be a feast in the evening where you were sure to be passed around by dance partners, all of them hoping to make an impression on you.
The thought made you feel a little sick; you weren’t entirely sure why.
A shadow falls over you, making you turn. Valarr stands there with a warm smile, calling your name softly. “Mind if I join you?”
You nod, shuffling over slightly to give him space as Valarr plants himself on the stone bench, his knee brushing yours for a brief moment before he situates himself.
“Nervous?” He asks, his hands threaded together in his lap.
“No, what is there to be nervous about?” You say quietly, spine straight.
Valarr smiles, eyes flittering between his younger brother and your face. “Well, you may be betrothed by the end of this week.” He leans forward, trying to catch your eye. “Are you not feeling the slightest bit of excitement?”
The exhale that departs your mouth is sharp— almost a hiss. “It is all so… stupid.” Your voice is quiet.
“Stupid?”
“Yes. Incredibly so. I do not wish to be engaged to some lord I have never spoken to, and I certainly do not wish to be passed around like some- some toy.” You say hastily, needing to get the thought out before it festered.
Valarr isn’t entirely sure how to respond, settling for a hum as he looks down at his lap. “I know the feeling,” he murmurs, his brows pinching. “Sometimes I feel as though the women I meet see me for my title, and not for me.” His gaze tilts up to the blue sky, his lips pursed. “Alas, we have duties to be done as prince and princess.”
“Duty,” you find yourself mumbling. “I am fine to do my duty, I just wish I could choose at least one thing in my life.” You turn to look at Valarr, studying his face. The soft curve of his jaw, the spattering of freckles over his cheeks and nose, the slices of brown in his targaryen purple eyes.
“What would you pick?” His voice is gentle as he holds his gaze on the cloudless sky.
What would you pick? Taking a moment to reflect on your life, you recognised a sense of contentment and satisfaction. Your living conditions were comfortable, leaving little room for dissatisfaction, and there was no pressing desire to distance yourself from any aspect of your current situation. Despite all of this, frustration still bubbles in your chest.
“I would want to choose my wife,” Valarr’s words disrupt your thoughts. He turns to you, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You can feel your cheeks turning pink, but you are reluctant to turn away from his stare.
“Who would you…” You trail off, unable to find it in you to finish the sentence.
Valarr gives you a look— a tender expression taking over his features. His thumb lingers on your cheek before falling, his lips curling up into that half-smirk of his that only appeared when he intended to provoke.
“That is a secret, dear cousin.” His voice is low, teasing as he leans in to speak, the words for you and you only.
You are quick to lean back, the lack of distance between the two of you flustering you to no end. Valarr, of course, takes plenty of joy in seeing you fumble to create room where he had taken it, laughing heartily.
“You- you are so—“ You groan, pushing his arm. He is borderline cackling now, leaning over to hold his stomach. “Stop laughing!”
It takes a pouted glance for him to settle, though he is still beaming. “I’ve stopped, see? No need to frown, dove.”
You purse your lips at both the nickname and his continued teasing. It was a name his mother often called you, comparing you to the royal doves in Dorne. He used to call you that as a child; however, after approaching manhood, he dropped the familiarity.
You are pulled from your own thoughts once again when his hand meets your hair as he stands, stroking some unruly strands away. “I must leave you, cousin. I have to meet with my father about a few things, but I will see you at the feast, yes? Save me a dance.”
You find yourself unable to form words, nodding as his hand falls away from your hair. You felt your body wanting to lean into his retreating hand, but you steel yourself, straightening your spine. He shoots you one last look from over his shoulder as he leaves the gardens.
You feel a strange absence of warmth where his knee had brushed your thigh.
You were overwhelmed. Your hair pinned in what felt like a thousand places, your dress pulled impossibly tight. In fact, the bloody thing was so tight you felt that if you took a breath too deep, you would split it.
And to accompany that, you couldn't escape the view of the lady Celia Lannister- the very same one who had caused you so much upset when you were younger- leaning herself into Valarr as if it were his coming-of-age feast, not yours. She had aged well, to your own annoyance. She wore a golden gown, her breasts almost spilling out of the neckline. Her arm was hooked around Val's as the two talked, a pain twinging in your chest. It was entirely unfair— you were the princess. You were not blind to her beauty, but it was your celebration; everyone's eyes should be on you, not her.
You had already danced with almost a dozen men who vied for your hand, one of which being the fat Lord Tully, whose breath smelled of fish. You were relieved when Mace Tyrell, a man not far from your own age, found it within his rights to sweep you away from him.
“You look delighted,” Mace remarks, tilting an eyebrow. “Not a fan of the fish lord?”
You find yourself biting your cheek to not laugh. “I think you will find he is not of appropriate age to court a princess.” Your words are polite, but Mace smiles.
“That he is not,” he nods as he twirls you. “Perhaps I am more to your liking.”
His words stun you, your steps faltering for a moment. It sends you forward into his chest, and you inhale sharply.
“Gods, apologies, my lord. I didn’t step on your toes, did I?” You can feel your cheeks heating.
“Do not fret, princess. I fear I must apologise for catching you off guard.” Mace’s hand squeezes yours, a gentle expression on his face. “You must forgive me for being so blunt.”
“No, I… thank you for not trying to hide your intentions,” you find yourself smiling genuinely for the first time that night. “It is refreshing.”
Mace smiles, his cheeks flushing a little. “I am glad,” he laughs softly. His hand on your ribs slides a little south, curling around your waist. “I was worried you might find it a little uncouth. My mother is always badgering me about being too blunt.”
“My mother taught me honesty above all else,” you say quietly, reminiscing for a moment. “So do not worry, Lord Tyrell.”
“Oh- please, Mace is fine. Lord Tyrell is my uncle.” He grins, nodding his head towards a tall man who is seated along the west side of the room. "I do not wish to think of him when such a beautiful lady graces my eyes."
You nod, smiling once more as the pair of you start to dance again. “Mace it is, then.”
You felt him before you saw him— a warm presence at your back. Valarr says your name kindly, his hand finding your shoulder. “May I cut in?” He eyes Mace, who can only step back.
“Of course, my prince. Princess,” He sends one more smile your way as he leaves to find his seat beside his uncle again, eyes still lingering on you.
Valarr is quick to take his place, one hand in yours while the other is low on your back, pulling you against him. Your breath hitches, eyes wide as his unwavering gaze is locked onto you.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, the corner of his lips turning up. “It is no surprise you have men falling at your feet.”
“They do not fall at my feet,” you have to hold back from rolling your eyes. “They fall at grandsire’s feet.”
Valarr hums, looking you up and down. “Do you like him?”
“Who?”
“Who else? The Tyrell boy.”
An eyebrow of yours raises at his sudden tense expression. “I have known him for no more than a dance, Val.”
This makes him relax a little, letting out a deep exhale. “Is that a no?"
"It's an 'I have not decided,'" You can feel his fingers tighten at your waist for a moment before returning to their relaxed state. His silence irritates you for an unknown reason. "Besides, you interrupted said dance."
Valarr frowns instantly. "I wished to dance with you."
"And would it have harmed you to wait a few more moments for the song to be over?" You are not entirely sure what has gotten into you, never having been one to hold an attitude or sass.
"I didn't want to wait, dove." He dips his head down, eyes like those of a deer.
There it is again- that term of endearment.
"You haven’t called me such a name in years," you blurt out before you can think it through.
The prince smiles. "Have I not? I believe I used it earlier today."
You find yourself biting your cheek. "You know what I mean, Valarr. What changed?"
The man in question does not respond; instead sweeping you to the middle of the floor to continue dancing. "Val!" You find yourself gasping as he lifts you according to the dance, having performed it with him many times as the pair of you have grown together. You cannot recall how long the two of you dance, only that when you stop, you are breathing heavily, your hair feeling a little messy.
"Are you okay?" He laughs breathlessly, brushing his hair back. You hum, unable to pull your eyes away from the sight in front of you.
You would be a fool to pretend your cousin was not a handsome man, if not the most sought-after man in the Seven Kingdoms. You had seen him in various states of undress, exhaustion, sadness, and anger, but this side of him was new to you.
Valarr calls your name, leaning in to you. "What are you zoning out for?" He breathes out with a grin, amused. "Is it too warm in here? Perhaps we should find a balcony to catch some fresh air." Before you can even answer, he is pulling you with him, out of the hall and up the stairs to find a quiet spot.
The brisk, evening air whips you in the face, cooling you down immediately. His hand is still on your wrist, tugging you forward to the stone edge of the railing. You can see all of the gardens from this spot, even a glimpse of the Godswood. Your eyes land on the lemon tree below. The remaining fruit almost seemed to glow in the moonlight.
The prince hummed, sliding to move behind you. "Look," Valarr's mouth is right by your ear, his hand pointing past your head and at the ocean. "You can see the mouth of Blackwater Bay from here."
Your lungs stutter as he leans down to speak to you, his breath hitting the shell of your ear. Goosebumps rise along your shoulders and down your arms at the sensation. He whispers your name next, and you can feel your cheeks heating.
He drops his hand, using both to turn you at your waist. Valarr scans your face with a tender expression. "What is going through that pretty head of yours, cousin?" He whispers, almost a coo.
"You are very close to me," you breathe out, nervous.
"I am." He smiles, not at all indicating that he would move back.
"Why did you interrupt Mace Tyrell and me?" You can't help but ask.
"Why?" Val repeats. "Because I wanted to."
Your frown. " That is not a good enough reason."
"No?" He whispers, gaze dipping for a moment. "Or is it not what you wanted to hear? I am a prince; what I want is reason enough for anything."
"And you wanted to dance with me."
"I did not want you dancing with that Tyrell." He corrects. You swallow, trying desperately to decode his reasoning.
"Why?" You whisper, unable to trust the stability of your voice.
Valarr stands straight, bringing a hand up to hold your chin. “Because he does not deserve you. You do not need a husband who does not even know your favourite colour. You need…” He pauses for a moment, something vulnerable flickers in his eyes— a brief softening, as if he is about to say something else but forces it back.
Your face scrunches. “What would you know about what I need?”
He pauses, sighing. “I am your closest friend, am I not? We have known each other our whole lives. Of course, I know what you need.”
Friend. "And you think he could not make me happy?" You speak in a hushed tone, suppressing the lump rising in your throat.
His breath hitches, a conflicted look fogging his face as his hand drops from your jaw. "He… You wouldn't like the Reach." It's a pathetic excuse; both of you know that. "You would miss King's Landing too much."
"So in an ideal world, according to you, I would stay unmarried in King's Landing for the rest of my life?" You can't help but feel a little offended that he would want that life for you, or even think you would want that.
"I- no, I meant-" He stops mid-sentence with a sigh, stepping back and pinching his nose.
You step back similarly, your spine pressing against the railing. "Am I not deserving of love in your eyes?" The words are choked as they escape into the air. Your eyes burn as tears threaten to fall, and you sniff, turning away so he won’t catch you in such a vulnerable moment. You aren't even sure why you are crying, why his stepping back from you had hurt so much.
Valarr is quick to step back toward you and cup your cheeks, turning you back to him. "No, dove, please do not cry," He presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into a hug. "I would never think that." He whispers into your hair, one hand on the back of your head, while the other is rubbing up and down your back. He rocks side to side in an attempt to soothe you. "I'm sorry, that's not at all what I meant, I promise you." Valarr leans back, cupping your cheeks again and thumbing away your tears.
"Then why?" You sniff, hands clutching at his doublet. He gently strokes your face, letting out a shaky breath before pressing another soft kiss to your forehead.
"You are so dear to me," he whispers. "The idea of someone… taking you away from me, it makes me feel sick. I am a selfish man, dove. I do not wish to part from you, if I can help it." His free hand slides down to grab yours, bringing it up to press properly against his chest. "I am selfish and- and a coward for not telling you how I feel. How I have felt all these years in fear of driving you away from me, that you didn't feel the same… love as I do for you." Your breath stutters at the admission, your body feeling as if there was a fire in your bones. Every part of you wished- no, craved for him to come closer.
Valarr's hand squeezes yours, his other still on your cheek. "Feel it," he breathes. "My heart, it's full of you, dove. My sweet girl," his lips brush your forehead again. "It has always been you."
Everything in you felt like it finally made sense. As a girl, you convinced yourself that your jealousy was just a desperate need for his friendship, acting as if it didn’t sting whenever he talked about marrying someone else. You could cry, shout at him for not telling you sooner, but what difference would it make? You hadn't realised what feeling it was that was making your chest hurt when he smiled at others.
"Say something," Valarr murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, part of him fearing that you didn't feel what he did. "Please, dove."
"I… I didn't…" you choke out. His face begins to crumble. "No! I… I didn't know this- my feelings for you-“ Your words are rushed and nonsensical, your mind wavering between the urgency to explain before upsetting him and the struggle to find the right words.
He exhales, realising he needed to give you a moment to get yourself together. "Okay, it's okay," he breathes out. "Take your time, dove."
There is a moment between the two of you when you are just breathing, merely inches apart.
"This whole time," you start again. "There has been… something. I never knew what it was, why I wanted to do as you asked, why I found myself upset when you weren't beside me, why I felt a sickness in my chest at the sight of you with other girls." You swallow, hands trembling on his chest. "I am so stupid," you laugh wetly, tears welling in your eyes again. "How could I not have known?"
"Not stupid," Valarr cuts in, wiping away your tears. "Never stupid. Just… unsure. It's okay to be unsure still."
"I'm not," you shake your head. "I am sure. Very sure, in fact." You sniff, trying to pull yourself together.
He leans down to press your foreheads together again. "Promise?"
You nod ever so slightly, closing your eyes as you calm. "Putting a name to this feeling is nice," You whisper. “Love.” Val exhales through his nose, the air hitting your lips and reminding you of your proximity. "Did I scare you?" You ask next.
"A little," he whispers. "I confessed to you, and you started your sentence with a negative contraction."
"Please do not use fancy words."
He stifles a laugh, pulling his head back to look at you. His thumb strokes over your eyebrow, smoothing its tensed form. He takes a moment to look at you: glassy eyes and pink cheeks, wisps of hair surrounding your head like a halo. "I meant it all, you know." He whispers, receiving a curious hum in response. "It's always been you." He leans in to kiss the bridge of your nose, making you inhale sharply. "My pretty dove."
He was undeniably beautiful—the gentle graze of his familiar nose against yours, his eyelashes perfectly framing those stunning eyes. The moonlight catching the white streak in his hair gave him an ethereal look, one of a true prince. A delicate whisper of your name brings you back to reality,
Valarr's thumbs smoothing against the bare skin of your throat. "Can I kiss you?" His question is tender, and you have to take a moment to decide whether you had imagined it.
You find yourself tiptoeing, your lips brushing against his ever so slightly. He lets you start, mirroring your deliberate pace. He is slow to pull you closer, hands lethargic in their descent to your waist, not wanting to pressure you. But when a soft noise bleeds into his mouth, he cannot help but pull you as close as possible.
Neither of you can tell where the other ends and starts, your warmth bleeding into each other as his tongue licks across your bottom lip. If anyone were to ask, you wouldn't be able to say how long you two were standing on that balcony- only that the remaining heat from the evening had disappeared, causing you to shiver under his hands.
Valarr pulls back, pupils blown and panting as he scans your figure. "You're cold," he mumbles, rubbing your arms before unhooking his cloak and casting it over your shoulders. "Better?" You nod, nimble fingers pinching at his doublet.
His lips stretch into a smile, one of his hands slipping down your wrist to intertwine your fingers with his. "Do you want to return to the feast? It's for your nameday, may I remind you." He teases.
"Will you stay by my side?" You ask, your fingers squeezing his. Val's half-smirk softens, squeezing back.
"Of course, my dove. I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else."
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