The Last Valyrian
Pairing: Ivar x Reader Word Count: 4.5k Master List Prompt List (Requests are open) Tagged list: (If you want to be added or removed, please let me know.) @leftoverp1zza@somebody6468@cheesesandwichsanto@diorpar@tessakate@miksmom-blog@whitedarkmoonflower@imagines-halfpai@thenameswinter99@oddsnendsfanfics@ivarlover Request: A long one so I won't paste it word for word, but reader requested a Game of Thrones x Vikings cross over. Last Valyrian Queen meets the Lothbrok brothers and takes a liking to our favourite boy.
"Why have they requested an audience?" I eyed the dragon keeper carefully, unsure of the situation being presented to me. Northmen, insisting on meeting with me in company, something that I find bizarre.
The timid man nodded at me respectfully, and then scuffled back towards the giant doors, leading Ragnar Lothbrok and three of his sons through the great hall. Their eyes widened at the sight of me- white hair like spun frost, eyes glowing a deep violet. Murmurs rippled through their ranks. I understand how my natural appearance may surprise them; I am sure that I do not look similar to any women that live in the North Lands.
The uncertainty in their faces told me everything that I needed to know.
I stepped down from the dais and motioned them closer. "You seek proof," I said softly, voice steady as the calm before a tempest.
From the folds of my gown, I withdrew a simple, smooth stone- dark and sheltered with veins of shimmering silver. I placed the stone on my palm and whispered in the old tongue, soft and rolling like distant thunder. The stone trembled, then pulsed with a cold light, as if breathing.
Then, from the far end of the hall, a deep, low rumble answered me. The great dragon- silent until now-shifted. Its scales shimmered like liquid night. Smoke curled from its nostrils, and in the air hung a sudden scent of ash and iron.
The stone's pulse grew stronger, in time with the dragon’s breathing. A bridge of ancient magic stretched between them- and me.
Ivar stepped closer, eyes narrowed but captivated.
"You call the dragons without fire," he said simply.
I smiled slightly, "Why would I need fire to call my children?”
His gaze lingered on the stone in my hand, the faint traces of its magic still whispering through the air. My dragon had responded without a roar, without flame- just the quiet beat of something ancient and unseen.
His brows furrowed ever so slightly, his eyes flickering between the direction of the dragon and myself.
“You refer to your beasts as your children?”
I did not feel as though the question needed answering, due to its stupidity.
Ivar stepped closer, voice low, but eyes clouded with arrogance. “No fire. No command. Just… breath. Like the beast knew you.”
I laughed slightly, "Of course he knows me."
He reached out, hesitant, and attempted to take the stone from my hand. I, much to his surprise grasped my hand and pulled my arm away before he could take it.
His brothers looked at me then, wonder and wariness mingling on their faces.
I let the stone’s light fade. "Now, you know who I am." I paused and eyed the three men in front of me, "who are you?" I grinned.
All four men stood still, their eyes still fixed towards me.
I allowed the silence to grow louder and louder, before realising that not one of the three men were prepared to answer my simple question, not even Ivar. I, of course already knew who each of the men were. Most people in both the new and ancient world did.
With a loud tut, I rose from my throne and took a step towards them.
“Let’s see,” I sunk down onto the step closest to them, “Ragnar Lothbrok. Farmer, raider, king — and now myth made flesh. Men whisper your name as if it were a prayer, or a curse. I have heard many stories of you, Ragnar, yet I find it bizarre that a man of such legend has not yet uttered one word.”
I did not allow Ragnar to reply before moving on.
“Ubbe Ragnarsson, the steady one. Loyal to the marrow. You carry your father’s honour like a banner, though it has frayed at the edges more than once.”
Ubbe stiffened, but said nothing.
I moved my gaze to the next. “Hvitserk. Ever restless. Ever searching. You laugh too loud, drink too much, fight too recklessly- because you’ve not yet decided who you truly are when no one is looking.”
Hvitserk blinked, caught between offence and fascination.
And then, at last, I turned to the youngest. The one who had not once looked away from me.
“Ivar.” I let the name linger on my tongue like a taste I already knew. “The sharpest mind, the cruelest tongue. Broken, they call you. And yet here you stand-unbroken, unbowed, unashamed. Your brothers have spent your whole existence telling you that you’re not a man, and yet,” I paused, looking at all three of them, “you were the only Northman who had the balls to speak to me.”
A crooked smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes gave him away- wary, intrigued.
Ivar parted his lips to speak, but before words could escape another voice cut through the silence.
“We are wary, not scared.”
A simple sentence, spoken by Ragnar.
I laughed slightly and nodded, amused by his unfortunate attempt of defending his manhood.
“Enough of this, I know you, you know me- let us drink. Please sit.” My words came out as more of a command than an option, and I used my index finger to summon them towards my table as I walked towards it.
Ivar was the first to drag himself over, and the others followed begrudgingly.
Once we had all sat, finally, and all men had been provided with wine- that they all of course sniffed excessively, Ragnar finally spoke properly.
“We apologise for interrupting this,” his eyes wondered the hall as he attempted to find a fitting word, “situation, but we were guided here.”
I nodded at his words, already informed of the situation.
“I owe all of you an extreme amount of thanks.” I smiled, sipping from my cup and then placing it down carefully on the embroidered cloth that coated the table.
“It meant everything to me that my eggs were returned. I am sure that you are aware that this is a dangerous time for me, and admittedly I was worried that the eggs would not return. In fact, without your protection I am unsure as to whether they would have.”
Ragnar and his sons nodded, a silent way of saying ‘you’re welcome’.
“Why did you help her?” I asked. All four of the men’s heads snapped upwards.
“She told us that if we helped her, we would be rewarded.” Ragnar replied.
“Why ask us questions that you already know the answer to?” Ivars harsh voice echoed, his eyes squinted- he looked angry.
Slightly surprised by his demeanour, I hesitated, “because I want to see if you will lie to me.” I answered in a cold voice.
“As you know, Ivar, as the Queen of all lost continents and the last surviving Targaryen, I uphold ancient power that you could not even fathom. So instead of bringing your cold, rude nature into my lands, why don’t you accept the fact that I could have used the fog to kill you but instead allowed you into my home.” I held Ivars gaze as I spoke, curious as to whether my change of tone would affect him. Despite a small flicker in his eyes, he did not falter.
He did however, smile.
Smile?
“Yes my Queen, my apologies.” Sarcasm dripped from his words, and he raised both of his leather gloved hands in defence. Ubbe kicked him under the table.
From behind me, my sworn protector stepped closer, his voice low and firm in High Valyrian:
“Issi ao sȳz, ñuha dārilaros? Ao jorrāelagon nyke ābrar?”
(Are you well, my Queen? Do you wish me to act?)
I turned my head slightly, meeting his worried gaze. Then, with a small smile, I answered in the same tongue, voice light as silk:
“Daor. Sȳz issa.”
(No. It is good.)
Around us, the servants carried on, unshaken. Their eyes lingered on me not with fear, but with quiet devotion.
When I looked back at Ivar, I found him watching me, curiosity burning behind the sharpness of his smile.
My protector bowed and stepped back at my word. A hush lingered in the hall, heavy with expectation. The brothers shifted, their eyes still fixed on me, waiting.
I folded my hands in my lap and let the silence draw taut before I broke it.
“You have travelled far. You have bled and fought and risked yourselves to reach my gates. But what it is you seek…” My gaze swept over them, cool but not unkind. “…I cannot grant you. Not yet.”
Ivar’s brow arched, his lips twitching at the corners. Ubbe straightened, as if ready to protest, but I lifted a hand.
“Trust is not won in a single night. If you would have what you desire, you must remain here awhile. Let me see you, know you, measure the truth of your words against the weight of your deeds. Only then will I decide what is given- and what is not.”
A murmur rippled among my servants, but it was not fear. They smiled faintly, as though my judgement were familiar, expected. My people had always known: I did not give lightly.
I let my eyes rest on Ivar last, a spark of challenge flickering between us. “Stay, and prove yourselves. Or go, and leave empty-handed.”
“You must understand,” I spoke once more, “many people want to see me dead, and want to see the Targaryen name vanished. For all I know, you have been sent here to kill me.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Ubbe shifted, as though the accusation stung him. Hvitserk leaned back in his seat, trying for ease but failing to hide his unease.
Only Ivar smiled. That sharp, knowing smile. “And yet here we sit. Eating your food. Breathing your air. Strange assassins we would be.”
I met his smile with one of my own, softer, deliberate. “Yes. Strange indeed.”
I already knew of their intentions, of course. But they did not need to know that.
The following day, I informed the men of what their time here would ensure. I could see, through both my powers and my common sense, the pride that they held scream through their eyes. Yet, not one man complained.
I did not chain them to their duties. What would that prove? Any man can perform a task with a blade at his back. No- I gave them work and left them to it, for trust is shown in absence, not in presence.
Some mornings I would hear reports that Ragnar’s sons had been seen patrolling the harbour, or hauling grain to the storehouses with my servants. Once, Hvitserk was caught sneaking honey-cakes from the kitchens, though the cooks forgave him easily enough. Another day, Ubbe spent hours sparring with my soldiers until both he and they were sweat-soaked and laughing. I needn’t stand over them to know what they did; my people told me freely, and always with a smile.
Ivar was different. He was not made for labour, and we both knew it. He found his way instead to the dragon keep, lingering in the shadows, sharp eyes always fixed upon my beasts. Some of my guards grumbled that it was unwise to let him close, but the dragons are older than men’s fears. If they did not burn him, why should I?
I allowed them freedom in my halls. They ate well, they rested, they drank my wine and listened to the music of my court. In time, they forgot the weight of why they had come, their shoulders loosening, their eyes softening as men’s eyes do when they are allowed to breathe. That was what I wanted- for them to lose themselves here, if only a little.
Naturally, I grew closer to Ivar. This was due to two reasons- the first being that my favourite place in the entirety of kings landing is my Dragons keep, so in turn, that is where I spend the majority of my time. The second reason is one that I admit slightly less willingly… I enjoy Ivar’s company. I am unsure if I will admit that to him, though.
Often, I would find him already in the keep when I arrived, lounging as if he belonged there, his eyes fixed not on me but on the dragons. It amused me to see how he thought himself unseen, whispering something under his breath when one of the beasts drew near. I never intruded upon those moments. I only watched, pretending to study the curve of a scale or the stretch of a wing, when in truth it was Ivar’s expression I sought. Fierce, reverent, oddly gentle.
And so our conversations began- small, sharp things in the quiet of the keep. He mocked my posture, I mocked his endless scowling. He accused me of speaking in riddles, and I told him it was the only way to keep clever men from growing too arrogant. He laughed at that- a rare sound, rough and unexpected, and far warmer than his smile.
There was a strange transition one day, that neither me nor Ivar realised at the time. The mockery turned into bizarre versions of flattery, and the awkward silence turned into a peaceful, gentle one. His constant questioning about our way turned into subtle questioning about me and myself. Conversation topics in which I was not familiar with. I hadn't really noticed the change until one particular conversation.
"You always look different with them," he said suddenly.
I frowned. "Different?"
His mouth curved into a grin. “Softer. Less queen, more… pretty, gentle girl.”
I had not expected it. Of all the things Ragnar’s son could have said, that was not one. I felt a dreadful heat rise within my cheeks, and turned my head away as quickly as possible in the hopes that he would not notice the red tinge on my usually pale skin.
“You may be the only person to ever describe me as that” I laughed lightly, folding my arms and silently panicking while trying to cool my face down.
"Oh I very much doubt that." He said, an amused look on his face. Yet, for once his tone wasn’t mocking.
There was a silence after his words, but not an uncomfortable one. I dared a glance back at him, only to find his eyes already on me- steady, unflinching, as though waiting to see what I would do with his remark.
“Careful,” I said at last, smiling, “if you speak like that too often, I might begin to believe you.”
His grin widened, sharper now, though his gaze never wavered. “And if you did?”
I shook my head, a laugh escaping me though my heart was beating far too quickly. “Then the world would be turned upside down, and the dragons themselves would grow jealous.”
His brows arched slightly, that strange mixture of arrogance and curiosity written plain on his face. I felt the need to break the moment, to regain ground I had somehow lost, and so I said, "I want to show you something."
For once, he did not question, nor mock, nor demand. He simply nodded, his crutch scraping against the floor as I led him through a narrow passage hidden behind the keep. The torches burned low, throwing shadows across the stone, until the walls opened into the cavern that glimmered with veins of crystal and pale light.
He stopped then, gaze flickering from wall to wall, silent in a way that made my skin prickle.
“Not even my council knows of this place,” I said softly, letting the glow wash over us. “It is mine alone. And now-” I glanced back at him, lips curving despite myself, “-yours too.”
When his eyes met mine again, something passed between us, unspoken and dangerous. The kind of thing one doesn’t name, for fear of calling it into existence too soon.
I should have brushed it off. I should have laughed, or turned the subject, but instead I heard myself say: "Come with me."
He raised a brow, but did not argue when I gestured towards the stone floor, leading him down a narrow passage few in the castle knew existed. The air grew colder as we descended, until at last the corridor opened into a cavern lit with a pale, eerie glow.
The walls shimmered faintly, veins of crystal threaded through the stone, catching what little light there was and multiplying it. The effect was otherworldly, as though the place breathed with its own secret life.
Ivar's sharp tongue failed him then. He looked around slowly, blue eyes reflecting the strange light, and for once he seemed utterly still.
"Not even my people know of this place," I said softly. "it is a secret of my bloodline, passed from one keeper to another. Only a handful have ever stood here."
Finally, he looked at me again. "And now I have."
"Yes," I replied, and though I meant it to sound casual, the weight of it settled heavy between us.
"Why?" He asked, his eyes roaming my face, searching for any thought present on my face.
I pondered his question, and then laughed lightly, "I don't know."
The glow of the crystals made the cavern feel smaller, hotter, charged. Ivar’s eyes met mine, sharp, steady, and in that instant something unspoken snapped between us.
Without thinking, I stepped closer. He did the same. The space between us vanished, and I barely registered the chill of the stone beneath our feet or the faint hum of the cavern around us.
"You don’t have to say anything," he murmured, voice low but urgent.
Neither of us moved away. Instead, instinct took over. Our lips met in a single, fierce motion- neither tentative nor slow, but immediate and claiming. Ivar's hand rose to my cheek, thumb brushing lightly against my skin, and I pressed into him just as surely, our bodies aligning.
The kiss deepened naturally, urgent and demanding, a collision of curiosity, desire, and something older than words. In all absolute, upmost honesty- I had been thinking about this exact moment since the day I met him.
When we pulled apart, I did not know what to say. He looked at me for a moment, yet the expression on his face gave nothing away.
"You are so agitating." He stated. My lips parted in surprise, and a small laugh escaped me.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I haven't stopped thinking about you since the moment I came through those doors."
Before I could respond, his hand brushed lightly along my waist, and with the other, he pulled me close again, pressing his lips to mine in a softer, more teasing kiss. My breath caught, part surprise, part delight.
When he pulled back just enough to look at me, he let his forehead rest against mine, voice low and warm. "And… I feel honoured," he said, gesturing vaguely to the cavern around us, “that you’ve shown me this place."
I swallowed, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words, but the playfulness never left his eyes. "So now I’m both annoying and… magically important?" I teased, nudging him lightly.
"You could say that," he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. "But mostly… irresistible. Dangerous, even."
I laughed softly, shaking my head, the sound echoing faintly off the crystal walls. He leaned in again, brushing his hand along my back, and kissed me- this time slower, playful, lingering at the edges of my lips, as though daring me to pull away.
"We should get back, and we should keep this a secret for a little while," I felt bad speaking the words, but I meant them all the same, "only until I discover a way to protect my lands, and my dragons."
From then on, Ivar and I grew closer still. What began as sly remarks and stolen moments in the shadows of the keep became a quiet bond, one woven with glances, shared laughter, and a trust neither of us admitted aloud. The dragons no longer unsettled him- if anything, he seemed to draw strength from their presence, as though their fire mirrored something restless within himself. And though I never confessed it openly, I found myself seeking him out more often than I intended, lingering where I knew he would be, as if some hidden part of me had decided I could not breathe as easily without him near.
Yet the world beyond my walls was not so kind. Whispers carried by weary riders and trembling servants reached my ears: talk of enemies gathering, of plots and movements that threatened both my throne and my bloodline. Each word was a blade pressed against my resolve, each warning a reminder that peace in King's Landing was fragile at best.
It was then Ragnar spoke, his voice booming with the certainty of a man who had seen a hundred battles. He promised that no harm would come to me whilst his sons still drew breath. Ivar, quieter but no less fierce, swore the same. Their men, hardened warriors from across the seas, vowed their axes and their blood in my defence. It was not just an oath- it was a binding thread, tying their fates to mine, and I felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders like armour I had never worn before.
And in the midst of this, Ivar's presence became both a comfort and a torment. He teased still, called me stubborn when I refused to yield, and dangerous when I looked at him too long. Yet beneath the sharp edges of his words, there was something gentler, something unspoken. In every moment, whether in laughter or silence, I felt the truth of it growing between us: that neither of us could easily let go, even if the world demanded it.
It was late when Ivar found me again in the dragon keep, the firelight flickering across stone and scale. He leaned heavily on his crutch, but there was nothing weary in his eyes- only sharpness, as if he had come with purpose.
"Your lords murmur like frightened children," he said, without greeting. "They whisper that your dragons are unnatural, that your magic is… unchecked. They fear you."
I tilted my chin, unfazed. "Good. Fear is safer than love. Fear keeps them obedient."
He studied me, long enough that the silence began to settle thick between us. "But it does not win allies."
A faint smile tugged at my lips. "Neither does weakness. You of all people should understand that."
At that, he laughed- low, rough, amused. He moved closer, dragging his fingers along the carved stone wall. “Tell me this- your magic, your dragons… what do you mean to do with them? Rule your lords, or break them? Protect your throne, or take more?"
I turned my gaze to the great beast behind me, its golden eyes reflecting fire. "My power is not a question of what I mean to do. It is what I must do. My blood demands it. Valyria fell because its people grew complacent. I will not make the same mistake."
When I looked back at him, his expression had softened. There was no mockery this time, no sly twist of the lips. Only that fierce, unflinching focus of his, as if he were weighing every word I spoke and finding something dangerous in it.
"You speak as though you were born of fire itself," he said. His voice was quiet now, almost reverent. "No wonder they fear you. Gods know, I should."
I let a small, sly smile curve across my lips. "And do you?"
He stepped closer still, until the faint heat of his body brushed against me. "No," he murmured, "I feel… honoured. That you let me see it. Your dragons. Your magic. You."
The sincerity caught me off guard, stealing the breath from my lungs. But before I could gather a reply, his hand slid against my waist, his fingers curling as though claiming me. His mouth hovered just above mine, teasing, daring.
"Do you want to know what I fear, little queen?" he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of mine without yet kissing me.
My breath caught. "What?"
"That I’ll never be able to stay away." And with that, he kissed me-slow this time, lingering, savouring. His lips moved against mine with a gentleness that belied his words, though the strength of his grip left no doubt of his intent.
The dragons stirred restlessly, the air alive with heat and magic, as though even they sensed what was unfolding. And I let him kiss me, let myself fall into it, because for once, I did not want to resist.
His lips moved against mine in a way that was both deliberate and consuming, drawing me deeper into the kiss until the world outside the cavern ceased to exist. My hands, traitorous and trembling, rose to his shoulders, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his tunic. He was warm- so very warm- and when he pulled me flush against him, I could not summon a single thought of resistance.
Ivar's hand slid from my waist to the curve of my back, lingering lower with a touch that was at once possessive and playful. His thumb pressed into the hollow of my hip as though testing how much of me he could claim in a single gesture. I gasped softly against his mouth, and his answering grin was felt more than seen.
"You're dangerous," he murmured against my lips, kissing me again before I could answer. "I don't know if I will survive you."
"Then don't try," I whispered, my voice unsteady, though my hands betrayed me, clutching at him as though to anchor myself.
That coaxed another low laugh from him- rough, edged with want-and he kissed me harder, deeper, his tongue sweeping past my lips in a slow, teasing stroke that made my knees weaken. His hand shifted lower, cupping me with boldness now, drawing me flush to him.
I broke from the kiss with a gasp, my forehead against his, my breath ragged. "We shouldn't," I whispered, though there was no conviction behind the words, or the way that I studied his mouth, imagining all of the glorious things that he could do with it.
He chuckled, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "Then tell me to stop."
I did not. I could not.
Instead, I kissed him again, fiercer this time, my fingers curling in his hair. He pulled me down with him as he leaned back against the cold crystal wall, the contrast of chill stone and his heat sparking every nerve alive in me. His hands roamed with more certainty now, mapping the shape of me, lingering where he drew shivers, where he drew sighs.
When he finally pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes burned with something that unsettled and thrilled me all at once. "Gods," he said softly, "you make me feel as though the whole world is burning- and I want to let it."