☆ ──꒰🗡️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚ KILLING FOR COMPANY
( VALARR TARGARYEN X READER )
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ Valarr is not a man of many words, but he will make sure that you understand who you belong to
contains! violence, death, targcest, suggestive content requested material
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the dust almost choked out the smell of horse sweat and grass. almost. you scrunched your nose and tried to strategically only breathe in the scent of your crushed lavender perfume, but it was mostly useless.
you watched as the knights, lords sons and common men alike all flitted restlessly around, either atop their steeds or on the ground, inspecting their armour to make sure it was in the most perfect of conditions for the tourney; if they couldn’t win, perhaps they could look good enough to find themselves a wife.
ser Berenger steered his stallion toward the royal box, his armour gleaming under the midday sun, the serpent on his breastplate so intricate it seemed to snake and writhe around in the shadows and light that bounced upon its metal scales. he looked up at you, eyes gleaming with hope, “my lady,” he called, pointing his lance up towards the box, “grant me your favour, and i shall carve the prince from his saddle in your honour.”
you smiled, a shy curve of your lips. ser Berenger was a handsome man: blonde and broad framed. he was the son of a lord, and a very good hunter. the man was one of the better options for a targaryen princess to wed, even if he was a bit dull. you untied a pale purple scarf from your hair and leaned over the railing.
“ride well, ser.” you dropped the fabric and he caught it as it fluttered down, tying it tightly around the hilt of his lance.
in the distance, Valarr sat atop his great black charger. his face remained a mask of stone—as it always did—eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, watching your silk scarf cling to somewhere it didn’t belong.
the herald blew the horn. the clash of lance and armour sounded like a thunderclap as Valarr hit ser Berenger with the force of a landslide. his lance was shattered into splinters, and the blonde man was flung backwards, armour clattering violently against the hard earth.
the crowd roared, two thousand hands coming together to celebrate the unhorsing. but Valarr did not celebrate. no, not yet. he spurred his horse forward, the animals hooves drumming a frantic rhythm. he leapt from the saddle before the horse had even stopped.
“you dared take my favour,” Valarr said, voice low.
the other man groaned, struggling to sit up, still winded. “it was but a game, my prince—”
Valarr didn’t let him finish. he seized a mace from the dirt, discarded from a previous joust, and lifted it above his head.
you gasped but didn’t look away, your hand darting out to grip your fathers arm out of fear.
Valarr’s first blow broke ser Berenger’s visor, the steel crumpling as if it were made of copper. the second crushed his jaw and pulled a ragged scream from the man’s mouth. the third and fourth sounded wet; the mace was bloodied, chunks of facial viscera clinging to it and being dirtied on the ground. Valarr continued to bring it down until the knight stopped moving beneath the heavy metal, until he was naught but a mangled piece of flesh. he stood over the corpse, chest heaving, blood splattered across his pale cheeks.
the body was dragged away by two green-faced squires who desperately tried to look away from his mangled face. the day continued on, and Valarr remained victorious throughout the entirety of it.
when nightfall came, you retreated to your tent despite begging your father to let you sleep in his with him, the gore of the morning still fresh on your mind. Maekar was stern as ever and banished you to your own makeshift chamber with a pat on the cheek.
you lay beneath your sheets, the flickering light of a single candle flickering across the walls of the tent, making strange shadows dance around the linens, as if mocking you in your wakefulness with each shape that almost resembled a moving mace and a cracked face. a shadow eclipsed the light as the tent flap opened.
Valarr stepped inside. he had washed the blood from his skin, but the tang of iron still clung to him, like death itself had shackled itself to his bones. he had exchanged his knights armour for something softer and quieter, and moved with almost no sound, leather boots pressing softly into the rugs. he sat on the edge of your bed—a cot draped in red and black fabrics, a lambs skin over your pillow so you could sleep in luxury—and the mattress dipped under his weight.
you stirred, moving your eyes from their place on the tent’s wall and blinking up at him in the dimness. “cousin?” you whispered, “what is it?”
he reached out, thumb grazing your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw and watching you as he did so, like he was waiting for you to startle like a spooked rabbit ready to bound away. his hand lingered then slid down to the column of your throat. your pulse fluttered for a reason you didn’t know. maybe it was the remnants of earlier in the day.
“were you frightened?” he asked, “when i killed him?”
you shuddered, remembering the sound that had come from the dead man as Valarr stole away his life. “yes.” your fingers dug into the linen sheet, pulling it up to your chin, “i’ve never seen you… like that.”
Valarr leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating through his tunic. he shifted and his thigh brushed up against your hip through the sheets. “do you know why i did it?” he asked.
you shook your head slowly, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes locked onto his mismatched ones.
“because i cannot have another man after you like that,” he murmured, “do you understand?”
“he was only asking for a favour.”
Valarr leaned down, lips hovering just an inch from your face, his breath warm. “he had more in mind for you than getting a favour. i will not tolerate another man dreaming of you.” he shifted again, pressing his weight more firmly against you, the suggestion of his desire hard and insistent against you. “you are to be mine, cousin. now, do you understand? answer me, briefly.”
you nodded quickly, a strange heat blooming down below. “yes. yes, Valarr.”
he lifted his hand from your neck and moved it back to your cheek, stroking your cheek with his thumb tenderly until finally backing away entirely. “good girl.”
