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Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence.
Overall Tags: targcest, smut, blood, canon typical violence, no use of y/n.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
You held on tightly to your fatherâs middle as your sobs seemed to be never-ending. A mix of relief and disbelief kept you from even thinking about following protocol. You should have courteously bowed, kept your distance, and only then offered him a hug. Yet, those rules meant nothing to you right now, as you fluctuated between the relief of your fatherâs protection and the ever-growing punishment that was to come once he found out what had happened to Aerion.
And as your father held you, unaware of what had happened, he seemed cautious, almost detached. You werenât sure if he had breathed once since you had dropped into his arms, standing so still that you would think him a statue if you hadnât seen him march towards you.
âAre you hurt?â he broke the silence without moving a muscle; his voice sounded equally as distant as his touch. You swallowed a sob and took a sobering breath. You needed to tell him that Aerion was hurt. He needed help.
âI am fine, Father. Aerion⊠Aerion is in my chambers; he is badly hurt,â you replied, hiding your face further into his doublet. You didnât want to see the anger in his eyes; you didnât want to look at him as he pulled you off of him and called you a kinslayer. Your father seemed to tense even further, if possible; however, he didnât pull you away. Instead, his arms tightened slightly around you, almost as if the two of you were relying on each other to remain standing. It had been almost ten years since you had last seen him, and yet he smelled just like he had; he felt just like he had.
âGo tend to my son. He is in the princessâs quarters,â he ordered to someone behind you. You could hear the hurt in his voice, the exhaustion, yet he didnât let go of you.
âRight away, your royal highness,â the person replied, stomping his boot before walking away.
âWhere is Valarr? I would have thought his new role would not have prevented him from keeping you safe,â Maekar asked, pulling you away slowly to look at you. His daughter, his beautiful daughter, oh, how you had grown. He cleared his throat as he spoke, his ever-commanding tone almost failing him from the emotion. You held onto the broken part of your dress, never quite meeting his gaze, which he noticed, furrowing his brow but never breaking his careful analysis of your face. You were his reflection in its purest form. He could see all the ways in which Egg resembled you, which pulled at his heartstrings. It had been less than a forenight, and he already missed his boy so much.
âI donât know⊠he-he was called away,â you shook your head slightly, the pain of the places where Aerionâs blade had cut revealing itself as the adrenaline wore down, âwhere is Daeron?â
You finally noticed your brotherâs absence, looking behind your father and just finding more bannermen, so many, too many. They couldnât have all been in Ashford with them. What was going on?
âHe is on his way to Kingâs Landing.â
âI thought-â you looked around anyway, almost as if you could summon your older brother into existence, anybody to join this conversation and not have you confront your father alone.
âDearest,â your father interrupted you, pressing a firm hand on your shoulder and finally forcing you to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were watery. You felt your stomach turn and the air in your lungs thin; your father looked on the verge of breaking, all the guilt and sorrow he carried grinding him down into a shadow of the man he normally was.
âUncle!â Valarrâs voice broke through the noise of the soldiers and the heavy foreboding in your chest. You took a fortifying breath and turned quickly, hopeful. Yet, your chest deflated as soon as your eyes met him. The man who had left your room only hours ago was long gone. His relaxed black linens had been substituted by a heavy black doublet sewn with red thread, marked by the three-headed dragon. He looked ashen, deathly so, and yet, he managed to pale even further once he saw you, your dress, and the blood. Valarr quickened his pace as his squared jaw fell slack. You could see the panic in his mismatched eyes from across the crowded hall.
You turned to your father, somehow needing to provide him with some explanation before Valarr reached you, sure that the prince would not keep his distance or respect the necessary decorum. But as you turned, you were not met with his imposing figure or a scolding frown towards your cousin for not keeping you safe. Prince Maekar Targaryen, colossal and imposing as he was, was kneeling, head bowed.
You took a step back in shock, away from your father, stumbling onto Valarrâs path as he reached you. He held onto your elbows, turning you to him, panic in his gaze, âWhat happened? Why is a maester not looking at you? Are you hurt? Where is he?â
âI am fine. Valarr, what is going on?â Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears as you stepped back and looked back at your father and then around, watching as every man in the room had followed Maekar and was now on one knee.
âPlease rise.â Valarr followed your gaze and spoke, sounding far more commanding than you had ever heard him sound before. He glanced around at the men for just a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to you, still worried, still meaning to make sure you were fine. He didnât reach out to touch you again, although you could feel he wanted to. Valarr seemed torn, weighed down by more than the nerves of your fatherâs arrival. You searched his eyes for an answer, thinking they wouldnât leave you again, and yet you watched his gaze flicker back for a second to the men around you, a storm stirring behind his gaze.
Valarr tried to ask what had happened again, but the two of you spoke over each other, equally confused by what the other had experienced in the last few hours. Before either of you could try to speak again, your father spoke up, still kneeling. Â
âI swear my sword and my life to you, as my king, Your Grace. As my blood, know that I am at your service should you ever need me, nephew.â Maekarâs words were solid, unwavering, filled with resolute, yet you could hear the strain, the exhaustion, the loss. You focused on his tone for far too long, their meaning escaping you as if they had been spoken in a foreign language.
You looked at Valarr and then back at your kneeling father, and then a gasp escaped your lips as you were filled with shock and grief once again. A myriad of thoughts crossed your mind as you processed what this meant: your grandfather had passed, and Valarr would be king. Your eyes continued to switch between the two men in search of some confirmation, feeling like an unwelcome stranger in a moment so intimate and yet so public.
âRise, Uncle. Your loyalty honours me and the realm,â Valarr tried his best to sound solemn, like a king, to not look at you and your grief-stricken expression. Yet he choked up as he met Maekarâs eyes as he rose; they were both thinking the same thing. Baelor should have been the one carrying the crown; Baelor should have been the one hearing his brotherâs pledge. He quickly looked away, breaking eye contact in an effort to maintain his composure, searching for one of his guards, âTake her to the maesters; make sure she is fine.â
âRight away, your Grace,â the guard bowed softly before meeting your gaze, âcome with me, princess.â
Your head shot back to Valarr, âValarr, I am fine. I-â
âPlease go with him. I need to talk to your father. I need to find Aerion,â he replied, yet his words sounded more like a command than a request.
âVa-â you tried to argue, but your father spoke up.
âDonât be insolent and do as you are told.â You frowned at the words, shocked. Of course, it was your fatherâs right to admonish you, and yet it felt wrong.
You swallowed your protest and nodded at your father, but tried to catch Valarrâs eyes as you turned to follow the guard, and just as you were about to step away, Valarr walked to you and whispered, âI am sorry. I will explain everything. Now, I need to make sure you are fine.â
You nodded, feeling the burn of the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, but took a deep breath instead and followed the guard.
As soon as you were out of sight, Valarr let out a silent sigh, closing his eyes for a second as he tried to listen to his fatherâs advice, to the lessons he had left him with. A king must be level-headed. A king must be fair. A king must put his kingdom before himself. Those words had seemed so pedestrian back in the day; of course, he was going to be a fair, level-headed, selfless king. It sounded so easy when it wasnât real. Now? Now not so much.
King. A word he had been constantly surrounded by, now sounded so foreign to his ears. It seemed to have lost all its meaning; what was a King? Who was a king? The king was dead. That was a sentence he understood, a sentence that cut him sharp like a blade. His grandfather, so good, so fair, so selfless, had gone, just like his father had only weeks ago. So now that the king was dead and his father was not here, what was left of the four-letter word if not doubt?
âWhat happened?â Valarr measured his words, fair, level-headed, selfless. He spoke to nobody in particular, still with his back turned to his uncle and the bannermen he had brought with him, most of them having joined him through the road, knowing the dangers Valarr would face on his way back to Kingâs Landing.
âThe news of your fatherâs deathâŠâ Maekar tried to answer; his statuesque presence seemed to be crumbling in front of everyone.
âI have been informed of the circumstances surrounding my grandsireâs death, uncle. What happened to her?â The bite in the kingâs tone had little to do with any of his fatherâs lessons. Valarr turned to meet his uncleâs gaze, who seemed to look back at him with the same displeasure.
âI left her under your care, Your Grace. If anyone should be telling me what happened, it should be you. After all, I trusted you with my daughterâs life.â Maekar spoke the words quietly, using his nephewâs new title with mockery. Right now, he was reprimanding his nephew, not the king. âLetâs speak privately,â the older Targaryen added, highly aware of the lingering looks of the other men in the room.
The two men walked into the Kingâs solar, Valarrâs solar, his grandfatherâs, somebodyâs. As soon as the door closed behind the two of them, ignoring the small hesitation the guards showed when they were ordered to leave Valarr alone with his uncle, Maekar turned to Valarr, all stone and ice again and raised his voice, âWhy would you ever leave her alone with him? Do you want her killed? Do you want her ruined?â
Valarr didnât flinch until the last sentence, until, between all the worry and shock of the past hours, he remembered what he had been initially nervous about. Ruining his daughter, Maekar was worried Aerion would ruin his daughter. Maekar had sent Valarr to protect her honour, to protect her, and the prince (at that time) had done all the opposite.
âI didnât mean to leave her alone. I was forced out of the room. He was meant to be in Lys!â Valarr tried to keep his tone under control, to respect his elder, yet he had so little respect left for his uncle. murderer. He shook the thought away. Thatâs not what his father would have thought; thatâs not how his father would have felt.
âHe must have heard of her return. I should have kept it a secret longer. I should have made her wait until he was on his way to Lys,â Maekar sighed the words, stepping away and starting to pace softly.
âWhy does she need to wait? Why is it her responsibility to stay away from him? He is a monster, a fucking monster, uncle. I will put an end to this. What he did to herâŠâ
âWe donât know,â Maekar cut him off, seemingly out of reflex, unwilling to hear any of it, to even think his son capable of such crimes, against his own blood, especially.
âWhatever it is. Iâve had enough. I will not let him haunt her. She deserves peace. She deserves to live her life freely.â Valarr raised his voice, never meeting his uncleâs gaze as he felt the bile in his stomach burn. He would kill Aerion.
Maekar didn't speak at first, his eyes closed as he planted his hands on the mahogany table, trying to find the strength to justify to himself the need to continue defending his child. He had lost so much already, his wife, his brother, his father, Egg; there was so little left to hold onto, âValarr, think of how it will look. Theyâll say youâve done it in retaliation for the trial of seven. Theyâll whisper of fractures in our house.â
Valarrâs eyes snapped back to his uncle. All the beauty he saw in your Targaryen traits disgusted him in Maekar. He looked nothing like Valarrâs father. All he saw was Aerion when he looked at him.
âDonât you have any regard for your daughterâs safety?â He spat out the words, looking down at the man across from him, who seemed to shrink with every passing second.
That accusation seemed to straighten Maekarâs spine, his lip twitching, offended, âHe will be in Lys. She will be here, under my protection.â
âAnd every day she will need to look over her shoulder,â a bitter chuckle left Valarrâs lips. Once youâd marry, he would never allow Maekar to see you again if it came down to him.
âIf you care so much about your cousinâs well-being, you should have never allowed this to happen.â The dark-haired Targaryen flinched at the accusation. He had tried. He had done his very best. He would get to the bottom of this. Somebody must not have followed his orders. âIf you kill Aerion, donât you think theyâll whisper of what happened? Her honour will be ruined.â
A shiver went down Valarrâs back as he thought of it, of what that monster could have done to you. Searing anger burned through the disgust. âI will not allow it.â
Maekar laughed this time, a laugh so authentic that it took his nephew aback, who furrowed his brow. âYou foolish, foolish boy. Not even a king can control the whispers.â
Valarr felt his stomach turn. This was all too much, too soon. Where was his father? Why was this thrust upon him? This was not a decision for him to take.
âShe wouldnât want this. She knows better,â Maekar added, regaining his composure, narrowing his gaze on his nephew. Valarr may be king, but he was green and inexperienced, too hot-blooded for his own good. The older Targaryen had immediately noticed the closeness between his daughter and his nephew, watching the way you had turned with so much hope as Valarr had appeared. He had noticed the way the new king had so comfortably touched your elbows, the way his eyes had not lingered on your broken dress, but instead filled with worry and panic at your injuries.
Maekarâs words seemed to sink into Valarrâs chest, and a moment of silence stretched between the two men as the younger one seemed to be coming to a decision.
âLetâs ask her then.â
Valarr spoke so nonchalantly that it took Maekar two blinks to understand, to part his lips in annoyance and rebut, âValarr, my daughter has been traumatised enough by this ordeal. I refuse to mak-â
âYou refuse your king, uncle?â the king interrupted him, studying his uncle with the same precision he had just been observed with.
âValarr-â Â
âGuards!â Valarr shouted as his uncle stepped forward.
âVal-â the white-haired Targaryen tried to stop him, but Valarr simply lifted his palm, halting any further comments.
âPlease bring the princess here; we need to speak to her.â
Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence.
Overall Tags: targcest, smut, blood, canon typical violence, no use of y/n.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
You held on tightly to your fatherâs middle as your sobs seemed to be never-ending. A mix of relief and disbelief kept you from even thinking about following protocol. You should have courteously bowed, kept your distance, and only then offered him a hug. Yet, those rules meant nothing to you right now, as you fluctuated between the relief of your fatherâs protection and the ever-growing punishment that was to come once he found out what had happened to Aerion.
And as your father held you, unaware of what had happened, he seemed cautious, almost detached. You werenât sure if he had breathed once since you had dropped into his arms, standing so still that you would think him a statue if you hadnât seen him march towards you.
âAre you hurt?â he broke the silence without moving a muscle; his voice sounded equally as distant as his touch. You swallowed a sob and took a sobering breath. You needed to tell him that Aerion was hurt. He needed help.
âI am fine, Father. Aerion⊠Aerion is in my chambers; he is badly hurt,â you replied, hiding your face further into his doublet. You didnât want to see the anger in his eyes; you didnât want to look at him as he pulled you off of him and called you a kinslayer. Your father seemed to tense even further, if possible; however, he didnât pull you away. Instead, his arms tightened slightly around you, almost as if the two of you were relying on each other to remain standing. It had been almost ten years since you had last seen him, and yet he smelled just like he had; he felt just like he had.
âGo tend to my son. He is in the princessâs quarters,â he ordered to someone behind you. You could hear the hurt in his voice, the exhaustion, yet he didnât let go of you.
âRight away, your royal highness,â the person replied, stomping his boot before walking away.
âWhere is Valarr? I would have thought his new role would not have prevented him from keeping you safe,â Maekar asked, pulling you away slowly to look at you. His daughter, his beautiful daughter, oh, how you had grown. He cleared his throat as he spoke, his ever-commanding tone almost failing him from the emotion. You held onto the broken part of your dress, never quite meeting his gaze, which he noticed, furrowing his brow but never breaking his careful analysis of your face. You were his reflection in its purest form. He could see all the ways in which Egg resembled you, which pulled at his heartstrings. It had been less than a forenight, and he already missed his boy so much.
âI donât know⊠he-he was called away,â you shook your head slightly, the pain of the places where Aerionâs blade had cut revealing itself as the adrenaline wore down, âwhere is Daeron?â
You finally noticed your brotherâs absence, looking behind your father and just finding more bannermen, so many, too many. They couldnât have all been in Ashford with them. What was going on?
âHe is on his way to Kingâs Landing.â
âI thought-â you looked around anyway, almost as if you could summon your older brother into existence, anybody to join this conversation and not have you confront your father alone.
âDearest,â your father interrupted you, pressing a firm hand on your shoulder and finally forcing you to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were watery. You felt your stomach turn and the air in your lungs thin; your father looked on the verge of breaking, all the guilt and sorrow he carried grinding him down into a shadow of the man he normally was.
âUncle!â Valarrâs voice broke through the noise of the soldiers and the heavy foreboding in your chest. You took a fortifying breath and turned quickly, hopeful. Yet, your chest deflated as soon as your eyes met him. The man who had left your room only hours ago was long gone. His relaxed black linens had been substituted by a heavy black doublet sewn with red thread, marked by the three-headed dragon. He looked ashen, deathly so, and yet, he managed to pale even further once he saw you, your dress, and the blood. Valarr quickened his pace as his squared jaw fell slack. You could see the panic in his mismatched eyes from across the crowded hall.
You turned to your father, somehow needing to provide him with some explanation before Valarr reached you, sure that the prince would not keep his distance or respect the necessary decorum. But as you turned, you were not met with his imposing figure or a scolding frown towards your cousin for not keeping you safe. Prince Maekar Targaryen, colossal and imposing as he was, was kneeling, head bowed.
You took a step back in shock, away from your father, stumbling onto Valarrâs path as he reached you. He held onto your elbows, turning you to him, panic in his gaze, âWhat happened? Why is a maester not looking at you? Are you hurt? Where is he?â
âI am fine. Valarr, what is going on?â Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears as you stepped back and looked back at your father and then around, watching as every man in the room had followed Maekar and was now on one knee.
âPlease rise.â Valarr followed your gaze and spoke, sounding far more commanding than you had ever heard him sound before. He glanced around at the men for just a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to you, still worried, still meaning to make sure you were fine. He didnât reach out to touch you again, although you could feel he wanted to. Valarr seemed torn, weighed down by more than the nerves of your fatherâs arrival. You searched his eyes for an answer, thinking they wouldnât leave you again, and yet you watched his gaze flicker back for a second to the men around you, a storm stirring behind his gaze.
Valarr tried to ask what had happened again, but the two of you spoke over each other, equally confused by what the other had experienced in the last few hours. Before either of you could try to speak again, your father spoke up, still kneeling. Â
âI swear my sword and my life to you, as my king, Your Grace. As my blood, know that I am at your service should you ever need me, nephew.â Maekarâs words were solid, unwavering, filled with resolute, yet you could hear the strain, the exhaustion, the loss. You focused on his tone for far too long, their meaning escaping you as if they had been spoken in a foreign language.
You looked at Valarr and then back at your kneeling father, and then a gasp escaped your lips as you were filled with shock and grief once again. A myriad of thoughts crossed your mind as you processed what this meant: your grandfather had passed, and Valarr would be king. Your eyes continued to switch between the two men in search of some confirmation, feeling like an unwelcome stranger in a moment so intimate and yet so public.
âRise, Uncle. Your loyalty honours me and the realm,â Valarr tried his best to sound solemn, like a king, to not look at you and your grief-stricken expression. Yet he choked up as he met Maekarâs eyes as he rose; they were both thinking the same thing. Baelor should have been the one carrying the crown; Baelor should have been the one hearing his brotherâs pledge. He quickly looked away, breaking eye contact in an effort to maintain his composure, searching for one of his guards, âTake her to the maesters; make sure she is fine.â
âRight away, your Grace,â the guard bowed softly before meeting your gaze, âcome with me, princess.â
Your head shot back to Valarr, âValarr, I am fine. I-â
âPlease go with him. I need to talk to your father. I need to find Aerion,â he replied, yet his words sounded more like a command than a request.
âVa-â you tried to argue, but your father spoke up.
âDonât be insolent and do as you are told.â You frowned at the words, shocked. Of course, it was your fatherâs right to admonish you, and yet it felt wrong.
You swallowed your protest and nodded at your father, but tried to catch Valarrâs eyes as you turned to follow the guard, and just as you were about to step away, Valarr walked to you and whispered, âI am sorry. I will explain everything. Now, I need to make sure you are fine.â
You nodded, feeling the burn of the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, but took a deep breath instead and followed the guard.
As soon as you were out of sight, Valarr let out a silent sigh, closing his eyes for a second as he tried to listen to his fatherâs advice, to the lessons he had left him with. A king must be level-headed. A king must be fair. A king must put his kingdom before himself. Those words had seemed so pedestrian back in the day; of course, he was going to be a fair, level-headed, selfless king. It sounded so easy when it wasnât real. Now? Now not so much.
King. A word he had been constantly surrounded by, now sounded so foreign to his ears. It seemed to have lost all its meaning; what was a King? Who was a king? The king was dead. That was a sentence he understood, a sentence that cut him sharp like a blade. His grandfather, so good, so fair, so selfless, had gone, just like his father had only weeks ago. So now that the king was dead and his father was not here, what was left of the four-letter word if not doubt?
âWhat happened?â Valarr measured his words, fair, level-headed, selfless. He spoke to nobody in particular, still with his back turned to his uncle and the bannermen he had brought with him, most of them having joined him through the road, knowing the dangers Valarr would face on his way back to Kingâs Landing.
âThe news of your fatherâs deathâŠâ Maekar tried to answer; his statuesque presence seemed to be crumbling in front of everyone.
âI have been informed of the circumstances surrounding my grandsireâs death, uncle. What happened to her?â The bite in the kingâs tone had little to do with any of his fatherâs lessons. Valarr turned to meet his uncleâs gaze, who seemed to look back at him with the same displeasure.
âI left her under your care, Your Grace. If anyone should be telling me what happened, it should be you. After all, I trusted you with my daughterâs life.â Maekar spoke the words quietly, using his nephewâs new title with mockery. Right now, he was reprimanding his nephew, not the king. âLetâs speak privately,â the older Targaryen added, highly aware of the lingering looks of the other men in the room.
The two men walked into the Kingâs solar, Valarrâs solar, his grandfatherâs, somebodyâs. As soon as the door closed behind the two of them, ignoring the small hesitation the guards showed when they were ordered to leave Valarr alone with his uncle, Maekar turned to Valarr, all stone and ice again and raised his voice, âWhy would you ever leave her alone with him? Do you want her killed? Do you want her ruined?â
Valarr didnât flinch until the last sentence, until, between all the worry and shock of the past hours, he remembered what he had been initially nervous about. Ruining his daughter, Maekar was worried Aerion would ruin his daughter. Maekar had sent Valarr to protect her honour, to protect her, and the prince (at that time) had done all the opposite.
âI didnât mean to leave her alone. I was forced out of the room. He was meant to be in Lys!â Valarr tried to keep his tone under control, to respect his elder, yet he had so little respect left for his uncle. murderer. He shook the thought away. Thatâs not what his father would have thought; thatâs not how his father would have felt.
âHe must have heard of her return. I should have kept it a secret longer. I should have made her wait until he was on his way to Lys,â Maekar sighed the words, stepping away and starting to pace softly.
âWhy does she need to wait? Why is it her responsibility to stay away from him? He is a monster, a fucking monster, uncle. I will put an end to this. What he did to herâŠâ
âWe donât know,â Maekar cut him off, seemingly out of reflex, unwilling to hear any of it, to even think his son capable of such crimes, against his own blood, especially.
âWhatever it is. Iâve had enough. I will not let him haunt her. She deserves peace. She deserves to live her life freely.â Valarr raised his voice, never meeting his uncleâs gaze as he felt the bile in his stomach burn. He would kill Aerion.
Maekar didn't speak at first, his eyes closed as he planted his hands on the mahogany table, trying to find the strength to justify to himself the need to continue defending his child. He had lost so much already, his wife, his brother, his father, Egg; there was so little left to hold onto, âValarr, think of how it will look. Theyâll say youâve done it in retaliation for the trial of seven. Theyâll whisper of fractures in our house.â
Valarrâs eyes snapped back to his uncle. All the beauty he saw in your Targaryen traits disgusted him in Maekar. He looked nothing like Valarrâs father. All he saw was Aerion when he looked at him.
âDonât you have any regard for your daughterâs safety?â He spat out the words, looking down at the man across from him, who seemed to shrink with every passing second.
That accusation seemed to straighten Maekarâs spine, his lip twitching, offended, âHe will be in Lys. She will be here, under my protection.â
âAnd every day she will need to look over her shoulder,â a bitter chuckle left Valarrâs lips. Once youâd marry, he would never allow Maekar to see you again if it came down to him.
âIf you care so much about your cousinâs well-being, you should have never allowed this to happen.â The dark-haired Targaryen flinched at the accusation. He had tried. He had done his very best. He would get to the bottom of this. Somebody must not have followed his orders. âIf you kill Aerion, donât you think theyâll whisper of what happened? Her honour will be ruined.â
A shiver went down Valarrâs back as he thought of it, of what that monster could have done to you. Searing anger burned through the disgust. âI will not allow it.â
Maekar laughed this time, a laugh so authentic that it took his nephew aback, who furrowed his brow. âYou foolish, foolish boy. Not even a king can control the whispers.â
Valarr felt his stomach turn. This was all too much, too soon. Where was his father? Why was this thrust upon him? This was not a decision for him to take.
âShe wouldnât want this. She knows better,â Maekar added, regaining his composure, narrowing his gaze on his nephew. Valarr may be king, but he was green and inexperienced, too hot-blooded for his own good. The older Targaryen had immediately noticed the closeness between his daughter and his nephew, watching the way you had turned with so much hope as Valarr had appeared. He had noticed the way the new king had so comfortably touched your elbows, the way his eyes had not lingered on your broken dress, but instead filled with worry and panic at your injuries.
Maekarâs words seemed to sink into Valarrâs chest, and a moment of silence stretched between the two men as the younger one seemed to be coming to a decision.
âLetâs ask her then.â
Valarr spoke so nonchalantly that it took Maekar two blinks to understand, to part his lips in annoyance and rebut, âValarr, my daughter has been traumatised enough by this ordeal. I refuse to mak-â
âYou refuse your king, uncle?â the king interrupted him, studying his uncle with the same precision he had just been observed with.
âValarr-â Â
âGuards!â Valarr shouted as his uncle stepped forward.
âVal-â the white-haired Targaryen tried to stop him, but Valarr simply lifted his palm, halting any further comments.
âPlease bring the princess here; we need to speak to her.â
---
Liv's note
So sorry for disappearing, guys. This has been sitting almost finished on my computer for soo long. Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter and as always all your comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!
Apologies for the super delay on the chapter! I am visiting my parents and have started wedding planning and it is taking every inch of my sanity đđđ
Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence.
CHAPTER WARNING: blood, canon typical violence, attempted sexual assault.
Overall Tags: targcest, no use of y/n, not proofread.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
Time in the castle seemed to halt right after Valarr left your room. The noise of boots and chatter that many times could be overheard in the courtyard was missing, and even your maids had not knocked to check on you in what felt like forever. You felt your stomach turn with fear, but tried to steady your breathing, double-checking that you had locked the door once Valarr had left. Nobody would be able to come in without your permission. In an effort to distract yourself from your many worries, including the cryptic message coming from Kingâs Landing, you returned to your book.
Your eyes had been stuck on the same line for what felt like hours, as your ears searched for any sign of life beyond your room. You bit your lip nervously, sighing and standing up, wondering whether you should at least check if anybody was still placed outside guarding your door. You walked to the entrance and knocked against the wooden frame, hoping to hear back murmurs followed by a clear âyes, princess,â but nothing but silence came in reply. Now, this was worrisome. In Valarrâs few and short absences, he had always commanded multiple guards to stay by your door. You took a step back, ready to search for a knife, a weapon of any kind, but your body crashed against something solid. Before you could even question it, a sharp blade pressed against your throat, and a hand covered your mouth, pulling you against the foreign yet familiar body.
âSsh⊠sister, I am here now,â Aerion lowered his lips to your ear as you squirmed against his hold, panicked, âdo you know how difficult you are to get to?â You felt your heart pound against your ribcage, as fear and repulsion screamed for you to move, to run, to push him away. His hold on you was impossibly tight, almost as if he needed to use you to keep himself steady. âThankfully, our stupid cousin forgets himself. He may think he is the prince of Summerhall, but this is my home.â The words were laced with anger and lust as he ghosted his lips over your neck, halting just as they reached your naked collarbone. âWhat do you say we do with him? How should I teach him to keep his hands off what is mine?â
Lost in the lust of finally having reached you, Aerion grew distracted, his hold over your mouth and the pressure of the knife against your throat loosening as he sank his teeth into your flesh, swaying slightly. A strangled sob left your lips as he pierced your skin, giving you the excuse to lean forward and lift your foot before stomping it over his, causing him to stumble back and shout in shock. You took the opportunity to step away, running towards the bathroom of your room in an effort to put a door between the two of you. Aerion was quicker, tackling you with little effort and pushing you against the stone wall of your bed chamber, knife once again pressed against your jugular, âyou little bitch.â
Your eyes met his just inches away from your face. It was like looking in the mirror, except for the glint of madness that darkened his gaze. A contorted smile twisted his expression as he watched you watch him, âIt is incredible, isnât it? You are my perfect reflection.â
You swallowed in response, feeling the blade press against your skin and forced yourself not to break eye contact. You pressed your lips together, freezing every sign of fear and turning into ice in front of his eyes. You knew what Aerion wanted. He wanted you scared. He wanted you fragile. âHow did you get in?â you asked instead, moving the topic away from the two of you, hoping to buy enough time for Valarr to come back, for anyone to come back.
âI told you⊠This is my house. I know every secret passage,â Aerion was showing off, clearly attempting to impress you. You furrowed your brows and inhaled sharply as if the answer shocked you; it was how he would have liked you to react, so you gave it to him. He smiled at your reaction, the pressure of the knife softening as he leaned more of his weight against the stone wall and moved even closer to you. His head tilted as if he wanted to lean even closer, his eyes shifting to the irritated skin he had just bitten.
âAre you still hurt?â In an attempt to distract him, you feigned worry about his well-being. After all, only days ago, he had been bedridden. He would like that; he wanted you to worry about him. He lifted his head, another smile, this time all teeth. His head cocked to the other side, but he didnât move closer. He was sizing you up.
âIt was a long and tedious ride. I wanted to get to you as quickly as possible.â his voice was languid, pupils dilated, borderline flirty. It made your stomach turn. His gaze over you felt violating, a crime in itself, unnatural. You tried your best not to let it show, to keep your eyes soft, to keep yourself as relaxed as possible in the given situation.
âHow many days did it take you?â you pushed on.
He lifted an eyebrow, cocky, âfar fewer than it took Valarr, I am sure.â You forced yourself not to roll your eyes, instead letting out a soft chuckle, ready to ask your next question. Aerion beat you to it, asking, âWhere is he, anyway? I thought he would never leave you alone.â
âI am not sure,â you responded, a flash of worry crossing your face, far too raw and sincere for Aerion.
âYou care about him?â Your brotherâs face contorted with jealousy. He hadnât liked your reaction. The pressure on the blade returned, lifting your chin up. It was like this with him, a dangerous game of chess. No move came without consequence.
You tried to control your breathing, âhis father just died.â It was a gamble for an answer. You were hoping Aerion would feel some shame for his actions.
The prince snorted out a bitter laugh but softened his grip, âWell deserved if you ask me. Baelor stood against his family to protect a low-life hedge knight. He cheated, and the gods hate a cheat.â
âLÄkia,â you whispered and watched as his gaze narrowed on you. He had always loved it when you spoke High Valyrian. It had made him feel closer to the dragons.
âHÄedar,â he breathed out the word with adoration, and you ignored the way it pulled at your heart. It could have been so different. In another life, he could have been your brother, your family, not this obsessive monster, âAĆhon iksan se ñuhon iksÄ [I am yours and you are mine],â he added, and the spell broke. You hadnât meant for the pity in your eyes to show, and yet it did. Aerion reacted immediately, his mouth twitching in disgust as all the softness in his gaze caught fire. âWe are leaving for Lys tonight,â he said, as if it were a judgment, a decision made long ago that he was merely waiting to communicate to you. You hadnât meant to look at the door or to glance toward Valarrâs temporary bed, but you had. After all, he was the only thing on your mind, the only thing worth saving.
Aerion noticed. Sometimes you wondered whether he could read your mind, whether the two of you were truly connected in magical ways. The thought didnât make you want to love him; it made you want to stay as far away from him as possible. If it were true, then he was an abomination, all the darkness in your heart turned into a person.
Aerion glanced back without loosening his grip, his eyes finding Valarrâs bed and then letting out a gut-punching chuckle. He turned his head back slowly, lazily, mimicking the dragon in him. You tried to control your gaze, not to let him in anymore, protect your fears, your wants from him, but it was all in vain; he could see right through you every time.
âI heard the rumours, but I couldnât believe them. Are they true?â he enunciated every word slowly, almost as if it took all the restraint in him not to shout, not to slit your throat. You tried to swallow under the pressure of the blade, meet his eyes and lie, lie for your life. You parted your lips and watched his lip twitch up, âDonât fucking lie to me.â He pressed the knife further, and you felt it cut through your skin just enough to let a droplet appear. Aerion pushed his body fully against yours, placing his leg and hip against your stomach to immobilise you, and then whispered against your ear, âYou little fucking whore. Did you let him touch you?â
âAerion,â you whispered, suffocated by the pressure of his body pressed against yours, the burning of the blade and the panic growing in your chest. You tried to think rationally, but the heat in the room made it almost impossible to breathe, and the perpetual silence that had fallen over the castle killed any hope you had to be found. You closed your eyes in an effort to maintain some composure, to not start crying.
Aerion replied by pulling back, dropping the knife to your stomach instead and moving his free hand to the back of your head and pulling you by the hair, âLook at me!â You snapped your eyes open, meeting the fury in his, forcing air into your lungs rhythmically. To panic now would mean to die.
âI didnât,â you shook your head as much as you could, holding back tears. Aerion looked at you so intensely that you could almost feel him going through your memories, the pond, the library, the nights in this very room. You tried to close your eyes. You tried to keep him out, but he pulled again, and you complied, looking at him as tears ran down your cheeks this time. He prepared to speak, the rage in his gaze chilling, far scarier than the hot, fiery craze that normally filled them. He breathed heavily once, the pressure of the knife grew against your dress, but then, as if a spell had been broken or he had run out of time, the sound of boots, of horses, of men in the courtyard seemed to return in full force under your window, claiming his attention.
You couldnât help yourself, breaking into a sigh of relief that turned into a sob as you watched your brother hesitate and look around in slight panic. Whatever slumber the castle had fallen into with Valarrâs exit seemed to have ended, and someone⊠anyone would soon come looking for you. âWhy are you so relieved, HÄedar?â He snapped back to you, the coldness in his eyes shifting to frantic planning, âThere will be no question on who you belong to once they make their way up here.â
The movements were so quick you could barely process them. He was strong, even in his current state; he was so much stronger than he had been a decade earlier. He pulled you from the wall, his grip on your hair tight as he manoeuvred you towards the bed, dropping you on it and moving his hold to your neck as he climbed over you, choking out any protest that could have left your lips. The grip on your neck felt both violent and a sign of weakness from him. He needed to hold himself. He hadnât fully recovered from his injuries.
You took this as an invitation to resist, you tried your best to fight him, kicking and punching him, which he allowed for a second, entrained by it. Then all it took was for him to place the dagger over your chest, cage your legs with his and shout, âStop it.â And he had you perfectly under control again. Your ragged breathing only excited him further as he watched the fear in your eyes grow, realising that although he may not be at his full strength, he could still easily overpower you. Aerion pressed further onto your neck until no air reached your lungs anymore.
You arched your back in search of air but found none, only the burning feeling of the tip of the blade penetrating your skin and Aerionâs growing lustful gaze. The room started to blur as your gaze lost focus, which your brother must have noticed as he softened his grip slightly, causing you to suck in the little air he would allow and try to look away from him. Your lungs burned, the dragon inside of you curled up. You thought of an Ouroboros; if you and Aerion were one, then it could only end up in self-destruction.
âLook at me. You will fucking look at me as I do this.â Aerion shouted, and you obeyed his order instinctively. It is not as if you would have seen much, tears blurring it all. The sound of steps that had been so prominent before seemed so far now. Nobody was coming for you, nobody was going to save you.
Your mind searched for whatever was left of reasoning. You couldnât overpower your brother. There was no way to fight him off as long as he was armed. You needed time. You slowly relaxed under his grip, untensing your entire body in an effort to buy yourself time, to figure out your next move.
Aerion smiled at the action, cocky. He took it as you submitting, as you wanting this, âgood. Be good.â
The prince slowly pulled away the blade from your chest and placed it by his side, confident, overly confident that you would comply, after all, in his mind, the two of you were meant to be by divine right. You didnât glance at it, not falling for the bait. Instead, you stayed perfectly still. Aerion moved his now free hand to the spot where the blade had been, collecting the blood and bringing it to his lips before returning to it. This time, his eyes lingered on your chest, on the edge of the neckline of your dress, and then, all in one swift movement, he pulled at it. You gasped in shock as the sound of cracking velvet filled the room. The material had been too thick to break fully, but it had broken enough to unveil part of your breast. Â
You mouthed your brotherâs name, but nothing came out as you closed your eyes, distraught.
âI told you to look at me,â he shouted, before using his free hand to strike you across the face. You were not sure what took over you, but as his hand made contact with your cheek, you reached for the forgotten dagger and got a hold of it, cutting your hand on the blade before grabbing it by the handle and ramming it straight into the side of his thigh and pulling it out again.
A strangled, shocked gasp escaped your brotherâs lips. It took both of you a second to realise what had happened as his eyes moved down to his leg, letting go of your neck and sitting up as blood started gushing onto you and the bed. Rage exploded in Aerionâs gaze, but as he tried to reach for the knife, the blade tore through his hand. He pulled away again, cradling his hand against his chest as he analysed the cut in disbelief.
âYou bitch!â he shouted as he sat up, losing slight control of his motion in the panic and falling back into the bed, freeing you completely from him. You stood up quickly, moving as far away from the bed as you could, ignoring the way your brotherâs blood covered your arm, hand and skirt. He looked back at you and tried to stand again, to chase you, to kill you, but he stumbled, growing increasingly weak by the blood loss, magnified by all his previous injuries. You reached for the door and unlocked it as fast as you could, struggling with the key until it finally opened.
As if a completely separate world, just outside of your door, the sound of hectic marching and movement filled every corner. Your ears were ringing for some reason, and your legs seemed to fight against your orders to move forward. You leaned against the stone wall of the corridor, trying to ground yourself, and watched as your hand left a bloody mark on the stone, then twitched uncontrollably against it. Your blood, his blood, it was all the same.
You took one fortifying breath before forcing your legs to comply and move forward. Your first couple of steps were unsteady, and then you heard the sound of the door opening again behind you, and suddenly you were running, running out of your quarters, into the main hall, looking for anyone. You turned the corner in a frenzy, holding up the broken part of your dress, seeing a swarm of soldiers, many more than those normally present in Summerhall.
In the sea of bodies, your eyes zeroed in on the one person you knew would protect you outside of Valarr, the one person who would do anything to see you safe, the one person you had been dying to see since your return home.
Maekar Targaryen saw his daughter for the first time in 10 years in the midst of three dozen soldiers. Her white hair was stained red, and so was her body. She held onto her dress as his eyes met her bloodshot ones. He crossed the hall in long strides and watched as his little girl collapsed against his chest, sobbing.
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Liv's note: as always, thank you very much for reading!! I missed Valarr in this chapter, but I promise he will be back in the next :) Maekar is home and once again finds his children involved in violence smh. I loved writing the last paragraph in third person. I feel like it added to the shock from both sides.
As always, please feel free to share any thoughts! Your comments keep me writing :) Let me know if you have any theories on where is Valarr?? What was so urgent? Why was everyone lowkey gone out of the nowhere? Lots of love xx Liv
Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence. Overall Tags: targcest, smut, fingering, unprotected p in v, virginity loss, no use of y/n, not proofread.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
Valarr refused to leave your side for the following 48 hours. He held his meetings in the solar of your quarters, to the shock of the maesters, and asked that every meal be served there too. A guard returned every few hours, clearly bringing updates on your brother, whispering them to the princeâs ear. You didnât ask about them; instead, gauging what you could by the way he nodded softly or furrowed his brow.
The first night, your maids had set up a small bed in the corner of your room for the prince. The following morning, they had only exchanged a knowing smile at your failed attempt to make the sheets look slept-in. They had meant it as a gesture of support, fully aware of the tense and mercurial atmosphere your brotherâs arrival had added to the castle. The scandal behind it didnât seem to matter anyway. Valarrâs attitude towards you was so easy to read that any of your attempts at masking your secret would be useless. It had been a quick yet clear shift, the way Valarr now behaved around you. The prince stood too close, his hands finding any reason to touch you, always lingering. It was almost as if he was trying to send a message to the castle, to start the whispers. He wanted to leave no place for doubt. Aerionâs arrival meant nothing; you were his. Call it jealousy, but for the heir to the throne, it was merely a way to leave things clear, to not let any ill thoughts gain any fortitude.
It was nice, you guessed; however, it wasnât fully well-received given the circumstances. Valarr refused to let you explore the castle, not even in his presence. It didnât matter to him whether Aerion was still bedbound or whether he could easily take him in his current condition. The prince couldn't stomach the thought of your brother catching even a glimpse of you, as if that would be enough to defile something that belonged to him and him alone. The feeling of being caged wasnât much improved by the weather; the heat and humidity seeped through every fibre of the castle, warming the stone and shielding you from even the smallest gush of wind.
The idea of spending the day in your small clothes in bed with Valarr was quickly dismissed by the continuous comings and goings in your personal quarters. Maesters, guards, and servants, adapted to the princeâs request and filled your corridors. That afternoon, you sat by the window of your bedchamber, hoping for some respite from the warmth but finding nothing but warm air coming from the inner courtyard. An exasperated huff left your lips as you frowned. You hadnât come back home to be kept caged. Slowly, you tried to reassure yourself. This was an exceptional situation, given your brotherâs presence; once he was gone, you would be free.
Just as you came to terms with this idea, Valarr knocked on your door and entered the room, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. His eyes quickly scanned his surroundings, almost as if he expected to find Aerion in the room. He finally met your gaze and stepped towards you, giving you a sincere smile. âHow are you doing?â he asked, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips in the form of a greeting. His mismatched eyes never left yours as he scanned your face while you answered.
âHot. This room is an oven,â you replied, letting the annoyance in your tone transpire. He chuckled, letting go of your hand and moving closer to your ear.
âIt is not much better anywhere else in the castle, my loveâ, he whispered the words just for you.
âI am sure the pond is much cooler,â you replied, refusing to fall for his charm, mourning the freedom and fun you had before the dragonâs arrival. Valarr tensed at your side and then stepped away, searching your eyes again.
âWe have to be careful as long as Aerion is here,â he answered patiently, before turning his attention to the book you had abandoned on your table. He picked it up, studying the title before opening it. That could have been the end of the conversation. Valarr surely thought it was, but you couldnât help yourself. You needed to ask.
âSo Iâll be able to go anywhere I want once he is gone.â Your statement sounded more like a question than you would have liked, prompting a grimace. You werenât married to Valarr yet; you shouldnât have been asking for his permission in any case. That was not the life you sought to lead.
Valarrâs attention left the tome and returned to your face, his brow furrowed together as he seemed to take in your words, âof course youâll be able to go anywhere in the castle. The Red Keep is beautiful.â
âWhat about the rest of Kingâs Landing?â You asked carefully. His answer had been reassuring, and yet unease still coiled in your chest. It felt like a quiet negotiation, a push-and-pull. Two natural instincts for two dragons: the compulsion to hoard and the fear of being caged.
âWhat about it?â Valarr chuckled nervously, confused.
âWhat if Iâd like to explore the rest?â
âIn that case, you would need guards to protect you. I could accompany you,â Valarr tried to imagine a relevant situation, trying to understand what was behind your questions. âIs everything alright?â
âYes,â you replied defensively, âwhy wouldnât it be?â
âI donât know,â he cocked his head as he studied you, a glimpse of realisation crossing his eyes before he furrowed his brow further, âI am not trying to cage you,â Valarr spoke each syllable with a tint of sadness but unwavering certainty.
âI-I never said-â you looked away, rising from the window seat and turning away from him, the heat in the room somehow even more suffocating than before. The prince breached the distance between the two of you, seeking your hand, but you pulled away. âWhen I was away⊠I had my freedom. Of course, I had guards and servants, but I was free. Father decided to send me away because he knew that if he had sent me to Kingâs Landing, I would have been caged there, too. He knew I didnât want to be caged.â
âI am not trying to cage you,â Valarrâs words came out in an exhale as he looked at you desperately, wishing you would look back at him.
âThen why are you acting the way you are?â You turned to him, your eyes watery as you tried to keep your voice steady.
âWh-â he tried to ask even though he knew. He knew he was being reckless and selfish. He knew the whispers he was creating wouldnât disappear once the two of you married. People would talk; they would say that the marriage had been forced, that you had seduced him. He had tried not to think about it; all that mattered to him was that there was no doubt on Aerionâs role. He was nothing, nobody. He had ignored the possible damage he may have caused you because you were his, after all. You would be queen, and nothing else would matter.
âWhy canât I leave my quarters? Not even with you? And the way you act in front of everyone. You are far more chivalrous when nobody is around. It is like you want the castle to see me as your property. It is like you want to keep me cooped up here only for your enjoyment and to be displayed as a trophy.â
âThat was not my intention,â Valarr shook his head, closing his eyes in shame.
âWas it not?â Your tone verged on accusatory as you stepped forward, angry.
âHe talked of you as if⊠as if he hadâŠâ The prince tried to control his tone, to control his disgust from contorting his face. It wasnât fair. It wasnât fair that this was always expected of him. His father had reminded him constantly of the importance of rising above, of not falling for the vices and stereotypes that tarnished their name. But sometimes it was too hard. Sometimes the call was too strong, and he was so weak, so weak when it came to you. He also wanted to be allowed to be a dragon, to hoard his treasure, to be impossibly violent against anyone who would seek to take it away from him.  âI tounted him. I tounted him because he insinuated that he had touched you. It was stupid and wrong, but you should have seen the way he spoke about you. I-I couldnât let him set the narrative. He will tell anyone who will listen that you are his. I didnât want to leave any doubt.â He looked at the floor as he spoke, a wave of shame making it impossible for him to meet your gaze as his blood burned.
âWhat does that have to do with me leaving my quarters?â You raised your voice, slightly exasperated. Tired of having your brother set the boundaries of your life and control how and where you were allowed to exist.
âI donât want him to lay his gaze on you,â Valarrâs eyes snapped up to meet yours. His hair may be dark, and his eyes mismatched, but in that moment, nobody would have questioned his heritage. He looked like a dragon in human form. âI donât want him to know how your voice sounds now or how your expressions have changed. I donât want him to have a clear image of you when he twists his disgusting stories. I donât want him to be able to think of you and know the details of your face. The mere thought of the things he may fantasise makes me want to walk into his chambers and castrate him. I donât want to give him anything.â
âYou know he will eventually come back from exileâŠâ You spoke softly this time, feeling the weight of the princeâs words and gaze on you.
âNot if I am king.â
âValarr...â You tried to argue, knowing your father would not survive a life without ever seeing his son again, no matter the monster he may be.
âYou are mine.â Valarrâs breathing had grown laboured as he tried to make you understand, the storm behind his eyes growing increasingly unsettled. âHe killed my father. It wasnât Maekar and his  mace. It was Aerion. Aerion and his lies, his ego, his disgusting fantasies. My father was meant to be king, a great king. He was a great man, and he killed him. He took him away from me. I wonât let him have you, not even a glimpse. That is already too much.â
The words seemed to drain something from him the moment they left his lips. Valarr looked almost startled by his own admission, as if he had not meant to say it aloud. All the air in the room seemed to have been sucked out at once, as the two of you stood perfectly still.
The knock at the door was so soft that if it hadnât been for the complete silence that had followed Valarrâs statement, the two of you would have missed it. It took a second for either of you to react, to break eye contact, to breathe again. Valarr moved first. He exhaled, blinking slowly as he regained control. He was a trained man, a true heir to the throne. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, fixing whatever strand that had been moved by the discussion. Then he spoke, âCome in.â
It wasnât for him to invite anyone into your private chambers; it was rude at best. Yet, you decided to ignore the gesture, too shaken by your discussion to care about small formalities. One of your maids entered the room shyly, her body almost bent in two as she tried to make herself as small as possible. Of course, your ladies had heard your discussion. They had been, after all, just outside of your room, and the two of you had been shouting. The maid was followed inside by one of the castleâs guards, one of the ones who had met Aerion at the gates.
You turned away, embarrassed, looking towards the opposite wall as the prince spoke. âWhat is it?â his voice had levelled completely. He may have sounded slightly winded, but there was no anger in his tone. He was his fatherâs son.
âI apologise to interrupt my prince, princess,â the guard glanced at you, but met only the back of your head, âtwo royal envoys have arrived from Kingâs Landing. They bear the seal of the Red Keep. They are waiting for you in the kingâs solar.â
âThe Kingâs solar? That is nonsense. Have they not been informed that I will have all my audiences in the princessâs solar?â Valarrâs tone grew slightly rigid, but his frustration was not targeted at anyone in particular. Â
âThey wouldnât allow it any other way, my prince.â The guard stared at the tip of his boots as he spoke, a feeling of foreboding filling the room. âThey say that it is urgent. They require your immediate presence.â
Valarr parted his lips, prepared to protest, to argue that he was the highest member of the royal family in this castle and that he wouldnât have anyone order him around, but you interrupted him, âGo, it seems important.â Your eyes met his, and the shift was immediate. You tried to speak to him with your gaze, to reassure him that you would be fine, that you understood, that you wouldnât leave your room. He didnât move at first, seemingly fighting his natural instincts to stay, to protect, to keep you under his watch at all times.
He took a fortifying breath and blinked slowly before stepping towards you, âWe shall go on a walk once I am back,â he said, his voice quieter than usual. It was a hidden olive branch; you both knew it. You gave him a soft nod, thankful. The two of you were trying; you understood each other. This was what a compromise between dragons looked like.
The guard bowed down and stepped back towards the door, followed by the prince, who paused at the entrance, looking back at you, fighting the natural pull to stay. You gave him one more reassuring nod, whispering, âIâll be fine,â and giving him a gentle smile.
The prince exited the room together with the other two occupants, leaving you alone. As soon as the door was shut, a cold breeze seemed to escape the walls. You exhaled, finally, and turned back to the window. The courtyard was still. Too still. Even the boots had gone quiet.
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Liv's note: apologies for the delay in posting. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as always, comments and reblogs are wholeheartedly appreciated! Let me know your thoughts and theories!
Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence.
Chapter Word count: 3.5k
Tags: targcest, smut, mostly just sweet, no use of y/n.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
The two of you had gone to bed separately soon after the end of your encounter in the library, noting that in only a few hours, servants would start readying the castle for the day.
You had been woken up bright and early by your maids, who informed you that the prince had made a full recovery and had asked to breakfast with you in the solar. That morning, you spent double the time picking a gown, finding everything you had with you lacking... too thick, too wide, too white, too old. Nothing seemed to fully please you. Eventually, your maids had cleared their throats carefully and said, "Princess, the Prince says he is growing hungry, and the food is getting cold.â
You had sighed dramatically in resignation, looking at yourself in the mirror in the beautiful burgundy gown you were wearing."I guess, it'll do."
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Valarrâs stomach was twisting and turning as he sat alone in the solar, patiently waiting for your arrival. He had barely managed to sleep, a mix of excitement and fear keeping him fully alert. He knew his uncle wouldn't be happy. After all, you had just returned to Westeros, and the prince was already planning to take you away from him. It didn't matter, though. Valarr wouldn't wait any longer.
As minutes passed, the prince grew more restless, suddenly wondering if maybe you had changed your mind and no longer wanted him. The mere thought filled him with panic, uncontrollable possessiveness making it difficult for him to even recognise his own thoughts. He shook his head and took a sip of his drink, seeking to steady his mind. If you didnât want him, that would be fine. He lied to himself; He would be able to let you go.
"Where is she?" His head snapped to the guard to his right, who quickly shuffled out of the room to search for an answer.
Valarr stared at the gardens intensely, trying to keep his nerves at bay. It was a hot day, the sun reflected over the lake like a mirror, and the sound of birds was almost absent. Even they were too fatigued by the weather to sing. He thought of the pond, of the water covered by the trees, which kept it cool and fresh. Maybe he would ask you to accompany him there again today. The thought tensed him further, but in all the right ways. He closed his eyes and could almost see it, a reflection of a dream or maybe just desire.
âMy prince,â a voice spoke behind him, ruining the perfect vision and forcing him to turn to meet the call. âThe guards have spotted a Targaryen bannerman approaching the estate.â
âOne bannerman?â Valarr asked, frowning.
âYes, my lord.â
âIt may be from my uncle. Their return may be further delayed.â Valarrâs voice remained perfectly flat, as his heart raced just at the thought. More days here, alone with you, without all those extra eyes on you two, it would have been too good to be true.
âWe will investigate as soon as they reach the gates,â the guard said, then took his leave, leaving the prince to gaze nervously at the gardens, as something told him this was not good news.
---
You had been making your way to the solar with the guard who had come looking for you when the growing commotion caught your attention. Multiple men walked down the corridor towards the entrance to the castle, bowing their heads as they passed you, but without offering any further information.
âWhat is going on?â you asked your accompanying guard, who stopped one of his men.
âA Targaryen bannerman is approaching; we expect news from Prince Maekar.â You were filled with a mix of joy and anxiety. Was your father arriving? Would you finally get to see your brother Daeron again?
âTell Prince Valarr I will go to receive my fatherâs message,â you told the guard and followed the marching soldiers before your chaperone could object.
â
Valarr watched the next series of events as if they were happening in slow-motion, and yet, he had no way to stop them. The hooded bannerman reached the gates; his path was barred by two guards, who approached him, seemingly asking him to dismount his horse. There was a moment of hesitation, where the two guards seemed to exchange a look and then looked back towards the castle. The man seemingly refused to dismount or remove his hood as he spoke down to the guards, far too distant for any part of the exchange to reach Prince Valarr.
Valarr sat up even further, if even possible, leaning against the rail of the solarâs balcony as if it would allow him to better understand what was going on. He was so intent on deciphering the interaction that he missed the sound of the doors below him opening and the men who exited them marching, followed by the soft clicking of heels trying to keep up.
âLet him through!â You shouted, causing the heir to the throneâs attention to snap down, confused. You were supposed to be on your way to break fast with him, not encountering some faceless messenger. âGo see what is going on!â you ordered the very same guard that Valarr had sent to look for you, who had just caught up to you by the entrance. The prince could only observe as the guard reluctantly followed your orders, walking towards the gate where the hooded man finally dismounted his horse and turned your way, seemingly ignoring the two guards that were still talking to him.
It took Valarr a second too long to realise what was happening, to narrow his gaze enough to recognise the hooded manâs posture, the guardsâ nervousness. He held his breath for a second as he looked at you, still oblivious, far too many years since you had seen the man to be able to pick up on any of the clues in his motion. Valarr finally regained control over himself, turning back and running out of the Solar down to you.
â
You watched eagerly as your chaperone walked towards the gate, clutching your dress tightly, nervous. The excitement of the moment and the improbability of reality blinded you for a second, obscuring the facts before your eyes. The bannerman dismounted and turned your way, tilting his head just enough to reveal his features, and suddenly, it was as if all sound and warmth had been sucked out of your environment. Your laboured breathing stopped, and the only sound you could hear was the panicked beating of your heart in your ears. Your nervous smile vanished instantly as you instinctively stepped back.
Your brother Aerion removed his hood slowly, a reveal so dramatic it could have only been executed by him. No amount of healing bruises across his face or the hollowness of his cheeks would have softened the predatory look he held. He looked as if he hadnât slept in days, as if the only thing pushing him forward had been the thought of this moment.
The world seemed to come to a halt as neither of you moved, separated by the expanse of the garden and the three guards that watched the exchange nervously. There was a decision to be made, and Aerion was giving you the opportunity to make it. He wanted you to welcome him home. You were not sure how much your father had shared with him about the reasons for your initial move. You wondered if he was not aware that he had been the cause. He had probably figured it out by now, especially given the timing of his own exile and your return.
Your brother wasnât famous for his patience, and at the smallest sign of your reluctance, his face shifted, the mask twisting from pure, uncontrollable fascination to palpable disdain, a cruel smile allowing him to bare his teeth. He sighed out a bitter laugh and then tried to walk toward you, but his first step was met by the immediate sound of metal being drawn as all three guards unsheathed their swords.
You exhaled in shock, unsure any of them would be allowed to hurt a prince of the blood. Aerion seemed equally as shocked and reached for his own sword, only halting as his name rang from behind you. Before you could turn, you felt it. Valarrâs hand lay on your lower back for a millisecond before he stepped ahead, sword drawn, gaze firmly focused on his cousin across the garden.
âTake her inside,â he ordered someone and the next thing you knew, he was walking ahead towards Aerion as one of your maids gently pulled you into the castle.
â-
You spent the next few hours pacing up and down your room, a feeling of foreboding and nausea twisting in your stomach. Your room looked into the internal courtyard, giving you no chance of knowing what had happened after your exit. Your maids tried their best to calm you, offering you food, tea, or even wine for your nerves. You refused all of it, asking them for any information about what had happened. They looked at you apologetically, âPrincess, we have not been allowed outside your quarters. The last thing we heard was the clash of swords.â
By the time the sun had started to set, you had given up on pacing, sitting by your window, searching for any whisper that would escape the courtyard. There was nothing but the noise of boots and the growing chirps as the temperature cooled. Earlier, you had requested that food be brought up to your room, specifically asking for meat that would require a sharp knife. The food had stayed untouched; however, you had taken hold of the knife, holding it tightly anytime there was any noise outside of your door. If Aerion had managed to hurt Valarr, the guards, he would come for you, and you needed to be prepared.
The knock at your door was so soft that if you hadnât been in a complete state of hyperawareness, you would have missed it. You rose quickly, listening to the voices of your maids and a man exchanging outside.
âItâs me,â Valarr spoke from the other side, and you sighed a breath that you hadnât realised you had been holding since your eyes had met Aerionâs.
âCome in,â was all you could muster as your voice cracked. The door opened, and judgment be damned, you dropped the knife you were holding and ran to him. Valarr entered and stepped forward, closing his door before your maids could walk in with him, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as yours wrapped around his waist. An uncontrollable sob left your lips as his smell and warmth engulfed you; you were safe. âI am sorry,â you whispered, after a minute, regaining some of your composure but refusing to pull away to look at him.
âWhat are you sorry for?â he hugged you tighter, if even possible, placing a soft kiss on your head.
âYou were waiting for me to break fast. I left you waiting. First, I couldnât find a dress, and then I heard of the bannerman. I thought it was a message from my father. I was so eager to hear the news that I left you waiting. I shouldnât have. I should have come to you.â You spoke in between sobs, quietly soothed by Valarr, who caressed the back of your head softly.
âIt is fine, my love.â He spoke the words with such tenderness that you felt your heart could explode. With the shock of the morning, your mind had abandoned the acts of the previous night behind as merely wishful thinking. In truth, you had also been nervous about joining him that morning, scared that he would regret what the two of you had done. Yet here he was, calling you his love, holding you against his chest.
âWhy is he here?â you finally pulled back, meeting the princeâs gaze. His lip was broken, dried blood had been cleaned from it, but the main mark was still there. He looked tired, maybe even older, as if the last couple of hours had taken something from him⊠or maybe it had been the last days.
âHe heard about your return before they left Ashford. He was too weak to ride then and knew your father would chase after him if he simply left, so he waited. He waited until the two parties separated. Two days later, he stole two horses and rode this way. He knew it would take his entourage days to reach him alone on horseback, and they wouldnât manage to reach your father in time to warn him. He has been riding for days nonstop; one of his horses died of exhaustion on his way here.â Valarr recounted the facts with clinical coldness, hiding the best he could the disgust he felt for his kin.
âWhere is he now?â You anxiously glanced at the door. If Valarr had managed to gain all this information, it meant he had talked to Aerion, which could mean your brother had convinced him to let him stay.
âHe in his quarters-â
âWhat?â You pulled completely away from the prince, a new wave of panic washing over you. âHow-â
âPlease,â he reached for you, but you pulled away, beginning your pacing all over again. âMy love,â he grabbed your hand and halted you in place, âAerion passed out from exhaustion minutes after you left. He tried to fight, but he hadnât eaten or slept in days, on top of the severe injuries he suffered at the tourney.â You watched Valarrâs expression darken at the mere mention of the tourney. He flinched for a second, almost as if a memory had hit him across the face and then sighed and continued, âThe maesters checked on him. They said he wouldnât survive another night in the wild.â
âLet him die,â you told him, but your words held no strength; of course, you wouldnât want your brother to die, no matter how scared you were of him.
âIs that really what you want? Because I will do anything you ask me to,â Valarr searched your gaze, studying it. He could see the conflict in the purple of your eyes, but he meant it. He would do anything you asked.
You broke eye contact, sighing and pulling away from his touch. âHe will come looking for me, no matter how tired or broken he is. He will try.â
âI will not let him.â Valarr stepped towards you, but you shook your head.
âYou donât know him as I doâŠâ
âI will guard you myself. I have informed the guards.â You looked back at him, shocked and confused, âI will eat here, sleep here, until Maekar is back, hopefully with Aerionâs party. Then he will leave, and I will marry you.â
âThere is no way they would allow that. It wouldnât be appropriate.â You argued, but looked hopeful. Gods, you would love to be stuck here, alone with Valarr.
âI am the heir to the Iron throne, who here would dare challenge what I say?â Valarr pulled you to him, his hands lazily resting on your hips. He cocked his head and gave you a smug smile.
His words allowed you to relax, your eyes softening as you lifted your hand to his cheek, taking the chance to analyse his face, his broken lip and a small bruise on his cheek, âI may.â
âAnd I shall do as you tell me.â
âHe broke your lip.â
âHe caught me off guard. He seemed already passed out, and then he regained his strength.â Valarr chuckled, a soft blush colouring his cheeks. He noticed the way your gaze had lingered on his lips, and that your pupils were dilated. He cleared his throat and stepped away. âI will tell your maids about my plan. I will ask for the key to your door. Of course, it will be best if we ensure no one can enter at night in case I fall asleep.â
âSo I have you all for myself?â
âJust me⊠and the guards outside of the door, making sure Aerion does not try anything.â Valarr walked out of the room, exchanged a few words with the two women, and then returned, carrying a heavy key and a smug smile. He locked the door and then turned back to you. You walked to him slowly, reaching him and cupping his face. You brought him down to you languidly, ignoring the way his hands reached for your hips and pulled you to him. âI wanted to take you to the pond today,â he informed you matter-of-factly as his lips brushed just so slightly against yours.
âWhy?â You moved your face side to side softly, letting your noses touch.
âIâve seen it in my dreams,â he replied, pulling you flush against his body, telling you exactly the type of dreams he was talking about.
âThey will hear us,â you warned him with no bite.
âNot if you are really quiet....â Valarr closed the distance between your lips and kissed you, first softly, then not so much. The rusty taste of blood marked the kiss as your tongue ran over his broken lip. Blood of the dragon, just like you. The prince guided you towards your bed, sitting you down there and slowly making his way down your body, placing kisses along the way. âThe dress is beautiful, you have impeccable taste,â he teased you in reference to your struggles earlier in the day. You simply hummed your response, biting down on your lip to avoid making any more noise.
Valarr knelt in front of you, lifting the thin fabric of your summer dress. âWhat are you doing?â you tried to sit up, confused and alarmed. The princeâs hand, however, held down onto your core, keeping you lying down.
âI didnât get to eat today. Havenât broken fast yet. Was left waiting for you,â he whispered his reply as he spread your legs, pressing soft kisses on your ankle and then on your calf, making his slow way up.
âValarr, what are you-â you tried to ask again, but the sentence died in your throat as your hand shot to your mouth, muffling away a gasp. Valarrâs fingers rubbed against the covered lips of your pussy, before pulling down at your undergarments.
âI am breaking fast,â he whispered as he pressed a kiss on the newly unveiled skin, before wrapping his lips around your bundle of nerves. You sucked in a breath, focusing every fibre of your body on staying completely quiet. Your hips rocked up as the prince continued his ministrations under your dress, licking, sucking and biting as only a starved man would. Valarr didnât stop until he heard your breathing grow impossibly laboured, your body pushing to get closer than physically possible to him as your back arched. He took the chance to speed up his pace, the roughness of his touch, and felt you turn your head to a side, reaching for a pillow to suffocate the string of moans leaving your lips.
Valarr would not tell you, but earlier, once you had been brought inside and he had been face-to-face with Aerion, his cousin had initially laughed at him, âWhat? They sent you to protect her?â the silver-haired Targaryen had snarled, ignoring his own exhaustion, âShe is mine, Valarr. Was since birth. I just came to claim her. She can go with me to Lys.â
âNot bloody likely,â Valarr had replied, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy and anger fill his mouth.
âYou wouldnât get it. You are not like us; look at yourself,â Aerion looked at his cousin up and down and then pulled at the collar of his own doublet, showing a small birthmark on his chest. Valarr had heard this story before, how, according to Aerion, it looked like scales, dragon scales. However, he hadnât previously heard the next part, âshe has one of the sameâŠâ Aerion looked at Valarr, cocky, all teeth and delirium, âin the same spot.â
Valarr saw red at the implication. Aerion was caught by surprise by the fury with which his cousin attacked him and only managed to block his blows out of sheer reflex. The fight didnât last long; your brother fell to his knees soon after, exhausted, barely conscious. The guards lifted him, prepared to take him inside. That could have been the end. Valarr wasnât sure why he did what he did next, but he grabbed Aerionâs doublet and shook him, giving him back the same predatory, toothy sneer he had looked at you with, âNo, she fucking doesnât.â
It took Aerion a moment to even understand his cousin's reply, let alone connect it to his own statement. Your brother lifted his head with newfound strength, taking the guards by surprise and shaking off their grip. His punch connected directly with Valarrâs jaw, sending him tumbling back as the guards regained their grip on his cousin, who was shouting at him, âYou fucking bastard. She is mine. Fucking mine.â
///
liv's note
Well, well, well, look how the turns table. After a lot of reflection, I have decided to make the fic longer than originally planned. I am really, really enjoying writing for Valarr, especially trying to make him a little more complex than just a goody two-shoes, haha. I hope this unexpected change is not too disappointing! I was too excited to post this, so apologies, it has not been proofread. I hope you enjoy it! As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
Hi everyone :) just wanted to pop by and say that I will be back with the new chapter of the Affinity of Dragons as soon as I am back home. Currently visiting my family in Italy and forgot my personal laptop đđđ
Valarr looked down at her, and simply chuckled, shifting her mumbling weight further into his chest.
"Your arms are going to grow horribly tired, my prince. I am absolutely certain you'll get so exhausted you'll drop me on the cold stone floor before we even make it."
Valarr shook his head, his voice dripping with an all too adoring affection. âYouâre an absolute terror,â
âI am a terror,â Clarice agreed, cheekily.
warnings: implied sexual content
masterlist here
The summons from Kingâs Landing had not been a request; it had been a royal decree, sealed in the red wax of House Targaryen, bearing the heavy, indisputable stamp of the three-headed dragon.
Rumors had been drifting across the Narrow Sea like a foul-smelling fog. The Blackfyres, it was whispered. King Daeron the Good, alongside his Hand and heir, Baelor Breakspear, knew that a fractured realm was a vulnerable realm. They needed the great houses bound to the Iron Throne with ties stronger than mere oaths. They needed blood. And they needed the Vale.
And so, Jon Arryn, the young Warden of the East and Lord of the Eyrie, had ridden down from the Mountains of the Moon with his sister, Clarice, riding beside him. There had been no time for a long betrothal, no time for courtly romances or tourney favors. Clarice was to be wed to Prince Valarr Targaryen, Baelorâs eldest son and the future of the realm, before the moon could turn.
Now, standing in the cavernous, incense-heavy hall of the Great Sept of Baelor, Clarice felt the sheer, terrifying weight of what was about to happen.
She was drowning in Arryn silk. Her gown was a masterpiece of pale blue and silver, embroidered with flowers that seemed to catch the light of the massive crystal windows. A heavy Maidenâs cloak, velvet the color of a twilight sky, rested on her shoulders, fastened with a silver crescent moon. She felt beautiful, yes, her handmaidens had worked tirelessly to braid her blonde hair with pearls and silver wire, but she also felt like a very expensive piece of meat being brought to a high table.
"Breathe, dear sister," Jon murmured, standing beside her. "You look as though you're marching to the executioner's block."
"If I am, I expect you to draw your sword, brother," Clarice whispered back, her voice remarkably steady despite the frantic fluttering in her chest.
Jon gave a low, dry chuckle. "If Prince Valarr proves to be a brute, I will. But by all accounts, he is his father's son. A good man."
"A stranger," Clarice corrected. "A stranger I am bound to until the Stranger takes me."
The massive, gilded doors of the sept groaned open. Jon offered his arm. She took it, her fingers gripping the velvet of his doublet tight enough to leave a mark.
They walked down the aisle. Clarice kept her chin high, her dark eyes fixed straight ahead. She was an Arryn of the Vale; her house words were As High as Honor, and she would not let these southron lords see her tremble.
And then, she saw him.
Prince Valarr Targaryen stood at the altar beneath the towering, gilded statues of the Father and the Mother. The breath left Clariceâs lungs in a quiet, sudden rush.
She had expected a boy, or perhaps someone arrogant and aloof, hardened by the immense pressure of his lineage. Instead, she found a young man of striking, undeniable handsomeness. He was tall and leanly muscled, dressed in a doublet of deep charcoal and crimson. His hair was dark, unlike the traditional Targaryen silver, but a single, striking streak of silver-gold ran through his fringe, catching the candlelight.
But it was his face that arrested her. He had a strong jaw and a straight nose, but his eyes âone striking, deep blue; the other the colour of grounding, damp earthâ were impossibly kind. As Clarice approached, she saw the tension in his own shoulders, the slight, nervous swallow before his throat cleared.Â
Valarr watched his bride approach with a heart hammering against his ribs. When his father had told him of the match, he had accepted it as his duty, how could he not? He expected a stern, cold mountain girl. But the woman walking toward him was breathtaking. Clarice had a heart-shaped face, skin like porcelain, and eyes the colour of a storm and so intelligent they seemed to pierce right through the pageantry of the room. There was a fiery, defiant set to her jaw that made his breath hitch.Â
Jon Arryn brought her to a halt at the foot of the altar. The High Septonâs voice droned on, speaking of duty, the gods, and the joining of two ancient lines. Then came the moment of the hand-off.
Jon lifted Clariceâs hand and placed it into Valarrâs.
Valarrâs hands were warm, calloused from the sword, but his grip was incredibly gentle. He stepped infinitesimally closer as the High Septon continued his prayers, leaning his head down just a fraction so only she could hear him over the choir.
"You are trembling, my lady," Valarr whispered, his voice a rich, soothing and immensely kind baritone. A soft, reassuring light shone in his eyes. "I promise, I am not as fearsome as my houseâs sigil. You have nothing to fear from me."
Clarice looked up at him through her lashes. Her initial panic melted, replaced by an innate, bubbling spark of mischief that had always been her defining trait.Â
A small, genuine smirk played at the corner of her lips. She leaned in, just a breath closer, the scent of her lavender perfume washing over him.
"I was rather hoping you would be, my prince," she whispered back, her tone hushed but laced with a wicked, sweet teasing. "I've always wanted to see a dragon breathe fire. But I suppose a handsome knight will have to do."
Valarr blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then, a slow, unbidden and sweet smile broke across his face, transforming him entirely. The seriousness vanished, replaced by a radiant, boyish charm. He let out a surprised, hushed giggle. "Then I shall do my best not to disappoint you, my lady."
As the High Septon called for the exchange of cloaks, Valarr unfastened the heavy Arryn blue from her shoulders. He took the Targaryen cloak, black velvet bearing the three-headed red dragon, and draped it carefully over her, letting his hands linger for just a second on her shoulders.
When he leaned in to kiss her, sealing the marriage, it was not the awkward, formal peck Clarice had imagined. It was soft, warm, and deeply reverent. As his lips brushed hers, Clarice felt a sudden, undeniable spark of magic hum between them.
As they parted, Clarice looked up at him, her tone dropping into something playfully ominous. "It seems my brother won't have to draw his sword, after all," she whispered.
Valarr blinked, his hands still resting gently on her waist. He looked down at her with an impossibly adoring, yet entirely confused face. He simply chuckled a disoriented giggle.
Clariceâs eyes searched for Jon down the hall. Her brother was smiling, his sword safely sheathed at his side.Â
***********
Morning sunlight slanted through the narrow, arched windows of Dragonstoneâs family dining solar, catching the dust motes dancing over a table filled with cheese, ham, fresh bread, and dark blackberry preserves.Â
Clarice was deep in conversation with her goodmother, Lady Jena. They were debating the merits of importing Myrish lace versus sticking to the traditional, heavier velvet of the Vale for their winter cloaks.
"The lace is exquisite, of course," Jena was saying, delicately buttering a piece of bread, "but the damp on this island, Clarice, it will rot the delicate threads before the year is out."
"We could line it with tightly woven wool," Clarice suggested, her eyes bright with the puzzle of it. "A layer of pale blue silk beneath the lace, perhaps, to protect it?"
Before Jena could answer, Clariceâs attention snagged on the conversation happening at the end of the table. Baelor, looking more like a comfortable, massive bear than the Hand of the King in his loose morning tunic, was leaning over a parchment with Valarr.
"...an additional copper on every crate of dye from the Free Cities," Baelor rumbled, his deep voice carrying easily. "The treasury needs the padding, and the weavers in King's Landing can absorb the cost."
Clarice didn't even pause to think. She abandoned her lace completely. "A copper a crate? Forgive me, dear Father, but that is absurd."
Valarr looked up from the ledger, a fond, knowing smile already forming on his lips. Matarys, sitting across from him, stopped chewing his apple and leaned forward, his eyes gleaming, eager for the show.
Baelor arched a thick, dark eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with hidden amusement. "Absurd, daughter? The Master of Coin assures me it is a sound strategy."
"The Master of Coin has clearly never tried to sell a bolt of dyed silk in the Vale," Clarice countered, leaning forward and planting her elbows on the table. "If you tax the dye before it's even woven, the merchants will simply pass the cost to the dyers, who will buy less. You'll choke the trade entirely. You're better off taxing the finished product at the city gates."
Baelor crossed his massive arms, settling back in his chair. "The crown cannot wait for merchants to weave their cloth, Clarice. We need the gold now. Perhaps we should tax the raw wool coming out of the Mountains of the Moon as well."
Clariceâs jaw dropped slightly. Her Arryn pride flared instantly. "You would tax my brother's wool? The very wool that keeps half your northern garrisons from freezing to death in the winter? That is extortion, my Prince, not taxation!"
"It is the king's prerogative," Baelor said, his voice maddeningly calm, though the corner of his mouth twitched suspiciously. "If the Eyrie wishes to complain, they may send a raven."
"I will send more than a raven!" Clariceâs voice rose, her hands gripping the edge of the table, entirely forgetting she was raising her voice at the Heir to the Ironthrone. "I will ride to King's Landing myself and shove that ledger down the Master of Coin'sâ"
Baelor could hold it back no longer. A rich, booming laugh erupted from his deep chest, shaking the heavy oak table. Matarys burst into loud snickers, and even the elegant Jena hid a fond smile behind her linen napkin.
Clarice froze, her words dying in her throat. Her face flushed a deep, brilliant scarlet as she realized she had been thoroughly, masterfully baited. "You... you were mocking me."
"I do apologise," Baelor chuckled, reaching over to pat her hand with his massive, calloused one. "But you are simply too easy to rile. Your brother warned me you had the temper of a cornered shadowcat."
Clarice slumped back in her chair, reluctantly joining the laughter, though she shot her goodfather a scathing glare. "Keep pulling my feathers, my Prince, and I swear to the Seven I will name your first grandson Maegor just to spite you."
The table erupted into laughter again. Matarys nearly choked on his bite of apple, pounding his chest.
"Gods have mercy," Baelor laughed, the sound easy and kind, "Anything but that."
Clarice smiled, but as the echoes of the joke faded, a sudden, quiet pang tightened her chest. Your first grandson. She instinctively dropped her hand to her lap, resting it softly over her flat stomach. They had been married for six months now. The maesters said there was no cause for alarm, but the whispers of the court were often cruel, and the empty space in her womb felt heavier with each passing moon.
Valarr, who had been watching her closely from his side, saw the momentary shadow dim the bright fire in her eyes. He didn't miss a beat. He reached beneath the heavy oak table, his warm fingers finding hers and giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"Speaking of names and terrible beasts," Valarr said smoothly, his voice commanding the table's attention as he turned to his father. "Did the new shipment of destriers arrive from the Reach? Clarice was saying just yesterday she wanted to try breaking that fiery black mare they brought in."
Clariceâs head snapped up like a meerkatâs, the sadness instantly sidelined by the sudden rush of interest. "The one that threw the master of horse into the muck?" she asked, her dark eyes lighting up with dangerous excitement.
"The very one," Valarr smiled, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand beneath the table. "Though I told the master of horse you would likely have it eating from your palm by midday."
Clarice grinned, the shadows entirely banished, her competitive spirit reignited. "I'll have her jumping fences by sundown."
It was late afternoon, and the sky over Dragonstone was a bruised purple, threatening rain. Inside the walls of the sparring yard, however, the air was hot and thick with dust.
"Your footing is too wide, my love," Valarr said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You're giving me your center."
Clarice stood opposite him, a blunted wooden tourney sword gripped in her leather-gloved hands. She had abandoned the heavy silks of the court in favor of a pair of fitted, dark brown riding breeches, utterly scandalous in King's Landing, but perfectly acceptable on the isolated island of Dragonstone, and a loose, light linen shirt that clung slightly to her skin with a sheen of sweat. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid. She looked wild, flushed, and to Valarr, utterly irresistible.
"My footing is wide because I am preparing to sweep your legs out from under you, my prince," Clarice shot back, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.
Valarr chuckled, leaning casually on his own practice sword. He was in his shirtsleeves, the laces at his collar undone, revealing the smooth, tanned skin of his chest. "A bold strategy, considering I am a foot taller and twice your weight."
"Ah, but I am an Arryn," Clarice said, twirling the wooden blade with surprising dexterity. "We are accustomed to striking from above."
"Then strike, little falcon."
Clarice lunged. She was surprisingly fast. While Jon had not trained her formally, she had spent her childhood watching the knights of the Vale from the balconies of the Eyrie, and she had a natural, dancer's grace. She feinted left, aiming for Valarrâs ribs, then smoothly pivoted, bringing the flat of the wooden blade toward his shoulder.
Valarr parried with effortless skill. The wood clacked sharply. He didn't use his full strength, allowing her to press the attack, guiding her through the motions. He enjoyed teaching her, enjoyed the fierce concentration on her face.
"Good," he murmured, easily blocking a downward strike. "But don't overextend. If you miss, you're open. Keep your guard up."
Clarice grunted, stepping back and circling him. "You're only giving me advice so you can distract me."
"I am giving you advice so you don't bruise that beautiful skin of yours," he teased, his eyes flashing with amusement.
"I'll show you a bruise," she muttered. She surged forward again, unleashing a rapid flurry of strikes. Left, right, a thrust to the center. Valarr parried them all, stepping backward, letting her push the pace.
Then, Clarice saw her opening. Valarr had stepped slightly too far back, his heel catching on an uneven cobblestone in the dirt. Clarice didn't hesitate. She dropped her bum, swung her wooden blade to catch his, twisted her wrist to lock their weapons, and used her momentum to shoulder-check him squarely in the chest, simultaneously sweeping her booted foot behind his ankle.
With a surprised, breathless laugh, Valarr lost his footing. He fell backward onto the soft dirt of the yard, pulling Clarice down with him.
They landed in a tangle of limbs, a cloud of dust puffing up around them. Clarice ended up straddling his hips, her hands pinned to his chest, the wooden swords discarded in the dirt nearby. She looked down at him, her chest heaving, a triumphant, wicked grin spreading across her face.
"I yield, I yield," Valarr laughed, looking up at her. His dark hair, with its streak of silver, was mussed with dirt, and his eyes were crinkled with mirth.
"The great Prince Valarr, brought low by a girl," Clarice mocked gently, leaning down so her face was inches from his. "What will the bards sing?"
"They will sing that the prince was utterly distracted by his opponent's enchanting beauty and forgot how to use his feet," Valarr replied smoothly. He reached up, his hands settling respectfully on her waist, though his blue eyes darkened with sudden heat.
"A terrible excuse for a knight," she whispered, leaning closer and shifting her weight on his hips.
Valarr drew in a sharp, quiet breath. For a moment, he looked entirely ready to pull her down into a deep kiss, but then the heavy clatter of boots echoed near the armory archway. Two guards were making their rounds across the courtyard. Valarrâs innate sense of royal decorum instantly overpowered his impulses. He cleared his throat, a faint flush dusting his cheekbones as he suddenly remembered they were rolling in the dirt of the main yard in broad daylight.
"And yet a perfect excuse for a husband," Valarr murmured quickly, gently but firmly lifting her off him. He scrambled to his feet with fluid grace, turning to offer her a hand.
Clarice took it, letting him pull her up, though she pouted playfully at the sudden loss of contact.
"I think," Valarr said, his voice dropping to a low, husky register meant strictly for her ears as he brushed the dirt from her shoulders, "that this sparring lesson has concluded."
Clarice arched an eyebrow, leaning in close, her tone a wicked tease. "Oh? Are you surrendering so soon? I thought Targaryens had more endurance."
Valarr stepped closer, bending his head as if to inspect a scuff on her linen collar, but his lips brushed her ear instead, completely hidden from the yard. "I assure you, my lady, my resilence is not in question," he whispered, sending a thrill down her spine. "But I prefer to demonstrate my prowess without an audience. And on a much softer battlefield."
The dirt of the sparring yard was quickly abandoned.
The moment the heavy oak doors of their bedchamber clicked shut behind them, Valarr had her pressed against the cool stone wall. There was no slow, courtly romance now; only the frantic, eager desire of two people who could not shed their clothes fast enough. Clariceâs clever fingers made quick work of the laces on his shirt, pushing the linen off his broad shoulders to map the planes of his chest with hungry kisses. Valarrâs hands were equally urgent, pulling her linen shirt over her head and tossing it to the floor before his fingers moved to unfasten her riding breeches.
Their playful teasing melted into heavy, breathless gasps as they tumbled onto the sprawling four-poster bed. The outside world and all its heavy duties were entirely forgotten as Valarr's kisses trailed lower, charting an agonizingly slow path down her stomach and thighs. Clarice's hands tangled in his dark hair as he shifted further down the mattress, her breath hitching at the sudden, intimate warmth of his mouth against her womanhood.
"Oh, Gods," Clarice gasped out, her voice trembling, her fingers blindly gripping the silk sheets.
Valarr paused, shifting just enough to look up the length of her body. His dark hair was charmingly mussed, his eyes blown dark with desire, and a distinctly cocky, devastatingly fond smile played on his lips.
"Not a God," he corrected, his voice sweet with teasing against her thigh. "Just your adoring husband."
***********
The Meadow of Ashford was a sea of vibrant silk, snapping banners, and the chaotic, joyous noise of a realm at peace. For the first day, the atmosphere had been jubilant. Clarice had spent the morning in the stands, cheering until her throat was raw as she watched Valarr and other knights ride in the lists. Valarr looked magnificent in his dark armor, unhorsing two knights with effortless grace before presenting a crown of winter roses to Clarice on the tip of his lance, much to the crowd's delight.
But as night fell and the great feast commenced in the sprawling Targaryen pavilion, the mood shifted.
The pavilion was a massive tent of red and black silk, lit by dozens of iron braziers. At the high table, the family had gathered. The food was rich: roasted boar, honey-glazed fowl, and endless rivers of Arbor gold, and the conversation, initially, was perfectly courtly.
However, halfway through the feast, Baelor and his brother Maekar were called away by the Lord of Ashford to discuss the bracketing for the next day's jousts. Their departure acted like the removal of a heavy, stabilizing anchor.
Left at the table were Clarice, Valarr, his younger brother Matarys, and their cousin, Aerion, along with Aerion's wife, Daenora.
Aerion Targaryen was a man of terrifying vanity and cruelty, Clarice thought. He dressed in ostentatious silks of yellow and red, his silver hair perfectly coiffed, his eyes a bruised, unnerving violet. He despised everything he considered beneath him, which was nearly everyone, and he took a twisted, sadistic pleasure in finding peopleâs weaknesses and pressing on them until they snapped. He particularly enjoyed bringing Clarice to madness.
"The boar is tough tonight, isn't it?" Aerion remarked to no one in particular, though his gaze never left Clarice's plate. "Though I suppose to a palate raised on mountain goat and hard bread, even this must taste like a feast."
Clarice paused, her silver fork hovering over her plate. Valarrâs hand shifted subtly on the armrest of his chair.
"The food in the Vale is hearty, Prince Aerion," Clarice replied, offering a dangerously tight smile. "It builds strength. Something I noticed you were sorely lacking when Ser Humfrey put you in the dirt this afternoon."
Matarys choked slightly on his wine, disguising it as a cough behind his linen napkin. Daenora shrank further into her seat.
Aerionâs pale, bruised-violet eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but the cruel, thin smile never left his lips. He thrived on this. "Strength is for the beasts of the field, my lady. A true prince relies on finesse and fire. But then, I wouldn't expect a rough mountain bird to understand the intricacies of a dragon's dance."
"If your dance consists of falling off a horse, I confess, it is entirely beyond my comprehension," she shot back smoothly, taking a deliberate sip of her wine.
Valarr cleared his throat softly, a clear, sharp warning. "Clarice. Aerion. The feast is meant for celebration, not sparring."
Aerion waved a dismissive, jewel-ringed hand. "Oh, peace, cousin. We are merely exchanging pleasantries. Your wife has such a... vibrant spirit." The word 'vibrant' dripped with mocking condescension, his eyes flashing with malicious delight as he prepared his next strike. He leaned back in his carved wooden chair, swirling the wine in his goblet. His pale eyes fixed on Clarice across the table. He had watched her at the joust, shouting and laughing, displaying a distinct lack of the demure silence expected of highborn ladies.
"Tell me, Lady Clarice," Aerion began, his voice a smooth, venomous drawl that cut through the low chatter of the pavilion. "Do the women of the Vale always shout quite so loudly? I confess, from the stands today, I thought someone was slaughtering a particularly vocal goose."
Matarys snorted into his cup, then quickly disguised it as a cough when Valarr shot him a warning look.
Clarice felt the immediate, hot prickle of irritation at the back of her neck. She set her silver fork down with a sharp clack. She knew Aerionâs game, but her temper was a volatile thing, a wild falcon she struggled to keep hooded.
"In the Vale, Prince Aerion," Clarice replied, her voice dangerously sweet, "we cheer for true skill. Perhaps if you possessed any, you would have heard my voice cheering for you, rather than resting in the dirt after the second tilt."
Aerionâs jaw tightened on the slightlest. He had indeed been unhorsed early in the day. Beside Clarice, Valarr shifted uncomfortably. He placed a gentle, warning hand on her knee beneath the table.Â
But Aerion simply smiled, a thin, cruel slash of a smile. "Skill in the lists is a knight's game. But tell me, what skills do you possess, my lady? We hear such quaint tales from Dragonstone. That you dress in men's clothes and play in the dirt with wooden swords. How... amusing." Aerion took a slow sip of wine. "One wonders if you are entirely confused about your duties as a wife. A womb is required to continue the line, Lady Clarice, not a sword arm. Though, given you have been wed a year and your belly remains flat as a boy's, perhaps you are failing at both."
The silence at the table was sudden and absolute. Daenora looked down at her plate, trembling. Matarysâs eyes went wide.
Clariceâs blood turned to liquid fire. The insult about her childlessness âa private, tender ache she and Valarr had only just begun to quietly worry overâ was a low, vicious blow. Her vision narrowed. She wanted to lean across the table and drive her knife into his smug, cruel eye.
"Aerion," Valarr warned him. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek, and for a terrifying second, he looked ready to vault across the heavy oak table and wrap his hands around his cousin's throat. But his blue eyes darted to Daenora's terrified face, to Clarice, and to the servants hovering nervously at the edges of the pavilion. He forced himself still. His voice, when it came, was not raised, but it was ice-cold, possessing the hard edge of Valyrian steel. "That is enough."
"I am merely making conversation, cousin," Aerion said innocently, spreading his hands. "Is the truth an insult in the Eyrie?"
Clarice stood up so quickly her chair scraped loudly against the wooden floorboards. "The truth, Aerion, is that you are a miserable, cruel little man masquerading as a dragon. You wrap yourself in the colors of your house because without them, you are nothing but a petty bully terrified of his own pathetic shadow."
"Clarice," Valarr stood now as well, his posture rigid. He hated this. He hated the public spectacle, the loss of decorum, the breach of honor. He found it beneath them to squabble like drunkards in a tavern. Yet, despite his rigid adherence to polite indifference, he closed the distance between them. He draped a strong, heavy arm protectively around her waist, pulling her against his side. It was a physical gesture meant to steady her, but his dark glare over her shoulder served as a silent, lethal warning to Aerion to back off.Â
Clarice leaned slightly into his touch, but she was shaking with rage. "No, husband. I will not sit here and be spoken to like a broodmare by a man who isn't fit to polish your armor!"
Aerion chuckled, a high, mocking sound. "Oh, the falcon has talons. How adorable. Tell me, Valarr, does she squawk this much in the bedchamber, or do you manage to gag her?"
Before Clarice could reach for her wine goblet to hurl it at his head, Valarrâs hand closed tightly around her forearm. His grip was not painful in the slightest, but it was an iron restraint.
For a terrifying second, the prince looked as mad as hell itself. The veins in his neck stood out, and the sheer effort of holding his temper at bay looked physically agonizing. Clarice looked up at him, her stormy eyes flashing with a knowing, pleading look âdo it, her gaze urged him, throw yourself at him and break his jaw. For a breathless moment, it looked as though Valarr was genuinely considering it, his muscles coiled to strike.
But then his eyes flicked to Aerion. He saw the sick, eager amusement dancing in his cousin's pale violet eyes, waiting for the prince to snap.
The fire in Valarr's eyes snuffed out, replaced by a glacial, unyielding calm.
"We are leaving," Valarr announced to the table, his face a mask of stone. He did not look at Aerion. He looked only at the exit of the pavilion. "Goodnight, cousin."
He turned on his heel, pulling Clarice with him. She stumbled for a step, her fury still boiling over. She shot Aerion one last, murder-stricken glare that only turned darker at the sight of him chuckling, before she allowed herself to be led out into the cool, brisk air of the keepâs hallways.Â
The walk back to their chambers in the castle was suffocatingly silent. The sounds of the tourney camp, singing, lutes, drunken laughter, seemed a million miles away. Clarice could feel the rigid tension radiating from Valarrâs arm where it still held hers. He didn't speak. He didn't look at her.Â
She hated his silence. She found his aversion to conflict, his rigid adherence to 'politeness' in the face of blatant cruelty, maddening. She wished he would just scream more often âat her, at Aerion, at whoever. She wished he wouldn't constantly shrink his emotions down to fit inside a perfectly tailored royal doublet.
They reached their assigned chambers in the guest wing of the castle. Valarr opened the heavy oak door, ushered her inside, and closed it firmly behind them. He released her arm and walked to the small table by the window. With tight, controlled movements, he poured a cup of water and turned to offer it to her, though he extended his hand with a cautious stiffness, like a handler offering meat to a riled shadowcat.
Clarice didn't take it. Instead, hitting her mark perfectly, she slapped her hand against the silver goblet, sending it clattering violently to the stone floor. Water splashed across the rugs, pooling dark against the soft, warm fabric.
Valarr didn't even flinch. He just closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh, the picture of a man who knew this routine by heart. He stared at the mess for a second before lifting his gaze to hers. His face was a portrait of sheer, exhausted defeat, yet his eyes were stricken with a profound, agonizing love. "Not the good rugs, Clarice, weâre guests here," he mumbled.
He reached for her gently, offering comfort she didn't want.
Clarice shoved him away hard. Step two of the dance.
He reached for her again, ignoring the push with practiced ease, wrapping his arms tightly around her to pull her against his chest as a physical peace offering. Clarice struggled violently against him, twisting and pushing at his chest exactly as she always did when she was boiling over, refusing to be calmed. She fought him until, with a familiar, frustrated, heavy groan, Valarr released her, stepping back and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Alright," Valarr muttered, bracing himself. "Have at it, then."
Clarice snapped at him the second she was free, falling right into her pacing rhythm.
"You let him insult me," Clarice struck first, her voice shaking, pacing the length of the room. "You sat there and let him speak to me like that!"
Valarr raised his head in a gesture that seemed exhausting, his eyes dark and stormy that matched her own. "I told him it was enough, Clarice. I ended the conversation."
"You asked him politely to stop!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "He insulted my womanhood, he insulted our marriage, and you treated it like a minor breach of etiquette at a tea party! You should have struck him!"
"And what would that have achieved?" Valarr shot back, his voice finally rising, the mask of the perfect prince slipping. "You let him goad you! You played right into his hands, Clarice. You let him bait you like a green boy in a tavern!"
"Oh, is that it?" Clarice stopped pacing, staring at him in disbelief. "Because I defended myself? Because I refuse to smile and swallow his cruelty just to keep the peace?" She sneered, the angry, impulsive words bubbling up before she could stop them. "What about you embarrassing yourself? Gods, Valarr, sometimes I wonder if there is any fire in your Targaryen blood at all. You sit there smiling, trying to appease a monster, acting like a spineless craven terrified of making a scene!"
The moment they left her mouth, Clarice felt a sickening lurch of regret in her stomach. It was a cruel thing to say, and it wasn't true. She knew Valarr wasn't a craven. He was brave, he was strong. He just fought his battles differently. But her pride, still stinging from Aerion's venom, refused to let her take the words back.
Valarr went entirely still. The storm in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, deeply hurt emptiness. His jaw ticked. He set his cup down on the table with quiet, deliberate care.
"If my restraint offends you so deeply, my lady," Valarr said, his voice terrifyingly soft and formal, "then I shall leave you to your own company."
"Fine," Clarice snapped, though her voice wobbled just slightly, her eyes flashing with a sudden, panicked regret.
"Fine," Valarr echoed, his back rigid. He didn't look at her, though the tight clench of his hands betrayed how much the single word cost him.
"Perfectly fine, as a matter of fact I wouldn't wish for anything else," she bit out, wrapping her arms around her stomach as if physically wounded by the space growing between them.
"Excellent, then," he clipped, his tone utterly devoid of victory.
He turned away from her completely, walking toward the large, draped four-poster bed, beginning to unbuckle his sword belt.
Clarice stood there, her chest heaving, the anger rapidly draining away to leave a cold, miserable hollow in its wake. She had pushed too far. She always pushed too far when she was hurt. Her words shoot to kill when sheâs mad, and Clarice was entirely too conscious of it.
"I need a bath," she announced suddenly, her voice cracking slightly. She didn't wait for a response. She spun around and stormed into the adjoining bathing chamber, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind her.
The bathing chamber was warm, dominated by a large copper tub that the servants had filled earlier. Steam curled through the air, carrying the scent of lavender and crushed pine. Clarice stripped off her heavy silk gown with frantic, uncoordinated movements, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She paused, catching sight of her naked figure in the tall silvered glass of the mirror. Slowly, she placed a trembling hand over her flat stomach, the private, tender ache rising up to choke her all over again. Blinking back angry tears, she turned away and climbed into the tub, the hot water biting at her skin.
She scrubbed her face furiously, trying to wash away the tears of frustration and shame that were suddenly spilling fast down her cheeks. She was furious at Aerion, furious at Valarr, but mostly, she was furiously, desperately angry at herself. Why couldn't she just hold her tongue? Why did she have to lash out at the man she loved most in the world just because someone else had hurt her?
Time lost its meaning as she sat in the water, the heat slowly seeping into her tense muscles, the steam clinging to her golden hair. The water was beginning to cool when she heard the latch of the heavy wooden door click.
Clarice froze, sinking lower into the cloudy water, pulling her knees to her chest.
The door creaked open. Valarr stepped into the room.
He had stripped down to only his linen breeches. He was barefoot, his chest bare, the dark hair falling loose around his face. The candlelight cast flickering shadows over the lean, powerful lines of his muscles. He didn't look angry anymore. He looked exhausted.
He walked slowly to the edge of the tub. For a long moment, he just looked down at her. Clarice looked back, her dark eyes red-rimmed, her chin resting on her wet knees.
Slowly, Valarr knelt on the stone floor beside the copper tub. He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before he gently tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm against her damp skin.
"I am sorry," Valarr said quietly, his voice echoing softly in the tiled room. He paused, swallowing hard as he wrestled with his own fierce Targaryen pride, forcefully choking it down for her sake. "I should have defended you more fiercely. I should not have let him speak to you that way, nor should I have turned my back on you in our chambers. I am sorry, Clarice."
Clarice looked away, her jaw set tight. Her Arryn pride was a towering, stubborn thing, demanding she hold her ground. She stared at the stone wall for a long moment, but the gentle, persistent warmth of his hand against her skin was dismantling her defenses piece by piece. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes and turning her face back to lean slightly into his touch.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I am the one who..." She swallowed hard. "I shouldn't have said those things. You aren't a craven, Valarr. I know you aren't. I was just... so angry."
"I know," Valarr murmured. He picked up a linen cloth from the edge of the tub, dipped it into the warm water, and gently began to wash her shoulders. "I despise Aerion. I despise the way he speaks to you. If we were simply two men in a yard, I would have broken his jaw."
Clarice opened her eyes, looking at him in surprise. "Then why didn't you?"
Valarr sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Because that is exactly what he wants, Clarice. He feeds on chaos. He wants to drag me down into the mud with him, to make me look volatile and unhinged in front of the lords of the realm. If I strike him, he wins. The only way to defeat a man like Aerion is to deny him the reaction he craves. To show him that his words are less than wind."
He paused, his eyes meeting hers, full of a deep, earnest plea. "But I failed to protect you from that wind tonight. And for that, I am truly sorry."
Clarice reached up out of the water, her wet hands framing his face. She ran her thumbs over his cheekbones. "I have a terrible temper," she confessed softly, the fight completely gone out of her. "My brother always said my tongue would start a war one day."
Valarr leaned into her hands, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through the exhaustion on his face. "It is a formidable weapon, to be sure."
"I just..." Clarice hesitated to find the words. "When he spoke of... of children. It⊠it hurt."
Valarrâs expression softened into overwhelming tenderness. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead, then her wet cheek. "Aerion is a snake, and he speaks poison. We have time, my love. We have all the time in the world. You are my wife, Clarice. I love you beyond words. That is all that matters to me."
He pulled back slightly, looking at her face, tracing the curve of her jaw. His smile turned teasing, the familiar, playful light returning to his eyes.
"Though I must admit," Valarr said, a hint of affection mocking in his tone, "you are terribly easy to bait, my love. A blind man with a stick could provoke you to a duel."
Clarice gasped, a bubble of surprised laughter escaping her lips. "I am not!" She narrowed her eyes, splashing a small handful of water directly into his face.
Valarr sputtered, blinking away the water as it dripped from his eyelashes and ran down his bare chest. He looked at her in mock outrage, then let out a rich, booming laugh.
"Oh, you are," Valarr insisted, his eyes crinkling. "Of course you are irresistible bait to a weasel like Aerion."
Clarice let out a genuine laugh, the last of her tension finally dissolving into the steam. "Next time," she warned playfully, a wicked glint in her eye, "I'll get him so hard with that sweep you taught me that he won't be able to speak for a month."
Valarr let out a dark, amused chuckle. "If you do, I shall order him dressed in motley and turned into the court jester. I believe it shall be of great service to the Realm." He knew his wife well; she had a delightfully morbid streak, and the mental image of the vain Aerion forced to caper in bells and sing for his supper pleased her immensely.
Clarice laughed with him, the sound bouncing off the stone walls, bright and clear and full of relief. The heavy, ugly tension of the evening dissolved, washed away by the warm water and the absolute certainty of his love.
Their marriage wasn't perfect. They were fire and air, honor and impulse.They would fight again; she would undoubtedly say things she regretted, and he would undoubtedly frustrate her with his stoicism.
Valarr reached into the tub, his warm hands gripping her shoulders. He pulled her slightly upward, his brow arching as he felt her chilled skin. "By the Seven, Clarice, you're freezing. Were you planning to sit in here until you turned to ice?"
"Absolutely yes," she retorted, her teeth chattering playfully just a bit as she offered a haughty, shivering smirk. "I fully intended to freeze to death right here, just so the entire realm could see what a horribly unattending husband you are."
"Oh, I am unattending, am I?" he murmured, a dangerous, playful glint returning to his eyes. He hooked his arms firmly under hers, pulling her entirely out of the water in one smooth motion. "I suppose I will just have to work twice as hard to attend to you now."
He kissed her deeply as the cold water cascaded off her skin, the warmth of his mouth chasing away the chill. Wrapping a thick linen towel around her shoulders, he swept her effortlessly into his arms and carried her out of the bathing chamber.
"Put me down, you bore," she laughed, leaning her head against his chest. She could hear his heart, and feel the strong, steady beats against her own. THUD-THUD-THUD. Clarice wondered whether there had ever been a more perfect sound in the world.
"Never," he promised, walking past their bed, his long strides carrying them toward the heavy oak door that led back out into the castle corridors.
Clarice lifted her head, arching an eyebrow. "The bed is behind us, my prince," she teased. "Is your eyesight failing you already? I knew Targaryens aged quickly, but this is tragic."
Valarr huffed a laugh, adjusting his grip to hold her more securely against his chest as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. "My eyesight is perfectly fine, my love."
"Then where are we going?" she asked, shivering slightly as the cooler air of the corridor hit her damp skin.
"You are still freezing," he explained softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And the hearth in our room has burned down to embers. There is a roaring fire in the solar down the hall, and I fully intend to sit you in front of it until you are warm again."
Clarice chuckled, settling herself deeper into his chest. âThat is a long walk, my prince.â
âI know,âÂ
âAre you quite sure youâre fit for it?â She teased him, as her legs dangled playfully over his arms.Â
Valarr looked down at her, and simply chuckled, shifting her mumbling weight further into his chest.
"Your arms are going to grow horribly tired, my prince. I am absolutely certain you'll get so exhausted you'll drop me on the cold stone floor before we even make it."
Valarr shook his head, his voice dripping with an all too adoring affection. âYouâre an absolute terror,â
âI am a terror,â Clarice agreed, cheekily.
THUD-THUD-THUD.Â
Surely, Clarice decided, certain as the rivers find the sea, this is the sweetest one.
Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence.
Chapter Word count: 3.5k
Tags: targcest, smut, mostly just sweet, no use of y/n.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
The two of you had gone to bed separately soon after the end of your encounter in the library, noting that in only a few hours, servants would start readying the castle for the day.
You had been woken up bright and early by your maids, who informed you that the prince had made a full recovery and had asked to breakfast with you in the solar. That morning, you spent double the time picking a gown, finding everything you had with you lacking... too thick, too wide, too white, too old. Nothing seemed to fully please you. Eventually, your maids had cleared their throats carefully and said, "Princess, the Prince says he is growing hungry, and the food is getting cold.â
You had sighed dramatically in resignation, looking at yourself in the mirror in the beautiful burgundy gown you were wearing."I guess, it'll do."
---
Valarrâs stomach was twisting and turning as he sat alone in the solar, patiently waiting for your arrival. He had barely managed to sleep, a mix of excitement and fear keeping him fully alert. He knew his uncle wouldn't be happy. After all, you had just returned to Westeros, and the prince was already planning to take you away from him. It didn't matter, though. Valarr wouldn't wait any longer.
As minutes passed, the prince grew more restless, suddenly wondering if maybe you had changed your mind and no longer wanted him. The mere thought filled him with panic, uncontrollable possessiveness making it difficult for him to even recognise his own thoughts. He shook his head and took a sip of his drink, seeking to steady his mind. If you didnât want him, that would be fine. He lied to himself; He would be able to let you go.
"Where is she?" His head snapped to the guard to his right, who quickly shuffled out of the room to search for an answer.
Valarr stared at the gardens intensely, trying to keep his nerves at bay. It was a hot day, the sun reflected over the lake like a mirror, and the sound of birds was almost absent. Even they were too fatigued by the weather to sing. He thought of the pond, of the water covered by the trees, which kept it cool and fresh. Maybe he would ask you to accompany him there again today. The thought tensed him further, but in all the right ways. He closed his eyes and could almost see it, a reflection of a dream or maybe just desire.
âMy prince,â a voice spoke behind him, ruining the perfect vision and forcing him to turn to meet the call. âThe guards have spotted a Targaryen bannerman approaching the estate.â
âOne bannerman?â Valarr asked, frowning.
âYes, my lord.â
âIt may be from my uncle. Their return may be further delayed.â Valarrâs voice remained perfectly flat, as his heart raced just at the thought. More days here, alone with you, without all those extra eyes on you two, it would have been too good to be true.
âWe will investigate as soon as they reach the gates,â the guard said, then took his leave, leaving the prince to gaze nervously at the gardens, as something told him this was not good news.
---
You had been making your way to the solar with the guard who had come looking for you when the growing commotion caught your attention. Multiple men walked down the corridor towards the entrance to the castle, bowing their heads as they passed you, but without offering any further information.
âWhat is going on?â you asked your accompanying guard, who stopped one of his men.
âA Targaryen bannerman is approaching; we expect news from Prince Maekar.â You were filled with a mix of joy and anxiety. Was your father arriving? Would you finally get to see your brother Daeron again?
âTell Prince Valarr I will go to receive my fatherâs message,â you told the guard and followed the marching soldiers before your chaperone could object.
â
Valarr watched the next series of events as if they were happening in slow-motion, and yet, he had no way to stop them. The hooded bannerman reached the gates; his path was barred by two guards, who approached him, seemingly asking him to dismount his horse. There was a moment of hesitation, where the two guards seemed to exchange a look and then looked back towards the castle. The man seemingly refused to dismount or remove his hood as he spoke down to the guards, far too distant for any part of the exchange to reach Prince Valarr.
Valarr sat up even further, if even possible, leaning against the rail of the solarâs balcony as if it would allow him to better understand what was going on. He was so intent on deciphering the interaction that he missed the sound of the doors below him opening and the men who exited them marching, followed by the soft clicking of heels trying to keep up.
âLet him through!â You shouted, causing the heir to the throneâs attention to snap down, confused. You were supposed to be on your way to break fast with him, not encountering some faceless messenger. âGo see what is going on!â you ordered the very same guard that Valarr had sent to look for you, who had just caught up to you by the entrance. The prince could only observe as the guard reluctantly followed your orders, walking towards the gate where the hooded man finally dismounted his horse and turned your way, seemingly ignoring the two guards that were still talking to him.
It took Valarr a second too long to realise what was happening, to narrow his gaze enough to recognise the hooded manâs posture, the guardsâ nervousness. He held his breath for a second as he looked at you, still oblivious, far too many years since you had seen the man to be able to pick up on any of the clues in his motion. Valarr finally regained control over himself, turning back and running out of the Solar down to you.
â
You watched eagerly as your chaperone walked towards the gate, clutching your dress tightly, nervous. The excitement of the moment and the improbability of reality blinded you for a second, obscuring the facts before your eyes. The bannerman dismounted and turned your way, tilting his head just enough to reveal his features, and suddenly, it was as if all sound and warmth had been sucked out of your environment. Your laboured breathing stopped, and the only sound you could hear was the panicked beating of your heart in your ears. Your nervous smile vanished instantly as you instinctively stepped back.
Your brother Aerion removed his hood slowly, a reveal so dramatic it could have only been executed by him. No amount of healing bruises across his face or the hollowness of his cheeks would have softened the predatory look he held. He looked as if he hadnât slept in days, as if the only thing pushing him forward had been the thought of this moment.
The world seemed to come to a halt as neither of you moved, separated by the expanse of the garden and the three guards that watched the exchange nervously. There was a decision to be made, and Aerion was giving you the opportunity to make it. He wanted you to welcome him home. You were not sure how much your father had shared with him about the reasons for your initial move. You wondered if he was not aware that he had been the cause. He had probably figured it out by now, especially given the timing of his own exile and your return.
Your brother wasnât famous for his patience, and at the smallest sign of your reluctance, his face shifted, the mask twisting from pure, uncontrollable fascination to palpable disdain, a cruel smile allowing him to bare his teeth. He sighed out a bitter laugh and then tried to walk toward you, but his first step was met by the immediate sound of metal being drawn as all three guards unsheathed their swords.
You exhaled in shock, unsure any of them would be allowed to hurt a prince of the blood. Aerion seemed equally as shocked and reached for his own sword, only halting as his name rang from behind you. Before you could turn, you felt it. Valarrâs hand lay on your lower back for a millisecond before he stepped ahead, sword drawn, gaze firmly focused on his cousin across the garden.
âTake her inside,â he ordered someone and the next thing you knew, he was walking ahead towards Aerion as one of your maids gently pulled you into the castle.
â-
You spent the next few hours pacing up and down your room, a feeling of foreboding and nausea twisting in your stomach. Your room looked into the internal courtyard, giving you no chance of knowing what had happened after your exit. Your maids tried their best to calm you, offering you food, tea, or even wine for your nerves. You refused all of it, asking them for any information about what had happened. They looked at you apologetically, âPrincess, we have not been allowed outside your quarters. The last thing we heard was the clash of swords.â
By the time the sun had started to set, you had given up on pacing, sitting by your window, searching for any whisper that would escape the courtyard. There was nothing but the noise of boots and the growing chirps as the temperature cooled. Earlier, you had requested that food be brought up to your room, specifically asking for meat that would require a sharp knife. The food had stayed untouched; however, you had taken hold of the knife, holding it tightly anytime there was any noise outside of your door. If Aerion had managed to hurt Valarr, the guards, he would come for you, and you needed to be prepared.
The knock at your door was so soft that if you hadnât been in a complete state of hyperawareness, you would have missed it. You rose quickly, listening to the voices of your maids and a man exchanging outside.
âItâs me,â Valarr spoke from the other side, and you sighed a breath that you hadnât realised you had been holding since your eyes had met Aerionâs.
âCome in,â was all you could muster as your voice cracked. The door opened, and judgment be damned, you dropped the knife you were holding and ran to him. Valarr entered and stepped forward, closing his door before your maids could walk in with him, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as yours wrapped around his waist. An uncontrollable sob left your lips as his smell and warmth engulfed you; you were safe. âI am sorry,â you whispered, after a minute, regaining some of your composure but refusing to pull away to look at him.
âWhat are you sorry for?â he hugged you tighter, if even possible, placing a soft kiss on your head.
âYou were waiting for me to break fast. I left you waiting. First, I couldnât find a dress, and then I heard of the bannerman. I thought it was a message from my father. I was so eager to hear the news that I left you waiting. I shouldnât have. I should have come to you.â You spoke in between sobs, quietly soothed by Valarr, who caressed the back of your head softly.
âIt is fine, my love.â He spoke the words with such tenderness that you felt your heart could explode. With the shock of the morning, your mind had abandoned the acts of the previous night behind as merely wishful thinking. In truth, you had also been nervous about joining him that morning, scared that he would regret what the two of you had done. Yet here he was, calling you his love, holding you against his chest.
âWhy is he here?â you finally pulled back, meeting the princeâs gaze. His lip was broken, dried blood had been cleaned from it, but the main mark was still there. He looked tired, maybe even older, as if the last couple of hours had taken something from him⊠or maybe it had been the last days.
âHe heard about your return before they left Ashford. He was too weak to ride then and knew your father would chase after him if he simply left, so he waited. He waited until the two parties separated. Two days later, he stole two horses and rode this way. He knew it would take his entourage days to reach him alone on horseback, and they wouldnât manage to reach your father in time to warn him. He has been riding for days nonstop; one of his horses died of exhaustion on his way here.â Valarr recounted the facts with clinical coldness, hiding the best he could the disgust he felt for his kin.
âWhere is he now?â You anxiously glanced at the door. If Valarr had managed to gain all this information, it meant he had talked to Aerion, which could mean your brother had convinced him to let him stay.
âHe in his quarters-â
âWhat?â You pulled completely away from the prince, a new wave of panic washing over you. âHow-â
âPlease,â he reached for you, but you pulled away, beginning your pacing all over again. âMy love,â he grabbed your hand and halted you in place, âAerion passed out from exhaustion minutes after you left. He tried to fight, but he hadnât eaten or slept in days, on top of the severe injuries he suffered at the tourney.â You watched Valarrâs expression darken at the mere mention of the tourney. He flinched for a second, almost as if a memory had hit him across the face and then sighed and continued, âThe maesters checked on him. They said he wouldnât survive another night in the wild.â
âLet him die,â you told him, but your words held no strength; of course, you wouldnât want your brother to die, no matter how scared you were of him.
âIs that really what you want? Because I will do anything you ask me to,â Valarr searched your gaze, studying it. He could see the conflict in the purple of your eyes, but he meant it. He would do anything you asked.
You broke eye contact, sighing and pulling away from his touch. âHe will come looking for me, no matter how tired or broken he is. He will try.â
âI will not let him.â Valarr stepped towards you, but you shook your head.
âYou donât know him as I doâŠâ
âI will guard you myself. I have informed the guards.â You looked back at him, shocked and confused, âI will eat here, sleep here, until Maekar is back, hopefully with Aerionâs party. Then he will leave, and I will marry you.â
âThere is no way they would allow that. It wouldnât be appropriate.â You argued, but looked hopeful. Gods, you would love to be stuck here, alone with Valarr.
âI am the heir to the Iron throne, who here would dare challenge what I say?â Valarr pulled you to him, his hands lazily resting on your hips. He cocked his head and gave you a smug smile.
His words allowed you to relax, your eyes softening as you lifted your hand to his cheek, taking the chance to analyse his face, his broken lip and a small bruise on his cheek, âI may.â
âAnd I shall do as you tell me.â
âHe broke your lip.â
âHe caught me off guard. He seemed already passed out, and then he regained his strength.â Valarr chuckled, a soft blush colouring his cheeks. He noticed the way your gaze had lingered on his lips, and that your pupils were dilated. He cleared his throat and stepped away. âI will tell your maids about my plan. I will ask for the key to your door. Of course, it will be best if we ensure no one can enter at night in case I fall asleep.â
âSo I have you all for myself?â
âJust me⊠and the guards outside of the door, making sure Aerion does not try anything.â Valarr walked out of the room, exchanged a few words with the two women, and then returned, carrying a heavy key and a smug smile. He locked the door and then turned back to you. You walked to him slowly, reaching him and cupping his face. You brought him down to you languidly, ignoring the way his hands reached for your hips and pulled you to him. âI wanted to take you to the pond today,â he informed you matter-of-factly as his lips brushed just so slightly against yours.
âWhy?â You moved your face side to side softly, letting your noses touch.
âIâve seen it in my dreams,â he replied, pulling you flush against his body, telling you exactly the type of dreams he was talking about.
âThey will hear us,â you warned him with no bite.
âNot if you are really quiet....â Valarr closed the distance between your lips and kissed you, first softly, then not so much. The rusty taste of blood marked the kiss as your tongue ran over his broken lip. Blood of the dragon, just like you. The prince guided you towards your bed, sitting you down there and slowly making his way down your body, placing kisses along the way. âThe dress is beautiful, you have impeccable taste,â he teased you in reference to your struggles earlier in the day. You simply hummed your response, biting down on your lip to avoid making any more noise.
Valarr knelt in front of you, lifting the thin fabric of your summer dress. âWhat are you doing?â you tried to sit up, confused and alarmed. The princeâs hand, however, held down onto your core, keeping you lying down.
âI didnât get to eat today. Havenât broken fast yet. Was left waiting for you,â he whispered his reply as he spread your legs, pressing soft kisses on your ankle and then on your calf, making his slow way up.
âValarr, what are you-â you tried to ask again, but the sentence died in your throat as your hand shot to your mouth, muffling away a gasp. Valarrâs fingers rubbed against the covered lips of your pussy, before pulling down at your undergarments.
âI am breaking fast,â he whispered as he pressed a kiss on the newly unveiled skin, before wrapping his lips around your bundle of nerves. You sucked in a breath, focusing every fibre of your body on staying completely quiet. Your hips rocked up as the prince continued his ministrations under your dress, licking, sucking and biting as only a starved man would. Valarr didnât stop until he heard your breathing grow impossibly laboured, your body pushing to get closer than physically possible to him as your back arched. He took the chance to speed up his pace, the roughness of his touch, and felt you turn your head to a side, reaching for a pillow to suffocate the string of moans leaving your lips.
Valarr would not tell you, but earlier, once you had been brought inside and he had been face-to-face with Aerion, his cousin had initially laughed at him, âWhat? They sent you to protect her?â the silver-haired Targaryen had snarled, ignoring his own exhaustion, âShe is mine, Valarr. Was since birth. I just came to claim her. She can go with me to Lys.â
âNot bloody likely,â Valarr had replied, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy and anger fill his mouth.
âYou wouldnât get it. You are not like us; look at yourself,â Aerion looked at his cousin up and down and then pulled at the collar of his own doublet, showing a small birthmark on his chest. Valarr had heard this story before, how, according to Aerion, it looked like scales, dragon scales. However, he hadnât previously heard the next part, âshe has one of the sameâŠâ Aerion looked at Valarr, cocky, all teeth and delirium, âin the same spot.â
Valarr saw red at the implication. Aerion was caught by surprise by the fury with which his cousin attacked him and only managed to block his blows out of sheer reflex. The fight didnât last long; your brother fell to his knees soon after, exhausted, barely conscious. The guards lifted him, prepared to take him inside. That could have been the end. Valarr wasnât sure why he did what he did next, but he grabbed Aerionâs doublet and shook him, giving him back the same predatory, toothy sneer he had looked at you with, âNo, she fucking doesnât.â
It took Aerion a moment to even understand his cousin's reply, let alone connect it to his own statement. Your brother lifted his head with newfound strength, taking the guards by surprise and shaking off their grip. His punch connected directly with Valarrâs jaw, sending him tumbling back as the guards regained their grip on his cousin, who was shouting at him, âYou fucking bastard. She is mine. Fucking mine.â
///
liv's note
Well, well, well, look how the turns table. After a lot of reflection, I have decided to make the fic longer than originally planned. I am really, really enjoying writing for Valarr, especially trying to make him a little more complex than just a goody two-shoes, haha. I hope this unexpected change is not too disappointing! I was too excited to post this, so apologies, it has not been proofread. I hope you enjoy it! As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
Hello everyone :) coming through very quickly with a question on the fic. As I had shared on the last chapter I was thinking of writing one epilogue chapter. I started drafting it and then came up with a different idea which would add maybe 3+ chapters to the fic but first wanted to ask if you would be interested.
So original idea was to have Maekar come back and Valarr speak to him, maybe have the wedding.
New idea would be to have Aerion show up instead (long story short he finds out his sister was returning, escapes his entourage before they could ship him off to Lys and rides back to Summerhall). Fair warning, this would not add a Aerion x Reader romantic element but would add a new issue for Valarr and the reader to deal with before Maekarâs arrival.
Let me know your thoughts and if this is something you would like to read! Otherwise happy to just write the epilogue haha
Hey! Just wanted to say I hope life is treating you well and tell you that I loved The Affinity of Dragons. It was such a sweet read and I loved the way you wrote the OC/reader. Itâs very refreshing to get a character that is more brave with her affections. Also love your Valarr characterization. Hope we get one more chapter with their wedding and maybe some smut to go with it?
Heyy there! Thank you so much â€ïž this is super sweet! I will try my best to get the extra chapter out this week! When I write I find little time for anything else so then I find myself having to catch up with life haha
hi liv!! not really an ask I just needed to scream about this somewhere đ
WHY did I decide to start re-reading SGDA in the middle of exam season⊠literally the worst study break decision ever because Iâm now 10 chapters deep after what was supposed to be a 30-minute break đ
but also Iâm not complaining because itâs SOOO GOOD!!!! like I know Iâm gonna get emotionally destroyed and cry later if I keep going, but for the past few hours Iâve just been giggling and kicking my feet like an idiot đ𫶠(lowkey one of the best breaks Iâve had during exams season)
I love your writing and I missed reading your stories so much!!!đ Iâm forcing myself to stop now and save the rest for when Iâm emotionally prepared for whatever pain I'm expecting in there and when exams are finally over (engineering has been kicking my ass lately đ)
take care always, queen!! love lots xoxo đ
Hello darlingg â€ïžâ€ïž
Aaaah thank you so much for re-reading SGDA!!!! That fic is my very heart and soul so you have no idea how happy this makes me!
I hope you are managing with exam season, it is my first year out of uni/with no exams or dissertations to write and I have to say although I am glad I am done with the stress I somehow also miss it haha but again, I think it must be very different with engineering (I have so much respect for anyone that puts themselves through that, my math-less lawyer brain could never keep up)
I have yet to re-read SGDA this year but I am never prepared for it. Every time I go in thinking I am not gonna be emotionally crashed by the end and then still am. Like it doesnât even make sense, I wrote that, I know how it goes haha anyway, thank you so much for letting me know of your re-read! Sending you all the best energy for your exams!! Lots of love xx Liv
P.S, holding onto old SGDA habits! I have a song recommendation! Promise by Laufey is soooooo Loki/Suit coded, it makes me wanna cry đâ€ïž
Summary: Following the tragedy at the Ashford Tourney, your brother Aerion is sent into exile, giving you the opportunity to return to Summerhall after ten years in the free cities. Your cousin Valarr, mourning the death of his father, uses your arrival as an excuse to postpone his duties in King's Landing, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence.
Chapter Word count: 4.3k
Tags: targcest, smut, fingering, unprotected p in v, virginity loss, no use of y/n, not proofread.
taglist - masterlist - other Valarr fics
Your return to the castle had been atrocious, between the shame of being left behind like that and having to put your dress back on in the darkness, you had regretted ever leaving the castle or even returning home to Summerhall altogether. Valarr had been kind enough to leave you the torch and cloak, which you used to dry yourself and then abandoned by the tree. The torch helped guide you home, although, as you had told your cousin, you knew your path well.Â
No invitation to supper reached you that night; instead, one of your maids informed you that the prince was not feeling well and would eat in his chamber. You were thankful for his efforts to avoid you, since you were planning to do the same.Â
You were not sure what had happened. You werenât stupid, of course, you knew what the two of you were doing was not appropriate, independent of the fact that Valarr was family. After all, that had never stopped Targaryens before. However, you didnât understand his sudden panic; there was nobody around to catch him.Â
***
Five days passed between the pond incident and the next time Valarr saw you. He had done everything in his power to avoid you, feigning sickness to the point that the Maesters had asked if his grandsire should be informed, just to magically recover overnight. In truth, this was not solely an act; he was truthful when stating that his skin felt as if it were burning, particularly during the night, and when he informed them of his struggles with sleep and nausea. What he failed to mention was the way his skin burned, the way every part of his body that had been lucky enough to touch yours remembered and ached for more. He failed to mention that he couldnât close his eyes without seeing your body pressed against his, his lips on your breasts. When he talked of his lack of sleep, he didnât specify that his night sweats were caused by desire, by dreams of nights in this very room, in the pond, your body under him, on him, your beautiful silver hair spread across his sheets. It drove Valarr crazy, and the more he forced himself not to think of them, to ignore the way his sore cock pressed against his smallcloths, the more vivid the dreams became.Â
Certain nights, Valarr found himself praying for a storm, a reason to test his own willpower and fail. Gods, how he wanted to fail. But the Gods were cruel, and the nights were dry and hot. Your cousin was sure you were trying to avoid him as well. After all, you could have tried to find him if you really wanted to. Maybe it was better like this; it gave him some reason to stop himself. You didnât want him, and he would respect that. Yet, it burned.Â
It must have been past midnight when Valarr decided he could no longer take it. The heat in the room was suffocating, and his sheets felt soaked with his sweat. He searched for a candle and decided to leave his room, hoping some fresh air or the stone of the castle would provide him with some relief. The prince made his way through the corridors, leaving his quarters on his way to the gardens, when his eyes caught on the tiniest shimmer of light coming from a door that had been left ajar.Â
He immediately recognised the door to be the entrance to the castleâs library. He soon remembered your father scolding you for spending nights here when you were children. Valarr remembered the way he had mocked you for it together with your brothers. The only one who understood your love for books was Aemon, who always sprang to your defence.Â
The prince hesitated for a second. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid: being in your presence, alone. He decided he would be strong, walk ahead towards his initial target, sit in the gardens, enjoy the soft breeze, and return to bed. He stepped ahead, ready to move on, and then he heard it. It was so soft it had almost escaped him. You were humming. It was a sweet song he had never heard before, and yet its melody made him halt.Â
For a second, Valarr tried to rationalise his decision again. Anybody could have passed by and heard you, a guard, a servant. They would know you would be alone. It was dangerous. He decided he would just walk in and tell you to go to bed, and then he would proceed to the gardens. That was the right thing to do.Â
Valarr reached for the door and opened it slowly, so softly he was sure you wouldnât even notice if he didnât announce himself. He parted his lips to do so, and then the sound died in his throat. He found you sitting on the giant rug by the fireplace. Somehow, it was still lit. You were only wearing your white silk nightgown, and the light from the fire pierced right through it, making it so sheer that Valarr could see every curve of your body.Â
Valarr halted right away, ready to leave again before you noticed, sure the image would haunt him for the rest of his life. He stepped back, but in the shock of the moment, his boot caught on the door frame, causing a soft thud that, if it wasnât for the complete silence of the castle, would have gone unnoticed. You stopped humming right away, glancing up and meeting your cousinâs gaze, standing in a hurry. Your cheeks were flushed, maybe by the fire, maybe the sight of him.Â
The two of you stared at each other for a second, both unsure what to say or what to do. Valarrâs eyes betrayed him as they flickered down to your chest for a second, your straight back allowing him a better view. You noticed immediately, glancing down at the sheerness caused by the fire in shock, lifting the book you were still holding and placing it against your chest to cover yourself.Â
âApologies, I saw the light and thoughtâŠâ he tried to justify his intrusion, stepping forward until he was himself in front of the fireplace just a few steps from you. You didnât allow him to finish his sentence, placing the book on the sofa and moving forward, wrapping your arms around him and crashing your body against his. A soft groan escaped his lips at the contact.Â
âI thought you were sick. The maesters said I couldnât see you and should not disturb you. At first, I thought you were avoiding me, but then the days kept on passing,â you could feel his heart beating fast against your cheek, his breathing rising unevenly. He smelled so good, you had missed his smell since the very first night you had spent together. You pressed your body flush against his, uncaring of the summer heat and fire, your body seeking the contact it had been denied for the last few days.Â
A familiar hardness pressed against you, which coiled the dragonâs tail in your lower abdomen. Valarr had hesitantly placed his hands on your shoulders, returning the hug to some extent.Â
âI am fine, cousin,â he said before pulling you away, swallowing hard. You resisted the separation for a fraction of a second and then stepped away. His face looked flushed and ashen at the same time; his mismatched eyes seemed sharp but dazed, a storm brewing behind them. He steadied his breath, closing his eyes, before grounding himself, âI should g-â
âI am reading about our family,â you interrupted his thought process before he could disappear again, leaving you all alone in this massive castle. You grabbed Valarrâs hand and pulled him to the sofa. He obeyed reluctantly, sitting in the furthest corner and keeping his eyes to the ground, not allowing his gaze to focus on the movement of your body and the flames on your gown. You grabbed the book on the opposite end and stared at the prince for a second. You didnât mean any harm; it wasnât your intention to hurt him. You just wanted to feel him. You wanted to feel his touch on your skin, the hesitation and resolve. You had been alone for so long, and he was right here. He, who knew you before and would know you after.
You sat right next to him, lifting your feet onto the opposite side of the sofa and leaning your back against his body. Valarr didnât comply at first, making the position terribly uncomfortable, but then slowly he turned, opening his arm to lie on the back of the sofa so you could lean against him. You pulled your legs towards your body to act as a backrest to the gigantic tome that you had been reading. The movement caused you to slide slightly down, and as you tried to sit up, Valarrâs other arm came around to help you, wrapping around your waist to move you closer to him. You expected him to move it away, but instead it stayed, softly lying on your stomach, below your breast.Â
You held your breath at the feeling; it seemed that both of you needed the touch. Your skin burned under his touch, but it didnât feel like enough. Your body screamed for his touch to move up, to cup your breast.Â
Valarrâs fingers started to draw circles against your skin without ever moving higher, his head moved towards your ear, and he asked, âWhat does the title say? My High Valyrian reading is worse than my speaking.â The feeling of his breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine. You were a tight coil and melted honey all at once, your body fighting itself to not take what it wanted.Â
âKings and Queens of the Seven Kingdoms. It is an old tome; it doesnât include our grandfather.â You explained, trying to focus, your hands holding the book tightly.Â
âAny interesting findings?â he asked again, his chin lying against your shoulder as his body had turned further. The question was innocent enough, and yet every word hit your body like a flash of heat. The intimacy of the moment although neverwrecking, felt deeply familiar. It felt just right. Your bodies perfectly made for one another. Even now, in adulthood, there was no place more comfortable than cuddled next to him. Valarrâs breath on your skin felt as if it belonged nowhere else, as if in a perfect world he would only be allowed to breath when intertwined with you.Â
âNothing I hadnât heard of before,â your breath hitched and yet, you tried to tease him, remembering how much he liked to bother you about your passion for history and book.
âOf course, how could there be anything you donât know, cousin?â he replied in an equally teasing tone, pinching your side. You twisted against him, inadvertently causing his touch to move up, brushing his thumb against your nipple before returning down. You held your breath at the contact, and he did the same, time stopping for a second and then his hand returned to your waist and his chin to your shoulder, as if nothing had happened.
The two of you could have continued to play this game, seeking excuses to touch each other, ignoring the truth, but that was not enough for you. So you gathered your courage and spoke, âI donât know why you left the other day.â
Your words seemed to crash the delicate game the two of you were playing, Valarrâs entire body stiffening in discomfort. He tried to pull away, once again as if he had been broken out of a spell. This time, you wouldnât allow it. Your hand grabbed his retreating hand by the wrist, holding it on your ribs, pulling it just a little higher, his thumb brushing against the swell of your breast. âNo,â you tried to hold him back, but he was stronger. Valarr pulled his arm away, but you turned on the sofa, facing him and leaning over him to push him down. The tombe that had been on your lap fell on the floor with a loud thud.
âYou will wake the whole castle!â Valarr whispered-shouted, trying to stand panicked, but you straddled his lap, holding him in place. The prince looked at you with shock and indignation, having to lift his gaze to meet your eyes.
âAnswer my question,â you kept your hold on his shoulders, although it would have had little effect in holding the prince down if he had decided to stand again, âWhy did you leave the other day?â
Valarrâs eyes ran down your body, the fire behind you doing all the undressing he wished he could do. He closed his eyes and swallowed before meeting your gaze again, âbecause what I was about to do⊠what I wanted to do⊠it was not right.â
âWhy?â You asked, ignoring the way your voice seemed to shake.
âYou are my blood,â he exhaled the words resigned, without looking at you, instead letting his gaze wander to your tits, your waist, to your thighs, any part the light of the flames was gifting him a glimpse of. He kept his hands by his side, but his gaze was so heavy you could almost feel it caressing your skin.Â
âThat is how it used to be,â you glanced down at the book on the floor, full of situations just like this one. You were not sure if you were trying to justify it to yourself or to him. All you knew was that you wanted more.Â
âNot anymoreâŠâ Valarr sighed, trying to hold onto whatever was left of his self-control. His hands betrayed him, though; they had moved with a mind of their own, slowly, magnetised by the silk of your gown and toying with its loose fabric in a barely perceptible way. He pulled you softly forward through the material, and you complied as if he had spoken the plea. Your hand settled on his chest, where his heart beat impossibly quickly. His eyes moved from yours to your lips and then back up. His hands settled on your hips and brought you down until you were sitting fully on his legs. âIf anybody saw usâŠâ
âThey would say youâve ruined me,â you whispered, leaning forward, slowly moving your head until your lips touched his ear, âthey would say you seduced me to punish my father for what he did.â
Valarrâs hand moved from your hip to your ass, pushing you down and sliding his body down slightly so you could move up. His covered hard cock came into contact with your cunt, stealing a gasp from your lips. âYou are just a girl. You donât know what you are asking for, cousin. You donât even know what it means to be ruined.â
You started moving your hips of your own accord, watching as the prince melted under you, his lips parted as you rubbed yourself against him. âTeach me. Nobody will find out,â you whispered.
âFor what?â his face lost its bliss for a second, the grip on your ass growing impossibly tight as he kept you firm over his cock, âso once you are betrothed to some lord, he can enjoy what I taught you?â There was the dragon, greedy, possessive. He pushed his hips up, making you gasp, and then lifted you to hover over his lap. You had never seen Valarr like this, and yet it made sense. He was like you. He was a dragon. One of Valarrâs hands moved to the space between you, lifting the thin nightgown without ever looking away from you. His fingers ghosted your hip before moving to your centre languidly, torturing you. You didnât look away, obsessed with the way his pupils had blown, desire transpiring out of every one of his features. He found your folds, and his jaw dropped, an exhale escaping him. You were soaked. You whimpered at the feeling, his touch so light that if it wasnât for your arousal, you would have missed it. You needed more. âAlthough I donât think any lord in the seven kingdoms could get you like this. So compliant. They would all beg to marry you without knowing I had already made you mine.â Valarrâs fingers ran through your folds, teasing your entrance but never further.Â
âSepÄr yne dÄrlÄ«s. Kesir ondurilla Ä«los daor? Nyke sÄ«r dÄ«ntoks daor. (So take me, then. Has this not been your purpose? I am not yet married.)â You replied, lowering yourself, trying to get his digits in, seeking any form of release, but Valarr pulled away altogether, bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking them clean. He looked dazed, half like himself and half not, almost as if the man was trying to fight the dragon.Â
He observed you as you did the same, negotiating with himself. His eyes were on your white hair as his finger caressed it. Then his gaze moved to your breasts, his other hand cupping one and using his thumb to stimulate your nipple. Your body responded to the touch, and he smiled. Maybe he was dreaming, maybe he was still in his chamber agonising. Then he thought of his cousin Daeron and his dragon dreams and thought of the torture of every night that had passed, when he had seen you under him, on him, on your knees. It had all looked so vivid. He wondered if you had made him a dragondreamer too, or just made him mad.Â
âYou are my blood,â he spoke again, but with no resolve in his voice. It sounded more like a plea. He wanted you to convince him, to break whatever was left of his resolve, to give him all the necessary excuses to take you. He wanted you to be the judge and the jury, and leave it to him to be the executioner. He wanted you to have an argument against every single one of his reservations.
âao nykÄ perzĆñi iksi. Hen prÄnot hae mÄrÈł zÄlagon indÄ«liks. (You and I are made of fire. We have always been meant to burn together.)â You lowered yourself, halting just when your lips were about to touch.Â
âIf I take you. I wonât be able to let you go,â Valarr whispered against your lips, pressing his forehead against yours. That was the final point. It wasnât just about tonight, about the next days. Eventually, your family would come back, and he would need to return to Kingâs Landing. He wouldnât be able to let go of you. He wouldnât be able to watch you be anotherâs.Â
âAsk my father for me, as compensation for your sire. Our wedding, as a political sign that the house stands strong regardless of tragedy,â you breathed the words out all at once and watched Valarr move away, his eyes big, starkly sober. There it was, the last missing piece. He wanted to see if you were serious, if you really meant it. The realisation settled in his chest all at once, and he lunged forward, almost as if a chain had been broken, freeing him. Valarrâs lips crashed against yours with prowess, as if he had been made just for it. He pulled you to him, grinding you against him as his other hand held the back of your neck. He kissed you like a starved man. His lips made for yours. The two of you shaped from fire and steel.Â
Whatever hesitance had existed before was gone now. The prince moved the two of you with ease, laying you on the couch and towering above you, between your legs. âThis is wrong,â he whispered to himself, as his hands reached for your calves, lifting your nightgown, undressing you slowly. Valarr pulled your nightgown off of you, leaving you fully naked for his gaze. He stared at your body, dazed, unsure of where to focus. He wanted to touch you all, to kiss every corner of your skin. âTell me that this is not wrong. That you are meant to be mine,â his eyes finally met yours again, a glimpse of madness threatening to slip behind the storm of his gaze. He moved his left hand between your legs as he spoke, teasing your sensitive bud as if he didnât need any convincing.Â
âI am yours. I was made for you, cous-â Valarrâs fingers pushed inside of you as soon as the words left your lips, claiming your cunt.Â
âDo not call me that anymore. I will be your husband or will I not?â He whispered, lowering his body as he fucked you with his fingers, kissing the side of your neck, whispering in between kisses, mine. âMaekar will not be happy. He will deny me,â Valarr found another point of resistance to hold onto. Slowly, the pace of his fingers halted just as you had felt the coil tighten in your stomach.Â
Your own hand reached for his breeches in frustration, massaging his impossibly hard cock under the thin material, hoping that would be enough to break whatever hesitation was left, âHe will not. Not if I ask him. He will agree to it.â
Valarr thought of your response, not fully convinced by it, âI will ruin you tonight. If he refuses me, I will tell him. I will tell him you will be with child soon, then he will have no other option.â
âDo as you must, my prince,â you replied in a strangled breath, needy for him to move his fingers again. Instead, the prince moved away from your body completely, making you frown in protest at the distance. You watched as he stood, removing his own clothes.
You had seen parts of him in the pond, but it was nothing like this. The cock you had only felt was now visible to your eyes. Valarr was perfect. His muscles were firm, and his skin pristine. His body hadn't known any battles.
He watched as you watched him, feeding on the hunger of your purple eyes. He approached slowly; he looked like the shadow of the boy you knew so well. His moves were so smooth they reminded you of a predator.
The prince placed himself between your legs again and lowered his upper body to kiss you. It was a teasing kiss, all tongue and teeth. His right hand reached under your leg and pulled you to him, aligning himself with your dripping slit.Â
"It is the right thing to do. The people will whisper that the house has been divided by death. We will unify it,â Valarr whispered the words as his forehead lay against yours, his eyes closed.Â
You nodded, tilting your pelvis, impatient for him to finally take you.
Valarr didnât move. Instead, his other hand cupped your cheek firmly, âSay it,â he ordered, begged, pleaded, you weren't sure.
"It is the right thing." You echoed his words. Your voice was hoarse, parted by the tension and desire. That was all he needed to calm his guilt. The prince thrust into you fully, stealing a strangled gasp from your lips as your hands scratched his back, trying to remain grounded through the initial sting. Valarr was also gasping, his eyes shut as he took in the feeling.Â
It took a minute for the two of you to regain control. He gave you the time to adjust to the fullness. It didnât take long, after all, you were two sides of the same coin, made for each other.Â
âYou are mine now,â Valarr declared softly as he tentatively started moving his hips, his eyes hazy. His cheeks had gained a beautiful shade of red. He looked healthy, serene. He hadnât felt this way since before Ashford. You were so warm, so fucking tight. It felt so right that it almost nauseated him, the thought that you had been kept away from him for so long when you had obviously always belonged to him.Â
The same thought seemed to cross your mind as you responded, âI always was.â
Valarr took this as his sign to increase his space, leaning towards you to cup your breast with one hand as the other played in between your legs, watching as every touch of your clit made you squirm and gasp his name. âIâve seen this before,â he whispered, mostly to himself, pushing deeper and deeper as you arched your back. âIâve seen us do this in the pond, in my chambers. I thought I was going mad. I thought my mind was torturing me, showing me what I couldnât have. Yet, here you are, all mine.â
âYours,â you whispered, reaching for him, any part you could touch. His pace was unyielding, the sound of your bodies slamming against each other filling the library. It didnât matter, you thought, let them find us. Force us to our knees and wed us in shame. The gods knew what was right. They knew this was right. The thought of someone walking in made the feeling even more delicious, the dragon in your chest burning whatever guilt that was left, calling for Valarrâs.Â
The princeâs pace began to grow uneven, yet he didnât stop, âcum for me, princess. Show me how badly you want to be my wife.â His words were all it took for the coil in your belly to snap, fire filled your veins as your back arched, and a loud guttural moan escaped your lips. Valarr followed close behind, dropping his head to your ear, filling you with his seed as he whispered his vows, yours, mine, until the eternal fire do us part.
---
Liv's note
There we go! Maybe the final part ? I was thinking of maybe writing one more chapter but I am not 100% sure, let me know if you have any ideas! Thank you all for taking the time to read this story. If you enjoyed it, please please take the time to reblog it.
Daeron the Drunken Dreamer [Original Art]
"Not that I ever asked to have my honor redeemed. Whoever has it can keep it, so far as I'm concerned. Still, here we are. For what it's worth, Ser Duncan, you have little to fear from me."
"you planned this?" @writingliv - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
