Angel

Gwendolyn Thorn had always been aware of her position, coming from a minor house. Daughter of the steward of Ashford Meadow castle, the line that divided her between an ordinary person and someone of noble birth was a single name without much wealth. But such awareness was of little use against the shrewd and tempestuous ambition of her mother, who saw in her daughter a chance to rise in the hierarchy through an advantageous marriage. The woman nurtured the grand dream of seeing her daughter become the lady of a castle, something Gwendolyn herself had never believed possible.

However, when an extravagant tournament is announced — one that attracts knights and noble families from all over the realm — to celebrate her best friend’s name day, Gwendolyn finds herself faced with the special attention of a prince of the realm. Even in this scenario straight out of a fairy tale, she struggles not to let herself be carried away by her daydreams and by all the feelings that make her heart seem to float as if it had butterfly wings, for she knows that her name would never secure her a future alongside the second in line to the Iron Throne.

Yet, the more she fights to stay away from this flame, the more she will be drawn to it, for being loved by a Targaryen comes at a high price.

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen/Original Female Character

Rating: Explicit

Includes: Classicism, Past Child Abuse, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, Misogyny, Typical Canon Violence, Power Imbalance, Secret Relationship, Forbidden Love, Smut, Ambiguous Morality.

Status: In progress

[...] "I was molded not to be seen more than necessary, to be silent, grateful, and obedient." She answered, avoiding his gaze.

"The Miss does not seem to be doing a good job at some of those things. You are not difficult to notice, and since you speak of setting aside pride and listening to a frank answer, allow me to do what you seems to value so much and take the first step of our friendship…" As if to reinforce his intentions, he took a step forward, approaching her and making her catch her breath. They were close again. Lyn raised her face to him. "I much prefer your company when you act as you did by that pond last night, when you confronted Aerion in that corridor and at breakfast, as you spoke with my father and as you are acting now. Being intelligent, provocative, brave, and amusing, not in a tense way as if at any moment an executioner will cut off your neck just for saying anything at all."

And she completely lost her breath.

No. This is not right. The way she was behaving here was not correct; it was not what she had been taught and learned to do. Lyn should not be alone with a man in the gardens; she could not be throwing flirtations at him and speaking of friendships; it should be close to sin to have those thoughts about the few touches he had given her. None of this should be happening. Lyn should not speak that way, for the way she spoke and thought was not proper for a lady. Suddenly, the palms of her hands began to burn, and she flexed her fingers. What would Septa Jenna, Lady Ashford, and her mother think of all this? And he was a prince. What in the seven hells was she thinking, sighing over him and laughing like a fool before sleeping as if he were the delight of her life? What did she think? That this was a fairy tale, that he would take her with him and make her his princess in one of his two castles, fill her with riches, and love her forever? She should be taking walks in the garden and flirting with Androw Ashford, not with a man who would one day be king, but with the one with whom all signs pointed to her marrying. Know your place, Gwendolyn Thorn. Always an ornament, never a flower. Regain your sanity.

"I… behave as I was taught to behave, Your Grace. If I gave the impression that I overstepped a boundary, I apologize." Her voice came out fragile, almost choked.

"The way they taught you does not please me, and I firmly believe it does not please you either." He said with confidence.

"It is not proper…"

"It does not matter, nor do I care. If you continue to act that way, I will not be able to know you entirely… and that is what I desire, to know you. If for that I must follow your conditions of honesty and forgotten pride, then I shall." He looked deep into her eyes with those strange irises of his, leaving no doubt. "While you are with me, you may speak about whatever you wish and in whatever way you wish; I will not be more offended than if you act with fear and in a manner that does not suit your nature near me. You have my word of honor that you need not be silent or any of that nonsense with me, Miss Gwendolyn."

Perhaps it was the way he looked at her, the way he leaned slightly so that they were closer, or the way he spoke her name, how that name sounded in his voice — as if he savored each syllable while also making it a prayer he could not utter in vain. Lyn knew that the Young Prince had condemned her in that very instant, for she let go of the rationality she had been trying so hard to cling to in the last few seconds.

He had delivered the decisive blow; she let go of the horse's reins from the impact and fell to the ground, defeated.

"Lyn." Her voice was a whisper.

Valarr blinked, somewhat uncertain.

"You may call me Lyn, Your Grace." Almost shyly, she gave him permission to enter after having thrown the door wide open, a door she had not even tried to keep closed.

And he smiled. It was a smile of genuine satisfaction and victory. He was somewhat smug; Lyn had already noticed that. [...]

Sounds fun!

Considering that the chapter I'm currently writing would be a major spoiler, here are just over 3 sentences from the chapter I'm currently revising and translating:

“Don’t hold back your tears,” she said finally. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but in that silence it reverberated like the ringing of a bell.

Valarr didn’t answer. He didn’t even move.

Lyn breathed deeply.

“Don’t hold back your pain and your tears. You’ll need to be there for your mother and your brother, but you won’t be able to be strong if you keep everything to yourself,” she spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “You’re expected to be their anchor, but it’s impossible to support others when you’re abandoning yourself inside.”

The prince’s fingers, resting lightly on Sky's fur, twitched slightly.

“You can cry here,” her voice trembled. “No one will say anything. It’s just us here.”

The silence stretched on.

Valarr didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t cry.

Lyn waited.

Then, slowly, Valarr turned his face and, finally, he looked at her.

[...] "And what else, besides boldness, does your mind produce that makes you speak without thinking?" He recovered some calm in his voice, a forced calm.

She raised an eyebrow. Interesting.

Lyn deliberately looked away, conceding this victory to him strategically. She fixed her gaze on the grass beneath her feet and considered how to answer. The wine could not have made her so reckless as to open up thus to a stranger… surely?

"My septa would call what passes through my head 'unnecessary fancies'."

"Were you immersed in your fancies before my arrival?" She sensed that he was still looking at her.

"I was indeed, Your Grace." She hummed, looking at the sky and the moon, which watched this dance along with her companions in the form of bright, distant points.

"Would the lady allow me to know what was passing through your mind?" His voice began to soften naturally now, interest replacing the slight irritation.

"Is the prince interested in what I think?" Her lips lifted further in the smile she maintained.

"I should like to judge for myself whether your so-called fancies are truly unnecessary or not." And now he carried amusement in his tone.

An idea passed through Lyn's mind, and her eyes sparkled with fun.

"What the prince proposes is fair." She said with a sweet, playful tone.

There were a few seconds before she had confirmation that he understood her joke, upon hearing a low laugh from him. A warmth invaded her stomach.

"I was reflecting on the moon, which I believe guards us from above while the sun rests at night." A pause, only the sound of their boots striking the grass and the wind carrying remnants of the feast's music with it. "Which reminded me of a question I raised some time ago: whether the moon is a friend or a lover of the sun."

Another small, amused laugh. The little prince likely had not expected that when he heard about fancies, and surely he would not think she would have the courage to be frank — which would not have happened if not for the cups of wine.

"A self-styled wise man might tell you they are merely celestial bodies."

"A wise man from where, my prince?" Her tone came out higher, slightly irritated. "The world is very vast. There are wise people everywhere, where the concept of wisdom differs from ours." She bit her lips, lowering her gaze a little. "There is wisdom and intelligence everywhere, even in those we refuse to look at because we judge them too small and insignificant."

Valarr was quiet for a time, likely judging her words.

"My father would agree with you." he said, as if telling some small curiosity about how trees grow. Lyn was surprised by that, for it was not something she would ever have expected to hear. "And is there any wisdom out in the world that can answer your question?"

That surprised her somewhat as well. She blinked a little, composing herself.

"The Dothraki believe the moon is a goddess, wife of the sun." She spoke with a confident voice.

"The horse lord warriors who dwell beyond the Narrow Sea." The prince agreed. "And they also believe that when they die, they become stars and ride there for eternity."

And that definitely made her smile wide. She turned her face so he could not see it.

"Exactly, just as we believe in the seven heavens and the seven hells." She could no longer hide the excitement in her voice. "As Your Grace can see, there is knowledge to support an answer to my dilemma."

"You lean toward the belief that they are lovers." It was not a question. He seemed to be enjoying himself as well.

"That is what I believe." She confirmed. She pretended not to notice when he turned on his heels and began to walk in the opposite direction. "He rules the day, and she rules the night in the company of her ladies, the stars. As if in two separate kingdoms but not so far apart."

"A somewhat tragic romance, I would say." he said, his voice drawing nearer and nearer. Lyn did not lift her face.

"Are not all the romances that touch us most tragic? Those that mark us most and make us repeat the story for generations?" She raised her brown eyes to admire the sky again. "And they are not always apart. Once in a while, rarely, they meet in the sky. They are forever chasing each other in an eternal cycle, yearning for one another, until at last they are permitted to meet." [...]

[...] Allow me to help you." He asked as if it were simply something that had crossed his mind and he felt moved to do. His voice overflowing with kindness.

Lyn looked at the hand he offered. The truth was that she wanted to stay away from him and his family. Those last tense and horrible minutes had been enough for her to wish never to have any experience with any prince whatsoever. She wanted to lock herself in her room until all the Targaryens left. But that would be unfair, would it not? He had helped her. He had saved her and Sky from that monstrous young man and was now being kind. To refuse his kindness would be a discourtesy… or she would enrage him. She did not know the nature of her savior.

She looked at the prince, finally. She saw him up close for the first time, and he was already watching her, his eyes fixed on her face, waiting. It was as if he did not want to frighten her with a harsh expression, so he held in his face a more welcoming look. The only change was when he blinked out of rhythm when Lyn turned fully to him. Looking closely at the prince, Lyn noticed two things. The first was that each of his eyes was a different color, one blue and one brown; she had never seen anything like it. The second was that Prince Valarr resembled his cousin in no way.

She accepted the hand he offered. [...]

Well, congratulations to me, I guess.

[...] "I am not a stranger, Gwendolyn. I am your mother.”

Lyn did not answer.

Meredyth stopped paying attention to the animal on the floor, settled more comfortably in the chair, and lifted those green eyes that saw through everything to her daughter. In that instant, all the gentleness that had prevailed throughout the day disappeared. There was no more warmth, attentiveness, interest, kindness… all that remained was a cold. Those two green jewels displayed a coldness capable of rivaling the Wall itself. Lyn shuddered; she recognised that look from childhood, from when she had done something wrong, from when she was being annoying, or even from when she had failed to be good at something her mother considered essential. Her mother had never hit her or her brothers, nor ordered a servant to do so; she had never raised her voice or shouted at them. Never. Even though she was not perpetually at home, Lyn knew that in all those years she had never done such things. Because she had not needed to. Her gaze and her cold words had always been enough to make her children afraid. For rage was terrible, but still a fervent, human feeling, whereas this indifference and this coldness, this lack of emotion… there is nothing human in the cold.

Even with the hearth burning, Lyn felt she would freeze in that room. [...]

Also known as those that inspired her creation.

From left to right:

Mary Shelly (author of Frankenstein);

The Brontë sisters, Emily, Anne and Charlotte (Authors of Wuthering Heights, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and Jane Eyre);

Christine de Pizan (author of The Book of the City of Ladies);

Juliet Capulet (Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare);

Persephone, the goddess of spring and queen of the dead;

Lucy Gray Baird (The Hunger Games saga, by Suzanne Collins);

Rose DeWitt Bukater (Titanic, 1997);

Eloise Bridgerton (Bridgerton, 2020 - );

[...] It was worthy of bitter laughter how a day that should have been cozy had become suffocating. She was not accustomed to this kind of attention. Well, she had grown familiar with Androw’s special attention, but this business of a banquet? That had never happened before, not for her. Banquets were for Lord and Lady Ashford, for Androw, Robert, and Gwin, and for honored guests. Never for Gwendolyn, who would always be present at such events close to Gwin, but never a few steps ahead to draw focus from what truly mattered. Lyn thought of it like a flower arrangement, where there were the main flowers that drew the eye and were what admirers truly sought. More beautiful, more fragrant, more striking. But there were also the embellishments, the other flowers in the arrangement used to highlight and complement the main ones, for a homogeneous bouquet would almost never be as pleasing to the eye as a well-varied one. The embellishments were there to make everything richer and enhance the beauty of the centerpiece. That was how it was at Ashford. Gwin and her brothers were the main flowers, and Lyn was the embellishment. She would be there to complement but never to stand out, and it had always been that way; it was the natural order of things, which she had understood young and accepted readily. Therefore, a banquet for her was, at the very least, a slaughter of that untouchable nature.

A softer part of her said it was alright, that it made a certain kind of sense. Lord and Lady Ashford saw her almost as a daughter; she had grown and flourished within the walls of their castle and had received the same education as their children; Gwin saw her as an older sister. So from that perspective, the situation seemed plausible. If their children were given banquets when they turned a year older, why not do the same for their “adopted daughter”?

Stop thinking so much about it and be grateful! They are spending time, money, and resources on you, Lyn thought. This is a demonstration of their affection for you! Gwin came up with the idea, your Lord and Lady agreed, and Androw thought it appropriate. Robert’s opinion probably wasn’t far off, if he even had one! Stop with the modesty and humility and accept it! The Ashfords adore you!

And, perhaps because of that, it was so hard to say no to them—especially to Gwin.

Androw’s advances echoed again in her mind.

"You’ve been here with us for a long time, grown up here, it’s your home as much as ours… and it will be even more so in the future."

Gwendolyn let out a pained groan remembering that.

She lifted her face and looked into the mirror, staring at her own reflection. Her honey-colored eyes, the light brown curls framing her heart-shaped face with its upturned nose and full lips. Her nervousness had flushed her pale skin. Suddenly, it was as if she heard her mother’s voice in her head, as if she felt the ghost of her hand caressing her hair while humming some silly song. She would gently touch Lyn’s chin with her fingers — as soft as a breath — and make her lift her face to see her own reflection perfectly.

You are beautiful, my sweet. So beautiful… and you must be clever too.

That turned her stomach again. She stood and went to the windows to open them. She didn’t care if it was still raining outside; she needed air. It was as if the stones of the walls had come to life and were slowly advancing toward Lyn to suffocate her, straining to crush her. Lyn threw the windows wide and let out a sigh of relief, feeling the damp breeze and the scent it carried. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the windowsill, closing her eyes as she tilted her head back, letting the rain wash over her and cleanse her. The raindrops struck her face with measured force, streaming down like tears over her skin, caressing her eyelids, her nose, her neck, and her lips — finding a space between them and letting her taste the water on the tip of her tongue. She sighed and let those caresses carry her away, lifting the weight from her shoulders and heart, as delicate as a lover’s touch. Perhaps she stayed there for hours, or only minutes, but when she stepped back and closed the window, she felt better, much more refreshed. [...]