Multi-fandom Boy Kisser

"Lysene Reprieve", Chapter 6

Valarr Targaryen x Aerion Targaryen

By ShepHawke

“Sleep, cousin,” Valarr said sternly, his eyes still caught in this red mist that sprawled itself across the docks and entangled his thoughts.

Despite his command, Aerion did not go to back to sleep. Valarr heard rustle of sheets and felt the weight shift on the bedding as Aerion sat up closer to him. His cousin yawned, long and self-indulgent, and then put his chin on Valarr’s shoulder. Aerion took a few more moments to blink himself awake before he said in their ancestral tongue, his voice thick and hoarse:

“If sleep evades you, I insist you lie back down with me so I could help you find it.”

To make it all the more difficult to refuse, Aerion kissed the top of Valarr’s shoulder, and then further along it, and then the crook of his neck. Valarr smirked and looked down at his cousin’s glossy with sleep eyes to point out:

“That is what you promised last night, yet I remained sleepless.”

“I promised to exhaust you,” Aerion countered, a wild half-smile appearing on his features. He lifted his chin enough to place a kiss on the edge of Valarr’s jaw, and then leant further up to whisper into his ear: “Which, by the color under your eyes, I determine I’ve achieved.”

“I may have been rendered a tad fatigued,” Valarr teased, turning his head to face his cousin.

“Now, I promise to relax you,” Aerion continued, his eyes dropping down to look at Valarr’s lips hungrily.

Valarr found himself too tired to refuse. Aerion’s lips pressed against his own, soft and warm and welcome. Aerion tilted his head and snuck his hand up Valarr’s bare chest until he reached his neck and curved his hand around it to bring Valarr closer. He was so used to this sight now: Aerion’s pale features expressing naught but want, his long white lashes lightly fluttering as they kissed. He was sort of even… adorable."

Daeron x Aerion

inspired by @professorplummm

"Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, sweat sticking my hair to my forehead. I wipe my face with a hand and keep panting, soft remnants of pleasure rolling through every muscle and sinew. I slow down my breath, my wrist still over my eyes.

I don’t have to see him to feel Aerion rise up on an elbow and look down at me. I can feel his haughty smirk, his doe-eyed look. I can’t face him yet.

His hand finds my chest. Wide palm, harsh callouses, hard knuckles. I know it well. It’s hit me. I’ve kissed it.

Breaths calm. Tranquil silence. I’m so, so tired.

“Do you wish for anything?” he asks, the question so unlike him that I can’t help but release a brief laugh of disbelief.

I take my arm off my face and look at him, bemused, not ready for another game of his. But what I see isn’t a game at all. He really asked me that, just then. I look over his face, as sweaty as mine, as clear of tension as mine. What do I wish for?

“Only to sleep,” I confess. My eyes water. I hate it. I can’t help it. My heart beats so loud and painful in my chest when I ask: “Would you sing to me?”

I thought he would laugh at me. But his lips only purse in surprise at first, his eyes widening slightly. Then he frowns, thoughtful, a small wrinkle appearing between his pale brows. The hand on my chest travels further away from Aerion to wrap around me.

I sigh and close my eyes as he drags me closer, my back pressed against his chest. He puts his chin on my neck, the apple of his throat palpable through my damp with sweat hair between us. I am afraid. I open my mouth to lie to him that I was joking, that I didn’t mean what I said.

But he sings first. His voice reaches my heart, vibrates through my own neck. His fingers twitch with some words, brushing past my chest. It’s comforting. It’s bitter. The words, the voice – so like our mother’s.

I fall asleep."

Guilt in Daeron's POV vs Aerion's POV

I noticed that two of my fanfic works set in the same timeline (only a day apart, at that) had pretty much the same premise. A maekarling, injured and shame-ridden, at the crack of dawn, limps his way to Valarr's room to alleviate his guilt somehow.

Instead of feeling ashamed myself for pretty much using the exact same premise twice without even noticing (though I did self-flagellate for a little bit about that), I decided that it might be fun to compare just what these two complicated individuals think and feel, and in which way they are similar, and in which they are very much not.

(ahead will be a quote from each fic I thought relevant + my thoughts after)

On the morning of the seventh day past Baelor's death, just as Valarr finished his long and lonesome vigil, Daeron wakes up realizing he'd offered no condolences to his cousin during this time:

"...And yet, he all but abandoned Valarr. He could have visited Valarr after it all happened, he could have popped by during his cousin’s vigil to keep him company at least, or put a friendly hand on his shoulder so he didn’t feel quite so alone as he watched over his father’s cold body. But he didn’t. Selfishly, self-centeredly, obliviously, Daeron kept to his cups and used the excuse of his hurt leg to avoid all eyes and remain in his rooms. He drank, and he evaded sleep, and then dreamt anyway when his body could no longer hold him up.

A week had passed this way. A week. Seven whole days and nights. As Daeron felt sorry for himself, for his leg and his face and his poor little mind, Valarr had no such luxury of drowning his sorrow and passing into dark, black sleep. He had to stand there, watching over his very own father getting more and more dead each passing hour, and there was no one to ask him how he was doing.

Gods, Daeron’s throat clenched as he thought about it. His poor cousin Valarr.

As he walked through the long hallways, Daeron swept a lock of hair that stubbornly slipped out of the loose horsetail he tied with a ribbon at the base of his neck, his brows knitting over his eyes. He was such a complete and utter imbecile. How could he claim to hold some fondness for Valarr if he simply just… forgot about him, in a time like this?

It was easy to forget sometimes that not everything in the waking world carried on without his input. For so often he felt himself a piece of driftwood caught in a roaring mountain river descending further and further down into the unknown. He was a living person, as well, in a world of other living people. That was something he needed to remember. If not for anyone else, if not even for himself, then for Valarr.

After all, was it not Valarr who, unbeknownst to himself, made it bearable for Daeron to consider going to sleep most nights? Was it not Valarr’s comely and enigmatic visage that appeared in the few, precious dreams that were Daeron’s own, and not those of his blood?

And still, he just left him to deal with all this without a second thought. What a despicable, wretched creature he was." Read full fic on AO3

The next morning, just as all Targaryens prepare to leave, Aerion decides that he can't part with Valarr just like that, with no promise of seeing him again any time soon - if ever. Injured and with a storm of feelings churning inside him, he sets off to Valarr's rooms:

“Yours is not a welcome face here, cousin.”

Aerion knew it wouldn’t be, but he stubbornly wished to see Valarr’s. The orange light of dawn only touched the very edge of his silhouette, lighting up his warm brown hair and the bright white streak within them. His black blouse buttoned all the way up to his collarbone did not hide how tautly flexed were Valarr’s shoulders as he looked at Aerion with resentment. That sentiment Valarr was not even attempting to hide this time, though it was still more subtle than Aerion expected. The line of Valarr’s brow was tense, the bridge of his nose bore a few shallow wrinkles, and his upper lip was curved ever so lightly.

“I’m sorry, Valarr,” Aerion stated, his voice hoarse and his foot not as even as he would have liked as it made but one step forward.

“What for?” Valarr squinted at him, the blue of his eye burning with its iciness. “For breaking that girl’s hand? For ser Duncan’s valor? Or for your father striking the killing blow upon my helmet?”

Aerion didn’t find what to say, but he did not find it in himself to make another step forward either. He shifted his weight from one foot to another as his eyes dropped down to look at Valarr’s bare feet, his stomach churning with deep, hot, acidic unfairness of it all. He wasn’t sorry for any of the things Valarr listed. None of them were his fault. And it was not his fault that Valarr’s father decided to insert himself into something that was only between Aerion and the gods.

It was Valarr that stepped closer to him, and Aerion looked up with hope to see a shade of understanding pass on Valarr’s features. There was no such thing. Just more resentment. Valarr asked him coldly, the tip of the blade now right by Aerion’s throat:

“What is it like to know your sire is a kinslayer?”

Aerion scowled, rising his chin reflexively upon feeling the sharp tip of the shaving knife touch the skin under the apple of his throat. What did his father have to do with this? His father loved his bother. He was heartbroken. And it was neither here not there in regards to what existed now between Aerion and Valarr." Read full fic on AO3 (this event is in Chapter 2)

The way I interpret these two is that they are both complete and utter narcissists: for Daeron, it's expressed in his continuous self-blame, his shame, his victimhood, all of which he uses as excuses to indulge in his impulses however base they are; for Aerion, it's expressed straightforwardly in self-righteousness and hubris, shifting blame off himself and onto his circumstances or those around him. They both lack the capability of true empathy, only feeling hints of sympathy when their own heartstrings are tugged - when the object of their affection is involved.

They both seek out Valarr to make themselves feel better. We don't get to learn Valarr's POV in the fic, but I'm pretty confident that he thought about neither of them during this time. He, frankly, had bigger fish to fry. But neither Daeron nor Aerion could conceive of a scenario where something or someone that causes them such strong feelings doesn't yearn for them just as much.

Of course Valarr must hate me, Daeron laments, i must go to him and show him how sorry I am. Meanwhile, Valarr just wants to sleep and eat and have a bath (man's been up on his feet for a week.)

Of course Valarr must blame me so unfairly, Aerion thinks, I must go to him and show him that we should be together because how could we not. Meanwhile, Valarr just burnt his father last night and is now getting ready to go to KL to take on the responsibilities of the heir apparent that are suddenly on his shoulders.

At least they're hot.

"You are not my tallest cousin."

Daeron "the Dreamer" x Valarr Targaryen

By Shephawke

“Daeron?”

Daeron blinked himself out of his trance, looking back down at his fingers almost sheepishly as he finished working on the top buckle of the gambeson and moved lower to the next. His heart was increasing its pace in his chest, his throat going dry. Why could Valarr, of all people, have such little trouble in unsettling Daeron?

“I’ve…” he began, his voice timid and pitiful. He hated how it sounded, but persevered nonetheless: “I’ve come to apologize. I do not believe I would be able to make it up the hill to witness the funeral pyre, not with my leg.”

“Somehow, I did not think you would,” Valarr replied, his voice lacking warmth completely.

Daeron was tempted to look up into his eyes again, but was stricken with shame so hot and immediate that, instead, he stubbornly stared at his own fingers as they continued to work on the last buckle at the belt level of the gambeson. That voice… it made him feel like the smallest man that ever walked this world. He stepped around Valarr, avoiding his eyes as best he could, and helped him take the heavy padded piece of attire off the surely weary shoulders.

Strong masculine scent wafted off Valarr’s lightly damp undershirt, black as were most things his cousin chose to wear. Daeron did not hate the scent. It was sharp and strong, evidence of vigor and youth and activity. Evidence of seven days spent inside heavy armor, as well. Valarr’s hair tinged with grease smelt of incense and smoke, but the rest of him from the neck down smelt of nothing but Valarr."

"Vision of pink in the eyes of a prince"

Valarr Targaryen x Kiera of Tyrosh

By Shephawke

"Valarr Targaryen just recently became a man grown, turning ten-and-six, and tonight was his first ever ball with such a status. He got to carry a sword and talk to lords and ladies instead of holding his brother's hand all night. It could've been fun, if not for the terrible tediousness of the string of subtle and less-subtle marriage proposals he got barraged with. Little did they all know he had no intention of ever getting married. Could you imagine? Him?

...

Until he saw her. A beautiful, bright young woman that smiled at him and wrote songs about his eyes.

He wanted nothing else but to marry, if it meant he could spend time with her."

"Lysene Reprieve" Chapter 5

Valarr x Aerion Targaryen

By Shephawke

"Valarr?” Aerion asked, perplexed. He stared at him as if he was some queer creature, much like Valarr was staring at that crab earlier. His heart thundered in his chest, his breath inexplicably racing faster. Aerion quickly wiped his hands on his wet shirt still in the sand between them, and then grabbed him by the shoulder. He sought out his face to ask: “Are you crying?”

Valarr frowned and continued to breathe rapidly as he reached up to his own face with a hand. He wiped his forefinger over a cheek and was confused by the sight of brilliant water staining it. He parted his lips to stubbornly say “No,” only no word came out. When he tried to force it, a knot rose up at the back of his throat, constricting it and wetting his eyes even more.

Tears streamed down his face, only he couldn’t sob if he tried. He wept silently, his breath never catching up with his need for air. He tried to look at Aerion but couldn’t focus his gaze, all shapes growing blurry around him.

How could his heart bleed and hurt so much, when his chest felt so empty?"

Reach Chapter 5 on AO3

"Sad Dragons, Laughing Stags" Chapter 2/4

Valarr Targaryen x Lyonel Baratheon

By ShepHawke

“Rosemary,” Lyonel observed with obvious praise in the low timbre of his voice. He looked Valarr in the eye as he smiled: “A rather humble herb for the royal prince’s soap.”

It wasn’t a question, and Valarr offered no reply. He swallowed as subtly as he could and thought that his mother favored rosemary for her baths, as well. Perhaps, it was a stormlander favorite? The thought lit Valarr’s heart on fire, but not nearly as much as Lyonel who continued to hold his gaze while his lips pressed against the center of Valarr’s heel in a firm, slow kiss.

Gods.

Valarr’s chest fell deeper with each sudden sigh that accompanied each of the following kisses Lyonel’s lips trailed up the sole of his bare foot. His fingers gripped on the sofa tighter, his teeth releasing his pinky finger only so that he could bury his mouth back inside his hand. He did not wish to yelp or make any other undignified sound, and much more than that he did not wish for Ser Lyonel to stop. He felt titillating indignity when Lyonel reached his toes and kissed each one excruciatingly slowly, but dared not close his eyes. Valarr could not stop staring, and his eyes grew only wider, mesmerized, as he watched Lyonel return his mouth down to Valarr’s heel only to place his tongue against it, flat and wide.

He drew a slow, wet lick all the way up Valarr’s foot, the well-groomed beard tickling the sensitive skin toughened by combat training and endless social gatherings and dances. The freshly wet trail felt especially cold, and Valarr once again felt his entire leg get covered in goosebumps that raced all over his skin, all the way up to his neck and down to his hands. Lyonel, meanwhile, smiled as he continued to hold Valarr’s gaze captive, and placed an open-mouthed, warm kiss on the soft pad of Valarr’s foot.

Voice snuck into Valarr’s sudden inhale as he felt Lyonel’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, and he gulped it down indignantly with something that bordered a whimper. He frowned, frustrated at his own weak-willed reaction, and tried to tug his foot away from the blessed torture Lyonel was offering it. But the Baratheon held the back of his foot with a strong hand, and still had his other at the very top of Valarr’s calf, under his knee. There was no use – his foot would only be released when the stag willed it.

It was exhilarating."

"Sad Dragons, Laughing Stags" Chapter 1/4

Valarr Targaryen x Lyonel Baratheon

By ShepHawke

“Do you fancy a ride?”

Valarr breathed deeply after their fit of amusement, color warming his cheeks and excitement tingling his lungs. He studied the handsome face so close to him, the bright, curious eyes, the wrinkles at their corners, the well-groomed beard with specs of gray scattered across it. He gulped, and thought that he fancied a ride very much. He fancied a ride more than anything.

Lyonel took his silence as affirmation and sat back on the sofa, releasing Valarr’s shoulder by almost shoving him away playfully, like men were always used to do with each other. He nodded and smiled:

“Perhaps on the morrow, then. He is resting for now, after a day full of riding here.”

Valarr’s excited smile dimmed. The horse, of course. Lyonel meant a ride on the horse. Foolish of him to think otherwise. Even more foolish not to try and make Lyonel fancy a different sort of ride, himself.

With that thought, Valarr coquettishly bit on his own pinky before he dismissed with a roll of his shoulder:

“Let’s leave him to it, then. He probably deserves rest if he had to carry you around.”

“I do beg your pardon, my prince,” Lyonel chuckled breathlessly as if he could not believe what he heard. His eyes widened daringly as he asked: “Whatever are you insinuating?”

Valarr dropped his voice to something quiet and almost tender as he leant closer to look up at Lyonel’s eyes and replied:

“That my lord is immense, and a challenge to keep up with.” His words earned him a self-satisfied smile on Lyonel’s handsome features and a lowering of those dark lashes over Lyonel’s clever eyes. “There are tall tales of your vigor spread across the realm – one must pity any horse duty-bound to bear your weight.”

Fitz's theme song is "Aviators - Undying" and here's why

Let's get this right out of the way: Yes, I'm aware the song is actually about Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice. That is interesting but irrelevant to my point.

In this post I'm going to break down the lyrics of the song and explain why it makes me think of Fitz so intensely. We'll be touching on his journey in the Farseer Trilogy only (so, spoilers ahead).

Trapped in spirit to the earth Where shadows find their due rebirth - he died and was in the ground until he was resurrected, hello??

My blade has fallen but rises new My final blow will still strike true - this could refer to him being resurrected and ready to serve again after his dying as well, or it could be about his doomed quest to kill Regal (he thinks his blade will strike true, the poor baby)

A gift, a curse, but not my own - this could be refering to either Skill or Wit, as both of them were great boons to him but also caused him an inhuman amount of suffering both physically and mentally...

A wish to guide this power home - ...but because of this line i'm more inclined to think it's about Skill, the power of it being Verity, and how Fitz would very much like to bring Verity home so as not to be the realm's only hope anymore (and also because he loves Verity and wants him home)

Through all the ghosts along the way I'll live to fight another day - our boy is not allowed retirement. Even if he has to die, even if he has to take help from people presumed dead or existing only to some (Chade, Kettle, Verity, even the Fool) (so, "ghosts" so to speak), or from those that died trying to help him (like Smithy) (who are actual ghosts i guesss), Fitz *will* live to fight another day. He is forbidden from dying.

Breath of the unyielding wind - SKILL

The dragon within keeps the flesh alive To absolve my sin - Verity. Verity who's building his dragon body out of rock, that yoinked Fitz' body and yeeted him into Nighteyes, all to "absolve" Fitz of his foolish foolish endeavor of assassinating Regal (which is a sin because he did it for his own vengeance boner, it was not in service to the royal family, and more so it even went to break his promise since he wanted to kill a member of the royal family (even if he was a dick))

i'm the thief with a mark - a thief, yes. Shrewd's power play where he made Fitz steal something from him marked him as a thief. Mark is also the pin Shrewd gave him to solidify their oath to each other. Fitz also has countless scars that mark him, as well as Skill fingerprints on his wrist. Our boy is makred all over.

Redeemed by the will of the undying spark The wolf in the dark (The wolf in the dark) - the one good thing in his life, his conscience, his life preserver (in his case literally) IS a wolf in the dark. Nighteyes.

I am bound by monarch the thief with a mark - Shrewd. Thief. Marks.

The undying spark - Skill. Wit. He's not allowed to die.

the wolf in the dark - Nighteyes. Assassin. He's a wolf in the dark as much as Nighteyes. (...)

Land of conquest, age of war The likes I've never seen before - this part is all about the Forged and their unleashing onto the Dutchies.

With spirit's rising, and dead unrest - could be about the forged, as they behave in an undead type of way. Could also be about Fitz - he is a risen undead, too, as creepy as it is to think about it.

This immortality's a test A gift, a curse, but not my own - him being risen, it's not fun. It is also a gift, yes, he gets to live. But also, it was not his own wish, and he is trapped into serving again (both by genuine loyalty but also out of duty, obliged with his very life now)

(...)

I rot the world around us As the colors turn to gray In a tale of death and pestilence These footprints soon decay - this could be from when Fitz spirit was joining Nighteyes in the wolf's body (so the colors turning to gray could be because he was dying, but also because he was gaining a wolf's vision). And while humans deal with assassinations and poisonings and Forging, human FOOTprints decay (i think this could be about how Fitz's efforts would never be recognized and he would never be thanked for what he'd done in service to the crown - such is the job of the royal assassin).... Wolves don't need to deal with any of that.

So let us fade together To a pure and mortal dream I'll fight my way to get there With this power in my bloodstream - this is from Nighteyes and Fitz' POV at the same time. He often refers to his time with Nighteyes as a large portion of his life even though it was mere days (weeks?) he spent there. It was timeless and dream-like. He longed it the rest of his life. And the power in his bloodstream is, of course, Wit - the very power that allowed him to do the things he'd done, including coming back to life, and living with his wolf, as a wolf.

(...)

It's a good song, and I recommend it! And just check out Aviators, really good stuff. A Thousand Eyes (collab with Miracle of Sound) is one of my favorites.

Ah Daeron the Daring, the beautiful sadboy who's had it rough❤️‍🩹

Dark haired Targs are so mystifying aren't they? And George wants them in stories but he can't keep them alive and relevant for roo long because, oh no, the white Targ hair would disappear!

Evidently, in F&B, it states "Daeron…whose coloring, unlike that of Jace, testified to his dragon blood", strongly implying he does have silver hair (despite the show never stating anything about it so far) + i think from the fact Daemon and Rhaenyra accepted some blond kid is telling of him supposedly having white Targ hair naturally in the show as well.

I think narratively it makes sense and is quite juicy for Ormund to dye Daeron's hair the Hightower color to be more "pure" and more removed from his "savage" Targ ancestry - and to make him more like Ormund.

Despite dying his hair and telling Daeron (most likely on a daily basis) how unworthy and alien Targs are and how superior Hightowers are, Daeron clearly loves his dragon and, deep down, doesn't mind being a Targ. The way they nuzzle each other and how protective Tessarion is when Ormund appears - absolute tragic beauty.

Im always a sucker for opposite-gender dragon and rider, we have few examples (Rhaena with Sheepstealer, Aemond One-Eye with Vaghar, Ulf with Silverwing, Daenerys with Drogon, and Daeron the Daring with Tessarion are the only ones that come to mind but feel free to correct me if there's more), and with how young they both are, trapped in this awful place with this despicable abuser, pure tragedy 🖤

I purposely stopped reading Fire & Blood after the death of Jahaerys the Conciliator so as not to spoil the show, but now that the show (from what i hear) is deviating quite far from the source, im intending on finishing the book after this season ends, and am curious to see what Daeron does.

Okay guys who wants to be the one to do it?

"Mixing the Dragon with the Mud", read on AO3

probably my best fic (so far)

Why I write Valarr as such a sadboy (a ramble)

Read my ASOIAF fics on AO3

While there's a lot to be sad about in his life even before AKOTSK events (my man canonically has still born sons at this point (that's plural by the way) and he's likely to not even be 20 yet), i want to point at specific moments we see on screen that make me feel the way i feel about him.

When the Targaryen procession arrives, Valarr is in the very background and out of focus. All we get to see is him doing a very sassy/disdainful looking double take at Aerion's shenanigans. Alas, we don't get to learn what he thought about it exactly, but I imagine it wasn't anything cheerful. He *has* to be here, at this event nobody worthy will ever be in their right mind to challenge him, he *has* to pretend to be the champion knowing full-well he probably didn't really earn it and remains so as a technicality, he has to be in the shadow of his taller, stronger, more popular dad the whole time who didn't even bother to bring his armor or his warhorse because he doesn't need the bells and whistles, AND he has to do all that while in close proximity to his absolute disaster and psycho of a cousin. At least his wife is here at Ashford Meadow, but with how far behind him she stands at the funeral pyre I'm not sure they're all that very warm with each other (refer to the earlier multiple still births i mentioned to explain this).

Then there's the tourney. My man's bored out of his mind. My man doesn't *care.* He's there performing PR for his family, instead of having fun and testing his mettle like most other nobles get to. And he has to *watch* everyone else having fun, even his psycho cousin who taunts him and mocks him and then kills some guy's horse, so now everyone looks at you like "your family sucks you're all uptight haughty arrogant bastards" and you have to smile and be like "uh-huh it's hard to argue with you rn" (we don't see him do that of course, and he probably doesn't, but he might think of it that way)

The specific way in which he *almost* shakes his head in a defeated/disbelieving sort of way when Aerion goads him into getting up and then leaves him hanging is so telling. It's very restrained but also totally not impressed or surprised.

And that's how I see Valarr. He is *numb* to the terrible things. His heart is closed. He likely lost his mother already, and at this point definitely lost at least one child before he even got to name him. His father belongs to the realm, being the Hand and the heir apparent. Valarr has nothing except responsibilities and an image to upkeep, and he acts accordingly. I think he is keenly aware of how he needs to appear, and he does, before he even thinks of what emotions he is actually feeling and may want to express.

Finally, his only dialogue scene. Right after the funeral pyre of his father prince Baelor, Dunk finds Valarr unceremoniously sitting on the grass, by himself. No attendants near him, not even a blanket on the ground. He sits on his own cape/cloak, and stares at the ashes.

What the show doesn't make apparent is the passage of time. It's unclear how many days pass between events and how long is the road to here or there. The show also doesn't mention anything about the fact that there's a traditional funeral vigil performed by a knight over a body of someone like Baelor, and in the books it's Valarr who stands vigil, by himself.

So by the time Dunk finds Valarr sitting on the grass looking at what remains of his father, Valarr had already been staring at his father's body for seven days and seven nights, armored and armed, by himself. So, when they talk, Valarr is not subdued and flat in his delivery because he is in shock or something. Shock had passed. There's no one more aware of how dead Baelor is than Valarr at this point.

And the way his jaw tenses when he senses Dunk approach. The way, when he asks Dunk a philosophical question Drunk honestly says "i can't say", Valarr, like, rises his brows and presses his lips as if to say "yeah didn't think so". He wasn't expecting Dunk to have any answers, and he was not impressed with the answers he did give. If he blames Dunk, i'm not sure (he probably blames Aerion more than anyone else). But he definitely thinks Dunk's life isn't worth his father's (and not primarily because he loved his father, but rather because, as a person, objectively, Baelor was more valuable to the world than Dunk - that's how i headcanon Valarr's opinion on this, anyway).

For the blaming of Aerion part, I think what he truly blames him is not even for assaulting the mummer girl. He wouldn't have done the same, but i don't think he'd consider it such a crime that was worth beating the shit out of Aerion for (i'm sure as his relative Valarr can list a hundred other things Aerion had done more worth it than that specific crime). What he likely does blame Aerion for is trying to weasel out of fighting Dunk one-on-one by bringing up some obscure trial style that involves 14 people

AERION SIDE NOTE: Aerion even knowing about this kind of trial is absolutely fascinating and proves to me he is well-read and might even be religious? We all know of course he thinks Valyrians superior and thinks himself a dragon, but does he also recognize the Seven's authority? anyway back to Valarr

The way Valarr is unimpressed and unamused and unsurprised with Dunk's presense and his answers, and the way he dismisses him the way he does "Be gone with you", all goes to support my perception of Valarr as a subdued, rare to outbursts, evenly spoken sad boy.

The scene ALSO proves to me that Valarr isn't all that very noble. Some may say yeah he's allowed to be a little bitter because his father just died for something so stupid (at the end of the day the conflict was straight up idiotic in how miniscule and unimportant it was), but i don't think he even is all that bitter.

I think Valarr is as spoiled and uptight and self-important as would be completely natural for him to be considering his position. He is the oldest son to the King's oldest son, he's never been to war, he never lived with commoners. I think it makes complete sense for him to think of Dunk as lesser. I wonder what he thought about Egg's quest, how he just decided to follow Dunk around and see what's up across the realm. I don't think Valarr has that adventure and nobility in him. I don't think he's terribly curious how well or unwell the common person lives. But that's all neither here nor there, just sharing some headcanons.

To sum up:

Valarr is a sad boy and I love him. The most disastrous thing could happen and he would just go something like this:

(you should watch Frasier by the way it's incredible)