.

One would think that the last two weeks before the wedding were the easiest part of any bethrothal. Everything was set in stone, guests were arriving, the dress was made, the flowers ordered, and the cooks began preparing the endless menu for the feasts that would follow the wedding. And for the bethrothed couple, it was time to relax, to know each other as much as they could before their vows were said, to be comfortable around one another after moons of endless courtship.

And thought these past few weeks Valarr had begun to know you, to care for you more than he knew you would believe. He still felt as if you were a stranger to him still. That the friendship, the desperate attempts to get you to grow comfortable around him, had all been for nought. 

It was not rare for strangers to marry in Westeros, but it had been the very thing he had tried desperately to avoid. With Kiera, he had spent moons courting her in the lead-up to what would have been their betrothal, and now with you he was given so little time. 

His family already believed him entirely in love with you; the court thought you had either seduced him to marry you or that you were both so in love that propriety be damned. Yet that was so far from the truth.

He had been honest when he had said he had wanted to start as friends, but in the three weeks since then, he had treated you with the respect and kindness one would give any friend. It was driving him to madness. Knowing you but restraining himself, watching you get belittled, his words comforting you for a time, before the cruelness of the court reached you once more. 

The weeks of being your friend, of stopping himself in acting like more, even though it was what he desired, but knew you were not ready for. Your comfort was vital to him. He needed it like he needed to breathe. And yet the friendship and restraint had only made the already repressed longing and the crush he held for you develop tenfold. And he did, in truth,  regret the promise to start as your friend, not when he had wanted so much more since the start.

He had wanted everything from you, had dreamed of you and hated it. Had resented that you had been the one he dreamt of marrying in the sept when Kiera was the one he had been told he would wed. And that initial resentment had caused so much misunderstanding that he felt as if he was still fighting it. His shock over the sudden betrothal between you both had worsened it. And even though you had vowed to restart. Had taken each day, day by day. Had gotten to know him as a friend with a careful guard up. You still seemed so unsure of him. So oblivious to his feelings and so knowledgeable of the feelings of court.

They were split. Half believed you both entirely besotted, the other believed you wanton and jealous. Though in truth it was them that were. Kiera that was. He had tried to understand her, to express his apology. But when weeks went by, and she still remained bitter and cruel. He could only blame herself for her feelings and try to help you understand that your sisters bitterness was not truly of your own making. Not when Kiera's actions had made it so obvious she had merely wanted him for his crown.

He tried so hard to help you ignore her, to assure you of his friendship. And though he some days believed he had made little progress in your feelings of hatred at yourself for how your sister felt, it did become apparent to him that you were rather happy with the friendship you had made. 

He hadn’t noticed, or had been allowed to notice, how alone you had been before. Where Kiera had flourished, made friends with every lady she crossed, you had only Kiera. And now, you had only him. And though he rather liked the fact that you no longer ran from him, or rolled your eyes at his words, that you spoke to him with interest and not annoyance. 

Knowing you as a friend, he only wanted him to know you more, to court you properly and to make the feelings for you that haunted him mutual. 

So, on the third week of your makeshift courtship, and three weeks after you had decided to restart your relationship, Valarr had decided, close to two weeks to the wedding where a couple should feel secure and relaxed in their impending nuptials, Valarr decided he would court you and woo you. And be as shockingly romantic as the novel you had read to him over the last few luncheons you had shared. 

He knew you needed obvious, knew you were oblivious to nearly everything and if Valarr wished for a marriage of love, not friendship or resentment. The very thing your betrothal started on, and you both feared your marriage could become. Valarr knew he needed to be the most obvious man alive. 

He started with a book. Your favourite book, some tale of knights and princesses, a romance that even Kiera told him you gushed over. You had lost your copy on the voyage to Westros, and though he knew you could recount it from memory, had done so one afternoon when Valarr and you had walked the grounds. The book was rare, out of print and proving to be exceedingly difficult to find, but he, a prince and future king, had many strings to pull and had managed to convince some minor lord to lend him his wife's copy. The book was pristine, though it was in the common tongue and not your native language; so Valarr eager to start your marriage properly, and tired of hearing you call him your friend (It had happened twice, and each time you had stuttered the word with a pretty blush that would have Valarr giddy at the knowledge he had you blushing) had tasked himself with translating it, re writing the book in its entritity just for you. He even added his own notes and thoughts for each passage. Especially the ones you had left out, that had even Valarr blushing. 

He had gifted you the book on the first day of the week, a bashful smile on his face as he placed the wrapped book in front of you as you broke your fast.

“What is this?” you asked, smiling as you untied the pink ribbon around the package, your eyes watching Valarr carefully as he sat across from you, toying with his rings nervously.

“A gift,” was all he said, swallowing roughly as you unwrapped your gift. Confusion laced your features first, then pure, unadulterated joy. 

“Where did you get this?” you asked, flipping through the pages and reading the words Valarr had written, your smile only growing at his annotations. 

“Some lord owed me a favour; his wife had a copy and allowed me to translate from it-”

“You hand-wrote this?” you asked. Valarr nodded, smiling as you reached across the table and kissed his cheek, thanking him softly. 

He would hold his hand to his cheek for the rest of the day, relishing the feeling of your lips kissing him. 

The next day he found you at luncheon, in your usual spot, in the gardens. Typically you ate away from prying eyes, away from the eyes of the court and the ladies that seemed to insist you had whored yourself out to him. But that day he found you, sat alone, with your sister and her gaggle of ladies at a table not far from you. Their eyes set entrily on watching you. 

Valarr approached you without hesitation, greeting you with a smile and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, his eyes never once moving away from your form, even as Kiera stood up hoping to catch his attention. 

“My lady,” he greeted, presenting the bouquet to you, relishing in the soft smile you gifted him. 

“Valarr, you wish to eat with me?” you asked, watching Valarr take the seat beside you.

“Who else would I wish to eat with?” he asked, confused at your words. He watched your eyes drift over to your sister, as she turned to her ladies, whispering nonsense in their ears.

Valarr shook his head. “As I have said for the past few weeks, my lady, I have no desire to know more of your sister, only you.” he watched you nod, though he knew it was not heartfelt. 

You seemed insistent on causing yourself misery. Even the weeks of friendship, you seemed hesitant to enjoy it. Your eyes always looked over your shoulder, treating his closeness with apprehension, even with his relentless reassurance. 

“My lady,” he shook his head, reaching for your hand, “tell me what truly worries you.”

You looked down, your hand reaching to pull a flower from the bundle, twisting it between your fingers. “Their words remain cruel, and I find myself struggling to believe your kindness.”

“We agreed to restart.” 

“And yet they do not,” you shook your head, clearing your throat, “they make me feel small, that any fondness I believe you have for me is a charade.”

Valarr shook his head, bringing your hand to his lips. “i will say again what i have told you each day for the past three weeks,” he made you look at him with your words, helping you to ignore the ladies behind him, “i am to be your husband, not hers nor theirs, and hence their words mean nothing.” you shook yourhead, still polaying with the flower between your fingers, “they are jealous and it makes them curel and you their undeservivng victim,”, he kissed your hand again, “i had hoped these last few weeks we had made progress-”

“In our friendship?” you asked, your gaze flickering between him and the ladies. 

“Yes, and I had hoped we had become more than friends.”

“Well, we are to be married-”

“No, my lady,” Valarr shook his head, smiling softly at your oblivious nature. “At our relationship, I had said we would start as friends, and now that we are, I had hoped we would be more.”

“I did not-” you stopped yourself, pulling your hand away from Valarr, your eyes focused entirely on the tablecloth. You shook your head, speaking so lowly he almost didn’t hear you, “I did not believe you were serious about that.”

Valarr sighed, frustrated. Not entirely at you, “I was, and I plan to show you that every day until we are wed and after.” Valarr reached for your hands once more, pulling them to kiss lips and kissing them softly, before ordering a servant to find a reason to send the ladies behind you away, allowing you both to enjoy your luncheon in peace. 

The rest of the week, he made sure to fill your days. Not once did he allow the gaggle of ladies near you. You were always on his arm or sat beside him. You were always by each other's side to the point that his father teased him more and more each day about his “fall” for you. You broke your fasts together each day; he would gift you a new bundle of flowers each morn. Lunch was shared when his days were not filled with council meetings. And he would sometimes draw you, though he never once let you see them even when you huffed and threatened to throw your book at his head. You did so once and found the ordeal entirely too funny; he found he could not be mad at you. 

You grew more and more comfortable. Day by day, you accepted his advances, accepted his hand, his soft kisses to your knuckles. He felt as if you were finally accepting that you deserved more than a marriage made of friendship. 

That was until the four days before the wedding. When he had found you in the gardens, your sister beside you.

He hadn't heard the conversation, but he had seen enough, seen your face at her words, the tears that fell from your face, and the smirk on her lips, to feel nothing but pure hatred for Kiera. A feeling so rare to him, so foreign; only the Blackfyres had conjured the feeling before, and yet your sister, the woman he was told was the perfect lady. Made him feel the hate and rage of a thousand suns with how she treated you.

He approached as she left, watching as shock fell across her face as she looked at him, then back to you. And Valarr, had he not been so angry and concerned for you, would have seen the regret in her face. As if his appearing made her realise exactly who she was being cruel to and that it was no random lady that stole the crown from her but her sister. Who until a moon ago, Kiera and told valarr she loved dearly. 

“My lady,” he greeted, sitting beside you, his hand reaching for yours to offer comfort. You pulled your hand back as if you had been burned, turning your back to him. “My lady, please, let me help you.” 

You shook your head, back still turned to him. 

He sighed, his eyes going to the flower bed that surrounded you, plucking a flower as he continued to try and speak to you. “Whatever she has said, it is not true,” he tried to reassure, his hand hovering over your shoulder, stopping himself from touching you. 

“Mayhaps,” he heard you sigh, your breath heavy from crying. “But it does not mean it does not hurt any less.”

Valarr nodded, swallowing roughly, his hand reaching for your shoulder with the lightest of touch, a relieved sigh falling from his lips as you turned to him, your eyes set on the floor. “My sweet lady,” he breathed, “what did she say?” You were silent for a moment, your breath slowing as you seemed to ease the tears. “She did not mean it, she is just sad,” you reasoned. “She is bitter over this marriage; that is it,”

“No, it is not it,” Valarr dismissed, hating how you defended her still after everything, pulling you to face him, his hands tucking your hair behind your ear and placing the flower he tucked into your hair, hoping to offer you comfort, “tell me all that she said,” his hand rested on your face, his eyes set on watching as you calmed yourself down and built the courage to tell him what happened. 

“She spoke of the truth, or at least what the truth was a few moons ago,” you began, your hand covering his on your cheek, “how I never wished to stay here, to marry a lord, let alone a prince from this country and yet here I am,” you shook your head, “she spoke my own words back to me, my hatred for this palace-” you stopped yourself, meeting his eyes at alst, “my old hatred, i have grown fond of it these last few weeks i promise you i-” you rushed out, worry in your voice.

“I know,” he smiled in reassurance, not only to how you have loved this place in recent weeks but your feelings before. He knew you wanted to go home, that you had not seen that palace as your home, or as a palace that would become it, until fairly recently, and even then the thought was still fresh and fragile.

You moved his hand from your cheek, moving away from him slightly as you continued to speak, “She was mean; she spoke of how I would hate you, hate this place, how I did not deserve it, how I betrayed her and how you will resent me for the whole of our marriage.”  you forced your eyes back to him, “how you resent me for stealing you from her,” you shook your head, “she said it as if she believed i was making a decision that would hurt me more than her, that i put myself in a situation would hate and then she-” you shook your head, refusing to say whatever it was that had you in tears, “she was cruel and i-” you cut yourself off, not daring the finsh the thought let alone the words you had been about to say,  before breathing deeply and looking to him, “do you, i mean, have you resented me?” your eyes wide as you waited for his answer. And an answer Valarr did not know how to give.

“No,” he shook his head, “i resented not knowing you first, not having the choice, for the situation we were thrust into, but only because it was not entirely our choice.”

He saw your shoulders relax at his words, and he found himself relaxing as you did. As if his tension was neutrally tethered to yours. 

“Do you still resent me for all that has happened?” Valarr found himself saying after a moment, partly worried Keira's words had made you resent him once again or that you had resented him and never stopped. 

“I do not resent you,” you whispered softly, playing with the flower Valarr had tucked into your hair, “i- i  resent myself,” you stuttered, refusing to meet Valarr's gaze once again. 

Valarr sighed softly, moving to sit closer to you, his hand reaching to grip your chin gently, making you look to him. “What for, my sweet?” he asked softly, relishing the blush the pet name gave you. 

“For liking you, for-” you swallowed roughly, “for stealing you from my sister, accident or no.”

Valarr shook his head, “my sweet, “ he spoke again, “you have no reason, none, to resent yourself.” he choose to ignore your words of liking him, he had only just made you realise his intent to love you, to have a true marriage, he had no desire to ruin that by teasing you, not when you were finally telling him why you still though the match, even if it put your own happiness on the line.  “Truley,” he reiterated, holding your hand and caressing it softly, “you deserve every happiness and just because your sister resents you, is not happy at the idea of you being queen over herself, it does not mean you deserve to suffer. That you should resent this,” he made sure you were looking at him, that you were taking in his words, and you were, your eyes were wide as you listened to him, “you are to be my wife, and i plan to love you, even if it takes years for the whispers of the court to fade, for your sisters bitterness to boil over, i intend for this to be a happy marriage, and if this last moon has not shown that then i-” Valarr, despite his determination felt tears well in his eyes, he shook his head to steady his thoughts, “i will not let them make you unhappy, i promise it, i vow it,” he spoke steady, bringing your hands to his lips. “I promise you, you deserve to be happy, and i will not allow you to live in their misery, not any longer.”

He spoke his words as a vow, determined to show you he meant every word. Because he did. He hated seeing how they made you feel, how they caused you such insecurity. And even if he had to banish them from your life to make you happy, he would. He just did not wish to have to banish your sister. For even if she was the cause of your misery, Valarr could tell you loved her still, and your hope that she would one day forgive you for the misunderstanding that led to their impending nuptials- that was what you needed. You needed your sister, and valarr hoped that you would get her back; he just hoped you didn't hurt him or yourself in the process.

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Nothing has changed regarding the weather over night. The sun still shone hot in the sky once morning came and no wind blew to, even slightly, lessen the heat.

Nisrine had realized that, perhaps, she shouldn't have spent the whole night riding... A dull ache begun to spread in her lower back from the long hours in the saddle, and her legs felt close to cramping from being in the same position just as long. She begun noticing things she didn't these past two days, the quiet hours leaving her with nothing better to do... The dust clinging to the horses coat and her own boots, a buckle that could be tightened a little bit more... She had also noticed that the horse had gotten more accustomed to being ridden, no longer a restless animal, but a traveling companion...

Another thing she noticed was the road... It was slowly becoming more and more even, the stones covering the trail became smaller and more uniform in size, until finally... They became a paved road. Large slabs of white stone, the same ones lining the streets of Vharos, interwoven with small, colorful pebbles. She was nearing a bigger town and before she could overthink it, made her way towards it...

Osinium was big... Far larger than many of the Teranori trade cities... It shone in a different way than Vharos would in the late afternoon sunlight, less coastal, but not less warm... The paved road Nisrine was on continued up to the first gate... The connecting walls were made of wood, most likely oak, with watchtowers perched every so often. The gate opened without questions, giving her passage towards the inner parts of the city...

Before her stood an avenue... A long stretch of cobbled road, flanked by towering chestnut trees, almost as old as the city itself. They formed a canopy over the road ahead, casting shade on those passing through. She neared the inner gate, one flanked by two watch towers, taller than the trees below them, and a stone wall... Two guards kept watch over the gate and as Nisrine approached, the two men simply stepped to the side.

˝The doors are open, stranger, provided your hands are clean. State your business or your destination.˝ one of the guards states, looking up at Nisrine.

˝I look for a place to spend the rest of the day and have a warm meal... I depart at sunrise tomorrow...˝ she answered calmly, slowly lowering her hood. Her hair spilt over her shoulder, her braid almost completely taken out by the travel. She pushed a strand of hair from her face, waiting for the guard to let her pass.

˝Step into the peace of the hill, traveler. Leave your blades in their sheaths and the dust on the road. May the Madonna watch your steps, and the city watch your back.˝ and with that, the gate to Osinium opened fully and Nisrine was allowed passage.

Walking through the streets, she felt at home... The bustle of vendors and customers, children running around the legs of their parents and strangers alike... Nisrine dismounted her horse, looking around at the stalls. Stopping at one, she looked at the spread... Knitwear, scarves and sweaters, some shawls, but loose fabric as well... The vendor saw her and walked over, but before she could get a word in, Nisrine waved her off with a small smile and walked away.

She looked for an inn, one not too crowded, perhaps one in a smaller street, away from big hubs of life. By the time sun had almost set, she ran across one she thought would be good... ˝The Crooked Wall˝ was writen on a sign hung on a stone pole in front of a brightly lit door... She stood before them, debating on if she should tie her horse and enter, or look for another place to rest...

An old man greeted her before she could think further...

˝Evening, lass... Can i help ya?˝ he said, his voice kind and gentle. Nisrine looked at him and smiled.

˝Maybe.. I'm looking for a place to eat and rest... Is there space inside?˝ she asked with a gentle voice, soothing the now slightly restless horse.

˝Aye, but the common sleeping are is crowded tonight. A lot of teamsters rolling in from the eastern flats. If you still want a place to rest, there's private chambers upstairs—ones with a proper locks on the doors and straw mattresss to yourself—it'll cost you a silver piece though. But it includes the horse's stall and your supper. And quite the supper it is tonight, Romina made a roast AND stew... as if she knew it'd be a crazy night..." he said and laughed to himself. ˝SO, what'll it be?˝ he continues and Nisrine nods.

˝Sounds fair.. Where do I take my horse?˝ she says and pulls the horse closer to herself.

¨Oh, I'll take care of that for you, lass. Is that alright or would you like to take the horse to the stables yourself?˝ she takes a breath and looks around.

˝If you could lead the way, I'd like to take my horse there myself...˝ Nisrine stated witha slightly apologetic face and the man nods.

˝Alright, never too cautious...˝ the man leads the way towards the back of the large building housing the inn. Nisrine put the horse in the stables, tying it and taking all her things. Although there weren't many valuables on her or the horse, what little she had, she couldn't risk it being stolen. The man led her to a door near the stables and opened it for her.

˝Enjoy your stay, lass...˝ she nodded and entered the door and into a big crowded room. A hearth dominated the farthest most wall, a fire warming the common hall... The hall itself was lined with long wooden tables and a mix of chairs and benches. The  area around the hearth had smaller tables that could fit maybe three people, one's Nisrine made her way towards. She sat down, the chair worn and creaking, but she didn't mind. Her things found their way under the table and she looked around. There were many people in the common hall, talking, laughing, having conversations that seemed exciting. The scraping of chairs, clinging of cutlery and the soft thuding of mugs, the crackling of the nearby fire.

˝What can I get for you, sweetheart?˝ the voice startled Nisrine out of her thoughts and she looked up.  A kind faced woman stood next to her table, a tray in her hands and an apron warped around her waist. She was older than Nisrine, perhaps in her late 30s, but still seeming somewhat youthful. Nisrine smiled at her.

˝I was told at the entrance I could get a room, a stable spot and supper for a silver...˝ she started, but was quickly interupted by the woman.

˝Oh, yes.. That and then some, sweetheart... I'll have one of the younger serving maids take you to your room and bring you the food and drink... For that silver, I can even have someone set up a lovely bath in the room!˝ she said with a smile and walked away, swaying her hips as she did. In her place of her appeared a younger girl, maybe 16 or 17 years of age.

˝Ma'am, I've come to take you to your room... Food will come shortly after...˝ she stood still, waiting for Nisrine to make the move to go upstairs.

The room was more spacious than Nisrine expected. The bed was neatly made, a table was set in a corner with a chair and writing supplies. Another serving girl came in, carying a tray of food and drink and setting it on the table. She smiled at the other two women, and as she left Nisrine slipped 3 copper into her hand with a smile. The girl smiled wide, nodded and left, partially closing the door after her.

˝I'll bring up some hot water and towels for you... And let you rest...˝ the first girl said and left, letting Nisrine settle for the night.

As the girl prepped the bath, Nisrine looked out the window. The Temple of Doriane, the Hearth Mother, shone atop the central hill of Osinium. Golden light spilled through the pillars of the Temple, illuminating the figures infront... Some looked like people praying, other like statues of the other Gods of Teranor, all bathed in the light of hearths of the Temple.

˝Everything is set, ma'am... Enjoy the evening...˝ the girl said and departed and walked out, letting Nisrine lock the door behind her. She stripped off her clothes and descented into the warm water. She felt her muscles relax, sliding further down into the tub. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her mind fill with memories, as she did the nights before.

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The great hall of The Ravenskeep bustled with life at the celebration of  prince Kael's nameday. The royal family of Teranor, House Therys, sat at the head of thehall, some engaged in conversations among themselves, some with nobles of other houses. The king sat idly in the middle of the table, having just returned from a talk with one of the generals. The seat next to him, his wife's seat, was empty as she spoke to her old friends in a corner, laughing at something. On his other side sat his oldest daughter, a look on her face unreadable...

˝What is on your mind, my flower?˝ he asked her, leaning down closer to her ear. Her nose scrunched up and she turned to him.

˝Why do some of the lords think Kael will be king? I'm the firstborn... Isn't that how it goes?˝ she asked her father, looking at him. His quiet laugh reverbated in her mind, only making her more confused. ˝Why are you laughing? It's not funny...˝

˝My sweet daughter, those lords do not know what they're talking about... You are my eldest, my heir... Nothing will change that. Their opinions are old, influenced by the uneducated people who have no right to meddle in our affairs... Why are you bringing this up now?˝ he asked, looking at her face.

˝I overheard some of the lords mention that now, since Kael is of age, you may reconsider the line of succesion... Choose a more favourable heir than 'the girl'... Do they not realise where they are?˝she said, crossing her arms. ˝And they mentioned Westeros, saying their kings have the right approach to that... Mhm, sure they do... Do these men not know how to read? Maegor's Coup, the Great Council of 101 AC, the Dance of the Dragons... Let's not forget what happened a few years ago... I know I was only six, but I've read about the legitimisation of the kings bastards... What is admirable about that?˝ she said, shaking her head, her eyes darting towards the lords who were still talking in the same spot as they were when she had overheard them.

˝Their minds were not made to think, it seems... Do not worry your head with them... Enjoy the feast, go to your friends... Those lords know nothing they speak of...˝ as he said that, his lips pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, patting her back and sending her away from the head table.

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