#ask fic

It is ambiguous in some terms, but Max and Charles do end up together against it all. There is open ended part about Ferrari which really depends on how much faith you are willing to give them. The ending is supposed to leave you feeling hope above all else, that there is a chance for against all odds for this to end well.

Most people reading the fic do cry for a reason, it does deal with grief and implied depression, so take care of yourself! But also it is the best thing I have ever written, so maybe that could be worth it.

It started quite suddenly in Valarr's mind. A rather normal night, slow and lazy, characterised by a cool breeze through King's Landing and halls flickering with firelight. The family was gathered for dinner, sitting around the table leisurely, utensils in hand as they dug into a roast or tore pieces of fresh warm bread.

Baelor sat at one end of the table, slumped a little in his chair as he grasped his cup of wine, sipping from it occasionally as he listened to you chatter about something with a soft smile. Valarr sat at the other end, and you and Matarys took up either side between them. The heir to the heir mirrored his father, sat low in his seat and drinking from his own cup.

"Well, perhaps you should try a squirt of lemon in your hair and sit in the sun if you want to have a streak like your brother's. I heard that is how the one brunette Lannister used to colour her hair to be more like the lion," you advised the young prince, smirking a little as you took another forkful of food in your mouth.

Matarys furrowed his brow as he looked at you and your shining eyes before glancing back to his father who was smirking behind his goblet.

"Is that true, Father?" He asked, putting down his fork in his enthusiasm. "Was there a brunette Lannister who did that?"

Baelor just chuckled and shook his head, reaching over and ruffling Matarys's hair as you giggled and took a sip from your wine.

"She is teasing you, my boy," Baelor answered softly, watching Matarys frown angrily and turn back to you.

"Why would you lie? I am being serious about this! No one will think I am a Targaryen if I do not have any white hair to show for it," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his chair in an identical picture to his father and brother. Baelor raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth ready to speak when you beat him to it.

"Do you think your father any less Targaryen because he does not have the white hair?" You asked, putting your cutlery down and lacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them. You chewed slowly, raising an eyebrow at the boy as you waited for him to answer.

He had the good sense to look sheepish, shaking his head.

"Right, then why would you feel any less Targaryen because you do not have it either? It does not matter what other people think or say. You know who you are, you know who your family is, leave it at that, you silly thing," you chastised, smiling kindly at the boy before leaning back and refocusing on your plate.

Matarys smiled too, sitting up and going back to eating quickly, reigniting the hunger of a growing boy. Baelor watched you with soft eyes, nudging your foot under the table with his and happily taking in the sight of the smile you offered him.

"And if you even think to respond with the fact that your father does have white hair now, it is only because he is getting old," you added cheekily, giggling maniacally as you attempted to take a sip of your wine and noticed Baelor's grimace.

Valarr snorted out a laugh, almost choking on his wine. He sat up, putting his cup down hurriedly and grabbing his napkin to dab away the dribbled wine along his mouth and chin. You looked towards him with shining eyes for a moment, a flicker of pride at having engaged his attention, before you returned to paying attention to Matarys.

Valarr stared at you silently as he settled back in his chair, as if his eyes had been taken out, cleaned, and put back in their place. You were glowing in the firelight, your skin shining along your cheekbones and forehead. Your eyes were like jewels, your lips pretty plush things that were always stretched in a smile.

You were thoughtful, and quite funny, not to mention beautiful. He had always known you were beautiful, but he had not known the other things. Was it his own fault? Perhaps. Did he care now? No.

That evening, Valarr found himself seeking out your chambers after dinner. He had bedded you before, on the wedding night and once a moon after, but it had not happened for a long while.

He knocked on your door, waiting for a response, but there was none. He tried again, calling your name through the doors in case you were having a bath and did not hear him, but there was no sound behind the doors and no response. When he tried the doors, they had been barred from the inside, and he wondered if you had truly gone to sleep so early.

He sighed in defeat and left, but inside, he was undeterred.

+++

"Wife," Valarr sighed happily, relief painting him when he finally came upon you in the library. You were humming as you stood just inside the entrance, perusing the shelf for something in particular it seemed.

"Yes?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to look at him for a second before returning your attention to the shelf.

"I have brought you something," he told you excitedly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, how lovely," you mumbled, smiling distractedly as you continued your perusal.

"Do you not wish to know what it is?" He asked expectantly, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. You let out an 'aha!' and picked out one of the books on the shelf before holding it to your chest and turning back to him.

"What is it?" You asked quickly, walking closer and glancing in the direction of the door. He smiled triumphantly and held out his hand, a beautiful gold chain dangling from his hold, a large ruby carefully set in a medallion down the middle.

"Oh, how lovely," you told him, lips pursed as you nodded then began treading forward, hoping you could inch around him to get to the door.

"Come, come," he murmured, gently grasping you by the arms and steadying you in your place. "I'll put it on you," he said as he moved around you, shoving your hair over one shoulder and draping the necklace over your chest. You grimaced a little but allowed him to do it.

"Wow, thank you," you mumbled, attempting another smile. You touched it delicately, nodded, then began heading for the door once more. "I must be off."

"Where are you going?" He asked, brows furrowed and hands folding in front of him.

"I must get this to your father," you answered easily, shaking the book a little and smiling brighter than you had since the sordid conversation began. "Alright then!" You exclaimed, and then hurried out the door at a speed he did not know you were capable of.

You sighed a long sigh as you shut the door to Baelor's study behind you, leaning against it and shaking your head. He looked up and smiled a little, putting down his quill and leaning back in his seat as you pushed off and walked over to him. His eyes caught on the new (rather garish) jewellery hanging off your neck. You caught the look and shook your head, sitting sideways in his lap and tossing the book onto his desk.

"Don't even, Father," you huffed, wrapping an arm over his shoulders and pressing your face to his cheek. He chuckled, running a hand down your spine and draping the other arm over your lap to hold you tighter to him. "It is ugly and I hate it."

"I do not remember gifting you such a thing," he said, tone a little questioning. You sighed again, rubbed your nose against his beard, before pulling back and pouting as you looked him in the eyes.

"Your son just gifted it to me," you told him. One of Baelor's eyebrows raised, a shocked chuckle falling from his lips before he truly perceived that you were not in jest.

"Hm," he hummed, not saying anything else for a moment. Carefully, he reached up with the hand that had been traversing your spine and unclasped the necklace, dropping it onto his desk. "Perhaps he wishes to win your favour again," he teased, smirking a little.

You snorted, slapping him lightly on the chest and looking to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Hm, that will be the day," you responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "And anyway, I do not care for it. I have favour enough from those I want it from."

There was a proud, almost smug, glint to Baelor's eye when you said it, and he leaned in and kissed you firmly. You moaned a little against him, clutching at his collar happily and allowing him to lick into your mouth.

"Mmh," he pulled away from your lips, "you are far too distracting to have in my study," he sighed. But you just giggled, petting his beard and leaning in again.

"Mmm," you hummed happily, grazing his mouth with yours teasingly. "You love being distracted by me, Father." He did not say anything to agree or refute, but just kissed you again.

+++

"Will you come to watch me train in the yard this afternoon?" Valarr asked randomly one day over breakfast. His eyes were earnest as he watched you pick at your grapes and fiddle with the other fruit on your plate.

"Huh?" You asked distractedly, looking up from your plate.

Baelor watched the interaction carefully, face set in a stoic manner, betraying nothing. He picked up one of the grapes from his own plate and carefully brought it to his own mouth, chewing it slowly.

"Oh, yes, might as well," you answered before Valarr could repeat his question, your brain slowly catching up with you as you sipped from your cup of tea. "The day looks lovely," you added with a shrug, and Valarr smiled brightly, nodding and refocusing on his plate with a proud set to his shoulders.

You leaned back in your seat with a huff, crossing your arms over your chest, and then turned to face Baelor with a pout.

"I do not want to eat any more grapes, Father," you whined, reaching out with your foot under the table and placing it on his lap. Baelor sighed, taking your slipper off and dropping it to the floor before allowing you to rest your foot on his thigh. He had lectured you before about putting your shoes on his clothes but it seemed the lesson did not stick.

"You must eat properly," he ordered, looking down at your plate. "Finish the melons and the berries if nothing else." You pouted still but when he shot you a stern look you huffed and nodded, picking up a piece of melon with your fingers and quickly putting it in your mouth. Baelor smiled softly at you in thanks, and you practically melted in your seat, suddenly eager to finish the fruit.

You spent the rest of the morning meandering around the gardens and reading in the sunlight. You took your lunch in Baelor's study with him, curled up on one of the chairs across from his desk and lightly chewing on nuts and cured meats as you read a fascinating novel as he continued with his work.

When the afternoon arrived, you remembered your promise to watch Valarr at training and made your way slowly out to the yard. He was already there, dressed more plainly than you had ever seen him in a simple tunic and trousers. He had his sleeves rolled up to expose his strong forearms and his hair was particularly mussed.

He was already shining lightly with sweat, but he moved smoothly as if he still had loads of energy to spare. He was wielding his sword smoothly, circling around in the pit of sand with one of his lordling friends, weapons raised as they smirked at one another.

When he noticed your arrival, he paused and ruffled a hand through his hair, smiling broadly in your direction. His opponent took the opportunity, lunging and hooking one foot behind Valarr's, sending him toppling to the ground with a harsh thud.

You gasped, eyes going wide as you slapped your hand to your mouth to stifle your shocked giggles. You heard Valarr groan, curse out the other man, then shove himself back up to standing. He went a little red in the face and glanced back at you, smiling a little bashfully when he noticed your wide grin and the laughs you were still breathing out.

"Your prince is alright!" He yelled to you, attempting bravado, but you just bent over in a fit of giggles again and he cleared his throat and shot a glare at his friend who smirked wickedly.

"I'm sure he is! You only fell in the sand," you called back, smirking. He just shook his head and refocused on his training as you spotted a group of ladies sat around tables in the shade with glasses of lemonade, beckoning you over with bright smiles and calls of your name.

Baelor could not focus in his study knowing that you were outside watching Valarr. There was something about it that rose an uncomfortable sensation in his chest. He was not jealous, for jealousy was only a thing for young men and those too stupid not to see the good in their women, but still...

Under the pretence of stretching his legs, Baelor made his way around the Keep and to the balcony that looked out over the training grounds. He assumed he would find Valarr practicing in the sand without a care in the world and you draped on one of the chairs, head back and bored out of your mind.

Instead what he found was Valarr smiling brightly, showing off silly tricks and manoeuvres with his sword, smiling brightly in your direction. And you, sitting among a gaggle of other young ladies, laughing brightly and sipping a drink, eyes wholly focused on your husband. Something dark twisted inside Baelor and he clenched his hands on the bannister, staring at the scene for a moment before turning swiftly and heading back to his study.

+++

The feast was lively, full of music and dancing and an abundance of food. You watched everything with a bright expression, clapping along when a dance became particularly lively or a song particularly vibrant. You were easily humorous with wine and did not question how odd it was that Valarr was choosing to sit by your side rather than go off with his friends.

Baelor was tense in his seat beside the King, gripping his cup of wine tightly and imbibing a bit more than he normally would. Usually Valarr would be gone now and you would sidle up into his seat, casually draping your arm on Baelor's armrest and begging him to dance with you. You always used the excuse of Valarr being gone to disguise it as proper, that no one would question a devoted father in law dancing with his son's lovely bride, but you did not need that now.

"Would you care to dance, wife?" Valarr asked, turning to you with shining eyes. You were surprised by the offer, your expression a little slack with it, and you nodded, smiling apprehensively.

"Um, yes, alright, husband," you answered hesitantly, standing quickly and accepting the hand he proffered. Valarr led you down into the fray, hands at your waist and swaying with you.

Baelor gulped harshly from his wine, fingers going white against the cup. You were giggling with Valarr, allowing him to slide his hand to a place on the edge of impropriety, twirling the way you did when you danced with Baelor.

You had accepted Valarr's hand so easily, had smiled at him, did all the things you had once scoffed at in the context of your husband. Why was it now happening before his eyes?

After two dances, the two of you came stumbling back to the table, hand in hand. You were shiny from exertion and chattering to Valarr about something or other, and he was actually listening. Just as you reached the table, one of his friends called him over, and he let you go, mumbling something about being back soon.

You caught Baelor's eyes as you stepped up, and you beamed at him. Rather than taking your seat from before, you stole Valarr's at Baelor's side, scooching it closer to his so you could press your knee against the side of his thigh under the table. You snatched Baelor's wine glass from his hand and took a big gulp from it, sighing happily then depositing it back in his hand.

"Would you dance with me in a few moments, Father?" You asked, "after I've caught my breath."

"You should enjoy the pleasure of it with your husband," he answered curtly, keeping his eyes on the hall rather than turning to face you. You noticed the clench to his jaw, the tense set to his shoulders, and you smirked a little, just a quirk at the corner of your mouth.

"I have already," you answered, putting on a pout. "Though he is a marvellous dancer, I want to dance with you now." He grimaced a little, jaw going a little tighter, but he did not say anything. You huffed, placing your hand casually on top of his. "Please, Father?"

"Do not whine," was all he responded with, but you just frowned deeply, leaning over the arm of your chair and into his space until he was forced to look at you.

"Pleaseeee," you whined in response, and you gave him the eyes that told him you were prepared for a long battle of pouting and whining and toeing the edge of propriety in a way that set him on edge more than it did you.

"Alright, my girl, alright," he sighed, draining the last of his wine before calling for his cup to be refilled. You smiled triumphantly and after a moment, stood up and waited for him to offer you his hand.

He took you down to the dance floor, smiling politely at people in greeting before turning to face you. You were beaming, pressing yourself close to him as the music began.

"You know, Father," you began softly, "that I favour you most of all." He looked you right in the eyes, his gaze unreadable. "Out of everyone in Westeros and beyond." You said it so innocently, as if it was a simple truth but a truth nonetheless.

Baelor's expression did not change, but at the next change in the music, he leaned down close to your ear and said, "if you are attempting to charm me into being particularly giving in bed this evening, consider yourself successful."

You giggled sharply, lips parting for a moment before you clamped your mouth shut and looked at him with sparkling eyes.

+++

And suddenly, it was like your life had become a bit of a whirlwind between Valarr and Baelor.

"Come to dinner with my friends and I," Valarr would suggest, stroking the back of your hand on top of the lunch table. Before you could respond, Baelor would chime in from the other end of the table.

"She cannot," he would say politely (if a little curt), "your wife has become indispensable in aiding me with my correspondence and we have much to work through this evening."

You would grimace and nod, shrugging apologetically in Valarr's direction, then turn your head and smirk with shiny eyes at Baelor. (The correspondence would surely be shoved off his desk in a hurry and replaced by you!)

Valarr would suggest you come to watch him in training again, citing how you enjoyed it so the last time. But lo and behold, suddenly Crown Prince Baelor has appeared, citing that he does not want to lose his skills of combat, wielding his sword like an expert and outshining all others on the training grounds.

Valarr would frown and attempt to focus on his own training, and every time he would glance in your direction, you would be too busy chewing on your lip and watching his father.