#dark!valarr

You steal a discreet glance backwards, finding your husband’s eyes upon your figure. As it is expected by now. 

Your father and older brother flank Valarr, brewing a conversation that certainly involves politics, judging from your father's eloquent gestures. But the second in line to the throne, despite his focused semblance and the occasional participation, does not share of their interest. So much is clear with the way his eyes keep finding you every few moments as if to check for your presence. 

“I cannot believe how enamoured the Prince is for you.” your sister jabs with a soft chuckle.

“He’s only stationed at the other side of the chamber and yet he looks at you as if you’ve been parted for months.”

Although she means no harm, your sister’s commentary strike a sensitive nerve inside you.

You do not tell her that if it wasn’t for Prince Baelor’s intervention, your oh-so-enamoured husband would have never allowed you to travel as far from the Red Keep for something as insignificant as your mother’s nameday as he claimed so.

Nor do you tell her of Valarr’s cold, tense mood during the entirety of the travel and how easily he scolded you over the smallest things such as speaking to maids without necessity or God forbid, glance at the knights. 

You wish you could tell her of every single thing regarding Valarr that keeps you awake at night, dreading for the arrival of a new dawn but your septa had always drilled into you that a marriage’s commotion matters only between husband and wife.

And as such, you take a small breath and bring forth a polite smile. 

“Prince Valarr is a considerate husband.” you say. That has your sister rolling her eyes with a pinch to your arm. 

“Considerate. Oh my.” she shakes her head, amused. “Do not be modest with your words, sister. Any person can see how much he adores you.” 

You retain your smile with much effort. 

–

The maids are quiet, doing quick work of lightening up the fire and the candles around the chamber. Their heads are low, knowing better than to show any reaction to a conversation that does not concern them directly.

You, on the other hand, cannot stop yourself from feeling utterly mortified. 

“This place is an old skeleton. Old walls and dust-filled chambers and yet this is what my dear wife was so eager to visit.”

Valarr sighs, contempt in his eyes as he looks around your chamber, the same one where you have spent the majority of your life until becoming a Princess.

Quite modest in comparison to the chamber’s you and Valarr share at the Red Keep, but it’s far from the poor description Valarr claims. You do not argue though, knowing better than to indulge into Valarr’s hatred for your House’s castle, should you defend it any further. 

“I shall hope these frail walls do not crumble upon us while we sleep.”

One of the maids glances at you. Your cheeks feel alight with shame. 

“The weather was quite nice today, was it not, husband?” you rush to change subjects, knowing if given the opportunity Valarr would speak ill of your father’s castle the entire evening. “Such lovely sun over the sky today.”

“Nice indeed.” Valarr agrees. “I do pray the nice weather does its good over the harvest, Gods know how much your father needs it. Even the peasants at King’s Landing eat better than here.”  

A small noise escapes from both you and one of the maids, but the woman is smart enough to muffle her noise with another cough. Your shock is evident to be easily concealed. 

“What-”

Valarr tilts his head, breaking the bread on the small chamber table, only to drop it on the floor.

“Stale bread.”

“It’s not stale.” you argue with a small voice. 

“Perhaps, but the bread during supper was. Not even the meat was formidable, more like hard salt beef.” he says. “If such is the food they serve to the realm’s prince, then I do not want to imagine what your father fed you for all these years.”

Wetness gathers in your eyes at his cruel remark and Valarr immediately takes notice, cooing as he reaches closer. His hand cups your cheek, warm and solid. 

“I only meant that you’d be fed more properly had we stayed in the Red Keep.” he shushes.  “That you’d be taken care of properly had we stayed home.”

“This is home. And I am being taken care of properly.”

You desire nothing but to bite your tongue, the words having slipped out far too easily. Valarr’s eyes narrow. 

“This was your home.” he corrects you. “Not anymore though.”

You don’t possess enough willpower in yourself to correct him back. 

So, you nod and bend your head, staring at floor as Valarr continues to pick apart on the walls and food and people that hold a special place in your heart.

–

The next day sets Valarr’s nerves on fire. 

Your husband becomes more tense and stiff with each hour spent in your father’s estate. The castle is overflowing with guests, family members and high-lords from honorable houses.

Duty forces you to greet and engage with them, but such a task is easier said than done as Valarr’s tense stare follows you. He keeps appearing by your side, hand possessively latching to your shoulder as he politely steers the conversation away from you.

Lords ask for your hand to a dance and yet none is accomplished in their request as Valarr subtly excuses you, under the pretense of your mother calling upon you or that are required for a task that does not exist. 

He grows irked, so much you can see it in the cracks of his serene facade. His eyes start narrowing down and his smiles become strained. Each and every person that utters a word towards you has him stiffening by your side, fingers tightening to a bunch.

By supper, you’ve excused yourself to your chamber, claiming a light ache in the head, unable to keep yourself around so many people with Valarr’s poor mood looming over you. 

Valarr is quick in following you, closing the door to your chamber with unnecessary strength. After pressing a kiss to your forehead, he steps near the fireplace, staring at the small flames with his jaw tightly pressed.

“Lord Ashford kept looking at you.” he reveals, cold anger in his voice. “Lord Bolton kept praising your beauty. And Lord Baratheon attempted to dance with you.”

“...I-”

“Had I not married you, they’d be swarming and pestering your father for your hand. Fighting like pigs to see you warm their beds.”

You twist your fingers nervously. By now you’ve come to realize that when Valarr’s jealousy has his imagination running wild, the words that escape from his lips aren’t the nicest. 

“I’m sure that’s not-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Valarr interrupts, turning to you. “We’ll be leaving this pathetic circus soon enough. My father has sent word that I might be needed back soon. Hence this visit could be shortened by few days.”

Your eyes widen at that, moist gathering in them. 

“Wha-No, Valarr, you assured me we’d stay until the end of my mother’s nameday festivities.” 

“My father would not request for me, had it not been of a matter of great importance.” he cuts you off, staring at you with a downturn of his lips. “Your mother will surely understand that we must answer to our duty.”

The words rush out of your mouth, an helpless attempt. 

“Could I not stay for a few days longer?”

Valarr looks at you, a frown in his handsome face, upset and incredulous that you’d bring up such a possibility. 

“I will not leave you unattended.” 

Valarr’s tone is firm and sharp, allowing little space to argue. A foolish attempt from your part, really.

The only reason you were able to attend was because Valarr was able to accompany you, your lord husband forbidding you from travelling on your own, even if there would be an impressive escort of knights, members of the Kingsguard and maids surrounding you at all times. 

“But-”

“That’s enough, wife.” Valarr gives you a stern look. 

He kisses your tear-stained cheek, soft lips catching on the tears that gently roll down. 

There’s something unsettling in the way Valarr behaves when it comes to you.

Always watching, listening, hovering. Even when he is speaking to his father or other lords of the realm, his eyes very rarely leave your form so long as it is in his sight.

And when he can’t see you, he’s tense, body fidgeting as he tries to keep the front of the perfect and polished prince and he fights the urge to hunt you down, find you and take you away from whoever is keeping you from him.

You make him behave in a manner that is unbecoming of a Prince, of a future King to the Iron Throne.

The celebration for his name day has people from all over the realm visiting. Lords and Ladies and Noblemen visiting with their entire families, trying to win the favor of the mighty house of Targaryen, and if they are lucky, manage to secure an alliance of marriage to his brother or one of his cousins.

Though he knows it would never happen, he would have rather spent the weeks of celebrating with just you, on Dragonstone or even at Summerhall perhaps, since the two of you had only just returned two moons ago from your honeymoon at Dragonstone.

Instead, he has to give a performance of the perfect heir to the heir- smile, accept gifts, and speak to every person that approaches him.

It’s a wonder Lord Hightower doesn’t take note of how tense he currently is, the forced, strained smile on his face as his eyes look from him to around the Throne Room where the current celebration feast is being held in search of you.

He hasn’t seen you in what feels like hours, after one of your younger sisters came to steal you away in search of honey cakes and lemon tarts.

Eyes finally finding you, a frown forms on his face almost immediately when he finds you are in the company of Lord Leo Tyrell’s oldest son.

What the fuck could the heir to Highgarden feel the need to speak to you about?

Whatever it is, he’s talking animatedly with a large grin growing on his face when you laugh at whatever he said.

Valarr feels his mood drop almost immediately at the sight.

What could he possibly be saying to make you laugh?

“-nd as you know, my daughter will be of the marrying age soon-“ Lord Hightower’s voice catches his attention, and his words have Valarr frowning deeply, offense in his eyes as he looks back up at the man.

“I have a wife, My Lord. You were at my wedding.” He speaks firmly, cutting the man off.

Lord Hightower opens and closes his mouth, an exasperated expression on his face, “My Prince, I would never suggest-“ he takes a deep breath before giving Valarr an uneasy smile, “I meant for your brother, or perhaps a cousin? Prince Daeron and Prince Aerion are both still unmarried,”

His eyes go back to you, tuning out the rest of whatever the Lord is saying. He doesn’t know why he’s even talking to him. He needs to speak to the King or his father about such manners.

Mismatched eyes are unblinking as they watch you tenderly as the heir to Highgarden place a hand on your shoulder.

The gall of this man.

Valarr bristles at the action, immediately walking away from Lord Hightower who is still in the middle of speaking about without a word.

He makes his away across the hall and immediately places his arm around your waist, his free hand removing the Tyrell heir’s hand off your shoulder.

He looks at Valarr in slight surprise, “My Prince, I was just telling your wife how lovely the roses in Highgarden are this time of the year,”

Valarr interrupts him, voice anything but friendly, “It is inappropriate to touch a Lady, let alone my Lady, in such a way”

“I-I” he tries to laugh it off slightly, looking to you as if you would speak against your husband on such a topic. When he sees you will give no support to him, he sighs, “I apologize, my Prince. I was, I was not thinking.”

Valarr hums, uninterested in the man’s apology as he leans in ever so slightly, “If I see your hand on my wife again, you will lose the hand.”

He pulls away, not even giving the man another glance as he guides you towards the exit of the throne room, leaning closer and pressing his mouth right against your ear, “Do not speak to that man again, love. I’d hate for someone to try to take advantage of your kind and gentle heart.”

You hum, smiling at the people you walk past though you want to frown slightly at his tone. He always gets like this, hardly standing when your attention is on anyone but him.

“I do not think he meant ill-“

You let him guide you down the hallway, your legs aren’t really yours anymore.

The bathroom light is too bright. It burns your eyes. Valarr lifts you onto the counter and steps between your knees. His shirt is smeared dark at the sleeves. He doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Look at me.”

You can’t.

He wets a washcloth under the faucet. The water runs pink.

“There we go,” he murmurs, wiping your cheek with impossible gentleness. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The cloth pauses beneath your left eye.

“You won’t have to leave again after tonight,” he says softly, almost like a promise. “I’ll take care of everything. You can stay with me. I’ll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again.”

Your stomach twists. The faucet keeps running, pink water spirals down the drain.

You finally lift your eyes.

Over Valarr’s shoulder, through the bathroom doorway, you can see the edge of the living room.

Duncan’s hair.

Duncan’s eyes.

Still open.

Staring.

A sound escapes your throat before you can stop it.

Valarr immediately turns your face towards him. “Hey. Hey, you don’t need to look at that.” He cups your face with both hands. “Stay with me. Just look at me.”

He wipes another streak from your jaw. You hold your breath as you stare at the wallpaper with tiny blue flowers on it. Duncan complained about it when he first moved in. You remember laughing. You remember-

The cloth brushes your cheek.

You flinch, Valarr immediately freezes.

Valarr notices your expression, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He kisses your temple. His lips are warm. His hands are steady.

“You know I love you right?” He whispers

The words land in the room like a curse.

“You know that, right?”

-

He leaves you in the bathroom as he begins cleaning.

You hear his footsteps move through the apartment with frightening tranquility. Going through closets and cabinets. 

You lean to the side to look into the living room, Valarr works methodically, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight with concentration. Duncan is wrapped in the living room rug. The weight of the dead body shakes the floor every time Valarr lets go of it. You hear him struggling, grunting.

The sound of the rug scraping across the floor makes your skin crawl.

You slide from the counter, your legs nearly giving out. The world spins as you catch yourself on the sink.

You walk closer to the doorway, your eyes drift across the room.

The couch, the coffee table, a knocked-over lamp, the cracked-

Something small sticking out of Duncan’s overturned bag.

A long triangular box with large red text.

Slowly, you move towards it, picking it up.

The cardboard box feels heavy in your hand, the cartoon faces smile at you.

ONE WISH WILLOW

Your pulse stutters.

Duncan’s.

Unused. Still sealed.

Hope hits you so suddenly it hurts your chest.

It drops to your stomach as footsteps approach the front door.

Before you can think, you grab it and shove it beneath your sweater, pressing it against your stomach.

Valarr returns seconds later, breathing harder than before.

He doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go.”

-

He carries you to the car.

You don’t remember the drive, only flashes.

Streetlights sliding across the windshield, Valarr’s hand on your knee. The box hidden underneath your sweater.

When he stops the car, you realize you’re on a bridge.

The river below is black and endless.

Valarr gets out. 

You hear the trunk open.

Then the sound of something heavy being dragged.

You don’t look up until the splash comes.

The impact echoes up from the water.

SPLASH

You flinch so hard your shoulder slams into the door.

Valarr returns a moment later, he slides into the driver’s seat and immediately reaches for you.

“Hey.” His thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, baby. It’s over.”

You stare at him.

Outside, the river keeps moving.

Inside, the One Wish Willow digs into your stomach like a splinter.

The drive home feels endless.

Neither of you speak.

The windshield wipers drag back and forth across the glass, smearing rainwater into distorted streaks of yellow and white. Every passing streetlight flashes across Valarr’s face.

Sometimes he looks normal.

Sometimes he doesn’t.

You stop looking.

Your fingers remain pressed against your stomach the entire drive.

Valarr notices eventually.

His hand slides over yours.

You nearly jump out of your skin.

“Cold?’

You don’t answer.

His thumb strokes your knuckles.

“You’ll feel better when we get home.”

You stare out the window, the river long gone now.

Duncan is long gone now, somewhere beneath black water.

You look at Valarr’s hands; steady, unshaking.

Lines of red beneath his fingernails.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

-

Valarr guides you upstairs, his hands on your waist. He turns your body to enter the bedroom.

He sets you carefully on bed, your back meeting the bed frame. Immediately, he drops to his knees beside you.

Checking your face, legs, and hands. Checking for injuries, for damage.

“Do you need anything?”

You shake your head.

“Water?”

No response.

“Food?”

No response.

“Are you still cold?”

No response.

His face falls slightly. It almost makes you feel bad.

Then you remember Duncan’s eyes. Still open, staring directly at you.

The guilt dies, fast.

Valarr reaches for your hands. You let him.

His hands are walm. Yours feel cold, almost numb.

“We’ll figure this out.”

The conviction in his voice is terrifying.

“It’s just us now.”

Something inside your chest cracks.

His smile returns, “Nobody is ever going to take you away from me again.”

You stare at him.

At the man you wished for. At the man you ruined.

The hidden One Wish Willow still presses against your ribs.

The second Valarr leaves the room to answer a phone call, you drop to your knees beside a dark wooden dresser. Your fingers shake so badly you nearly drop the triangular box.

The packaging catches against the wood. For a horrible second, you think it’s stuck. Then it disappears beneath the dresser.

You shove your foot under the dresser, pushing the box further back under the dresser just as footsteps approach.

-

The television stays on constantly, day and night. You don’t know why. Maybe Valarr thinks the noise helps. Maybe he’s afraid of silence. You don’t want to find out.

The room never becomes dark, never peaceful, never still.

Cartoons, sitcoms, romcoms, new reports, infomercials. The voices blur together.

You barely hear them anymore.

You stop eating, food simply stops making sense.

Valarr tries anyway.

The first night he makes your favorite meal. You watch him as he carries the plates upstairs. His face full of hope, like a child showing off a drawing.

“Look.”

He sets it in front of you, “I remembered extra cheese.”

The smell immediately turns your stomach.

You manager two bites. On the third, you vomit on your lap, on Valarr’s shirt he put you in after the bath he set for you a few hours before, in the plate of food he painstakingly made for you.

A second later, Valarr is beside you. Holding your hair, rubbing circle against your back.

“It’s okay.” His voice cracks.

You don’t know whether he’s comforting you or himself.

-

Every time.

Every fucking time you close your eyes, he’s there.

Duncan.

Just his eyes. Open, unmoving, staring directly at you.

You wake up screaming, Valarr nearly falls out of bed trying to reach you.

“Baby.”

His hands grab your face. “Baby?”

You can’t breathe. You can’t stop shaking.

You can’t stop seeing him.

“Duncan.”

The name slips out accidentally.

The room goes silent. Valarr freezes, just for a second, but you notice.

His hands stop moving, his expression goes blank. Completely blank, like someone unplugged him. 

The look lasts less than a heartbeat. Then it’s gone, replaced by panic.

But you’ve already seen it, and once you’ve saw it, you can’t stop seeing it.

-

You start paying attention. That horrible blank stare. A few seconds at a time, a glitch, a crack. A fracture running through whatever this thing has turned him into.

Maybe he’s just as trapped as you are.

The television is playing some sitcom you’ve seen a hundred times before. Someone says something funny, the audience erupts in laughter.

The sound makes your skin crawl.

Valarr sits beside you. His hand rests on your knee; his thumb moves in slow circles.

You stare at the screen, pretending to watch.

Then the movement stops. Slowly, you turn your head.

Valarr is staring at the television, completely motionless.

The room suddenly feels quieter.

“Valarr?”

Nothing, the sitcom audience laughs again.

“Valarr?”

His eyes slowly shift, meeting yours. “What day is it?”

The question catches you off guard, “What?”

“What day is it?” His voice sounds rough, like he hasn’t spoken in years.

Your heart hammers, “Thursday, I-I think.”

Valarr stares, the muscles in his jaw twitch.

“What happened?” The words barely leave his mouth.

You sit upright, “What do you mean?”

His eyes narrow, not at you, past you. Like he’s trying to remember something.

“What happened?”

You open your mouth.

Before you can answer, Valarr blinks. The confusion vanishes.

His hand squeezes your knee, “There you are.”

You freeze; his smile returns. Wrong, familiar.

“I missed you.”

-

You’re standing in the bathroom brushing your teeth. Valarr is sitting on the closed toilet lid, watching you.

The mirror catches his reflection; you almost miss it.

His expression changes instantly.

You stop brushing. Valarr is staring at his own reflection, his eyebrows pull together slightly.

“Valarr?”

His breathing changes. Sharp, uneven.

His eyes flick downward to his hands.

Then the bruises covering his arms, the scratches, the marks.

His face loses what little color remained.

“What the fuck…” The words are barely audible.

Valarr jerks upright so fast the toilet lid bounces off the base.

His eyes lock onto yours. For a split second, you think he’s remembering everything.

Duncan, the bridge, the blood.

Instead, his entire body goes rigid, like something grabbed him and pulled him back in his head.

His eyes unfocus, then refocus.

“Baby?” The smile returns. Artificial.

You stare at him; the toothbrush gripped tightly in your hand.

The repeated word makes you sick to your stomach.

-

The television drones on, it’s been on for hours.

The sound has stopped meaning anything, it’s just noise filling space so silence doesn’t get a chance to form.

Valarr is talking beside you. His voice rises and falls like he’s telling a story you were supposed to follow.

You didn’t catch the beginning, or the middle. Or anything at all.

You stare straight ahead, past him. Your eyes land on the dresser without meaning to. 

Pressed into darkness like it might rot if it’s found, your last chance. 

Your last mistake.

Valarr’s voice pauses, “Baby?”

You don’t move.

“Baby?” His tone shifts slightly.

Quieter now, careful.

The room is smaller.

The television is too loud.

The thoughts arrive uninvited.

Duncan is dead.

It’s your fault.

Something inside your chest caves in.

The first object hits the floor before you realize you’ve moved.

The television remote.

It cracks against the wall hard enough that plastic scatters across the carpet like bone fragments.

“Baby-“

You don’t hear him finish; your hands are already reaching.

A lamp, it shatters against the coffee table. Glass jumps across the surface like it’s alive for half a second before dying out.

Your breathing turns jagged, uneven, too loud in your ears.

You are on your knees now, without remembering the fall. Your hands are shaking so violently you can barely see them.

You gasp, but it breaks apart before it becomes words. “I can’t do this anymore!”

Valarr moves immediately. He drops to the floor beside you, close enough that you can feel his presence without seeing him fully.

“Baby,” he says quickly, hands reaching.

Always reaching.

“Don’t-don’t touch me!”

He stops, like he’s been physically interrupted.

You drag yourself backward on the floor, your palms slip against the carpet, your breathing stutters.

“I can’t,” you repeat again, but now it sounds different. Like you’re telling it to yourself more than him.

“You’re okay,” he says. But it doesn’t sound like reassurance, it sounds like an instruction.

And something in that breaks the last thread you were holding onto.

You shake your head violently, “No.”

Your voice cracks immediately. “No, no-“

Your eyes lock onto him, and everything that’s been building inside you spills out at once.

“You are not him!”

The words land wrong.

Too loud.

Too real.

The room goes still, Valarr doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak, just freezes.

“What?” He says quietly after a moment. 

“I don’t want you,” you choke out.

The sentence feels like tearing something out of your chest.

“I don’t want you.” Your voice breaks completely.

“I want Valarr!”

His face shifts.

“I am him,” he says immediately.

Too certain.

“No,” you whisper.

Tears are already blurring your vision.

“No, you’re not.”

You push yourself backward again, scrambling, desperate for space that doesn’t exist.

“You’re not him.”

The repetition becomes a rhythm.

A prayer.

A warning.

Valarr slowly follows you. He’s controlled, like he’s tracking you.

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” he says, voice trembling now. “I’ll do anything.”

“No,” you sob.

“Anything,” he insists. “I’ll change.”

Your breath breaks completely. “You can’t.”

“I can.”

“You can’t be him!”

The words finally snap something open inside him.

He goes rigid, entire body locking like a wire pulled into tight.

He stands slightly, just enough that his shadow falls over you completely.

The calm breaks.

“I AM VALARR!”

The shout detonates through the room.

You flinch so hard your entire body curls inward. A broken sound leaves your throat; half sob, half panic.

And then-

Wet.

Warmth, spreading fast.

Humiliating.

Your entire body goes still in horror as your mind lags behind understanding.

You stare at the puddle beneath your legs. You can’t move. You can’t speak.

Valarr stares too; at you, at the floor below you.

The anger is gone instantly, like it never existed.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“Oh, baby.”

The sound is different now, empty.

He drops to his knees again immediately. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You fall into his chest, there’s nowhere else left to fall.

-

That night, Valarr falls asleep with his arm around your waist.

Or at least, you think he does.

The television flickers softly across the room. Some late-night informercial drones in the darkness. The blue light washes over the ceiling in slow pulses.

You stare upward. You haven’t slept, not really. Every time you close your eyes, you see Duncan.

Every time you drift off, you wake up choking on panic.

Beside you, Valarr breathes steady. His arm is heavy across your back like a leash disguised as affection.

His fingers twitch, you freeze. The room feels impossibly still.

“Don’t move like that.”

The voice is so quiet you almost miss it.

Your entire body locks. Slowly, carefully, you turn your head.

Valarr is staring at the ceiling. His expression is blank, he looks exhausted.

“V-Valarr?”

“Shh. You’ll wake him up.”

“Who?” You barely breath out.

“It’s not me, (Y/N).” His eyes slide toward yours.

Immediately, fear floods your chest.

“N-No. You are Valarr.”

You hate how desperate you sound.

“He’ll wake up if you’re too loud.” He whispers, not moving an inch. 

When he opens his eyes again, they look wet.

“He’s not me.” He says quietly but firmly.

Your eyes burn, “Valarr…”

“Keep your voice down.” The warning comes instantly, sharp.

His eyes dart toward the television, then to you.

“What happened?” The question comes out harsh, demanding.

You feel tears gathering instantly.

His voice cracks, “What did I do?”

You cover your face, shoulders shaking.

“I didn’t know.” The words barely make it out.

Valarr freezes.

“I didn’t know it was real.”

You force yourself to look at him, at the real him. The version you’ve been searching for. The version you’ve been mourning while he sat beside you.

“I wished for it.”

Valarr doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

“I thought it was a joke.”

Tears spill down your face. “I thought it was fake.”

Valarr remains silent, only his expression changes. Devastation.

He breaks the silence with a harsh whisper, “You could’ve left me alone, but you did this?”

You start to cry harder, “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice.”

You physically recoil, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You push out of your breath. “B-but I can fix this!” You scramble off the bed, towards the dresser.

“I can fix this,” and “I’m sorry,” spill out of your mouth like a disoriented prayer as you rush toward the dresser, socks slipping on the ground.

Your knees slam against the floor, you barely feel it.

Behind you, Valarr stands.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?”

Your hands disappear beneath the dresser; dust coats your fingers. Your nails scrape the wood. For a moment, you can’t find it. Your fingers grasp it, pulling yourself off the floor.

You yank open the box, the playful tune you heard weeks ago now sounding distorted.

“I can fix this.” You say, turning towards Valarr. You’re holding the branch in shaky hands, before putting it in his.

“You wanna make me happy, right? Make me happy.” You plead, holding onto his arms. “Make everything go back to normal. Please. That will make me happy.” You smile shakily, tears leaking from your eyes.

Valarr looks at you. You can’t read his expression, tears flooding your eyes leaving you with a blurry figure in front of you.

“Okay, (Y/N).” He says, rubbing your head.

“Okay?” You say, full of hope.

“I wish for (Y/N) to love me the way I love them.”

SNAP!

Your face drops, “no...” You whisper, looking at the broken branch still in his hands.

“Now you’ll be happy, baby. You’ll be happy with me.” He says with a bright smile.

You’re about to say something but something inside you shifts.

You smile.

Your lips begin to bleed from the stretching tension, your eyes flooding with tears.

-

my brain is rotten. hope you enjoy

"Egg," she murmured, bringing the boy closer to her as they sat in front of the fire. "Might you tell me more of your family?"

Egg looked up at her, taking in her expression. When they had been on the road together, she was often full of joy, widely smiling and sharing laughter with Egg and Dunk. She had made him feel warm and safe inside. Now, he noticed, she hadn’t smiled in days. Her eyes seemed duller, as if someone had stolen the light out of them.

Egg nodded.

“Well, there is Prince Baelor, my uncle. He is the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne. He is good and just and a better man than most in my family,” Egg determined. The healer nodded, his words aligning with the other descriptions she’d heard of the man, though her mind recalled the way he’d gazed at her days ago — far less honourable than he supposedly was.

“Then there is my father, Prince Maekar. Some people call him 'The Anvil' after his win during the rebellion. He can be mean to me… and to my brothers, but I think he does like us sometimes.” She nodded again at that. Maekar seemed like a scary man, and she wished to spend as little time in his presence as possible.

“I have my older brothers and then my younger siblings. Daeron was once very happy and glad, my father says, but now he is no fun. He has dreams of the future… and they always seem to come true. It saddens him,” Egg stated. Things made more sense to the healer now, with the events of the previous night tracking now that she learnt of his dreams. He’d literally dreamt of their attempt to escape.

The healer spoke quietly next, almost fearful for what she might learn. “And Aerion?”

Egg paused, a decisive mix of rage and pity filling his visage.

“Aerion is a monster! He killed my cat! And he has threatened to hurt me. He is evil, and – and I wish he were dead!”

The healer was stunned — she hadn’t expected such an outburst from her sweet little Egg, though from his words, she understood his fury. Dragging the boy into her arms, she soothingly rubbed at his back, letting him cry into her chest as she whispered sweet reassurances to him. The shudders that wracked his frame slowly lessened after a few moments until the boy pulled away.

“There’s also Valarr,” Egg added after a silent pause. She hummed in acknowledgement, her curiosity prompting him to continue. “Valarr is much like Baelor. He is good and kind, and the people like him. He is strong and brave, and he fights well too! Aerion becomes jealous of all the praise and attention he gets.”

She could tell by his tone that Egg greatly admired Valarr and likely wished for him to be his older brother instead. He sounded like a good man, and in her mind, she filed away his name in case she needed assistance. He’d already confronted her at the wine station and was alert to her presence in the Red Keep, but maybe he could be persuaded against Aerion one day. He didn’t seem to like him much anyway.

“It seems the crown is in good hands with Baelor and Valarr then," she acknowledged.

The pair talked for a short while longer before finally parting ways — Egg had been commanded to sleep in his own rooms that night, much to his chagrin. As she slept alone that night, her emotions returned to the surface, and she felt hot, wet tears sliding down her cheeks once more. During the day, she was strong enough to compose herself and hide her pain. But at night? With the silence and the darkness? She couldn’t hold it in any longer, and her choked sobs echoed around the room.

Dunk stood inside the grand dining room as his duty demanded, watching silently as the Targaryens ate dinner together for the first time since returning from the tourney. He had expected an uneventful evening, but the tension in the room had been high once Aerion had arrived, bringing his mistress –Dunk's healer – on his arm. To bring a mistress to a family dinner was against protocol, and yet no protest could be heard. Dunk had stiffened in shock, unable to stop the anger coursing through his body as Aerion directed a mocking glance his way. Dunk wished he could throttle the little cunt.

He'd had to endure a mix of false pleasantries, taunting jokes, and tense conversations between the family all night. Even Baelor seemed fed up as the hour grew long, letting his eyes unabashedly roll as he heard another squabble between Daeron and Aerion begin. But for Dunk, the worst part of his evening had been witnessing how the men at the table treated his healer. He couldn't be certain, but it seemed like all the men at the table had been letting their eyes linger on her, giving her long, appreciative looks. Some were more obvious, but he swore even Baelor had paused for a moment too long. Aerion had dressed her in a deep red gown — one clearly befitting a woman far above her station, and she sat adorned with heavy gold jewellery and rings. And yet, no one could deny that it suited her. Dunk struggled to reconcile that this was the same woman he had spent a year on the open road with, sharing stew and ale at taverns and sleeping under the stars.

Dunk's reminiscing was interrupted by a sharp screech, all attention falling towards Aerion. The prince was now upright, the healer firmly pressed against his side. Dunk's hands curled into fists at the sight of the prince's hands firm against her waist – he could see from her face that she was uncomfortable.

"Well, I shall take my leave from tonight's... titillating conversation," Aerion proclaimed. "I believe I have far more interesting things to attend to."

Aerion's meaning was clear as day to anyone in the room.

"Very well, nephew. Do be careful," Baelor said, dismissing the pair with a grunt. With a firm tug, they started towards the door, only for Aerion to halt suddenly. All watched on, curious for the delay. When he turned to look at Dunk, the healer knew it couldn't be anything good. Aerion winced slightly as he felt her fingers dig into the muscle of his upper arm in protest but ignored her.

"Ser Duncan," Aerion drawled. His tone was menacing, much like that when he had asked for the healer, back when he thought she was the knight's wife. It was clear he took great pleasure in taunting the knight.

"I do believe you should guard my mistress's chambers tonight. I would feel most..." A pregnant pause. "Pleased to know you would be close by if she needed assistance."

You could hear a pin drop with the silence of the room. The Targaryens were stunned. The weight of his actions was clear, as were the supposed outcomes. Dunk was horrified – how could he even suggest such a thing? Though, when Dunk looked for assistance from Baelor, or maybe even Maekar, he found none. The older men returned only blank stares, hands folded in their laps. He would not be saved from this, he realised. Dunk felt like a man waiting for his death, knowing the fate he was to face.

Dunk finally looked at his healer, only to quickly avert his eyes. Her face – he had never seen that look from her before. Not even when she had told him to leave the council chambers at Ashford. Pure devastation sat on her features, eyes shining with unshed tears. Aerion shrugged off the soft words she pleaded in his direction, dropping her expression more. She had already been stripped of all her dignity and control, and now he wished to humiliate her like this? To permanently alter how her truest friend saw her? To debase her as such?

"Please, my prince... do not do this, I beg of you."

Unceremoniously, Aerion shoved her through the open doors and directed her to her chambers, demanding Dunk follow them lest he grow mad. He trailed behind them, watching as they arrived at the chamber. Dunk could only get a glimpse of her disappearing into the rooms before Aerion slammed the door in his face. The knight stood still in disbelief, going to stand in his assigned spot, when the door suddenly opened again.

Aerion poked his head into the hall, landing on Dunk's frame, and grinned.

"Be good, Ser Duncan. You wouldn't want me to hurt her now, would you?"

Dunk instinctually lunged towards the prince, catching sight of his grin as he ducked back inside her chambers. He swore to himself and promised that one day he would rescue his healer and take her some place quiet and peaceful, where they could forget about everything that had happened in this wretched place.

Inside the room, the healer studied Aerion silently. In the few days she had known him, she struggled to understand what he was thinking. He seemed to switch from irritability to excitement instantaneously, and his anger and rage were well known. So far, she had managed to avoid his bad side. Maekar had kept him occupied for most hours of the day since they returned, and thus, he'd not been able to get his hands on her properly, though, she supposed, her luck had run out now.

"Hello, pretty dove," Aerion mumbled, making his way towards her. "How I've been waiting for this... for you."

His hands made their way to her waist, feeling the curves of her body under his palms, slowly exploring her body. He was so close to her now that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin and smell the Dornish wine on his breath. The scent of him overpowered her, oud invading her senses as he leant towards her neck, placing a tender kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She couldn't help but shudder as he pressed up against her, continuing his warm, open-mouthed kisses across her decolletage. He was so close to her, and it made her uneasy, and yet she felt her body yearn for more.

The healer let out a sharp gasp as she found herself suddenly flipped around, Aerion's fingers impatiently tugging at her laces intent on baring her to him. He continued his kisses, occasionally nipping at her skin just enough to have her gasp and flinch at the sensation. She was left only in a delicate shift, the hands at her waist returning her to face the prince once more. Aerion's body pushed up against her, his chest pressing against hers, and at the first touch of his hand against her breast she couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. She felt warm all over, and her body began to tingle as his fingers toyed with her flesh, groping at her breast and placing a heady kiss on her lips.

After his first kiss at the tourney, she had sunk into a deep pit of shame. She hadn't enjoyed it, but she hadn't disliked it. She didn't know which was worse, but the prince was skilled with his mouth and tongue, and he knew how to draw out sweet sounds with each drag of his tongue against hers. Of course, Aerion wished for her to enjoy this – the louder her noises, the more torment the knight standing at the door would endure. She felt her hands make their way over the prince's body, letting them press against his firm chest as he continued to crowd against her body. She didn't even notice Aerion smiling into the kiss as she let out another whimper, his hands having reached down towards the fat of her ass and delivering a sharp squeeze. Part of her was shocked that he had not simply thrown her on the bed and had his way with her, and the other part of her almost wished that had been so. Maybe then she would not feel so guilty for sinking in to his kisses more than she should have.

Aerion pulled away first, and the sight in front of him – gods. She was divine. Her previously done-up hair was now loose and tousled and accompanied by swollen lips that let heavy breaths pass through them. He'd barely even touched her, and she was like this, he thought to himself. He'd wreck her one day, no doubt about it.

"Kneel," Aerion commanded. For a moment, she hesitated but swiftly let her knees meet the carpet after she met his fiery gaze. Aerion took in the sight before him, groaning lowly at her wide eyes staring up at him.

"You're going to suck my cock, do you understand?" She nodded. She felt Aerion tangle his fingers in her hair, dragging her closer to his breeches.

"Take it out, pretty dove," he ordered.

With hesitant hands, she reached for the button at his waist, slowly peeling at the fabric until his smallclothes were visible. Looking up at the prince, he only hummed, directing her to continue. His hands were still stroking her hair as she removed his cock from his smallclothes, surprise flitting across her features as it sprang free from its confines. Aerion's cock was pretty, she thought, much like him. It was currently a deep shade of red, the tip visibly darker than the rest of the length, and the precum that weeped at his tip shocked her. He had been enjoying this much more than she thought.

It seemed Aerion had little patience for her appreciation of his length as he was soon shoving her head towards his tip, commanding her to open up. She could only oblige, and she quickly found her mouth full of the prince's cock.

Aerion groaned in ecstasy as he felt the warmth of her mouth envelop him. She struggled around him, spasming as he insistently shoved himself further down her throat before pulling back slightly, only to push further on his next thrust. He revelled in the grunts and gags that she emitted as he began a punishing rhythm, feeling her hands meet his thighs, pushing against the muscles. He wondered if she thought such a display would make him slow down, pull back and let her breathe. She would be sorely mistaken if she did. Instead, he was pushing deeper, grabbing at her hair to hold her down on his cock. She struggled as her nose met the base of his cock, her face smushed in coarse silver hair that surrounded his cock. Aerion grinned as she tried to pull back, only to find herself unable to move. Her palms slapped at his thighs now, a desperate attempt to gather air into her lungs once more.

"Look at me, dove."

Aerion watched her eyes meet his, tears streaming down her cheeks as he pulled her back a fraction, only to push her right back into his pelvis. A loud gag echoed around the chamber, and Aerion laughed loudly. He knew the sound of her gagging on his cock would've made it past the door and out to Ser Duncan. Finally pulling from her warm mouth, Aerion watched in glee as she slumped forward, heaving as she tried to fill her lungs. Drool ran down her face, sliding down her chin and onto the floor below. She looked like a filthy brothel whore, and yet none of those men could ever be worthy of her affections. Only a prince. Only him.

She thought maybe it had been over then, but when his fingers tightened in her hair once more, she found his cock back in her mouth with an unceremonious shove. She knew she was not doing it properly, or gracefully, and yet Aerion didn't seem to care. He didn't even seem to care whether or not she had done this before, only that her tongue was on his length and her throat was tight. She winced as she was once more dragged up and down his length, this time with Aerion's fingers clasping at her cheeks, hollowing them around his length. She heard him groan deeply and felt his hips pick up speed, now jackhammering into her mouth. He was close to his peak, and she desperately hoped he would pull her off him soon. It seemed her prayers would not be answered when the prince's hips began to stutter and he pulled her even closer, groaning loudly.

"Stay still and take it, pretty dove. Take it all down your throat. Swallow the seed of the dragon," he rambled loudly, growing closer to his peak. "If you – ugh, if you let a single drop go to waste, I'll make you lick it up."

She couldn't even nod as her face was suddenly pressed to his pelvis a final time, and she began to gag at the feeling of his warm, salty cum spurt down her throat. He only seemed to enjoy that, grinding himself deeper into her. She felt her nails dig into his thighs harder now and knew that she had broken skin. If he felt it, he didn't show it. He kept her there for a moment until he was sure all of his cum had been swallowed, and she was sure her face crinkled in disgust at the taste.

Unceremoniously, Aerion pulled his softening cock from her mouth. He looked down at her, seemingly pleased at her efforts. She let him drag his finger to the side of her mouth, swiping at the drop of his seed that had begun to dribble from her lips. He tutted, slowly pushing his finger into her mouth and raising his brow, signalling to her to suck it from his digit. As she did, he spoke.

"It seems you know how to worship your god, dove. You did well," Aerion praised. She did not know if she wished for his praise, but she supposed it beat facing a slap to her cheek if she had not. The healer watched as Aerion tucked his cock back into his breeches, humming to himself lowly. During the ordeal, her shift had slipped off her shoulders, baring her smooth skin to his eyes – which he lapped up greedily. She truly was beautiful.

Aerion moved towards the door, leaving her weakened frame kneeling on the floor. She knew she would have bruises the next morning.

"I will come find you again tomorrow night," he decreed, his hand resting on the door handle, "though perhaps I will not be so gentle then." With that, he disappeared behind the door, leaving her to stew over his words in the silence of the room. Gentle? If that had been gentle, she wondered whether throwing herself from the balcony of the keep would be a kinder fate than the one that awaited her. Would he make her bleed? Beat her black and blue? Or would he just fuck her until she was a shell of herself?

It was only the low murmurs behind the door that snapped her back into reality, realising with a gasp that Dunk had been outside her door the whole time. Her tears returned, thinking of the pain he must have been in while listening to the wretched prince defile her as such. She froze, waiting for the sound of voices to stop – she needed to speak to Dunk, but Aerion could not catch her. She knew he must have been taunting him, recounting the way he had filled her mouth in ghastly detail and made her swallow his seed like a common whore.

Feeling filthy, the healer quickly rid herself of the now sweat-soaked shift, replacing it with a nightgown and covering herself with a heavy velvet night robe before inching towards the door tentatively. She felt the rapid beating of her heart in her chest, its beat reverberating in her skull, as she worried that Aerion would be standing in the hall. She thought that perhaps he would, just to see if she would seek out the knight. Ever so quietly, she tugged at the handle and let her head inch forward, peeking into the hallway. However, to her dismay, it was not Dunk, nor Aerion, who stood in the hallway. Instead, the hallway was empty, not even a guard in sight.

Where had they gone? She needed to talk to Dunk desperately. With a look back at her chambers, she slipped into the hall, lightfooted as she made her way down towards what she believed was the main wing of the Red Keep. Wandering through the Red Keep at night was eerie, with flames casting shadows on the walls that made her skin crawl, always feeling like someone was watching her every step. It was deathly silent as she ventured further into the Keep. With every step, she felt the panicked feeling inside her grow – she needed to find Dunk. He had to hear her out. He had to know that she never wished for him to hear that. The healer didn't even notice the way her hands had been trembling since Aerion left her chambers or how her pace had started to pick up as she began to curve around the corners of the Keep. It seemed the adrenaline had not worn off yet.

The sound of a rat scurrying somewhere behind her had the woman whipping around, catching only the tail of the rat as it disappeared down another corridor. With a start, she continued on her journey, now somewhat distracted as she rounded another corner.

"Oh!" The healer exclaimed as she collided with a hard body, only to become speechless at the prince before her – Valarr.

He looked down at her curiously, and she supposed it made sense; Aerion's mistress running around the halls alone at night in a state of improper dress was a sight to see. She'd look at herself oddly, too.

"Hello, my lady," Valarr began, pausing as he caught her taking a step back.

"Might I ask what you're doing?"

When Valarr found her in the halls, he recognised what an opportunity he had been presented with. He could tell by her ragged breathing and tousled hair that Aerion had done something to her, but to what extent? That he didn't know. But her guard was down, and with a sweet word or two, he'd managed to get her into his chambers. Now here she was, sitting timidly on his chaise, waiting for him to speak – to realise why she was brought here.

Valarr looked at her, taking in the sight of her. He needed to tread carefully. He'd let his annoyance take over at their first meeting, and he didn't want her to be scared of him – the opposite, in fact.

"Your position in this court is not safe, my lady," Valarr stated plainly, though not unkindly. "Aerion could change his mind in an instant, and you will be cast out onto the streets. Though he is... enamoured with you now, you must think ahead."

The healer was still, taking in his words. They had all heard stories of the women chewed up and spat out by the royals of times past, but for it to now be her facing this fate? Her whole body felt tense, confused and scared. She just wanted to be on the open road again, selling her tonics and sharing bread with Dunk.

"Think ahead? How – what could I do? I have no power here, my prince," she lamented.

Valarr directed his attention to his wine glass to hide the small smirk that tugged at his lips involuntarily. He knew that she had no power, obviously. She was going along with his plan so far.

"You must become useful to someone else, my lady."

"Useful?" she questioned. "As a healer, you mean? I could do that!"

Valarr quickly cut her off. He looked at her, still curled up on the chaise, her previous tremors having subsided. Gods, she was beautiful, he thought.

"Not quite... You see, my father came to me today with an interesting proposition. He spoke of the future of our house and of our line. Tell me, my lady, do you know of your family?" Valarr questioned.

She thought for a moment, pondering why he had begun such a line of questioning. She grew up in a small village in the Vale – nothing remarkable. She had lived with her family until she joined Dunk and Ser Arlan on the road.

"Yes, my prince. My mother was a healer as well, and my father a blacksmith."

"And do you have siblings?" he probed. She nodded in agreement.

"Many, my prince." That seemed to please Valarr, and he hummed lowly. She watched as the prince slowly ambled over to where she sat, setting himself down by her side. She felt her breath hitch, now being able to see the prince up close – even closer than in the council chambers. Here, she could see his mismatched eyes, the furrow of his brow, and the weariness that seemed to show in the bags under his eyes. Having him in such close proximity made her body feel alive, a warm heat spreading across her in such a pleasant way that made her inch ever so much closer to the prince.

Valarr reached out gently, letting his fingers trace the fabric of her nightgown. He had been a gentleman since he found her in the halls, but now he finally let his eyes run over her body. Aerion's doing, certainly, for the nightgown was truly indecent. Scraps of silky white fabric and lace covered her body, a low plunge highlighting her figure to him. In that moment, Valarr felt thankful to his cousin for gifting him such a pleasant sight.

"You should not have to live at the mercy of my cousin's temper, my lady."

His hand reached up to her jaw, his fingers lingering for a moment before finally cupping her face softly. His fingers brushed tenderly over her cheek, and the softness of his touch momentarily disarmed her, allowing Valarr to lean in close and press his lips to hers.

The soft gasp that escaped her lips was music to Valarr's ears, and he found himself invading her space, crowding his body closer to hers. To his satisfaction, he felt her practically collapse into his frame, limp and plush in his arms. Valarr supposed that, compared to the grunt and brutality of Aerion, he was a welcome respite, allowing her guard to drop (even if it shouldn't have). He let his other hand move lower, finding her thigh and pulling her even closer into him, feeling her own hands reach for his shoulders as if to grasp onto. The healer was eagerly kissing him back now, letting him push his tongue into her mouth with surprising agility. He could taste the need on her lips, like a desperate ache to be cared for, loved – cherished. It was when Valarr felt the first minute grind of her hips – something that he was sure she hadn't even realised she had done, against his own hardening cock – that he sharply pulled away, panting.

Valarr thought he might break then at the sight of the woman in front of him, her lips swollen from their kiss and chest rising and falling as she tried to gather spare air into her lungs. The movement only highlighted her hardening nipples to the prince, and he held back a groan that threatened to escape his chest.

He watched her open her mouth, then, as if thinking better of it, purse her lips tightly together.

"What is it?" He asked, kind and sweet as he reached to brush her cheek. He saw her hesitate again, but it seemed she finally gathered up the courage to speak.

"Did I...did I do something wrong, my prince?"

Oh, gods. She was so precious, Valarr thought. "No, my sweet girl," he reassured her, moving her off his lap gently, "it is only that I wish to move us somewhere more comfortable."

At that, she seemed relieved and let the prince lead her to his bed – a large, four-postered thing covered with deep velvet covers and plush pillows. As he lay her down, she could only think of how magnificent it was, though she quickly found her thoughts growing fuzzy once more as Valarr climbed on top of her, his warm, soft lips back on hers. Hands finding his shoulders once more, she barely noticed that he'd shed his tunic and now only his blouse remained.

The healer sank into the bed, growing more entranced by the brunette prince atop her: the way he felt and moved and how he touched her. Compared to Aerion, his touch was soft and gentle – like he revered her. It was the first moment that felt soft since she'd first met the Targaryens, and she never wanted the feeling to end. Valarr pulled away, slower this time, so as not to startle her, and looked softly down at her.

"I—gods... I promise to protect you, always. I will claim you as my own, give you a title, whatever I must do to keep you here, just like this, and far, far away from my cousin," Valarr stated, taking her in once more. The prince went to kiss her again but paused only a fraction away from her face, close enough that she could count every eyelash on his perfect eyes with him this close. She swore she saw a flicker of something in his eyes for a second – perhaps hesitation? But as soon as she put a name to it, it was gone, and he was leaning closer, moving to kiss down her neck. He mouthed at the soft skin, leaving small red marks and nipping in a way that made her gasp, tilting her neck to the side to give him better access. Valarr, pleased, let his hands wander to her thighs, pushing the silky nightgown higher until he had access to the bare skin. He groaned into her neck and slotted himself between her legs, letting his fingers wander higher and harshly gripping the flesh of her thigh as she began to wriggle under his body, the sensation of his tongue laving across her upper chest causing her to whine breathlessly.

"But there is one thing I need from you, my sweet girl," Valarr mumbled lowly, coming to rest his chin on her breastbone. It allowed him a clear view of the mindless nod she gave him in response, her body desperate for him to continue his ministrations.

"I need an heir."

That made her pause. Valarr felt her legs drop slightly, no longer practically wrapped around him. The fingers that had been tangled in his hair froze, and Valarr managed to hold back a whimper at the loss of sensation. He thought his heart might break at the sight of her face – crestfallen. Instantly, Valarr was dragging her up, gathering her face in his hands and wishing to know what she was thinking, rather than the silence he was getting.

After a moment, she spoke. "An heir? But – but should that not come from your wife, my prince?"

"Please, it is Valarr... not my prince. Not here," he requested, staring up at the woman now sitting in his lap. "My wife and I are not a love match. She has a duty, and at that she has failed. It is time I must consider other options."

The healer looked at him, stunned, still unsure of the proposition. A child was not a small ask. To give him a child would change her entire life, and in ways she could not predict. Never had she really thought too deeply of the possibility of a family, aside from knowing it would be expected of her one day, but for a long time she had been content with travelling on the open road. And now, Valarr came to her with such a proposal. A future King’s bastard to grow in her belly — surely it would not be well received by the smallfolk.

"Surely, you jest?" She asked.

"Your mother was fruitful," he began, returning his hands to her thighs, "and I see no reason you would not be too. Otherwise, perhaps I have misread this."

She looked at him in confusion, offhandedly noting the way Valarr's fingers had crept under her nightgown once more, the fabric now pushed up to bare the full expanse of her bare leg.

"Perhaps you wish to return to Aerion's side... I am certain he would be glad for it," he continued, watching as she flinched at the suggestion, almost imperceptibly. "I do not doubt he would be pleased to fill you with his monstrous child in my stead."

At that, he saw the flash of fear in her eyes, and he knew – he had her. The notion of being tied in eternity to a man like Aerion could convince even a Septa to take up his offer. Valarr let his fingers move once more, slowly inching towards her core. At the first swipe of his fingers through her slick folds, she was falling into his arms again, whimpering at the pleasure coursing through her body. He moved lower, slipping a finger inside of her cunt and cupping his hand just so to let it press against her sensitive bundle of nerves, watching as this time, she cried out. When she began involuntarily grinding into his hand, Valarr felt his own cock harden even more. Pulling her head back from its now slumped position on his shoulder, he sought an answer.

With Valarr letting his finger be joined by another, curling and rubbing against her ribbed inner walls, she spoke in between moans. "I – are you sure? You – oh! You will protect me? You swear it?"

Valarr nodded, letting his free hand squeeze tenderly at her breast, fingers rolling her nipple just so to make her squirm. With the dual stimulation, she was finding herself growing hazy with the pleasure.

"Give me a son – even a daughter would suffice, to start, and I will make sure no one ever dares to wish you harm. You would not stand to wonder whether your days would be filled with kindness or pain. You would be mine."

Valarr watched the last shred of sense leave her head and, with a sense of sheer unbridled victory, witnessed the moment she nodded in agreement. He saw the hesitancy still lingering, and yet he could not find it in himself to care. Surging forward with a passionate kiss, Valarr removed his hand and pushed the nightgown up and fully off her body, baring her entirely to him. Gently dropping her back into the mattress, he hovered over her and took in her bare frame. She was The Maiden herself, lying there for the taking.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered whilst finally freeing himself from his breeches, "you will be so loved."

A sharp knock drew Valarr from his slumber, though it seemed it had not woken the woman curled up at his side. Tenderly removing himself from under the covers, he made his way to the door. Behind the wood stood Baelor, still and stoic as ever.

Baelor took in the sight of his son, bare except for linen sleep shorts. Valarr's neck and chest bore signs of a pleased woman, with splotchy red marks and scratches scattering his skin. Looking past his son, he laid eyes on the woman sleeping in his bed, tangled up in sheets and as bare as the day she was born. Baelor took in the sight, tracing his eyes upon the pieces of exposed skin available to him, and pretending that the slight stir of his cock was simply an inconvenience. That the sight of a well-fucked woman was not spurring envy in his chest.

"I see that she agreed to the proposition, then?" Baelor questioned, still not drawing his attention from her figure.

Valarr's head tilted slightly, watching his father's lustful gaze. He noted to keep an eye on that.

"She did," Valarr agreed, "though she was hesitant at first."

"Good. I suppose I shall speak to Aerion on the morrow, then," Baelor grimaced. His nephew would not take well to losing such a precious gem, least of all to the cousin he despised. The cousin with the title, the reputation, and the power that he craved.

"He will not take the news kindly, Father," Valarr uttered. He, too, turned back to look at the healer in his bed, grumbling in expectation of the new day. She was too alluring, her form too enticing – he almost wished she'd been plainer; that way, he wouldn't have had to compete with his cousin. But knowing that he could soon flaunt her in front of Aerion sent a sick shiver of satisfaction down his spine. Maybe he'd let Aerion watch next time – make his cousin fist his cock in his own hand while Valarr thrusted into her, making her cry out in pleasure. He'd probably like that, Valarr thinks.

Baelor interrupted his darkening train of thoughts with a firm grip on his shoulder. "You have done well, my boy. Return to bed, and we will speak soon."

Valarr nodded, watching his father leave with one last glance at the healer, before he himself returned to the bed, slotting in by her side. Subconsciously, her body found his, pushing herself into his willing arms and snuggling closer to his chest. She felt safe with him; that was clear. She stirred ever so slightly as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a pleased hum ever so quiet escaping her lips.

Tomorrow would bring chaos, but for now, Valarr sank back into sleep with his healer in his arms, content at the thought of the life they would bring into the world together.

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