#tyrell oc

THE DRAGON'S COURTSHIP

The dinner was rather quiet at Summerhall since the girls were gone to spend time at The Red Keep with their cousins Valarr and Matarys. Of course they didn’t care for that – they wanted to spend a few weeks in King’s Landing. Their cousins were only an excuse but Maekar knew about it very well.

Now he was left alone with his three sons since Aemon was away as well. The silence was becoming awkward, so he cleared his throat.

“I received an invitation to Highgarden,” he explained. “Some tourney Lord Tyrell wishes to see us at. I don’t plan on going, though,” he winced a little. “It’s too far away and Tyrells bore me to fucking death.”

“Good,” Daeron mumbled. He got sick just thinking of a tourney he’d have to participate in.

“Please, can we go?” Aegon’s squeaky voice pleaded. He loved to watch the knights and jousts. “Please, father…?”

Maekar sighed. When his youngest son was asking so sweetly, he had to at least reconsider it.

“I would like to go, too,” Aerion’s eyes were sparkling but he was trying to play it cool and not to show how excited he was getting. “Let me show those gentle Highgarden boys how real dragons fight,” he smirked. “I can even take Egg as my squire.”

“Brother,” Daeron snorted into his goblet of wine. “We all know why you want to go there.”

Aegon giggled and Aerion clenched his jaw, angrily. He hated how obvious it seemed that he had a crush on a certain Lady. He considered it to be a weakness and he didn’t want other people to know about it.

“Lady (Y/N) Tyrell?” Maekar raised an eyebrow. “You still think about her?” He asked his son.

“No!” Aerion answered quickly, making his brothers laugh.

“Is this why you still have the handkerchief you stole from her?” Aegon asked.

“And is this why I caught you sniffing it?” Daeron’s eyes lit up with amusement.

“I did not… sniff it,” Aerion protested, feeling his father’s burning gaze on him.

“I do not wish to know what you were doing with that handkerchief,” Maekar closed his eyes for a moment to sigh. “In fact, I do not wish to even think of it.”

“I don’t know what you all are talking about,” Aerion mumbled and focused on his food to avoid everyone’s gaze.

Maekar took a deep breath as he remembered the day Lord Tyrell had asked to stay for a night at Summerhall on his way to Dorne. His eldest daughter, Lady (Y/N), had been with him but she had been feeling ill. She had spent her father’s whole visit to Dorne at Summerhall instead of going with him down South. During those few weeks, Aerion had seemed to be a different man. Maekar had never seen him so… trying. Trying to be a better version of himself that would impress a Lady.

And the Lady was no ordinary woman either. Maekar remembered her moods, her laughter, her capability to call Aerion stupid or proud or irrational. And each time the young prince had been getting angry, she would smile at him and flutter her eyelashes, which had seemed to solve it all.

Maekar realised that a woman like her could be good for his son. Instead of laughing at his infatuation, perhaps he should… encourage it.

“We will go to Highgarden,” he started and Daeron groaned. “Not you,” he looked at his eldest son. “You can stay here and watch over Summerhall once we’re gone.”

“Thank you, father,” Daeron nodded.

“We will go to Highgarden… if…,” Maekar laid his eyes on Aerion. His second eldest son raised his eyes to look at him. “If you ask for her hand in marriage once we’re there.”

A short silence occurred. Aegon’s giggle broke it eventually. Daeron kept staring at his father and brother with disbelief. Meanwhile, Aerion felt a bit uncomfortable with the thought. It seemed pretty final… Not that he minded it but he would have to expose himself enough to get hurt.

His ego was not ready to get hurt.

“What if she is betrothed already? It was six months ago, she could have secured a match since then,” he pointed out.

“Would a betrothed be a challenge for you, brother?” Daeron chuckled. “You can duel him and win easily. Are you not a dragon?” He teased.

Aerion smirked at that. His foolish, drunkard brother was right. He was a dragon. And a dragon had the right to take whatever he wanted.

When you found out that Prince Maekar would arrive at the tournament with Prince Aerion and Prince Aegon, your old feelings resurfaced, causing confusion within you.

You missed them – you missed them all. You remembered your weeks spent at Summerhall extremely fondly. Especially Prince Aerion.

You liked his mad Targaryen eyes, his pretty silver hair, the way he would lick his lips, the way his body moved when he trained with the sword. You liked to tease him and call him out whenever he acted awfully. But truth to be told, his arrogance spurred you on in a way; it made your cheeks hot and your heart to pick up its pace. He was different from all the men you knew from Highgarden. Bold, unapologetic, obsessive and… dark. That darkness was dangerous but you were not afraid. Many times you had crossed the line but he had never bit you. And that feeling – of standing so close to the dragon who could kill you yet he didn’t even roar at you – that feeling was addictive.

But you also knew that all those feelings you were harbouring for him… They meant nothing. They would change nothing. Prince Aerion Targaryen was not fit for love. You were aware that even if he shared his feelings, your life with him would be a rather dreadful one. 

Still, for the day of his family’s arrival, you dolled yourself up in a pretty green dress and yellow roses in your hair. Standing by your mother’s side, you greeted everyone with the same smile but when your eyes locked with his, goosebumps appeared on your skin nearly immediately.

“Mother… This is Prince Aerion who kept me company during my time at Summerhall,” you introduced him.

Your mother was not impressed by the young man. She bowed at him out of courtesy and moved on to another person as if she could feel what kind of person he was. And your mother always knew how to read people. Her reaction was not a good sign.

When he walked away, you could feel his eyes on you. His burning gaze on your back like a dragonbreath.

There was a welcoming feast for the noblemen taking part in the tournament on the evening before the first day. Since you were the eldest daughter of Lord Tyrell who organised the whole thing, many knights asked you to grant them your favour on the next day. Like a skilled seductress you were, you told each single one of them that you would consider their request but they would find out on the next day who would become your champion for the tournament.

“Ser Seamus Mormont is quite interesting,” your younger sister Flora said to you when you were standing by the table with the snacks and gossiping.

“What makes you think so? He’s rather… raw looking,” you pointed out.

“That is exactly why. Men up North are different than here. I like it,” she admitted.

“The Mormonts are not very rich, dear sister. He would not provide you with a lavish life,” you reminded her with a laugh and she rolled her eyes.

Both of you hoped for a match out of love but you also were aware of the practicalities of life.

“If I were you, I’d give your favour to the Lannister knight then,” she winked at you.

“He is his father’s sixth son,” you sighed, annoyed. He was handsome indeed but he was not important.

“It is not like you are to marry your champion,” Flora pointed out as she took one of the strawberries covered in chocolate to put it in her mouth.

“Our parents might think so,” you admitted, taking a glance at your father. “They are… beginning to push me to finally start looking for a match,” you admitted. “They might start looking for one on their own soon…”

“Oh, please! Please, do get married, (Y/N)! You know that I will not be allowed to secure a match before you do!” Flora clapped her hands and you rolled your eyes.

However, her playful smile dropped at the sight of someone standing behind you. You couldn’t see the person but you felt their presence. And you could smell them… The familiar scent it was. Metallic and spicy.

“Lady (Y/N),” Aerion’s voice reached your ears and you turned your head around to flutter your eyelashes at him.

“My Prince,” you acknowledged him. “It is good to see you again. How is Summerhall, allow me to ask?”

“It is rather empty ever since you left,” he admitted and you felt your cheeks heating up at those words.

“That is very kind to say,” you fixed your hair with a nervous smile.

“I have my moments,” he smirked. “Will you grant me your favour on the morrow?” He asked nonchalantly.

He had to be aware of the fact he was the last one to ask. Yet, the way he inquired seemed to be so confident.

“I might consider it,” you teased him like the others and he gritted his teeth. Aerion didn’t like being rejected even in the smallest things.

His reaction reminded you why you should be wary of him despite your infatuation.

“She tells it to everyone,” Flora joined the conversation. She was visibly scared of Aerion but she wanted to defend you. You held her by her wrist to thank her and to show her support.

“Why not make the decision today?” Prince Aerion asked.

“What fun would that be?” You asked and he squinted his eyes.

However, he nodded after a while and walked away. Flora sighed with relief.

“This one scares me,” she admitted. “Yet, you have told me so many nice stories about him from your time at Summerhall…”

“He can be charming when needed,” you explained to her. “And there is something about him… Something quite enchanting.”

“Enchanting?” Flora’s eyes widened. “Sister, you must have had too much of the sweet wine.”

You chose Ser Brandon Tully to be your champion. 

All the knights were standing side by side on their horses in front of the stands and the box you were sitting in beside your father. You stood up and approached the railway as you hesitated. You looked directly at Prince Aerion, his smirk visible from all that distance. But after a moment, you shifted your gaze and laid your eyes on the Tully knight.

His father’s second son. A nervous young man with a gentle face you found rather handsome. He needed encouragement and support, therefore you chose to give it to him. 

You couldn’t know that your green ribbon sentenced him to an uninventable failure.

Prince Aerion Targaryen challenged him as his first opponent. He maimed his horse, caused him to fall off it and then he made sure that his own horse ran over Ser Brandon Tully’s leg. Everyone gasped. Aerion rode away with a satisfied and wicked smile.

After the jousts of the first day, you hurried to the Maester’s chambers to check on Ser Brandon. He had his leg broken but nothing more.

“He had lots of luck,” the Maester told you. “Once his bone heals, he will be able to mount a horse again.”

You breathed with relief as you looked at Ser Brandon with pity. Deep down you knew that it had been your fault. You shouldn’t have rejected a dragon.

“Ser Brandon…” You approached his bed. “I am so sorry that this happened to you…”

“My Lady, I am the one who should be sorry. You chose me to be your champion and I failed,” his wet eyes looked deep into yours as he opened his clutched hand. Inside there was your green ribbon, now all muddy but still in one piece. “Please, take it back. I am not worthy of it.”

“Keep it, Ser Brandon,” you shook your head. “You still have many tourneys ahead of you and you will receive many such ribbons from other ladies,” you added with a smile. “However, this will always be your first and I want you to keep it. I do not regret granting you my favour.”

He blushed and nodded as he mumbled a “thank you”.

You left him in the Maester’s chambers and went back to your own room to prepare for the evening. Your father loved celebrations so each evening would be a feast. The grandest one would happen on the last night but all the evening parties were supposed to leave all the guests impressed.

You went to the gardens to hide there after realising that Aerion Targaryen’s irritated eyes had been following you. Thankfully, the gardens of your castle were big and you knew them better than any other place between its walls. You had practically grown up in those gardens, so you quickly disappeared between the paths to find a place of solitude.

You stood inside a small gazebo surrounded by roses, staring up at the bright moon.

“My Lady,” a familiar voice brought goosebumps onto your skin. You turned around, slowly, a little terrified of the fact that he had been walking behind you all that time. Silently, like a predator hunting his prey. Waiting for the right moment. A dragon; ready to attack.

“Prince Aerion,” you forced a smile.

He stood next to you and for a moment you relaxed. It brought back all the memories from Summerhall. How you two had used to spend lots of time together and nothing bad or improper had ever happened. Why would it happen now then?

“You are avoiding me,” he pointed out as his eyes scanned your profile. You still refused to look right into his face.

“You nearly killed my champion,” you reminded him.

“Barely,” Aerion rolled his eyes. “Besides, you only chose him to spite me,” he chuckled.

“No,” you shook your head and finally looked at him. “I chose him because he was kind.”

A long silence occurred. Aerion’s face seemed to be confused at first, which later turned into embarrassment. But eventually a bit of anger flashed in his eyes. His mood was always as unpredictable as the storm or the sea.

“You should choose your next champion more carefully,” his eyes sparkled with mischief.

It was a threat.

“Is this why you came here? To tell me that?” You asked, pretending to stay calm. You didn’t want him to see how nervous he was making you feel.

“No,” he admitted. “I came here because I made a promise to my father,” he said with all seriousness, looking at you intensely. “He allowed me to join the tournament under one particular condition.”

“Which is…?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have to ask you something… important,” he took a deep breath in.

Were you actually projecting things or was he… stressed?

“What is it, my Prince?” You inquired.

Aerion smirked and scratched the back of his head as he looked down for a moment until he finally looked at you again.

“Ever since you left Summerhall, I find myself unable to forget you,” he whispered. “I don’t know if you bewitched me or put a love potion into my wine but I do not care. I know one thing, though. I shall not rest until you become my wife,” he finished, a slight pink shade coming onto his cheeks.

You were stunned. As much as this confession was rather sweet to you, you knew that Aerion Targaryen was the last person who could actually fall in love. 

You laughed and quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Aerion’s jaw clenched and his eyes lost all the softness in an instant.

“Do you find me funny?” He asked.

“No, my Prince, no. It is just that… I am sure you must be jesting,” you explained.

“I am no jester,” he insisted.

“I find it hard to believe that you would fall for me. For anyone, actually,” you said.

“Oh really? And why is that so?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“It does not suit you, that’s it,” you admitted. “Maybe you think you feel this way but in reality… I cannot imagine you in a happy marriage. And I wish to be happily married,” you explained. “I am honoured, of course, my Prince. But you are not the man I seek nor need.”

“Who would that be?” He asked, trying to hide his anger from you but you could see right through that.

“A patient man. Someone putting up with me,” you explained. “Someone who would adore me. Adore me completely. Someone who would feel grateful to be married to me instead of reminding me every day how lucky I am to be his Lady Wife.”

“I can be all those things,” Aerion claimed.

“I highly doubt that,” you insisted.

“How can you know if you are not willing to give me a chance to prove myself?”

“Oh, you have proven yourself enough earlier today,” you reminded him. “That was enough for me to see you for who you truly are. In fact, it scared me,” you admitted, lowering your voice.

When he heard those words, he took a step back, hurt and confused.

“I… scared you?” He asked. You nodded, carefully. “I only meant to let you know that you belonged to me,” he explained.

“I know. And that scared me,” you said. “I felt hemmed in, trapped.”

Aerion didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t comprehend your way of thinking and viewing this situation. He was sure that he had been courting you the proper way. The dragon way.

“Forgive me, my Prince… They will be looking for me,” you bowed your head and quickly walked away from there to join the rest inside the castle.

On the next day you were scared to give your favour to anyone but your father insisted that you needed a new champion since the one you had chosen couldn’t fight anymore.

You took a deep breath in and looked at the faces of all the men. You couldn’t hurt another one. You simply couldn’t. And they all looked scared, too, knowing what your choice would possibly mean for them.

You clenched your jaw at the realisation you would have to let him win. To save others from a terrible fate, you had to boost his ego.

“Prince Aerion Targaryen,” you cracked a nervous smile at him, “I choose you to be my champion,” you said and allowed your golden ribbon to fall down. 

He approached the stands on his horse and gently caught the ribbon as he looked up at you. This time there was no smirk on his face. He nodded his head instead and rode away to attach the ribbon to his armour and wait for the joust.

You still were scared. Now, when he had your favour, there was a big chance that he would want to show off even more and hurt every single one of his opponents.

But he did not.

Instead, he fought fairly on that day. No horse was seriously injured and when the Lannister knight fell off of his stallion and landed in the mud, Prince Aerion offered him his hand to help him stand.

“His father must have scolded him for yesterday,” your father whispered to you.

You nodded but you knew it was not the case. You were sure it was the effect of the argument you had shared in the gazebo on the night before. But you couldn’t understand the game the Prince was playing.

During the evening feast Prince Aerion seemed to give you space. In fact, you couldn’t see him amongst the guests at all. Yet, he remained present in your mind. You wondered why he had chosen to change his behaviour so much on that day.

“Your choice of champion today astonished me, dear sister,” Flora approached you.

“Could you not see that I had to choose him?” You asked her.

“What do you mean?” Flora asked, visibly surprised.

“He would hurt anyone I’d choose over him,” you told her. You thought it was rather obvious.

“Do you really think that was his reason to hurt Ser Brandon?” Flora widened her eyes. “Most people see it differently.”

“What are you talking about?” You inquired.

“Well, they say that Prince Aerion’s brutality from the first day impressed you,” she told you and you felt as if someone smacked you on the face.

“That is horrendous! It is quite the opposite!” You protested.

“Why would he hurt Ser Brandon, though? I can see only one reason for such outrageous behaviour and it seems unlikely,” Flora pointed out.

“What would that be?”

“Love. He would have to be in love with you, (Y/N). But he is not, am I right?” She asked you.

But you didn’t know what to say.

The last day of the tournament was very sunny and beautiful. It was pleasant on the field, too. Prince Aerion was still wearing your ribbon and he remained the most chivalrous. Yet, he was winning duel after duel, making everyone realise that all his usual cheating was probably caused by the fact he loved the adrenaline of it. Not because he actually needed to cheat.

Which only made it worse, to be fair.

Ser Seamus Mormont was his last opponent. From the corner of your eye, you could see your sister digging her fingernails into the chair she was sitting on. Apparently her interest in Ser Seamus hadn’t changed.

He was a fierce warrior and he fought like a real bear. You could see Prince Aerion actually struggling with this one. But he had one advantage – he was smaller and more flexible, whereas Ser Seamus was wide and moved slower, heavier. Once he fell down, he was not able to get up. But he seemed to be fine other than that. Prince Aerion had treated him rather gently. Considering his usual standards.

Your sister gasped at the sight but everyone else stood up to cheer for the champion. You had to do that as well even though you were unsure how to feel about it.

Aerion took his helmet off and smiled at the cheering crowd, showing off his teeth covered in blood from the fight. He enjoyed the victorious feeling and bathed in it.

His younger brother and squire – Prince Aegon – ran up to him holding a wreath made of yellow roses, the symbol of your house. Aerion looked down at his brother and took the wreath from him before he approached the box you were sitting in. The crowd went silent.

“I wish to crown Lady (Y/N) Tyrell… The Queen of Love and Beauty,” he announced, causing your heart to stop for a moment.

You saw it in slow motion. The way he threw the wreath gracefully in your direction but you were too stunned to react. Your father caught it instead and put it onto your head as the crowd went ecstatic with the way they clapped and cheered. Prince Aerion kept staring at you from below, breathing heavily and waiting for your reaction. Any reaction.

“I am honoured, my Prince,” you nodded at him out of courtesy.

Your heart was beating so fast now that you were scared it would jump out of your chest. All your feelings – all those feelings you had been trying to suppress – now they resurfaced and overwhelmed your senses.

“Make sure it is noted in the chronicles that my daughter was crowned,” you heard your father’s voice addressing one of the Maesters. You smiled at that. 

Indeed. You had never been crowned that title before. And you doubted you would be again. It was something that would happen once in a lifetime to a lucky Lady and every young girl was dreaming of it.

“Where are you going?” You asked Flora. The sight of her hurrying out of the stands brought you back to reality.

“To check on Ser Seamus,” she told you, her eyes widened and her hands slightly shaking.

“He is fine,” you told her.

“I must see with my own eyes,” she insisted.

“Sister…” You scolded her with a meaningful look.

“Do not judge me!” She exclaimed. “I must!”

She ran away and no one stopped her. Your parents were too busy talking to other people, very content with the fact their eldest daughter was The Queen of Love and Beauty.

So you walked away, too. And your legs brought you to the Targaryen tent where young Prince Aegon was helping his brother out of the armour.

“Be careful, young rascal! If you break it, I’m going to smash your empty head with it!” Aerion scolded his brother over a piece of armour the younger one was struggling to take off.

“It is too heavy for me to carry!” The squeaky voice of Aegon protested.

“Not my fault that you’re so little and skinny,” Aerion answered.

“Ekhem,” you cleared your throat and they stopped the banter to turn around and look at you.

“Lady (Y/N)!” Aegon smiled at the sight of you, dropping a piece he was holding in his hand. It landed on Aerion’s foot as the older brother cursed angrily. Aegon couldn’t care less, though. He ran to you and gave you a hug as you wrapped your arms around him to hug him back. “You look so pretty in your crown!”

“Thank you, my Prince,” you smiled at the boy.

“Leave us alone now,” Aerion snapped at his brother. Aegon sighed and left the tent. “Have I proved myself, my Lady?” He asked you, taking off his armour on own now, visibly irritated with something. Probably you and your previous lack of enthusiasm after being crowned.

“You only proved that you can pretend very well, my Prince,” you pointed out and he clenched his jaw. “Pretend to be honourable and chivalrous. I do not know why, though. What is the gain for you in marrying me?” You asked. It was the question that had been bothering you the most.

“The gain?” Aerion raised his eyebrow at you. “I simply want you for my wife. There is no gain. The only gain is the mere fact you would be by my side.”

“Why me, my Prince?” You asked another question. “Surely, you can have any woman in the Realm. Someone with the blood of Old Valyria on top of that. I remember you mentioned that back at Summerhall. That you would marry one of Targaryens if you ever had to marry at all.”

Aerion blushed when you reminded him of his old words. He regretted ever saying them out loud around you.

“You are the only woman who dares to speak to me this way,” he said and you smirked.

“Do not change the subject, my Prince. Just answer me, please. I am trying to understand you at least a bit.”

“That was the answer,” he explained, approaching you.

It took a moment for you to understand the meaning behind his words. Meanwhile, he stood so close to you that you could see his bright eyes as clear as ever. Like during that one day at Summerhall when he had brought you fishing with him. For some reason he had insisted it would have to be a secret kept from his brothers.

Back then, by the lake, his lips had nearly brushed yours. And now he was just as close.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he whispered. “Each time you make me angry… I do not wish to hurt you,” he confessed, raising his hand to gently brush your cheek. “Instead, it makes me want to do things to you that I should not speak of in front of a Lady,” he smirked and your cheeks became hot to touch at his words. “You look beautiful wearing that crown indeed,” he added. “If you become my wife, I shall win every tournament for you and crown you The Queen of Love and Beauty so many times all over Westeros that you will be remembered in all the books and chronicles as the most titled Lady of the Seven Kingdoms,” he lowered his voice, the tip of his nose now brushing yours.

It went lower, to trace your lips, then he moved his nose up again to caress your cheeks with it as if he was a dragon sniffing its prey right before the meal. The metallic smell was even more intense than usual since his mouth was full of dried up blood. You hitched your breath.

“I do not know how else to convince you but do believe me when I say that I want you,” he whispered. “Your body, your flesh… But also your mind if you are willing to offer it.”

Your knees went weak. He was too damn close to reject him. The moment was too intimate and the fact anyone could walk in on you two any given moment was even more exciting. You put your hand on his chest.

“You would have to ask my father first…” You whimpered and Aerion chuckled at that, taking a step back to take a better look at your face.

He fixed the wreath on your head carefully.

“My father asked your father on the first evening,” he admitted.

Your jaw opened slightly, which made Aerion laugh even more.

“Oh?” You managed to let out.

“Lord Tyrell was apparently delighted,” Aerion said. “His daughter marrying a Targaryen Prince…? Of course he agreed.”

You swallowed thickly.

“So… The decision was made anyway?” You took your hand away from his chest. “You gave me an illusion of choice? Played with me like a cat with a mouse?” You asked.

It felt like a punch in your guts. You were heartbroken and even the wreath on your head suddenly felt heavy. You wanted to take it off but your limbs were too numb.

“My rose, don’t be upset,” Aerion realised you felt betrayed as he reached out to caress your cheek but you moved your head away. He tried once more, though, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “I will be good to you, I promise,” he whispered. “You are the treasure I will protect,” he promised. A hint of desperation in his voice made it very clear that he cared for you to believe him. 

You hesitated as your wet eyes looked into his mad ones. Perhaps you should put him to a test.

“And if I would rather die than marry you, my Prince?” You asked, quietly.

Aerion let go of your chin and moved back. He was hurt. In fact, you had never seen him that hurt before.

“If you loathed me so intensely, I would let you go,” he admitted in a whisper. “I do not wish to torment you… Not you.”

You nodded and a silence occurred as you watched him carefully.

“But it is not true, am I right? You do not wish to die at the thought of marrying me?” He cleared his throat, his voice full of insecurity that did not suit him at all.

Yet, it was real. You could hear it.

“No,” you admitted as you shook your head. “Of course not,” you added and he sighed with relief.

Aerion wanted the wedding to happen on the same night, at the feast celebrating the end of the tournament, but your fathers did not agree upon that. Instead, you were sent to Summerhall a month later and you two were wed there. It was a quick wedding either way.

He could not stop smirking at the sight of you when you arrived. He felt smug because he had won you but also because he was so proud to have you by his side. 

His sisters loved you ever since your last time at Summerhall – your Highgarden dresses, the way you braided your hair, your fragranced oils and your Tyrell charm. They were more than happy now that you would live with them.

Prince Maekar found you a bit annoying but he didn’t expect anything less – after all you were a woman who wanted to marry his son. You couldn’t be completely normal. And he still remembered all the mischief you had been causing last time you lived with his family. Now you became a part of it but he had to admit you fit in very well. 

“I received an invitation to Lannisport,” he announced at the dinner table a few weeks after your marriage to his son. “Some tourney Lord Lannister wishes to see us at. I don’t plan on going, though,” he winced a little. “It’s too far away and Lannisters bore me to fucking death.”

You chuckled at that as you took a sip of your wine. You felt Aerion’s hand on your thigh under the table as he squeezed it.

“I would like to go,” your husband announced and you looked at him, surprised.

“Wait, really? You do not jest, my dear?” You asked.

“Of course not,” he smirked. “I have made you a promise, haven’t I?”

“What promise?” Maekar inquired, rather harshly.

“To crown my wife The Queen of Love and Beauty at every tournament so many times all over Westeros that she will be remembered in all the books and chronicles as the most titled Lady of the Seven Kingdoms,” Aerion said, causing Daeron to choke on wine slightly.

Maekar closed his eyes and sighed as he threw his head back out of irritation.

“Seven Hells…” He muttered under his breath.

“Does this mean we are going to take part in every tournament from now on?” Aegon’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Yes,” Aerion nodded. “But I am not taking you as my squire anymore, you useless–”

Smack!

Your hand on the back of your husband’s head brought an end to his insolence towards his younger brother. His smirk disappeared immediately, too. His sisters giggled at the sight.

“Apparently so,” you smiled at Aegon as you answered his question instead. “And you will be the most wonderful young squire, bringing Aerion wreaths of flowers to crown me with.”

The banquet was nothing if not boastful. A wide variety of food had been imported from all corners of Westeros and beyond, and the Throne Hall was filled to the brim with cheerful lords and ladies. Candlelight brightened the evening as music flooded the chamber, and the main table was presided over by the dragon House. King Daeron II sat at the front, a wide smile playing on his lips as he took his wife's hand and placed a swift kiss on the back of it. To his other side, Prince Baelor observed the room with a cup of wine in his right hand, his mind as clear as ever.

And just to Baelor's right, Prince Valarr and Lady Rosalyn sat in awkward silence, debating between eating their food and exchanging strange looks. Valarr twisted his rings incessantly, occasionally reaching up to caress the amethyst pendant around his neck: his mother's prized possession. He had engaged in polite small talk for most of the evening, delivering a swift yet politically meaningful speech as his father nodded in agreement. But he had not spoken a word with his new lady wife, who seemed more interested in the reflection of the candlelight than in Valarr himself.

His jaw tensed. He believed that, perhaps, they had shared a… moment? During the ceremony, he had felt something when they kissed. He could not explain what, exactly, but for a second, all the public around them had faded, as if they had fallen off the edge of the world. He could only remember her soft, delicate lips and how perfectly they fit against his. His breath hitched as the memories flooded his mind, and he had to physically bring himself back to reality with a strong gulp of wine.

Rosalyn, on the other hand, had preferred to entertain herself with the shadows of those dancing in front of them. They twirled so gracefully that Rosalyn believed they looked like flowers moved by a soft spring breeze. She kept her hands on her lap, playing and fiddling with her fingers to stop them from moving to her hair, a gesture her father had forbidden. He sat on the King's and Queen's left, speaking of politics and trade while his daughter had just married the heir to the heir. She could barely believe it; she would one day become queen.

But Rosalyn did not want that.

She spared Valarr a quick look before returning her gaze to the dance floor. He was… unexpected, yet not entirely unwelcome. There had been nothing but kindness in his words and gentleness in his gaze, and oh gods, she doubted she would ever forget what had happened in the Sept of Baelor. How caring he had been when he kissed her, but most of all, how Rosalyn had basked in the feeling. She had enjoyed it. And she felt guilty for it.

Her mother was suffering in a home that had become her cage, and her brother was now under the reign of a sibling who hated the world around him. And here she was, leaning into the kiss of the prince she had been practically sold to. There were no words to describe the tempest of feelings unleashing in her heart; duty clashing with memory, desire with guilt.

"My lady," Valarr's voice forced her out of her mind, and she turned to look at him. He was wearing that perfect mask, Rosalyn thought: the Young Prince in the flesh, serious and determined. "May I have this dance?" He extended his hand to her, and she stared at it with doe eyes.

The nuptial dance, of course. How could she have forgotten? She had spent entire weeks rehearsing with her instructor back home. Luckily, due to her ability to hyperfocus, Rosalyn had managed to become incredibly efficient. She took his hand, and they both stood, slowly making their way down the dais to the dance floor. All heads turned to look at them, and while Valarr held his head high in response, Rosalyn kept hers lowered.

When they reached the center, a soft melody began playing, one that reminded Rosalyn of the lullabies her mother used to sing to Delena when she was just a babe. Valarr searched for her eyes as he placed their palms together, tentatively setting his other hand on her lower back, waiting for her approval. She gave him a small nod, and his touch tightened slightly.

As their dance began, they moved stiffly, their bodies coordinating but not blending into one. Her twirls were perfect; his double step remained unmatched, but it was a performance. They were both terrified of making a mistake, even more of disappointing the other. Valarr's eyes tried to focus on anything that wasn't her so as not to lose concentration, but he failed every time. Her shy mouth, honey eyes, soft jaw, and beautiful neck were all magnets he was simply unable to resist. He almost tripped twice.

Rosalyn's focus was on her own feet, trying not to step on him and maintain a coordinated pattern of movements that would not result in her becoming the laughingstock of the court, and, by extension, Valarr as well. Occasionally, her eyes rose to meet his, and all focus broke. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back, how he gently but swiftly guided her every movement, and the way his breath brushed her right cheek. She could feel every sensation he stirred in her, and she could not decide whether she liked it or not.

When the dance finished, they both bowed their heads to each other as the crowd cheered and clapped. The newlyweds turned to offer polite, yet tight, smiles to their adoring public, then immediately bowed to the King and Queen, who remained seated at the table. Soon after, they returned to their seats and engaged in some small talk with Valarr's family, including his father, brother, and cousins. Rosalyn met Maekar's children—Aemon, Aegon, and Daella—who offered their congratulations and blessings to the couple. Rosalyn particularly enjoyed her interaction with the young Aemon, who was immensely interested in books and knowledge, recommending some reading to the quiet girl and patiently waiting for her replies.

Valarr observed the interaction from a short distance. Rosalyn seemed awkward, not really skilled at interacting with children, but they were all strangely drawn to her, asking questions and watching her every silence. And he found himself in an equal situation as he watched her too. As the night went on, laughter filled the room, and the realm felt joy, true joy, for the first time in a while. Political instability, internal divisions, and fear had been strong in the past, but nothing a good wedding could not solve, even if only for a few hours. Valarr wondered if it was truly so easy to forget about the world with just one event.

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. It was of no importance; the only thing he wanted was to get himself and Rosalyn out of there as quickly as possible. She seemed overwhelmed, constantly whipping her neck toward loud noises and trying to keep her gaze lowered to avoid curious nobles. They both just sat there, waiting for the event to end.

But a new type of anxiety crept into Valarr's mind as a slight blush showed on his neck and cheeks. What was to come after the banquet? He began twisting his rings, and his feet tapped the floor several times. Fourteen times in one minute, to be exact, according to his count. He had been… told about the activities that were meant to happen in order to produce an heir, but he lacked any practical experience in the matter.

He spared her one quick look. Her shoulders were as tense as her mouth. They barely knew each other, and he could not demand such a thing from her, especially seeing how startled she already was. He bit his lower lip as his gaze lowered to the floor. What if she did not want him? But still, an heir had to come from their union. The Seven Kingdoms would expect a babe in Rosalyn's belly sooner rather than later, and if they did not get one…

He tipped his head back and forced himself to stop twisting his rings. He would have to perform his duty, and he would hope that she had the same mindset. But Rosalyn's lashes shadowed her hazel eyes as she focused them on the cup in front of her.

A boy slightly younger than her sat near the three children she had been speaking to, with sandy hair and lost eyes. She thought he looked odd, as if his mind had absented itself from the banquet. But when they locked eyes, his stare became even more unnerving. He looked at her as if she were a ghost from the past, wide-eyed, with a slight tremor in his right hand.

"Excuse me." He quickly stood and walked away, but Rosalyn lost him in the crowd, trying to track him with her eyes. She was left with an uneasy feeling in her heart. Valarr noticed as well, and he wondered why his cousin had begun behaving so differently after his mother's death. Perhaps he was still in mourning, he thought.

Time went on, and when the clock struck midnight, King Daeron II thanked the guests for attending his grandson's wedding. The event had ended, with various lords and ladies laughing hand in hand as they exited the Throne Hall. Even Prince Baelor had stood, going to greet his three brothers before they all retired to their apartments.

Lady Rosalyn stood and allowed the family members to welcome her one last time, especially Queen Myriah, to whom Rosalyn curtsied without hesitation. The older woman stared at her with a warm smile but assessing eyes, clearly analyzing whether the girl in front of her had what it took to one day occupy her place. With Lady Jena long gone, Rosalyn would be the next queen after her, and it would be no easy task.

Myriah placed her fingertips on Rosalyn's chin and lifted it so their eyes could meet. Rosalyn's big eyes shook slightly.

"Welcome, child." Simply that. No more words were spoken by the Queen as she stared at her new granddaughter for a short time. Then she stepped back to take her husband's arm, and they both headed to their own chambers.

Valarr returned to Rosalyn's side and offered her his arm. She had not even noticed him, watching the monarchs leave the space, and his presence sent shivers down her spine.

"I believe the ceremony has come to an end," he whispered. She nodded twice without looking at him. Her breaths were short and rapid, and he began counting them as silence stretched between them. "Shall I escort you back?"

Rosalyn's breath hitched. Oh no, she thought. Her mind had been so occupied with thoughts of her own guilt that she had completely forgotten about what followed the ceremony. She gulped and looked ahead, toward their fathers engaged in conversation. She felt a cold sensation creep up her spine, and what came was not excitement, nor anticipation: it was fear.

Did she want it? Any part of it? She felt exhausted after trying to find answers to the questions that had plagued her since the moment she saw him for the first time. Her head had been spinning nonstop for days now, and the only thing she truly desired was to crawl into the arms of someone who would hold her, even if only for a minute.

"My lady?" Valarr's voice was soft as he angled his face toward her, dipping his head slightly to see her features properly.

"Yes." Her voice was clipped as she answered, choosing to avoid eye contact with her new husband.

Valarr's lips flattened as he took in her seeming detachment, wondering whether it was for the same reason he believed it to be. Still, he nodded and shared one last look with his father, who saw them about to depart for their chambers.

Prince Baelor cut his conversation short with Lord Leo and turned toward the two young people. When he stepped in front of them, all he could see was a boy trying his best to look like a man, and a girl too scared to be a woman. He offered a small smile.

"I do hope you enjoyed the ceremony," Baelor spoke to both of them, even if he knew the answer already. He had been watching them dance, barely speak, and look at the floor for most of it. His son looked at him with a carefully sculpted expression, one that signaled confidence.

"Yes, Father. Thank you for all your efforts." He bowed his head to the Prince and was surprised when Baelor placed his hand on top of it, caressing him. Valarr's eyes widened, still facing the floor. Baelor's gesture was both silent and quick, withdrawing his hand in a matter of seconds. When they made eye contact again, both their hearts did something complicated.

Then Prince Baelor turned to look at his new daughter, who had preferred to study the table cloth rather than him. It almost made him laugh. He placed both hands on her shoulders, startling her as she looked back at him.

"We are happy to welcome you into our family, daughter." His voice was warm and soft, and Rosalyn simply stared at him. How did the man always know what words to use, and how to use them? He was perfect, in every sense of the word. Hearing him call her daughter was strange, she thought, but surprisingly… comforting. The only times another man had called her that, his words had carried a sense of derision instead of warmth.

She smiled genuinely, in a way that reached her eyes. Valarr observed the interaction, and he wished she would smile like that at him as well, but he quickly shook his head and looked at his father once more.

"Good night to both of you." Prince Baelor gave his son one last, quick look that Valarr did not know how to interpret. When he stepped back, the two were left alone again.

Without another word, Rosalyn slowly took Valarr's arm and interlaced her hand with his, taking a deep breath as she waited for him to lead the way.

Valarr hesitated before starting to walk, doubt threatening to paralyze him, but he did not allow it. Very slowly, they made their way out of the Throne Room and walked the almost empty halls of the Red Keep, with only the guards keeping them company. The silence was excruciating and yet eerily comforting, as if they were both sharing a deep understanding of the fears and doubts that plagued their minds, but neither knew that the other felt the same.

The walk to their shared chambers was one hundred and seventy steps away from the banquet hall, as Valarr had counted. The Kingsguards opened the doors to reveal a big, yet warm space, with a similar decoration to the other rooms Valarr knew. He had specifically had it built and decorated following the standard design for guest rooms, such as the one Rosalyn had occupied when she first arrived at King's Landing. He did not want her to feel as if the space belonged to someone else, but rather a place she could make her own if she wished. He watched her reaction like a hawk, trying to gauge whether his instinct had been correct.

But Rosalyn remained quiet, her face still as her eyes roamed through the chambers. There were multiple bookcases, with several reading spaces and chairs placed around the room, and the bed was big enough for both of them and perhaps four others, she thought. The fireplace had been lit, keeping the space both illuminated and warm for their arrival. But the cold she felt came from inside her, an obvious byproduct of the chills that had been traveling up and down her spine for the last thirty minutes. They both remained still as she took everything in, and he allowed her to.

"Is everything to your liking?" he finally spoke, unable to handle the unknown for one more second. Rosalyn's mouth did something strange, as if she had attempted to speak but had pressed her lips together instead.

She took one more look around.

"It is warm," she conceded, but that was not enough for the nearly nerve-wracked Valarr.

"Is that… good?" he asked, not knowing how to interpret her lack of words. She nodded twice, and Valarr realized that the dim light emitted by the fireplace still allowed him to count her freckles. Thirty-two.

The couple remained silent for a while, but neither of them moved, lingering by the door. She was frozen with uncertainty; he was holding back for both their sakes.

Rosalyn took a step forward, her hands clenched tight as she tried to steady the tremors that shook her, and Valarr watched. She hesitated before turning to look at him, and her eyes shone with something he could not quite describe, but recognized in himself.

Rosalyn did not speak, simply because her voice had failed her again. She did not want to do it, but she also did not want to not do it. Two worlds collided in her mind as she tried to pull herself back into one piece, and Valarr waited for her to be ready.

"Lady Rosalyn—"

"Rosalyn. Just that." She interrupted with a shaky voice.

"Rosalyn," he corrected, and he very much liked the sound of her name on his tongue. "I will not force you to do something you do not want to participate in." He whispered softly, not knowing whether it was the right decision for the kingdom, but it was the right decision for his wife.

Her gaze remained locked on the floor, but his words eased all the tension that had eaten at her since they began walking toward the chamber. Did he not expect it from her now?

"But it is my duty as your wife—"

"Stop."

Rosalyn looked up at him immediately, finding Valarr with his eyes closed and his hand raised to his temple, a pained expression on his face.

"Are you in pain, my Prince?" she asked softly, her gaze flickering between his temple and his closed eyes.

"Valarr. Just that." He mimicked her previous words, and a soft smile played on her lips.

"But you are the Prince," she countered, and he released an amused sigh.

"I am also Valarr."

He surprised himself with his own words, because it was not often he saw himself as just that. But perhaps he wanted her to see him as just Valarr. He opened his eyes and found her already staring, that soft smile eliciting one of his own, a small dimple appearing. It immediately caught Rosalyn's eyes.

Valarr's headaches had already begun to flare up, but he would not share that just yet. She had enough worries of her own. They shared a quiet, gentle moment before Valarr walked to the bed and simply sat on the edge, releasing an exhausted breath that had haunted him for hours. Rosalyn hesitated, looking around and biting her lip before, very slowly, joining him.

"I am sorry, Rosalyn," Valarr began quietly, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stared at the stone wall. "I can tell you did not wish for this." A sad, quiet laugh escaped him.

Rosalyn looked at him, really looked. He was just a boy, truly, an exhausted and perfectly human boy. He was not like his father, but he had pretended to be since she had met him days ago. And yet, this was the first time she saw him hunched over slightly, his head pressed against his hand as he rested his elbow on his knee. He looked so tired she almost wanted to put her arms around him, but she did not. Instead, she sat still and looked at her feet.

"I miss my mother." Her voice was barely a whisper, and tears began welling up in her eyes. She had not meant to say that, but it was the only thing she could say. The only thing that had occupied her mind every single second of every single day since she had left her behind.

Valarr turned to look at her, and his heart twisted when he finally got confirmation that she had been forced into a situation she clearly did not want. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and he shook his head, closing his eyes for a second. He did not know what to say, nor what to do. He could grant her an annulment, of course, but what would that mean for House Targaryen? Or House Tyrell? Or anyone else, for that matter? Instead, he said something else.

"So do I."

Rosalyn did not look at him, but she understood. She had studied his family back in Highgarden, and so she knew Prince Baelor's wife had passed years ago in childbirth. They both sat there, quiet and tired from trying day after day.

"The realm needs an heir," Valarr's voice held a certain edge to it, one that cut him deep. He knew this. Rosalyn tensed up next to him, a warm tear falling down her cheek, but Valarr turned and looked at her with a soft gaze and a small, tired smile. "But not tonight. Not until you want one as well."

Rosalyn's gaze left his face and turned to the fireplace on the other side of the room. The fire crackled slowly, the sound bringing her comfort. Her voice was thick with emotion as she spoke next.

"And if I never do?" A question, but also a confession.

Valarr sighed with a heavy heart and an even heavier mind. He needed an heir; it was not debatable. He was the continuation of House Targaryen, and the line had to live on. The realm needed more stability, the kind that only a royal baby could bring. He would be seen as weak, and the court would look at Rosalyn as if she had failed. And yet… He was not that kind of man, and he would never be. Valarr would never dream of hurting any woman, especially not his own wife. He closed his eyes as the storm raged inside him, and Rosalyn could not bring herself to look at him.

"Tonight, we shall still share this chamber, so as not to arouse suspicions that…" He trailed off.

"The marriage has not been consummated," Rosalyn finished for him, and they both sighed.

"Indeed."

They both decided to give the other privacy to change into more comfortable clothes, Rosalyn hiding behind the screen that hid the bathing tub from the rest of the chamber. Valarr did not turn his head to look, not even once, no matter how much he wished to. She stepped back into his sight wearing a white nightgown, with unruly curls floating around her. He was wearing white breeches and a soft tunic, but he stepped away from the bed and walked toward one of the large sofas.

Rosalyn stared in confusion as he simply lay there, struggling to fit his body onto it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice both curious and bewildered.

Valarr looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows.

"I will be taking the sofa, of course." He gestured toward the bed. "The bed is yours."

"But you are the Prince. I shall sleep on the sofa," she countered, walking toward him. He stood and shook his head.

"That is nonsense. You are my wife." He felt strange pronouncing her new title, and she blushed. That pleased him. "What kind of husband would I be if I allowed you to take the sofa while I took the bed?"

Rosalyn pondered the question for a minute.

"A smart one?"

Valarr laughed loudly, and that startled her. He shook his head as the headache left him completely. She smiled, enjoying the sound of his laugh.

"I would rather be a stupid one, then."

Her smile widened slightly, and she looked between him and the bed.

"I…" She did not know how to choose her words. "I would feel terrible."

Valarr's eyes softened, and he tilted his head to the left, looking at his wife.

"I would feel even worse, then, were you to sleep here instead of me." He smiled at her, and he loved how her brow furrowed when she was concentrating.

"Could we not…" Her tongue betrayed her as it felt heavier than before, clearly not wanting to speak. Valarr's eyebrows rose as he waited for her to continue.

"Yes?"

Rosalyn's neck was now a bright shade of red, and the pink in her cheeks would soon match it as well.

"Well… i-is the bed not big enough?" Her voice was high-pitched, more than she had ever heard herself sound, and that embarrassed her even further. As she struggled to find the right words, he felt a certain warmth of his own creep up his cheeks.

She was a genuinely sweet girl, he thought. Too sweet, perhaps. Like Matarys, who did not know how to set boundaries with others. Valarr stepped forward, their bodies close as he looked down at her face. Rosalyn matched his movement, and when they locked eyes, she could see him smiling.

"I shall not take up any more of your space tonight. You deserve to be at complete ease." He was gentle and careful, picking his words with expertise. Rosalyn's heart warmed as she was disarmed by his kindness.

"Bu—"

"And that is all I will hear of this matter anymore." He turned around and lay down on the sofa again, ignoring his wife. She was left standing awkwardly, not knowing where to look nor what to do. "Rest well, Rosalyn."

She pressed her lips together, trying to repress the smile behind them. She walked back to the giant bed and lay down on the corner, close to the edge. She placed some of the pillows behind her back, caging herself into a smaller space, but making herself feel more comfortable.

Neither of them could fall asleep at first, staring at the wall, the ceiling, whatever was in their range. She wanted her heart to stop racing, and he wanted nothing more than to get up again. When sleep finally found them, hours had already passed, and Valarr did not doze off completely, waking up several times throughout the night.

When light peeked through the curtains the next morning, Rosalyn opened her eyes slowly, turning toward the light as she gently stretched her arms. She brought her hand up to her mouth as she yawned, blinking twice as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of day. But when she realized where she was—and with whom—she shot upward with disheveled hair and drowsy eyes. Her gaze roamed through the entire chamber, stopping at the empty sofa. Valarr was gone.

As she stood slowly, her bare feet touching the cold stone, she walked toward it and found a small note on the table next to the sofa.

V.

I shall see you at noon.

I hope sleep found you quickly.

A smile danced on her lips as she held the paper, happy that he had not simply left without any word. While she was glad she did not have to face him so early, she was also slightly disappointed that he had left. A confusing sensation, really.

Two knocks came at the door, and she turned toward them.

"My lady, may we come in?" She recognized the voices—the three women who had helped her prepare for supper on her first night. "You must break fast before attending your lessons with the septas."

The day had just begun.

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He didn’t declare his own claim. Her oldest met with Jaehaerys and the two reached a conclusion: While Jaehaerys ruled the children of the Tyrell queen would go to her home and they would remain family, but never enemies. Jaehawrys would not interfere or interject his own thoughts on his cousin’s siblings or their dragons.

So they shook hands and Aegon ii placed a crown on his cousin’s head. YN wrote to her loved ones that her and her children were coming home. Everything was arranged within a fortnight and the queen went home with her children. They traveled day and night, never stopping long enough to impede their journey. YN continuously looked out the window of her carriage as they got closer to the reach. And when they came across familiar meadows and trees she grew excited.

She could almost taste it. Smell it. Feel it. The wind of the Reach. The gardens of Highgarden. The arms of her parents. She was so close. Her children who rode in the carriage with her could feel her vibrate in her spot. Her younger daughters sat either side of her while she held her youngest two in her arms.

“Mama. Will grandpa and grandma like us?” Her daughter Anna asked, she had been nervous to meet the people who made her mother.

“Of course they will. They had nothing but love to say in the letters they sent to me.” YN reassured her daughter.

“Will they want to know our Valyrian names?” Jeyne asked, looking out the window and petting her dragon that laid in her lap.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell them your Valyrian names and they’ll ask what you’d like to be called.” YN said whilst looking at the pink dragon that was the size of medium sized dog. Her youngest daughter clutched a small dragon that was the size of a kitten.

She looked across the carriage at her sweet soft son, Robin. He hadn’t gone by Rhaegar ever since his father died. She looked out the window at the sky to catch a glimpse of her older children riding their dragons together. The beasts were large enough to carry their weights.

The man driving the carriage called out to her. “Nearly there, m’lady. I can see it now.”

YN held her breath as the road became familiar once again. Like nothing had changed since she left. Everything was waiting for her just as it had always been. Familiar markers came across and she recognized the hedge maze that surrounded her home. They crossed through and then came up to the castle. She heard a shout and placed her children in their older brother’s arms. Kissing him on the forehead.

“YN!!” Her mother’s voice rang out. And Yn nearly fainted. But she collected herself and practically ripped the door open.

There standing a few feet away from her was her mother and father. Her mother with her wide brown eyes and messy looking hair. It looked like she hadn’t slept from excitement. Her father was holding back tears and he held his wife’s hand. Holding her up so she wouldn’t collapse from her joy. Her mother quickly let go of her father and ran toward YN. Arms out crying from joy. YN leapt from the carriage and ran toward her mother.

The women collided and wrapped arms around each other. YN began crying like she’d never cried before. Her mother kissed her face and hair. It was like nothing mattered anymore. YN had kept her mother and sisters away to protect them, now they were safe and together again.

“My baby! My baby girl! My YN! You came back to me! You’re here!” Her mother cried.

“I’m home. I’m home mommy. I’ll never leave again.” YN answered.

She barely noticed her surroundings. Her older children landed with their dragons, her younger children exited the carriage and stood nervously together. She noticed when her father came up and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Almost painfully she pulled away from YN and placed another kiss on her forehead. YN looked away from her mother and stared at her father. He looked older now. His gray brown hair from before had become mostly gray. But his smiled at his daughter and she saw he had not changed his smile. YN hiccupped and touched her father’s face.

“YN. My darling lily.” He said. And that broke her staring.

She jumped into her father’s arms and held him tight. “Daddy!”

He let out a few tears and held his daughter tight. Whispering words of love and reassurance to his youngest daughter. He only pulled back to look at her face. Her face had grown into a woman’s face. Her hair grew darker and her cheeks still full. YN finally let go of her father and shouted in alarm when someone came up behind her and lifted her in the air, spinning her around.

Orwen, her older brother, the third son. He laughed and held her tight. When he put her down she was grabbed by two pairs of familiar hands.

Her sisters pulled her into a group hug and laughed and they held her tight. They jumped in place and kissed their little sister all over her face. When YN saw her sisters were holding her she grabbed both of them and hugged them tight.

They let her go when her older brother Evris, the youngest son, came up and wrapped his arms around his sister. He held her tight and whispered that he missed her in her ear.

A calmer voice came up and pulled YN into his arms. Braedon, her older brother and twin to his older brother. He held her tight and spun her around. He didn’t want to let her go.

YN looked around and expected to see her oldest brother, Camren. And when she saw him, she smiled. He was crouching in front of his nieces and nephews. Holding his oldest niece’s hand. He looked up and smiled at his sister. Bringing the children to the family and hugging his sister when he got close. YN looked at her children when she pulled away, and when free she opened her arms and they all hugged their mother.

Once she was done hugging, she grabbed her older son’s, Colin’s hand. The children put on a brave face and looked at their mother’s family. The children were worried they wouldn’t be accepted. That they would remind their mother’s family of Maegor and they would be sent away.

But Alessa, their grandmother, smiled and opened her arms to her grandchildren. Of all of them, it was Quentin who took the chance to hug his grandmother.

“Hello, my dear one.” Alessa said.

The others stepped forward and just melded into their mother’s family. Their family. Camren picked up his older nephew, Robin. Kathlyn crouched down to her nieces, Anna and Jeyne. Harden picked up his youngest granddaughter, Melessa. Her youngest son grabbed the pants of her older brother, Orwen. The triplets all introduced themselves politely. A little nervous maybe but they were still polite.

“Well. Let’s all meet the rest of the family.” Harden said. He directed his family to the great hall where the other grandchildren were, as well as YN’s cousins and uncles.

The day moved past since everyone was having the time of their lives. Throughout the day, YN’s mother or sisters would come up to her and just touch her softly. A way to remind themselves that they were really loving this. She was here.

Sometime during the day a servant came up to her mother and whispered in her ear. She nodded and ordered everyone to the garden. While everyone ate they would be surrounded by the beauty of Highgarden. The children ran around the grass and played together. YN noticed her oldest son growing close to her older sister’s youngest daughter,Talla. She was younger by a year but they seemed close. Another servant came up to her mother and whispered in her ear. She nodded and came to YN.

“There’s someone waiting for you in the path of lilies.” She whispered and directed her daughter toward the familiar path.

YN wondered who would be waiting for her. But a thought came across her mind. A hope. Could it be? Did he wait for her all this time?

So she walked down the path. Her feet moved faster and faster. The thought that the person she loved so much was waiting for her made her breath go fast and her hands shake. Down the path she went till she came up to the familiar stone pavilion. The one that overlooked the water. And standing at the edge looking at the water was a familiar sight.

“Addam?…” She whispered and stared at the back of the person.

He turned around and her breath left her lungs. He was older. He had a bit of facial hair. His hair was the same length. He looked tired. But he was still Addam. He smiled at her and rather than letting her walk to him, he came to her. She reached out and he grabbed her hands gently. Bringing her knuckles to his lips and he kissed them gently. She closed her eyes and he pulled her into his arms.

Caressing her face, he looked down at her like she was the most precious thing he ever held. And to him she was. They brought their foreheads together and just breathed each other in. He swayed them back and forth. YN almost collapsed from the joy she felt. But he supported her.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked quietly. Scared that she would disappear if he raised his voice any higher.

“Kiss me. Please.” YN whispered.

He held her face gently and placed one kiss on her forehead. One kiss on her eyelid. One kiss on her cheek. And finally kissing her lips. He was so gentle. A sharp contrast to Maegor. Addam would never take harshly. Addam would hold her like she was made of porcelain and gently dance his lips with hers. They two stayed connected and almost seemed devastated that they had to part to breathe.

“How long has it been?” YN asked when she looked back at him.

“Eleven years.” He whispered.

“I do love nothing so well as you.” YN said.

“You are the most precious thing I have ever held.” He responded.

They held each other tightly and gently. The world didn’t matter. Not when it was the two of them. She could almost forget Maegor when he held her.

And for a moment she did.

She was home.

@smooch-monster @gulnarsultan @sakuramochi1921 @sydneyyyya

YN Addam