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He quickly wetted his lips to hide the foolish grin threatening to spread across his face. He wondered, rather embarrassingly, whether this was how maidens felt whenever gallant knights dedicated victories to them during tourneys.
this part from chapter 9 still so funny to me. pretty princess valarr😼😼😼
Valarr IS the damsel in distress 🙂↕️!!
I love Valarr's character so much. He is such a nothingburger (in a lovely way) character, that every headcanon for him can be true. I dont have to worry about him being ooc.
I have three oneshot fics queued up in my drafts, all of them are partially complete. And i can't decide which one i want to complete first. So help me decide :)
Does not mean i wont complete others, it just means the rest will take more time to be published.
Kiera of Tyrosh x maid!reader (angst, hurt-comfort)
□ summary: What was meant to be forgotten refuses to fade. As guilt threatens to consume you, an unexpected proposal turns your world upside down, forcing truths into the light that neither you nor Valarr can hide any longer. Faced with a choice between duty and the desires of the heart, you discover that some mistakes cannot simply be undone.
□ word count: 4.7k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYY!! I cant even begin explaining the wild two weeks I have had. First i got hospitalized because of my sun allergies flaring up. Took 5 days to recover. Then there was a protest in my country against a f*cist cabinet minister and your girl ain't no scaredy cat. So i had to go to the protest, it lasted 3 days, and the coward government decided to turn off the internet in the 12 km radius of the protest site. But oh well, we won in the end and the minister resigned today. So yay!! Finally got the time and the internet to edit and post the chapter. So Thank you so much for waiting and reading. And especially for worrying about me. Love you guys! I will try to upload more frequently to make for the time lost. 🫶🏼💛
□ high valyrian translations: Gevie - beautiful, ñuha jorrāelagon - my love.
Chapter 10
Series Masterlist
Discover my other works here
The buzzing in your ears only seemed to grow louder every time your thoughts wandered back to what happened at the Godswood a few hours ago. Your throat closing up as you tried to think through the mush in your head.
You should have never let it happen. You should have stepped away, should have stopped him, or should have stopped yourself.
A shaky breath escaped your lips as another sob clawed its way up your throat. You sat on the floor of your chambers with your knees drawn tightly against your chest, your back pressed against the wooden door. It felt as though if you moved even the slightest bit, everything inside you would shatter completely.
You could still feel him. The softness of Valarr's lips against yours. The warmth of his hand cradling your cheek. The steady beat of his heart where your body had rested against his.
Even now, it lingered upon your skin, and every memory made your own heart ache with emotions you did not wish to name.
A tear rolled down your cheek.
How could you do this to Berena?
The thought alone made your stomach twist. You had already taken one sibling from her. Now you had kissed the man who was meant to become her husband. Your sister deserved happiness, she deserved to become queen, and most of all, she deserved a prince who would love her.
Instead, you had stood beneath the heart tree and kissed the very same prince. Your breathing became uneven as another wave of guilt crashed over you.
It had not only been him, the guilt would have been bearable if Valarr had forced himself upon you. But the reality was far from it.
You had kissed him back. A selfish part of you had melted into his touch, and had wanted the kiss to last just a little longer. That thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut.
"What have I done..." you whispered brokenly into the silence before a knock sounded against your chamber doors. The noise made you flinch.
"My lady?" Meera's voice came softly through the wood. "Please, let me in."
You swallowed hard and tried to steady your breathing.
"Meera..." Your voice cracked the moment you spoke, and you pressed your forehead against your knees. "Please, for the Old Gods' sake...leave me alone."
The last words dissolved into another sob before you could stop them. Silence lingered for only a heartbeat before Meera called again, her voice full of worry.
"My lady, at least tell me what has happened."
You stared blankly at the floor. What could you possibly tell her? That you had kissed your own sister's future husband? That you had destroyed everything before it had even begun? That despite every ounce of guilt tearing you apart, some shameful part of your heart still remembered the kiss with unbearable tenderness.
"I saw Prince Valarr," Meera continued carefully. "He looked troubled. The prince wished to speak with-"
"GET OUT!" The words ripped from your throat before you even realised you had spoken them. "I DO NOT WISH TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD ABOUT-"
Your voice broke and rest of the sentence died inside your chest. Your breathing came in ragged gasps as tears streamed freely down your face. One trembling hand clutched at the front of your dress, pressing desperately against the ache in your chest as though you could somehow stop your heart from breaking apart.
"Meera..." you whispered between uneven breaths. "I-"
Another sob interrupted you.
"I cannot..." Your hand flew to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the pathetic sounds of your crying.
On the other side of the door, Meera remained silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, her own voice sounded painfully small.
"My apologies, my lady. I will leave."
Her footsteps shifted, and for a brief moment, you thought she was gone.
"The prince..." she said hesitantly. "He asked me to tell you that he wished to apologise."
Your heart clenched so painfully you thought it might stop altogether.
"He said," Meera paused before continuing, "that he will wait. He said he would wait until you found it in your heart to forgive him."
Then the footsteps finally retreated down the corridor. The castle fell quiet once more, and you buried your face against your knees as another broken sob escaped you.
If only he knew. He was the one asking for forgiveness, when it was you who could never forgive yourself.
The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked, each step sinking into the untouched white until crimson began to stain your footprints behind you. The deeper you wandered into the Wolfswood, the darker crimson the sky became. What had once been pale winter light slowly bled into violent shades of red.
You wanted to stop. Gods, you wanted to turn around. Every instinct screamed at you to run back the way you had come, but your legs refused to obey. They carried you deeper between the ancient pines, your breathing growing harsher with every step as unease settled heavily inside your chest.
Then you saw him. Standing beneath the heart tree was a lone figure, his back turned towards you. The thick fur cloak resting across his shoulders was one you would recognise anywhere.
It was Donner's.
Your stomach twisted painfully. "No..." you whispered, though your feet continued moving of their own accord. "Please, Don't."
The distance between you vanished far too quickly. The moment you stopped behind him, the figure slowly turned, and your breath caught.
Donner stared back at you. Blood covered his face, dripping diwn from the wound carved across his brow and soaking the fur around his shoulders. A sword pierced clean through his throat, the blade protruding from the back of his neck. His lips trembled as though forcing themselves to move despite the steel lodged inside him.
"Y...you..." His voice came out wet and broken. "G...coward..."
Tears filled your eyes instantly. His blood pooled around his boots, spreading across the snow until it reached your own. Before you could move, another presence settled behind you, and a hand rested lightly upon your shoulder.
You turned to see Berena standing there. A silver crown rested upon her head, but blood poured endlessly from her eyes, staining her cheeks and the front of her dress. She looked at you with an expression so full of heartbreak that it shattered something inside your chest.
"Why?" she whispered, and her voice cracked. "Why did you do this to me, sister?"
"I didn't..." you breathed desperately. "Berena, I-"
Another hand grabbed your shoulder, and you spun again. It was William, his face was unreadable, and his eyes, once always so full of warmth whenever he looked at you, were empty.
"You betrayed her." His voice was calm. "You betrayed all of us."
"N-no..."
More footsteps echoed behind you.
Alyssane.
Errold.
One by one they emerged from the crimson forest until they surrounded you completely, their faces pale, their eyes hollow.
"How could you?"
"You betrayed her."
"Traitor."
"She trusted you."
"You selfish coward."
Their voices blended together, getting louder with each moment that passed until they no longer sounded human. Your hands flew to your ears, but it did nothing to silence them. The forest spun around you, and your breathing turned frantic as your throat tightened painfully.
You tried to inhale, but nothing worked. You clawed desperately at your neck, your lungs burning as panic consumed every inch of your body. The sky above had turned entirely red now, the snow beneath your feet turned into rivers of blood.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
It was another dream.
Gods, you hated these dreams.
Then, two arms wrapped carefully around you from behind, shielding you from everything else. The voices faded, and the crimson blurred. Your heartbeat, frantic only moments before, slowly found another pair of calm heartbeat.
"I am here." The voice was soft, and it sounded safe. You knew it instantly.
Valarr.
You turned within his embrace. He was looking down at you with those mismatched eyes you had begun recognising anywhere, concern etched across every feature of his face. His cloak surrounded you like a shield against the cold, one hand resting carefully against the back of your head as though afraid you might shatter beneath his touch.
Without thinking, your fingers clutched desperately at the front of his doublet.
He pulled you closer, and your forehead rested against his chest, right above his heart.
Each beat of his heart chased another shadow away until the blood disappeared from the snow, the crimson sky softened back into pale winter clouds, and every accusing face dissolved into the morning mist.
You looked back up at him, and he smiled.
How could one man look so beautiful? You thought to yourself.
"My lady," he murmured gently, and you nodded without realising. His thumb brushing lightly against your hair. "My lady..."
His voice sounded further away this time. "Please..." Another knock echoed through the silence.
"My lady."
The warmth vanished, and your eyes flew open. A loud knocking echoed through your chambers. For several confused moments you simply stared at the wooden floor beneath you, your mind still trapped somewhere between dream and reality. Then the ache spreading across your back made itself known, followed by the stiffness in your neck.
You had fallen asleep beside the door.
A groan escaped you as you slowly pushed yourself upright, rubbing a hand across your face. Every muscle protested the movement, and your head throbbed dully as memories from the previous night came rushing back all at once.
The Godswood.
Valarr.
The kiss.
Your chest tightened.
Another knock sounded, followed by a voice.
"My lady?" Sara called from the other side of the door. "Are you awake? Lady Stark has asked for your presence at breakfast."
You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Sara..." Your voice came out hoarse. "Please, I do not wish to attend breakfast."
A brief silence followed before Sara answered carefully. "Forgive me, my lady. But Prince Baelor has requested that everyone be present. He said there is an important matter he wishes to discuss."
Your heart lurched violently. A cold knot settled in your stomach.
You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the door before forcing yourself to answer.
"...I will be there."
The words barely left your mouth above a whisper, but they were enough. You turned slowly towards your room, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down upon your shoulders before it had even begun.
The walk to the Great Hall felt longer than any journey you had ever taken through Winterfell. Every step echoed against the stone corridors, slow and reluctant, as though your own body wished to turn around and lock itself inside your chambers again. Your head still ached as you pressed the heel of your palm against your temple, hoping it might somehow silence the memories before they drown you completely.
Then a familiar voice called your name. You froze for only the briefest of moments before looking over your shoulder.
Valarr stood a few paces behind you, dressed as impeccably as ever in a black doublet embroidered with crimson dragons, a fur-lined cloak resting across his shoulders. His hair looked slightly untidier than usual, as though he had run his hands through it one too many times, and the dark circles beneath his mismatched eyes made it painfully obvious that sleep had escaped him just as surely as it had escaped you.
You turned back around and resumed walking.
"My lady... please." His footsteps hurried after yours, careful but determined, and there was something in his voice that made your chest tighten painfully. He sounded exhausted.
"Please, just let me-"
You stopped so abruptly that Valarr nearly walked into you. Turning to face him, you found him halting barely two steps away, his hands instinctively clasping behind his back as they always did whenever he grew nervous. His eyes searched your face desperately, and the hope lingering inside them made what you were about to do hurt all the more.
"Look," you began, forcing every word past the lump lodged in your throat. "Whatever happened yesterday..."
"Yes," he interrupted quickly, relief flashing across his face. "I wished to apologise. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I only-"
"It was a mistake."
The words hung between you like the sharp edge of a blade.
You watched the colour slowly drain from his face. His brows knitted together, confusion giving way to something quieter, something infinitely sadder.
"I would be grateful," you continued before your own courage abandoned you, "if you could forget it ever happened, Your Grace."
For a long moment, he simply stared at you. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. His hand lifted almost unconsciously, reaching towards yours before stopping halfway. Slowly, almost uncertainly, he lowered it again.
"...A mistake," he repeated quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in something that almost resembled a laugh, though there was no humour behind it. Only disbelief.
"My lady..." His voice cracked ever so slightly before he cleared his throat. "If you would only allow me to explain and apologi-"
"There is nothing to explain."
You could feel your resolve beginning to crumble beneath the wounded look in his eyes, and that frightened you more than anything else. If you stayed another moment, you knew you would take every word back. You would tell him that you remembered every second of that kiss. That a part of you wished it had never ended. That your heart still betrayed you every time he looked at you like this.
You could never allow yourself to say those words. So you bowed stiffly, avoiding his gaze altogether before turning on your heel and walking towards the Great Hall as quickly as your trembling legs would carry you. You did not look back. You could not.
By the time you crossed the great wooden doors, your heartbeat had become so loud that it drowned out almost every other sound in the hall.
Nearly everyone had already gathered.
The long tables were filled with northern and southern lords alike, conversations flowing freely despite the early hour. Your family was already seated at the High Table alongside the royal family, and as you approached, you felt more than one pair of curious eyes following you. Whether they were wondering about yesterday's trial or simply waiting for whatever announcement Prince Baelor had summoned everyone for, you neither knew nor cared.
You offered polite greetings before slipping into your usual seat beside William.
Your brother barely spared you a glance before sliding a platter of eggs towards you.
"You look like you've been dragged through a battlefield," he observed casually, already halfway through his own breakfast.
A tired sigh escaped you.
"I feel like it."
William hummed thoughtfully before piling another spoonful of eggs onto your plate.
"For what it's worth," he said, lowering his voice, "Father thinks Prince Baelor is finally going to ask for Berena's hand today."
Your fingers froze around your fork. The words struck harder than they should have.
You swallowed carefully, forcing the tightness from your throat before managing what you hoped resembled a smile.
"That...would be good."
"Hm."
William looked at you properly now, suspicion flickering across his face.
"...You are happy?"
You let out a weak chuckle and forced yourself to meet his gaze.
"Of course I am. Our sister will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day."
The words tasted bitter. Before William could question you further, movement near the entrance caught everyone's attention.
Valarr had entered the hall. Against your better judgement, your eyes found him instantly, and his gaze was already searching for you.
When your eyes met, he didn't look away. There was no anger in his expression, only a sadness so open that it made your chest ache. He offered you the smallest smile, hesitant and hopeful all at once.
You looked away first, and a gentle hand settled over yours. You turned to find Berena standing beside you. She smiled warmly, the same gentle smile she had worn your entire life, and squeezed your hand affectionately before taking her seat. The simple gesture made guilt crash over you so violently that you had to look down at the table just to steady yourself.
How could you have done this to her?
Before you could drown any further in your thoughts, Prince Baelor rose from his seat.
The hall gradually fell silent.
"Lords and Ladies," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, "Forgive me for gathering everyone so early this morning. I wished for all present to witness a proposal that I believe will strengthen the bonds between the North and the Crown."
A hush settled over the hall. You folded your hands tightly beneath the table, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling growing inside your chest.
"I believe everyone here knows that my heir, Prince Valarr, has reached an age suitable for marriage."
Prince Baelor smiled.
"And I can think of no greater honour than joining our two great houses together."
Your pulse quickened.
This was it.
Berena.
Everything was finally falling back into place. You forced yourself to breathe.
Prince Baelor turned towards your father, warmth softening the diplomatic smile on his face.
"Therefore, Lord Stark...I wish to formally offer a betrothal between my son, Prince Valarr Targaryen..."
You closed your eyes briefly, silently praying that your own foolish heart would finally learn to let go. That this was what was supposed to happen and should happen.
"...and your eldest daughter, Lady-"
The world stopped, and your eyes flew open. For one endless heartbeat, you were convinced you had imagined it.
The hall remained utterly silent.
Your father looked just as stunned as you felt. Your mother blinked in open surprise. Even William had forgotten the fork halfway to his mouth. Around the hall, whispers began spreading like wildfire as nobles looked between you and Valarr in complete disbelief.
You turned towards the prince, but he was already looking at you. There was no surprise in his eyes, and beneath it, something quieter.
Hope.
Prince Baelor continued speaking, his voice warm despite the formal setting.
"If the lady herself is willing, Lord Stark, then I ask that you consider this proposal. Take whatever time you require. Yet I believe my son would be blessed with no finer wife...and the realm itself would be fortunate to one day call her their queen."
You barely heard the final words because you couldn't breathe. Slowly, almost mechanically, your head turned towards Berena.
She had lowered her gaze. Her fingers rested quietly in her lap, but you noticed the rapid blink of her eyes. You knew that look. You had seen it ever since childhood whenever she fought to keep herself from crying.
No.
This was wrong.
You had to stop this.
You need to refuse this.
You need to fix it.
You opened your mouth, but before a single word could escape, Berena's hand closed firmly around your wrist beneath the table.
The grip wasn't painful but pleading. You looked at her, she still hadn't raised her head. Only the smallest shake of it.
You stared at her in confusion, your own heart breaking all over again. A moment later, Berena quietly excused herself from the table.
Without looking at anyone, she turned and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving you frozen where you stood, her warmth still lingering around your wrist.
Your mother was the first to recover from the shock. You saw her lean towards your father, whispering something that you could not hear before she rose from her chair. Her eyes lingered on Berena's retreating figure for only a heartbeat before she excused herself and hurried after your sister, the worry etched across her face impossible to miss.
Your father remained seated. His eyes found yours across the hall, and for the first time since you had entered, you could not bear to look at him. Your lips trembled as you lowered your gaze to the table, your heartbeat echoing so loudly inside your ears that Prince Baelor's voice became nothing more than distant noise.
You had to fix this.
The moment the conversations resumed around the hall and the initial shock began to settle amongst the gathered nobles, you muttered a hurried apology and excused yourself before anyone could stop you. Your chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as you hurried towards the doors, your only thought being Berena.
You would apologise.
You would tell her that none of this should have happened.
That you would fix it, no matter what it took.
The corridors of Winterfell were strangely empty as you strode through them, your footsteps echoing sharply against the cold stone walls. Every turn brought you closer to your sister's chambers, yet your thoughts refused to settle. They crashed into one another in an endless storm of guilt, shame and fear until you could scarcely breathe.
"Gevie."
His voice stopped you in your tracks. The warmth that voice usually carried only made something inside you snap.
You turned around sharply. Valarr was hurrying towards you, his expression still carrying that unbearable mixture of hope and worry that had followed him ever since breakfast. His eyes searched your face desperately, as though he believed he could still fix whatever had broken between the two of you.
This time you felt nothing but anger. Before he could take another step, you crossed the distance in an instant.
Your hand caught the front of his doublet, shoving him backwards until his back struck the stone wall with a muffled thud. Your forearm came across his throat, pinning him there as your breathing turned ragged.
Valarr let out a startled gasp, his mismatched eyes widening in complete shock.
"How dare you!?" you hissed, your voice shaking with fury. "Did you tell your father what happened last night? Is that why this is happening?"
"N-No," he managed between shallow breaths. "My lady, I-"
You pressed harder against his throat.
"Why?" Tears blurred your vision. "Why would you do this to Berena? Is this some princely obligation? Because if this is about last night, then I already told you to forget it. It was a mistake."
Your voice cracked.
"It should never have happened."
"Gevie, please listen-"
"NO!"
The word echoed down the empty corridor.
"Listen to what? Listen while your father humiliates my sister before the entire North? Listen while everyone watches the man they all believed she would marry humiliate her?" Your chest rose and fell violently as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "I never once said I wanted to marry you. So why? Why would you allow this? Do you go around marrying every woman you have kissed?"
Valarr opened his mouth again, but you were no longer capable of stopping.
"If this is because of my honour, then I do not care about that honour." You laughed bitterly through your tears. "To the hells with my honour. Berena is kind. She is gentle. She will make a wonderful queen, and you will learn to love her."
Your voice became little more than a whisper.
"So please...just tell your father this was a mistake, please let him know that-"
Something changed in Valarr then. Until now he had stood there, letting every word strike him without protest.
This time, He moved. His hands caught your wrists—not roughly, but firmly enough that you could not pull away—and before you realised what had happened, he had gently but decisively switched your positions.
Your back met the stone wall, his breathing was just as uneven as yours. For the first time since you had known him, Prince Valarr raised his voice.
"I cannot love her because I love you!"
The words struck and your mind went completely blank.
The prince who blushed whenever you smiled at him, who apologised even when someone else stepped on his foot, who barely possessed the courage to meet your eyes some days...was standing before you with tears in his eyes, confessing his heart as though it were the simplest truth in the world.
Your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs. "I don't care-"
"But I do."
His voice was quieter now. He swallowed hard before continuing.
"I care, Gevie."
His fingers loosened around your wrists, though he never stepped away. His eyes searched yours desperately, carrying so many emotions that you could not begin to name them.
You tried to speak again, but he gently lifted a trembling hand, resting it lightly over your mouth.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "Please...let me speak this once."
You stared at him, his face was only inches from yours now.
"No...I never told my father what happened in the Godswood." He drew a shaky breath. "He summoned me because he wished to speak of you and Lady Berena."
You frowned at him as he smiled sadly.
"He told me that Lady Berena possesses every quality the southern court expects from its future queen. But then..."
His eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache.
"He told me that you...you are what the realm truly needs, what I truly need. And hearing my own father say those words made me realise just how blind I have been."
A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
"My feelings were so obvious that everyone could see them...except me."
He laughed quietly at himself, though it sounded painfully hollow.
"For the first time in my life..." he whispered, "I realised that perhaps...perhaps I could be selfish. That maybe I could want something simply because my own heart desired it."
His voice broke completely. "And what it desires," he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, "...is you."
The corridor seemed to disappear around you.
"When I look at you," he continued softly, "everything else becomes quieter. The expectations, the duties, the crown, they all disappear, and all that remains is you."
Another tear escaped him as you drew in a shaky breath through your nose.
"Whenever I look at you, it feels as though the Gods themselves wrote your name into every corner of my fate long before I was born."
He leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against yours, and his voice became barely more than a whisper.
"So no, ñuha jorrāelagon..." His breath trembled. "I will not tell my father this is a mistake." He let out a shaky laugh through his tears.
"Because it isn't. Because I love you."
The confession settled between the two of you with terrifying certainty.
"And for once in my life..." he whispered, "...I wish to be selfish." You felt his lips brush softly against your forehead as he placed a gentle kiss there. Then, he stepped back, putting the distance between you that he knew you needed.
You could only stare at him. Your thoughts refused to move, and your heart refused to obey.
After a long silence, Valarr spoke once more.
"But," he smiled sadly, wiping at his own eyes, "that does not mean I will ignore your wishes." He straightened himself. "If you truly do not want this, I will leave."
His voice remained calm despite the tears still shining in his eyes. "I will return to the King's Landing, and you will never have to see me again. But my heart will spend the rest of my life searching for you. I will grow old still wondering how your laughter sounded. I will die hoping the Seven Gods might allow me to see you one last time before the Stranger takes me."
His eyes held yours so gently that your chest physically hurt.
"Because my soul" he whispered, "has already become yours."
He reached for your hand one final time. His lips brushed across your knuckles with the same tenderness as before. Then he looked back up at you.
"And no..." The faintest smile appeared through his tears.
"I do not go around marrying every women I have kissed."
A small, embarrassed laugh escaped him.
"Because you are the first person i have kissed, and you will be the last."
With that, Valarr slowly released your hand. He bowed once, and turned around. You watched him disappear around the corner until the sound of his footsteps faded into silence.
Only then did your knees weaken. You leaned back against the cold stone wall, your breathing uneven, your fingers still tingling where he had held them.
Your heart and your mind had become a battlefield, and you did not know which one would win.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
□ summary: What was meant to be forgotten refuses to fade. As guilt threatens to consume you, an unexpected proposal turns your world upside down, forcing truths into the light that neither you nor Valarr can hide any longer. Faced with a choice between duty and the desires of the heart, you discover that some mistakes cannot simply be undone.
□ word count: 4.7k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYY!! I cant even begin explaining the wild two weeks I have had. First i got hospitalized because of my sun allergies flaring up. Took 5 days to recover. Then there was a protest in my country against a f*cist cabinet minister and your girl ain't no scaredy cat. So i had to go to the protest, it lasted 3 days, and the coward government decided to turn off the internet in the 12 km radius of the protest site. But oh well, we won in the end and the minister resigned today. So yay!! Finally got the time and the internet to edit and post the chapter. So Thank you so much for waiting and reading. And especially for worrying about me. Love you guys! I will try to upload more frequently to make for the time lost. 🫶🏼💛
Chapter 10
Series Masterlist
Discover my other works here
The buzzing in your ears only seemed to grow louder every time your thoughts wandered back to what happened at the Godswood a few hours ago. Your throat closing up as you tried to think through the mush in your head.
You should have never let it happen. You should have stepped away, should have stopped him, or should have stopped yourself.
A shaky breath escaped your lips as another sob clawed its way up your throat. You sat on the floor of your chambers with your knees drawn tightly against your chest, your back pressed against the wooden door. It felt as though if you moved even the slightest bit, everything inside you would shatter completely.
You could still feel him. The softness of Valarr's lips against yours. The warmth of his hand cradling your cheek. The steady beat of his heart where your body had rested against his.
Even now, it lingered upon your skin, and every memory made your own heart ache with emotions you did not wish to name.
A tear rolled down your cheek.
How could you do this to Berena?
The thought alone made your stomach twist. You had already taken one sibling from her. Now you had kissed the man who was meant to become her husband. Your sister deserved happiness, she deserved to become queen, and most of all, she deserved a prince who would love her.
Instead, you had stood beneath the heart tree and kissed the very same prince. Your breathing became uneven as another wave of guilt crashed over you.
It had not only been him, the guilt would have been bearable if Valarr had forced himself upon you. But the reality was far from it.
You had kissed him back. A selfish part of you had melted into his touch, and had wanted the kiss to last just a little longer. That thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut.
"What have I done..." you whispered brokenly into the silence before a knock sounded against your chamber doors. The noise made you flinch.
"My lady?" Meera's voice came softly through the wood. "Please, let me in."
You swallowed hard and tried to steady your breathing.
"Meera..." Your voice cracked the moment you spoke, and you pressed your forehead against your knees. "Please, for the Old Gods' sake...leave me alone."
The last words dissolved into another sob before you could stop them. Silence lingered for only a heartbeat before Meera called again, her voice full of worry.
"My lady, at least tell me what has happened."
You stared blankly at the floor. What could you possibly tell her? That you had kissed your own sister's future husband? That you had destroyed everything before it had even begun? That despite every ounce of guilt tearing you apart, some shameful part of your heart still remembered the kiss with unbearable tenderness.
"I saw Prince Valarr," Meera continued carefully. "He looked troubled. The prince wished to speak with-"
"GET OUT!" The words ripped from your throat before you even realised you had spoken them. "I DO NOT WISH TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD ABOUT-"
Your voice broke and rest of the sentence died inside your chest. Your breathing came in ragged gasps as tears streamed freely down your face. One trembling hand clutched at the front of your dress, pressing desperately against the ache in your chest as though you could somehow stop your heart from breaking apart.
"Meera..." you whispered between uneven breaths. "I-"
Another sob interrupted you.
"I cannot..." Your hand flew to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the pathetic sounds of your crying.
On the other side of the door, Meera remained silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, her own voice sounded painfully small.
"My apologies, my lady. I will leave."
Her footsteps shifted, and for a brief moment, you thought she was gone.
"The prince..." she said hesitantly. "He asked me to tell you that he wished to apologise."
Your heart clenched so painfully you thought it might stop altogether.
"He said," Meera paused before continuing, "that he will wait. He said he would wait until you found it in your heart to forgive him."
Then the footsteps finally retreated down the corridor. The castle fell quiet once more, and you buried your face against your knees as another broken sob escaped you.
If only he knew. He was the one asking for forgiveness, when it was you who could never forgive yourself.
The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked, each step sinking into the untouched white until crimson began to stain your footprints behind you. The deeper you wandered into the Wolfswood, the darker crimson the sky became. What had once been pale winter light slowly bled into violent shades of red.
You wanted to stop. Gods, you wanted to turn around. Every instinct screamed at you to run back the way you had come, but your legs refused to obey. They carried you deeper between the ancient pines, your breathing growing harsher with every step as unease settled heavily inside your chest.
Then you saw him. Standing beneath the heart tree was a lone figure, his back turned towards you. The thick fur cloak resting across his shoulders was one you would recognise anywhere.
It was Donner's.
Your stomach twisted painfully. "No..." you whispered, though your feet continued moving of their own accord. "Please, Don't."
The distance between you vanished far too quickly. The moment you stopped behind him, the figure slowly turned, and your breath caught.
Donner stared back at you. Blood covered his face, dripping diwn from the wound carved across his brow and soaking the fur around his shoulders. A sword pierced clean through his throat, the blade protruding from the back of his neck. His lips trembled as though forcing themselves to move despite the steel lodged inside him.
"Y...you..." His voice came out wet and broken. "G...coward..."
Tears filled your eyes instantly. His blood pooled around his boots, spreading across the snow until it reached your own. Before you could move, another presence settled behind you, and a hand rested lightly upon your shoulder.
You turned to see Berena standing there. A silver crown rested upon her head, but blood poured endlessly from her eyes, staining her cheeks and the front of her dress. She looked at you with an expression so full of heartbreak that it shattered something inside your chest.
"Why?" she whispered, and her voice cracked. "Why did you do this to me, sister?"
"I didn't..." you breathed desperately. "Berena, I-"
Another hand grabbed your shoulder, and you spun again. It was William, his face was unreadable, and his eyes, once always so full of warmth whenever he looked at you, were empty.
"You betrayed her." His voice was calm. "You betrayed all of us."
"N-no..."
More footsteps echoed behind you.
Alyssane.
Errold.
One by one they emerged from the crimson forest until they surrounded you completely, their faces pale, their eyes hollow.
"How could you?"
"You betrayed her."
"Traitor."
"She trusted you."
"You selfish coward."
Their voices blended together, getting louder with each moment that passed until they no longer sounded human. Your hands flew to your ears, but it did nothing to silence them. The forest spun around you, and your breathing turned frantic as your throat tightened painfully.
You tried to inhale, but nothing worked. You clawed desperately at your neck, your lungs burning as panic consumed every inch of your body. The sky above had turned entirely red now, the snow beneath your feet turned into rivers of blood.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
It was another dream.
Gods, you hated these dreams.
Then, two arms wrapped carefully around you from behind, shielding you from everything else. The voices faded, and the crimson blurred. Your heartbeat, frantic only moments before, slowly found another pair of calm heartbeat.
"I am here." The voice was soft, and it sounded safe. You knew it instantly.
Valarr.
You turned within his embrace. He was looking down at you with those mismatched eyes you had begun recognising anywhere, concern etched across every feature of his face. His cloak surrounded you like a shield against the cold, one hand resting carefully against the back of your head as though afraid you might shatter beneath his touch.
Without thinking, your fingers clutched desperately at the front of his doublet.
He pulled you closer, and your forehead rested against his chest, right above his heart.
Each beat of his heart chased another shadow away until the blood disappeared from the snow, the crimson sky softened back into pale winter clouds, and every accusing face dissolved into the morning mist.
You looked back up at him, and he smiled.
How could one man look so beautiful? You thought to yourself.
"My lady," he murmured gently, and you nodded without realising. His thumb brushing lightly against your hair. "My lady..."
His voice sounded further away this time. "Please..." Another knock echoed through the silence.
"My lady."
The warmth vanished, and your eyes flew open. A loud knocking echoed through your chambers. For several confused moments you simply stared at the wooden floor beneath you, your mind still trapped somewhere between dream and reality. Then the ache spreading across your back made itself known, followed by the stiffness in your neck.
You had fallen asleep beside the door.
A groan escaped you as you slowly pushed yourself upright, rubbing a hand across your face. Every muscle protested the movement, and your head throbbed dully as memories from the previous night came rushing back all at once.
The Godswood.
Valarr.
The kiss.
Your chest tightened.
Another knock sounded, followed by a voice.
"My lady?" Sara called from the other side of the door. "Are you awake? Lady Stark has asked for your presence at breakfast."
You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Sara..." Your voice came out hoarse. "Please, I do not wish to attend breakfast."
A brief silence followed before Sara answered carefully. "Forgive me, my lady. But Prince Baelor has requested that everyone be present. He said there is an important matter he wishes to discuss."
Your heart lurched violently. A cold knot settled in your stomach.
You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the door before forcing yourself to answer.
"...I will be there."
The words barely left your mouth above a whisper, but they were enough. You turned slowly towards your room, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down upon your shoulders before it had even begun.
The walk to the Great Hall felt longer than any journey you had ever taken through Winterfell. Every step echoed against the stone corridors, slow and reluctant, as though your own body wished to turn around and lock itself inside your chambers again. Your head still ached as you pressed the heel of your palm against your temple, hoping it might somehow silence the memories before they drown you completely.
Then a familiar voice called your name. You froze for only the briefest of moments before looking over your shoulder.
Valarr stood a few paces behind you, dressed as impeccably as ever in a black doublet embroidered with crimson dragons, a fur-lined cloak resting across his shoulders. His hair looked slightly untidier than usual, as though he had run his hands through it one too many times, and the dark circles beneath his mismatched eyes made it painfully obvious that sleep had escaped him just as surely as it had escaped you.
You turned back around and resumed walking.
"My lady... please." His footsteps hurried after yours, careful but determined, and there was something in his voice that made your chest tighten painfully. He sounded exhausted.
"Please, just let me-"
You stopped so abruptly that Valarr nearly walked into you. Turning to face him, you found him halting barely two steps away, his hands instinctively clasping behind his back as they always did whenever he grew nervous. His eyes searched your face desperately, and the hope lingering inside them made what you were about to do hurt all the more.
"Look," you began, forcing every word past the lump lodged in your throat. "Whatever happened yesterday..."
"Yes," he interrupted quickly, relief flashing across his face. "I wished to apologise. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I only-"
"It was a mistake."
The words hung between you like the sharp edge of a blade.
You watched the colour slowly drain from his face. His brows knitted together, confusion giving way to something quieter, something infinitely sadder.
"I would be grateful," you continued before your own courage abandoned you, "if you could forget it ever happened, Your Grace."
For a long moment, he simply stared at you. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. His hand lifted almost unconsciously, reaching towards yours before stopping halfway. Slowly, almost uncertainly, he lowered it again.
"...A mistake," he repeated quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in something that almost resembled a laugh, though there was no humour behind it. Only disbelief.
"My lady..." His voice cracked ever so slightly before he cleared his throat. "If you would only allow me to explain and apologi-"
"There is nothing to explain."
You could feel your resolve beginning to crumble beneath the wounded look in his eyes, and that frightened you more than anything else. If you stayed another moment, you knew you would take every word back. You would tell him that you remembered every second of that kiss. That a part of you wished it had never ended. That your heart still betrayed you every time he looked at you like this.
You could never allow yourself to say those words. So you bowed stiffly, avoiding his gaze altogether before turning on your heel and walking towards the Great Hall as quickly as your trembling legs would carry you. You did not look back. You could not.
By the time you crossed the great wooden doors, your heartbeat had become so loud that it drowned out almost every other sound in the hall.
Nearly everyone had already gathered.
The long tables were filled with northern and southern lords alike, conversations flowing freely despite the early hour. Your family was already seated at the High Table alongside the royal family, and as you approached, you felt more than one pair of curious eyes following you. Whether they were wondering about yesterday's trial or simply waiting for whatever announcement Prince Baelor had summoned everyone for, you neither knew nor cared.
You offered polite greetings before slipping into your usual seat beside William.
Your brother barely spared you a glance before sliding a platter of eggs towards you.
"You look like you've been dragged through a battlefield," he observed casually, already halfway through his own breakfast.
A tired sigh escaped you.
"I feel like it."
William hummed thoughtfully before piling another spoonful of eggs onto your plate.
"For what it's worth," he said, lowering his voice, "Father thinks Prince Baelor is finally going to ask for Berena's hand today."
Your fingers froze around your fork. The words struck harder than they should have.
You swallowed carefully, forcing the tightness from your throat before managing what you hoped resembled a smile.
"That...would be good."
"Hm."
William looked at you properly now, suspicion flickering across his face.
"...You are happy?"
You let out a weak chuckle and forced yourself to meet his gaze.
"Of course I am. Our sister will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day."
The words tasted bitter. Before William could question you further, movement near the entrance caught everyone's attention.
Valarr had entered the hall. Against your better judgement, your eyes found him instantly, and his gaze was already searching for you.
When your eyes met, he didn't look away. There was no anger in his expression, only a sadness so open that it made your chest ache. He offered you the smallest smile, hesitant and hopeful all at once.
You looked away first, and a gentle hand settled over yours. You turned to find Berena standing beside you. She smiled warmly, the same gentle smile she had worn your entire life, and squeezed your hand affectionately before taking her seat. The simple gesture made guilt crash over you so violently that you had to look down at the table just to steady yourself.
How could you have done this to her?
Before you could drown any further in your thoughts, Prince Baelor rose from his seat.
The hall gradually fell silent.
"Lords and Ladies," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, "Forgive me for gathering everyone so early this morning. I wished for all present to witness a proposal that I believe will strengthen the bonds between the North and the Crown."
A hush settled over the hall. You folded your hands tightly beneath the table, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling growing inside your chest.
"I believe everyone here knows that my heir, Prince Valarr, has reached an age suitable for marriage."
Prince Baelor smiled.
"And I can think of no greater honour than joining our two great houses together."
Your pulse quickened.
This was it.
Berena.
Everything was finally falling back into place. You forced yourself to breathe.
Prince Baelor turned towards your father, warmth softening the diplomatic smile on his face.
"Therefore, Lord Stark... I wish to formally offer a betrothal between my son, Prince Valarr Targaryen..."
You closed your eyes briefly, silently praying that your own foolish heart would finally learn to let go. That this was what was supposed to happen and should happen.
"...and your eldest daughter, Lady-"
The world stopped, and your eyes flew open. For one endless heartbeat, you were convinced you had imagined it.
The hall remained utterly silent.
Your father looked just as stunned as you felt. Your mother blinked in open surprise. Even William had forgotten the fork halfway to his mouth. Around the hall, whispers began spreading like wildfire as nobles looked between you and Valarr in complete disbelief.
You turned towards the prince, but he was already looking at you. There was no surprise in his eyes, and beneath it, something quieter.
Hope.
Prince Baelor continued speaking, his voice warm despite the formal setting.
"If the lady herself is willing, Lord Stark, then I ask that you consider this proposal. Take whatever time you require. Yet I believe my son would be blessed with no finer wife...and the realm itself would be fortunate to one day call her their queen."
You barely heard the final words because you couldn't breathe. Slowly, almost mechanically, your head turned towards Berena.
She had lowered her gaze. Her fingers rested quietly in her lap, but you noticed the rapid blink of her eyes. You knew that look. You had seen it ever since childhood whenever she fought to keep herself from crying.
No.
This was wrong.
You had to stop this.
You need to refuse this.
You need to fix it.
You opened your mouth, but before a single word could escape, Berena's hand closed firmly around your wrist beneath the table.
The grip wasn't painful but pleading. You looked at her, she still hadn't raised her head. Only the smallest shake of it.
You stared at her in confusion, your own heart breaking all over again. A moment later, Berena quietly excused herself from the table.
Without looking at anyone, she turned and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving you frozen where you stood, her warmth still lingering around your wrist.
Your mother was the first to recover from the shock. You saw her lean towards your father, whispering something that you could not hear before she rose from her chair. Her eyes lingered on Berena's retreating figure for only a heartbeat before she excused herself and hurried after your sister, the worry etched across her face impossible to miss.
Your father remained seated. His eyes found yours across the hall, and for the first time since you had entered, you could not bear to look at him. Your lips trembled as you lowered your gaze to the table, your heartbeat echoing so loudly inside your ears that Prince Baelor's voice became nothing more than distant noise.
You had to fix this.
The moment the conversations resumed around the hall and the initial shock began to settle amongst the gathered nobles, you muttered a hurried apology and excused yourself before anyone could stop you. Your chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as you hurried towards the doors, your only thought being Berena.
You would apologise.
You would tell her that none of this should have happened.
That you would fix it, no matter what it took.
The corridors of Winterfell were strangely empty as you strode through them, your footsteps echoing sharply against the cold stone walls. Every turn brought you closer to your sister's chambers, yet your thoughts refused to settle. They crashed into one another in an endless storm of guilt, shame and fear until you could scarcely breathe.
"Gevie."
His voice stopped you in your tracks. The warmth that voice usually carried only made something inside you snap.
You turned around sharply. Valarr was hurrying towards you, his expression still carrying that unbearable mixture of hope and worry that had followed him ever since breakfast. His eyes searched your face desperately, as though he believed he could still fix whatever had broken between the two of you.
This time you felt nothing but anger. Before he could take another step, you crossed the distance in an instant.
Your hand caught the front of his doublet, shoving him backwards until his back struck the stone wall with a muffled thud. Your forearm came across his throat, pinning him there as your breathing turned ragged.
Valarr let out a startled gasp, his mismatched eyes widening in complete shock.
"How dare you!?" you hissed, your voice shaking with fury. "Did you tell your father what happened last night? Is that why this is happening?"
"N-No," he managed between shallow breaths. "My lady, I-"
You pressed harder against his throat.
"Why?" Tears blurred your vision. "Why would you do this to Berena? Is this some princely obligation? Because if this is about last night, then I already told you to forget it. It was a mistake."
Your voice cracked.
"It should never have happened."
"Gevie, please listen-"
"NO!"
The word echoed down the empty corridor.
"Listen to what? Listen while your father humiliates my sister before the entire North? Listen while everyone watches the man they all believed she would marry humiliate her?" Your chest rose and fell violently as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "I never once said I wanted to marry you. So why? Why would you allow this? Do you go around marrying every woman you have kissed?"
Valarr opened his mouth again, but you were no longer capable of stopping.
"If this is because of my honour, then I do not care about that honour." You laughed bitterly through your tears. "To the hells with my honour. Berena is kind. She is gentle. She will make a wonderful queen, and you will learn to love her."
Your voice became little more than a whisper.
"So please...just tell your father this was a mistake, please let him know that-"
Something changed in Valarr then. Until now he had stood there, letting every word strike him without protest.
This time, He moved. His hands caught your wrists—not roughly, but firmly enough that you could not pull away—and before you realised what had happened, he had gently but decisively switched your positions.
Your back met the stone wall, his breathing was just as uneven as yours. For the first time since you had known him, Prince Valarr raised his voice.
"I cannot love her because I love you!"
The words struck and your mind went completely blank.
The prince who blushed whenever you smiled at him, who apologised even when someone else stepped on his foot, who barely possessed the courage to meet your eyes some days...was standing before you with tears in his eyes, confessing his heart as though it were the simplest truth in the world.
Your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs. "I don't care-"
"But I do."
His voice was quieter now. He swallowed hard before continuing.
"I care, Gevie."
His fingers loosened around your wrists, though he never stepped away. His eyes searched yours desperately, carrying so many emotions that you could not begin to name them.
You tried to speak again, but he gently lifted a trembling hand, resting it lightly over your mouth.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "Please...let me speak this once."
You stared at him, his face was only inches from yours now.
"No...I never told my father what happened in the Godswood." He drew a shaky breath. "He summoned me because he wished to speak of you and Lady Berena."
You frowned at him as he smiled sadly.
"He told me that Lady Berena possesses every quality the southern court expects from its future queen. But then..."
His eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache.
"He told me that you...you are what the realm truly needs, what I truly need. And hearing my own father say those words made me realise just how blind I have been."
A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
"My feelings were so obvious that everyone could see them...except me."
He laughed quietly at himself, though it sounded painfully hollow.
"For the first time in my life..." he whispered, "I realised that perhaps...perhaps I could be selfish. That maybe I could want something simply because my own heart desired it."
His voice broke completely. "And what it desires," he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, "...is you."
The corridor seemed to disappear around you.
"When I look at you," he continued softly, "everything else becomes quieter. The expectations, the duties, the crown, they all disappear, and all that remains is you."
Another tear escaped him as you drew in a shaky breath through your nose.
"Whenever I look at you, it feels as though the Gods themselves wrote your name into every corner of my fate long before I was born."
He leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against yours, and his voice became barely more than a whisper.
"So no, ñuha jorrāelagon..." His breath trembled. "I will not tell my father this is a mistake." He let out a shaky laugh through his tears.
"Because it isn't. Because I love you."
The confession settled between the two of you with terrifying certainty.
"And for once in my life..." he whispered, "...I wish to be selfish." You felt his lips brush softly against your forehead as he placed a gentle kiss there. Then, he stepped back, putting the distance between you that he knew you needed.
You could only stare at him. Your thoughts refused to move, and your heart refused to obey.
After a long silence, Valarr spoke once more.
"But," he smiled sadly, wiping at his own eyes, "that does not mean I will ignore your wishes." He straightened himself. "If you truly do not want this, I will leave."
His voice remained calm despite the tears still shining in his eyes. "I will return to the King's Landing, and you will never have to see me again. But my heart will spend the rest of my life searching for you. I will grow old still wondering how your laughter sounded. I will die hoping the Seven Gods might allow me to see you one last time before the Stranger takes me."
His eyes held yours so gently that your chest physically hurt.
"Because my soul" he whispered, "has already become yours."
He reached for your hand one final time. His lips brushed across your knuckles with the same tenderness as before. Then he looked back up at you.
"And no..." The faintest smile appeared through his tears.
"I do not go around marrying every women I have kissed."
A small, embarrassed laugh escaped him.
"Because you are the first person i have kissed, and you will be the last."
With that, Valarr slowly released your hand. He bowed once, and turned around. You watched him disappear around the corner until the sound of his footsteps faded into silence.
Only then did your knees weaken. You leaned back against the cold stone wall, your breathing uneven, your fingers still tingling where he had held them.
Your heart and your mind had become a battlefield, and you did not know which one would win.
□ summary: What was meant to be forgotten refuses to fade. As guilt threatens to consume you, an unexpected proposal turns your world upside down, forcing truths into the light that neither you nor Valarr can hide any longer. Faced with a choice between duty and the desires of the heart, you discover that some mistakes cannot simply be undone.
□ word count: 4.7k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, mentions of blood and slight gore, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYY!! I cant even begin explaining the wild two weeks I have had. First i got hospitalized because of my sun allergies flaring up. Took 5 days to recover. Then there was a protest in my country against a f*cist cabinet minister and your girl ain't no scaredy cat. So i had to go to the protest, it lasted 3 days, and the coward government decided to turn off the internet in the 12 km radius of the protest site. But oh well, we won in the end and the minister resigned today. So yay!! Finally got the time and the internet to edit and post the chapter. So Thank you so much for waiting and reading. And especially for worrying about me. Love you guys! I will try to upload more frequently to make for the time lost. 🫶🏼💛
□ high valyrian translations: Gevie - beautiful, ñuha jorrāelagon - my love.
Chapter 10
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The buzzing in your ears only seemed to grow louder every time your thoughts wandered back to what happened at the Godswood a few hours ago. Your throat closing up as you tried to think through the mush in your head.
You should have never let it happen. You should have stepped away, should have stopped him, or should have stopped yourself.
A shaky breath escaped your lips as another sob clawed its way up your throat. You sat on the floor of your chambers with your knees drawn tightly against your chest, your back pressed against the wooden door. It felt as though if you moved even the slightest bit, everything inside you would shatter completely.
You could still feel him. The softness of Valarr's lips against yours. The warmth of his hand cradling your cheek. The steady beat of his heart where your body had rested against his.
Even now, it lingered upon your skin, and every memory made your own heart ache with emotions you did not wish to name.
A tear rolled down your cheek.
How could you do this to Berena?
The thought alone made your stomach twist. You had already taken one sibling from her. Now you had kissed the man who was meant to become her husband. Your sister deserved happiness, she deserved to become queen, and most of all, she deserved a prince who would love her.
Instead, you had stood beneath the heart tree and kissed the very same prince. Your breathing became uneven as another wave of guilt crashed over you.
It had not only been him, the guilt would have been bearable if Valarr had forced himself upon you. But the reality was far from it.
You had kissed him back. A selfish part of you had melted into his touch, and had wanted the kiss to last just a little longer. That thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut.
"What have I done..." you whispered brokenly into the silence before a knock sounded against your chamber doors. The noise made you flinch.
"My lady?" Meera's voice came softly through the wood. "Please, let me in."
You swallowed hard and tried to steady your breathing.
"Meera..." Your voice cracked the moment you spoke, and you pressed your forehead against your knees. "Please, for the Old Gods' sake...leave me alone."
The last words dissolved into another sob before you could stop them. Silence lingered for only a heartbeat before Meera called again, her voice full of worry.
"My lady, at least tell me what has happened."
You stared blankly at the floor. What could you possibly tell her? That you had kissed your own sister's future husband? That you had destroyed everything before it had even begun? That despite every ounce of guilt tearing you apart, some shameful part of your heart still remembered the kiss with unbearable tenderness.
"I saw Prince Valarr," Meera continued carefully. "He looked troubled. The prince wished to speak with-"
"GET OUT!" The words ripped from your throat before you even realised you had spoken them. "I DO NOT WISH TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD ABOUT-"
Your voice broke and rest of the sentence died inside your chest. Your breathing came in ragged gasps as tears streamed freely down your face. One trembling hand clutched at the front of your dress, pressing desperately against the ache in your chest as though you could somehow stop your heart from breaking apart.
"Meera..." you whispered between uneven breaths. "I-"
Another sob interrupted you.
"I cannot..." Your hand flew to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the pathetic sounds of your crying.
On the other side of the door, Meera remained silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, her own voice sounded painfully small.
"My apologies, my lady. I will leave."
Her footsteps shifted, and for a brief moment, you thought she was gone.
"The prince..." she said hesitantly. "He asked me to tell you that he wished to apologise."
Your heart clenched so painfully you thought it might stop altogether.
"He said," Meera paused before continuing, "that he will wait. He said he would wait until you found it in your heart to forgive him."
Then the footsteps finally retreated down the corridor. The castle fell quiet once more, and you buried your face against your knees as another broken sob escaped you.
If only he knew. He was the one asking for forgiveness, when it was you who could never forgive yourself.
The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked, each step sinking into the untouched white until crimson began to stain your footprints behind you. The deeper you wandered into the Wolfswood, the darker crimson the sky became. What had once been pale winter light slowly bled into violent shades of red.
You wanted to stop. Gods, you wanted to turn around. Every instinct screamed at you to run back the way you had come, but your legs refused to obey. They carried you deeper between the ancient pines, your breathing growing harsher with every step as unease settled heavily inside your chest.
Then you saw him. Standing beneath the heart tree was a lone figure, his back turned towards you. The thick fur cloak resting across his shoulders was one you would recognise anywhere.
It was Donner's.
Your stomach twisted painfully. "No..." you whispered, though your feet continued moving of their own accord. "Please, Don't."
The distance between you vanished far too quickly. The moment you stopped behind him, the figure slowly turned, and your breath caught.
Donner stared back at you. Blood covered his face, dripping diwn from the wound carved across his brow and soaking the fur around his shoulders. A sword pierced clean through his throat, the blade protruding from the back of his neck. His lips trembled as though forcing themselves to move despite the steel lodged inside him.
"Y...you..." His voice came out wet and broken. "G...coward..."
Tears filled your eyes instantly. His blood pooled around his boots, spreading across the snow until it reached your own. Before you could move, another presence settled behind you, and a hand rested lightly upon your shoulder.
You turned to see Berena standing there. A silver crown rested upon her head, but blood poured endlessly from her eyes, staining her cheeks and the front of her dress. She looked at you with an expression so full of heartbreak that it shattered something inside your chest.
"Why?" she whispered, and her voice cracked. "Why did you do this to me, sister?"
"I didn't..." you breathed desperately. "Berena, I-"
Another hand grabbed your shoulder, and you spun again. It was William, his face was unreadable, and his eyes, once always so full of warmth whenever he looked at you, were empty.
"You betrayed her." His voice was calm. "You betrayed all of us."
"N-no..."
More footsteps echoed behind you.
Alyssane.
Errold.
One by one they emerged from the crimson forest until they surrounded you completely, their faces pale, their eyes hollow.
"How could you?"
"You betrayed her."
"Traitor."
"She trusted you."
"You selfish coward."
Their voices blended together, getting louder with each moment that passed until they no longer sounded human. Your hands flew to your ears, but it did nothing to silence them. The forest spun around you, and your breathing turned frantic as your throat tightened painfully.
You tried to inhale, but nothing worked. You clawed desperately at your neck, your lungs burning as panic consumed every inch of your body. The sky above had turned entirely red now, the snow beneath your feet turned into rivers of blood.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
It was another dream.
Gods, you hated these dreams.
Then, two arms wrapped carefully around you from behind, shielding you from everything else. The voices faded, and the crimson blurred. Your heartbeat, frantic only moments before, slowly found another pair of calm heartbeat.
"I am here." The voice was soft, and it sounded safe. You knew it instantly.
Valarr.
You turned within his embrace. He was looking down at you with those mismatched eyes you had begun recognising anywhere, concern etched across every feature of his face. His cloak surrounded you like a shield against the cold, one hand resting carefully against the back of your head as though afraid you might shatter beneath his touch.
Without thinking, your fingers clutched desperately at the front of his doublet.
He pulled you closer, and your forehead rested against his chest, right above his heart.
Each beat of his heart chased another shadow away until the blood disappeared from the snow, the crimson sky softened back into pale winter clouds, and every accusing face dissolved into the morning mist.
You looked back up at him, and he smiled.
How could one man look so beautiful? You thought to yourself.
"My lady," he murmured gently, and you nodded without realising. His thumb brushing lightly against your hair. "My lady..."
His voice sounded further away this time. "Please..." Another knock echoed through the silence.
"My lady."
The warmth vanished, and your eyes flew open. A loud knocking echoed through your chambers. For several confused moments you simply stared at the wooden floor beneath you, your mind still trapped somewhere between dream and reality. Then the ache spreading across your back made itself known, followed by the stiffness in your neck.
You had fallen asleep beside the door.
A groan escaped you as you slowly pushed yourself upright, rubbing a hand across your face. Every muscle protested the movement, and your head throbbed dully as memories from the previous night came rushing back all at once.
The Godswood.
Valarr.
The kiss.
Your chest tightened.
Another knock sounded, followed by a voice.
"My lady?" Sara called from the other side of the door. "Are you awake? Lady Stark has asked for your presence at breakfast."
You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Sara..." Your voice came out hoarse. "Please, I do not wish to attend breakfast."
A brief silence followed before Sara answered carefully. "Forgive me, my lady. But Prince Baelor has requested that everyone be present. He said there is an important matter he wishes to discuss."
Your heart lurched violently. A cold knot settled in your stomach.
You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the door before forcing yourself to answer.
"...I will be there."
The words barely left your mouth above a whisper, but they were enough. You turned slowly towards your room, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down upon your shoulders before it had even begun.
The walk to the Great Hall felt longer than any journey you had ever taken through Winterfell. Every step echoed against the stone corridors, slow and reluctant, as though your own body wished to turn around and lock itself inside your chambers again. Your head still ached as you pressed the heel of your palm against your temple, hoping it might somehow silence the memories before they drown you completely.
Then a familiar voice called your name. You froze for only the briefest of moments before looking over your shoulder.
Valarr stood a few paces behind you, dressed as impeccably as ever in a black doublet embroidered with crimson dragons, a fur-lined cloak resting across his shoulders. His hair looked slightly untidier than usual, as though he had run his hands through it one too many times, and the dark circles beneath his mismatched eyes made it painfully obvious that sleep had escaped him just as surely as it had escaped you.
You turned back around and resumed walking.
"My lady... please." His footsteps hurried after yours, careful but determined, and there was something in his voice that made your chest tighten painfully. He sounded exhausted.
"Please, just let me-"
You stopped so abruptly that Valarr nearly walked into you. Turning to face him, you found him halting barely two steps away, his hands instinctively clasping behind his back as they always did whenever he grew nervous. His eyes searched your face desperately, and the hope lingering inside them made what you were about to do hurt all the more.
"Look," you began, forcing every word past the lump lodged in your throat. "Whatever happened yesterday..."
"Yes," he interrupted quickly, relief flashing across his face. "I wished to apologise. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I only-"
"It was a mistake."
The words hung between you like the sharp edge of a blade.
You watched the colour slowly drain from his face. His brows knitted together, confusion giving way to something quieter, something infinitely sadder.
"I would be grateful," you continued before your own courage abandoned you, "if you could forget it ever happened, Your Grace."
For a long moment, he simply stared at you. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. His hand lifted almost unconsciously, reaching towards yours before stopping halfway. Slowly, almost uncertainly, he lowered it again.
"...A mistake," he repeated quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in something that almost resembled a laugh, though there was no humour behind it. Only disbelief.
"My lady..." His voice cracked ever so slightly before he cleared his throat. "If you would only allow me to explain and apologi-"
"There is nothing to explain."
You could feel your resolve beginning to crumble beneath the wounded look in his eyes, and that frightened you more than anything else. If you stayed another moment, you knew you would take every word back. You would tell him that you remembered every second of that kiss. That a part of you wished it had never ended. That your heart still betrayed you every time he looked at you like this.
You could never allow yourself to say those words. So you bowed stiffly, avoiding his gaze altogether before turning on your heel and walking towards the Great Hall as quickly as your trembling legs would carry you. You did not look back. You could not.
By the time you crossed the great wooden doors, your heartbeat had become so loud that it drowned out almost every other sound in the hall.
Nearly everyone had already gathered.
The long tables were filled with northern and southern lords alike, conversations flowing freely despite the early hour. Your family was already seated at the High Table alongside the royal family, and as you approached, you felt more than one pair of curious eyes following you. Whether they were wondering about yesterday's trial or simply waiting for whatever announcement Prince Baelor had summoned everyone for, you neither knew nor cared.
You offered polite greetings before slipping into your usual seat beside William.
Your brother barely spared you a glance before sliding a platter of eggs towards you.
"You look like you've been dragged through a battlefield," he observed casually, already halfway through his own breakfast.
A tired sigh escaped you.
"I feel like it."
William hummed thoughtfully before piling another spoonful of eggs onto your plate.
"For what it's worth," he said, lowering his voice, "Father thinks Prince Baelor is finally going to ask for Berena's hand today."
Your fingers froze around your fork. The words struck harder than they should have.
You swallowed carefully, forcing the tightness from your throat before managing what you hoped resembled a smile.
"That...would be good."
"Hm."
William looked at you properly now, suspicion flickering across his face.
"...You are happy?"
You let out a weak chuckle and forced yourself to meet his gaze.
"Of course I am. Our sister will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day."
The words tasted bitter. Before William could question you further, movement near the entrance caught everyone's attention.
Valarr had entered the hall. Against your better judgement, your eyes found him instantly, and his gaze was already searching for you.
When your eyes met, he didn't look away. There was no anger in his expression, only a sadness so open that it made your chest ache. He offered you the smallest smile, hesitant and hopeful all at once.
You looked away first, and a gentle hand settled over yours. You turned to find Berena standing beside you. She smiled warmly, the same gentle smile she had worn your entire life, and squeezed your hand affectionately before taking her seat. The simple gesture made guilt crash over you so violently that you had to look down at the table just to steady yourself.
How could you have done this to her?
Before you could drown any further in your thoughts, Prince Baelor rose from his seat.
The hall gradually fell silent.
"Lords and Ladies," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, "Forgive me for gathering everyone so early this morning. I wished for all present to witness a proposal that I believe will strengthen the bonds between the North and the Crown."
A hush settled over the hall. You folded your hands tightly beneath the table, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling growing inside your chest.
"I believe everyone here knows that my heir, Prince Valarr, has reached an age suitable for marriage."
Prince Baelor smiled.
"And I can think of no greater honour than joining our two great houses together."
Your pulse quickened.
This was it.
Berena.
Everything was finally falling back into place. You forced yourself to breathe.
Prince Baelor turned towards your father, warmth softening the diplomatic smile on his face.
"Therefore, Lord Stark...I wish to formally offer a betrothal between my son, Prince Valarr Targaryen..."
You closed your eyes briefly, silently praying that your own foolish heart would finally learn to let go. That this was what was supposed to happen and should happen.
"...and your eldest daughter, Lady-"
The world stopped, and your eyes flew open. For one endless heartbeat, you were convinced you had imagined it.
The hall remained utterly silent.
Your father looked just as stunned as you felt. Your mother blinked in open surprise. Even William had forgotten the fork halfway to his mouth. Around the hall, whispers began spreading like wildfire as nobles looked between you and Valarr in complete disbelief.
You turned towards the prince, but he was already looking at you. There was no surprise in his eyes, and beneath it, something quieter.
Hope.
Prince Baelor continued speaking, his voice warm despite the formal setting.
"If the lady herself is willing, Lord Stark, then I ask that you consider this proposal. Take whatever time you require. Yet I believe my son would be blessed with no finer wife...and the realm itself would be fortunate to one day call her their queen."
You barely heard the final words because you couldn't breathe. Slowly, almost mechanically, your head turned towards Berena.
She had lowered her gaze. Her fingers rested quietly in her lap, but you noticed the rapid blink of her eyes. You knew that look. You had seen it ever since childhood whenever she fought to keep herself from crying.
No.
This was wrong.
You had to stop this.
You need to refuse this.
You need to fix it.
You opened your mouth, but before a single word could escape, Berena's hand closed firmly around your wrist beneath the table.
The grip wasn't painful but pleading. You looked at her, she still hadn't raised her head. Only the smallest shake of it.
You stared at her in confusion, your own heart breaking all over again. A moment later, Berena quietly excused herself from the table.
Without looking at anyone, she turned and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving you frozen where you stood, her warmth still lingering around your wrist.
Your mother was the first to recover from the shock. You saw her lean towards your father, whispering something that you could not hear before she rose from her chair. Her eyes lingered on Berena's retreating figure for only a heartbeat before she excused herself and hurried after your sister, the worry etched across her face impossible to miss.
Your father remained seated. His eyes found yours across the hall, and for the first time since you had entered, you could not bear to look at him. Your lips trembled as you lowered your gaze to the table, your heartbeat echoing so loudly inside your ears that Prince Baelor's voice became nothing more than distant noise.
You had to fix this.
The moment the conversations resumed around the hall and the initial shock began to settle amongst the gathered nobles, you muttered a hurried apology and excused yourself before anyone could stop you. Your chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as you hurried towards the doors, your only thought being Berena.
You would apologise.
You would tell her that none of this should have happened.
That you would fix it, no matter what it took.
The corridors of Winterfell were strangely empty as you strode through them, your footsteps echoing sharply against the cold stone walls. Every turn brought you closer to your sister's chambers, yet your thoughts refused to settle. They crashed into one another in an endless storm of guilt, shame and fear until you could scarcely breathe.
"Gevie."
His voice stopped you in your tracks. The warmth that voice usually carried only made something inside you snap.
You turned around sharply. Valarr was hurrying towards you, his expression still carrying that unbearable mixture of hope and worry that had followed him ever since breakfast. His eyes searched your face desperately, as though he believed he could still fix whatever had broken between the two of you.
This time you felt nothing but anger. Before he could take another step, you crossed the distance in an instant.
Your hand caught the front of his doublet, shoving him backwards until his back struck the stone wall with a muffled thud. Your forearm came across his throat, pinning him there as your breathing turned ragged.
Valarr let out a startled gasp, his mismatched eyes widening in complete shock.
"How dare you!?" you hissed, your voice shaking with fury. "Did you tell your father what happened last night? Is that why this is happening?"
"N-No," he managed between shallow breaths. "My lady, I-"
You pressed harder against his throat.
"Why?" Tears blurred your vision. "Why would you do this to Berena? Is this some princely obligation? Because if this is about last night, then I already told you to forget it. It was a mistake."
Your voice cracked.
"It should never have happened."
"Gevie, please listen-"
"NO!"
The word echoed down the empty corridor.
"Listen to what? Listen while your father humiliates my sister before the entire North? Listen while everyone watches the man they all believed she would marry humiliate her?" Your chest rose and fell violently as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "I never once said I wanted to marry you. So why? Why would you allow this? Do you go around marrying every woman you have kissed?"
Valarr opened his mouth again, but you were no longer capable of stopping.
"If this is because of my honour, then I do not care about that honour." You laughed bitterly through your tears. "To the hells with my honour. Berena is kind. She is gentle. She will make a wonderful queen, and you will learn to love her."
Your voice became little more than a whisper.
"So please...just tell your father this was a mistake, please let him know that-"
Something changed in Valarr then. Until now he had stood there, letting every word strike him without protest.
This time, He moved. His hands caught your wrists—not roughly, but firmly enough that you could not pull away—and before you realised what had happened, he had gently but decisively switched your positions.
Your back met the stone wall, his breathing was just as uneven as yours. For the first time since you had known him, Prince Valarr raised his voice.
"I cannot love her because I love you!"
The words struck and your mind went completely blank.
The prince who blushed whenever you smiled at him, who apologised even when someone else stepped on his foot, who barely possessed the courage to meet your eyes some days...was standing before you with tears in his eyes, confessing his heart as though it were the simplest truth in the world.
Your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs. "I don't care-"
"But I do."
His voice was quieter now. He swallowed hard before continuing.
"I care, Gevie."
His fingers loosened around your wrists, though he never stepped away. His eyes searched yours desperately, carrying so many emotions that you could not begin to name them.
You tried to speak again, but he gently lifted a trembling hand, resting it lightly over your mouth.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "Please...let me speak this once."
You stared at him, his face was only inches from yours now.
"No...I never told my father what happened in the Godswood." He drew a shaky breath. "He summoned me because he wished to speak of you and Lady Berena."
You frowned at him as he smiled sadly.
"He told me that Lady Berena possesses every quality the southern court expects from its future queen. But then..."
His eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache.
"He told me that you...you are what the realm truly needs, what I truly need. And hearing my own father say those words made me realise just how blind I have been."
A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
"My feelings were so obvious that everyone could see them...except me."
He laughed quietly at himself, though it sounded painfully hollow.
"For the first time in my life..." he whispered, "I realised that perhaps...perhaps I could be selfish. That maybe I could want something simply because my own heart desired it."
His voice broke completely. "And what it desires," he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, "...is you."
The corridor seemed to disappear around you.
"When I look at you," he continued softly, "everything else becomes quieter. The expectations, the duties, the crown, they all disappear, and all that remains is you."
Another tear escaped him as you drew in a shaky breath through your nose.
"Whenever I look at you, it feels as though the Gods themselves wrote your name into every corner of my fate long before I was born."
He leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against yours, and his voice became barely more than a whisper.
"So no, ñuha jorrāelagon..." His breath trembled. "I will not tell my father this is a mistake." He let out a shaky laugh through his tears.
"Because it isn't. Because I love you."
The confession settled between the two of you with terrifying certainty.
"And for once in my life..." he whispered, "...I wish to be selfish." You felt his lips brush softly against your forehead as he placed a gentle kiss there. Then, he stepped back, putting the distance between you that he knew you needed.
You could only stare at him. Your thoughts refused to move, and your heart refused to obey.
After a long silence, Valarr spoke once more.
"But," he smiled sadly, wiping at his own eyes, "that does not mean I will ignore your wishes." He straightened himself. "If you truly do not want this, I will leave."
His voice remained calm despite the tears still shining in his eyes. "I will return to the King's Landing, and you will never have to see me again. But my heart will spend the rest of my life searching for you. I will grow old still wondering how your laughter sounded. I will die hoping the Seven Gods might allow me to see you one last time before the Stranger takes me."
His eyes held yours so gently that your chest physically hurt.
"Because my soul" he whispered, "has already become yours."
He reached for your hand one final time. His lips brushed across your knuckles with the same tenderness as before. Then he looked back up at you.
"And no..." The faintest smile appeared through his tears.
"I do not go around marrying every women I have kissed."
A small, embarrassed laugh escaped him.
"Because you are the first person i have kissed, and you will be the last."
With that, Valarr slowly released your hand. He bowed once, and turned around. You watched him disappear around the corner until the sound of his footsteps faded into silence.
Only then did your knees weaken. You leaned back against the cold stone wall, your breathing uneven, your fingers still tingling where he had held them.
Your heart and your mind had become a battlefield, and you did not know which one would win.
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□ summary: After the celebration following the trial, you seek refuge beneath the weirwood tree to clear your mind, only for Valarr to find you once again. What begins as a quiet conversation filled with gratitude and unspoken feelings quickly turns into something neither of you can stop, nor undo.
□ word count: 4.5k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: It took me so long to perfect this chapter. Also i started working on a new baelor angst fic, cant wait to complete that :). Thank you so much for reading 💛💛 see you next week.
Chapter 9
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The Great Hall was alive with celebration. The voices of drunken lords echoed beneath the ceilings of the hall as bards played lively songs from one corner. Servants hurried between tables, carrying roasted meats, steaming pies and overflowing goblets of ale, weaving around laughing nobles.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was you.
After the trial had ended, you had returned to your chambers for a much needed bath before spending what felt like an eternity in your father's solar discussing Lord Mallery's punishment and the unrest it might cause amongst the southern lords.
By the time you had finally entered the Great Hall, almost every pair of eyes had turned towards you.
The Northerners had congratulated you on your victory, praising you with pride shining in their eyes.
The southerners had been different. Many older lords had eagerly introduced their sons or widowed relatives to you, while younger knights and heirs had attempted to charm you with smiles they no doubt believed irresistible. Every few minutes another unfamiliar face would appear before you with compliments that grew more exaggerated than the last.
One even claimed the Maiden herself must have carved your face from marble. You had nearly laughed.
It had been over an hour, yet you still had not managed to reach the High Table. Instead, Alyssane had practically kidnapped you almost the moment you stepped inside and proudly introduced you to the group of young southern ladies she had somehow befriended during their stay.
To your absolute horror, they had spent most of the evening lamenting the fact that you had been born a woman.
"If only you had been a man," one sighed dramatically. "I would've married you."
Another had simply shrugged. "I still would, if you allow it my lady."
Your ears had burned scarlet while Alyssane had laughed herself breathless beside you. Northern ladies, as William often liked to remind you, had always swooned over you. But unlike the southerners they usually do not possess enough courage to announce it aloud.
Yet another difference between the North and the South.
You quietly accepted another slice of cake while Alyssane enthusiastically retold the events of the trial for what had to be the fifth time.
"...and then she simply walked into the courtyard covered in blo-"
"My Lady Stark." The unfamiliar voice interrupted her.
You looked up to find a young man standing before your table. He could not have seen more than twenty namedays old. Judging by both his accent and attire, he was undoubtedly from the South. He bowed politely before extending a hand towards you.
"My lady..." His cheeks flushed crimson. "May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? I fear you have quite thoroughly bewitched me."
You stared at him for a brief moment. Then, internally, wondered whether shoving his face into the cake would be considered poor etiquette.
This made seventeen men today who had claimed to have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Taking a slow breath, you forced your most polite smile onto your face.
"I am honoured by the offer, my lord. Unfortunately...I do not dance."
You deliberately returned your attention to your cake, silently praying he would understand the dismissal. And thankfully, he did. After a hurried apology, the poor man practically fled.
Beside you, Alyssane failed spectacularly at suppressing her laughter. You slowly turned to glare at her and she immediately looked away.
With an exhausted groan, you rested your forehead against the table. You wished, quite sincerely, to be anywhere else.
"My Lady Stark."
Another voice came from behind you. Your head snapped upwards, every intention of refusing whoever had interrupted your misery.
"...Ethan?"
He stood before you with one hand extended and the most sympathetic smile you had ever seen him wear.
You raised an eyebrow.
"These dance proposals won't stop until someone actually dances with you." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Allow me to be the sacrificial lamb."
You stared at him for another second. Then immediately accepted his hand. The two of you made your way towards the centre of the hall, joining the countless other couples already swaying gently to the music.
"Gods..." you muttered beneath your breath as Ethan guided you through the dance. "I hate this."
"I know."
"I have developed a headache because of it."
Ethan laughed. "I was wondering why you looked ready to declare war." He spun you gently before continuing. "So...how many?"
"Seventeen men." You sighed dramatically before continuing. "And two women."
Ethan's eyes gleamed with poorly concealed amusement. "Then I truly deserve your gratitude."
You rolled your eyes. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Lord Glover. My eternal thanks."
"I shall expect a statue."
"You shall receive another kick."
He laughed again before his expression shifted ever so slightly.
"What?"
He nodded subtly over your shoulder.
"If looks could kill...I'd already be dead."
Confused, you allowed Ethan to guide the dance until his back faced the High Table, and you had the view of the table over his shoulders.
"Don't look immediately," he murmured. "That'll make it obvious."
Naturally, you looked immediately, and your breath caught in your throat.
Valarr was staring directly at the two of you. There was no smile upon his face, only something that looked painfully close to hurt. His jaw remained tightly clenched, his mismatched eyes fixed upon Ethan with an intensity you had never seen from the gentle prince before.
Then, his eyes met yours. You looked away so quickly your neck nearly hurt. Your heart began pounding against your ribs, as you remembered the way he had smiled down at you after the trial. The pride shining in his eyes. The warmth of that smile had lingered with you long after you had left the courtyard.
You had wanted to speak with him afterwards. Instead, duties had pulled you in opposite directions. Even tonight, when you entered the Great Hall, your eyes had instinctively searched for him first. He had been seated beside Berena as always, but he as looking at you.
Then the nobles had surrounded you, Alyssane had dragged you away, and the moment had slipped through your fingers. Ethan's amused chuckle pulled you back.
"Tch..." He shook his head.
"Looks like the prince isn't the only fool in love."
"There is nothing like that."
You answered far too quickly, and Ethan merely smiled.
"Of course." His grin widened as he looked at your properly.
"And I suppose the two of you simply keep staring at each other because the roasted venison wasn't cooked properly."
You stepped squarely onto his foot.
"Ouch!"
"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
The music ended and you offered Ethan a quick bow before anyone else could approach. Without another word, you slipped from the Great Hall.
You had no intention of remaining there long enough for an eighteenth proposal.
Your sword still needed tending. Although the blood had long since been washed from its blade, it still required oil before it could be sheathed properly for the night.
The armoury guards greeted you with respectful nods as you collected a clean cloth and a bottle of oil before quietly making your way towards the Godswood. The moment you stepped beneath the ancient trees, the noise of the feast faded behind you. Only the whispering of the leaves remained.
Specter already rested beside the great stone beneath the weirwood. His ears perking up the instant he saw you before he lazily stretched and wandered over.
You smiled at him as you scratched behind his ear, "At least someone has had a pleasant evening."
Settling upon the familiar stone, you dipped the cloth into the oil before drawing your sword across your lap, working the cloth across the steel.
For several peaceful minutes, nothing disturbed the silence beyond the rustling leaves overhead and Specter's slow breathing beside you.
Eventually, however, Specter's ears twitched. The great wolf lifted his head and sniffed the air. But he showed no signs of aggression, meaning the whoever it was, they were not a threat.
You sighed softly and closed your eyes.
"Ethan..."
You had already begun rehearsing whatever sarcastic remark you intended to greet him with. Instead, your name reached your ears, and your eyes snapped to confirm that you did just hallucinate the voice.
Several feet away stood Valarr. He wore a black and crimson doublet embroidered with dragons that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. A heavy fur-lined cloak rested upon his shoulders, fastened with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. His hair was more untidy than it had been during the feast. And his expression...looked relieved almost.
For several long moments, neither of you spoke. The sword resting across your lap was entirely forgotten as your gaze drifted towards those mismatched eyes once again.
"Valarr..." His name escaped your lips before you could stop it, and the silence finally broke.
Valarr scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I promise I wasn't following you." He spoke so quickly that you almost laughed. "I didn't even know you were here. I only wanted some fresh air, and I remembered you saying the Godswood was peaceful, so I thought perhaps I would walk here and then I—"
A quiet laugh escaped you, and you bit your lip before it grew any louder.
"It's alright." You smiled reassuringly. "I believe you."
Valarr visibly relaxed. He approached slowly before stopping a respectful distance away, his hands once again finding their familiar place clasped neatly behind his back.
You realised, rather belatedly, that you had begun staring again. You quickly lowered your gaze back towards your sword.
"You come here often to clean it?"
You nodded. "I do." You gently ran the cloth along the blade. "It is peaceful here."
Valarr glanced around the Godswood before nodding in quiet agreement. His eyes drifted towards Specter, who regarded him with sleepy indifference. Valarr offered the direwolf a tiny smile. And you hid another smile of your own.
"I..." Valarr began quietly as you looked up at him, "I never had the chance to congratulate you."
A breath escaped you, warmth immediately creeping across your cheeks. You cleared your throat as you slid your sword back into its sheath, trying your best to appear unaffected. "Thank you."
Valarr shook his head almost immediately, his mismatched eyes never leaving yours.
"No, I mean it." His voice carried an earnestness that made your chest tighten. "I have never seen anyone fight like that before. Even the master at arms back at King's Landing does not fight the way you do. Every strike was precise, every movement deliberate. You looked comfortable. Like the sword belonged in your hand."
He paused for only a heartbeat before continuing, his excitement carrying his words faster than he could seem to think. "You never looked afraid. Even when everyone was watching you, it felt as though you had forgotten the crowd entirely. You only saw your opponent. It was..." He breathed out a small laugh and scratched the back of his neck. "It was incredible."
You stared at him. No one had ever spoken about your swordsmanship like that. Most compliments had always come with conditions about how you were good enough for a woman. For someone who was never meant to inherit. There had always been something attached to the praise.
But Valarr had simply called you incredible. Your heart fluttered so violently that it almost hurt, and you looked away before the prince could notice just how affected you were.
"Thank you," you repeated more quietly, your voice softer this time. "Truly."
You took a small breath before looking back at him. "And...thank you for speaking up during the council."
Valarr visibly tensed before slowly relaxing again. From the corner of your eye, you caught the faint red spreading across the tips of his ears.
"It was nothing," he murmured. "I only did what anyone should have done."
You smiled gently. "That may be true, but no one found the courage to speak against another lord before an entire council."
Your eyes met his. "You did, and I am grateful."
For a long moment, Valarr simply stood there, his gaze lowered as though he did not quite know what to do with your gratitude. He finally inclined his head ever so slightly before looking towards the great weirwood standing proudly before the two of you.
Silence settled once more between the two of you. It was not uncomfortable, if anything, it felt peaceful.
The wind stirred the crimson leaves overhead, carrying with it the distant sounds of celebration from the castle.
Then Valarr spoke again. "I lied."
Your brows drew together. "You lied?"
He swallowed. "I did follow you."
His shoulders stiffened immediately afterward. "I-I mean- not in a strange way." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I saw you leave the hall, and you looked uncomfortable. I know how persistent southern lords can be. And then I saw you dancing with Lord Glover."
Something flickered across his expression. Something uncertain and something that lingered close to hurt. "I thought perhaps he had upset you. And I remembered finding you here before."
He laughed nervously, though there was very little humour in it. "So, I guessed this was where you would come." He looked down at the ground. "I am sorry if I overstepped."
Something inside your chest softened. Without truly thinking, you stepped closer, your hand reaching for his gloved one almost on instinct, your fingers wrapping gently around it.
And you can feel Valarr freeze. His eyes slowly lifting until they met yours once more.
"I must say," you murmured with the smallest smile, "you worry far too much, my prince."
A faint blush coloured his cheeks.
"But..." you continued softly, "...I find it rather endearing."
His lips parted ever so slightly, you could almost hear his heart stop.
"And Ethan and I are only friends," you explained. "We have known each other since childhood. We argue, we tease each other, and occasionally I contemplate pushing him into a lake. He can be quite insufferable."
You can see Valarr's shoulders easing ever so slightly.
"So..." he asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer, "...Lord Ethan is not your lover?"
You could not help the disbelief laugh that escaped you. The expression on your face turned positively horrified.
"Gods, no."
You wrinkled your nose dramatically.
"He is practically my brother."
The relief that crossed Valarr's face was almost immediate. His entire posture relaxed, and the tension he had been carrying seemed to melt away all at once. You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to spread across your own lips.
"Then," he murmured sheepishly, "I apologise for assuming."
When you turned back towards him, you realised just how little distance remained between the two of you. Neither of you had noticed yourselves moving closer. And his face was barely inches from yours.
For the first time, you noticed the freckles scattered lightly across his cheeks and nose. You had never realised he had them. They somehow made him look even softer, even more handsome.
Your eyes drifted lower to look at his lips, only for the briefest of moments. Warmth rushed through you so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.
When your gaze lifted again, Valarr was already looking at you. His mismatched eyes searching yours with the same quiet wonder and daze that you imagined was reflected in your own.
Neither of you moved or spoke. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your hand, and your heartbeat thundered against your ribs.
You knew this was wrong, and exactly who he was meant to marry. You knew what your duty was, that you should step back and let go.
You should say something.
Instead, you remained exactly where you were. Blaming the blurr of your judgement on your blood, which was still running hot from the trial.
Valarr hesitated slightly, and you watched uncertainty cross his face. As though he wished to move closer but feared he had imagined everything.
Then slowly, he leaned forward. His forehead almost brushed yours, his lips mere inches away from your own as his breath fanned softly across your face.
You closed your eyes for only a heartbeat before opening them again, meeting his gaze one last time. And then, you were the one who closed the remaining distance.
Your lips met his.
It was soft and tentative. Almost questioning. For a fraction of a second, Valarr stood perfectly still. Then he kissed you back with the same hesitant gentleness, as though terrified that moving too quickly would shatter the moment entirely. His body moving to press against yours.
One of his hands lifted carefully to cup your cheek. It was warm despite the cold air around you. Your fingers tightened around his other hand without thinking.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. There was no rustling of the leaves or the distant celebration from Winterfell. The only thing you felt, was the warmth of the prince who was standing impossibly close.
It was everything you had imagined a first kiss might be. So gentle and so innocent.
Then reality returned all at once. Your eyes flew open, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.
Berena.
You just kissed your sister's possible betrothed.
Everything crashed into you with enough force to make your stomach twist. You stumbled backwards, your hands pressing against Valarr's chest.
He stepped away immediately. The colour drained from both of your faces. Behind you, Specter let out a quiet, uneasy whine. Valarr looked every bit as horrified as you felt.
"My-" He swallowed. "I...I am-." His words tumbled over one another, his own breath coming in panicked pants. "I should not have-I never meant- I-"
He took one hesitant step towards you. But you instinctively took another step back. Your ears rang, and chest felt painfully tight. Tears blurred your vision before you even realised they had formed.
"I..." Your voice broke. "I need to go."
It was barely more than a whisper. You turned before he could stop you. The trees blurred together as you ran through the Godswood towards the castle without ever looking back.
Valarr remained standing in the Godswood for what felt like hours. His feet refused to move, rooted to the snow beneath them as he struggled to steady his breathing. The cold wind bit at his face, but he scarcely felt it. All he could see was the horrified expression that had crossed your face before you fled.
His first kiss.
Ever since he was a child, he had imagined that whoever became his wife would also be the one to share that first kiss with him. It would be something precious, something he would remember with fondness for the rest of his life.
Instead, all he could remember were the tears that had gathered in your eyes. The way you had looked at him as though the two of you had just made a terrible mistake.
Valarr closed his eyes and dragged a trembling hand through his hair.
Gods.
What had he done?
He should have stopped. He knew better. He knew your sister was the one everyone expected him to marry, and yet the moment you had stepped closer, every lesson about duty and honour had abandoned him. He had let his heart decide where his mind should have.
And now he had hurt you and the thought alone made his stomach churn. His fingers tightened in his hair until the slight sting grounded him.
He needed to apologise.
Now.
Valarr turned and broke into a run. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he raced through the Godswood and across the courtyard, barely noticing the startled guards who stepped aside to let him pass. His cloak billowed behind him as he hurried through the castle corridors, his thoughts running faster than his feet.
He did not even know where your chambers were. But if he had to knock on every single door in Winterfell until he found you, then he would.
As he rounded another corner, he nearly collided with Meera. The maid balanced a plate carrying slices of cake, her brows knitting together in confusion the moment she recognised him.
"My prince?"
Valarr stopped so abruptly that he nearly lost his footing.
"My lady Meera," he breathed, struggling to collect himself. "Please..."
Your name escaped his lips before he swallowed hard.
"Can you tell me where her chambers are?"
Meera blinked several times. "My prince... I..." She glanced down the corridor before looking back at him. "Why would you need to know that? I do not believe it would be appropriate."
"I do not care." The words left him before he could soften them.
"I need-" He took another shaky breath, his eyes searching Meera's desperately. "No...I have to speak with her. I beg you."
The maid studied him carefully. His hair was dishevelled, his breathing uneven, his hands still trembling ever so slightly. Something in her expression shifted.
"My prince," she said gently, "I do not think that would be wise."
Valarr's heart sank.
"The lady requested not to be disturbed tonight. She did not look herself when she returned. I do not believe she wishes to see anyone."
"Please." His voice cracked. "I only wish to apologise."
Before Meera could answer, footsteps echoed through the corridor and a Kingsguard approached before bowing respectfully.
"Your Grace."
Valarr turned sharply.
"What is it?"
The impatience in his own voice surprised even him.
"Prince Baelor requests your immediate presence in his chambers."
Valarr frowned. "Tell my father I am unavailable."
The Kingsguard remained perfectly still. "I was given strict instructions that you were to come immediately, Your Grace."
Valarr closed his eyes. For one brief moment, he considered refusing. Then Meera spoke quietly beside him.
"My prince, I think you should attend to your duties." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "I promise you, Lady Stark will not be speaking to anyone tonight."
Those words struck harder than he wished to admit, because he knew the reason for her isolation. He lowered his head before letting out a slow breath.
"If- if you see her," His throat tightened. "Please tell her-" He struggled to force the words out. "Tell her I wish to apologise. And whenever she finds it in her heart to grant me even the smallest amount of forgiveness, I will be waiting."
Meera inclined her head. "I will tell her."
Valarr managed a quiet nod before turning away to follow the Kingsguard. The journey to his father's chambers felt strangely endless. His thoughts refused to settle, every few moments returning to the memory of your lips against his before immediately replacing it with the image of your horrified expression as you ran away.
He knocked softly.
"Come in." His father's voice came from the other side.
Valarr straightened himself as best he could before opening the door. Prince Baelor stood near the fireplace with several letters in his hands while Princess Jena sat comfortably upon one of the chairs nearby.
Valarr bowed. "Father. Mother."
Jena smiled the moment she saw him, though her expression softened almost immediately.
"My sweet boy, you look troubled?"
Valarr forced himself to smile. "It is nothing, Mother."
He turned towards his father. "You wished to see me?"
Prince Baelor folded the letter in his hand before looking up.
"Yes."
He motioned for Valarr to come closer before taking a seat beside his wife.
"I believe it is time we accomplish what we came North to do."
Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.
"I also believe," Baelor continued, "that we have already overstayed Lord Stark's hospitality. Especially after everything that transpired yesterday." He sighed quietly. "I do not wish to burden him any longer."
"What do you mean, Father?"
Jena smiled warmly beside her husband. "What your father means..." She reached over to squeeze Baelor's hand. "...is that it is finally time to offer the betrothal."
Valarr felt his heartbeat stop.
"Lady Berena is intelligent, graceful, and carries herself exactly as one would expect from a future queen," Prince Baelor continued. "She possesses every quality worthy of becoming the future Lady of the Red Keep."
The words blurred together, Valarr scarcely heard another sentence. His breathing grew shallow and his chest tightened painfully.
The thought of marrying Berena after what had happened in the Godswood made him feel ill. Not because Berena lacked anything. But because she was not you.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze to the floor as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
He had to tell them. He had to tell them that somewhere between your laughter, your stubbornness, your sword, and the quiet evenings beneath the heart tree, he had fallen hopelessly in love with you.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words lodged themselves somewhere between his heart and his throat, refusing to leave him. His thoughts spiralled until he felt lightheaded, as though the room itself had begun to spin around him.
Then, he heard your name, and his head snapped upwards. Prince Baelor was already watching him. Not with confusion or disappointment, but with an expression Valarr could not quite place.
"Lord Stark's eldest daughter." His father spoke your title slowly, almost thoughtfully. "She is not what many in the southern court would expect a lady to be."
Valarr's heart began hammering.
"She is not soft-spoken." Baelor smiled faintly. "She does not embroider, nor spend her days composing songs."
A small chuckle escaped Princess Jena beside him. "I have heard she once broke a northern lord's nose during training."
Valarr blinked confusingly and his father continued as though he had not spoken at all.
"Many would say she is not ladylike enough." He paused. "I disagree."
Baelor stepped closer until only a single pace separated father and son, and his eyes softened. "A woman who understands diplomacy as well as warfare, who commands respect without demanding it, and who would gladly place herself between danger and those under her protection..."
He smiled proudly.
"That is exactly the sort of queen the realm ought to have."
Valarr felt his ears burn. His heartbeat became so loud he was certain both of his parents could hear it.
Hope. Silly little hope. It bloomed inside his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. If there truly was even the smallest chance, if he could marry you...He would thank the Seven every day for the rest of his life.
Baelor regarded him quietly for another moment before stepping forward. He lifted a hand and rested it gently against Valarr's cheek, just as he had done ever since Valarr had been a little boy frightened by storms.
"And she may not be what the Red Keep expects or wants," Baelor said softly. His thumb brushed against Valarr's cheek with quiet affection.
"But, my son..." A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I believe she is exactly what you need."
Valarr stared at him and he felt something warm bloom inside his chest. A feeling he had thought he had lost the moment you ran from him in the Godswood, and the moment his father had started talking about betrothal.
But as quickly as it had come, the memory of your horrified expression returned, dulling that warmth once more. If there truly was a future where he could stand beside you, then he first had to earn the right to stand before you again.
⭒ TV Shows Directory ⭒ Books Directory ⭒ House of the Dragon
⭒ A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Wounded dragon pride | @blueberrypancakesworld
With the Blackfyre rebellion defeated and his triumphant return with his elder brother, Baelor was celebrated more than Maekar. The prince leaves the celebrations early, representing another affront to his pride; only his wife gives him the recognition he deserves.
Starlight | @iolixz
When the quiet grace of a Lady of House Dayne meets the jagged temper of Prince Maekar ‘The Anvil’ Targaryen, she is caught between his cold silence and her growing fire. Finding a way to grab hold of the man behind the armor may seem harder than ever imagined.
you’re a big girl now, no more daddy’s little girl | @ghostlybfgf
what comes of losing the one person you thought you could never lose, torn between the love of your marriage and the death of what you once knew.
no eyes but yours | @jakecockley
during a royal hunt in the kingswood, maekar slips away from the noise to find solitude in a hidden meadow, only to be quietly followed by the noblewoman he is secretly courting. surprised but quietly pleased by your presence, the usually gruff and guarded prince softens in your company. as you both sit together by the stream, wrapped in each other’s warmth amid wildflowers and soft light, the weight of court and duty fades, leaving only the tender, unspoken intimacy between you.
you braid? | @/jakecockley
as you ready for the day, your husband wishes to braid your hair. who are you to deny him?
the price to pay | @sena-seastar
Maekar comforts Daeron after he has a nightmare.
Mourning Feast | @escapic-mezzanine
Maekar Targaryen’s bride seems to be the most tragic lady in The Seven Kingdoms. Not only is she to be wed to a man of grim and sharp reputation, but also her father gets slaughtered on her wedding day.
Doubt your man | @/escapic-mezzanine
If he only could, Maekar would gladly sit by his wife’s side through her whole sickness. When he finally manages to run from his duties and rush to her, he has to throw a certain man outside the chamber and care for the woman himself. Just like he prefers it.
His Father’s Son | @sedonasummer
Maekar and his newborn son reach an understanding in the early hours of the morning.
Greatest Offender | @/sedonasummer
you hear Aegon singing something in the yard and realize there is entirely too much foul language in your home. someone is going to answer for it.
The baby project | @/sedonasummer
When Maekar agreed to have a baby, he thought it a reasonable undertaking. He was not an old man. You were young and healthy and wanted a child of your own and he loved you, so he said yes. Simple enough. He was a fool. aka: you run your poor husband absolutely ragged in the name of family planning
The Dragon Princess | @poge-life
Only daughter to Baelor Targaryen, twin to Valaar and wife to Maekar, you were the heart of the Targaryens. Upon traveling to Ashford for a nameday celebration tourney, everything seems to have changed as one fatal mistake leaves everything in shambles.
Blessing of the Seven | @sylasthegrim
Despite having experienced fatherhood several times, nothing could have prepared Maekar to be called into your chambers to assist you in giving birth to his seventh babe.
Blood of my Blood | @karmaswitch
After his brother’s death, Maekar marries his niece out of a sense of duty. Neither expecting to truly love one another through the grief, love perseveres and proves them wrong.
Dragon Dreamers. | @entitled-fangirl
Maekar’s second wife was a dragon dreamer, much like Daeron. She is plagued by a particular dream Daeron has as well. But history is bound to happen, whether they wish it to or not.
Smallfolk | @/entitled-fangirl
Maekar’s wife is feeling trapped by her husband’s protective nature. With Daeron’s help, she sneaks out to Flea Bottom for the night to explore what really happens in King’s Landing when the sun goes down.
Drabble | @ethrlst
Good morning, My sweet Wife | @underratedcharacterslover
Your dear husband Maekar waking you up by eating you out .
Pretty in pink I, part two, part three, part four | @myladysapphire
Maekar never expected to marry again, never expected to love again. he tried to be a distant husband, a husband in name only. and yet you with your sweet smiles, kind eyes made it so hard for him to forget to be the stern man Westros knew him as, made it hard for him to forget that he didn't want to fall in love.
Hollow Nights & Haunted days, part 2 | @whimsisoul4
Maekar Targaryen x Baratheon reader | @emmaofnormandy
Imagine you are a sister to the Laughing Storm and he marries you off to Prince Maekar Targaryen.
Family time | @imnotcryingyouare1
Thunder and cuddles | @/imnotcryingyouare1
The new baby… | @/imnotcryingyouare1
“i’ll never be yours” | @detectivesophia
the five times Egg realizes his father was in love with his aunt and the one time he realized how truly doomed they were.
My belly is showing | @maidragoste
soothe the wrath and tame the fury, part 2 | @erwinsvow
you awake in a strange place with a prince at your bedside.
the dour brother | @eowyns-fantasy
Pride is a lonely thing | @theladysoleil
Maekar Targaryen has always been insecure of his scarred face. The people who compared him to his perfect older brother in hushed whispers has only help burn his insecurities brighter. What happens when he angers the one person who makes him feel loved.
Good Intentions | @catbayunthestoryteller
Maekar is trying to provide a good life for his new wife by removing himself from her company and offering alternatives. He fails.
Unexpected Love | @sconniebelle
Betrothed to Maekar, you slowly begin to break through the walls around him after he finds you reading to Aegon. Maekar quietly confesses that for the first time in years, he believes the two of you could truly be happy together.
AND ONE MORE MAKES SEVEN | @mariposium
after missing your bleed several moons in a row, logically you know what the most likely reason behind it is. however, with one of your step-children in exile, another an alcoholic, and the sixth off touring the realm with a hedge knight, you do not expect your husband to want another child to worry about.
MEETING SWEET WIFE | @julez-5
During a feast Maekar meets sunshine in human form.
MY STRONG HUSBAND | @/julez-5
You like watching your strong husband demonstrate his strength
THE DRAGON’S DOE | @/julez-5
The Tourney was suppose to be a fun time to relax until your husband lost the two children he was in charge of.
His Princess | @erebusbabylon
A knight questions your honesty and Maekar gets very angry.
Old Man | @samthegreenapologist
Through The Darkness | @/samthegreenapologist
The Weight of Love and War | @songofmist
It is the end of the Blackfyre Rebellion. Your husband has been away for nigh on a year and now returning to Kings Landing. The both of you hold no love for each other, strangers since the day you wed. That is until he starts to question the possibility of what could be…
Lord Ashford Fucks His Sheep | @thirstingseason
The only person who can truly make Maekar laugh is his beloved. And she loves to employ her talents as often as possible!
□ summary: After the celebration following the trial, you seek refuge beneath the weirwood tree to clear your mind, only for Valarr to find you once again. What begins as a quiet conversation filled with gratitude and unspoken feelings quickly turns into something neither of you can stop, nor undo.
□ word count: 4.5k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: It took me so long to perfect this chapter. Also i started working on a new baelor angst fic, cant wait to complete that :). Thank you so much for reading 💛💛 see you next week.
Chapter 9
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The Great Hall was alive with celebration. The voices of drunken lords echoed beneath the ceilings of the hall as bards played lively songs from one corner. Servants hurried between tables, carrying roasted meats, steaming pies and overflowing goblets of ale, weaving around laughing nobles.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was you.
After the trial had ended, you had returned to your chambers for a much needed bath before spending what felt like an eternity in your father's solar discussing Lord Mallery's punishment and the unrest it might cause amongst the southern lords.
By the time you had finally entered the Great Hall, almost every pair of eyes had turned towards you.
The Northerners had congratulated you on your victory, praising you with pride shining in their eyes.
The southerners had been different. Many older lords had eagerly introduced their sons or widowed relatives to you, while younger knights and heirs had attempted to charm you with smiles they no doubt believed irresistible. Every few minutes another unfamiliar face would appear before you with compliments that grew more exaggerated than the last.
One even claimed the Maiden herself must have carved your face from marble. You had nearly laughed.
It had been over an hour, yet you still had not managed to reach the High Table. Instead, Alyssane had practically kidnapped you almost the moment you stepped inside and proudly introduced you to the group of young southern ladies she had somehow befriended during their stay.
To your absolute horror, they had spent most of the evening lamenting the fact that you had been born a woman.
"If only you had been a man," one sighed dramatically. "I would've married you."
Another had simply shrugged. "I still would, if you allow it my lady."
Your ears had burned scarlet while Alyssane had laughed herself breathless beside you. Northern ladies, as William often liked to remind you, had always swooned over you. But unlike the southerners they usually do not possess enough courage to announce it aloud.
Yet another difference between the North and the South.
You quietly accepted another slice of cake while Alyssane enthusiastically retold the events of the trial for what had to be the fifth time.
"...and then she simply walked into the courtyard covered in blo-"
"My Lady Stark." The unfamiliar voice interrupted her.
You looked up to find a young man standing before your table. He could not have seen more than twenty namedays old. Judging by both his accent and attire, he was undoubtedly from the South. He bowed politely before extending a hand towards you.
"My lady..." His cheeks flushed crimson. "May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? I fear you have quite thoroughly bewitched me."
You stared at him for a brief moment. Then, internally, wondered whether shoving his face into the cake would be considered poor etiquette.
This made seventeen men today who had claimed to have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Taking a slow breath, you forced your most polite smile onto your face.
"I am honoured by the offer, my lord. Unfortunately...I do not dance."
You deliberately returned your attention to your cake, silently praying he would understand the dismissal. And thankfully, he did. After a hurried apology, the poor man practically fled.
Beside you, Alyssane failed spectacularly at suppressing her laughter. You slowly turned to glare at her and she immediately looked away.
With an exhausted groan, you rested your forehead against the table. You wished, quite sincerely, to be anywhere else.
"My Lady Stark."
Another voice came from behind you. Your head snapped upwards, every intention of refusing whoever had interrupted your misery.
"...Ethan?"
He stood before you with one hand extended and the most sympathetic smile you had ever seen him wear.
You raised an eyebrow.
"These dance proposals won't stop until someone actually dances with you." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Allow me to be the sacrificial lamb."
You stared at him for another second. Then immediately accepted his hand. The two of you made your way towards the centre of the hall, joining the countless other couples already swaying gently to the music.
"Gods..." you muttered beneath your breath as Ethan guided you through the dance. "I hate this."
"I know."
"I have developed a headache because of it."
Ethan laughed. "I was wondering why you looked ready to declare war." He spun you gently before continuing. "So...how many?"
"Seventeen men." You sighed dramatically before continuing. "And two women."
Ethan's eyes gleamed with poorly concealed amusement. "Then I truly deserve your gratitude."
You rolled your eyes. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Lord Glover. My eternal thanks."
"I shall expect a statue."
"You shall receive another kick."
He laughed again before his expression shifted ever so slightly.
"What?"
He nodded subtly over your shoulder.
"If looks could kill...I'd already be dead."
Confused, you allowed Ethan to guide the dance until his back faced the High Table, and you had the view of the table over his shoulders.
"Don't look immediately," he murmured. "That'll make it obvious."
Naturally, you looked immediately, and your breath caught in your throat.
Valarr was staring directly at the two of you. There was no smile upon his face, only something that looked painfully close to hurt. His jaw remained tightly clenched, his mismatched eyes fixed upon Ethan with an intensity you had never seen from the gentle prince before.
Then, his eyes met yours. You looked away so quickly your neck nearly hurt. Your heart began pounding against your ribs, as you remembered the way he had smiled down at you after the trial. The pride shining in his eyes. The warmth of that smile had lingered with you long after you had left the courtyard.
You had wanted to speak with him afterwards. Instead, duties had pulled you in opposite directions. Even tonight, when you entered the Great Hall, your eyes had instinctively searched for him first. He had been seated beside Berena as always, but he as looking at you.
Then the nobles had surrounded you, Alyssane had dragged you away, and the moment had slipped through your fingers. Ethan's amused chuckle pulled you back.
"Tch..." He shook his head.
"Looks like the prince isn't the only fool in love."
"There is nothing like that."
You answered far too quickly, and Ethan merely smiled.
"Of course." His grin widened as he looked at your properly.
"And I suppose the two of you simply keep staring at each other because the roasted venison wasn't cooked properly."
You stepped squarely onto his foot.
"Ouch!"
"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
The music ended and you offered Ethan a quick bow before anyone else could approach. Without another word, you slipped from the Great Hall.
You had no intention of remaining there long enough for an eighteenth proposal.
Your sword still needed tending. Although the blood had long since been washed from its blade, it still required oil before it could be sheathed properly for the night.
The armoury guards greeted you with respectful nods as you collected a clean cloth and a bottle of oil before quietly making your way towards the Godswood. The moment you stepped beneath the ancient trees, the noise of the feast faded behind you. Only the whispering of the leaves remained.
Specter already rested beside the great stone beneath the weirwood. His ears perking up the instant he saw you before he lazily stretched and wandered over.
You smiled at him as you scratched behind his ear, "At least someone has had a pleasant evening."
Settling upon the familiar stone, you dipped the cloth into the oil before drawing your sword across your lap, working the cloth across the steel.
For several peaceful minutes, nothing disturbed the silence beyond the rustling leaves overhead and Specter's slow breathing beside you.
Eventually, however, Specter's ears twitched. The great wolf lifted his head and sniffed the air. But he showed no signs of aggression, meaning the whoever it was, they were not a threat.
You sighed softly and closed your eyes.
"Ethan..."
You had already begun rehearsing whatever sarcastic remark you intended to greet him with. Instead, your name reached your ears, and your eyes snapped to confirm that you did just hallucinate the voice.
Several feet away stood Valarr. He wore a black and crimson doublet embroidered with dragons that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. A heavy fur-lined cloak rested upon his shoulders, fastened with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. His hair was more untidy than it had been during the feast. And his expression...looked relieved almost.
For several long moments, neither of you spoke. The sword resting across your lap was entirely forgotten as your gaze drifted towards those mismatched eyes once again.
"Valarr..." His name escaped your lips before you could stop it, and the silence finally broke.
Valarr scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I promise I wasn't following you." He spoke so quickly that you almost laughed. "I didn't even know you were here. I only wanted some fresh air, and I remembered you saying the Godswood was peaceful, so I thought perhaps I would walk here and then I—"
A quiet laugh escaped you, and you bit your lip before it grew any louder.
"It's alright." You smiled reassuringly. "I believe you."
Valarr visibly relaxed. He approached slowly before stopping a respectful distance away, his hands once again finding their familiar place clasped neatly behind his back.
You realised, rather belatedly, that you had begun staring again. You quickly lowered your gaze back towards your sword.
"You come here often to clean it?"
You nodded. "I do." You gently ran the cloth along the blade. "It is peaceful here."
Valarr glanced around the Godswood before nodding in quiet agreement. His eyes drifted towards Specter, who regarded him with sleepy indifference. Valarr offered the direwolf a tiny smile. And you hid another smile of your own.
"I..." Valarr began quietly as you looked up at him, "I never had the chance to congratulate you."
A breath escaped you, warmth immediately creeping across your cheeks. You cleared your throat as you slid your sword back into its sheath, trying your best to appear unaffected. "Thank you."
Valarr shook his head almost immediately, his mismatched eyes never leaving yours.
"No, I mean it." His voice carried an earnestness that made your chest tighten. "I have never seen anyone fight like that before. Even the master at arms back at King's Landing does not fight the way you do. Every strike was precise, every movement deliberate. You looked comfortable. Like the sword belonged in your hand."
He paused for only a heartbeat before continuing, his excitement carrying his words faster than he could seem to think. "You never looked afraid. Even when everyone was watching you, it felt as though you had forgotten the crowd entirely. You only saw your opponent. It was..." He breathed out a small laugh and scratched the back of his neck. "It was incredible."
You stared at him. No one had ever spoken about your swordsmanship like that. Most compliments had always come with conditions about how you were good enough for a woman. For someone who was never meant to inherit. There had always been something attached to the praise.
But Valarr had simply called you incredible. Your heart fluttered so violently that it almost hurt, and you looked away before the prince could notice just how affected you were.
"Thank you," you repeated more quietly, your voice softer this time. "Truly."
You took a small breath before looking back at him. "And...thank you for speaking up during the council."
Valarr visibly tensed before slowly relaxing again. From the corner of your eye, you caught the faint red spreading across the tips of his ears.
"It was nothing," he murmured. "I only did what anyone should have done."
You smiled gently. "That may be true, but no one found the courage to speak against another lord before an entire council."
Your eyes met his. "You did, and I am grateful."
For a long moment, Valarr simply stood there, his gaze lowered as though he did not quite know what to do with your gratitude. He finally inclined his head ever so slightly before looking towards the great weirwood standing proudly before the two of you.
Silence settled once more between the two of you. It was not uncomfortable, if anything, it felt peaceful.
The wind stirred the crimson leaves overhead, carrying with it the distant sounds of celebration from the castle.
Then Valarr spoke again. "I lied."
Your brows drew together. "You lied?"
He swallowed. "I did follow you."
His shoulders stiffened immediately afterward. "I-I mean- not in a strange way." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I saw you leave the hall, and you looked uncomfortable. I know how persistent southern lords can be. And then I saw you dancing with Lord Glover."
Something flickered across his expression. Something uncertain and something that lingered close to hurt. "I thought perhaps he had upset you. And I remembered finding you here before."
He laughed nervously, though there was very little humour in it. "So, I guessed this was where you would come." He looked down at the ground. "I am sorry if I overstepped."
Something inside your chest softened. Without truly thinking, you stepped closer, your hand reaching for his gloved one almost on instinct, your fingers wrapping gently around it.
And you can feel Valarr freeze. His eyes slowly lifting until they met yours once more.
"I must say," you murmured with the smallest smile, "you worry far too much, my prince."
A faint blush coloured his cheeks.
"But..." you continued softly, "...I find it rather endearing."
His lips parted ever so slightly, you could almost hear his heart stop.
"And Ethan and I are only friends," you explained. "We have known each other since childhood. We argue, we tease each other, and occasionally I contemplate pushing him into a lake. He can be quite insufferable."
You can see Valarr's shoulders easing ever so slightly.
"So..." he asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer, "...Lord Ethan is not your lover?"
You could not help the disbelief laugh that escaped you. The expression on your face turned positively horrified.
"Gods, no."
You wrinkled your nose dramatically.
"He is practically my brother."
The relief that crossed Valarr's face was almost immediate. His entire posture relaxed, and the tension he had been carrying seemed to melt away all at once. You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to spread across your own lips.
"Then," he murmured sheepishly, "I apologise for assuming."
When you turned back towards him, you realised just how little distance remained between the two of you. Neither of you had noticed yourselves moving closer. And his face was barely inches from yours.
For the first time, you noticed the freckles scattered lightly across his cheeks and nose. You had never realised he had them. They somehow made him look even softer, even more handsome.
Your eyes drifted lower to look at his lips, only for the briefest of moments. Warmth rushed through you so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.
When your gaze lifted again, Valarr was already looking at you. His mismatched eyes searching yours with the same quiet wonder and daze that you imagined was reflected in your own.
Neither of you moved or spoke. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your hand, and your heartbeat thundered against your ribs.
You knew this was wrong, and exactly who he was meant to marry. You knew what your duty was, that you should step back and let go.
You should say something.
Instead, you remained exactly where you were. Blaming the blurr of your judgement on your blood, which was still running hot from the trial.
Valarr hesitated slightly, and you watched uncertainty cross his face. As though he wished to move closer but feared he had imagined everything.
Then slowly, he leaned forward. His forehead almost brushed yours, his lips mere inches away from your own as his breath fanned softly across your face.
You closed your eyes for only a heartbeat before opening them again, meeting his gaze one last time. And then, you were the one who closed the remaining distance.
Your lips met his.
It was soft and tentative. Almost questioning. For a fraction of a second, Valarr stood perfectly still. Then he kissed you back with the same hesitant gentleness, as though terrified that moving too quickly would shatter the moment entirely. His body moving to press against yours.
One of his hands lifted carefully to cup your cheek. It was warm despite the cold air around you. Your fingers tightened around his other hand without thinking.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. There was no rustling of the leaves or the distant celebration from Winterfell. The only thing you felt, was the warmth of the prince who was standing impossibly close.
It was everything you had imagined a first kiss might be. So gentle and so innocent.
Then reality returned all at once. Your eyes flew open, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.
Berena.
You just kissed your sister's possible betrothed.
Everything crashed into you with enough force to make your stomach twist. You stumbled backwards, your hands pressing against Valarr's chest.
He stepped away immediately. The colour drained from both of your faces. Behind you, Specter let out a quiet, uneasy whine. Valarr looked every bit as horrified as you felt.
"My-" He swallowed. "I...I am-." His words tumbled over one another, his own breath coming in panicked pants. "I should not have-I never meant- I-"
He took one hesitant step towards you. But you instinctively took another step back. Your ears rang, and chest felt painfully tight. Tears blurred your vision before you even realised they had formed.
"I..." Your voice broke. "I need to go."
It was barely more than a whisper. You turned before he could stop you. The trees blurred together as you ran through the Godswood towards the castle without ever looking back.
Valarr remained standing in the Godswood for what felt like hours. His feet refused to move, rooted to the snow beneath them as he struggled to steady his breathing. The cold wind bit at his face, but he scarcely felt it. All he could see was the horrified expression that had crossed your face before you fled.
His first kiss.
Ever since he was a child, he had imagined that whoever became his wife would also be the one to share that first kiss with him. It would be something precious, something he would remember with fondness for the rest of his life.
Instead, all he could remember were the tears that had gathered in your eyes. The way you had looked at him as though the two of you had just made a terrible mistake.
Valarr closed his eyes and dragged a trembling hand through his hair.
Gods.
What had he done?
He should have stopped. He knew better. He knew your sister was the one everyone expected him to marry, and yet the moment you had stepped closer, every lesson about duty and honour had abandoned him. He had let his heart decide where his mind should have.
And now he had hurt you and the thought alone made his stomach churn. His fingers tightened in his hair until the slight sting grounded him.
He needed to apologise.
Now.
Valarr turned and broke into a run. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he raced through the Godswood and across the courtyard, barely noticing the startled guards who stepped aside to let him pass. His cloak billowed behind him as he hurried through the castle corridors, his thoughts running faster than his feet.
He did not even know where your chambers were. But if he had to knock on every single door in Winterfell until he found you, then he would.
As he rounded another corner, he nearly collided with Meera. The maid balanced a plate carrying slices of cake, her brows knitting together in confusion the moment she recognised him.
"My prince?"
Valarr stopped so abruptly that he nearly lost his footing.
"My lady Meera," he breathed, struggling to collect himself. "Please..."
Your name escaped his lips before he swallowed hard.
"Can you tell me where her chambers are?"
Meera blinked several times. "My prince... I..." She glanced down the corridor before looking back at him. "Why would you need to know that? I do not believe it would be appropriate."
"I do not care." The words left him before he could soften them.
"I need-" He took another shaky breath, his eyes searching Meera's desperately. "No...I have to speak with her. I beg you."
The maid studied him carefully. His hair was dishevelled, his breathing uneven, his hands still trembling ever so slightly. Something in her expression shifted.
"My prince," she said gently, "I do not think that would be wise."
Valarr's heart sank.
"The lady requested not to be disturbed tonight. She did not look herself when she returned. I do not believe she wishes to see anyone."
"Please." His voice cracked. "I only wish to apologise."
Before Meera could answer, footsteps echoed through the corridor and a Kingsguard approached before bowing respectfully.
"Your Grace."
Valarr turned sharply.
"What is it?"
The impatience in his own voice surprised even him.
"Prince Baelor requests your immediate presence in his chambers."
Valarr frowned. "Tell my father I am unavailable."
The Kingsguard remained perfectly still. "I was given strict instructions that you were to come immediately, Your Grace."
Valarr closed his eyes. For one brief moment, he considered refusing. Then Meera spoke quietly beside him.
"My prince, I think you should attend to your duties." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "I promise you, Lady Stark will not be speaking to anyone tonight."
Those words struck harder than he wished to admit, because he knew the reason for her isolation. He lowered his head before letting out a slow breath.
"If- if you see her," His throat tightened. "Please tell her-" He struggled to force the words out. "Tell her I wish to apologise. And whenever she finds it in her heart to grant me even the smallest amount of forgiveness, I will be waiting."
Meera inclined her head. "I will tell her."
Valarr managed a quiet nod before turning away to follow the Kingsguard. The journey to his father's chambers felt strangely endless. His thoughts refused to settle, every few moments returning to the memory of your lips against his before immediately replacing it with the image of your horrified expression as you ran away.
He knocked softly.
"Come in." His father's voice came from the other side.
Valarr straightened himself as best he could before opening the door. Prince Baelor stood near the fireplace with several letters in his hands while Princess Jena sat comfortably upon one of the chairs nearby.
Valarr bowed. "Father. Mother."
Jena smiled the moment she saw him, though her expression softened almost immediately.
"My sweet boy, you look troubled?"
Valarr forced himself to smile. "It is nothing, Mother."
He turned towards his father. "You wished to see me?"
Prince Baelor folded the letter in his hand before looking up.
"Yes."
He motioned for Valarr to come closer before taking a seat beside his wife.
"I believe it is time we accomplish what we came North to do."
Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.
"I also believe," Baelor continued, "that we have already overstayed Lord Stark's hospitality. Especially after everything that transpired yesterday." He sighed quietly. "I do not wish to burden him any longer."
"What do you mean, Father?"
Jena smiled warmly beside her husband. "What your father means..." She reached over to squeeze Baelor's hand. "...is that it is finally time to offer the betrothal."
Valarr felt his heartbeat stop.
"Lady Berena is intelligent, graceful, and carries herself exactly as one would expect from a future queen," Prince Baelor continued. "She possesses every quality worthy of becoming the future Lady of the Red Keep."
The words blurred together, Valarr scarcely heard another sentence. His breathing grew shallow and his chest tightened painfully.
The thought of marrying Berena after what had happened in the Godswood made him feel ill. Not because Berena lacked anything. But because she was not you.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze to the floor as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
He had to tell them. He had to tell them that somewhere between your laughter, your stubbornness, your sword, and the quiet evenings beneath the heart tree, he had fallen hopelessly in love with you.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words lodged themselves somewhere between his heart and his throat, refusing to leave him. His thoughts spiralled until he felt lightheaded, as though the room itself had begun to spin around him.
Then, he heard your name, and his head snapped upwards. Prince Baelor was already watching him. Not with confusion or disappointment, but with an expression Valarr could not quite place.
"Lord Stark's eldest daughter." His father spoke your title slowly, almost thoughtfully. "She is not what many in the southern court would expect a lady to be."
Valarr's heart began hammering.
"She is not soft-spoken." Baelor smiled faintly. "She does not embroider, nor spend her days composing songs."
A small chuckle escaped Princess Jena beside him. "I have heard she once broke a northern lord's nose during training."
Valarr blinked confusingly and his father continued as though he had not spoken at all.
"Many would say she is not ladylike enough." He paused. "I disagree."
Baelor stepped closer until only a single pace separated father and son, and his eyes softened. "A woman who understands diplomacy as well as warfare, who commands respect without demanding it, and who would gladly place herself between danger and those under her protection..."
He smiled proudly.
"That is exactly the sort of queen the realm ought to have."
Valarr felt his ears burn. His heartbeat became so loud he was certain both of his parents could hear it.
Hope. Silly little hope. It bloomed inside his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. If there truly was even the smallest chance, if he could marry you...He would thank the Seven every day for the rest of his life.
Baelor regarded him quietly for another moment before stepping forward. He lifted a hand and rested it gently against Valarr's cheek, just as he had done ever since Valarr had been a little boy frightened by storms.
"And she may not be what the Red Keep expects or wants," Baelor said softly. His thumb brushed against Valarr's cheek with quiet affection.
"But, my son..." A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I believe she is exactly what you need."
Valarr stared at him and he felt something warm bloom inside his chest. A feeling he had thought he had lost the moment you ran from him in the Godswood, and the moment his father had started talking about betrothal.
But as quickly as it had come, the memory of your horrified expression returned, dulling that warmth once more. If there truly was a future where he could stand beside you, then he first had to earn the right to stand before you again.
OMG OMG IT HAPPENED!!!!! I loveeeee how it was not only Valarr who accidently kissed her. Like lady stark leaned into it too and it just makes it soo much better!!!! 🤭🤭🤭
I cant wait to see how everyone in the Stark household will react to Valarr being betrothed to the reader. Especially Berena. I feel like Berena would be devastated, but i reallyyyy dont want the sisters to fight over a man 😭😭
Thank you so much for reading 💛💛
And YES, im glad you noticed that detail. MC definately didnt know what she was doing until it was done, she was running on pure adrenaline and her heart's desire.
I cant wait for their reactions too! I also wonder what will Berena think of her sister "stealing" her possible betrothed. 😈
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□ summary: After the celebration following the trial, you seek refuge beneath the weirwood tree to clear your mind, only for Valarr to find you once again. What begins as a quiet conversation filled with gratitude and unspoken feelings quickly turns into something neither of you can stop, nor undo.
□ word count: 4.5k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: It took me so long to perfect this chapter. Also i started working on a new baelor angst fic, cant wait to complete that :). Thank you so much for reading 💛💛 see you next week.
Chapter 9
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The Great Hall was alive with celebration. The voices of drunken lords echoed beneath the ceilings of the hall as bards played lively songs from one corner. Servants hurried between tables, carrying roasted meats, steaming pies and overflowing goblets of ale, weaving around laughing nobles.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was you.
After the trial had ended, you had returned to your chambers for a much needed bath before spending what felt like an eternity in your father's solar discussing Lord Mallery's punishment and the unrest it might cause amongst the southern lords.
By the time you had finally entered the Great Hall, almost every pair of eyes had turned towards you.
The Northerners had congratulated you on your victory, praising you with pride shining in their eyes.
The southerners had been different. Many older lords had eagerly introduced their sons or widowed relatives to you, while younger knights and heirs had attempted to charm you with smiles they no doubt believed irresistible. Every few minutes another unfamiliar face would appear before you with compliments that grew more exaggerated than the last.
One even claimed the Maiden herself must have carved your face from marble. You had nearly laughed.
It had been over an hour, yet you still had not managed to reach the High Table. Instead, Alyssane had practically kidnapped you almost the moment you stepped inside and proudly introduced you to the group of young southern ladies she had somehow befriended during their stay.
To your absolute horror, they had spent most of the evening lamenting the fact that you had been born a woman.
"If only you had been a man," one sighed dramatically. "I would've married you."
Another had simply shrugged. "I still would, if you allow it my lady."
Your ears had burned scarlet while Alyssane had laughed herself breathless beside you. Northern ladies, as William often liked to remind you, had always swooned over you. But unlike the southerners they usually do not possess enough courage to announce it aloud.
Yet another difference between the North and the South.
You quietly accepted another slice of cake while Alyssane enthusiastically retold the events of the trial for what had to be the fifth time.
"...and then she simply walked into the courtyard covered in blo-"
"My Lady Stark." The unfamiliar voice interrupted her.
You looked up to find a young man standing before your table. He could not have seen more than twenty namedays old. Judging by both his accent and attire, he was undoubtedly from the South. He bowed politely before extending a hand towards you.
"My lady..." His cheeks flushed crimson. "May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? I fear you have quite thoroughly bewitched me."
You stared at him for a brief moment. Then, internally, wondered whether shoving his face into the cake would be considered poor etiquette.
This made seventeen men today who had claimed to have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Taking a slow breath, you forced your most polite smile onto your face.
"I am honoured by the offer, my lord. Unfortunately...I do not dance."
You deliberately returned your attention to your cake, silently praying he would understand the dismissal. And thankfully, he did. After a hurried apology, the poor man practically fled.
Beside you, Alyssane failed spectacularly at suppressing her laughter. You slowly turned to glare at her and she immediately looked away.
With an exhausted groan, you rested your forehead against the table. You wished, quite sincerely, to be anywhere else.
"My Lady Stark."
Another voice came from behind you. Your head snapped upwards, every intention of refusing whoever had interrupted your misery.
"...Ethan?"
He stood before you with one hand extended and the most sympathetic smile you had ever seen him wear.
You raised an eyebrow.
"These dance proposals won't stop until someone actually dances with you." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Allow me to be the sacrificial lamb."
You stared at him for another second. Then immediately accepted his hand. The two of you made your way towards the centre of the hall, joining the countless other couples already swaying gently to the music.
"Gods..." you muttered beneath your breath as Ethan guided you through the dance. "I hate this."
"I know."
"I have developed a headache because of it."
Ethan laughed. "I was wondering why you looked ready to declare war." He spun you gently before continuing. "So...how many?"
"Seventeen men." You sighed dramatically before continuing. "And two women."
Ethan's eyes gleamed with poorly concealed amusement. "Then I truly deserve your gratitude."
You rolled your eyes. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Lord Glover. My eternal thanks."
"I shall expect a statue."
"You shall receive another kick."
He laughed again before his expression shifted ever so slightly.
"What?"
He nodded subtly over your shoulder.
"If looks could kill...I'd already be dead."
Confused, you allowed Ethan to guide the dance until his back faced the High Table, and you had the view of the table over his shoulders.
"Don't look immediately," he murmured. "That'll make it obvious."
Naturally, you looked immediately, and your breath caught in your throat.
Valarr was staring directly at the two of you. There was no smile upon his face, only something that looked painfully close to hurt. His jaw remained tightly clenched, his mismatched eyes fixed upon Ethan with an intensity you had never seen from the gentle prince before.
Then, his eyes met yours. You looked away so quickly your neck nearly hurt. Your heart began pounding against your ribs, as you remembered the way he had smiled down at you after the trial. The pride shining in his eyes. The warmth of that smile had lingered with you long after you had left the courtyard.
You had wanted to speak with him afterwards. Instead, duties had pulled you in opposite directions. Even tonight, when you entered the Great Hall, your eyes had instinctively searched for him first. He had been seated beside Berena as always, but he as looking at you.
Then the nobles had surrounded you, Alyssane had dragged you away, and the moment had slipped through your fingers. Ethan's amused chuckle pulled you back.
"Tch..." He shook his head.
"Looks like the prince isn't the only fool in love."
"There is nothing like that."
You answered far too quickly, and Ethan merely smiled.
"Of course." His grin widened as he looked at your properly.
"And I suppose the two of you simply keep staring at each other because the roasted venison wasn't cooked properly."
You stepped squarely onto his foot.
"Ouch!"
"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
The music ended and you offered Ethan a quick bow before anyone else could approach. Without another word, you slipped from the Great Hall.
You had no intention of remaining there long enough for an eighteenth proposal.
Your sword still needed tending. Although the blood had long since been washed from its blade, it still required oil before it could be sheathed properly for the night.
The armoury guards greeted you with respectful nods as you collected a clean cloth and a bottle of oil before quietly making your way towards the Godswood. The moment you stepped beneath the ancient trees, the noise of the feast faded behind you. Only the whispering of the leaves remained.
Specter already rested beside the great stone beneath the weirwood. His ears perking up the instant he saw you before he lazily stretched and wandered over.
You smiled at him as you scratched behind his ear, "At least someone has had a pleasant evening."
Settling upon the familiar stone, you dipped the cloth into the oil before drawing your sword across your lap, working the cloth across the steel.
For several peaceful minutes, nothing disturbed the silence beyond the rustling leaves overhead and Specter's slow breathing beside you.
Eventually, however, Specter's ears twitched. The great wolf lifted his head and sniffed the air. But he showed no signs of aggression, meaning the whoever it was, they were not a threat.
You sighed softly and closed your eyes.
"Ethan..."
You had already begun rehearsing whatever sarcastic remark you intended to greet him with. Instead, your name reached your ears, and your eyes snapped to confirm that you did just hallucinate the voice.
Several feet away stood Valarr. He wore a black and crimson doublet embroidered with dragons that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. A heavy fur-lined cloak rested upon his shoulders, fastened with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. His hair was more untidy than it had been during the feast. And his expression...looked relieved almost.
For several long moments, neither of you spoke. The sword resting across your lap was entirely forgotten as your gaze drifted towards those mismatched eyes once again.
"Valarr..." His name escaped your lips before you could stop it, and the silence finally broke.
Valarr scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I promise I wasn't following you." He spoke so quickly that you almost laughed. "I didn't even know you were here. I only wanted some fresh air, and I remembered you saying the Godswood was peaceful, so I thought perhaps I would walk here and then I—"
A quiet laugh escaped you, and you bit your lip before it grew any louder.
"It's alright." You smiled reassuringly. "I believe you."
Valarr visibly relaxed. He approached slowly before stopping a respectful distance away, his hands once again finding their familiar place clasped neatly behind his back.
You realised, rather belatedly, that you had begun staring again. You quickly lowered your gaze back towards your sword.
"You come here often to clean it?"
You nodded. "I do." You gently ran the cloth along the blade. "It is peaceful here."
Valarr glanced around the Godswood before nodding in quiet agreement. His eyes drifted towards Specter, who regarded him with sleepy indifference. Valarr offered the direwolf a tiny smile. And you hid another smile of your own.
"I..." Valarr began quietly as you looked up at him, "I never had the chance to congratulate you."
A breath escaped you, warmth immediately creeping across your cheeks. You cleared your throat as you slid your sword back into its sheath, trying your best to appear unaffected. "Thank you."
Valarr shook his head almost immediately, his mismatched eyes never leaving yours.
"No, I mean it." His voice carried an earnestness that made your chest tighten. "I have never seen anyone fight like that before. Even the master at arms back at King's Landing does not fight the way you do. Every strike was precise, every movement deliberate. You looked comfortable. Like the sword belonged in your hand."
He paused for only a heartbeat before continuing, his excitement carrying his words faster than he could seem to think. "You never looked afraid. Even when everyone was watching you, it felt as though you had forgotten the crowd entirely. You only saw your opponent. It was..." He breathed out a small laugh and scratched the back of his neck. "It was incredible."
You stared at him. No one had ever spoken about your swordsmanship like that. Most compliments had always come with conditions about how you were good enough for a woman. For someone who was never meant to inherit. There had always been something attached to the praise.
But Valarr had simply called you incredible. Your heart fluttered so violently that it almost hurt, and you looked away before the prince could notice just how affected you were.
"Thank you," you repeated more quietly, your voice softer this time. "Truly."
You took a small breath before looking back at him. "And...thank you for speaking up during the council."
Valarr visibly tensed before slowly relaxing again. From the corner of your eye, you caught the faint red spreading across the tips of his ears.
"It was nothing," he murmured. "I only did what anyone should have done."
You smiled gently. "That may be true, but no one found the courage to speak against another lord before an entire council."
Your eyes met his. "You did, and I am grateful."
For a long moment, Valarr simply stood there, his gaze lowered as though he did not quite know what to do with your gratitude. He finally inclined his head ever so slightly before looking towards the great weirwood standing proudly before the two of you.
Silence settled once more between the two of you. It was not uncomfortable, if anything, it felt peaceful.
The wind stirred the crimson leaves overhead, carrying with it the distant sounds of celebration from the castle.
Then Valarr spoke again. "I lied."
Your brows drew together. "You lied?"
He swallowed. "I did follow you."
His shoulders stiffened immediately afterward. "I-I mean- not in a strange way." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I saw you leave the hall, and you looked uncomfortable. I know how persistent southern lords can be. And then I saw you dancing with Lord Glover."
Something flickered across his expression. Something uncertain and something that lingered close to hurt. "I thought perhaps he had upset you. And I remembered finding you here before."
He laughed nervously, though there was very little humour in it. "So, I guessed this was where you would come." He looked down at the ground. "I am sorry if I overstepped."
Something inside your chest softened. Without truly thinking, you stepped closer, your hand reaching for his gloved one almost on instinct, your fingers wrapping gently around it.
And you can feel Valarr freeze. His eyes slowly lifting until they met yours once more.
"I must say," you murmured with the smallest smile, "you worry far too much, my prince."
A faint blush coloured his cheeks.
"But..." you continued softly, "...I find it rather endearing."
His lips parted ever so slightly, you could almost hear his heart stop.
"And Ethan and I are only friends," you explained. "We have known each other since childhood. We argue, we tease each other, and occasionally I contemplate pushing him into a lake. He can be quite insufferable."
You can see Valarr's shoulders easing ever so slightly.
"So..." he asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer, "...Lord Ethan is not your lover?"
You could not help the disbelief laugh that escaped you. The expression on your face turned positively horrified.
"Gods, no."
You wrinkled your nose dramatically.
"He is practically my brother."
The relief that crossed Valarr's face was almost immediate. His entire posture relaxed, and the tension he had been carrying seemed to melt away all at once. You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to spread across your own lips.
"Then," he murmured sheepishly, "I apologise for assuming."
When you turned back towards him, you realised just how little distance remained between the two of you. Neither of you had noticed yourselves moving closer. And his face was barely inches from yours.
For the first time, you noticed the freckles scattered lightly across his cheeks and nose. You had never realised he had them. They somehow made him look even softer, even more handsome.
Your eyes drifted lower to look at his lips, only for the briefest of moments. Warmth rushed through you so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.
When your gaze lifted again, Valarr was already looking at you. His mismatched eyes searching yours with the same quiet wonder and daze that you imagined was reflected in your own.
Neither of you moved or spoke. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your hand, and your heartbeat thundered against your ribs.
You knew this was wrong, and exactly who he was meant to marry. You knew what your duty was, that you should step back and let go.
You should say something.
Instead, you remained exactly where you were. Blaming the blurr of your judgement on your blood, which was still running hot from the trial.
Valarr hesitated slightly, and you watched uncertainty cross his face. As though he wished to move closer but feared he had imagined everything.
Then slowly, he leaned forward. His forehead almost brushed yours, his lips mere inches away from your own as his breath fanned softly across your face.
You closed your eyes for only a heartbeat before opening them again, meeting his gaze one last time. And then, you were the one who closed the remaining distance.
Your lips met his.
It was soft and tentative. Almost questioning. For a fraction of a second, Valarr stood perfectly still. Then he kissed you back with the same hesitant gentleness, as though terrified that moving too quickly would shatter the moment entirely. His body moving to press against yours.
One of his hands lifted carefully to cup your cheek. It was warm despite the cold air around you. Your fingers tightened around his other hand without thinking.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. There was no rustling of the leaves or the distant celebration from Winterfell. The only thing you felt, was the warmth of the prince who was standing impossibly close.
It was everything you had imagined a first kiss might be. So gentle and so innocent.
Then reality returned all at once. Your eyes flew open, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.
Berena.
You just kissed your sister's possible betrothed.
Everything crashed into you with enough force to make your stomach twist. You stumbled backwards, your hands pressing against Valarr's chest.
He stepped away immediately. The colour drained from both of your faces. Behind you, Specter let out a quiet, uneasy whine. Valarr looked every bit as horrified as you felt.
"My-" He swallowed. "I...I am-." His words tumbled over one another, his own breath coming in panicked pants. "I should not have-I never meant- I-"
He took one hesitant step towards you. But you instinctively took another step back. Your ears rang, and chest felt painfully tight. Tears blurred your vision before you even realised they had formed.
"I..." Your voice broke. "I need to go."
It was barely more than a whisper. You turned before he could stop you. The trees blurred together as you ran through the Godswood towards the castle without ever looking back.
Valarr remained standing in the Godswood for what felt like hours. His feet refused to move, rooted to the snow beneath them as he struggled to steady his breathing. The cold wind bit at his face, but he scarcely felt it. All he could see was the horrified expression that had crossed your face before you fled.
His first kiss.
Ever since he was a child, he had imagined that whoever became his wife would also be the one to share that first kiss with him. It would be something precious, something he would remember with fondness for the rest of his life.
Instead, all he could remember were the tears that had gathered in your eyes. The way you had looked at him as though the two of you had just made a terrible mistake.
Valarr closed his eyes and dragged a trembling hand through his hair.
Gods.
What had he done?
He should have stopped. He knew better. He knew your sister was the one everyone expected him to marry, and yet the moment you had stepped closer, every lesson about duty and honour had abandoned him. He had let his heart decide where his mind should have.
And now he had hurt you and the thought alone made his stomach churn. His fingers tightened in his hair until the slight sting grounded him.
He needed to apologise.
Now.
Valarr turned and broke into a run. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he raced through the Godswood and across the courtyard, barely noticing the startled guards who stepped aside to let him pass. His cloak billowed behind him as he hurried through the castle corridors, his thoughts running faster than his feet.
He did not even know where your chambers were. But if he had to knock on every single door in Winterfell until he found you, then he would.
As he rounded another corner, he nearly collided with Meera. The maid balanced a plate carrying slices of cake, her brows knitting together in confusion the moment she recognised him.
"My prince?"
Valarr stopped so abruptly that he nearly lost his footing.
"My lady Meera," he breathed, struggling to collect himself. "Please..."
Your name escaped his lips before he swallowed hard.
"Can you tell me where her chambers are?"
Meera blinked several times. "My prince... I..." She glanced down the corridor before looking back at him. "Why would you need to know that? I do not believe it would be appropriate."
"I do not care." The words left him before he could soften them.
"I need-" He took another shaky breath, his eyes searching Meera's desperately. "No...I have to speak with her. I beg you."
The maid studied him carefully. His hair was dishevelled, his breathing uneven, his hands still trembling ever so slightly. Something in her expression shifted.
"My prince," she said gently, "I do not think that would be wise."
Valarr's heart sank.
"The lady requested not to be disturbed tonight. She did not look herself when she returned. I do not believe she wishes to see anyone."
"Please." His voice cracked. "I only wish to apologise."
Before Meera could answer, footsteps echoed through the corridor and a Kingsguard approached before bowing respectfully.
"Your Grace."
Valarr turned sharply.
"What is it?"
The impatience in his own voice surprised even him.
"Prince Baelor requests your immediate presence in his chambers."
Valarr frowned. "Tell my father I am unavailable."
The Kingsguard remained perfectly still. "I was given strict instructions that you were to come immediately, Your Grace."
Valarr closed his eyes. For one brief moment, he considered refusing. Then Meera spoke quietly beside him.
"My prince, I think you should attend to your duties." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "I promise you, Lady Stark will not be speaking to anyone tonight."
Those words struck harder than he wished to admit, because he knew the reason for her isolation. He lowered his head before letting out a slow breath.
"If- if you see her," His throat tightened. "Please tell her-" He struggled to force the words out. "Tell her I wish to apologise. And whenever she finds it in her heart to grant me even the smallest amount of forgiveness, I will be waiting."
Meera inclined her head. "I will tell her."
Valarr managed a quiet nod before turning away to follow the Kingsguard. The journey to his father's chambers felt strangely endless. His thoughts refused to settle, every few moments returning to the memory of your lips against his before immediately replacing it with the image of your horrified expression as you ran away.
He knocked softly.
"Come in." His father's voice came from the other side.
Valarr straightened himself as best he could before opening the door. Prince Baelor stood near the fireplace with several letters in his hands while Princess Jena sat comfortably upon one of the chairs nearby.
Valarr bowed. "Father. Mother."
Jena smiled the moment she saw him, though her expression softened almost immediately.
"My sweet boy, you look troubled?"
Valarr forced himself to smile. "It is nothing, Mother."
He turned towards his father. "You wished to see me?"
Prince Baelor folded the letter in his hand before looking up.
"Yes."
He motioned for Valarr to come closer before taking a seat beside his wife.
"I believe it is time we accomplish what we came North to do."
Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.
"I also believe," Baelor continued, "that we have already overstayed Lord Stark's hospitality. Especially after everything that transpired yesterday." He sighed quietly. "I do not wish to burden him any longer."
"What do you mean, Father?"
Jena smiled warmly beside her husband. "What your father means..." She reached over to squeeze Baelor's hand. "...is that it is finally time to offer the betrothal."
Valarr felt his heartbeat stop.
"Lady Berena is intelligent, graceful, and carries herself exactly as one would expect from a future queen," Prince Baelor continued. "She possesses every quality worthy of becoming the future Lady of the Red Keep."
The words blurred together, Valarr scarcely heard another sentence. His breathing grew shallow and his chest tightened painfully.
The thought of marrying Berena after what had happened in the Godswood made him feel ill. Not because Berena lacked anything. But because she was not you.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze to the floor as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
He had to tell them. He had to tell them that somewhere between your laughter, your stubbornness, your sword, and the quiet evenings beneath the heart tree, he had fallen hopelessly in love with you.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words lodged themselves somewhere between his heart and his throat, refusing to leave him. His thoughts spiralled until he felt lightheaded, as though the room itself had begun to spin around him.
Then, he heard your name, and his head snapped upwards. Prince Baelor was already watching him. Not with confusion or disappointment, but with an expression Valarr could not quite place.
"Lord Stark's eldest daughter." His father spoke your title slowly, almost thoughtfully. "She is not what many in the southern court would expect a lady to be."
Valarr's heart began hammering.
"She is not soft-spoken." Baelor smiled faintly. "She does not embroider, nor spend her days composing songs."
A small chuckle escaped Princess Jena beside him. "I have heard she once broke a northern lord's nose during training."
Valarr blinked confusingly and his father continued as though he had not spoken at all.
"Many would say she is not ladylike enough." He paused. "I disagree."
Baelor stepped closer until only a single pace separated father and son, and his eyes softened. "A woman who understands diplomacy as well as warfare, who commands respect without demanding it, and who would gladly place herself between danger and those under her protection..."
He smiled proudly.
"That is exactly the sort of queen the realm ought to have."
Valarr felt his ears burn. His heartbeat became so loud he was certain both of his parents could hear it.
Hope. Silly little hope. It bloomed inside his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. If there truly was even the smallest chance, if he could marry you...He would thank the Seven every day for the rest of his life.
Baelor regarded him quietly for another moment before stepping forward. He lifted a hand and rested it gently against Valarr's cheek, just as he had done ever since Valarr had been a little boy frightened by storms.
"And she may not be what the Red Keep expects or wants," Baelor said softly. His thumb brushed against Valarr's cheek with quiet affection.
"But, my son..." A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I believe she is exactly what you need."
Valarr stared at him and he felt something warm bloom inside his chest. A feeling he had thought he had lost the moment you ran from him in the Godswood, and the moment his father had started talking about betrothal.
But as quickly as it had come, the memory of your horrified expression returned, dulling that warmth once more. If there truly was a future where he could stand beside you, then he first had to earn the right to stand before you again.
□ summary: After the celebration following the trial, you seek refuge beneath the weirwood tree to clear your mind, only for Valarr to find you once again. What begins as a quiet conversation filled with gratitude and unspoken feelings quickly turns into something neither of you can stop, nor undo.
□ word count: 4.5k
□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.
□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.
□ a/n: It took me so long to perfect this chapter. Also i started working on a new baelor angst fic, cant wait to complete that :). Thank you so much for reading 💛💛 see you next week.
Chapter 9
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The Great Hall was alive with celebration. The voices of drunken lords echoed beneath the ceilings of the hall as bards played lively songs from one corner. Servants hurried between tables, carrying roasted meats, steaming pies and overflowing goblets of ale, weaving around laughing nobles.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was you.
After the trial had ended, you had returned to your chambers for a much needed bath before spending what felt like an eternity in your father's solar discussing Lord Mallery's punishment and the unrest it might cause amongst the southern lords.
By the time you had finally entered the Great Hall, almost every pair of eyes had turned towards you.
The Northerners had congratulated you on your victory, praising you with pride shining in their eyes.
The southerners had been different. Many older lords had eagerly introduced their sons or widowed relatives to you, while younger knights and heirs had attempted to charm you with smiles they no doubt believed irresistible. Every few minutes another unfamiliar face would appear before you with compliments that grew more exaggerated than the last.
One even claimed the Maiden herself must have carved your face from marble. You had nearly laughed.
It had been over an hour, yet you still had not managed to reach the High Table. Instead, Alyssane had practically kidnapped you almost the moment you stepped inside and proudly introduced you to the group of young southern ladies she had somehow befriended during their stay.
To your absolute horror, they had spent most of the evening lamenting the fact that you had been born a woman.
"If only you had been a man," one sighed dramatically. "I would've married you."
Another had simply shrugged. "I still would, if you allow it my lady."
Your ears had burned scarlet while Alyssane had laughed herself breathless beside you. Northern ladies, as William often liked to remind you, had always swooned over you. But unlike the southerners they usually do not possess enough courage to announce it aloud.
Yet another difference between the North and the South.
You quietly accepted another slice of cake while Alyssane enthusiastically retold the events of the trial for what had to be the fifth time.
"...and then she simply walked into the courtyard covered in blo-"
"My Lady Stark." The unfamiliar voice interrupted her.
You looked up to find a young man standing before your table. He could not have seen more than twenty namedays old. Judging by both his accent and attire, he was undoubtedly from the South. He bowed politely before extending a hand towards you.
"My lady..." His cheeks flushed crimson. "May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? I fear you have quite thoroughly bewitched me."
You stared at him for a brief moment. Then, internally, wondered whether shoving his face into the cake would be considered poor etiquette.
This made seventeen men today who had claimed to have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Taking a slow breath, you forced your most polite smile onto your face.
"I am honoured by the offer, my lord. Unfortunately...I do not dance."
You deliberately returned your attention to your cake, silently praying he would understand the dismissal. And thankfully, he did. After a hurried apology, the poor man practically fled.
Beside you, Alyssane failed spectacularly at suppressing her laughter. You slowly turned to glare at her and she immediately looked away.
With an exhausted groan, you rested your forehead against the table. You wished, quite sincerely, to be anywhere else.
"My Lady Stark."
Another voice came from behind you. Your head snapped upwards, every intention of refusing whoever had interrupted your misery.
"...Ethan?"
He stood before you with one hand extended and the most sympathetic smile you had ever seen him wear.
You raised an eyebrow.
"These dance proposals won't stop until someone actually dances with you." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Allow me to be the sacrificial lamb."
You stared at him for another second. Then immediately accepted his hand. The two of you made your way towards the centre of the hall, joining the countless other couples already swaying gently to the music.
"Gods..." you muttered beneath your breath as Ethan guided you through the dance. "I hate this."
"I know."
"I have developed a headache because of it."
Ethan laughed. "I was wondering why you looked ready to declare war." He spun you gently before continuing. "So...how many?"
"Seventeen men." You sighed dramatically before continuing. "And two women."
Ethan's eyes gleamed with poorly concealed amusement. "Then I truly deserve your gratitude."
You rolled your eyes. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Lord Glover. My eternal thanks."
"I shall expect a statue."
"You shall receive another kick."
He laughed again before his expression shifted ever so slightly.
"What?"
He nodded subtly over your shoulder.
"If looks could kill...I'd already be dead."
Confused, you allowed Ethan to guide the dance until his back faced the High Table, and you had the view of the table over his shoulders.
"Don't look immediately," he murmured. "That'll make it obvious."
Naturally, you looked immediately, and your breath caught in your throat.
Valarr was staring directly at the two of you. There was no smile upon his face, only something that looked painfully close to hurt. His jaw remained tightly clenched, his mismatched eyes fixed upon Ethan with an intensity you had never seen from the gentle prince before.
Then, his eyes met yours. You looked away so quickly your neck nearly hurt. Your heart began pounding against your ribs, as you remembered the way he had smiled down at you after the trial. The pride shining in his eyes. The warmth of that smile had lingered with you long after you had left the courtyard.
You had wanted to speak with him afterwards. Instead, duties had pulled you in opposite directions. Even tonight, when you entered the Great Hall, your eyes had instinctively searched for him first. He had been seated beside Berena as always, but he as looking at you.
Then the nobles had surrounded you, Alyssane had dragged you away, and the moment had slipped through your fingers. Ethan's amused chuckle pulled you back.
"Tch..." He shook his head.
"Looks like the prince isn't the only fool in love."
"There is nothing like that."
You answered far too quickly, and Ethan merely smiled.
"Of course." His grin widened as he looked at your properly.
"And I suppose the two of you simply keep staring at each other because the roasted venison wasn't cooked properly."
You stepped squarely onto his foot.
"Ouch!"
"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
The music ended and you offered Ethan a quick bow before anyone else could approach. Without another word, you slipped from the Great Hall.
You had no intention of remaining there long enough for an eighteenth proposal.
Your sword still needed tending. Although the blood had long since been washed from its blade, it still required oil before it could be sheathed properly for the night.
The armoury guards greeted you with respectful nods as you collected a clean cloth and a bottle of oil before quietly making your way towards the Godswood. The moment you stepped beneath the ancient trees, the noise of the feast faded behind you. Only the whispering of the leaves remained.
Specter already rested beside the great stone beneath the weirwood. His ears perking up the instant he saw you before he lazily stretched and wandered over.
You smiled at him as you scratched behind his ear, "At least someone has had a pleasant evening."
Settling upon the familiar stone, you dipped the cloth into the oil before drawing your sword across your lap, working the cloth across the steel.
For several peaceful minutes, nothing disturbed the silence beyond the rustling leaves overhead and Specter's slow breathing beside you.
Eventually, however, Specter's ears twitched. The great wolf lifted his head and sniffed the air. But he showed no signs of aggression, meaning the whoever it was, they were not a threat.
You sighed softly and closed your eyes.
"Ethan..."
You had already begun rehearsing whatever sarcastic remark you intended to greet him with. Instead, your name reached your ears, and your eyes snapped to confirm that you did just hallucinate the voice.
Several feet away stood Valarr. He wore a black and crimson doublet embroidered with dragons that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. A heavy fur-lined cloak rested upon his shoulders, fastened with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. His hair was more untidy than it had been during the feast. And his expression...looked relieved almost.
For several long moments, neither of you spoke. The sword resting across your lap was entirely forgotten as your gaze drifted towards those mismatched eyes once again.
"Valarr..." His name escaped your lips before you could stop it, and the silence finally broke.
Valarr scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I promise I wasn't following you." He spoke so quickly that you almost laughed. "I didn't even know you were here. I only wanted some fresh air, and I remembered you saying the Godswood was peaceful, so I thought perhaps I would walk here and then I—"
A quiet laugh escaped you, and you bit your lip before it grew any louder.
"It's alright." You smiled reassuringly. "I believe you."
Valarr visibly relaxed. He approached slowly before stopping a respectful distance away, his hands once again finding their familiar place clasped neatly behind his back.
You realised, rather belatedly, that you had begun staring again. You quickly lowered your gaze back towards your sword.
"You come here often to clean it?"
You nodded. "I do." You gently ran the cloth along the blade. "It is peaceful here."
Valarr glanced around the Godswood before nodding in quiet agreement. His eyes drifted towards Specter, who regarded him with sleepy indifference. Valarr offered the direwolf a tiny smile. And you hid another smile of your own.
"I..." Valarr began quietly as you looked up at him, "I never had the chance to congratulate you."
A breath escaped you, warmth immediately creeping across your cheeks. You cleared your throat as you slid your sword back into its sheath, trying your best to appear unaffected. "Thank you."
Valarr shook his head almost immediately, his mismatched eyes never leaving yours.
"No, I mean it." His voice carried an earnestness that made your chest tighten. "I have never seen anyone fight like that before. Even the master at arms back at King's Landing does not fight the way you do. Every strike was precise, every movement deliberate. You looked comfortable. Like the sword belonged in your hand."
He paused for only a heartbeat before continuing, his excitement carrying his words faster than he could seem to think. "You never looked afraid. Even when everyone was watching you, it felt as though you had forgotten the crowd entirely. You only saw your opponent. It was..." He breathed out a small laugh and scratched the back of his neck. "It was incredible."
You stared at him. No one had ever spoken about your swordsmanship like that. Most compliments had always come with conditions about how you were good enough for a woman. For someone who was never meant to inherit. There had always been something attached to the praise.
But Valarr had simply called you incredible. Your heart fluttered so violently that it almost hurt, and you looked away before the prince could notice just how affected you were.
"Thank you," you repeated more quietly, your voice softer this time. "Truly."
You took a small breath before looking back at him. "And...thank you for speaking up during the council."
Valarr visibly tensed before slowly relaxing again. From the corner of your eye, you caught the faint red spreading across the tips of his ears.
"It was nothing," he murmured. "I only did what anyone should have done."
You smiled gently. "That may be true, but no one found the courage to speak against another lord before an entire council."
Your eyes met his. "You did, and I am grateful."
For a long moment, Valarr simply stood there, his gaze lowered as though he did not quite know what to do with your gratitude. He finally inclined his head ever so slightly before looking towards the great weirwood standing proudly before the two of you.
Silence settled once more between the two of you. It was not uncomfortable, if anything, it felt peaceful.
The wind stirred the crimson leaves overhead, carrying with it the distant sounds of celebration from the castle.
Then Valarr spoke again. "I lied."
Your brows drew together. "You lied?"
He swallowed. "I did follow you."
His shoulders stiffened immediately afterward. "I-I mean- not in a strange way." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I saw you leave the hall, and you looked uncomfortable. I know how persistent southern lords can be. And then I saw you dancing with Lord Glover."
Something flickered across his expression. Something uncertain and something that lingered close to hurt. "I thought perhaps he had upset you. And I remembered finding you here before."
He laughed nervously, though there was very little humour in it. "So, I guessed this was where you would come." He looked down at the ground. "I am sorry if I overstepped."
Something inside your chest softened. Without truly thinking, you stepped closer, your hand reaching for his gloved one almost on instinct, your fingers wrapping gently around it.
And you can feel Valarr freeze. His eyes slowly lifting until they met yours once more.
"I must say," you murmured with the smallest smile, "you worry far too much, my prince."
A faint blush coloured his cheeks.
"But..." you continued softly, "...I find it rather endearing."
His lips parted ever so slightly, you could almost hear his heart stop.
"And Ethan and I are only friends," you explained. "We have known each other since childhood. We argue, we tease each other, and occasionally I contemplate pushing him into a lake. He can be quite insufferable."
You can see Valarr's shoulders easing ever so slightly.
"So..." he asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer, "...Lord Ethan is not your lover?"
You could not help the disbelief laugh that escaped you. The expression on your face turned positively horrified.
"Gods, no."
You wrinkled your nose dramatically.
"He is practically my brother."
The relief that crossed Valarr's face was almost immediate. His entire posture relaxed, and the tension he had been carrying seemed to melt away all at once. You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to spread across your own lips.
"Then," he murmured sheepishly, "I apologise for assuming."
When you turned back towards him, you realised just how little distance remained between the two of you. Neither of you had noticed yourselves moving closer. And his face was barely inches from yours.
For the first time, you noticed the freckles scattered lightly across his cheeks and nose. You had never realised he had them. They somehow made him look even softer, even more handsome.
Your eyes drifted lower to look at his lips, only for the briefest of moments. Warmth rushed through you so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.
When your gaze lifted again, Valarr was already looking at you. His mismatched eyes searching yours with the same quiet wonder and daze that you imagined was reflected in your own.
Neither of you moved or spoke. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your hand, and your heartbeat thundered against your ribs.
You knew this was wrong, and exactly who he was meant to marry. You knew what your duty was, that you should step back and let go.
You should say something.
Instead, you remained exactly where you were. Blaming the blurr of your judgement on your blood, which was still running hot from the trial.
Valarr hesitated slightly, and you watched uncertainty cross his face. As though he wished to move closer but feared he had imagined everything.
Then slowly, he leaned forward. His forehead almost brushed yours, his lips mere inches away from your own as his breath fanned softly across your face.
You closed your eyes for only a heartbeat before opening them again, meeting his gaze one last time. And then, you were the one who closed the remaining distance.
Your lips met his.
It was soft and tentative. Almost questioning. For a fraction of a second, Valarr stood perfectly still. Then he kissed you back with the same hesitant gentleness, as though terrified that moving too quickly would shatter the moment entirely. His body moving to press against yours.
One of his hands lifted carefully to cup your cheek. It was warm despite the cold air around you. Your fingers tightened around his other hand without thinking.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. There was no rustling of the leaves or the distant celebration from Winterfell. The only thing you felt, was the warmth of the prince who was standing impossibly close.
It was everything you had imagined a first kiss might be. So gentle and so innocent.
Then reality returned all at once. Your eyes flew open, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.
Berena.
You just kissed your sister's possible betrothed.
Everything crashed into you with enough force to make your stomach twist. You stumbled backwards, your hands pressing against Valarr's chest.
He stepped away immediately. The colour drained from both of your faces. Behind you, Specter let out a quiet, uneasy whine. Valarr looked every bit as horrified as you felt.
"My-" He swallowed. "I...I am-." His words tumbled over one another, his own breath coming in panicked pants. "I should not have-I never meant- I-"
He took one hesitant step towards you. But you instinctively took another step back. Your ears rang, and chest felt painfully tight. Tears blurred your vision before you even realised they had formed.
"I..." Your voice broke. "I need to go."
It was barely more than a whisper. You turned before he could stop you. The trees blurred together as you ran through the Godswood towards the castle without ever looking back.
Valarr remained standing in the Godswood for what felt like hours. His feet refused to move, rooted to the snow beneath them as he struggled to steady his breathing. The cold wind bit at his face, but he scarcely felt it. All he could see was the horrified expression that had crossed your face before you fled.
His first kiss.
Ever since he was a child, he had imagined that whoever became his wife would also be the one to share that first kiss with him. It would be something precious, something he would remember with fondness for the rest of his life.
Instead, all he could remember were the tears that had gathered in your eyes. The way you had looked at him as though the two of you had just made a terrible mistake.
Valarr closed his eyes and dragged a trembling hand through his hair.
Gods.
What had he done?
He should have stopped. He knew better. He knew your sister was the one everyone expected him to marry, and yet the moment you had stepped closer, every lesson about duty and honour had abandoned him. He had let his heart decide where his mind should have.
And now he had hurt you and the thought alone made his stomach churn. His fingers tightened in his hair until the slight sting grounded him.
He needed to apologise.
Now.
Valarr turned and broke into a run. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he raced through the Godswood and across the courtyard, barely noticing the startled guards who stepped aside to let him pass. His cloak billowed behind him as he hurried through the castle corridors, his thoughts running faster than his feet.
He did not even know where your chambers were. But if he had to knock on every single door in Winterfell until he found you, then he would.
As he rounded another corner, he nearly collided with Meera. The maid balanced a plate carrying slices of cake, her brows knitting together in confusion the moment she recognised him.
"My prince?"
Valarr stopped so abruptly that he nearly lost his footing.
"My lady Meera," he breathed, struggling to collect himself. "Please..."
Your name escaped his lips before he swallowed hard.
"Can you tell me where her chambers are?"
Meera blinked several times. "My prince... I..." She glanced down the corridor before looking back at him. "Why would you need to know that? I do not believe it would be appropriate."
"I do not care." The words left him before he could soften them.
"I need-" He took another shaky breath, his eyes searching Meera's desperately. "No...I have to speak with her. I beg you."
The maid studied him carefully. His hair was dishevelled, his breathing uneven, his hands still trembling ever so slightly. Something in her expression shifted.
"My prince," she said gently, "I do not think that would be wise."
Valarr's heart sank.
"The lady requested not to be disturbed tonight. She did not look herself when she returned. I do not believe she wishes to see anyone."
"Please." His voice cracked. "I only wish to apologise."
Before Meera could answer, footsteps echoed through the corridor and a Kingsguard approached before bowing respectfully.
"Your Grace."
Valarr turned sharply.
"What is it?"
The impatience in his own voice surprised even him.
"Prince Baelor requests your immediate presence in his chambers."
Valarr frowned. "Tell my father I am unavailable."
The Kingsguard remained perfectly still. "I was given strict instructions that you were to come immediately, Your Grace."
Valarr closed his eyes. For one brief moment, he considered refusing. Then Meera spoke quietly beside him.
"My prince, I think you should attend to your duties." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "I promise you, Lady Stark will not be speaking to anyone tonight."
Those words struck harder than he wished to admit, because he knew the reason for her isolation. He lowered his head before letting out a slow breath.
"If- if you see her," His throat tightened. "Please tell her-" He struggled to force the words out. "Tell her I wish to apologise. And whenever she finds it in her heart to grant me even the smallest amount of forgiveness, I will be waiting."
Meera inclined her head. "I will tell her."
Valarr managed a quiet nod before turning away to follow the Kingsguard. The journey to his father's chambers felt strangely endless. His thoughts refused to settle, every few moments returning to the memory of your lips against his before immediately replacing it with the image of your horrified expression as you ran away.
He knocked softly.
"Come in." His father's voice came from the other side.
Valarr straightened himself as best he could before opening the door. Prince Baelor stood near the fireplace with several letters in his hands while Princess Jena sat comfortably upon one of the chairs nearby.
Valarr bowed. "Father. Mother."
Jena smiled the moment she saw him, though her expression softened almost immediately.
"My sweet boy, you look troubled?"
Valarr forced himself to smile. "It is nothing, Mother."
He turned towards his father. "You wished to see me?"
Prince Baelor folded the letter in his hand before looking up.
"Yes."
He motioned for Valarr to come closer before taking a seat beside his wife.
"I believe it is time we accomplish what we came North to do."
Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.
"I also believe," Baelor continued, "that we have already overstayed Lord Stark's hospitality. Especially after everything that transpired yesterday." He sighed quietly. "I do not wish to burden him any longer."
"What do you mean, Father?"
Jena smiled warmly beside her husband. "What your father means..." She reached over to squeeze Baelor's hand. "...is that it is finally time to offer the betrothal."
Valarr felt his heartbeat stop.
"Lady Berena is intelligent, graceful, and carries herself exactly as one would expect from a future queen," Prince Baelor continued. "She possesses every quality worthy of becoming the future Lady of the Red Keep."
The words blurred together, Valarr scarcely heard another sentence. His breathing grew shallow and his chest tightened painfully.
The thought of marrying Berena after what had happened in the Godswood made him feel ill. Not because Berena lacked anything. But because she was not you.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze to the floor as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
He had to tell them. He had to tell them that somewhere between your laughter, your stubbornness, your sword, and the quiet evenings beneath the heart tree, he had fallen hopelessly in love with you.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words lodged themselves somewhere between his heart and his throat, refusing to leave him. His thoughts spiralled until he felt lightheaded, as though the room itself had begun to spin around him.
Then, he heard your name, and his head snapped upwards. Prince Baelor was already watching him. Not with confusion or disappointment, but with an expression Valarr could not quite place.
"Lord Stark's eldest daughter." His father spoke your title slowly, almost thoughtfully. "She is not what many in the southern court would expect a lady to be."
Valarr's heart began hammering.
"She is not soft-spoken." Baelor smiled faintly. "She does not embroider, nor spend her days composing songs."
A small chuckle escaped Princess Jena beside him. "I have heard she once broke a northern lord's nose during training."
Valarr blinked confusingly and his father continued as though he had not spoken at all.
"Many would say she is not ladylike enough." He paused. "I disagree."
Baelor stepped closer until only a single pace separated father and son, and his eyes softened. "A woman who understands diplomacy as well as warfare, who commands respect without demanding it, and who would gladly place herself between danger and those under her protection..."
He smiled proudly.
"That is exactly the sort of queen the realm ought to have."
Valarr felt his ears burn. His heartbeat became so loud he was certain both of his parents could hear it.
Hope. Silly little hope. It bloomed inside his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. If there truly was even the smallest chance, if he could marry you...He would thank the Seven every day for the rest of his life.
Baelor regarded him quietly for another moment before stepping forward. He lifted a hand and rested it gently against Valarr's cheek, just as he had done ever since Valarr had been a little boy frightened by storms.
"And she may not be what the Red Keep expects or wants," Baelor said softly. His thumb brushed against Valarr's cheek with quiet affection.
"But, my son..." A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I believe she is exactly what you need."
Valarr stared at him and he felt something warm bloom inside his chest. A feeling he had thought he had lost the moment you ran from him in the Godswood, and the moment his father had started talking about betrothal.
But as quickly as it had come, the memory of your horrified expression returned, dulling that warmth once more. If there truly was a future where he could stand beside you, then he first had to earn the right to stand before you again.
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