LadySoleil

The first thing you felt as you tried to open your eyes was the pounding in your head. The second was someone knocking on your door.

You groaned and pulled the furs over your head, burying your face deeper into the pillow. One hand came up to press against your temple, as if that might somehow stop the throbbing.

"My lady, please open the door. It's-" Meera's voice drifted through the wood.

"Begone. I need sleep," you called back miserably, burying your face in the pillow as the knocking only intensified.

You let out a groan. But before you could muster another complaint, a familiar voice boomed through the door.

"If you do not open this door this instant, not only will you be grounded for a moon, but I shall forbid you from leaving this castle for a week."

You were out of bed before she finished speaking. The room spun slightly as your feet hit the floor. The ale had been a mistake, the throbbing in your head intensying with each passing moment.

You practically lunged for the door and yanked it open.

"Mother. Good morrow." You said attempting a smile. Though it felt more like a grimace.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Meera and Layla standing behind your mother. Both women looked as though they wished to be anywhere else.

Your mother pushed past you without a word, and the door shut firmly behind her.

You swallowed as her gaze settled on you. If looks could kill, Winterfell would be preparing your funeral.

"I was about to wake up, I swea-"

"Where were you last night?"

The question cut straight through your excuse, and you straightened slightly.

"I was here. In my chambers. Where else would I be?"

Your mother's eyebrow arched as she let out a huff of breath. "So you went to sleep in commoner's clothes and a ragged cloak?"

Your eyes widened as looked down, and found yourself still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Probably too tired and drunk to change out of them last night. You mentally cursed yourself.

"Mother, I can expla-"

"DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL?"

You physically winced. The volume alone nearly split your skull. And outside the door, the entire corridor could probably hear every word.

"Sneaking out in the middle of the night," your mother continued, "and to a tavern of all places!"

"I didn't go to a tav-"

"I can smell the ale from where I stand." She said as her glare sharpened, and you wished the floor would swallow you whole.

"Have you lost your mind?" she demanded. "Did you truly think I would not know?"

"Mother, please just listen-"

"No." The single word struck harder than any shout. Ever could. Her voice sharp, practically dripping anger. "Not today."

She stepped closer.

"A Stark lady sneaking out in the middle of the night. Do you have any idea what the consequences would have been if someone saw you? The damage it would bring not only to your honour, but to the honour of this family?"

You remained where you stood. Your jaw clenched and eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor.

"The Old Gods help me." Your mother's hand dragged across her face. "Did you even stop to think what the royals would make of this?"

"I do not care for their opinions."

The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

"What?"

"I said I do not care for their opinions."

Your mother's laugh held no amusement as a bitter smile touched her lips.

"Of course you don't. You have never cared much for anyone's opinion apart from your own."

The words stung more than they should. Not because they were true, but because part of you feared they might be.

"But have you considered Berena?" your mother continued. "Or Alyssane?"

You opened your mouth, but immediately snapped it shut as your mother raised a hand in warning.

"You do not wish to marry. Fine,' her voice trembled slightly. "So be it."

You hated hearing that disappointment, hated it more because you knew she tried so hard to hide it.

"But do not ruin your sisters' chances because of your actions. The talks with the Targaryens are going well," your mother said. "And if the Old Gods are willing, Berena may soon be betrothed to the heir to the heir."

And then her eyes met yours.

"Do you understand what your actions could cost us? What they could cost Berena?"

You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that your actions does not matter, that Berena deserved better than being bartered away for politics.

But the words died before they reached your tongue. Because tears had begun gathering in your mother's eyes, and suddenly the argument no longer felt worth having.

"I have bent to your wishes your entire life," she said, her voice softening. "Not because I wished to. Because your father asked me to."

Your chest tightened at that, your hands formed a fist as you dig your nails in your palms.

"I am your mother." A shaky breath escaped her. "I could never wish harm upon you."

For the first time since entering the room, her anger seemed to crack.

"I know you wish for the freedoms William enjoys." Her words were a whisper now, as she looked away briefly, "But I cannot give them to you. Not because I do not wish to."

And when she looked back, there was nothing but fear in her eyes.

"But because I am afraid. You may be a warrior."

Her voice broke.

"But you are not immortal."

Your throat tightened, and then she spoke the words you dreaded most.

"I have already lost one child... I do not wish to lose another."

You closed your eyes, and for a moment, you were no longer standing in your chambers. You were staring at snow stained red and lifeless grey eyes of Donner.

"If I discover you sneaking out again," your mother said quietly, "it will not end as easily as it is ending today."

You could only nod. Your mother stood there for another moment, before her expression hardened once more.

"Get dressed." She said as she moved toward the door. "I expect you at breakfast."

She left, leaving you standing in the middle of the room. The headache still lingered and the smell of ale still clung to your clothes.

But neither felt nearly as unbearable as the ache now sitting in your chest. An emotion clawed its way up your throat that you could not name, as your hands started shaking beside you.

You sat at the breakfast table and rubbed your temple for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. After your mother had left your chambers, you had decided not to test her patience any further. You had dressed as quickly as possible, endured Meera's knowing looks, and made your way toward the Great Hall before your mother could send someone to drag you there herself.

The hall was already bustling with life. Servants moved between tables carrying platters piled high with bread and eggs.

Normally, you would have found comfort in the familiar chaos. Today it only made your head hurt worse.

You and William occupied the far end of the Stark table, tucked away from most of the guests. Your mother had suggested it after one look at your face.

So you would not make a fool of yourself before the royal family. You had accepted almost immediately.

Now you sat staring at your breakfast, the lemon cake on your plate remained untouched as you pushed it around with your fork.

"If you do not wish to eat it," William said beside you, "pass me your lemon cake."

You turned your head slowly toward him. Your brother was happily devouring his third helping of eggs as if he had not spent half the previous night drinking enough ale to drown a horse. You narrowed your eyes.

"You are insufferable."

"Yet handsome."

You sighed and shoved the plate toward him.

"Here. Take it."

William accepted the offering immediately and added it beside his own untouched slice, though you doubt it would remain untouched for long.

The headache lingering behind your eyes had thoroughly ruined your appetite.

"Is it because your prince is not here?" William asked casually.

Your brows furrowed, "What?"

"I said," William repeated, far too innocently, "is it because the handsome Prince Valarr is not here?"

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked toward the royal table.

The prince's chair sat empty. Not that you had noticed.

William's grin widened. Gods curse him.

"Hold your tongue, brother."

"Well," William continued, completely ignoring you, "I was not the one who spent nearly the entire night talking to him."

You glared.

"And I am certainly not the one who glanced at his empty chair the moment i entered the Hall."

"I did not do that."

"You did."

"No."

"Yes."

"I never thought I would see that expression on your face."

The back of your neck began to burn. You did not know what expression he meant, nor did you particularly wish to.

"He was merely the only company available," you muttered, leaning closer so nobody else could hear.

To which William only hummed. The sort of hum that meant he believed absolutely none of what you had just said.

"Uh-huh."

You resisted the urge to throw your fork at him.

"Is that why you gave him your gloves?"

"What?"

William froze and then a slow grin spread across his face. The kind of grin that usually preceded disaster.

"Oh."

Your stomach dropped.

"Oh, this is wonderful."

"William."

"You do not remember."

A horrible realization settled in your chest. You remembered drinking, music and laughter. After that? You do not remember a thing.

"William."

His grin somehow widened further.

"When we were sneaking back into the castle," he said, barely containing his amusement, "you noticed his hands were freezing. And you practically shoved your gloves into the poor prince's chest and told him he would lose his fingers if he kept standing around like an idiot."

You stared at him as horror slowly crept across your face, burning the tups of ears red. And William burst into laughter.

The moment breakfast ended, you were out of your chair and moving through the castle.

Where?

You did not know. You simply needed to get away before William found another opportunity to torment you. The corridors of Winterfell blurred around you as you walked. Servants passed carrying baskets of laundry while guards exchanged greetings near the staircases. Usually, you would have paid attention to your surroundings.

Today your thoughts were elsewhere. You had given Prince Valarr your gloves while drunk. Though it might not be a big deal, but the way William had suggested it, you had practically forced the prince to take it.

You could only hope he had forgotten about it. Or better yet, that he had been too drunk himself to remember.

The Old Gods, however, seemed determined to mock you, because the moment you rounded the corner, your shoulder collided with something solid.

Strong hands immediately settled on your shoulders, steadying you before you could stumble backwards.

"I apologize. Are you-"

You recognized the voice before you even looked up, and your stomach dropped. Slowly, your gaze lifted, and Prince Valarr's mismatched eyes stared back at you.

One blue eye. One brown.

Both slightly widened as if he had not expected to run into you either.

Prince Valarr stood before you, looking far more put together than any man had the right to this early in the morning. His brown hair had been neatly combed back, the pale streak running through it shining beneath the sunlight, as some its unruly strands falling on his forehead. He was dressed in a dark doublet embroidered with silver, he looked every bit the prince Alyssane liked to sing about.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. Then you both took a step back at the exact same time.

"Oh."

"Oh."

The words left your mouths together, and heat immediately crawled up your neck. Valarr cleared his throat first, his own ears were beginning to turn red.

"My lady," he greeted.

"My prince."

A painful silence followed right after as you tried to even your breathing. Hands cluchting the pommel of your sword out of habit.

Valarr looked away first, his gaze dropping toward something in his hands.

When you looked down to see for yourself, your stomach lurched, it was your gloves. The familiar leather pair rested neatly folded between his fingers.

"I wished to return these."

He held them out towards you as you stared at them. Then at him, and then back at the gloves. The embarrassment returned with twice the force and you accepted them immediately. Your fingers slightly brushed his, and you felt your breath hitching.

"Thank you."

Valarr nodded, the silence somehow became worse. And you swallowed a nervous lump in your throat before opening your mouth.

"My prince, about last night-"

"There is no need."

Valarr offered you a small smile, though you can clearly see it was a nervous one. he sort of smile that looked as though he had rehearsed it several times before finding the courage to use it.

"You were only trying to help me." His fingers tightened briefly around the fur lining of his cloak. "And i was rather cold."

A huff of laughter escaped you despite yourself, "I was talking about dragging you with me."

You looked at him, and Valarr looked away immediately afterwards, a faint flush creeping across his pale skin, "Oh, its alright. I did not mind. I think it was a nice distraction. I appreciated it."

Something in your chest loosened. The awkward knot that had been there all morning easing slightly.

"Then I suppose I shall not apologize."

"I suppose not."

The corner of his lips twitched upward. And before you could stop yourself, the question escaped your mouth.

"Why were you not at breakfast?"

The words hung between you, and you wished for the old gods to take your life right there.

Why had you asked that?

Heat flooded your face immediately, and Valarr looked just as surprised as you felt. His eyes blinking at a rapid pace.

Then a reluctant smile pulled at his lips.

"I had a hangover."

You stared at him. The young prince looked almost offended by his own confession. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and Valarr laughed alongside you.

Valarr laughed alongside you.

It was a quiet sound, warm enough to chase away the chill lingering in the corridor. His mismatched eyes brightened, crinkling at the corners, and a small dimple appeared on his right cheek.

You had never noticed it before, and you found yourself staring before the realization struck.

Heat crawled up your neck and you quickly looked away, your gaze dropping to the stone floor before the prince could catch you looking.

"Makes sense," you said immediately.

The smile on his face widened slightly as he nodded in return. Then Valarr tilted his head slightly.

"And where were you rushing off to in such a hurry?"

Your brows furrowed when you answered.

"I was merely walking."

"Hmmm"

"What?"

You narrowed your eyes, when you see the prince trying not to laugh.

"My prince."

Valarr's lips twitched, "You are not planning to sneak out of the castle again in the middle of the day, are you?"

A startled laugh escaped you. The sound echoed softly through the corridor as you shook your head and scratched the back of your neck.

"Only on special occasions."

Valarr let out a quiet laugh.

"A relief."

"Why?"

"Because if you were sneaking off again, I fear I might become an accomplice." Valarr's lips twitched upward. "And this time, I cannot even claim it was accidental."

That earned another laugh from you. And for the first time since you had collided with him, the tension between you finally began to disappear.

At least a little.

Though the way Valarr's gaze lingered on your smile suggested he might have forgotten where he was for a moment.

And the sudden flush that returned to his face suggested he had realized it too. You smiled and took a small step backwards.

"I should take my leave now, my prince."

Valarr nodded almost immediately. "Of course."

You turned to leave but stopped in your tracks.

"Valarr." He said from behind you.

Your brows furrowed as you looked back over your shoulder. The prince looked almost surprised by his own interruption.

He stood there, one hand still resting awkwardly against the folds of his cloak.

"You can call me Valarr."

The words came out more hesitant than you expected. A faint flush crept across his face almost immediately.

"If you are comfortable with it, of course," he added quickly. "I only thought that...well..." He cleared his throat befkre continuing.

And you couldnt help but admire how adorable he looked.

"Since we have shared ale, we are friends. And friends generally do not address one another by titles...but of course, im not forcing you or anything, it was merely a suggestio-"

"Only if you call me by my name, my prince."

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. You did not know why you had said them. Perhaps it was because calling him Valarr felt unfair if he continued calling you "my lady."

Oe perhaps it was because something inside you wanted to hear your name on his lips. Whatever the reason, it was too late to take it back now.

A flicker of surprise crossed Valarr's face. Then he quickly recovered and gave a small nod.

"Very well."

The silence stretched between you two. Both of you waiting for the other to speak. But then he said your name. So softly as if he was murmuring a prayer.

As though testing it, turning it over carefully and seeing how it sounded.

Your name had never sounded particularly special before. Yet hearing it spoken in his voice made something strange twist in your chest.

Valarr seemed equally affected, and a faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips. As if he had decided he liked the sound of it.

You had been called by your name your entire life. So why did it suddenly feel different? You quickly looked away before he could notice the warmth spreading across your face.

"Well," you cleared your throat, "if you will excuse me..."

You offered him a small bow.

"Valarr."

The smile that appeared on his face then was small, entirely too pleased. And that only made the heat in your cheeks worsen.

You turned on your heel immediately and retreated down the corridor before he could notice the tips of your ears turning red.

Behind you, Valarr remained standing exactly where you had left him as watched you disappear around the corner.

And if he repeated your name quietly to himself once you were gone-

Well.

Nobody was there to hear it.

Chapter 7 [Week updates (every Saturday!!)]

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Valarr's chambers were quiet. Only the occasional crackle of the hearth disturbed the silence as shadows of the flames danced lazily across the stone walls.

Valarr sat near the fire, one leg stretched before him while the other remained bent beneath the chaise. A goblet of wine rested loosely in his hand, the dark red liquid catching the glow of the flames. The linen shirt he wore hung open slightly at the collar, far less formal than the silks and velvets he was expected to wear before the court.

Since arriving at Winterfell, peaceful nights had become a rarity. But tonight, his thoughts were proving far more troublesome than ever.

Valarr dragged a hand across his face and shut his eyes briefly.

It had been two days since the council meeting.

Two days since he had somehow looked you directly in the eyes and called you charming.

His ears still burned at the memory.

For two days he had avoided you with a determination that would have impressed even his father. Whenever he heard your voice echoing through the corridors, he found another path. Whenever he spotted your dark cloak crossing the courtyard below, he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. Once, he had turned around so abruptly that Daeron had asked if he was being hunted.

Valarr had nearly thrown a goblet at his brother.

The worst part was that nobody appeared to have noticed.

Or at least, he hoped they had not.

With a sigh, he looked down at the wine in his hand.

He was not here for you.

The thought had become a prayer of sorts. A reminder repeated so often that it had begun to lose its meaning.

And Lady Berena deserved better than a husband whose attention wandered elsewhere.

And yet it feels as though a treacherous part of him kept looking elsewhere, kept wanting another conversation- to hear your thoughts on matters that had nothing to do with war or politics.

It simply wanted to know you more.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

Because if he allowed himself to follow that desire, he feared he would discover something he could not afford. Something capable of reducing years of duty, expectation and discipline into little more than ash.

And Valarr was not yet ready to watch it burn.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet as a memory of the morning surfaced.

The training yard.

He should have simply ignored Aerion.

William Stark had been sparring that morning when Aerion, in all his infinite wisdom, had remarked that this was what a proper heir looked like. Valarr had taken the bait immediately.

Looking back, it might have been the stupidest thing he had done all week.

Half the yard had stopped to watch.

The duel between him and William itself had been friendly enough. Wooden swords with no real danger.

Yet each exchange only made the difference between them more obvious.

William moved with the confidence of a man who had spent his life carrying steel. And Valarr did not.

He had managed to hold his own for a time.

Then William disarmed him.

Then again.

And again.

And by the fourth time, Aerion was no longer bothering to hide his amusement.

Valarr had accepted the defeat with as much dignity as he could muster and congratulated William on his skill.

Then he left.

Not because of Aerion.

Not because of the crowd who were probably judging him.

But because from the corner of his eye, he had noticed you watching.

You were standing at the far edge of the yard, giving archery lessons to Errold, the youngest Stark. Before your attention had turned towards them.

And he had not wanted to know what you thought.

Of the prince whose father was called Breakspear.

Of the prince who could never quite seem to live up to the name.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he chugged the wine in a go. Sleep was clearly not coming tonight.

Valarr rose from the chaise and set the goblet aside with a quiet clink. Pulling his fur cloak around his shoulders, he made his way towards the door.

The moon hung high in the sky. Though the snowfall had stopped, the chill still lingered in the air. The last thing Valarr wanted was to fall ill and embarrass himself further.

He opened the door to his chambers, and Ser Crakenhall straightened immediately.

"Your Grace," the man in the white cloak greeted.

Valarr gave him a nod and stepped out of the warmth of his chambers, the cold air striking his face at once.

"I wish to take a walk," Valarr said with a small smile. "Alone."

"But Your Grace-"

"It is an order. And I will remain within the castle walls, Ser. There is no need to worry."

Ser Crakehall looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually bowed his head and stepped aside.

Valarr moved through the corridors, his thoughts swimming somewhere between the humiliation of the morning and the uncertainty of the future.

He descended the stairs with the ease of a man who knew his way around. Over the past few days, he had developed a habit of haunting the halls of Winterfell whenever sleep refused to come.

Within minutes, he found himself at the rear of the castle, standing upon the balcony that had slowly become his sanctuary in the cold North. He had discovered it during one of his nightly wanderings and quickly decided he loved the silence.

Valarr rested his elbows against the railing and exhaled slowly, watching his breath disappear into the night air. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his face in his palms as his eyes drifted towards the dark woods stretching beyond the castle walls.

The Wolfswood.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Valarr could not help but wonder what else wandered through those woods after dark.

Just as his thoughts began to drift, he heard footsteps.

Light and careful.

Like someone trying not to be heard.

His hand instinctively moved towards the pommel of his sword as a shadow slipped across the level below him.

Valarr's feet moved before he could think. He descended the stairs quickly and rounded the balcony where he had seen the figure pass.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty.

Valarr frowned. He was certain he had seen someone. Yet there was nothing there but stone walls and the ever present northern cold.

A pair of Stark guards were approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. Valarr considered asking if they had seen anyone.

Before he could open his mouth, someone seized his wrist.

The world lurched.

Valarr was pulled into a nearby room.

The door shut behind him.

Before he could protest, a hand covered his mouth.

Your scent reached him first. Then your voice.

"Shh."

His back hit the door as you pinned him against it, one hand over his mouth while the other remained wrapped around his wrist.

The moonlight filtering through the lone window was too weak to illuminate the room properly. He could only make out fragments of you.

A dark cloak. The outline of your shoulders. And the way you craned your neck towards the window, muttering curses beneath your breath as the clanking of armor echoed past outside.

Valarr could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Seven above, he was certain you could hear it too.

He breathed through his nose, trying desperately to steady himself. The brush of your palm against his lips did things to him he did not care to examine too closely.

It was all too much.

The woman he had spent two days avoiding. The woman who had occupied every spare corner of his thoughts.

And now she was pinning him against a door in an empty room.

Seven Hells. If someone were to see them-

Valarr abandoned that thought immediately. He could not move or speak. He could barely think.

All he could do was stare at you as something traitorous twisted happily inside his chest.

Valarr gulped when your attention finally shifted towards him.

He could feel you staring back.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he cursed the darkness for hiding your eyes.

"Shit," you muttered beneath your breath. Your hands slipped away from his mouth and wrist.

And Valarr found himself strangely disappointed by the loss of contact.

"My prince, I apologize. You see- I- me- it's just-"

"My lady, is everything alright?" Valarr somehow managed, a flush creeping across the back of his neck.

You laughed awkwardly and stepped away from him, moving into the moonlight.

Only then could he properly see you. You were dressed in common clothes. A rugged dark cloak hung around your shoulders, and a sword rested at your hip.

You looked nothing like a noblewoman. And somehow that only made the sight more fascinating and beautiful.

"I am alright," you said, glancing back towards the window. "I simply need to go somewhere. It is rather...important. I just did not wish to alert the guards."

"My lady, it is rather dark outside. Is everything truly alright?" Valarr took a cautious step closer, trying to get a better look at your face.

"I am certain, my prince. It is nothing."

You moved towards the door and pushed it open. Valarr watched as you carefully scanned the corridor before pulling your cloak tighter around yourself.

"I shall see you later, my prince."

You turned and headed towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard.

Valarr should have stopped there.

You were not his concern.

He should have returned to his chambers and forgotten this ever happened.

Instead, he followed.

He told himself it was because it was dark, and a lady should not wander alone at night.

At least that was the excuse he offered his heart.

"My lady, wait."

You stopped and turned towards him.

Valarr could see your face scrunch in frustration.

"Your Grace, you should really go back. I promise there is no need to worry."

"But my lady, it is not safe for you to wander alone. I know you are a skilled warrior, but still—"

The distant clanking of armor interrupted him. Valarr saw your eyes widen. Panic etched across your entire face.

And then suddenly you were dragging him across the courtyard. Your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as Valarr nearly tripped over his own feet.

"My lady- I- what- "

You ignored him entirely as the two of you hurried across the courtyard towards the eastern gates.

"Please. Please. Please. Let them not be there," you muttered beneath your breath.

Valarr scarcely knew where he was being taken.

His mind had stopped functioning several moments ago. All he could focus on was the warmth of your hand seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

The eastern gate came into view. There were no guards there.

Likely a shift change.

And before Valarr fully realized what was happening, the two of you were beyond Winterfell's walls.

You led him through the sleeping town until you suddenly darted into an alleyway and pulled him in after you.

Your hand finally released his wrist, and you bent forward slightly, laughing as you tried to catch your breath.

Your laughter faded as you leaned against the wall of the alleyway, catching your breath.

Valarr stood several feet away, looking thoroughly lost.

The alley was narrow, squeezed between two weathered buildings. Snow had gathered in uneven piles along the stone walls, while lantern light from the nearby streets spilled weakly into the darkness.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Valarr merely blinked at you, as you blinked back.

Then your expression changed.

Valarr watched confusion give way to realization, and then realization gave way to absolute horror.

Before either of you could speak, a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"What the fuck?"

Valarr's hand flew instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Beside him, yours did the same.

A shadow stepped forward from deeper within the alley, draped in a dark cloak just like your own. Snow clung to the figure's shoulders as he stopped beneath the lantern light.

Valarr tensed, and then he heard you let out a quiet groan. The stranger pulled back his hood.

William Stark.

Valarr felt even more confused than before. William looked at him, then at you and then back at him.

The silence stretched.

"Your Grace?" William finally asked.

Valarr offered an awkward nod.

William stared for another heartbeat before slowly turning toward you.

"What is he doing here?"

You muttered something under your breath. Unfortunately for Valarr, whatever you said was too quiet to hear. William's eyes widened.

"What?"

You moved closer to your brother, lowering your voice further.

Valarr took a cautious step forward.

"-followed me," he finally caught. "I panicked and dragged him here."

For a long moment William simply stared at you. Then he dragged a hand down his face.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What would you have me do?" Valarr heard you hiss back. "Let the guards find me sneaking out again? And then what? Spend the next moon trapped in my chambers while mother lectures me every morning?"

William opened his mouth and closed it before sighing heavily.

"Gods help me," he muttered.

Valarr cleared his throat. Both siblings turned toward him so quickly that he nearly forgot what he had been about to say.

"I apologize for interrupting, but I feel I should mention that I am still very confused."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Valarr immediately wished he had remained silent.

"We cannot go back now," you declared.

"My lady—"

"There are soldiers searching the grounds."

Valarr blinked.

"What?"

You pointed vaguely back toward Winterfell.

"If they find me sneaking out, I am doomed." You crossed your arms. "There is only one solution."

Valarr did not like the confidence with which you said that. Neither, judging by his expression, did William. Slowly, you pointed your finger towards him.

"We take him with us."

Valarr opened his mouth, before closing it again.

William stared at you.

Then, to Valarr's immense confusion, amusement flickered across his face.

"Oh, this should be interesting."

"You agree?" you asked.

"I think we are beyond good decisions at this point."

You nodded as though that settled everything. Then your attention shifted towards Valarr. And Valarr could not help but admire the way you looked under the moonlight.

"Do you enjoy music, Your Grace?"

Valarr stopped.

"What?"

"Music and ale."

"I am afraid I do not understand the question."

Valarr can see a grin tugging at the corner of your lips, and he could not help the flush on his cheeks.

"My prince," you said, clasping your hands behind your back, "have you ever been inside a common tavern?"

"N-No."

Your grin widened.

Beside you, Valarr can see William suddenly looking far too entertained.

"Well," you said, turning toward the lantern-lit street beyond the alley, "it appears tonight is your lucky day."

And for some reason, despite every warning screaming inside his head, Valarr followed.

The tavern was loud. The moment Valarr stepped inside, it felt as though he had entered an entirely different world.

Warmth immediately wrapped around him, washing away the bitter cold that had clung to him since leaving Winterfell. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, spilled ale and damp wool. Music drifted through the crowded room, carried by a fiddler tucked into a corner while men and women laughed loudly around him.

Tankards slammed against tables.

Someone was singing.

Someone else was arguing over a game of dice.

And somehow, despite the chaos, everyone seemed content.

Valarr sat stiffly at one of the tables near the bar, his hands wrapped around a mug of ale he had yet to touch. Beside him, you looked entirely at ease.

One arm rested lazily atop the table while the other held your tankard. The hood of your cloak had long since been pushed back, revealing your face in the warm glow of the lanterns hanging overhead.

Valarr found himself staring again.

He needed to stop doing that.

Across the tavern, William had already disappeared into the crowd.

Valarr could see him laughing with several men near the hearth, a tankard raised high in one hand while someone attempted to drag him toward the musicians.

Valarr watched him vanish into the crowd before looking back down at his untouched ale.

"My lady?"

You hummed in response. Valarr hesitated.

"You do not have to remain here with me."

That earned him a confused look.

"I merely meant," Valarr cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your brother appears to be enjoying himself. You need not sit here in my rather boring company."

For a moment you simply stared at him.

Then you snorted. Actually snorted.

Valarr immediately felt his ears burn.

"My prince," you said, shaking your head. "If I wished to be elsewhere, I would be elsewhere."

You took another drink from your tankard.

"I only came because William wished for it."

Valarr glanced toward the dance floor where William was now attempting something that could generously be described as dancing.

He found that difficult to believe.

"And besides," you continued, setting your tankard down. "I do not find your company boring."

Valarr froze. His mind promptly stopped working.

"Oh."

You rolled your eyes. The movement was simple and ordinary. Yet Valarr found himself watching it anyway.

The lantern light softened your features, casting warm golden hues across your face while shadows danced against your skin from the nearby hearth. A loose strand of hair had escaped and now rested against your cheek.

Beautiful.

The thought arrived uninvited, and Valarr nearly dropped his mug.

He quickly looked away. His heartbeat stumbling somewhere inside his chest.

You took another drink before glancing towards him.

"My prince."

Valarr straightened immediately.

"You have been holding that mug for ten minutes."

Valarr looked down at his mug.

"I was observing."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The ale?"

"The tavern."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"And what conclusions have you reached?"

Valarr glanced around once more.

A serving girl laughed as someone spun her around. A group of laborers were singing badly enough that it might have been considered a crime. Someone dropped a mug.

Nobody cared.

"It is..." Valarr paused, "very loud."

The laugh that escaped you was bright and genuine. Valarr hated how much he liked that sound.

"That is your grand observation?" you asked.

"I have others."

"Oh?"

Valarr nodded solemnly.

"The man near the hearth is definitely cheating."

You blinked.

Then followed his gaze toward a dice game happening across the room. The older man quickly slipped a die into his sleeve. Your eyes widened.

"He is."

Valarr looked pleased with himself.

"And the fiddler has missed the same note six times."

You stared.

"You can hear that?"

"I was taught music."

You shook your head slowly.

"What?"

"You truly are a prince."

Valarr couldn't help but laugh. For the first time that day, the nervousness in his chest eased slightly.

And for a moment, surrounded by music and laughter and the warmth of the tavern, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be avoiding you.

Valarr finally gathered enough courage to take a sip of his own ale.

Immediately he coughed. Yhe drink was far stronger than he had anticipated. Ypu laughed and Valarr scratched the back of his neck.

"Do you come here often?" Valarr found himself asking.

You shrugged, "Sometimes."

Your gaze drifted around the tavern.

"When I wish to feel..." you paused briefly. A small smile formed on your lips. "Free."

Valarr looked down at the ale in his hand.He understood that feeling more than he cared to admit.

The conversation faded after that. Neither of you seemed particularly bothered by the silence.

Then suddenly you spoke.

"You did quite well today."

Valarr frowned.

"Hm?"

"In the training yard."

Your head now rested lazily atop your folded arms as you looked at him from across the table.

Valarr nearly choked.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"My lady."

You raised an eyebrow. Valarr snorted into his mug.

"Please do not humour me because I am a prince."

The words escaped before he could stop them. You immediately rolled your eyes.

"I am not humouring you."

"You witnessed the same duel I did."

"I witnessed William sparring against someone who has never seen actual battle."

Valarr opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he argue.

"My brother has spent years fighting raiders, wildlings and bandits."

You gestured vaguely toward the crowd where William had somehow acquired another tankard.

"He has been training for actual combat since he was old enough to hold a sword."

Valarr remained unconvinced. And he can see your expression softening.

"My prince."

Reluctantly, Valarr looked up.

"You need to give yourself more credit."

He laughed quietly, almost sarcastically.

"I mean it."

Your finger tapped lightly against the wooden table.

"Many men cannot stand against William for more than a few seconds."

"The men people remember are the ones who win."

"That is not true."

The certainty in your voice made him glance back towards you. You were already looking at him.

Not with pity or sympathy. But with certainty. As though you truly believed every word leaving your mouth.

Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.

"Remember what i said back at the godswood. The strongest people I have known were not always the most skilled."

Your gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd.

"They were simply the ones who kept getting back up."

The tavern seemed quieter for a moment. Or perhaps Valarr simply stopped hearing it. Because once again, you had unknowingly said exactly what he needed to hear.

His eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.

The hours passed quicker than Valarr expected.

At some point, William had disappeared entirely into the crowd, only appearing every now and then with another mug in his hand and a different group of friends around him.

The tavern remained loud. But Valarr found himself smiling.

Not the polite smile he wore during feasts, or the practiced smile expected from a prince.

A real one.

The realization startled him, and his gaze drifted toward you. Your head still rested lazily against the table. One hand wrapped around your mug while the other traced absent patterns into the wood.

You were watching the crowd now. A small smile rested upon your lips. And for a moment, Valarr forgot everything else.

The expectations. The crown. The future waiting for him beyond Winterfell.

All of it seemed distant.

Far away.

Like a dream someone else had lived.

A laugh escaped your lips at something happening across the room.

Valarr felt his heart stumble.

You were beautiful.

Not in the way court ladies were beautiful. Not polished and perfect beneath jewels and silks.

You looked alive.

And somehow that made it worse. Because Valarr could feel himself drifting closer with every conversation.

Every smile.

Every shared moment.

Like a ship slowly being pulled toward rocks despite knowing exactly what awaited it.

His fingers tightened around his mug.

You turned your head suddenly.

Valarr looked away so quickly it made him lightheaded.

"You are staring again, my prince."

The tips of his ears burned.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I was merely thinking."

"About what?"

Valarr opened his mouth, and then closed it. Because he could hardly tell you that all his thoughts somehow seemed to begin and end with you these days.

A grin spread across your face as you watched him struggle.

And Seven Hells.

Valarr was doomed.

But for the first time in his life, the realization did not fill him with dread, but warmth.

And Prince Valarr Targaryen found himself hoping the night would never end.

Chapter 6 [Weekly Updates (every saturday!)]

Taglist: @snowwythegloww @supermanshand @shouto-raki @cassandra-reborn-anew @bloomballet @bubblegupyy @darling-darling3 @targaryenamour @boundandbrews @onlyrealjoy @qardasngan @rather-melodramatic @appalost @writingshae @uixhzzzi @ch3ska0 @lasylady @jjubilee-fluff @noilusionsblr @062292 @kiszexo-blog @arutsumu @bloomfaery

Valarr's chambers were quiet. Only the occasional crackle of the hearth disturbed the silence as shadows of the flames danced lazily across the stone walls.

Valarr sat near the fire, one leg stretched before him while the other remained bent beneath the chaise. A goblet of wine rested loosely in his hand, the dark red liquid catching the glow of the flames. The linen shirt he wore hung open slightly at the collar, far less formal than the silks and velvets he was expected to wear before the court.

Since arriving at Winterfell, peaceful nights had become a rarity. But tonight, his thoughts were proving far more troublesome than ever.

Valarr dragged a hand across his face and shut his eyes briefly.

It had been two days since the council meeting.

Two days since he had somehow looked you directly in the eyes and called you charming.

His ears still burned at the memory.

For two days he had avoided you with a determination that would have impressed even his father. Whenever he heard your voice echoing through the corridors, he found another path. Whenever he spotted your dark cloak crossing the courtyard below, he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. Once, he had turned around so abruptly that Daeron had asked if he was being hunted.

Valarr had nearly thrown a goblet at his brother.

The worst part was that nobody appeared to have noticed.

Or at least, he hoped they had not.

With a sigh, he looked down at the wine in his hand.

He was not here for you.

The thought had become a prayer of sorts. A reminder repeated so often that it had begun to lose its meaning.

And Lady Berena deserved better than a husband whose attention wandered elsewhere.

And yet it feels as though a treacherous part of him kept looking elsewhere, kept wanting another conversation- to hear your thoughts on matters that had nothing to do with war or politics.

It simply wanted to know you more.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

Because if he allowed himself to follow that desire, he feared he would discover something he could not afford. Something capable of reducing years of duty, expectation and discipline into little more than ash.

And Valarr was not yet ready to watch it burn.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet as a memory of the morning surfaced.

The training yard.

He should have simply ignored Aerion.

William Stark had been sparring that morning when Aerion, in all his infinite wisdom, had remarked that this was what a proper heir looked like. Valarr had taken the bait immediately.

Looking back, it might have been the stupidest thing he had done all week.

Half the yard had stopped to watch.

The duel between him and William itself had been friendly enough. Wooden swords with no real danger.

Yet each exchange only made the difference between them more obvious.

William moved with the confidence of a man who had spent his life carrying steel. And Valarr did not.

He had managed to hold his own for a time.

Then William disarmed him.

Then again.

And again.

And by the fourth time, Aerion was no longer bothering to hide his amusement.

Valarr had accepted the defeat with as much dignity as he could muster and congratulated William on his skill.

Then he left.

Not because of Aerion.

Not because of the crowd who were probably judging him.

But because from the corner of his eye, he had noticed you watching.

You were standing at the far edge of the yard, giving archery lessons to Errold, the youngest Stark. Before your attention had turned towards them.

And he had not wanted to know what you thought.

Of the prince whose father was called Breakspear.

Of the prince who could never quite seem to live up to the name.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he chugged the wine in a go. Sleep was clearly not coming tonight.

Valarr rose from the chaise and set the goblet aside with a quiet clink. Pulling his fur cloak around his shoulders, he made his way towards the door.

The moon hung high in the sky. Though the snowfall had stopped, the chill still lingered in the air. The last thing Valarr wanted was to fall ill and embarrass himself further.

He opened the door to his chambers, and Ser Crakenhall straightened immediately.

"Your Grace," the man in the white cloak greeted.

Valarr gave him a nod and stepped out of the warmth of his chambers, the cold air striking his face at once.

"I wish to take a walk," Valarr said with a small smile. "Alone."

"But Your Grace-"

"It is an order. And I will remain within the castle walls, Ser. There is no need to worry."

Ser Crakehall looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually bowed his head and stepped aside.

Valarr moved through the corridors, his thoughts swimming somewhere between the humiliation of the morning and the uncertainty of the future.

He descended the stairs with the ease of a man who knew his way around. Over the past few days, he had developed a habit of haunting the halls of Winterfell whenever sleep refused to come.

Within minutes, he found himself at the rear of the castle, standing upon the balcony that had slowly become his sanctuary in the cold North. He had discovered it during one of his nightly wanderings and quickly decided he loved the silence.

Valarr rested his elbows against the railing and exhaled slowly, watching his breath disappear into the night air. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his face in his palms as his eyes drifted towards the dark woods stretching beyond the castle walls.

The Wolfswood.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Valarr could not help but wonder what else wandered through those woods after dark.

Just as his thoughts began to drift, he heard footsteps.

Light and careful.

Like someone trying not to be heard.

His hand instinctively moved towards the pommel of his sword as a shadow slipped across the level below him.

Valarr's feet moved before he could think. He descended the stairs quickly and rounded the balcony where he had seen the figure pass.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty.

Valarr frowned. He was certain he had seen someone. Yet there was nothing there but stone walls and the ever present northern cold.

A pair of Stark guards were approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. Valarr considered asking if they had seen anyone.

Before he could open his mouth, someone seized his wrist.

The world lurched.

Valarr was pulled into a nearby room.

The door shut behind him.

Before he could protest, a hand covered his mouth.

Your scent reached him first. Then your voice.

"Shh."

His back hit the door as you pinned him against it, one hand over his mouth while the other remained wrapped around his wrist.

The moonlight filtering through the lone window was too weak to illuminate the room properly. He could only make out fragments of you.

A dark cloak. The outline of your shoulders. And the way you craned your neck towards the window, muttering curses beneath your breath as the clanking of armor echoed past outside.

Valarr could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Seven above, he was certain you could hear it too.

He breathed through his nose, trying desperately to steady himself. The brush of your palm against his lips did things to him he did not care to examine too closely.

It was all too much.

The woman he had spent two days avoiding. The woman who had occupied every spare corner of his thoughts.

And now she was pinning him against a door in an empty room.

Seven Hells. If someone were to see them-

Valarr abandoned that thought immediately. He could not move or speak. He could barely think.

All he could do was stare at you as something traitorous twisted happily inside his chest.

Valarr gulped when your attention finally shifted towards him.

He could feel you staring back.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he cursed the darkness for hiding your eyes.

"Shit," you muttered beneath your breath. Your hands slipped away from his mouth and wrist.

And Valarr found himself strangely disappointed by the loss of contact.

"My prince, I apologize. You see- I- me- it's just-"

"My lady, is everything alright?" Valarr somehow managed, a flush creeping across the back of his neck.

You laughed awkwardly and stepped away from him, moving into the moonlight.

Only then could he properly see you. You were dressed in common clothes. A rugged dark cloak hung around your shoulders, and a sword rested at your hip.

You looked nothing like a noblewoman. And somehow that only made the sight more fascinating and beautiful.

"I am alright," you said, glancing back towards the window. "I simply need to go somewhere. It is rather...important. I just did not wish to alert the guards."

"My lady, it is rather dark outside. Is everything truly alright?" Valarr took a cautious step closer, trying to get a better look at your face.

"I am certain, my prince. It is nothing."

You moved towards the door and pushed it open. Valarr watched as you carefully scanned the corridor before pulling your cloak tighter around yourself.

"I shall see you later, my prince."

You turned and headed towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard.

Valarr should have stopped there.

You were not his concern.

He should have returned to his chambers and forgotten this ever happened.

Instead, he followed.

He told himself it was because it was dark, and a lady should not wander alone at night.

At least that was the excuse he offered his heart.

"My lady, wait."

You stopped and turned towards him.

Valarr could see your face scrunch in frustration.

"Your Grace, you should really go back. I promise there is no need to worry."

"But my lady, it is not safe for you to wander alone. I know you are a skilled warrior, but still—"

The distant clanking of armor interrupted him. Valarr saw your eyes widen. Panic etched across your entire face.

And then suddenly you were dragging him across the courtyard. Your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as Valarr nearly tripped over his own feet.

"My lady- I- what- "

You ignored him entirely as the two of you hurried across the courtyard towards the eastern gates.

"Please. Please. Please. Let them not be there," you muttered beneath your breath.

Valarr scarcely knew where he was being taken.

His mind had stopped functioning several moments ago. All he could focus on was the warmth of your hand seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

The eastern gate came into view. There were no guards there.

Likely a shift change.

And before Valarr fully realized what was happening, the two of you were beyond Winterfell's walls.

You led him through the sleeping town until you suddenly darted into an alleyway and pulled him in after you.

Your hand finally released his wrist, and you bent forward slightly, laughing as you tried to catch your breath.

Your laughter faded as you leaned against the wall of the alleyway, catching your breath.

Valarr stood several feet away, looking thoroughly lost.

The alley was narrow, squeezed between two weathered buildings. Snow had gathered in uneven piles along the stone walls, while lantern light from the nearby streets spilled weakly into the darkness.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Valarr merely blinked at you, as you blinked back.

Then your expression changed.

Valarr watched confusion give way to realization, and then realization gave way to absolute horror.

Before either of you could speak, a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"What the fuck?"

Valarr's hand flew instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Beside him, yours did the same.

A shadow stepped forward from deeper within the alley, draped in a dark cloak just like your own. Snow clung to the figure's shoulders as he stopped beneath the lantern light.

Valarr tensed, and then he heard you let out a quiet groan. The stranger pulled back his hood.

William Stark.

Valarr felt even more confused than before. William looked at him, then at you and then back at him.

The silence stretched.

"Your Grace?" William finally asked.

Valarr offered an awkward nod.

William stared for another heartbeat before slowly turning toward you.

"What is he doing here?"

You muttered something under your breath. Unfortunately for Valarr, whatever you said was too quiet to hear. William's eyes widened.

"What?"

You moved closer to your brother, lowering your voice further.

Valarr took a cautious step forward.

"-followed me," he finally caught. "I panicked and dragged him here."

For a long moment William simply stared at you. Then he dragged a hand down his face.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What would you have me do?" Valarr heard you hiss back. "Let the guards find me sneaking out again? And then what? Spend the next moon trapped in my chambers while mother lectures me every morning?"

William opened his mouth and closed it before sighing heavily.

"Gods help me," he muttered.

Valarr cleared his throat. Both siblings turned toward him so quickly that he nearly forgot what he had been about to say.

"I apologize for interrupting, but I feel I should mention that I am still very confused."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Valarr immediately wished he had remained silent.

"We cannot go back now," you declared.

"My lady—"

"There are soldiers searching the grounds."

Valarr blinked.

"What?"

You pointed vaguely back toward Winterfell.

"If they find me sneaking out, I am doomed." You crossed your arms. "There is only one solution."

Valarr did not like the confidence with which you said that. Neither, judging by his expression, did William. Slowly, you pointed your finger towards him.

"We take him with us."

Valarr opened his mouth, before closing it again.

William stared at you.

Then, to Valarr's immense confusion, amusement flickered across his face.

"Oh, this should be interesting."

"You agree?" you asked.

"I think we are beyond good decisions at this point."

You nodded as though that settled everything. Then your attention shifted towards Valarr. And Valarr could not help but admire the way you looked under the moonlight.

"Do you enjoy music, Your Grace?"

Valarr stopped.

"What?"

"Music and ale."

"I am afraid I do not understand the question."

Valarr can see a grin tugging at the corner of your lips, and he could not help the flush on his cheeks.

"My prince," you said, clasping your hands behind your back, "have you ever been inside a common tavern?"

"N-No."

Your grin widened.

Beside you, Valarr can see William suddenly looking far too entertained.

"Well," you said, turning toward the lantern-lit street beyond the alley, "it appears tonight is your lucky day."

And for some reason, despite every warning screaming inside his head, Valarr followed.

The tavern was loud. The moment Valarr stepped inside, it felt as though he had entered an entirely different world.

Warmth immediately wrapped around him, washing away the bitter cold that had clung to him since leaving Winterfell. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, spilled ale and damp wool. Music drifted through the crowded room, carried by a fiddler tucked into a corner while men and women laughed loudly around him.

Tankards slammed against tables.

Someone was singing.

Someone else was arguing over a game of dice.

And somehow, despite the chaos, everyone seemed content.

Valarr sat stiffly at one of the tables near the bar, his hands wrapped around a mug of ale he had yet to touch. Beside him, you looked entirely at ease.

One arm rested lazily atop the table while the other held your tankard. The hood of your cloak had long since been pushed back, revealing your face in the warm glow of the lanterns hanging overhead.

Valarr found himself staring again.

He needed to stop doing that.

Across the tavern, William had already disappeared into the crowd.

Valarr could see him laughing with several men near the hearth, a tankard raised high in one hand while someone attempted to drag him toward the musicians.

Valarr watched him vanish into the crowd before looking back down at his untouched ale.

"My lady?"

You hummed in response. Valarr hesitated.

"You do not have to remain here with me."

That earned him a confused look.

"I merely meant," Valarr cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your brother appears to be enjoying himself. You need not sit here in my rather boring company."

For a moment you simply stared at him.

Then you snorted. Actually snorted.

Valarr immediately felt his ears burn.

"My prince," you said, shaking your head. "If I wished to be elsewhere, I would be elsewhere."

You took another drink from your tankard.

"I only came because William wished for it."

Valarr glanced toward the dance floor where William was now attempting something that could generously be described as dancing.

He found that difficult to believe.

"And besides," you continued, setting your tankard down. "I do not find your company boring."

Valarr froze. His mind promptly stopped working.

"Oh."

You rolled your eyes. The movement was simple and ordinary. Yet Valarr found himself watching it anyway.

The lantern light softened your features, casting warm golden hues across your face while shadows danced against your skin from the nearby hearth. A loose strand of hair had escaped and now rested against your cheek.

Beautiful.

The thought arrived uninvited, and Valarr nearly dropped his mug.

He quickly looked away. His heartbeat stumbling somewhere inside his chest.

You took another drink before glancing towards him.

"My prince."

Valarr straightened immediately.

"You have been holding that mug for ten minutes."

Valarr looked down at his mug.

"I was observing."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The ale?"

"The tavern."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"And what conclusions have you reached?"

Valarr glanced around once more.

A serving girl laughed as someone spun her around. A group of laborers were singing badly enough that it might have been considered a crime. Someone dropped a mug.

Nobody cared.

"It is..." Valarr paused, "very loud."

The laugh that escaped you was bright and genuine. Valarr hated how much he liked that sound.

"That is your grand observation?" you asked.

"I have others."

"Oh?"

Valarr nodded solemnly.

"The man near the hearth is definitely cheating."

You blinked.

Then followed his gaze toward a dice game happening across the room. The older man quickly slipped a die into his sleeve. Your eyes widened.

"He is."

Valarr looked pleased with himself.

"And the fiddler has missed the same note six times."

You stared.

"You can hear that?"

"I was taught music."

You shook your head slowly.

"What?"

"You truly are a prince."

Valarr couldn't help but laugh. For the first time that day, the nervousness in his chest eased slightly.

And for a moment, surrounded by music and laughter and the warmth of the tavern, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be avoiding you.

Valarr finally gathered enough courage to take a sip of his own ale.

Immediately he coughed. Yhe drink was far stronger than he had anticipated. Ypu laughed and Valarr scratched the back of his neck.

"Do you come here often?" Valarr found himself asking.

You shrugged, "Sometimes."

Your gaze drifted around the tavern.

"When I wish to feel..." you paused briefly. A small smile formed on your lips. "Free."

Valarr looked down at the ale in his hand.He understood that feeling more than he cared to admit.

The conversation faded after that. Neither of you seemed particularly bothered by the silence.

Then suddenly you spoke.

"You did quite well today."

Valarr frowned.

"Hm?"

"In the training yard."

Your head now rested lazily atop your folded arms as you looked at him from across the table.

Valarr nearly choked.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"My lady."

You raised an eyebrow. Valarr snorted into his mug.

"Please do not humour me because I am a prince."

The words escaped before he could stop them. You immediately rolled your eyes.

"I am not humouring you."

"You witnessed the same duel I did."

"I witnessed William sparring against someone who has never seen actual battle."

Valarr opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he argue.

"My brother has spent years fighting raiders, wildlings and bandits."

You gestured vaguely toward the crowd where William had somehow acquired another tankard.

"He has been training for actual combat since he was old enough to hold a sword."

Valarr remained unconvinced. And he can see your expression softening.

"My prince."

Reluctantly, Valarr looked up.

"You need to give yourself more credit."

He laughed quietly, almost sarcastically.

"I mean it."

Your finger tapped lightly against the wooden table.

"Many men cannot stand against William for more than a few seconds."

"The men people remember are the ones who win."

"That is not true."

The certainty in your voice made him glance back towards you. You were already looking at him.

Not with pity or sympathy. But with certainty. As though you truly believed every word leaving your mouth.

Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.

"Remember what i said back at the godswood. The strongest people I have known were not always the most skilled."

Your gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd.

"They were simply the ones who kept getting back up."

The tavern seemed quieter for a moment. Or perhaps Valarr simply stopped hearing it. Because once again, you had unknowingly said exactly what he needed to hear.

His eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.

The hours passed quicker than Valarr expected.

At some point, William had disappeared entirely into the crowd, only appearing every now and then with another mug in his hand and a different group of friends around him.

The tavern remained loud. But Valarr found himself smiling.

Not the polite smile he wore during feasts, or the practiced smile expected from a prince.

A real one.

The realization startled him, and his gaze drifted toward you. Your head still rested lazily against the table. One hand wrapped around your mug while the other traced absent patterns into the wood.

You were watching the crowd now. A small smile rested upon your lips. And for a moment, Valarr forgot everything else.

The expectations. The crown. The future waiting for him beyond Winterfell.

All of it seemed distant.

Far away.

Like a dream someone else had lived.

A laugh escaped your lips at something happening across the room.

Valarr felt his heart stumble.

You were beautiful.

Not in the way court ladies were beautiful. Not polished and perfect beneath jewels and silks.

You looked alive.

And somehow that made it worse. Because Valarr could feel himself drifting closer with every conversation.

Every smile.

Every shared moment.

Like a ship slowly being pulled toward rocks despite knowing exactly what awaited it.

His fingers tightened around his mug.

You turned your head suddenly.

Valarr looked away so quickly it made him lightheaded.

"You are staring again, my prince."

The tips of his ears burned.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I was merely thinking."

"About what?"

Valarr opened his mouth, and then closed it. Because he could hardly tell you that all his thoughts somehow seemed to begin and end with you these days.

A grin spread across your face as you watched him struggle.

And Seven Hells.

Valarr was doomed.

But for the first time in his life, the realization did not fill him with dread, but warmth.

And Prince Valarr Targaryen found himself hoping the night would never end.

Chapter 6 [Weekly Updates (every saturday!)]

Taglist: @snowwythegloww @supermanshand @shouto-raki @cassandra-reborn-anew @bloomballet @bubblegupyy @darling-darling3 @targaryenamour @boundandbrews @onlyrealjoy @qardasngan @rather-melodramatic @appalost @writingshae @uixhzzzi @ch3ska0 @lasylady @jjubilee-fluff @noilusionsblr @062292 @kiszexo-blog @arutsumu @bloomfaery

Valarr's chambers were quiet. Only the occasional crackle of the hearth disturbed the silence as shadows of the flames danced lazily across the stone walls.

Valarr sat near the fire, one leg stretched before him while the other remained bent beneath the chaise. A goblet of wine rested loosely in his hand, the dark red liquid catching the glow of the flames. The linen shirt he wore hung open slightly at the collar, far less formal than the silks and velvets he was expected to wear before the court.

Since arriving at Winterfell, peaceful nights had become a rarity. But tonight, his thoughts were proving far more troublesome than ever.

Valarr dragged a hand across his face and shut his eyes briefly.

It had been two days since the council meeting.

Two days since he had somehow looked you directly in the eyes and called you charming.

His ears still burned at the memory.

For two days he had avoided you with a determination that would have impressed even his father. Whenever he heard your voice echoing through the corridors, he found another path. Whenever he spotted your dark cloak crossing the courtyard below, he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. Once, he had turned around so abruptly that Daeron had asked if he was being hunted.

Valarr had nearly thrown a goblet at his brother.

The worst part was that nobody appeared to have noticed.

Or at least, he hoped they had not.

With a sigh, he looked down at the wine in his hand.

He was not here for you.

The thought had become a prayer of sorts. A reminder repeated so often that it had begun to lose its meaning.

And Lady Berena deserved better than a husband whose attention wandered elsewhere.

And yet it feels as though a treacherous part of him kept looking elsewhere, kept wanting another conversation- to hear your thoughts on matters that had nothing to do with war or politics.

It simply wanted to know you more.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

Because if he allowed himself to follow that desire, he feared he would discover something he could not afford. Something capable of reducing years of duty, expectation and discipline into little more than ash.

And Valarr was not yet ready to watch it burn.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet as a memory of the morning surfaced.

The training yard.

He should have simply ignored Aerion.

William Stark had been sparring that morning when Aerion, in all his infinite wisdom, had remarked that this was what a proper heir looked like. Valarr had taken the bait immediately.

Looking back, it might have been the stupidest thing he had done all week.

Half the yard had stopped to watch.

The duel between him and William itself had been friendly enough. Wooden swords with no real danger.

Yet each exchange only made the difference between them more obvious.

William moved with the confidence of a man who had spent his life carrying steel. And Valarr did not.

He had managed to hold his own for a time.

Then William disarmed him.

Then again.

And again.

And by the fourth time, Aerion was no longer bothering to hide his amusement.

Valarr had accepted the defeat with as much dignity as he could muster and congratulated William on his skill.

Then he left.

Not because of Aerion.

Not because of the crowd who were probably judging him.

But because from the corner of his eye, he had noticed you watching.

You were standing at the far edge of the yard, giving archery lessons to Errold, the youngest Stark. Before your attention had turned towards them.

And he had not wanted to know what you thought.

Of the prince whose father was called Breakspear.

Of the prince who could never quite seem to live up to the name.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he chugged the wine in a go. Sleep was clearly not coming tonight.

Valarr rose from the chaise and set the goblet aside with a quiet clink. Pulling his fur cloak around his shoulders, he made his way towards the door.

The moon hung high in the sky. Though the snowfall had stopped, the chill still lingered in the air. The last thing Valarr wanted was to fall ill and embarrass himself further.

He opened the door to his chambers, and Ser Crakenhall straightened immediately.

"Your Grace," the man in the white cloak greeted.

Valarr gave him a nod and stepped out of the warmth of his chambers, the cold air striking his face at once.

"I wish to take a walk," Valarr said with a small smile. "Alone."

"But Your Grace-"

"It is an order. And I will remain within the castle walls, Ser. There is no need to worry."

Ser Crakehall looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually bowed his head and stepped aside.

Valarr moved through the corridors, his thoughts swimming somewhere between the humiliation of the morning and the uncertainty of the future.

He descended the stairs with the ease of a man who knew his way around. Over the past few days, he had developed a habit of haunting the halls of Winterfell whenever sleep refused to come.

Within minutes, he found himself at the rear of the castle, standing upon the balcony that had slowly become his sanctuary in the cold North. He had discovered it during one of his nightly wanderings and quickly decided he loved the silence.

Valarr rested his elbows against the railing and exhaled slowly, watching his breath disappear into the night air. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his face in his palms as his eyes drifted towards the dark woods stretching beyond the castle walls.

The Wolfswood.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Valarr could not help but wonder what else wandered through those woods after dark.

Just as his thoughts began to drift, he heard footsteps.

Light and careful.

Like someone trying not to be heard.

His hand instinctively moved towards the pommel of his sword as a shadow slipped across the level below him.

Valarr's feet moved before he could think. He descended the stairs quickly and rounded the balcony where he had seen the figure pass.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty.

Valarr frowned. He was certain he had seen someone. Yet there was nothing there but stone walls and the ever present northern cold.

A pair of Stark guards were approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. Valarr considered asking if they had seen anyone.

Before he could open his mouth, someone seized his wrist.

The world lurched.

Valarr was pulled into a nearby room.

The door shut behind him.

Before he could protest, a hand covered his mouth.

Your scent reached him first. Then your voice.

"Shh."

His back hit the door as you pinned him against it, one hand over his mouth while the other remained wrapped around his wrist.

The moonlight filtering through the lone window was too weak to illuminate the room properly. He could only make out fragments of you.

A dark cloak. The outline of your shoulders. And the way you craned your neck towards the window, muttering curses beneath your breath as the clanking of armor echoed past outside.

Valarr could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Seven above, he was certain you could hear it too.

He breathed through his nose, trying desperately to steady himself. The brush of your palm against his lips did things to him he did not care to examine too closely.

It was all too much.

The woman he had spent two days avoiding. The woman who had occupied every spare corner of his thoughts.

And now she was pinning him against a door in an empty room.

Seven Hells. If someone were to see them-

Valarr abandoned that thought immediately. He could not move or speak. He could barely think.

All he could do was stare at you as something traitorous twisted happily inside his chest.

Valarr gulped when your attention finally shifted towards him.

He could feel you staring back.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he cursed the darkness for hiding your eyes.

"Shit," you muttered beneath your breath. Your hands slipped away from his mouth and wrist.

And Valarr found himself strangely disappointed by the loss of contact.

"My prince, I apologize. You see- I- me- it's just-"

"My lady, is everything alright?" Valarr somehow managed, a flush creeping across the back of his neck.

You laughed awkwardly and stepped away from him, moving into the moonlight.

Only then could he properly see you. You were dressed in common clothes. A rugged dark cloak hung around your shoulders, and a sword rested at your hip.

You looked nothing like a noblewoman. And somehow that only made the sight more fascinating and beautiful.

"I am alright," you said, glancing back towards the window. "I simply need to go somewhere. It is rather...important. I just did not wish to alert the guards."

"My lady, it is rather dark outside. Is everything truly alright?" Valarr took a cautious step closer, trying to get a better look at your face.

"I am certain, my prince. It is nothing."

You moved towards the door and pushed it open. Valarr watched as you carefully scanned the corridor before pulling your cloak tighter around yourself.

"I shall see you later, my prince."

You turned and headed towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard.

Valarr should have stopped there.

You were not his concern.

He should have returned to his chambers and forgotten this ever happened.

Instead, he followed.

He told himself it was because it was dark, and a lady should not wander alone at night.

At least that was the excuse he offered his heart.

"My lady, wait."

You stopped and turned towards him.

Valarr could see your face scrunch in frustration.

"Your Grace, you should really go back. I promise there is no need to worry."

"But my lady, it is not safe for you to wander alone. I know you are a skilled warrior, but still—"

The distant clanking of armor interrupted him. Valarr saw your eyes widen. Panic etched across your entire face.

And then suddenly you were dragging him across the courtyard. Your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as Valarr nearly tripped over his own feet.

"My lady- I- what- "

You ignored him entirely as the two of you hurried across the courtyard towards the eastern gates.

"Please. Please. Please. Let them not be there," you muttered beneath your breath.

Valarr scarcely knew where he was being taken.

His mind had stopped functioning several moments ago. All he could focus on was the warmth of your hand seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

The eastern gate came into view. There were no guards there.

Likely a shift change.

And before Valarr fully realized what was happening, the two of you were beyond Winterfell's walls.

You led him through the sleeping town until you suddenly darted into an alleyway and pulled him in after you.

Your hand finally released his wrist, and you bent forward slightly, laughing as you tried to catch your breath.

Your laughter faded as you leaned against the wall of the alleyway, catching your breath.

Valarr stood several feet away, looking thoroughly lost.

The alley was narrow, squeezed between two weathered buildings. Snow had gathered in uneven piles along the stone walls, while lantern light from the nearby streets spilled weakly into the darkness.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Valarr merely blinked at you, as you blinked back.

Then your expression changed.

Valarr watched confusion give way to realization, and then realization gave way to absolute horror.

Before either of you could speak, a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"What the fuck?"

Valarr's hand flew instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Beside him, yours did the same.

A shadow stepped forward from deeper within the alley, draped in a dark cloak just like your own. Snow clung to the figure's shoulders as he stopped beneath the lantern light.

Valarr tensed, and then he heard you let out a quiet groan. The stranger pulled back his hood.

William Stark.

Valarr felt even more confused than before. William looked at him, then at you and then back at him.

The silence stretched.

"Your Grace?" William finally asked.

Valarr offered an awkward nod.

William stared for another heartbeat before slowly turning toward you.

"What is he doing here?"

You muttered something under your breath. Unfortunately for Valarr, whatever you said was too quiet to hear. William's eyes widened.

"What?"

You moved closer to your brother, lowering your voice further.

Valarr took a cautious step forward.

"-followed me," he finally caught. "I panicked and dragged him here."

For a long moment William simply stared at you. Then he dragged a hand down his face.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What would you have me do?" Valarr heard you hiss back. "Let the guards find me sneaking out again? And then what? Spend the next moon trapped in my chambers while mother lectures me every morning?"

William opened his mouth and closed it before sighing heavily.

"Gods help me," he muttered.

Valarr cleared his throat. Both siblings turned toward him so quickly that he nearly forgot what he had been about to say.

"I apologize for interrupting, but I feel I should mention that I am still very confused."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Valarr immediately wished he had remained silent.

"We cannot go back now," you declared.

"My lady—"

"There are soldiers searching the grounds."

Valarr blinked.

"What?"

You pointed vaguely back toward Winterfell.

"If they find me sneaking out, I am doomed." You crossed your arms. "There is only one solution."

Valarr did not like the confidence with which you said that. Neither, judging by his expression, did William. Slowly, you pointed your finger towards him.

"We take him with us."

Valarr opened his mouth, before closing it again.

William stared at you.

Then, to Valarr's immense confusion, amusement flickered across his face.

"Oh, this should be interesting."

"You agree?" you asked.

"I think we are beyond good decisions at this point."

You nodded as though that settled everything. Then your attention shifted towards Valarr. And Valarr could not help but admire the way you looked under the moonlight.

"Do you enjoy music, Your Grace?"

Valarr stopped.

"What?"

"Music and ale."

"I am afraid I do not understand the question."

Valarr can see a grin tugging at the corner of your lips, and he could not help the flush on his cheeks.

"My prince," you said, clasping your hands behind your back, "have you ever been inside a common tavern?"

"N-No."

Your grin widened.

Beside you, Valarr can see William suddenly looking far too entertained.

"Well," you said, turning toward the lantern-lit street beyond the alley, "it appears tonight is your lucky day."

And for some reason, despite every warning screaming inside his head, Valarr followed.

The tavern was loud. The moment Valarr stepped inside, it felt as though he had entered an entirely different world.

Warmth immediately wrapped around him, washing away the bitter cold that had clung to him since leaving Winterfell. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, spilled ale and damp wool. Music drifted through the crowded room, carried by a fiddler tucked into a corner while men and women laughed loudly around him.

Tankards slammed against tables.

Someone was singing.

Someone else was arguing over a game of dice.

And somehow, despite the chaos, everyone seemed content.

Valarr sat stiffly at one of the tables near the bar, his hands wrapped around a mug of ale he had yet to touch. Beside him, you looked entirely at ease.

One arm rested lazily atop the table while the other held your tankard. The hood of your cloak had long since been pushed back, revealing your face in the warm glow of the lanterns hanging overhead.

Valarr found himself staring again.

He needed to stop doing that.

Across the tavern, William had already disappeared into the crowd.

Valarr could see him laughing with several men near the hearth, a tankard raised high in one hand while someone attempted to drag him toward the musicians.

Valarr watched him vanish into the crowd before looking back down at his untouched ale.

"My lady?"

You hummed in response. Valarr hesitated.

"You do not have to remain here with me."

That earned him a confused look.

"I merely meant," Valarr cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your brother appears to be enjoying himself. You need not sit here in my rather boring company."

For a moment you simply stared at him.

Then you snorted. Actually snorted.

Valarr immediately felt his ears burn.

"My prince," you said, shaking your head. "If I wished to be elsewhere, I would be elsewhere."

You took another drink from your tankard.

"I only came because William wished for it."

Valarr glanced toward the dance floor where William was now attempting something that could generously be described as dancing.

He found that difficult to believe.

"And besides," you continued, setting your tankard down. "I do not find your company boring."

Valarr froze. His mind promptly stopped working.

"Oh."

You rolled your eyes. The movement was simple and ordinary. Yet Valarr found himself watching it anyway.

The lantern light softened your features, casting warm golden hues across your face while shadows danced against your skin from the nearby hearth. A loose strand of hair had escaped and now rested against your cheek.

Beautiful.

The thought arrived uninvited, and Valarr nearly dropped his mug.

He quickly looked away. His heartbeat stumbling somewhere inside his chest.

You took another drink before glancing towards him.

"My prince."

Valarr straightened immediately.

"You have been holding that mug for ten minutes."

Valarr looked down at his mug.

"I was observing."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The ale?"

"The tavern."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"And what conclusions have you reached?"

Valarr glanced around once more.

A serving girl laughed as someone spun her around. A group of laborers were singing badly enough that it might have been considered a crime. Someone dropped a mug.

Nobody cared.

"It is..." Valarr paused, "very loud."

The laugh that escaped you was bright and genuine. Valarr hated how much he liked that sound.

"That is your grand observation?" you asked.

"I have others."

"Oh?"

Valarr nodded solemnly.

"The man near the hearth is definitely cheating."

You blinked.

Then followed his gaze toward a dice game happening across the room. The older man quickly slipped a die into his sleeve. Your eyes widened.

"He is."

Valarr looked pleased with himself.

"And the fiddler has missed the same note six times."

You stared.

"You can hear that?"

"I was taught music."

You shook your head slowly.

"What?"

"You truly are a prince."

Valarr couldn't help but laugh. For the first time that day, the nervousness in his chest eased slightly.

And for a moment, surrounded by music and laughter and the warmth of the tavern, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be avoiding you.

Valarr finally gathered enough courage to take a sip of his own ale.

Immediately he coughed. Yhe drink was far stronger than he had anticipated. Ypu laughed and Valarr scratched the back of his neck.

"Do you come here often?" Valarr found himself asking.

You shrugged, "Sometimes."

Your gaze drifted around the tavern.

"When I wish to feel..." you paused briefly. A small smile formed on your lips. "Free."

Valarr looked down at the ale in his hand.He understood that feeling more than he cared to admit.

The conversation faded after that. Neither of you seemed particularly bothered by the silence.

Then suddenly you spoke.

"You did quite well today."

Valarr frowned.

"Hm?"

"In the training yard."

Your head now rested lazily atop your folded arms as you looked at him from across the table.

Valarr nearly choked.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"My lady."

You raised an eyebrow. Valarr snorted into his mug.

"Please do not humour me because I am a prince."

The words escaped before he could stop them. You immediately rolled your eyes.

"I am not humouring you."

"You witnessed the same duel I did."

"I witnessed William sparring against someone who has never seen actual battle."

Valarr opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he argue.

"My brother has spent years fighting raiders, wildlings and bandits."

You gestured vaguely toward the crowd where William had somehow acquired another tankard.

"He has been training for actual combat since he was old enough to hold a sword."

Valarr remained unconvinced. And he can see your expression softening.

"My prince."

Reluctantly, Valarr looked up.

"You need to give yourself more credit."

He laughed quietly, almost sarcastically.

"I mean it."

Your finger tapped lightly against the wooden table.

"Many men cannot stand against William for more than a few seconds."

"The men people remember are the ones who win."

"That is not true."

The certainty in your voice made him glance back towards you. You were already looking at him.

Not with pity or sympathy. But with certainty. As though you truly believed every word leaving your mouth.

Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.

"Remember what i said back at the godswood. The strongest people I have known were not always the most skilled."

Your gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd.

"They were simply the ones who kept getting back up."

The tavern seemed quieter for a moment. Or perhaps Valarr simply stopped hearing it. Because once again, you had unknowingly said exactly what he needed to hear.

His eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.

The hours passed quicker than Valarr expected.

At some point, William had disappeared entirely into the crowd, only appearing every now and then with another mug in his hand and a different group of friends around him.

The tavern remained loud. But Valarr found himself smiling.

Not the polite smile he wore during feasts, or the practiced smile expected from a prince.

A real one.

The realization startled him, and his gaze drifted toward you. Your head still rested lazily against the table. One hand wrapped around your mug while the other traced absent patterns into the wood.

You were watching the crowd now. A small smile rested upon your lips. And for a moment, Valarr forgot everything else.

The expectations. The crown. The future waiting for him beyond Winterfell.

All of it seemed distant.

Far away.

Like a dream someone else had lived.

A laugh escaped your lips at something happening across the room.

Valarr felt his heart stumble.

You were beautiful.

Not in the way court ladies were beautiful. Not polished and perfect beneath jewels and silks.

You looked alive.

And somehow that made it worse. Because Valarr could feel himself drifting closer with every conversation.

Every smile.

Every shared moment.

Like a ship slowly being pulled toward rocks despite knowing exactly what awaited it.

His fingers tightened around his mug.

You turned your head suddenly.

Valarr looked away so quickly it made him lightheaded.

"You are staring again, my prince."

The tips of his ears burned.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I was merely thinking."

"About what?"

Valarr opened his mouth, and then closed it. Because he could hardly tell you that all his thoughts somehow seemed to begin and end with you these days.

A grin spread across your face as you watched him struggle.

And Seven Hells.

Valarr was doomed.

But for the first time in his life, the realization did not fill him with dread, but warmth.

And Prince Valarr Targaryen found himself hoping the night would never end.

Chapter 6 [Weekly Updates (every saturday!)]

Taglist: @snowwythegloww @supermanshand @shouto-raki @cassandra-reborn-anew @bloomballet @bubblegupyy @darling-darling3 @targaryenamour @boundandbrews @onlyrealjoy @qardasngan @rather-melodramatic @appalost @writingshae @uixhzzzi @ch3ska0 @lasylady @jjubilee-fluff @noilusionsblr @062292 @kiszexo-blog @arutsumu @bloomfaery

Valarr's chambers were quiet. Only the occasional crackle of the hearth disturbed the silence as shadows of the flames danced lazily across the stone walls.

Valarr sat near the fire, one leg stretched before him while the other remained bent beneath the chaise. A goblet of wine rested loosely in his hand, the dark red liquid catching the glow of the flames. The linen shirt he wore hung open slightly at the collar, far less formal than the silks and velvets he was expected to wear before the court.

Since arriving at Winterfell, peaceful nights had become a rarity. But tonight, his thoughts were proving far more troublesome than ever.

Valarr dragged a hand across his face and shut his eyes briefly.

It had been two days since the council meeting.

Two days since he had somehow looked you directly in the eyes and called you charming.

His ears still burned at the memory.

For two days he had avoided you with a determination that would have impressed even his father. Whenever he heard your voice echoing through the corridors, he found another path. Whenever he spotted your dark cloak crossing the courtyard below, he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. Once, he had turned around so abruptly that Daeron had asked if he was being hunted.

Valarr had nearly thrown a goblet at his brother.

The worst part was that nobody appeared to have noticed.

Or at least, he hoped they had not.

With a sigh, he looked down at the wine in his hand.

He was not here for you.

The thought had become a prayer of sorts. A reminder repeated so often that it had begun to lose its meaning.

And Lady Berena deserved better than a husband whose attention wandered elsewhere.

And yet it feels as though a treacherous part of him kept looking elsewhere, kept wanting another conversation- to hear your thoughts on matters that had nothing to do with war or politics.

It simply wanted to know you more.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

Because if he allowed himself to follow that desire, he feared he would discover something he could not afford. Something capable of reducing years of duty, expectation and discipline into little more than ash.

And Valarr was not yet ready to watch it burn.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet as a memory of the morning surfaced.

The training yard.

He should have simply ignored Aerion.

William Stark had been sparring that morning when Aerion, in all his infinite wisdom, had remarked that this was what a proper heir looked like. Valarr had taken the bait immediately.

Looking back, it might have been the stupidest thing he had done all week.

Half the yard had stopped to watch.

The duel between him and William itself had been friendly enough. Wooden swords with no real danger.

Yet each exchange only made the difference between them more obvious.

William moved with the confidence of a man who had spent his life carrying steel. And Valarr did not.

He had managed to hold his own for a time.

Then William disarmed him.

Then again.

And again.

And by the fourth time, Aerion was no longer bothering to hide his amusement.

Valarr had accepted the defeat with as much dignity as he could muster and congratulated William on his skill.

Then he left.

Not because of Aerion.

Not because of the crowd who were probably judging him.

But because from the corner of his eye, he had noticed you watching.

You were standing at the far edge of the yard, giving archery lessons to Errold, the youngest Stark. Before your attention had turned towards them.

And he had not wanted to know what you thought.

Of the prince whose father was called Breakspear.

Of the prince who could never quite seem to live up to the name.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he chugged the wine in a go. Sleep was clearly not coming tonight.

Valarr rose from the chaise and set the goblet aside with a quiet clink. Pulling his fur cloak around his shoulders, he made his way towards the door.

The moon hung high in the sky. Though the snowfall had stopped, the chill still lingered in the air. The last thing Valarr wanted was to fall ill and embarrass himself further.

He opened the door to his chambers, and Ser Crakenhall straightened immediately.

"Your Grace," the man in the white cloak greeted.

Valarr gave him a nod and stepped out of the warmth of his chambers, the cold air striking his face at once.

"I wish to take a walk," Valarr said with a small smile. "Alone."

"But Your Grace-"

"It is an order. And I will remain within the castle walls, Ser. There is no need to worry."

Ser Crakehall looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually bowed his head and stepped aside.

Valarr moved through the corridors, his thoughts swimming somewhere between the humiliation of the morning and the uncertainty of the future.

He descended the stairs with the ease of a man who knew his way around. Over the past few days, he had developed a habit of haunting the halls of Winterfell whenever sleep refused to come.

Within minutes, he found himself at the rear of the castle, standing upon the balcony that had slowly become his sanctuary in the cold North. He had discovered it during one of his nightly wanderings and quickly decided he loved the silence.

Valarr rested his elbows against the railing and exhaled slowly, watching his breath disappear into the night air. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his face in his palms as his eyes drifted towards the dark woods stretching beyond the castle walls.

The Wolfswood.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Valarr could not help but wonder what else wandered through those woods after dark.

Just as his thoughts began to drift, he heard footsteps.

Light and careful.

Like someone trying not to be heard.

His hand instinctively moved towards the pommel of his sword as a shadow slipped across the level below him.

Valarr's feet moved before he could think. He descended the stairs quickly and rounded the balcony where he had seen the figure pass.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty.

Valarr frowned. He was certain he had seen someone. Yet there was nothing there but stone walls and the ever present northern cold.

A pair of Stark guards were approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. Valarr considered asking if they had seen anyone.

Before he could open his mouth, someone seized his wrist.

The world lurched.

Valarr was pulled into a nearby room.

The door shut behind him.

Before he could protest, a hand covered his mouth.

Your scent reached him first. Then your voice.

"Shh."

His back hit the door as you pinned him against it, one hand over his mouth while the other remained wrapped around his wrist.

The moonlight filtering through the lone window was too weak to illuminate the room properly. He could only make out fragments of you.

A dark cloak. The outline of your shoulders. And the way you craned your neck towards the window, muttering curses beneath your breath as the clanking of armor echoed past outside.

Valarr could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Seven above, he was certain you could hear it too.

He breathed through his nose, trying desperately to steady himself. The brush of your palm against his lips did things to him he did not care to examine too closely.

It was all too much.

The woman he had spent two days avoiding. The woman who had occupied every spare corner of his thoughts.

And now she was pinning him against a door in an empty room.

Seven Hells. If someone were to see them-

Valarr abandoned that thought immediately. He could not move or speak. He could barely think.

All he could do was stare at you as something traitorous twisted happily inside his chest.

Valarr gulped when your attention finally shifted towards him.

He could feel you staring back.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he cursed the darkness for hiding your eyes.

"Shit," you muttered beneath your breath. Your hands slipped away from his mouth and wrist.

And Valarr found himself strangely disappointed by the loss of contact.

"My prince, I apologize. You see- I- me- it's just-"

"My lady, is everything alright?" Valarr somehow managed, a flush creeping across the back of his neck.

You laughed awkwardly and stepped away from him, moving into the moonlight.

Only then could he properly see you. You were dressed in common clothes. A rugged dark cloak hung around your shoulders, and a sword rested at your hip.

You looked nothing like a noblewoman. And somehow that only made the sight more fascinating and beautiful.

"I am alright," you said, glancing back towards the window. "I simply need to go somewhere. It is rather...important. I just did not wish to alert the guards."

"My lady, it is rather dark outside. Is everything truly alright?" Valarr took a cautious step closer, trying to get a better look at your face.

"I am certain, my prince. It is nothing."

You moved towards the door and pushed it open. Valarr watched as you carefully scanned the corridor before pulling your cloak tighter around yourself.

"I shall see you later, my prince."

You turned and headed towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard.

Valarr should have stopped there.

You were not his concern.

He should have returned to his chambers and forgotten this ever happened.

Instead, he followed.

He told himself it was because it was dark, and a lady should not wander alone at night.

At least that was the excuse he offered his heart.

"My lady, wait."

You stopped and turned towards him.

Valarr could see your face scrunch in frustration.

"Your Grace, you should really go back. I promise there is no need to worry."

"But my lady, it is not safe for you to wander alone. I know you are a skilled warrior, but still—"

The distant clanking of armor interrupted him. Valarr saw your eyes widen. Panic etched across your entire face.

And then suddenly you were dragging him across the courtyard. Your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as Valarr nearly tripped over his own feet.

"My lady- I- what- "

You ignored him entirely as the two of you hurried across the courtyard towards the eastern gates.

"Please. Please. Please. Let them not be there," you muttered beneath your breath.

Valarr scarcely knew where he was being taken.

His mind had stopped functioning several moments ago. All he could focus on was the warmth of your hand seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

The eastern gate came into view. There were no guards there.

Likely a shift change.

And before Valarr fully realized what was happening, the two of you were beyond Winterfell's walls.

You led him through the sleeping town until you suddenly darted into an alleyway and pulled him in after you.

Your hand finally released his wrist, and you bent forward slightly, laughing as you tried to catch your breath.

Your laughter faded as you leaned against the wall of the alleyway, catching your breath.

Valarr stood several feet away, looking thoroughly lost.

The alley was narrow, squeezed between two weathered buildings. Snow had gathered in uneven piles along the stone walls, while lantern light from the nearby streets spilled weakly into the darkness.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Valarr merely blinked at you, as you blinked back.

Then your expression changed.

Valarr watched confusion give way to realization, and then realization gave way to absolute horror.

Before either of you could speak, a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"What the fuck?"

Valarr's hand flew instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Beside him, yours did the same.

A shadow stepped forward from deeper within the alley, draped in a dark cloak just like your own. Snow clung to the figure's shoulders as he stopped beneath the lantern light.

Valarr tensed, and then he heard you let out a quiet groan. The stranger pulled back his hood.

William Stark.

Valarr felt even more confused than before. William looked at him, then at you and then back at him.

The silence stretched.

"Your Grace?" William finally asked.

Valarr offered an awkward nod.

William stared for another heartbeat before slowly turning toward you.

"What is he doing here?"

You muttered something under your breath. Unfortunately for Valarr, whatever you said was too quiet to hear. William's eyes widened.

"What?"

You moved closer to your brother, lowering your voice further.

Valarr took a cautious step forward.

"-followed me," he finally caught. "I panicked and dragged him here."

For a long moment William simply stared at you. Then he dragged a hand down his face.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What would you have me do?" Valarr heard you hiss back. "Let the guards find me sneaking out again? And then what? Spend the next moon trapped in my chambers while mother lectures me every morning?"

William opened his mouth and closed it before sighing heavily.

"Gods help me," he muttered.

Valarr cleared his throat. Both siblings turned toward him so quickly that he nearly forgot what he had been about to say.

"I apologize for interrupting, but I feel I should mention that I am still very confused."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Valarr immediately wished he had remained silent.

"We cannot go back now," you declared.

"My lady—"

"There are soldiers searching the grounds."

Valarr blinked.

"What?"

You pointed vaguely back toward Winterfell.

"If they find me sneaking out, I am doomed." You crossed your arms. "There is only one solution."

Valarr did not like the confidence with which you said that. Neither, judging by his expression, did William. Slowly, you pointed your finger towards him.

"We take him with us."

Valarr opened his mouth, before closing it again.

William stared at you.

Then, to Valarr's immense confusion, amusement flickered across his face.

"Oh, this should be interesting."

"You agree?" you asked.

"I think we are beyond good decisions at this point."

You nodded as though that settled everything. Then your attention shifted towards Valarr. And Valarr could not help but admire the way you looked under the moonlight.

"Do you enjoy music, Your Grace?"

Valarr stopped.

"What?"

"Music and ale."

"I am afraid I do not understand the question."

Valarr can see a grin tugging at the corner of your lips, and he could not help the flush on his cheeks.

"My prince," you said, clasping your hands behind your back, "have you ever been inside a common tavern?"

"N-No."

Your grin widened.

Beside you, Valarr can see William suddenly looking far too entertained.

"Well," you said, turning toward the lantern-lit street beyond the alley, "it appears tonight is your lucky day."

And for some reason, despite every warning screaming inside his head, Valarr followed.

The tavern was loud. The moment Valarr stepped inside, it felt as though he had entered an entirely different world.

Warmth immediately wrapped around him, washing away the bitter cold that had clung to him since leaving Winterfell. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, spilled ale and damp wool. Music drifted through the crowded room, carried by a fiddler tucked into a corner while men and women laughed loudly around him.

Tankards slammed against tables.

Someone was singing.

Someone else was arguing over a game of dice.

And somehow, despite the chaos, everyone seemed content.

Valarr sat stiffly at one of the tables near the bar, his hands wrapped around a mug of ale he had yet to touch. Beside him, you looked entirely at ease.

One arm rested lazily atop the table while the other held your tankard. The hood of your cloak had long since been pushed back, revealing your face in the warm glow of the lanterns hanging overhead.

Valarr found himself staring again.

He needed to stop doing that.

Across the tavern, William had already disappeared into the crowd.

Valarr could see him laughing with several men near the hearth, a tankard raised high in one hand while someone attempted to drag him toward the musicians.

Valarr watched him vanish into the crowd before looking back down at his untouched ale.

"My lady?"

You hummed in response. Valarr hesitated.

"You do not have to remain here with me."

That earned him a confused look.

"I merely meant," Valarr cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your brother appears to be enjoying himself. You need not sit here in my rather boring company."

For a moment you simply stared at him.

Then you snorted. Actually snorted.

Valarr immediately felt his ears burn.

"My prince," you said, shaking your head. "If I wished to be elsewhere, I would be elsewhere."

You took another drink from your tankard.

"I only came because William wished for it."

Valarr glanced toward the dance floor where William was now attempting something that could generously be described as dancing.

He found that difficult to believe.

"And besides," you continued, setting your tankard down. "I do not find your company boring."

Valarr froze. His mind promptly stopped working.

"Oh."

You rolled your eyes. The movement was simple and ordinary. Yet Valarr found himself watching it anyway.

The lantern light softened your features, casting warm golden hues across your face while shadows danced against your skin from the nearby hearth. A loose strand of hair had escaped and now rested against your cheek.

Beautiful.

The thought arrived uninvited, and Valarr nearly dropped his mug.

He quickly looked away. His heartbeat stumbling somewhere inside his chest.

You took another drink before glancing towards him.

"My prince."

Valarr straightened immediately.

"You have been holding that mug for ten minutes."

Valarr looked down at his mug.

"I was observing."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The ale?"

"The tavern."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"And what conclusions have you reached?"

Valarr glanced around once more.

A serving girl laughed as someone spun her around. A group of laborers were singing badly enough that it might have been considered a crime. Someone dropped a mug.

Nobody cared.

"It is..." Valarr paused, "very loud."

The laugh that escaped you was bright and genuine. Valarr hated how much he liked that sound.

"That is your grand observation?" you asked.

"I have others."

"Oh?"

Valarr nodded solemnly.

"The man near the hearth is definitely cheating."

You blinked.

Then followed his gaze toward a dice game happening across the room. The older man quickly slipped a die into his sleeve. Your eyes widened.

"He is."

Valarr looked pleased with himself.

"And the fiddler has missed the same note six times."

You stared.

"You can hear that?"

"I was taught music."

You shook your head slowly.

"What?"

"You truly are a prince."

Valarr couldn't help but laugh. For the first time that day, the nervousness in his chest eased slightly.

And for a moment, surrounded by music and laughter and the warmth of the tavern, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be avoiding you.

Valarr finally gathered enough courage to take a sip of his own ale.

Immediately he coughed. Yhe drink was far stronger than he had anticipated. Ypu laughed and Valarr scratched the back of his neck.

"Do you come here often?" Valarr found himself asking.

You shrugged, "Sometimes."

Your gaze drifted around the tavern.

"When I wish to feel..." you paused briefly. A small smile formed on your lips. "Free."

Valarr looked down at the ale in his hand.He understood that feeling more than he cared to admit.

The conversation faded after that. Neither of you seemed particularly bothered by the silence.

Then suddenly you spoke.

"You did quite well today."

Valarr frowned.

"Hm?"

"In the training yard."

Your head now rested lazily atop your folded arms as you looked at him from across the table.

Valarr nearly choked.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"My lady."

You raised an eyebrow. Valarr snorted into his mug.

"Please do not humour me because I am a prince."

The words escaped before he could stop them. You immediately rolled your eyes.

"I am not humouring you."

"You witnessed the same duel I did."

"I witnessed William sparring against someone who has never seen actual battle."

Valarr opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he argue.

"My brother has spent years fighting raiders, wildlings and bandits."

You gestured vaguely toward the crowd where William had somehow acquired another tankard.

"He has been training for actual combat since he was old enough to hold a sword."

Valarr remained unconvinced. And he can see your expression softening.

"My prince."

Reluctantly, Valarr looked up.

"You need to give yourself more credit."

He laughed quietly, almost sarcastically.

"I mean it."

Your finger tapped lightly against the wooden table.

"Many men cannot stand against William for more than a few seconds."

"The men people remember are the ones who win."

"That is not true."

The certainty in your voice made him glance back towards you. You were already looking at him.

Not with pity or sympathy. But with certainty. As though you truly believed every word leaving your mouth.

Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.

"Remember what i said back at the godswood. The strongest people I have known were not always the most skilled."

Your gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd.

"They were simply the ones who kept getting back up."

The tavern seemed quieter for a moment. Or perhaps Valarr simply stopped hearing it. Because once again, you had unknowingly said exactly what he needed to hear.

His eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.

The hours passed quicker than Valarr expected.

At some point, William had disappeared entirely into the crowd, only appearing every now and then with another mug in his hand and a different group of friends around him.

The tavern remained loud. But Valarr found himself smiling.

Not the polite smile he wore during feasts, or the practiced smile expected from a prince.

A real one.

The realization startled him, and his gaze drifted toward you. Your head still rested lazily against the table. One hand wrapped around your mug while the other traced absent patterns into the wood.

You were watching the crowd now. A small smile rested upon your lips. And for a moment, Valarr forgot everything else.

The expectations. The crown. The future waiting for him beyond Winterfell.

All of it seemed distant.

Far away.

Like a dream someone else had lived.

A laugh escaped your lips at something happening across the room.

Valarr felt his heart stumble.

You were beautiful.

Not in the way court ladies were beautiful. Not polished and perfect beneath jewels and silks.

You looked alive.

And somehow that made it worse. Because Valarr could feel himself drifting closer with every conversation.

Every smile.

Every shared moment.

Like a ship slowly being pulled toward rocks despite knowing exactly what awaited it.

His fingers tightened around his mug.

You turned your head suddenly.

Valarr looked away so quickly it made him lightheaded.

"You are staring again, my prince."

The tips of his ears burned.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I was merely thinking."

"About what?"

Valarr opened his mouth, and then closed it. Because he could hardly tell you that all his thoughts somehow seemed to begin and end with you these days.

A grin spread across your face as you watched him struggle.

And Seven Hells.

Valarr was doomed.

But for the first time in his life, the realization did not fill him with dread, but warmth.

And Prince Valarr Targaryen found himself hoping the night would never end.

Chapter 6 [Weekly Updates (every saturday!)]

Taglist: @snowwythegloww @supermanshand @shouto-raki @cassandra-reborn-anew @bloomballet @bubblegupyy @darling-darling3 @targaryenamour @boundandbrews @onlyrealjoy @qardasngan @rather-melodramatic @appalost @writingshae @uixhzzzi @ch3ska0 @lasylady @jjubilee-fluff @noilusionsblr @062292 @kiszexo-blog @arutsumu @bloomfaery

Valarr's chambers were quiet. Only the occasional crackle of the hearth disturbed the silence as shadows of the flames danced lazily across the stone walls.

Valarr sat near the fire, one leg stretched before him while the other remained bent beneath the chaise. A goblet of wine rested loosely in his hand, the dark red liquid catching the glow of the flames. The linen shirt he wore hung open slightly at the collar, far less formal than the silks and velvets he was expected to wear before the court.

Since arriving at Winterfell, peaceful nights had become a rarity. But tonight, his thoughts were proving far more troublesome than ever.

Valarr dragged a hand across his face and shut his eyes briefly.

It had been two days since the council meeting.

Two days since he had somehow looked you directly in the eyes and called you charming.

His ears still burned at the memory.

For two days he had avoided you with a determination that would have impressed even his father. Whenever he heard your voice echoing through the corridors, he found another path. Whenever he spotted your dark cloak crossing the courtyard below, he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. Once, he had turned around so abruptly that Daeron had asked if he was being hunted.

Valarr had nearly thrown a goblet at his brother.

The worst part was that nobody appeared to have noticed.

Or at least, he hoped they had not.

With a sigh, he looked down at the wine in his hand.

He was not here for you.

The thought had become a prayer of sorts. A reminder repeated so often that it had begun to lose its meaning.

And Lady Berena deserved better than a husband whose attention wandered elsewhere.

And yet it feels as though a treacherous part of him kept looking elsewhere, kept wanting another conversation- to hear your thoughts on matters that had nothing to do with war or politics.

It simply wanted to know you more.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

Because if he allowed himself to follow that desire, he feared he would discover something he could not afford. Something capable of reducing years of duty, expectation and discipline into little more than ash.

And Valarr was not yet ready to watch it burn.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet as a memory of the morning surfaced.

The training yard.

He should have simply ignored Aerion.

William Stark had been sparring that morning when Aerion, in all his infinite wisdom, had remarked that this was what a proper heir looked like. Valarr had taken the bait immediately.

Looking back, it might have been the stupidest thing he had done all week.

Half the yard had stopped to watch.

The duel between him and William itself had been friendly enough. Wooden swords with no real danger.

Yet each exchange only made the difference between them more obvious.

William moved with the confidence of a man who had spent his life carrying steel. And Valarr did not.

He had managed to hold his own for a time.

Then William disarmed him.

Then again.

And again.

And by the fourth time, Aerion was no longer bothering to hide his amusement.

Valarr had accepted the defeat with as much dignity as he could muster and congratulated William on his skill.

Then he left.

Not because of Aerion.

Not because of the crowd who were probably judging him.

But because from the corner of his eye, he had noticed you watching.

You were standing at the far edge of the yard, giving archery lessons to Errold, the youngest Stark. Before your attention had turned towards them.

And he had not wanted to know what you thought.

Of the prince whose father was called Breakspear.

Of the prince who could never quite seem to live up to the name.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he chugged the wine in a go. Sleep was clearly not coming tonight.

Valarr rose from the chaise and set the goblet aside with a quiet clink. Pulling his fur cloak around his shoulders, he made his way towards the door.

The moon hung high in the sky. Though the snowfall had stopped, the chill still lingered in the air. The last thing Valarr wanted was to fall ill and embarrass himself further.

He opened the door to his chambers, and Ser Crakenhall straightened immediately.

"Your Grace," the man in the white cloak greeted.

Valarr gave him a nod and stepped out of the warmth of his chambers, the cold air striking his face at once.

"I wish to take a walk," Valarr said with a small smile. "Alone."

"But Your Grace-"

"It is an order. And I will remain within the castle walls, Ser. There is no need to worry."

Ser Crakehall looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually bowed his head and stepped aside.

Valarr moved through the corridors, his thoughts swimming somewhere between the humiliation of the morning and the uncertainty of the future.

He descended the stairs with the ease of a man who knew his way around. Over the past few days, he had developed a habit of haunting the halls of Winterfell whenever sleep refused to come.

Within minutes, he found himself at the rear of the castle, standing upon the balcony that had slowly become his sanctuary in the cold North. He had discovered it during one of his nightly wanderings and quickly decided he loved the silence.

Valarr rested his elbows against the railing and exhaled slowly, watching his breath disappear into the night air. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his face in his palms as his eyes drifted towards the dark woods stretching beyond the castle walls.

The Wolfswood.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Valarr could not help but wonder what else wandered through those woods after dark.

Just as his thoughts began to drift, he heard footsteps.

Light and careful.

Like someone trying not to be heard.

His hand instinctively moved towards the pommel of his sword as a shadow slipped across the level below him.

Valarr's feet moved before he could think. He descended the stairs quickly and rounded the balcony where he had seen the figure pass.

Nothing.

The corridor stood empty.

Valarr frowned. He was certain he had seen someone. Yet there was nothing there but stone walls and the ever present northern cold.

A pair of Stark guards were approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. Valarr considered asking if they had seen anyone.

Before he could open his mouth, someone seized his wrist.

The world lurched.

Valarr was pulled into a nearby room.

The door shut behind him.

Before he could protest, a hand covered his mouth.

Your scent reached him first. Then your voice.

"Shh."

His back hit the door as you pinned him against it, one hand over his mouth while the other remained wrapped around his wrist.

The moonlight filtering through the lone window was too weak to illuminate the room properly. He could only make out fragments of you.

A dark cloak. The outline of your shoulders. And the way you craned your neck towards the window, muttering curses beneath your breath as the clanking of armor echoed past outside.

Valarr could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Seven above, he was certain you could hear it too.

He breathed through his nose, trying desperately to steady himself. The brush of your palm against his lips did things to him he did not care to examine too closely.

It was all too much.

The woman he had spent two days avoiding. The woman who had occupied every spare corner of his thoughts.

And now she was pinning him against a door in an empty room.

Seven Hells. If someone were to see them-

Valarr abandoned that thought immediately. He could not move or speak. He could barely think.

All he could do was stare at you as something traitorous twisted happily inside his chest.

Valarr gulped when your attention finally shifted towards him.

He could feel you staring back.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he cursed the darkness for hiding your eyes.

"Shit," you muttered beneath your breath. Your hands slipped away from his mouth and wrist.

And Valarr found himself strangely disappointed by the loss of contact.

"My prince, I apologize. You see- I- me- it's just-"

"My lady, is everything alright?" Valarr somehow managed, a flush creeping across the back of his neck.

You laughed awkwardly and stepped away from him, moving into the moonlight.

Only then could he properly see you. You were dressed in common clothes. A rugged dark cloak hung around your shoulders, and a sword rested at your hip.

You looked nothing like a noblewoman. And somehow that only made the sight more fascinating and beautiful.

"I am alright," you said, glancing back towards the window. "I simply need to go somewhere. It is rather...important. I just did not wish to alert the guards."

"My lady, it is rather dark outside. Is everything truly alright?" Valarr took a cautious step closer, trying to get a better look at your face.

"I am certain, my prince. It is nothing."

You moved towards the door and pushed it open. Valarr watched as you carefully scanned the corridor before pulling your cloak tighter around yourself.

"I shall see you later, my prince."

You turned and headed towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard.

Valarr should have stopped there.

You were not his concern.

He should have returned to his chambers and forgotten this ever happened.

Instead, he followed.

He told himself it was because it was dark, and a lady should not wander alone at night.

At least that was the excuse he offered his heart.

"My lady, wait."

You stopped and turned towards him.

Valarr could see your face scrunch in frustration.

"Your Grace, you should really go back. I promise there is no need to worry."

"But my lady, it is not safe for you to wander alone. I know you are a skilled warrior, but still—"

The distant clanking of armor interrupted him. Valarr saw your eyes widen. Panic etched across your entire face.

And then suddenly you were dragging him across the courtyard. Your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as Valarr nearly tripped over his own feet.

"My lady- I- what- "

You ignored him entirely as the two of you hurried across the courtyard towards the eastern gates.

"Please. Please. Please. Let them not be there," you muttered beneath your breath.

Valarr scarcely knew where he was being taken.

His mind had stopped functioning several moments ago. All he could focus on was the warmth of your hand seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

The eastern gate came into view. There were no guards there.

Likely a shift change.

And before Valarr fully realized what was happening, the two of you were beyond Winterfell's walls.

You led him through the sleeping town until you suddenly darted into an alleyway and pulled him in after you.

Your hand finally released his wrist, and you bent forward slightly, laughing as you tried to catch your breath.

Your laughter faded as you leaned against the wall of the alleyway, catching your breath.

Valarr stood several feet away, looking thoroughly lost.

The alley was narrow, squeezed between two weathered buildings. Snow had gathered in uneven piles along the stone walls, while lantern light from the nearby streets spilled weakly into the darkness.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Valarr merely blinked at you, as you blinked back.

Then your expression changed.

Valarr watched confusion give way to realization, and then realization gave way to absolute horror.

Before either of you could speak, a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"What the fuck?"

Valarr's hand flew instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Beside him, yours did the same.

A shadow stepped forward from deeper within the alley, draped in a dark cloak just like your own. Snow clung to the figure's shoulders as he stopped beneath the lantern light.

Valarr tensed, and then he heard you let out a quiet groan. The stranger pulled back his hood.

William Stark.

Valarr felt even more confused than before. William looked at him, then at you and then back at him.

The silence stretched.

"Your Grace?" William finally asked.

Valarr offered an awkward nod.

William stared for another heartbeat before slowly turning toward you.

"What is he doing here?"

You muttered something under your breath. Unfortunately for Valarr, whatever you said was too quiet to hear. William's eyes widened.

"What?"

You moved closer to your brother, lowering your voice further.

Valarr took a cautious step forward.

"-followed me," he finally caught. "I panicked and dragged him here."

For a long moment William simply stared at you. Then he dragged a hand down his face.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What would you have me do?" Valarr heard you hiss back. "Let the guards find me sneaking out again? And then what? Spend the next moon trapped in my chambers while mother lectures me every morning?"

William opened his mouth and closed it before sighing heavily.

"Gods help me," he muttered.

Valarr cleared his throat. Both siblings turned toward him so quickly that he nearly forgot what he had been about to say.

"I apologize for interrupting, but I feel I should mention that I am still very confused."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Valarr immediately wished he had remained silent.

"We cannot go back now," you declared.

"My lady—"

"There are soldiers searching the grounds."

Valarr blinked.

"What?"

You pointed vaguely back toward Winterfell.

"If they find me sneaking out, I am doomed." You crossed your arms. "There is only one solution."

Valarr did not like the confidence with which you said that. Neither, judging by his expression, did William. Slowly, you pointed your finger towards him.

"We take him with us."

Valarr opened his mouth, before closing it again.

William stared at you.

Then, to Valarr's immense confusion, amusement flickered across his face.

"Oh, this should be interesting."

"You agree?" you asked.

"I think we are beyond good decisions at this point."

You nodded as though that settled everything. Then your attention shifted towards Valarr. And Valarr could not help but admire the way you looked under the moonlight.

"Do you enjoy music, Your Grace?"

Valarr stopped.

"What?"

"Music and ale."

"I am afraid I do not understand the question."

Valarr can see a grin tugging at the corner of your lips, and he could not help the flush on his cheeks.

"My prince," you said, clasping your hands behind your back, "have you ever been inside a common tavern?"

"N-No."

Your grin widened.

Beside you, Valarr can see William suddenly looking far too entertained.

"Well," you said, turning toward the lantern-lit street beyond the alley, "it appears tonight is your lucky day."

And for some reason, despite every warning screaming inside his head, Valarr followed.

The tavern was loud. The moment Valarr stepped inside, it felt as though he had entered an entirely different world.

Warmth immediately wrapped around him, washing away the bitter cold that had clung to him since leaving Winterfell. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, spilled ale and damp wool. Music drifted through the crowded room, carried by a fiddler tucked into a corner while men and women laughed loudly around him.

Tankards slammed against tables.

Someone was singing.

Someone else was arguing over a game of dice.

And somehow, despite the chaos, everyone seemed content.

Valarr sat stiffly at one of the tables near the bar, his hands wrapped around a mug of ale he had yet to touch. Beside him, you looked entirely at ease.

One arm rested lazily atop the table while the other held your tankard. The hood of your cloak had long since been pushed back, revealing your face in the warm glow of the lanterns hanging overhead.

Valarr found himself staring again.

He needed to stop doing that.

Across the tavern, William had already disappeared into the crowd.

Valarr could see him laughing with several men near the hearth, a tankard raised high in one hand while someone attempted to drag him toward the musicians.

Valarr watched him vanish into the crowd before looking back down at his untouched ale.

"My lady?"

You hummed in response. Valarr hesitated.

"You do not have to remain here with me."

That earned him a confused look.

"I merely meant," Valarr cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your brother appears to be enjoying himself. You need not sit here in my rather boring company."

For a moment you simply stared at him.

Then you snorted. Actually snorted.

Valarr immediately felt his ears burn.

"My prince," you said, shaking your head. "If I wished to be elsewhere, I would be elsewhere."

You took another drink from your tankard.

"I only came because William wished for it."

Valarr glanced toward the dance floor where William was now attempting something that could generously be described as dancing.

He found that difficult to believe.

"And besides," you continued, setting your tankard down. "I do not find your company boring."

Valarr froze. His mind promptly stopped working.

"Oh."

You rolled your eyes. The movement was simple and ordinary. Yet Valarr found himself watching it anyway.

The lantern light softened your features, casting warm golden hues across your face while shadows danced against your skin from the nearby hearth. A loose strand of hair had escaped and now rested against your cheek.

Beautiful.

The thought arrived uninvited, and Valarr nearly dropped his mug.

He quickly looked away. His heartbeat stumbling somewhere inside his chest.

You took another drink before glancing towards him.

"My prince."

Valarr straightened immediately.

"You have been holding that mug for ten minutes."

Valarr looked down at his mug.

"I was observing."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The ale?"

"The tavern."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"And what conclusions have you reached?"

Valarr glanced around once more.

A serving girl laughed as someone spun her around. A group of laborers were singing badly enough that it might have been considered a crime. Someone dropped a mug.

Nobody cared.

"It is..." Valarr paused, "very loud."

The laugh that escaped you was bright and genuine. Valarr hated how much he liked that sound.

"That is your grand observation?" you asked.

"I have others."

"Oh?"

Valarr nodded solemnly.

"The man near the hearth is definitely cheating."

You blinked.

Then followed his gaze toward a dice game happening across the room. The older man quickly slipped a die into his sleeve. Your eyes widened.

"He is."

Valarr looked pleased with himself.

"And the fiddler has missed the same note six times."

You stared.

"You can hear that?"

"I was taught music."

You shook your head slowly.

"What?"

"You truly are a prince."

Valarr couldn't help but laugh. For the first time that day, the nervousness in his chest eased slightly.

And for a moment, surrounded by music and laughter and the warmth of the tavern, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be avoiding you.

Valarr finally gathered enough courage to take a sip of his own ale.

Immediately he coughed. Yhe drink was far stronger than he had anticipated. Ypu laughed and Valarr scratched the back of his neck.

"Do you come here often?" Valarr found himself asking.

You shrugged, "Sometimes."

Your gaze drifted around the tavern.

"When I wish to feel..." you paused briefly. A small smile formed on your lips. "Free."

Valarr looked down at the ale in his hand.He understood that feeling more than he cared to admit.

The conversation faded after that. Neither of you seemed particularly bothered by the silence.

Then suddenly you spoke.

"You did quite well today."

Valarr frowned.

"Hm?"

"In the training yard."

Your head now rested lazily atop your folded arms as you looked at him from across the table.

Valarr nearly choked.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"My lady."

You raised an eyebrow. Valarr snorted into his mug.

"Please do not humour me because I am a prince."

The words escaped before he could stop them. You immediately rolled your eyes.

"I am not humouring you."

"You witnessed the same duel I did."

"I witnessed William sparring against someone who has never seen actual battle."

Valarr opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he argue.

"My brother has spent years fighting raiders, wildlings and bandits."

You gestured vaguely toward the crowd where William had somehow acquired another tankard.

"He has been training for actual combat since he was old enough to hold a sword."

Valarr remained unconvinced. And he can see your expression softening.

"My prince."

Reluctantly, Valarr looked up.

"You need to give yourself more credit."

He laughed quietly, almost sarcastically.

"I mean it."

Your finger tapped lightly against the wooden table.

"Many men cannot stand against William for more than a few seconds."

"The men people remember are the ones who win."

"That is not true."

The certainty in your voice made him glance back towards you. You were already looking at him.

Not with pity or sympathy. But with certainty. As though you truly believed every word leaving your mouth.

Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.

"Remember what i said back at the godswood. The strongest people I have known were not always the most skilled."

Your gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd.

"They were simply the ones who kept getting back up."

The tavern seemed quieter for a moment. Or perhaps Valarr simply stopped hearing it. Because once again, you had unknowingly said exactly what he needed to hear.

His eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.

The hours passed quicker than Valarr expected.

At some point, William had disappeared entirely into the crowd, only appearing every now and then with another mug in his hand and a different group of friends around him.

The tavern remained loud. But Valarr found himself smiling.

Not the polite smile he wore during feasts, or the practiced smile expected from a prince.

A real one.

The realization startled him, and his gaze drifted toward you. Your head still rested lazily against the table. One hand wrapped around your mug while the other traced absent patterns into the wood.

You were watching the crowd now. A small smile rested upon your lips. And for a moment, Valarr forgot everything else.

The expectations. The crown. The future waiting for him beyond Winterfell.

All of it seemed distant.

Far away.

Like a dream someone else had lived.

A laugh escaped your lips at something happening across the room.

Valarr felt his heart stumble.

You were beautiful.

Not in the way court ladies were beautiful. Not polished and perfect beneath jewels and silks.

You looked alive.

And somehow that made it worse. Because Valarr could feel himself drifting closer with every conversation.

Every smile.

Every shared moment.

Like a ship slowly being pulled toward rocks despite knowing exactly what awaited it.

His fingers tightened around his mug.

You turned your head suddenly.

Valarr looked away so quickly it made him lightheaded.

"You are staring again, my prince."

The tips of his ears burned.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I was merely thinking."

"About what?"

Valarr opened his mouth, and then closed it. Because he could hardly tell you that all his thoughts somehow seemed to begin and end with you these days.

A grin spread across your face as you watched him struggle.

And Seven Hells.

Valarr was doomed.

But for the first time in his life, the realization did not fill him with dread, but warmth.

And Prince Valarr Targaryen found himself hoping the night would never end.

Chapter 6 [Weekly Updates (every saturday!)]

Taglist: @snowwythegloww @supermanshand @shouto-raki @cassandra-reborn-anew @bloomballet @bubblegupyy @darling-darling3 @targaryenamour @boundandbrews @onlyrealjoy @qardasngan @rather-melodramatic @appalost @writingshae @uixhzzzi @ch3ska0 @lasylady @jjubilee-fluff @noilusionsblr @062292 @kiszexo-blog @arutsumu @bloomfaery

The morning light spilled weakly through the narrow windows of your chambers, pale against the dark stone walls of Winterfell.

Near the hearth, Meera fed another log into the fire, and the flames crackled louder in response, warmth slowly curling through the room. You stood before the mirror while Sara worked quietly behind you, fastening the final ties of your dark woolen gown with practiced hands.

Unlike your younger sisters, you had never possessed the patience for long hours of dressing or embroidery or sitting still while servants fussed endlessly around you. But after spending days wrapped in armor and damp furs near the Barrowlands, standing quietly while someone brushed the tangles from your hair and adjusted your sleeves felt far more pleasant than it usually did.

Your thoughts drifted despite yourself.

Back to the godswood.

To the prince beneath red leaves.

To the nervous stammering and quiet words about winter.

To those mismatched eyes that tried to hide their insecurity so fiercly and yet his words only laid it bare in front of you.

A smile almost threatened to pull at your lips before another voice interrupted your thoughts.

"So," Meera said casually from where she leaned against the bedpost now, arms crossed over her chest, "you sneaked out last night, didn't you?"

You nearly choked on your own breath.

"What?" you asked far too quickly.

Meera’s brow lifted slowly, "you skipped breakfast."

"That does not mean I snuck outside."

"The kitchens made your favourites."

Meera simply stared at you. Giving you the knowing look she always did. And you sighed immediately. You hated when she did that.

The amusement in her expression softened after a moment.

"One of those nightmares again?"

The teasing vanished entirely from her voice now. You looked away quietly before nodding once.

"It was nothing," you muttered.

Meera hummed as she picked up your gloves from the table and handed them towards you.

"You know," she said gently, "you could speak about it one day."

You pulled the gloves on slowly.

"And ruin my terrifying reputation?" you deadpanned.

A laugh escaped Sara while Meera rolled her eyes fondly. Before either could respond, a loud knock echoed through the chambers. And Meera moved to open the door.

William immediately invited himself inside before she could even speak.

"Good morrow," he greeted cheerfully, a grin plastered on his face as it usually did.

"You are early," you said suspiciously.

William ignored you completely as he wandered toward one of the chairs near the hearth and poured himself wine as though the chambers belonged to him.

"I am here to escort you to the council meeting."

Your brow quirked instantly.

"The meeting does not begin for another hour."

William smirked into his cup. "Sister," he said carefully, "a little birdie informed me that mother plans to host a tea gathering for the noble ladies this morning."

Your eyes widened in horror, and William’s grin only widened further.

"So unless you wish to spend your morning discussing embroidery and marriage prospects," he continued before taking another sip, "I suggest we reach the Great Hall early."

"Sara," you said immediately, "my cloak."

Sara barely hid her laughter as she hurried toward the stand beside the door. Meera shook her head while helping settle the heavy fur lined cloak across your shoulders.

"You faced ironborn raiders with less panic than this," she muttered.

"I would rather fight twenty more ironborn than attend tea with mother."

William nearly choked on his wine laughing. And not long after, you and William made your way through Winterfell’s corridors together, leaving Meera and Sara behind.

The castle had fully awakened now. Servants crossed the halls carrying firewood and trays of food while guards shifted through the corridors wrapped heavily in Stark furs.

You and William spoke idly as you walked. Though they were mostly complaints about southern customs.

An hour later, the Great Hall slowly began filling with northern and southern lords alike.

The northern lords greeted you easily as they entered, some with nods, others with small smiles. The southern lords were far less subtle.

Some looked at you curiously.

Others looked openly displeased.

You recognized that look immediately. A woman sitting amongst councilmen always unsettled certain kinds of men. You had long since decided that their discomfort was not your concern.

Soon enough, your father entered alongside Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar, and the hall quieted almost instantly. The council meeting began shortly after.

Though as discussion started, you noticed Prince Baelor occasionally glancing around the hall with faint furrows between his brows. He was looking for someone.

Prince Valarr, you realized.

You found it strange the heir to the heir would miss council altogether. But ultimately decided it mattered little to you.

Nearly half an hour into the meeting, the doors of the Great Hall suddenly opened once more, and Valarr stepped inside quickly.

Anyone with eyes could see he had rushed to get there. A faint flush lingered across his pale face while loose strands of dark hair had escaped where they were usually neatly kept.

"My apologies for being late, my lords," he said immediately while moving toward his seat beside Prince Baelor.

Your father only smiled faintly.

"No harm done, my prince."

Prince Baelor, however, gave his son a look sharp enough to cut steel, and Valarr lowered his gaze quietly as he sat down.

Something uncomfortable tightened briefly in your chest at the sight.

Then his eyes found yours. He blinked once, and then twice. As though only now realizing you were present.

You hid your amusement behind a composed expression before dipping your head politely toward him. Valarr returned the gesture quickly, pink already creeping along his neck before he hurriedly looked away again.

The discussion eventually shifted towards unrest within the Iron Islands. Several lords debated possible responses while Prince Baelor listened carefully.

Then quietly, "If the ironborn continue creating unrest," Valarr spoke up carefully, "perhaps the Crown could offer additional soldiers to reinforce the western shores."

Before Prince Baelor could respond, another voice interrupted smoothly.

“With respect, my prince," Lord Mallery, a southern lord that travelled with the royal procession, said proudly, "the Crown’s treasury is still recovering from the Blackfyre rebellion."

The southern lord smirked lightly.

"I fear additional military spending may not be quite so simple."

A few murmurs of agreement followed, and Valarr nodded immediately.

"Of course," he murmured quietly before sinking back into his chair.

You saw the embarrassment settle across him almost instantly. The slight tightening of his shoulders, and the flush of embarassment climbing slowly up his neck.

And for some reason, it irritated you.

The discussion later shifted toward proposed taxes upon fleets leaving White Harbor, as Prince Baelor explained the Crown’s position evenly.

"The same tariffs already exist across several southern ports," he said. "Excluding White Harbor entirely may create unnecessary resentment amongst other lords."

Lord Manderly listened carefully, though you can see displeasure plainly written across his face. Your father voiced concerns as well, but carefully.

No one wished to openly oppose the Hand of the King, and the heir to the throne.

You listened quietly before finally speaking.

"With respect, Your Grace," you began evenly, "White Harbor cannot be treated as simply another port."

The hall quieted slightly. Prince Baelor’s attention shifted fully toward you.

"It serves as the North’s lifeline during winter. If tariffs rise too sharply, southern merchants may choose more profitable ports elsewhere."

You folded your hands neatly in front of you.

"And when winter deepens, shortages within the North will not harm lords first."

Your eyes briefly met Lord Manderly’s, who gave you a look of approval.

"They will harm the smallfolk."

A silence settled briefly before Lord Mallery chuckled softly.

"A thoughtful sentiment, my lady," he said smoothly. "Though matters of coin and trade are often far more complicated than the embroidery hoops girls are taught."

Laughter rose from several southern lords nearby. And from the corner of your eye, you saw William stiffen immediately, and your father’s expression darkened faintly.

You merely stared at Lord Mallery. The look on his face was familiar. You had seen it years ago upon the face of Lord Cerwyn’s second son. Back when you had first begun training with a sword.

He used to mock you constantly, telling you that you would never be as strong as a man, no matter how hard you tried. You still remembered storming through Winterfell afterward in tears and fury alike, demanding your father forbid the boy from speaking to you again.

Instead, your father had smiled.

"People who feel small often survive by trying to make others feel smaller beside them," your father had told you calmly then. You had hated the answer.

"Ignore them once, and it bruises their pride more than anger ever could. Ignore them twice, and they begin to wonder if their words failed."

Your father had smiled afterward, slow and knowing.

"But if they try a third time…" You had asked him, and he had only chuckled before replying,

"No one has been foolish enough to try a third time. But if they are, then you remind them you are the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North. My little flame."

The memory passed through your mind within a breath. You rolled your eyes slightly and took a slow sip from the wine cup placed on the table before turning back towards Prince Baelor, as though Lord Mallery had never spoken at all.

"As I was saying, Your Grace," you continued calmly, "reduced trade during winter would damage both northern stability and Crown profits long term."

Lord Mallery’s smile faltered almost instantly. A few northern lords hid amused expressions behind their cups. Beside you, William disguised his laughter with a cough.

You noticed surprise flicker briefly across Valarr’s face. And unlike before, he did not look away from you.

By the end of the meeting, even Prince Baelor appeared thoughtful. And as the lords slowly began leaving the hall, the prince approached you personally.

"You argued your point well, my lady," he said warmly.

"Thank you, Your Grace." You bowed politely, and excused yourself from the hall in search of Specter.

But before you could descend the stairs, a voice called from behind.

"My lady."

You turned to find Prince Valarr approaching carefully behind you. His hands clasped behind his back.

"Your grace," you greeted politely.

"I merely wished to say…," he hesitated briefly. "You handled the situation in the council very well." A faint flush lingered across his cheeks again.

"And I apologize for what Lord Mallery said."

You blinked in surprise before smiling lightly.

"You need not apologize for other people’s foolishness, my prince."

You turned to leave once more before his voice stopped you again.

"And last night," Valarr added quickly, "I wished to apologize again for that as well."

You looked back towards him. Eyes furrowing in confusion as you tilted your head a little to the sideways.

"My intentions were never to make you feel unsafe. I swear it."

A laugh escaped you softly. "No apologies are needed, my prince," you said dismissively. "As I told you before, I was merely jesting."

Then your gaze drifted meaningfully toward the sword hanging at his side this time.

"And besides," you added with a smirk, "I was the one carrying a sword. I do not believe I was the unsafe one."

Valarr’s eyes widened slightly before a startled laughter escaped him. The flush on his cheeks deepening.

he looked oddly adorable like that.

The thought startled you enough that you immediately looked away from him. You adjusted the fur cloak around your shoulders before speaking again.

"I should take my leave now, my prince."

Valarr nodded almost immediately, "Ah, yes. Of course."

The corridor fell quiet once more as you turned away. The stone beneath your boots echoed. Outside the narrow windows, snow had started to drift lazily from the sky.

Winterfell always seemed quieter after council meetings. As though the castle itself grew tired of politics. You had only made it a few steps before you heard another pair of footsteps following behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Prince Valarr immediately straightened at being caught.

"My apologies," he said quickly, "I merely wished to go to the training yard."

You blinked at him for a moment before nodding politely.

"As you wish, my prince."

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable exactly, though it was strange. The prince walked beside you with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture stiff with the kind of discipline only royalty possessed. Yet there was something uncertain in the way his eyes wandered across the corridor instead of settling anywhere for too long.

You had noticed that about him already.

Prince Valarr looked like a man constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Your fingers brushed idly against the pommel of your sword as the two of you descended another staircase together.

Your thoughts drifted unwillingly toward your mother, and Berena. The endless conversations surrounding betrothals ever since the royal procession had arrived. You wondered if you should help Berena.

"Tell me honestly, my prince," you said casually, glancing towards him. "How do you find my sister?"

Valarr visibly stiffened beside you. The reaction was immediate enough that you nearly looked at him twice.

“Lady Berena is...," he cleared his throat softly, "a great lady."

You smiled faintly, "she is," your voice softened slightly at the thought of your sister.

“Berena would make a capable wife to any lord she marries."

From the corner of your eye, you saw the prince swallow hard before nodding.

"Yes," he said, though the smile upon his face looked oddly strained. "Lady Berena indeed is a very capable lady."

You brightened a little at that, "my sister is very charming," you continued easily. "Half the North would gladly ask for her hand if given the chance."

A small laugh escaped you.

"She has always been far better at handling people than the rest of us."

Valarr nodded quickly.

"Yes, she is. But you are very charming too, my lady."

Your steps halted completely. And he stopped abruptly beside you. The prince stared at you for one horrible moment, realization dawning slowly across his face.

The corridor suddenly felt far warmer than before.

Valarr’s eyes widened almost immediately after the words left him.

"I-I meant-" he started quickly, panic flashing across his mosmatched eyes. "You both are. Charming, I mean. In different ways. Lord Stark has raised his daughters very well."

Heat crawled visibly across his neck and ears as the words stumbled out of him unevenly.

For a moment, you simply stared.

The prince looked genuinely mortified.

You quickly lowered your gaze, clearing your throat lightly.

"Thank you, my prince."

Your heart had begun beating strangely against your ribs.

Beside you, Valarr nodded far too quickly.

"Yes. Of course. I merely meant-"

"I understand."

The silence that followed settled awkwardly between the two of you. Somewhere nearby, a door opened and laughter echoed briefly through the halls before fading once more into the distance. Valarr looked as though he wished the ground beneath him would crack open.

"I should find my cousins first, before going to the traning yard," he said hurriedly.

You nodded almost immediately.

"Of course, my prince."

He gave you one final awkward bow before disappearing down the corridor with noticeably quicker steps than before.

You stared after him for a moment. Then blinked slowly, your mind going over the entire conversation.

A cough sounded behind you, and you turned sharply. William stood leaning lazily against one of the stone archways nearby, arms crossed over his chest, and judging by the smirk on his face, he had clearly witnessed enough.

"What was that?" he asked.

Your brows furrowed immediately.

"What was what?"

William gestured vaguely toward the retreating form of the prince.

"That."

"It was nothing," you replied quickly, beginning to walk again. "The prince was merely apologizing on behalf of Lord Mallery."

William fell into step beside you easily.

"Uh-huh."

You rolled your eyes, fingers tightening around the pommel of your sword. After a moment of silence, William spoke again.

"He kept staring at you during the council meeting."

"What?"

"The prince," William repeated, grin widening. "He looked absolutely enchanted."

You scoffed immediately, "do not be ridiculous."

"I am not."

"He merely finds me unusual," you muttered. "Most lords do."

"That was not the look of a man who found you unusual."

You groaned softly beneath your breath as you continued toward the godswood entrance.

"He is here for Berena."

"I know."

"And I have no interest in princes."

William nodded thoughtfully. "Aye."

Then his grin returned, "still...I sympathize with him."

Your brows furrowed, "why?"

William started walking backward now, snowlight spilling through the windows behind him.

"Because," he said with far too much amusement, "the poor fool is enchanted by the dense one."

Your eyes widened instantly. "William Stark."

He laughed and immediately turned away before you could grab him.

"WILLIAM, COME BACK HERE-"

A voice called out your name and you stopped so abruptly your boots scraped against stone. Your mother approached from the opposite corridor, Lady Jena walked beside her.

You straightened immediately before lowering into a respectful curtsy, "your grace."

The princess smiled warmly at you.

Your mother, however, looked considerably less pleased.

"You did not attend the tea gathering," she said sharply. "The guards informed me you were nowhere within your chambers."

You resisted the urge to sigh.

"I attended the council meeting instead."

Your mother closed her eyes briefly. Likely praying for patience. Beside her, Lady Jena looked thoroughly amused.

"The lady wished to meet you," your mother continued. "You should have joined us."

Your jaw tightened slightly.

Before you could answer, Lady Jena interrupted gently.

"It is no trouble at all, Lady Stark. I am certain the young lady and I shall have another opportunity to speak."

You glanced toward her appreciatively. Your mother only sighed, and you seized the opportunity immediately.

"If you will excuse me."

Before your mother could protest further, you turned swiftly and disappeared deeper into the corridors of Winterfell.

Though not before hearing Lady Jena laugh softly behind you.

The corridors of Winterfell felt colder by the time Valarr returned to his chambers.

Or perhaps it was simply him.

The heavy wooden door shut behind him with a dull thud, cutting away the distant sounds of the castle. For a moment, he remained standing there, one hand still resting against the door as he exhaled slowly. His heartbeat had still not settled.

Valarr dragged a hand down his face before moving further into the room. The hearth crackled softly near the far wall, though the warmth did nothing to ease the strange tightness in his chest.

He should not have said that.

"You are very charming."

The memory alone made heat crawl straight back up his neck. Valarr groaned quietly and shut his eyes for a brief moment, resisting the urge to bury his face into his hands like a child.

What was wrong with him?

Lady Berena Stark was kind. Intelligent. Graceful. Everything a future princess should be.

And yet somehow, every conversation with her felt overshadowed by the memory of another pair of eyes. Another voice.

Another woman.

A woman who wielded a sword as naturally as breathing, who stood in council halls filled with lords and spoke without fear and who felt like winter itself.

Valarr inhaled sharply through his nose and straightened immediately, as though ashamed of where his thoughts had wandered.

This was foolishness. Nothing more than fascination.

You were simply...different. That was all. Of course he found you interesting.

Anyone would.

It did not mean anything beyond that. It could not.

His gaze drifted toward the snow outside the windows. He was the heir to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms. His marriage would never belong to him. It belonged to the crown, politics, and survival.

He had already decided that long ago. So why did the thought feel harder now?

for some reason, every time he closed his eyes, he saw yours looking back at him across the courtyard.

And somehow, that unsettled his heart far more than it should have.

Chapter 5 (Weekly updates [every Saturday])

Taglist: @snowwythegloww @supermanshand @shouto-raki @cassandra-reborn-anew @bloomballet @bubblegupyy @darling-darling3 @targaryenamour @boundandbrews @onlyrealjoy @qardasngan @rather-melodramatic @appalost @writingshae @uixhzzzi @ch3ska0 @lasylady @jjubilee-fluff @noilusionsblr @062292 @kiszexo-blog @icebearcucumber

The morning light spilled weakly through the narrow windows of your chambers, pale against the dark stone walls of Winterfell.

Near the hearth, Meera fed another log into the fire, and the flames crackled louder in response, warmth slowly curling through the room. You stood before the mirror while Sara worked quietly behind you, fastening the final ties of your dark woolen gown with practiced hands.

Unlike your younger sisters, you had never possessed the patience for long hours of dressing or embroidery or sitting still while servants fussed endlessly around you. But after spending days wrapped in armor and damp furs near the Barrowlands, standing quietly while someone brushed the tangles from your hair and adjusted your sleeves felt far more pleasant than it usually did.

Your thoughts drifted despite yourself.

Back to the godswood.

To the prince beneath red leaves.

To the nervous stammering and quiet words about winter.

To those mismatched eyes that tried to hide their insecurity so fiercly and yet his words only layed it bare in front of you.

A smile almost threatened to pull at your lips before another voice interrupted your thoughts.

"So," Meera said casually from where she leaned against the bedpost now, arms crossed over her chest, "you sneaked out last night, didn't you?"

You nearly choked on your own breath.

"What?" you asked far too quickly.

Meera’s brow lifted slowly, "you skipped breakfast."

"That does not mean I snuck outside."

"The kitchens made your favourites."

Meera simply stared at you. Giving you the knowing look she always did. And you sighed immediately. You hated when she did that.

The amusement in her expression softened after a moment.

"One of those nightmares again?"

The teasing vanished entirely from her voice now. You looked away quietly before nodding once.

"It was nothing," you muttered.

Meera hummed as she picked up your gloves from the table and handed them towards you.

"You know," she said gently, "you could speak about it one day."

You pulled the gloves on slowly.

"And ruin my terrifying reputation?" you deadpanned.

A laugh escaped Sara while Meera rolled her eyes fondly. Before either could respond, a loud knock echoed through the chambers. And Meera moved to open the door.

William immediately invited himself inside before she could even speak.

"Good morrow," he greeted cheerfully, a grin plastered on his face as it usually did.

"You are early," you said suspiciously.

William ignored you completely as he wandered toward one of the chairs near the hearth and poured himself wine as though the chambers belonged to him.

"I am here to escort you to the council meeting."

Your brow quirked instantly.

"The meeting does not begin for another hour."

William smirked into his cup. "Sister," he said carefully, "a little birdie informed me that mother plans to host a tea gathering for the noble ladies this morning."

Your eyes widened in horror, and William’s grin only widened further.

"So unless you wish to spend your morning discussing embroidery and marriage prospects," he continued before taking another sip, "I suggest we reach the Great Hall early."

"Sara," you said immediately, "my cloak."

Sara barely hid her laughter as she hurried toward the stand beside the door. Meera shook her head while helping settle the heavy fur lined cloak across your shoulders.

"You faced ironborn raiders with less panic than this," she muttered.

"I would rather fight twenty more ironborn than attend tea with mother."

William nearly choked on his wine laughing. And not long after, you and William made your way through Winterfell’s corridors together, leaving Meera and Sara behind.

The castle had fully awakened now. Servants crossed the halls carrying firewood and trays of food while guards shifted through the corridors wrapped heavily in Stark furs.

You and William spoke idly as you walked. Though they were mostly complaints about southern customs.

An hour later, the Great Hall slowly began filling with northern and southern lords alike.

The northern lords greeted you easily as they entered, some with nods, others with small smiles. The southern lords were far less subtle.

Some looked at you curiously.

Others looked openly displeased.

You recognized that look immediately. A woman sitting amongst councilmen always unsettled certain kinds of men. You had long since decided that their discomfort was not your concern.

Soon enough, your father entered alongside Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar, and the hall quieted almost instantly. The council meeting began shortly after.

Though as discussion started, you noticed Prince Baelor occasionally glancing around the hall with faint furrows between his brows. He was looking for someone.

Prince Valarr, you realized.

You found it strange the heir to the heir would miss council altogether. But ultimately decided it mattered little to you.

Nearly half an hour into the meeting, the doors of the Great Hall suddenly opened once more, and Valarr stepped inside quickly.

Anyone with eyes could see he had rushed to get there. A faint flush lingered across his pale face while loose strands of dark hair had escaped where they were usually neatly kept.

"My apologies for being late, my lords," he said immediately while moving toward his seat beside Prince Baelor.

Your father only smiled faintly.

"No harm done, my prince."

Prince Baelor, however, gave his son a look sharp enough to cut steel, and Valarr lowered his gaze quietly as he sat down.

Something uncomfortable tightened briefly in your chest at the sight.

Then his eyes found yours. He blinked once, and then twice. As though only now realizing you were present.

You hid your amusement behind a composed expression before dipping your head politely toward him. Valarr returned the gesture quickly, pink already creeping along his neck before he hurriedly looked away again.

The discussion eventually shifted towards unrest within the Iron Islands. Several lords debated possible responses while Prince Baelor listened carefully.

Then quietly, "If the ironborn continue creating unrest," Valarr spoke up carefully, "perhaps the Crown could offer additional soldiers to reinforce the western shores."

Before Prince Baelor could respond, another voice interrupted smoothly.

“With respect, my prince," Lord Mallery, a southern lord that travelled with the royal procession, said proudly, "the Crown’s treasury is still recovering from the Blackfyre rebellion."

The southern lord smirked lightly.

"I fear additional military spending may not be quite so simple."

A few murmurs of agreement followed, and Valarr nodded immediately.

"Of course," he murmured quietly before sinking back into his chair.

You saw the embarrassment settle across him almost instantly. The slight tightening of his shoulders, and the flush of embarassment climbing slowly up his neck.

And for some reason, it irritated you.

The discussion later shifted toward proposed taxes upon fleets leaving White Harbor, as Prince Baelor explained the Crown’s position evenly.

"The same tariffs already exist across several southern ports," he said. "Excluding White Harbor entirely may create unnecessary resentment amongst other lords."

Lord Manderly listened carefully, though you can see displeasure plainly written across his face. Your father voiced concerns as well, but carefully.

No one wished to openly oppose the Hand of the King, and the heir to the throne.

You listened quietly before finally speaking.

"With respect, Your Grace," you began evenly, "White Harbor cannot be treated as simply another port."

The hall quieted slightly. Prince Baelor’s attention shifted fully toward you.

"It serves as the North’s lifeline during winter. If tariffs rise too sharply, southern merchants may choose more profitable ports elsewhere."

You folded your hands neatly in front of you.

"And when winter deepens, shortages within the North will not harm lords first."

Your eyes briefly met Lord Manderly’s, who gave you a look of approval.

"They will harm the smallfolk."

A silence settled briefly before Lord Mallery chuckled softly.

"A thoughtful sentiment, my lady," he said smoothly. "Though matters of coin and trade are often far more complicated than the embroidery hoops girls are taught."

Laughter rose from several southern lords nearby. And from the corner of your eye, you saw William stiffen immediately, and your father’s expression darkened faintly.

You merely stared at Lord Mallery. The look on his face was familiar. You had seen it years ago upon the face of Lord Cerwyn’s second son. Back when you had first begun training with a sword.

He used to mock you constantly, telling you that you would never be as strong as a man, no matter how hard you tried. You still remembered storming through Winterfell afterward in tears and fury alike, demanding your father forbid the boy from speaking to you again.

Instead, your father had smiled.

"People who feel small often survive by trying to make others feel smaller beside them," your father had told you calmly then. You had hated the answer.

"Ignore them once, and it bruises their pride more than anger ever could. Ignore them twice, and they begin to wonder if their words failed."

Your father had smiled afterward, slow and knowing.

"But if they try a third time…" You had asked him, and he had only chuckled before replying,

"No one has been foolish enough to try a third time. But if they are, then you remind them you are the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North. My little flame."

The memory passed through your mind within a breath. You rolled your eyes slightly and took a slow sip from the wine cup placed on the table before turning back towards Prince Baelor, as though Lord Mallery had never spoken at all.

"As I was saying, Your Grace," you continued calmly, "reduced trade during winter would damage both northern stability and Crown profits long term."

Lord Mallery’s smile faltered almost instantly. A few northern lords hid amused expressions behind their cups. Beside you, William disguised his laughter with a cough.

You noticed surprise flicker briefly across Valarr’s face. And unlike before, he did not look away from you.

By the end of the meeting, even Prince Baelor appeared thoughtful. And as the lords slowly began leaving the hall, the prince approached you personally.

"You argued your point well, my lady," he said warmly.

"Thank you, Your Grace." You bowed politely, and excused yourself from the hall in search of Specter.

But before you could descend the stairs, a voice called from behind.

"My lady."

You turned to find Prince Valarr approaching carefully behind you. His hands clasped behind his back.

"Your grace," you greeted politely.

"I merely wished to say…," he hesitated briefly. "You handled the situation in the council very well." A faint flush lingered across his cheeks again.

"And I apologize for what Lord Mallery said."

You blinked in surprise before smiling lightly.

"You need not apologize for other people’s foolishness, my prince."

You turned to leave once more before his voice stopped you again.

"And last night," Valarr added quickly, "I wished to apologize again for that as well."

You looked back towards him. Eyes furrowing in confusion as you tilted your head a little to the sideways.

"My intentions were never to make you feel unsafe. I swear it."

A laugh escaped you softly. "No apologies are needed, my prince," you said dismissively. "As I told you before, I was merely jesting."

Then your gaze drifted meaningfully toward the sword hanging at his side this time.

"And besides," you added with a smirk, "I was the one carrying a sword. I do not believe I was the unsafe one."

Valarr’s eyes widened slightly before a startled laughter escaped him. The flush on his cheeks deepening.

he looked oddly adorable like that.

The thought startled you enough that you immediately looked away from him. You adjusted the fur cloak around your shoulders before speaking again.

"I should take my leave now, my prince."

Valarr nodded almost immediately, "Ah, yes. Of course."

The corridor fell quiet once more as you turned away. The stone beneath your boots echoed. Outside the narrow windows, snow had started to drift lazily from the sky.

Winterfell always seemed quieter after council meetings. As though the castle itself grew tired of politics. You had only made it a few steps before you heard another pair of footsteps following behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Prince Valarr immediately straightened at being caught.

"My apologies," he said quickly, "I merely wished to go to the training yard."

You blinked at him for a moment before nodding politely.

"As you wish, my prince."

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable exactly, though it was strange. The prince walked beside you with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture stiff with the kind of discipline only royalty possessed. Yet there was something uncertain in the way his eyes wandered across the corridor instead of settling anywhere for too long.

You had noticed that about him already.

Prince Valarr looked like a man constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Your fingers brushed idly against the pommel of your sword as the two of you descended another staircase together.

Your thoughts drifted unwillingly toward your mother, and Berena. The endless conversations surrounding betrothals ever since the royal procession had arrived. You wondered if you should help Berena.

"Tell me honestly, my prince," you said casually, glancing towards him. "How do you find my sister?"

Valarr visibly stiffened beside you. The reaction was immediate enough that you nearly looked at him twice.

“Lady Berena is...," he cleared his throat softly, "a great lady."

You smiled faintly, "she is," your voice softened slightly at the thought of your sister.

“Berena would make a capable wife to any lord she marries."

From the corner of your eye, you saw the prince swallow hard before nodding.

"Yes," he said, though the smile upon his face looked oddly strained. "Lady Berena indeed is a very capable lady."

You brightened a little at that, "my sister is very charming," you continued easily. "Half the North would gladly ask for her hand if given the chance."

A small laugh escaped you.

"She has always been far better at handling people than the rest of us."

Valarr nodded quickly.

"Yes, she is. But you are very charming too, my lady."

Your steps halted completely. And he stopped abruptly beside you. The prince stared at you for one horrible moment, realization dawning slowly across his face.

The corridor suddenly felt far warmer than before.

Valarr’s eyes widened almost immediately after the words left him.

"I-I meant-" he started quickly, panic flashing across his mosmatched eyes. "You both are. Charming, I mean. In different ways. Lord Stark has raised his daughters very well."

Heat crawled visibly across his neck and ears as the words stumbled out of him unevenly.

For a moment, you simply stared.

The prince looked genuinely mortified.

You quickly lowered your gaze, clearing your throat lightly.

"Thank you, my prince."

Your heart had begun beating strangely against your ribs.

Beside you, Valarr nodded far too quickly.

"Yes. Of course. I merely meant-"

"I understand."

The silence that followed settled awkwardly between the two of you. Somewhere nearby, a door opened and laughter echoed briefly through the halls before fading once more into the distance. Valarr looked as though he wished the ground beneath him would crack open.

"I should find my cousins first, before going to the traning yard," he said hurriedly.

You nodded almost immediately.

"Of course, my prince."

He gave you one final awkward bow before disappearing down the corridor with noticeably quicker steps than before.

You stared after him for a moment. Then blinked slowly, your mind going over the entire conversation.

A cough sounded behind you, and you turned sharply. William stood leaning lazily against one of the stone archways nearby, arms crossed over his chest, and judging by the smirk on his face, he had clearly witnessed enough.

"What was that?" he asked.

Your brows furrowed immediately.

"What was what?"

William gestured vaguely toward the retreating form of the prince.

"That."

"It was nothing," you replied quickly, beginning to walk again. "The prince was merely apologizing on behalf of Lord Mallery."

William fell into step beside you easily.

"Uh-huh."

You rolled your eyes, fingers tightening around the pommel of your sword. After a moment of silence, William spoke again.

"He kept staring at you during the council meeting."

"What?"

"The prince," William repeated, grin widening. "He looked absolutely enchanted."

You scoffed immediately, "do not be ridiculous."

"I am not."

"He merely finds me unusual," you muttered. "Most lords do."

"That was not the look of a man who found you unusual."

You groaned softly beneath your breath as you continued toward the godswood entrance.

"He is here for Berena."

"I know."

"And I have no interest in princes."

William nodded thoughtfully. "Aye."

Then his grin returned, "still...I sympathize with him."

Your brows furrowed, "why?"

William started walking backward now, snowlight spilling through the windows behind him.

"Because," he said with far too much amusement, "the poor fool is enchanted by the dense one."

Your eyes widened instantly. "William Stark."

He laughed and immediately turned away before you could grab him.