Saoirse

Some of my works contain adult content, y'all kids better keep your hands off of these😡

Also can't believe I have to declare this, but I legitimately hate generative AIs with a hot, burning passion and everything I write has been done so by my own fried brain and sloppy hands💖

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms:

Valarr Targaryen

The Gold and the Steel (series masterlist here) - sfw (for now)

Summary: Valarr x Stark!reader, You are the infamous steel-clad daughter of Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. When he gets a summon to King's Landing to serve in the royal court, you accompany him to the South. There, you meet the Young Prince, who seems to see you and accept you as you are, despite your infamy.

Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend? - nsfw

Summary: perv!Valarr x reader, You are a 3rd year economics major at uni, and have been pining after your best friend for years, whom you met at the freshmen mixer. He doesn't seem to notice or respond to your many dropped hints, so you decide make one last big attempt before giving up completely. Little do you know, he has secrets of his own and the shy, proper boy disappears as soon as you get him into bed.

The marriage contract - sfw

Summary: Valarr x highborn!reader, based on this idea. Valarr has always been a shy, slightly socially inept child, until you held out your hand and invited him to join your friend group. The friendship blooms, and soon you are each other's dearest, closest childhood companions. So close, in fact, that you write a pact to marry each other when you both come of age. When your family has to leave King's Landing, you are devastated, but Valarr promises you will meet again when you are to wed each other. A decade later, you've forgotten about the contract, but he never has.

↳ Three times you tried to kiss Valarr, and the one time you did - sfw Summary: Valarr x betrothed!reader. Now officially betrothed, you and Valarr reconnect after a decade spent apart. The problem is, your families and the duties leave the two of you with hardly any alone time with each other, much to your dismay. You're just trying to finally kiss your pretty betrothed properly in peace, but the circumstances keep getting in your way. Can be also read as a standalone.

↳ Your ire, his distress (short drabble)- sfw Summary: Valarr x betrothed!reader. The wedding date approaches with terrifying speed, and Valarr takes it upon himself to compensate for his lack of experience by... studying. As a drawback, he spends an increasing amount of his free time holed up in his chambers instead of with you, which starts drawing your suspicions, and in tow, your pettiness.

Maekar Targaryen

Screw this and Fuck me (oneshot) - nsfw

Summary: Maekar! x 20s!reader, Maekar and you meet at a charity gala, where you are both bored out of your minds. When you set your eyes on him, you make it into your life's mission to get into his pants.

Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen

The blood magicker and the tyrant (crack) - sfw

Summary: pathetic!Aerion x blood magicker!reader. Ever since you were a child, ancient voices and powers have been reaching out to you, to revive the glory of Old Valyria and fulfill an age-old prophecy. With an exceptional talent for blood magic but also an aversion to big responsibilities, you instead opt to use your talents for more everyday conveniences. It was all going smoothly, until your infamous cousin decides that you are a goddess of Valyria reborn, and you are destined for each other.

This is only a side blog, main blog is @param0ur

Then, there was that fortune teller who passed by the village under Dragonmont one autumn. Your family had travelled down to the village to meet the smallfolk, and show their presence during the harvest feast. Your father, Baelor Breakspear, had always insisted on showing every bit of generosity to the townfolk, as power meant nothing without the support of your subjects. 

The hooded woman had approached you at the market, much to the dismay of the Kingsguard. They threatened to chase her away with their blades, but you'd pleaded with them not to harm her. 

"I believe I owe you for your protection, little princess," the crone said, her eyes obscured by the hood of her cloak. "Debts are meant to be honored. Let me tell you what awaits you, little dragon."

You observed her, as the air around the old fortune teller seemed odd, somehow. She felt ancient, but in a distinctly inhuman way. Something about her felt familiar, but in a foreign way you could not quite understand. 

"The shadows will heed your commands, princess. The blood of Old Valyria runs thick in your veins. Blood and fire will follow wherever you go, and those who behold your power in cower before you." For a moment, it seemed as thought you'd seen her eyes glint under the hood, but when you tried to meet her gaze, she abruptly whipped around, and disappeared into the crowd. 

You frowned, perplexed at her words. Later, when you'd told your older brother Valarr what had occurred, he brushed it off as a simple mummer's farce. But the unsettling feeling in your chest did not fade. Could she have possibly known of your interests in the old blood rituals? The answer was no. 

When your thirteenth nameday came to pass, the dreams started. They say that Dragonstone was carved out of dragonfire and ancient blood magic, and that the traces remain in the foundations of the castle. Maybe, the dreams were just a result of that magic touching something embedded deep inside of you, awakening something the world had not seen since the dragons disappeared. 

The dreams were always dark, ominous, burning, but most importantly, always bloody. Warm, sticky, thick blood was everywhere, and voices would whisper in Old Valyrian from the pools of blood. Red was also the color of the sky, an unnatural, sinister shade of scarlet. The ponds full of blood would then expand into lakes, lakes turned into seas, seas which swallowed you whole, with warm, slimy hands dragging you into the depths. For unknown reasons, the dreams did not terrify you. The warm embrace of blood had felt like home; and the voices had a familiar tone to them; as if they were people you had known in a past lifetime. 

Your obsession properly took root when you turned fifteen. You'd spend all of your free time outside of lessons in the old, magic-forged library of Dragonstone, reading through every scrolls that had survived the Doom. One common denominator in old Valyrian sorcery seemed to be omnipresent in these records: blood carried power, and only life could pay for a life. The rules of the bargain seemed crude and simple at first. The old dragonlords of Valyria routinely slayed their slaves in blood sacrifice rituals, spilled blood was used to forge a bond between a dragon and rider in the earliest days of the Freehold, and with the power bought with fire and blood, the Old Valyrians would conquer new worlds to secure new fodder for their bloodthirsty gods. 

Simply said, they were cruel, barbaric rituals. But then, your brain pieced something together. Nowhere in these texts was it specified that the blood had to be human. You spent hours upon hours meticulously inspecting every glyph, every line. every scroll, but you found nothing that which contradicted your finding. 

After sitting on your discovery and letting it simmer for three days and three nights, you set out to test your theory, as any proper scholar should. You made your way down to the kitchens, and asked for the butcher. The butcher's workshop was situated by the stables, and there he would receive the animals to be freshly slaughtered, then butcher them in the comfort of his own workspace. The tall, burly man had given you a strange look, but nodded nevertheless. No doubt that he just assumed that every highborn child was simply.. odd. 

You stood next to him as he slaughtered chickens for that day's supper, and demanded that he let all the blood from the devastated chickens' necks collect into a stone bowl marked with ancient glyphs you'd found in a deep, dusty cellar of the castle. When the bowl was two thirds of the way full, you handed him a copper for the trouble, and headed to your chambers to perform your experiment, careful not to spill any blood in the stairways. 

Once arrived at your chamber, you placed the bowl in the center of the room, then locked the door, as to not be interrupted. While you lit the lard candles and prepared the materials for the makeshift ritual, you tried to decide on a bargain, something small and harmless enough which would not end up being disastrous in case the gods decided to grant your wish in a twisted way. 

The ritual involved drawing a circle out of chalk and salt around the blood offering, as to ward off any malignant forces which could interfere. Then, the glyphs for solar, lunar, terrestrial, and celestial were written in chalk around the circle. As a final touch, you kneeled in the circle, lit a strip of animal hide on fire, and started chanting the old prayers. The prayer was a plea to the gods to heed your request, and for them to accept the humble offering of lifesblood. As you chanted, it seemed as the smoke from the candles curled around you, turning into quiet whispers, as though they were answering your prayers.

In High Valyrian, you cited your wishes at the end of the chant, as it was custom. You wished for your little brother, Matarys’ mare, who had broken a hind leg yesternight, to be healed of her injuries. Then, you tossed the burning hide into the blood, which, by all laws of nature, should’ve gotten extinguished as soon as it was submurged in the thick, red liquid. Instead, it burst into a white-hot column of flames, as the whispers growing louder and frantic in your ears. Suddenly, all the flames went out, only leaving thin wisps of smoke curling upwards from the candles and the stone bowl. The voices went quiet.

You looked around. Nothing else had changed. Unsure whether that had had any effect whatsoever, you stood from the floor, and exited the circle. You cleaned up the mess yourself, as to avoid having words circulate among the servants about your peculiar antics. Afterwards, you went about your day as though nothing was amiss; appearing dutifully at lessons and to family supper.

-

When you opened your eyes the next morrow, it seemed as though nothing had changed at all. The sun rose from the east, the waves crashed against the shores of Dragonstone just as they always had, and the air did not carry any sense of vicissitude.

The change only made itself known as you made your way down to the dining hall to break your fast with your family. Matarys’ excited shrieks were audible from the corridors already, and the servants who passed by carried a look of perplexity.

“Baby brother, what may be the matter? The entire castle can hear you, you know.” You smiled fondly at him, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Valarr.

“Sweetpea’s leg is healed! The stablemaster said it is as if nothing ever happened, so she doesn’t have to be put down anymore!” Matarys bounced in his seat. Your sweet, little brother had been devastated when his beloved mare had injured herself, which usually meant a death sentence for horses. Surely, they’d initially planned on putting her down today. 

“It could be another mare, son. Perhaps the stablehands have found you a very similar looking replacement,” Baelor’s look remained skeptical, not wanting to bestow false hope upon his son.

“No! I know it’s her, I’d know her anywhere. She answered to her name, and she even has that little brown spot on the side of her neck, father,” the little auburn-haired prince defiantly crossed his arms. 

Interesting, you thought, as you attempted to act as if nothing was amiss. It was good that you were a princess of the blood, and not a mummer, because your acting was terrible. Not that anyone took notice. What would a mare’s suddenly healed leg have to do with a young, innocent princess?

After your initial success, you grew bolder. The next little experiment would be on a bigger scale, you decided. Just to see whether the ritual would also work on multiple.. subjects. The dreams also grew more vibrant, but that was not as interesting as whatever you had managed with the horse. That was a problem to be dealt with another time.

The concept of a blood sacrifice ritual was simple, if your understanding was correct. First, you needed to set boundaries where you’d be calling to the Old Valyrian gods. The chant would attract on numerous deities, and that included malicious ones who would twist your wishes into something terrible. You needed the simpler, more direct deities, where the deal could be struck off cleanly, no strings attached. 

Secondly, you needed life’s blood to bargain with the bloodthirsty gods. From your chicken’s blood experiment, it did not seem to matter whether it was human or animal blood (you made a mental note to see if fish, amphibian, or reptile blood would work as well). The gods only cared that a life was taken. 

Then at last came the wish. For now, you decided to stick to those without world-changing consequences. You were fifteen, for gods’ sake. No responsibilities would be taken for now.

For the next attempt, you scored some pig’s blood from the butcher. When you arrived at your chambers with the bowl, the blood was still so fresh that it was steaming a little in the cool morning air. You drew the circle with salt and chalk, making sure the runes were written in their proper place. The lard candles were lit - and the animal hide laid on the floor, ready to be set on fire. So, the next step was the chant.

This time, the whispers were louder. The candles’ smokes took on more distinctive forms, and they’d speak of old glory and fire and blood in your ears. At the end of the old prayer, you declared your wishes to the gods. All the chickens on the island would lay three times the amount of eggs they usually laid. The whispers grew more frantic, and you caught High Valyrian expressions for greater purpose and ice and fire. You heeded them no mind, and lit the hide on fire before throwing it into the stone bowl, half filled with blood. As it burst into white hot flames, the curling smokes and the voices reached their peak, before disappearing with the flame.

That was odd, you thought. The strange, smoke-beings seemed to wish to speak to you. Well, they’ll just have to get more coherent then. I could not understand most of what they said, you mused, then shrugged.

The second attempt proved to be just as successful as the first, as you’d overheard five days later while your father was discussing the island’s food reserves with the castellan. The egg production had tripled, which left a significant overflow of the egg supply. The news was delivered from perplexed farmers, who had observed their chickens lay an impossible amount of eggs over the last days. 

“These are good news, are they not?” Baelor mused, not quite understanding why the matter had been brought to council.

“In essence, yes, your grace. However, it certainly defies the laws of nature, as Maester Harlow has found no record of such…” the castellan hesitated, searching for words. “Copious egg yield, going back centuries’ worth of documentation.”

“Perhaps it is but a transient effect, ser.” Baelor dismissed the concerns. “We will monitor the situation, I am sure it will return to its usual rates soon enough.”

It hadn’t. After weeks, the island’s chickens were still producing a more than abundant amount of eggs, and the overflow lead to all of the castle’s and smallfolks’ meals involving incredulous portions of eggs. The suspicion grew around the island, but without any credible cause or evidence, there was nobody to be persecuted, either. You held your tongue through it all, but inside, your mind was brimming with hypotheses and endless possibilities. 

You dove even deeper into your rather unorthodox studies, sitting on the floor of the library with scrolls and bound parchments until sunrise, devouring every bit of information the ancient texts offered.

At the same time, the dreams were starting to get vibrant and lively enough that you finally chose to take action against it. When you drifted to sleep one night, you were faced with the pools of blood and a red sky again, but this time, you came prepared. As always, the collections of blood on the ground started to expand, as ancient voices whispered unintelligibly in your ears. Raising an eyebrow at the familiar scene, you wondered why these entities had so little imagination.

“Please, whoever you are. I cannot understand you if you all speak all at once. If you wish to relay a message to me, I bid you do it one-by-one.” You declared, frowning slightly at the chaotic noise surrounding you.

At once, the whispers came to an abrupt halt, and the pools of blood ceased growing.

“Daughter of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon, heed our words,” finally, a full sentence you could understand. The voice was deep, but you could not place whether the owner was male or female, nor if they were old or young. 

“Beholder of ancient sorcery, mistress of blood and fire, you are destined for something far greater than yourself,” another voice hissed. “Restore the ancient glory. Slay the non-believers, and bring fire to flesh once again.”

You blinked. It sounded as though they wanted you to bring back the dragons and raise your house to its former glory. 

“Bathe in your enemies’ lifesblood,” the same voice continued, “for only then you shall live an endless life, and stand with Azor Ahai when this world comes to an end.” 

The dream landscape started to blur and spin, and you found yourself awake, sprawled upon the silk sheets of your own bed in Dragonstone. You stared at the ceiling for a few moments, processing the words the voices had whispered into your ears. The dream was overwhelmingly life-like, so much that you’d felt the formless entities’ breath brush your ears as they spoke to you.

Destined for something greater than myself, you chewed on the words. That couldn’t possibly be good. If the scrolls and books you’d been studying were to be believed, ancient prophecies and omens had a cruel way of coming true in the most twisted, sadistic ways, especially for those who threshed to fulfill it. 

Then, your mind wandered to your ancestors who were known to be plagued by shadows of prophecy looming over them. Aegon the Dragon had had a prophetic dream, which drove him to unite and conquer the Seven Kingdoms. But at what cost? He’d lost his beloved sisterwife in a futile attempt to conquer Dorne, and spent nigh on ten-and-five years fighting wars and crushing rebellions. Then there was Daenys’ dream. Her dream had indeed saved her line, but left her ancestors to be the last dragonlords left in the realm, cripplingly alone in the world until the Velaryons had taken to dragonriding themselves.

You were simply not ready to carry that burden. Nay, you were unsure whether you ever wanted to carry that burden. You were simply a princess, a maiden of ten-and-five years, who had an interest in the ancient blood magic rituals and begun experimenting only recently. Bringing back dragons from their petrified eggs would surely cost more than a half-full bowl of pigs’ blood, or even a living sacrifice to the gods. Not even touching the moral part of it, the prophetic attribute of it seemed like a load of hard, tedious work.

In your dark bedchamber with only moonlight streaming from the windows, you stared down at your own hands, soft and pristine, never having known a day of labour or war, never mind carrying out grieve-sounding prophecies. Right then and there, you made a decision for yourself: you were going to procrastinate on this prophecy for as long as destiny allowed. 

-

As the years went on, your rituals became a routine occurence, as well as an open secret amongst your family. It began when the entire royal family had been residing in Summerhall to celebrate little Rhae’s birth, and Daeron’s eyes caught the string of odd events which seemed to follow you. He'd said that in his dreams, you were standing knee-deep in a pool of blood, dragons big and small circling the crimson skies above you. The pieces were then put together in his head, and he'd drawn the conclusion that somehow, the odd chain of events such as Dyanna's childbed injuries mysteriously healing themselves and Egg's cat which had been supposedly thrown into a well days ago climbing out from the watery depths were linked with you.

Next, Valarr and Matarys found out in their own time. Their sister was known to divulge in her odd studies, but the even odder occurrences in and around Dragonstone eventually caught their eyes. The crown jewel which verified their suspicions was when the Celtigars — who were quite unpopular within your family due to their incessant demands to the crown and attempts to encroach themselves to the King's court — were meant to visit Dragonstone, but were hindered by a sudden storm raging between Dragonstone and Claw Isle. 

Thus the era of persistent requests and wishes from your cousins and brothers had begun: you'd fulfill their petty wishes, and in turn, they'd keep your secret, and return the favor in one way or another. Nobody suspected a thing when weeks of heavy rain had hindered a tourney Daeron had been dreading, and even less when a new gold-and-ruby bracelet appeared on your wrist mere days later. Matarys' broken wrist had mysteriously healed itself overnight, and Valarr’s destrier had broken a hind leg during a hunt, only to emerge from the stables the next morrow as though nothing had been amiss.

Then there was Aerion. Your infamous cousin. He had been a glad child once, but his temperaments had begun to show in his pubescent years, to everone’s grief. His obsession with Old Valyria and dragons had been known; and it only grew with passing time. When it was his turn to discover your unusual talents, he’d decided that you were a goddess of Old Valyria reborn, destined to rule the realms by his side with fire and blood. And thus you’d become the only presence in the realm that which could quench his fires, and he started his incessant, rather bothersome pursuit of your attention.

“My love, my sun, my goddess,” Aerion padded after you in the corridors of the Red Keep. “How are you planning on spending this beautiful afternoon?”

“In peace and quiet, cousin.” You attempted to wave him off.

“May I come with you?” His brows raised in hope and expectation.

“I’d prefer not,” you tried to avoid his relentless, lovesick gaze.

“I would give you peace, my moon and stars. I’d be perfectly content with merely gazing upon your beautiful presence. You are a blessing from the gods themselves, bestowed upon by-“ his dramatics revved up again.

“I would like to continue my lectures in my chambers, alone, if you’d allow.” You interrupted his speech, before it could escalate any further into long, exaggerated poems.

“I could carry your books, or hold the scrolls up for you, light of my life,” he persisted. “I beg of you, please allow my presence in yours, do not exile me into the darkness which is your absence.”

You stopped in your tracks, and let out a deep sigh. “Alright, cousin.” At that, he visibly perked up, a smile creeping up onto his face. “But only, and strictly only, if my studies are not interrupted by you.” That did not seem to diminish his joy.

“Of course, my love. Your every wish and whim is my command, I swear, I will serve at your altar at every cost. Anything you wish for, you’ll have. Do you wish for me to fetch refreshments? In case you’d get thirsty, or peckish. I know you prefer the honeycakes, I will command the kitchens at once for them to prepare some with a pot of tea.” With that, he ran off in the direction of the kitchens with a bounce in his steps.

You sighed, and continued on your way to your chambers. 

-

Your lecture and studies accompanied by Aerion were, as he swore, quiet and peaceful. For once, he sat next to you on the carpeted floors, attentively observing the old tomes and scrolls you’d laid out in front of you, and snap to attention when you’d stop to take notes. In summary, Aerion’s company was proving itself to be significantly less bothersome than you had expected, and even something akin to comfortable.

When you’d finish reading a paragraph from a scroll and wish to compare the contents with another manuscript, you merely had to point to the material you’d wish for, and he’d nearly jump up to fetch it.

After a few hours, he’d taken to sitting a few yards away, pouring over a scrap of empty parchment himself with a quill in hand. You’d ignored it, assuming he was simply taking notes of his own about the scrolls. The Red Keep’s library kept quite valuable scripts too, albeit less impressive or rare as Dragonstone, but nevertheless, there were some scrolls and tomes you’d never seen before, which took over your attention quickly.

It was almost sunset when you’d decided to finish up for the day, with the sun nearing the western horizon and painting the sky in a faint orange hue. When you slammed a particularly thick book shut, Aerion looked up from his parchment, and looked at you.

“I would be finished for the day, cousin. Thank you for your help, but now I’d better be heading down to supper.” You said, standing from your cushion on the floor.

Aerion nodded, and made to stand up after you. But when you turned towards the door, he softly called out your name, prompting you to look back at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

“I’ve written a poem for you, my love. Would you allow me to read it for you?” His eyes were gleaming in hope.

You suppressed a sigh. Although, he had indeed given you the promised peace and quiet, so perhaps this was the least you could do. You nodded in approval.

His poem was quite melodramatic and theatrical, to say the least. You almost regretted saying yes when you’d spotted that the entire parchment was filled with lines upon lines of rhymes.

O godess of Old Valyria reborn, o image of endless beauty upon this earth

Full of grace she walks, and the old fire burns bright in her hearth

Never has there been lips so beautiful,

Her tresses leaves even the Maiden herself sorrowful

When she speaks to me her voice rings like silver bells,

In her absence I may descend to the deepest hells

My heart lives a flame not even dragonfire could oppose

Which only burns for you, o my goddess of love and beauty

Not even the Narrow Sea could quench my love,

For a single gaze from her amethyst eyes would set me ablaze anew

For a moment, you were grateful that Aerion was born a prince, and not a singer or a bard, so that the remaining population of the Seven Kingdoms would be spared of his work. Nevertheless, you dragged the corners of your lips into a smile, and thanked him for the beautiful ode to your beauty. At your praise, his eyes glazed over in a dreamy bliss, and he clutched his heart as though it would explode.

Afterwards, he’d insisted upon escorting you to your father’s solar, where you’d be supping with your family. He walked dutifully beside you, an arm outstretched for you to hold on to.

“My beautiful goddess, would I have your leave to accompany you to your studies from now on?” He asked, a hopeful look laid in his eyes, which reminded you a little bit of a stray puppy.

You suppressed a sigh again, and considered your options. Even if you said no, Aerion would persist in his pursuits. If you said yes, he would be omnipresent in your studies, no matter the time or place. A compromise seemed to be due.

“Perhaps, cousin. Sometime, when I have need of assistance again.” His face split into a wide grin at that, and you both came to a halt in front of the double doors leading to Baelor’s quarters.

“You can always call upon me, my flaming heart. Always. For anything.” With that, he raised your hand to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles, and turned on his heels to take his leave.

As he left, Matarys came from around a corner, and saw Aerion leave you.

“What was that about, sister?” He raised an eyebrow at his temperamental cousin, walking away with a grin plastered on his face.

You only had a sigh and a shake of your head to offer as an answer, and opened the doors to your father’s solar to join your parents for supper.

-

One issue that plagued him was the onslaught of council meetings and writing correspondances, which his father, the dear Lord Hand, had set upon him to prepare for his impending duties as his heir. The king was old, and had been old for quite some time, with his father having taken over the duties of ruling the realm in the past few years. Baelor had decided that his son should be better mentally prepared for his future position as Hand than he had been all these years ago, and would therefore sit in meetings and overtake tasks of handling minor correspondances. 

This left him scarcely any time to spend with you privately, which irked him endlessly. He had waited nigh on a decade to see you again, and that he had. But to have you back again, his sun and stars, the Maiden herself walking the earth, and not be able to spend every waking moment with you, was bothersome to say the least. The source of most of the additional burdens to the crown lied in the Riverlands and Dornish Marches, where minor revolts were rising periodically, as a persistent remnant of the Blackfyre rebellion. 

His only hope was that once you were wed, he’d be granted a few months’ leave to relish the newlywed period away from the capital, perhaps even journey to Essos for a much needed sabbatical. Either that, or the stubborn rebels would finally be exterminated once and for all, relieving the council of at least half its workload. 

The other, more pressing issue was another matter altogether. Listening to Daeron and Aerion boast their misadventures in brothels and taverns, Valarr had become dismally, hopelessly aware of his lack of experience. His inexperience stemmed from the duties imposed upon him from a young age, the sense of righteousness and virtue hammered into his head since he was but a child, and the fact that he'd been pining over his childhood companion, and his now betrothed. 

His rigid sense of duty and devotion meant that he had no intentions of becoming an inadequate husband, much less one who failed to satisfy his wife in any way. He was only a man, and the desire to please and serve his future wife had been blooming in his stomach ever since the betrothal had been set in stone. Then the first kiss you shared under the heart tree had truly awakened something in him; a carnal, red-hot desire for more. The problem was, he hadn't a sliver of an idea how he would provide you with all you deserved in that department.

So, with the wedding date closing in with terrifying speed, he had devised a plan with which he would overcome this plight.

And this was how he ended up in the restricted section of the castle’s library at the hour of ghosts, having abused his power as a crown prince to obtain the keys to the gate guarding the section, firmly locked with a sizable pad. As he fought to keep his eyes open, he drifted through the aisles, spotting bound books and scrolls on quite questionable topics, and dismissing them. Briefly, he wondered why in the seven hells the Keep's library kept track of every possible topic known to man, including A Study on Therapeutic Properties of Firewyrm Sputum: a Review of Existing Literature and an Analysis on the Possible Modern Uses of the Material by Grand Maester Morgyle. He came to a halt when he arrived at the subsection which he’d been looking for: aisles after aisles of literature deemed too obscene and indecent for the castle’s oh-so-puritan inhabitants. 

He walked through the aisles and searched through the tomes with the determination of a man on a mission, with only his lantern to light the way. There, he tracked down the volumes he’d been searching for: manuscripts on the way of seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure - how the Lysene pillow houses would train their bedslaves - collections on Lysene poetry written by the priestesses who worship the goddess of love, and a thick, leather bound book named “Arts of the female pleasure” with the love goddess of Lys depicted upon its cover. If Valarr was to learn, he was going to learn from the very masters of the art. 

Satisfied with his bounty, he proceeded to exit the library, not forgetting to lock the gate to the restricted area behind him, and cooped up in his quarters with his newly acquired resources. Judging by the thickness of the manuscript and the leather-bound book, he would need most of his free time before the wedding to get through the material with enough time to spare, just in case he'd need to revisit some topics. He lit the candles in his chamber, then sat himself down at his writing desk with the Lyseni manuscript. It was going to be a long night.

-

You were disgruntled of late. Your dear betrothed, the crown prince of the realm, had been quite distant in the past few weeks. He seemed to be “occupied” with only gods knew what, even though you knew for a fact that there were no council meetings taking part in that specific time, and when you did grasp a chance to see him, his eyes were sunken in from lack of sleep. Every time you’d ask him which matters were consuming him so, he’d only mumble about council and correspondence duties. Lies. Egregious lies these were. You narrowed your eyes at the memory, and aggressively stabbed a honeyed fig with your dessert fork.

On the other side of the table in your family’s solar sat your mother, watching you with a concerned look in her eyes at your seemingly unprovoked assault upon the innocent sweet treats.

“Darling, which crime have these figs committed for you to punish them so?” Your mother scrunched her eyebrows in worry.

“They might as well be vile traitors, mother. Abhorrent liars. Foul villains.” You hissed.

“I doubt the figs are capable of being as such; might you be speaking of a certain… prince? I have noticed you two are not spending as much time with another as of late.” She carefully breached the topic.

“Well, I would spend some time with him, if he was not currently avoiding me in false pretenses. He seems to be perpetually occupied with one matter or another.” You pouted.

“And why do you suppose he is acting so?” Your mother’s eyebrows rose in concern.

“Seven hells if I know. But if he has gained a mistress or changed his mind on the wedding, I will strangle him with my bare hands, even if it costs me my head.” You scoffed, still assaulting the blameless honeyed figs.

“I doubt he has, my dear. It is clear as day to anyone that he is quite besotted with you, there must be some other explanation. Perhaps I could ask Jena?” She smiled in an attempt to soothe your ire. 

“Whatever the reason may be, it better be a good one. I'm quite cross with him."

-

Currently, Jena was watching an exceptionally entertaining, but equally pathetic situation unfold before her eyes. The initial thing that raised her suspicions was when her son had begun retreating into his chambers in his free time and instructing the guards not to let anybody in, only to emerge hours later with ink-smudged hands; and the other indication that something was amiss was the ever growing dark shadow under his eyes when he'd show to break fast with the family. Baelor had denied assigning him any additional correspondence duties at her interrogation, so only gods knew what he'd been doing. 

As a result, he'd been spending significantly less time with his betrothed or his family when he was free of his council duties, and Jena could see your irritation rise every so slightly every passing day. 

As any overexcited and overly curious mother would, she'd then asked the chambermaids and the page boys who were tasked with cleaning her son's chambers. The chambermaids refused to speak of what they'd witnessed at the order of the prince, but a page boy finally cracked when she'd bribed him with new leather boots to replace his tattered old ones. 

"M'lady, the prince has been... extensively studying quite sensitive literature," the boy, who couldn't have been older than three-and-ten of age, mumbled. "And he's thoroughly instructed everyone to never mention the books he's taken from the library."

Her eyebrows rose at that. "Sensitive literature?"

"Marta, the chambermaid, has said that they're from... Lys." The poor boy blushed. 

At the reveal, Jena's eyebrows climbed impossibly higher on her forehead. She thanked the boy and sent him on his merry way. Then, she sat herself down by the tea table to process what she'd heard. After pondering the circumstances, what with the wedding ceremony taking place in mere weeks' time and Valarr's known disapproval of his cousins' rather indulgent habits, she finally derived the source of her son's behavior. He was nervous before the wedding night. 

And he'd been coping with his unease with the way he knew best: studying the topic the best he could before facing the source of his nervousness. At that, she had to suppress an amused snort even though she was alone in the room. Her sweet, gentle boy, who'd been besotted with one girl his whole life, was completely and utterly terrified of being an inadequate husband. It was endearing, really, but if only it hadn't been causing the said girl's tempers to sour. 

So, when her dear friend came to her, inquiring about her son, as her own daughter had been growing ever more irritated, she'd simply told her the truth. Perhaps not the full truth, but a slight omission of truth, may the gods forgive her. She said that her son had been quite anxious before the wedding, feared he would not be an adequate husband to his love, and had been... coping. Nothing about Lys, nothing about the first wedding night, just... anxiety about being less than adequate his beloved. She'd nodded, still with a slight puzzled look, but accepted her answer as it was. 

-

Your irritation had newly reached its new peak when for a fortnight in a row, your only private, quiet time windows with Valarr had been one hour long walks or afternoon tea in the gardens at the very most. Afterwards, he'd excuse himself and be off in his chambers, doing only gods knew what, or be off with his father on his princely duties. Deep in your heart, you knew it was selfish to wish that he wouldn't have to attend so many meetings or write correspondences. But it felt quite rational to be cross at him for leaving your presence with a false pretext to retreat to his chambers. 

After convening with Lady Jena, your mother had come back to your quarters, and had offered a vague explanation that perhaps, Valarr was simply quite anxious before the wedding. You nodded politely at the suggestion, but the argument failed to convince you. Why would he have need to be nervous? Why now? And why would he distance himself so for that reason? 

Before, you knew that Valarr loved you. Before, you knew that he'd do anything to keep you happy. Before, you knew that you stood on the very top of his priorities. Now, that confidence was dwelling, and left you with a sense of hurt and bitterness where it used to be. And your mind, as would be the case with any sensible person in this situation, started to weave scenarios. And no good ones, at that. There was this creeping sense of dread that perhaps, he'd finally snapped out of his childish whims and seen you for what you were: just a dear childhood friend, nothing more. He was a handsome, valiant, kind, gentle prince, and you were just... you. 

So, the next time his page had arrived to extend Valarr's invitation to take lunch with him in the gardens, the ugly, petty monster in your heart raised its head. You looked up from your book and set it down on your lap, and huffed out an angry little exhale. 

"Tell the prince I won't be able to join. In fact, I will be indisposed for the next sennight, and he should not bother to ask why that is." With that, you dismissed him with a wave of your hand. The page boy hesitated with an uncertain look, but at your persistent ignorance of his presence, he turned on his heels and left. 

A small pang of satisfaction filled your heart, but it turned sour soon after. But you hardened your resolve; if he thinks he can neglect your presence so, then two could play this game. 

-

Valarr's world was fraying at the seams. Since the page boy had arrived with the news of your rejection, he'd been drifting through his day in a numb, melancholic state. As the Lord of the Tides was prattling on about the Stepstones and possible pirate sightings, his brain simply tuned him out and locked him in his own little bubble of confusion and despondency. A sennight, you had said. A whole sennight. One might think that seven days were nothing compared to the decade he'd spent waiting for you, but in his melodramatic state, it might as well have been eons. 

It was one thing waiting for your return while harboring his childish affection, but it was another thing to be finally, finally be reunited with his love, be betrothed to you, then lose your company for seven whole days again. 

Perhaps she was not feeling well, a hopeful inner voice suggested. Perhaps you'd just been exhausted from the wedding preparations and needed rest. 

That was what a rational, reasonable man might think. But while Valarr was by all means a most rational, logical man when it came to other matters, that rule crumbled to dust when it came to you. 

After the council meeting, he'd skipped his daily studies of the stolen — borrowed, he reminded himself — Lysene literature for the first time in a while. Instead, he instructed the castle's sugar baker to whip up your favorite treat, lemon and honey cakes, and to send a maidservant to carry it up to your quarters. Following his visit to the kitchens, he summoned the maester, and requested he brew a soothing tea for the maidservant to bring it to you along with the cakes. He did promise to do anything for your happiness after all, and it was the least he could do at this moment.

He prayed that it would ease your current predicament soon enough. 

It did not. 

The following days, his inquiries about your wellbeing went unanswered, and when he'd knocked on your doors himself, the maid came to the door to relay that you were still indisposed. So, he took the only possible course of action. 

The kitchens were instructed to keep extra staff, as to insure they'd prepare your favorite meals apart from the rest of the castle's dishes. The maesters were tasked with brewing the best soothing, nourishing teas, to ensure you were being supplied with the utmost quality of care. The sugar baker was in overdrive, and he had fetched a second baker to assist him with the additional workload. Then, he sent the softest silk feathered pillows and blankets, so you'd be comfortable while cooped up in your chambers. As that was not enough in his mind, the goldsmith had been commissioned to craft a new bracelet for you, in hopes that it would lift your spirits. 

This chain of events had not gone unnoticed by Baelor, as he asked Valarr to stay behind after a Small Council meeting, and inquired about him sending the castle's staff into a frenzy, to which Valarr offered his honest answer. 

"So the lady is refusing to see you." Baelor raised an eyebrow at the simpleness of the cause of it all. 

Valarr nodded, distraught evident in his eyes. "And I simply do not know how to solve this, father. What if... what if she has-" his voice broke off, not wanting to voice out his biggest fear that maybe, you'd come to the realization that you'd made a mistake agreeing to marry him after all. 

Baelor sighed. He was Baelor Breakspear, the Hammer that had broken the ranks of the Blackfyre army at the Battle of Redgrass Field. But he was simply not equipped to deal with matters of the young, melodramatic hearts. Mentally, he cursed himself for addressing this matter in the council chambers instead of in his family's solar, where Jena would have been there to handle this. 

"I doubt that, my son." With the utmost of his abilities, he offered a curt consolation. Unsurprisingly, Valarr did not seem calmed by that. "What if you simply asked her? Speak with her. Directly. I am sure a heartfelt plea would allow you at least a few words with her, even for a few moments." He added. 

Valarr nodded, though the weight on his chest remained firmly planted where it'd been. 

-

The hot midday sun was dwindling from the sky, and gave way to a warm, comfortable late afternoon breeze. You were lounging on the chaise longue on the balcony, enjoying the cool rafts threading through your hair, leisurely eating lemon cakes, and pouring over a book on the history of the Rhoynar when your peace was broken by your maidservant notifying you of Valarr's presence at the door. A small glimmer of satisfaction flickered in your heart at landing a blow to his heart just as he'd bruised yours. But this time, unlike any other time, he did not leave the door when you'd waved at the maid and told her to relay that you were currently indisposed. 

"The prince insists that he must speak to you, m'lady," she looked back at you with an apologetic look. 

At that, you let out a sigh before closing your book and padding to the door. The maid excused herself, and took her leave. 

When you arrived at the door and swung it open to face Valarr, his eyes widened in relief at seeing you after five days' silence. 

"My prince," you greeted him, deliberately using his title knowing his dislike for it coming from you. 

"Love, I've missed you. I was worried that-" he hesitated, not daring to say the words out loud. The bags under his eyes had gotten visibly darker, and his eyes were red-rimmed. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

"That you were unwell, that- that it had all gotten too much, I-" he paused, looking for words. 

"I'm quite well, my prince. As you can see." You kept your tone neutral, but your heart was ever so slightly yielding, seeing his distress. Valarr's lips closed at that, and you almost regretted your words as they came out. 

"Please, darling. If something is amiss, just tell me. I did promise that I'd do anything to ensure your happiness, and I meant it." He pleaded, his eyes desperately searching your face for a hint. "Whatever it is, I shall fix it. If it is not in the scope of my abilities, I shall search the realm for someone who can. But please, tell me, love."

A corner of your heart cracked open at his earnest look. Looking at him, there was no imagining that he'd have changed his mind on the wedding or taken a paramour. At the same time, a hint of guilt at your own pettiness filled the newly formed crack in your heart. 

"In truth, Val," honesty flew out of your lips as though a dam had broken. "I'd not thought that you wished for my presence anyways."

"What could possibly make you think that, love? You must know just how completely my heart, my life belongs to you. Has someone said something? What is it?" His eyebrows scrunched in distress, as though he could not comprehend the words coming out of your mouth. 

"Well, you've been quite distant of late. In the last weeks, it feels I have barely seen you." You chewed on your lower lip. 

Valarr blinked as the realization hit him. He'd been so consumed with his worries about his own inexperience out of fear of disappointing you, that he'd been cooped up during most of his unoccupied time in his chambers, buried in the Lysene manuscript, whilst his beloved had been growing distraught over his secrecy. He was an idiot, as he came to realize in this moment. 

"And you thought- that I've been avoiding your presence?" Valarr gaped, reeling in his own ignorance. You simply nodded at that, your lower lip still caught between your teeth. 

"Oh seven hells, my love," he breathed out, gingerly stepping forwards, a hand reaching out to cup your face. "I would never. I could never, ever not wish for your presence. I apologize that I have not made that clear, my love." He planted a kiss upon your forehead, as though he was affirming his point. 

You stepped back slightly and craned your neck to gaze up at his face, still unsatisfied with the resolution. "What have you been so occupied with, then? You've been spending most of your times in your chambers, not allowing anyone to disturb you while at it." You pouted slightly, but in Valarr's eyes, it was simply an adorable sight to behold. Not that he'd ever tell you. Moreover, you were starting to threaten one of his more guarded secrets with that endearing pout, and he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn as the topic loomed over his shoulders. 

"I've been... studying," he searched for adequate words to describe his lectures, "things for the wedding." His cheeks flushed a bright red. 

Your eyebrows rose in confusion, and you blinked. "Things? For the wedding?" 

"Yes, for the," Valarr cleared his throat, blushing even more, "wedding night."

"Oh? And what might have you been studying?" Now you were truly intrigued as to where this was heading. The only knowledge on the topic stemmed from the septas, or hushed gossip between other ladies or maidservants. 

Valarr's gaze pointed to anywhere but you, his lips silently opened and closed a few times while he searched for words, but decided not to voice out the majority of them. 

"Some Lysene literature," his voice was almost a whisper now. "To- to ensure our wedding night would be... pleasant."

Oh. Gods. Valarr, you impossible, ridiculous, adorable man. You couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped your lips, and felt your cheeks heat up. At your giggle, the poor prince looked mortified. 

"Valarr, you're a fool. A wonderful, lovable fool," you said breathlessly. 

At that, the prince hesitantly turned his gaze back to you, his cheeks still burning. "Are you teasing me, love?"

"If you'd call it that, yes, Val. But frankly, I am quite touched that you've been cooped up in your chambers studying Lyseni scripture; I had thought you had gained a mistress, or something of the like." You smiled up at him, relief coursing through you. 

"A mistress?" Valarr repeated with an incredulous look in his eyes. "Love, if it has not been obvious enough, I've only ever had eyes for you since we'd met in the godswood all these years back. How could I ever take a mistress, when you're finally my betrothed, my future wife?" 

"Well, you have been spending an awful lot of time alone in your chambers, mind you. A girl's thoughts are bound to wander sooner than late." You said defensively, but still with a teasing air. 

"You're the only thing my mind wanders to," Valarr approached you again, tipping your chin back ever so slightly to face him. "In council meetings, while writing impossibly dull correspondences, while reading, when I eat, sleep, breathe, you are and always will be the destination my thoughts wander to." 

With that, his lips came down to meet yours. His lips were so soft, warm, and gentle in their movement. As they moved against your own lips, you felt the slightest bit of stubble scratch against your chin; he must've been quite distraught if the otherwise perfect prince had forgone his daily shave. You welcomed the sensation, and brought your hands up to rest upon his shoulders. 

At your touch, he let out the slightest groan, and pulled you in by the waist to hold you impossibly closer. Your arms were now wrapped around his neck, a hand carefully stroking the brown and white locks at the nape of his neck. His upper back muscles tensed at that, and his hand at your waist tightened its grip. 

When you broke off the kiss for air, Valarr's mismatched irises had been near completely swallowed up by his pupils, and his lips were slightly parted while he caught his breath. 

"So Val, if your mind wanders to me while reading, have you also had thoughts of me during your studies?" You grinned up at him. Teasing the poor, blushing prince was always such great fun, after all. His pretty cheeks always turned the loveliest shade of pink. 

Valarr stammered, his wits leaving him to fend for himself once again. 

"Well I did not- I mean, I haven't had any unchaste thoughts of you, I could never- I mean, yes, but-" he closed his mouth before embarrassing himself any further. His hand came up to his forehead, as though his own misspeaking had delivered him a migraine. 

You giggled again, which did not help the bright red flush on his face. You gently pried his hands into your own, and placed them on your waist. 

"Val, I'm only jesting," you struggled to suppress your laugh, "but perhaps you can show me on our wedding night which improper thoughts you definitely haven't had about me."

With your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, you rose on your tiptoes to meet his lips with your own before he could answer. Your lips were moving more fluidly against one another now, and you thought to yourself that you might just get addicted to this, to his soft, plush lips, his stubble grazing your skin, and the taste of his lips; something uniquely Valarr. His mouth opened a little in a sigh, and when you tried to pull him down farther to deepen the kiss, he pulled away. 

"Gods, pretty girl. You'll be the death of me," he huffed out breathlessly, and you let out a quiet laugh. 

"I do not know what you could possibly mean by that," you grinned, and tugged on his doublet's collar. "Come back down here, Val." 

His hands gently grasped your wrists, and pried your grips loose from his doublet. 

"Love, I fear I might get carried away if I do. I will not dishonor you so, especially when our wedding date is so near." He raised one of your hands to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the knuckles. 

This time, it was your time to blush. A warm ball of desire was starting to gather in your belly, as your gaze traced his beautiful mismatched eyes, framed by unfairly long eyelashes, and the sharp slope of his nose, followed by the angular line of his cheekbones and jaw. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your eyes followed the movement as if in a trance. He noticed your look, and his pupils dilated impossibly widely at that. 

"I must take my leave, darling. I'll see you in the gardens for lunch tomorrow?" Entranced by his lips, you only nodded at his request. He left you with one last peck to your forehead, then turned around before disappearing into the corridors. 

The wedding night was looking to be a lot more... eventful than you'd thought. 

-

“My dearest, I must say, Jena and I are still over the moon over your betrothal,” your mother set aside her cup, and clasped her hands together with a dreamy look in her eyes. “We have already thought of some ideas for the wedding, your maiden’s cloak, for instance-“

“Mother,” you suppressed a sigh. “We do not even have a wedding date yet.”

“Yes! Yes, setting a good wedding date is the most important thing. Your father said the wedding date is to be set within the next three to four moons, so peonies will be in season, dear. They are only in season for such a short time, we should definitely..” Your mother happily pivoted, and you resorted to polite nods and hums, while you chewed on a breakfast scone which was feeling drier and drier by the minute.

In the last day and a half - ever since your mother and Lady Jena had learned of the betrothal, to be exact - the two of them had shown a level of joy and excitement you hadn’t thought possible. It started with Lady Jena slamming the door to your family’s quarters open in the yesterday morning while you were breaking fast with your parents, and rushing to tightly wrap your mother in her arms.

“My dearest, dearest darling! We are going to be bound by marriage! Is that not the most magnificent news?” She squeaked.

Your mother had answered with the same level of enthusiasm, with both of them spinning in a circle while hugging, while crying out high-pitched exclamations about the joys of being each other’s in-laws. At one point, Lady Jena had pulled you into the frenzy, and you were squished against both very happy mothers in a group hug.

Ever since then, they’d been inseparable, and if they spotted you and/or Valarr, they’d pounce like lionnesses upon a prey, and wrap you in an avid discussion about wedding planning, family activities, and the likes. 

You were happy your mother was so.. elated about the match, but it left you with scarecely any moments of peace and quiet, not to mention any alone time with Valarr. The initial excitement would surely die down with time, you hoped. And once the tourney was over, you would have ample time to properly reconnect with Valarr; go on horseback rides, walk through the gardens, simply sit somewhere quiet and talk. What even was the point of being betrothed to such a pretty man if you hardly had any tranquil moments alone with him?

So, these circumstances had left you here, in this moment, pouting at breakfast table and trying unsuccessfully to steer the conversation to anything, anything else. However, your mother’s enthusiasm proved unyielding, and her joyful chatters continued on.

Once at the tourney grounds near midday, you were quite satisfied to be left to your own devices for a few moments. Your parents were already in your cousins’ pavillion, undoubtedly to wish good fortune to your youngest cousin, who was entering the squires’ melée to try his chance at knighthood. Your only company was thus your household guard, who trailed after you a few respectful paces behind. 

There was still ample time to walk around the tourney ground, browsing through the merchants’ wares, admiring the fine rolls of silk and velvet, smelling all the exotic herbs and perfumes, and maybe to buy a small spiced pastry from an Essosi baker. The meadow, which was situated right outside of the city gates, was transformed into what resembled a small, lively village. The hammering of the steelworkers rang throughout the field, flattening out the dents in armor from the last two days’ events.

As you were leaning over a merchant’s stand, carefully inspecting a beautifully carved scented candle, a tap on your shoulder jolted you. As you spun around, you came face to face with Valarr, dressed in a simple black and crimson doublet and trousers, as he wasn’t going to parttake in the melées today. 

“Good day, love.” Your betrothed was clearly amused by your surprise.

“Good day, Valarr,” you breathed out, still coming down from your startlement.

“Do you want that candle?” He asked, nodding in the direction of the merchant’s stand.

“What?” Your brain drew a blank. The sun was nearing its highest point, threading its rays through his brown locks and lighting up his eyes. He painted a picture of radiance, the sun lighting up the crown of his head in a golden halo, and his features carved out by sharp shadows.

“You were looking at that candle, love.” The term of affection spilling from his lips was driving you slightly mad. Your eyes flickered between his own mismatched orbs and his lips.

“..Yes?” You faltered out, still a little disoriented by the sight of your betrothed before you.

Without another word, Valarr produced a silver stag from his pocket, and handed it to the merchant. Doubtless, it was far too much for the candle, but Valarr did not pay any mind to it, and simply picked up the candle, passing it over to your guard to be carried and safe-kept.

“Might I accompany you on a walk through the tourney grounds?” He asked, offering his arm.

You nodded, and threaded your arm through his. You set out on a leisurely stroll, your guard and his following a few paces behind. 

“Am I safe to assume that your mother is approaching the matter of our wedding planning with the same overflowing enthusiasm as mine own?” Valarr asked, a hint of amusement persisting in his eyes.

“Yes! Ugh yes, most certainly. So far today, she has made approximately twenty suggestions for the wedding day feast’s courses in the last hours. But do not take me wrong, I am quite happy that my family received the news so well. I just wish.. we’d had some quiet time for ourselves.” You let out a dramatic sigh.

“As do I,” he nodded, “but it is quite wonderful to see that our families are just as content as we are with our match.”

“Has Matarys had anything to say on the matter?” You raised an eyebrow, recalling the time when Matarys pointed to you and asked Valarr loudly whether you were ‘the lady friend he had menttioned’.

At that, Valarr blushed slightly. “He did, in fact. He was rather smug of the fact that he was right.”

“Right about what?” You teased. He did blush so prettily, how were you to resist?

He cleared his throat, his gaze searching the ground. “That- that it was indeed you I had spoken with him about.”

“What did you say about me?” You were full-on grinning now. Valarr’s ears were burning, and silently cursed the gods for testing him so.

“I merely said,” Valarr cleared his throat again, his eyes flittering between you and the ground. “I was looking forward to your arrival.”

“Is that all?” You leaned towards him, fully enjoying the crown prince’s flustered state.

“You are a cruel, cruel woman.” Valarr shook his head, but a smile creeped up his face nevertheless.

As you looked around, you realized you had reached the edge of the tourney ground. The rows of tents and pavillions were behind you, only a meadow with tall grass and wildflower stretching before you. As you checked the coast, it was clear that your two guards were the only ones remotely paying attention to the both of you. Even then, they were keeping a respectful distance, pretending not to see nor hear anything that was going on.

You let go of his arm, and spun around to face him, initially planning on delivering one last teasing blow. His cheeks were still stained the slightest bit of pink, but his eyes displayed clear joy and affection for you. You had to crane your neck back to face him properly, and Valarr was leaning down towards you. Suddenly, you were acutely aware of how close your faces were. Your jest never left your lips, and was instantaneously forgotten as you marveled at his face.

Valarr was facing the sun, the light painting his blue eye the color of morning sky, and his brown eye a golden amber hue. Your gaze traveled from one eye to the next, then, unable to resist the temptation, down to his lips. When you looked back up, Valarr’s eyes were trained on your lips as well.

The noise of the tourney grounds faded into the background. At once, the world narrowed down to only you, Valarr’s face mere inches away from you, and the wind softly blowing onto your face. Meanwhile, the guards were stubbornly trying to act as if they couldn’t see a thing.

The tension could’ve been cut with a knife. With your heart wildly beating in your ribcage, you held the gaze of your handsome betrothed standing in front of you. 

As you finally gained the courage to inch closer, your mother’s voice cut through the air, and you jerked away from each other instantaneously.

“Darlings! The melée is starting soon! Our wonderful servants have prepared cold honeyed wine for you!” She approached you, arm-in-arm with Lady Jena. When she realized how closely you had been standing before, she huffed out an “oh”, looking at Lady Jena with a knowing smirk.

The two mothers giggled, whilst you and Valarr’s faces went up in flames.

“Sorry dears,” Lady Jena said, while turning back around towards the tourney grounds, “please, carry on! We were never here!”

They then walked away, leaving behind girlish giggles and excited whispers.

You and Valarr still stood there, face to face, a good foot between you now. The guards were still staring firmly at the ground. 

“Uh, shall we?” Valarr gestured to the tourney grounds, and you fervently nodded.

“Yes, please. Let us go.” 

-

II. Interrupted by a cousin

The inner courtyard of the Red Keep had a beautiful garden, with white marble pergolas rising among flower vines and bushes, all sorts of flowers, and the best kept hedges one could think of. The tourney and festivities ended a few days ago, the vast halls of the Keep seeming strangely empty with all the guests gone. Your family had lingered, for although all the legal formalities of the marriage had been settled, your parents decided to stay until the wedding ceremony. 

The wedding date had been set for three months from now, as Valarr had wished upon a short betrothal period, but the time span still left ample room for planning. Countless skilled seamstresses, bakers, and cooks were summoned to the Keep for dress fittings and course tastings, and the first ones to arrive would start to stream through the castle gates in a matter of days. That only left you just as many days of peace before everybody would be fussing over you until the wedding ceremony had come to pass, or least until the planning was immaculately, perfectly, flawlessly completed. After all, the wedding was to be a grand affair, affirming Valarr’s position as second in line to the Iron Throne and reassuring house Targaryen’s standing in the realm.

In these few, precious days of peace and quiet, you had taken to taking walks through the kingswood with Valarr, taking afternoon tea with him and both your mothers, and sometimes, just leisurely sprawling upon the library cushions next to each other and flipping through the ancient, rare tomes together. On this specific day, you had intercepted Valarr just as he exited from the Small Council meeting, and demanded he take you on a walk through the inner courtyard’s gardens. Valarr, ever the sweet and dutiful prince, indulged your whims without a second thought.

So now you walked arm-in-arm with your betrothed between rows of beautiful flowering shrubs, with your guards trailing behind. The garden was quite lively, with numerous courtiers and nobles lounging under the pergolas or taking a leisurely walk themselves. 

Valarr’s company was quite enjoyable, since although he was your betrothed, he was one of the only conversation partners in the recent days who wouldn’t endlessly pester you about the wedding planning. Instead, he spoke to you about the flora and fauna on Dragonstone, and how they differed from those of the Crownlands, or about childhood misadventures of Matarys, or sometimes about the places he would have liked to travel to if he hadn’t been tied up at the Red Keep by his duties. He’d also ask you how your life had been in your ancestral home in the time where you hadn’t seen each other, and whether you missed anything from home.

The conversation flowed easily, as if the ten years spent apart had never happened. Although, the numerous chattering groups of courtiers around the garden were starting to irritate you, since you had hoped you would be able to spend some quiet, private moments with your betrothed. You were more than eager to continue where you had left off at the tourney grounds a few days past, when you’d been cruelly interrupted by your mothers. In the sunlight, Valarr’s handsome face was lit in a golden sheen, the arch of his lips drawing your gaze every time he spoke.

So you gently steered him towards the little hedge maze in the middle of the garden, your guards still dutifully following a few steps behind. I just want a little peck on his lips, away from the eyes of the courtiers, you prayed to the gods. It wouldn’t even be improper, since you were betrothed anyways, and even the late Septa Marya could not object to that. Your guards were there, and if any suspicions were to arise, they would testify that no scandalous incidents had occured.

“Let us sit by the fountain in the middle,” you suggested, “I would greatly appreciate some peace and quiet.”

To your delight, Valarr did not question you, and lead the way through the albeit little but still confusing paths. The center of the maze contained a small clearing with a stone fountain, with benches situated in a circle around it. It would be the ideal setting to set your plan into motion. While you were unfolding your schemes to extract him to a quiet corner, Valarr, your handsome, oblivious Val, was telling you the tale of how he and Matarys used to go fishing on the shores of Dragonstone a few years back. 

The little clearing was empty save for you and your guards, thank the gods. You picked out a bench in the sunlight to sit upon, as the guards stood a few yards away from you. You scooted closer to Valarr, admiring his eyes while he was still innocently chattering on.

“So you see, that is how Mat obtained that scar on his-“

“Val,” you gently interrupted him.

“Huh?” Valarr turned his head towards you, his eyes widening as he finally registered how close your faces were.

You gave him a small smile, and his cheeks flushed bright red, finally understanding why you had brought him there. His eyes flittered between your eyes and lips, his own lips parting slightly in anticipation. He looked so beautiful like this, with his hair gleaming in the sun and his pupils swallowing his mismatched irises. And when your heads were finally, finally inching closer -

something in the hedges moved, bustling the leaves, and let out an unmistakably human groan.

You shrieked, and jolted in your seat. The guards and Valarr stood at alarm, their eyes fixed at the bush where the noise had come from. The guards’ swords were unsheathed as they carefully approached the source. The hedge let out another groan, a little quieter this time.

Then, Valarr’s incredulous voice cut the tension. “Daeron? Is that you in there?”

Your confusion deepened.

An answer came from the shadows of branches and leaves. “Valarr? What-“

Valarr crossed the little clearing in swift, long strides, and crouched down to where the voice had come from. Then, he dragged out a humanoid figure out from the hedge by the scuff of its hood.

Your jaw was hanging open in disbelief as the cloaked man rolled to his back, revealing a head of dirty blond hair, and a pale, sickly looking face.

“How long have you been here, cousin?” Valarr asked, still crouching by his head. Oh. So that would be the famed perpetuously drunken cousin of his.

“‘Dunno, what day is it,” Daeron mumbled, obviously quite hungover. The stench of ale mixed with sweat reached your nose. Valarr only let out a sigh in response.

“Daeron, what have we said before? Three flagons of ale, at the most. And you were to summon guards to accompany you to your chambers if you are unable to reach it yourself.” There was no anger in his eyes, only a fond look of exasperation. 

“’Twas only three and a half, cousin. An’ I was just takin’ a quick nap- this place is too big.” Daeron groaned while an arm came up to shield his eyes from the unforgiving sun. 

Valarr patted his head, and instructed his guard to fetch some help carrying his cousin to his chambers. The guard hurried off, while Daeron’s head rolled in the grass.

“Think I’m dyin’, cus. ’S too bright here, I think-“ Daeron suppressed a gag.

“You’ll be fine, Daeron. ’Tis but a hangover. Maester Archibald will brew you some salted honey lemon tea, that fixes you right up most of the time.” Valarr wiped some sweat off of his cousin’s forehead, then looked up at you with what seemed like an apologetic look. 

Soon, the sounds of boots marching upon the grass rang through the hedge maze. The guards were here for Daeron, who was still sprawled on the ground. They picked him up by his hands and feet with practiced ease, as Valarr rose from where he was crouched, and returned to your side.

“I apologize in his behalf, love. I-“ Valarr scratched the back of his neck.

“’S no matter, Val.” You gave him a reassuring smile, Valarr’s cheeks blooming the most adorable shade of pink at that.

Your betrothed sighed, and looked down to the ground before he finally faced you again, offering you his arm.

“Shall we get back? I am sure my uncle would want to hear where his son has been. He has sent out a search party yesternight to all the taverns in and around the city, and it would certainly ease his.. irritation to know that he has been found.”

Pushing down the disappointment rising in your chest, you gingerly took his arm, and let him lead you out of the garden.

-

III. Interrupted by Ser Whiskers

Your third attempt was more spontaneous, and the idea bloomed whilst you were lounging upon an upholstered settee next to Valarr in the Targaryen’s private library in the Keep. The large, candlelit hall was almost empty aside from you and the two maesters silently reorganising the shelves at the other end of the room. The double doors to the library was wide open; a compromise so you two could spend some quiet moments with only the occupied maesters present to supervise the young couple.

By your insistance, Valarr was reading the early accounts of the rise of the Free Cities in Essos aloud, written hundreds of years ago in High Valyrian. Your back was propped up against an armrest, your legs comfortably folded under you while admiring the excellent view which Valarr provided.

You recalled how you always enjoyed his reading voice, even when you were mere children and he’d read to you from the old tomes of fairytales. Now a man grown, his soft, deep voice rolled through the high-ceilinged room, the rolled r’s and central high vowels of High Valyrian forming a soothing melody. High Valyrian had been included in your education as a child, as it was the case for most children of Lord Paramounts of the realm, but Valarr truly spoke it with a smooth fluency, which was a rare talent in Westeros.

“Zaldrīzāeksia valyrio grozilluni mīsagon, zōbria dōrosì gaomagis,” he read out.

The dragonlords built.. something black to protect the Valyrian borders. You frowned, not recalling the meaning of dōrosì. Like countless other vocabularies, it was flickering at the edge of your memories, just out of your mind’s reach. 

“What does dōrosì mean again, Val?” You asked, hoping Valarr wouldn’t mind you interrupting his reading with the umpteenth inquiry on the meaning of an obscure Valyrian word. 

“Walls,” he answered patiently. “The dragonlords built the Black Walls to guard the borders of Valyria.” Oh, that made sense.

You huffed in frustration. “I’ve forgotten so much of the language, perhaps I should have paid more attention during my lessons.” You crossed your arms, and pouted. 

He was the image of the perfect crown prince, skilled in arms and highly learned on the matters of governance, history, and languages. In contrast, you were just.. you. The eyes of the court had always been unforgiving, and the fear of any displays of imperfection or inadequacy loomed over you like a thundercloud. The eyes of highborn lords and ladies had turned cold and observing once the betrothal had been announced and the wedding preparations had begun, save for a few kind ones who remained. 

“You are already more than proficient, love,” Valarr mused, closing the book shut and scooting closer to you on the armchair. 

"Lies. Blatant lies," you huffed out, furrowing your brows. To your infuriation, it only made Valarr let out a quiet laugh. 

"Do you accuse me of lies, dearest? A crown prince of the realm?" He scooted even closer, prying your hand into his own, amusement clear in his eyes. 

"Yes, and what of it? It is not as if you'd try me for treason," your pout persisted. 

"I'd never," Valarr breathed out, and planted a chaste kiss on your knuckles. "I could absolutely never, love. And you do not have to hold yourself to such high standards. You're already everything I could dream of, and more. You've always been."

"But the court will say-" you protested. 

"The court can go fuck themselves if they have any objections." Valarr said matter-of-factly. 

Your eyebrows rose at the crass language. Your sweet, gentle Valarr was otherwise so soft-spoken. In the background, the maesters flinched at the seldom swear word falling from the young prince's lips. 

"I do not care what they say. I have listened to them dutifully and patiently over many years, however wise or foolish their advices were," Valarr continued, his tone cool and steady. "But this, us, is something I will not tolerate any asinine comments about. If they spread vile words on your adequacy as my future bride, as their future queen, I will have them tried for treason."

Oh, Valarr. Your Valarr. Your beautiful, kind, perfect, valiant Valarr. 

"Perhaps love is making you foolish," you breathed out. 

"Perhaps, but I find that I do not care about that either." Valarr leaned towards you, his eyes flittering between your eyes and lips. As though pulled by some invisible force, you tilted your face towards him as well. 

You felt his breath and the heat radiating off his body on your lips. Your heartbeat was thundering in your ears, and you briefly wondered if he could hear it too. Finally, the sweet, sweet kiss you had been waiting f-

your train of thought was rudely interrupted by a very small, fluffy, orange figure sprinting through the double doors of the library, jumping onto the very settee you and Valarr were sitting on, and fleeting across your laps to climb onto the bookcase situated next to you. 

You and Valarr looked at each other in stunned silence, the tension in the room replaced by the perplexity on what had just happened. The maesters were looking up from the dusty tomes as well, as the peace and tranquility of their workplace was under threat by some unidentified creature. 

Then, as if to explain the situation, a small shock of silver-gold hair burst into the room, proceeded by the pitter-patter of his boots on the stone floor. 

"No, Ser Whiskers! Bad Cat! That's not a room for pets! C'mere, ser!" Egg called out, rushing to the bottom of the bookcase upon which his cat was perched. He pleaded, but the cat seemed indifferent to the distress of the other inhabitants of the library. 

"Hello, Egg," Valarr greeted calmly, having regained his composure and re-established a respectful distance between your body and his. 

"Hello cousin, my lady," Egg replied, eyes still firmly trained on Ser Whiskers, his hands reaching out for the cat who still showed no sign of obedience. "Ser Whiskers will not come down, could you give me a hand?" Indeed, his small stature wouldn't allow his hands to reach the cat's perch. 

Valarr got up from the settee, a fond smile on his lips despite the disappointment blooming in his chest. He approached the cat calmly, and extended his hand to carefully test the waters. His arms were just long enough to reach Ser Whiskers comfortably. 

The orange cat inspected the man in front of him with a skeptical look, unmoving as Valarr cooed soothing words to it and patiently waited. Finally, Ser Whiskers yawned, and relaxed his posture. Taking it as a reluctant acceptance, Valarr gently scooped it up in his hands, and whispered a polite thank you to the cat before handing it to Egg. 

Egg was delighted to hold the cat back in his arms, and enthusiastically shouted his thanks to Valarr. 

"Ser Whiskers, you must not enter this room again, it is not for cats." The little prince scolded the cat, though the effect was minimized by his fond smile. 

"Ser Whiskers? Is your cat a knight, Prince Egg?" You mused, raising an eyebrow at the cat's title. 

At the inquiry to his cat's name, Egg's eyes lit up in joy. "Yes! I had Daeron knight him, he is the best cat at catching rats, and he can be quite fearsome." He explained, making you giggle at the mental imagery of his perpetually drunken brother knighting a very fluffy orange cat. 

"Anyway, I better be going now. My father would be quite cross if he'd heard that Ser Whiskers made it into the family's library." Egg said, turning to the doors with his cat still held in his arms. "Goodbye cousin, my lady," and he was off. 

Valarr sat back down at your side, picking the book back up and placing it on his lap. When your eyes met, he let out an exasperated smile. The tension in the room had left, leaving the atmosphere feeling like a deflated balloon. 

"This is getting ridiculous, love." Valarr shook his head lightly. 

Indeed it was. Who would've thought that sneaking a private little kiss would be faced with such obstacles? 

-

IV. The one time it worked out

The night air was cool on your cheeks as you strolled through the open corridors of the Red Keep, overlooking the main courtyard. All the wedding preparations were getting to you, the incessant viewings of fabric for your dress, your veil, your maiden's cloak, then came the choice of tablecloth, draperies, and cloth napkins. Your mother and Lady Jena were kind enough to be present at every step, offering their experienced expertise when it came to organizing feasts. Though you were not ungrateful for their assistance and support, the lack of any kind of quiet time for yourself was becoming suffocating. 

By the morrows, seamstresses measured every inch of your body, holding up various fabrics against your body and comparing the way they complemented your skin. In the afternoons, there were lessons on history of house Targaryen and their customs, as though you had not learned them several times over in your childhood. And as if these lessons were not tortuous enough, new septas were assigned to you to instruct you on the matters of marriage and your duty to your husband. By evenfall, you felt as though you'd been thoroughly nitpicked, observed under a magnifying glass, and talked about as if your body was merely a piece of meat. 

As a form of protest, you insisted on taking a stroll around the Keep, with only one of your household guards to chaperone you. As always, he kept his distance, but his constant, surveilling gaze pinpricked the back of your neck. You stubbornly ignored his presence, and convinced yourself to enjoy the little bit of peace you had garnered yourself. 

As you turned a sharp corner, you slammed face-first into a much broader, firmer chest than your own. As you yelped and stumbled backwards, a pair of rough, but warm hands steadied you by your arms. Your gaze trailed upwards, irritation threatening to boil over after the last straw that had just been pulled. But when you identified who it was that was standing before you, your temper melted away like snow under the spring sun. Your guard, who had sprung into attention, relaxed as well upon recognising his face. 

"Good evening, love." Valarr's face was lit with the warm fires of braziers, the sharp lines of his face lit in a yellow gold sheen, while the cloudy, moonless night sky painted dark blue shadows. His eyes were slightly sunken from his own exhaustion, no doubt only now having left the council chambers after a grueling day.

"Good evening, Val." Your face split into a grin; he truly was a sight for sore eyes after an exhausting day. 

"Should you be out of your chambers at this hour?" He cocked an eyebrow, but there was no apprehension in his tone, only a slight tease. 

"Should you, your grace?" Your grin widened, as you were aware of how uncomfortable Valarr got when you called him by his title. Valarr shook his head, but he failed to suppress a small smile creeping up at your teasing tone. 

"Come, if you are to be out and about at this hour, at least let me escort you." The excuse was so blatant that you had to resist from snorting out a laugh. You were in the Red Keep after all, and the countless guards stationed at near all corridors were more than enough protection. Nevertheless, you eagerly took his arm, and kept walking the way you were initially headed in. 

Your guards exchanged looks, but held their tongue, and began to follow you some paces behind.  Valarr's body heat was quite pleasant in the cool evening air, his arm a solid anchor for your exhausted mind. 

“How are the preparations treating you, love?” He asked, the term of affection falling freely from his lips, as though it was the most natural thing. 

“Poorly, if I am to be frank,” you sighed. “Although, I must admit that there are crueler fates in this world. I am only whinging about insignificant problems, the coddled highborn lady I am.”

“You’re not simply whinging,” Valarr protested. “The few months before a wedding are always grueling for anybody.” 

“Could be so,” you huffed. “Sometimes, I just wish for a few moments of solitude, you know. Some peace and quiet. It seems ages ago that we’ve had any quiet moments to ourselves, Val.”

Valarr hummed, and looked as though he was weighing something in his mind. After a few moments, he stopped in his tracks, and looked back to the guards.

“The lady and I do not have further need of you, sers. You are dismissed for the evening.” His voice was soft, yet carried an air of authority.

“My prince, I fear that would be unadvisable. To leave you to walk alone at this hour-“ His guard stuttered out.

“I am more than capable of protecting her and myself. If it is improperness that worries you so, I fear your concerns would be for naught as well. Do you truly believe I would dishonor my betrothed in these open corridors, where there are guards posted every few yards?” Valarr interrupted, his voice remaining calm and steady.

“No, my prince.” The guard lowered his gaze.

“Then do us a kindness, and relieve yourselves of your duties for the night. I will see her escorted to her chambers unharmed, and with her honor intact.” His tone was final.

You raised your eyebrows at your soft-spoken, dutiful prince using his authority for his own gain. This was highly irregular, and amused you to no end. You suppressed a giggle as the guards walked away, your shoulders shaking slightly.

“Have I said something amusing?” Valarr asked as you started walking again, his eyes twinkling under the torchlight and the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. 

“Nothing, my gracious prince,” you teased, “I just appreciate having you all to myself now.”

Your steps carried you to the entrance to the godswood at the heart of the Keep. The guards at the gate bowed at the sight of Valarr, and let you through without question.

"Ser Meron, Ser Willam, if I hear of any whispers on this, I shall know it came from you. You are not to speak of our presence here to a single soul." Valarr calmly ordered the guards. The guards tensed at being addressed to by their names by the prince, but sternly nodded in agreement.

The godswood took up a whole acre of space, and its existence, placed dead center of the castle always fascinated you.

“These woods seemed to stretch out endlessly when I was little,” you breathed out. “Always felt as if it was a whole, separate world inside of the Keep.”

“It sort of is,” Valarr replied. “I still remember the games we used to play, and the stories we used to read together. Here, I did not have to think of future duties, nor of my position as a crown prince. It was just the two of us.” His eyes seemed to look into the distance, as if recalling the little boy back then, who had been carrying the weight of his inheritance ever since he could speak in full sentences. 

“To be frank, it was mostly you reading to me, while I pestered you to reread my favourites for the fiftieth time”, you laughed, leaning against his shoulder as you walked. 

“I didn’t mind, love. I never did. Would have read them to you hundred times over, even back then.” Valarr stated, as though it was a mere fact. Then, he came to a stop in front of the heart tree, a nostalgic look in his face.

You heart stuttered at that. Your eyes found his, and he turned his head to meet your gaze. The godswood was only lit faintly by the moon, which had finally peaked its face out from behind the clouds. Valarr let go of your arm to stand before you, brushing out a rogue strand of hair out of your face, and tucking it behind your ear. You reached for his hand, his right hand, before he could drop it back to his side. You gingerly held his hand in your own, and placed a soft kiss on his palm. At that, his body went rigid.

Turning his hand over to inspect the children’s sized signet ring on his little finger, you smiled fondly at the memory of the day you’d gifted it to him all these years ago. Your thumb traced your family’s sigil upon it mindlessly as you looked up at his face.

“I ought to get you another one of these, this is just far too small now.” You murmured.

“I’m keeping this one, dearest. It’s from you.” 

“Well, at least let the goldsmith resize it for you. Then, you may be able to wear it on your middle or pointer finger again.” You compromised, his hand still firmly in your hold.

“As you wish, my love.” Valarr breathed out, closing the distance between your bodies, and slipping his hand out of your grasp to gently cup your face.

You were transfixed by Valarr’s mismatched eyes staring straight through your soul, his lips slightly parted in anticipation. As he leaned down to finally, finally close the distance, your eyes fluttered shut and you brought your hands up to rest on his broad chest. 

When his plush lips finally met yours, the initial contact sent an electric buzz down your entire body. Your lips moved clumsily against each other, and you felt Valarr’s hand on your jaw tremble slightly, as though he was afraid to somehow break the divinity of the moment with a too rash touch of his hand. As you pushed your body even closer against his, his free hand came to rest on the small of your back, gently pulling you impossibly closer against himself. Your breaths mixed with one another, your head spinning from either the lack of air or the intoxicating touch of his lips.

As your lips reluctantly parted from each other, you let out a quiet, giddy laugh. Valarr rested his forehead against yours, his breath lightly brushing against your skin. 

“Gods, finally,” you giggled, cheeks flushed and your chest heaving.

Valarr let out a small laugh at that, and pressed a kiss onto your forehead. “I love you,” he whispered, as though he was saying a prayer.

“I love you too, Val. In case that was not clear.” You leaned back to look up at him, flashing him a bright smile. He pulled you into another kiss at your confession, with only the heart tree and the moon peeking from between the clouds as witness.

-

Notes: here's a snippet about my favourite couple to write about! Thank you all for the love for the main fic, every single reblog and comment warmed my heart so so dearly🥰

Valarr was sitting by the heart tree, watching the other children play come-into-my-castle from afar. The little prince, at the green age of five, was fidgeting with the hem of his cloak with his little fingers, wishing but not daring to join the game. In the middle of the makeshift castle's borders made out of tree branches, Aelor, his cousin, only one year his elder, was holding his court with a young courtier's son. Around them were at least five to six other children of the Keep, shouting out their suggestions for the identity of the lord of the keep. 

"By your weirwood tree you can only be the bannerman of Lord Tully, Lord Bracken, and so I name you" the courtier's little son declared at the entrance of the tree branch castle, his chest puffed out in certainty. 

"Wrong! You're all wrong! I'm Lord Blackwood, you've got my sigil all wrong!" Aelor shouted out in joy, pumping his small fist in the air. "Nobody made it into my castle, so I win!"

Valarr got up from his observation post, and timidly made his way to the group of boys. "Aelor, I want to play too! Maester Archibald said that I am good at learning the sigils of the houses! I could.." 

"No! we don't have any more space for you, cousin. We're already too many, and we have to wait so long for our turns", Aelor cut him off. The older princeling had never liked his cousin very much, his mismatched blue and brown eyes and dark brown hair with only a thin streak of white drawing a stark contrast to the rest of his family. Everybody else had beautiful, pure Valyrian features, even Daeron, with his dirty blond hair, had lilac eyes to show for it. But Valarr looked half Dornish in coloring, just like his father Baelor.

Rejection stung Valarr's eyes, especially after he had been so brave to get up and ask the boys to play. As he nodded and made his way back to the heart tree, a small hand reached out and tapped on his shoulder. 

When he turned around, he came face to face with you, a child of five as well. You had a big grin on your face, eyes twinkling and hair done up in a braided bun. He knew you from sight; your mother had come to court recently with her household to be a companion to his own mother. 

"Our mothers are friends, so we should be friends too!" You exclaimed, "we're going to play monsters and maidens, you should come play with us!" You waved at the little group of boys and girls a few yards away. 

Valarr blushed at the invitation. Though children were careless beings, they weren't careless enough to disregard the obvious hierarchy between their parents. Other children were taught to be weary of accidentally injuring him; leading to most other children's hesitation to let him into their games. He felt addressed to as an ordinary child for the first time in his short life, and grasped his first chance at a friendship with his small hands. 

When he nodded, you took his hand in yours, shouted out to your little group of friends that he "absolutely had to join" your game of chase, and hurriedly dragged him to them. 

That was the first time he felt the warm, fluttering happiness of making a new, genuine friend. 

-

The two of you were fast friends, soon inseparable apart from the hours spent at your lessons. When Valarr would curl up with a fairytale book under a tree, his little head already adept with his letters, — maesters called him a prodigy, already reading deftly and starting to write at only five years of age —  you'd sprawl out next to him and listen to him read aloud stories of knights, dragons, and princesses, begging him to read you another story before supper time. 

"If we were the princess and the knight from the story, we could befriend the dragon instead of killing it", you mumbled, staring into the leaves rustling in the wind and the bright blue sky. "We could fly away on the dragon, and build a castle on a beautiful unknown island. Then we'd only eat cake, and go on adventures all the time, just the three of us. We'd declare the island ours, and nobody else would be allowed in!"

Valarr's cheeks flushed pink. You liked it when he blushed, you liked pink and you liked Valarr's squishy cheeks. It was a great combination. 

"But what about our families?" He lightly furrowed his brows. Valarr, the little prince, so dutiful even at his age. 

"They could still visit us whenever they want, they're family!" You exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing. "

"That'd be nice", he smiled lightly, already envisioning your castle on an island far away, living with you, the dragon, and flying into the sunset for adventures. He'd be your knight, and you'd be his princess. He'd protect you from any harm and get you all the lemon cakes you wanted. 

-

198AC

When Valarr's sixth nameday came, you'd already been six for three whole moon cycles. By then, you'd been inseparable for almost a year, and your families were completely endeared by your friendship.

You woke up on the morrow buzzing from excitement for your closest companion's nameday, almost vibrating in your chair while breaking your fast with your parents. They suggested visiting prince Baelor's family in his solar to bring his son's nameday present, a richly ornamented saddle for his pony.

"Val's six too now, Papa!" you cried out, elated by the thought of being allowed to visit your friend so early in the morning. 

"That he is, my darling." His eyes crinkled in amusement. 

You were practically bouncing at the door when your household set out from your quarters, running laps around your parents and the servants holding the big boxes meant for Valarr. 

When your little procession arrived at the door to Baelor's solar, you sprinted off and nimbly sidestepped the poor startled guards at the door, slamming the doors open and running into the room to see your dearest friend. 

"Happy nameday Val!" You shouted, running straight at him and hugging him tightly. The impact of the hug was great enough that he let out a huff of breath, and only croaked out a quiet "thank you". 

Behind you, your parents were apologizing to the guards, but entered nevertheless, and greeted the heir's household. The servants placed the present boxes on the floor next to the gift pile, then bowed before they took their leave.

"My prince, dear Jena, we wish you the jolliest and the most blessed nameday for Prince Valarr. Apologies for our daughter's.. overflowing enthusiasm to congratulate his little grace." 

Your mother dipped into a curtsy, your father bowing his head next to her. 

Lady Jena was having none of the formalities, and crossed the room in quick steps to greet your mother in a hug, followed by two quick kisses on the cheeks. "Thank you dearly to you both for the lovely wishes, that is most kind. And Baelor and I are simply delighted that our children are so close. It endears me greatly that their friendship blooms so wonderfully just as ours did."

As the adults sat on the high-backed lounge chairs while discussing their mysterious adult topics, Valarr and you padded to his little brother's crib, Valarr wishing to introduce you to his mere 3-weeks old baby brother. 

"He's so little", you wondered at his impossibly tiny hands and feet. 

"His name is Matarys", Valarr introduced him. "Matarys, this here is my closest friend", he then solemnly introduced you to the little newborn, stating your given and family name to the babe as if the little one was to remember it. You giggled at that, and played with his tiny hands. 

"Do you want to open the gifts with me?" Valarr suggested, pointing at the high-piled boxes of gifts from the entire realm. 

You nodded, excited at unboxing the undoubtedly beautiful gifts sent to the crown prince. You both sat at the foot of the pile cross-legged, delightedly tearing through the delicate packaging and revealing the gifts one by one. There was a bejeweled dagger, the pommel a golden dragon's head with a ruby in its open maw. The next was a beautifully stitched doublet, made of shining black and red velvet. Your parents had gifted him a gilded saddle and bridle for his pony, with jeweled ornaments running through the straps. As you looked through the gifts, your face suddenly saddened. 

"What's the matter?" Valarr asked, his brows scrunching up in concern. 

"I have nothing to gift you", you murmured, fidgeting with your necklace. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, commissioned by Baelor at Valarr's insistent demand for your last nameday. The fine golden chain held a delicate pendant, a huge blue topaz placed between winding golden vines. Baelor and Jena had gifted you a matching diadem, a masterpiece done by the castle's goldsmith with blue topaz ornaments and swirling ivy vines. 

You regretted not insisting on getting Valarr a present of your own, especially as he had asked his father to commission something so beautiful just for you three moons ago. 

Valarr's eyebrows furrowed further in confusion. "Your parents have already gifted me the saddle and bridle. You have no need to get me anything else."

You shook your head, and looked down to the floor in consideration. Then, you took your ring off your pointer finger, a small signet ring with your family's sigil on it. 

"I can't take that, that's yours." Valarr shook his head.

"Yes you can, I have many other rings just like this", you insisted as you took his left hand and slid it onto his index finger. "Also, now you have a gift from just me, which is good because best friends should always gift each other things for their namedays."

Valarr flushed while looking down at the signet ring on his finger. He didn't protest any longer, and smiled shyly at you. "Thank you. I'll always cherish it." He nodded solemnly with his promise. 

-

The idea came to you on a sunny day, when you were both lying in the grass, out of breath from the last game of monster and maiden. The two of you hadn't found any other children to join you, already tied up in other games or off to lessons. But playing only with Valarr was just as fun as with the whole group, his company always beat everybody else's. You were looking up at the clouds, thinking that they looked like a herd of sheep traversing a light blue lake.

Suddenly, the idea struck you. 

“Val,” you called, and he hummed in response. “We should get married when we’re older.”

Valarr craned his neck around to look at you, confusion evident in his eyes.

“If we get married, we could be best friends like this forever. Just the two of us. Septa Marya says that one day, my parents will choose a Lord for me to marry, but I don’t want to do that. We could get married like the princess and the knight, and go on adventures and see all the wonders of the world, just like in the books.” You continued, still gazing up at the clouds, imagining the scenes from the fairytales.

He smiled at that. “Yes, we should get married when we’re grownups. I’d like that. Maybe we could go sailing across the Jade Sea, I read that dragons still live there.”

You sat up, looking at him with a smile blooming on your face. "Do you promise?"

"I promise. On my honor." He sat up to face you, and nodded with all the solemness a six-year-old could muster. 

"We need a more serious promise, though. In case we grow up and forget", you added. 

Valarr hummed in agreement. "We could make a vow on the parchment. My father says that a promise made with words on a parchment and then sealed with the houses' sigils are binding." 

"If you want to promise to marry me", he quickly added, a soft blush creeping onto his cheeks. "You don't have to if you don't want to." But your excitement took momentum, and now you were consumed by the idea of being being friends with Valarr forever, without having to marry someone you did not know yet like Septa Marya said. 

"I want to! We have to get married Val, it would be the best thing! But," you hesitated. "How would we make the vow? I don't know how that works."

"I saw a parchment at my father's desk once, I can do it. We just need the big signet rings from our fathers so we can stamp the seals." Val's so smart, you marveled. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent with barely muffled giggles and whispers, as Valarr fleshed out the plan for you. Your little conspiracy meeting only ended when your mothers each sent their maidservants to collect you for supper; even then, you parted ways reluctantly.

-

The two of you chose to execute your plan while the royal party was on a hunting trip. Your parents would be absent from the Keep, with only the servants and the maester or septa to keep watch over you. It would almost be too easy to sneak off to the Hand's Tower and draft an unofficial official document. 

After your parents left the Keep, you sneaked to the solar, where your father's velvet doublet hung over the backrest of a chaise longue. When you patted the breast pocket, where you had observed your father tucking his ring into before riding off to the kingswood, you felt the distinct shape of a ring under your fingers. You pocketed it, evading the eyes of the maidservants. Your heart was beating wildly, and your hands were visibly shaking, never having taken something without leave before like this. But as you left the quarters and headed to the Hand's Tower, the anxiety soon turned into giddiness, with your giggles barely contained as you skipped the rest of the way. 

This felt like an adventure, a mischief, something that the characters from your fairytale did. Like a princess outwitting a cruel witch to reverse her spells, or a young knight valiantly stealing the keys to the cage of his one true love from the pockets of the sleeping giant. If you did this, you and Valarr could live out your dreams, never separated from each other's closest friend. 

Valarr was waiting at the door to his father's office, grinning widely from excitement. The door was not locked by some wonder, and the two of you padded in to the chamber, giggling and whispering from the excitement. 

Valarr sat himself in his father's chair, sitting at the edge of the seat so he'd be able to reach over the desk, while you sprawled across the armchair, facing him. "So what now?" You asked. Valarr was the mastermind of this plan, after all. 

"Now, we write our promises", Valarr stated, pulling out a blank parchment from a drawer after searching for a moment. He dipped the quill into the inkpot, and his hand hovered over the empty page. "Are you sure?" He raised his eyebrows, seeking your confirmation with a hint of insecurity in his expression. 

"Yes! It's going to be amazing when we're married, Val. We're going to go see the God's Eye, the Free Cities, and have a baker make us treats for all meals!" You giggled. Your priorities clearly stood with confectioneries tied to the royal sugar bakers.

"I am going to need to see how to write just like father does", Valarr mumbled as he pulled a parchment with a filled out contract — something about orchards and taxes — and a seal stamped upon it, "it needs to look official."

Valarr was now leaning over the parchment, occasionally looking over to his reference material, brows furrowed in concentration so the letters would be as orderly as possible. While he painstakingly wrote down the short terms of your contract, you were busy lying across the armchair and listing off all the things you wanted to do once you were grown up. Valarr, ever the polite, dutiful child, made sure to answer with "yes, sure" or a hum every once in a while. 

Once done, he pushed the parchment filled with his over to you, his eyes shining with pride. On top of the parchment, both of your names were listed with the proper titles. 

This contract made on the fifth day of the seventh moon of year 198 AC between the two persons parties above binds them in a pact of marriage. When Prince Valarr Targaryen comes of age, the two parties will be joined in marriage in a sacred ceremony. 

This agreement is valid in every corcom circumstance without conditions.

Signed,

Valarr Targaryen 

Your lips moved quietly as you sounded the words out, stumbling over the unfamiliar words. Next to his signature at the bottom of the page, the three-headed dragon of his house was drawn clumsily. 

"What is a pact?" You lifted your eyes, curious over the new word.

"I think it means an agreement or promise in official words, I found it on this sheet." Valarr waved the other parchment in his hand. 

You nodded, quietly marveling at Valarr's adeptness with his letters. The words sounded so grown-up; and the penmanship was slightly wonky, but to you, it looked as perfect as any. 

"Now what?" You asked again. 

"Now you sign your name, and we stamp it. Then, it's official." Valarr said solemnly. 

You took the quill from his hand, and dipped it into the ink. Septa Marya had shown you how to write your name, stating that it was the foremost essential thing a lady should be able to spell. You pressed the tip of the quill into the page, your effort evident in your furrowed brows and tongue sticking out of the side of your mouth. The signature was a little shaky, but it was written in your best cursive, and you reckoned Septa Marya would be proud. Then, you scribbled the sigil of your house next to it, just as Valarr had. 

"Now, we stamp", Valarr put the stick of black wax on the desk, a slight look of hesitation on his face. He was afraid of burning his fingers on it, but he tried his best not to show it as he heated it against the candlelight and dripped the wax onto the parchment. He then rummaged through the drawers and produced a big signet ring, which he then pressed into the wax. You watched, fascinated by the process. Elated, you took the wax from his hand and copied his actions, stamping your father's signet ring into the little pool of wax. 

"Is it done? Is it official now?" You bounced in your seat, clapping your hands from excitement while Valarr blew on the seals to dry them. 

"It is", he confirmed once he was done, a big grin splitting his face. You squealed, then pulled him down from his father's chair to hug him tightly. You were going to marry Valarr, and now you were going to be best friends with him until the end of days. 

-

The news of your departure from King's Landing came abruptly on a cloudy afternoon. Your parents had summoned you to the solar after your lessons, and sat you down on the armchair across from them with a serious look on their face. 

Your initial confusion faded and a feeling of despair and sadness descended upon you as they explained that you'd all have to return home. As they went on about the inheritance conflicts between the minor houses of your region and how they, as their liege, would have to be present to manage the quarrels, your mind wandered to everything you’d be leaving behind. What of your friends here? What of the delicious cakes and beautiful gardens? And most importantly, what of Valarr, your best friend? 

Their faces blurred as your eyes welled up with tears. Although you pressed your lips together to appear brave, a helpless sob wrenched itself from your mouth. 

Your mother noticed your distressed state, leaving her seat to kneel before your armchair and hug you tightly until you'd calmed. Your mother's hand drew slow circles on your back, whispering words of consolation. 

"When do we leave?" You asked as your mother loosed her hug, teardrops clinging to your lashes. 

"In four days, at daybreak." Your father had a look of sadness as well, knowing that his daughter had found true, close friends at court. His guilt at having to tear you away from them due to his and your mother's duties as lord and lady paramount apparent in his expression. He’d always been exceptionally lenient to his only daughter’s wishes, but now he was faced with a wish he could not possibly fulfill.

But the promise. What of the promise with Valarr? You were going to get married. Panic washed over you. 

"But what about Valarr? We were going to get married. I promised him," the truth spilled out of you with a new wave of tears. You let out a poorly contained sob, and your mother held you again in her arms as you buried your face in her shoulders. 

"I'm sorry, sweetling. We both are. But sadly, it cannot be helped." She patted your back, assuming the talk of marriage was simply a talk of a child's whimsy, a play-pretend between two children. Children could be quite imaginative when playing, after all. 

You sniffled, but nodded. No more fairytale readings with Valarr, no more playing lord of the crossing or monsters and maidens with the children of the court — and Valarr, of course —, and no more pony rides with your parents and Prince Baelor's household. Your little heart ached from the farewell, but you knew you could not stay when your parents were returning to your ancestral home.

When you took your leave to go to the godswood, your eyes were still red and swollen from the tears. Valarr spotted you from afar, and got up from his seat under the heart tree — our seat, you thought — to greet you, but his face fell when he saw your expression. He placed the fairytale tome on the ground, and walked up to you to meet you halfway. 

"What's the matter?" His eyes searched your face, seemingly trying to guess the source of your distress from your look alone. 

"We're leaving, Val. Mama and Papa just told me", you choked out, the lump in your throat from suppressing another sob growing almost painful. 

His eyes widened at first, then fell into a sad frown. "But you're coming back, right?" he asked hopefully. 

"I don't know", the corners of your mouth tilted down even further, "could be months, years 'till  we get back.”

His gaze fell to the ground, his lips pulled into a taught, downward frown mirroring yours. He started fidgeting with the ring on his index finger, your signet ring on his index finger. 

"It's going to be okay", he tried to be reassuring, though his voice shook slightly. "We took a vow, remember? When we're grown up, we'll get married, and we'll see each other again then. I will make sure of it."

"Promise?" Your voice trembled. 

"Promise." Valarr nodded. Your Valarr. Your dearest, closest friend in the world. You nodded back, and you walked together to the heart tree, settling into your usual seats, and Valarr opened the book to read out your favorite story anew for the umpteenth time, the one about the princess, the knight, and the fearsome dragon. 

-

208 AC

You sat on the terrace of your ancestral home, overlooking the gardens. The warm, early spring breeze threaded through your hair, the sun shining gently over your skin. The gardeners were working tirelessly, planting saplings and flower seeds for them to bloom once summer came. The watered wine on the side table had grown lukewarm under the sun’s rays, the open book in your lap laid forgotten as you watched the gardeners work their magic.

“My lady,” your maidservant called gently from behind you. “Your lord father wishes for you to join for afternoon tea in his solar now.”

You simply nodded, closing the book shut and placing it on the side table to stand up from your comfortable seat. Your mind was still firmly with the gardens, and what it would look like once the fruit tree saplings and the flowers bloomed. You hoped that there were peach trees among those planted today, peach tarts were truly one of the most delicious creations in the whole realm.

When you reached the double doors to your father’s solar, you waved off the guard’s question to whether he should announce your arrival, and swung the doors open yourself. Your parents were already seated at the tea table, lounging comfortably while leading a hushed discussion with smiles on their faces. You chose a chaise longue to sprawl on, and picked up a lime biscuit to nibble on.

“Father, mother, what might be the joyous matter you are discussing?” You raised an eyebrow, ignoring all the crumbs that were spilling all over your gown.

“We have royal invitations to the Red Keep, we leave in a sennight’s time,” your mother turned to you, a smile spreading on her face at the thought of visiting her dear friend, Lady Jena. “It will be marvelous to return there, do you remember when we spent a year at the Keep? You used to have quite a few friends there as a girl.”

You vaguely recalled the hazy memories, already a decade past now. Running through the godswood, learning to ride a pony, the games played with the other children, and the stories read under the heart tree.

“I remember,” you smiled, “I was devastated when we left. I think I had quite a nice time there.”

“You did,” your father smiled fondly. “And we think it would be nice for us to visit again. Your mother has missed Lady Jena’s company dearly, and you could reunite with your childhood companions. We would like for you to accompany us to the Red Keep.”

Your mind then jogged a deep-seated memory, Valarr. Your Valarr, who had been one of your dearest childhood companions. You remembered his plump cheeks, the curious white streak through his hair, and his mismatched eyes. For a few months after your departure, you had exchanged ravens - you had help from Septa Marya to write your letters - but, as children go, the contact had dwindled slowly. But he had always held a fond, nostalgic space in your heart. 

The idea of seeing your childhood friend was not entirely unpleasant, you decided. You pouted in consideration, then asked: “What is the occasion, anyway?”

“The King has declared a royal tournament in honor of Prince Valarr’s sixteenth nameday. There will be plenty of our bannermen participating, and some of your cousins. You will not lack in company whilst we reside there.” Your father explained.

“And it would be a marvelous opportunity to find you a match! You’re a woman grown, love, and perhaps a handsome Lord or knight would catch your fancy,” your mother added joyfully.

You weighed the pros and cons on your mental scale, your pout persisting as you looked down at your tea cup. The long carriage ride to the Red Keep sounded dreadfull, but the occasion did seem quite merry. Plus, if you were lucky enough, you could secure a match of your preference as to avoid marrying an old, wrinkly Lord as some of your lady acquaintances had. Finally, you gave a nod in agreement.

“Wonderful! Remember darling, we leave in a sennight. Make sure to instruct your maids to pack your prettiest gowns! Oh, what a beautiful feast it will be,” your mother clapped her hands in elation, then sighed with a dreamy look. Your mother did always regard these occasions with her typical sense of whimsy, and her excitement to revisit her old friend, Lady Jena, only fanned her joy.

You nodded and smiled, perhaps it would indeed be nice to visit the place from your childhood again.

-

As the guests to his nameday tournament continued to stream in through the Red Keep’s gate, his eyes searched through the processions, his ears perking up at every announcement of the stewards. Most guests were arriving many days in advance to the festivities, but the presence he was most looking forward to was nowhere to be seen yet, despite the letter of acceptance sent by a raven days ago. He fidgeted nervously with the little signet ring on his right little finger, the child's ring now being too small for any other digit. 

As he mechanically greeted the arriving Lords and Ladies, his mind kept wandering off to the neatly folded piece of parchment in his desk drawer. Only three more days, he reminded himself. Only three more days before his nameday, and there would be no more proposals of marriage pacts from houses he cared little for, no more dutifully reviewing the portraits sent from every corner of the realm, and he could finally declare his intentions before his family and the council.

As the sun started hanging low, his hopes for the day were starting to dwindle as well, before he spotted a procession in the distance, the unmistakable flag whipping in the wind with your sigil proudly stitched upon it. His heart leapt up in anticipation, but he commanded himself to remain steady at his father’s side.

It seemed to take an eternity for the carriage to finally pass through the gates and spill out its inhabitants. As he duly noted your father and your mother stepping out of the carriage, his eyes were tirelessly searching for your familiar face. When he finally spotted you, it felt as if the gods had slowed time before his eyes. 

It had been almost a decade since you last saw each other. He had been besotted with you then, a simple playground child’s fancy, but now, the woman grown walking towards him, carelessly exchanging jests with your parents, snatched his breath away from his lungs and left him gasping for air. Time had changed you, but at the same time, it hadn’t changed you at all. The childish features had left your face, leaving behind a delicate, lovely visage, seemingly carved by the Maiden herself. The curvature of your nose, dropping into a philtrum and smoothing into the arch of your lips had stayed exactly the same as he remembered, as had the playful glint in your eyes. 

As the rounds of greeting went by and you came to stand in front of him, he felt as if the gods had grasped him from the present and placed him back in time, standing dejected by Aelor in the godswood, as you tapped on his shoulder for the first time and invited him to join your group to play. He had fallen back then — as hard as a six-year-old with no real understanding of love could fall — but now he was helplessly spiraling again as you dipped into a curtsy before him. 

"Prince Valarr," you greeted, his name falling from your lips sounded like the sermon bells of the Great Sept themselves to his ears. 

"My lady," he collected himself and steadied his voice, "it is good to see you again after all this time." With all the grace himself, he carefully took your hand — a beautiful hand, he remarked — and kissed the back of it lightly. He could only hope that the slight nervous tremor would go unnoticed by you. When his gaze lifted to your face again, his eyes trailed down to your neck, where the blue topaz was glinting in the notch between your collarbones. The embers in his heart were fanned into a full-blown flame as he recognized the pendant, his pendant, a sign of his childish affection for you from a decade ago. You had kept it. What's more, you were wearing it even after all this time. 

"As it is to see you," you smiled at his recognition, "I still hold our memories of childhood quite dearly." To anyone else, it might have come across as simple courtesy, but to Valarr, the fact that you held fond memories of him felt like salvation granted by the Seven themselves. 

Valarr would have been content to stand there for the rest of eternity, holding your hand loosely in his grasp, looking at your face as the setting sun graced your skin with a golden glow. But as the round of greeting went by, he was forced to let you go, and greet the rest of your household in tow. 

Then, he heard his mother speak words to your mother that sounded as though angels were descending from the heavens and blowing horns: "Dearest, it has been way too long! Oh, how I have missed you so. We must meet for a family afternoon tea, just our two households." She held your mother's hands in her own two hands, both giddy at the long-awaited reunion. 

"Of course, Jena. Whenever you'd like. I'm sure my husband and my daughter would greatly enjoy it as well." Your mother beamed, and it was decided. Your two households would take afternoon tea in two days' time, in the privacy of the royal gardens. Valarr stole a glance at you, and his heart stuttered at your soft smile. 

-

On the day after your arrival, you sat in the gardens under the white marble pergola with the other young ladies of court, as would be expected of you. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the upcoming tourney, which was no grand wonder as the castle seemed to be buzzing in preparations for it. The first day was set to be on the prince's nameday, with all the champions' jousts taking place on that day. The next few days would consist of melées and lower ranked jousts. You sat next to an old acquaintance of yours, a daughter of a bannerman of your father, only a year your senior, making her seventeen years of age. 

"Oh, I hope Ser Devin will ask for my favor! How dreamy that would be," she looked into the distance with her eyes glazed over. Currently, she was swooning over your eldest cousin, who was part of a junior branch of your house and stood first in line to inherit his father's lands and castles. Personally, you did not understand the appeal, but politely smiled and nodded as to not spoil her fun.

"And are you looking forward to seeing any specific knights in the tilts, my lady?" A girl your age sitting on your other side inquired. If your memory serves you right, she was the daughter of a Stormlord. 

"Oh, well I suppose I will cheer for my cousins, of course," you said, as it was common courtesy, "but otherwise, I must say that I am not quite sure yet. Perhaps the knights of the Kingsguard, they are famed to be the most magnificent knights of the realm, after all."

Some ladies sitting in your vicinity nodded at that. A girl you did not recognize started with a faint flush on her cheeks: "I most certainly am excited to see Prince Valarr in the lists, he is the very picture of chivalry, not to mention how handsome he is!" Murmurs rose in agreement. 

Well, you could not deny her on that front. Valarr had definitely grown into his features; soft, pudgy cheeks had long been replaced by sharp, carved lines. His mismatched eyes he used to be insecure about only added to his handsome face. But frankly, you had a hard time imagining the sweet, timid boy from your childhood being so gallant in the lists. 

"The Prince comes of age upon the first day of the tourney, I wonder what sorts of arrangements will be made in regards to choosing a match for him. How dreamy it would be to marry such a handsome prince! He is even the heir's heir, as if his gallantry and handsome were not enough." Another lady spoke out wistfully. 

"Well, if it is his affection you are seeking, I am afraid we'd all be out of luck on that front," lamented a slim, brunette girl, surely a few years your senior. "He's already been presented with hundreds of potential matches and it's said that he turned down every single one of them, one of them from my own family."

"So do you suppose he simply has no intention to marry?" Your lady acquaintance's eyes widened. 

"Aye, or I reckon he has a paramour, every man has desires, after all," snicked the brunette girl. 

You frowned, as that sounded highly unlikely for Valarr, but held your tongue. As if the sweet, gentlest boy you used to know would ever dishonor himself and a woman that way. 

"Whoever that woman is, I do greatly envy her," another girl you did not recognize sighed deeply, "What wouldn't I give to be in her place."

-

The afternoon tea on the day before the beginning of the tourney took place in the more private areas of the godswood, the little clearing in the woods had been transformed into a small gathering space, with chaise longues and cushions placed on the grounds beneath ornamented parasols. The only other presences aside from your two families were the servants, and the occasional small children running by, playing their games in the godswood just as you and Valarr had as children. 

Lady Jena chatted happily away with your mother, lounging comfortably on the cushions. Prince Baelor sat on a chaise longue, facing your father, discussing lordly matters with him. You were sprawled out across the feather cushions and half-heartedly following the conversations when you heard someone clear their throat from behind you. 

When you tilted your head back to face the person, the upside-down face of Prince Valarr greeted you. He was holding a hand out and lightly smiling, as far as you could tell from your position. 

"Would you take a walk with me?" He asked, an almost unnoticeable hint of pink gracing the tip of his ears. 

You have an affirmative hum, then got up to your feet to turn and face him. He was offering you his left arm to hold, which you gingerly accepted. 

"Are you looking forward to the tourney, my prince?" you asked as to make polite small talk. He had grown into a quite tall young man, and you had to crane your neck to see his face at a close distance. As you did, you admired the beautifully carved lines of his cheekbones and jaw, he really had turned into an exceptionally handsome prince.

Valarr frowned slightly at that. "There is no need to be so formal, we did use to be quite close, after all." 

"Well then Valarr," you corrected yourself, "are you excited for the tourney?"

Valarr's pink flush extended to his cheeks at the sound of his name falling from your lips. "Yes, among other things, I suppose."

"One's sixteenth nameday is always an occasion to look forward to," You agreed casually. "I am sure it will be a day to remember."

Valarr's steps slowed, which meant that you came to a halt with him in tow. "Speaking of sixteenth namedays," his cheeks were really quite pink now. You wondered if he was feeling warm under the sun's rays. "I believe yours has to come to pass three moons ago, if my memory serves me right." He smiled shyly. 

You were slightly taken by surprise. Had he really remembered that detail? 

"Yes, it has. Although, I denied my parents the pleasure of throwing a tourney or any form of extravagant celebration for the occasion." You mused. 

"I had something commissioned for you," he reached into the pocket of his doublet with his free hand, and produced a small, square box. "You did tell me back then that best friends should always gift things to each other for their namedays."

You pulled your hand away from Valarr's arm to examine the box. When you opened it, small, ornate earrings made of twisting golden vines holding a blue topaz in the middle came to sight. Your breath caught at the goldsmith's intricate handiwork. 

"Valarr, this is.." You searched for words. "Beautiful, thank you. It is really most thoughtful of you." It indeed was, as you noticed that it matched your necklace gifted from him all these years ago perfectly. 

"You must forgive me," you scrunched your eyebrows, a slight pang of guilt going over you, "I did not bring any personal gift for your nameday. My parent have brought a-“

Valarr's smile did not falter as he interrupted your panicked words. "No matter, I had something in mind as to what you could gift me for my nameday, anyways."

You looked at him in confusion. 

"I would like to ask for your favor to wear at the tilt tomorrow," his mismatched eyes searched your face. For what, though, you could not tell. "For old times' sake," he added hastily. 

It made sense, you supposed. It was not unusual for knights to wear their sister’s, cousin’s, or a close companion’s favor, so Valarr simply must have continued to value your childhood friendship more than you expected. Still, it confused you as to why he would not wear the favor of a lady he wished to court.

“Of course,” you agreed, to his relief. “It would be an honor to have you wear my favor.”

He offered you his arm again to keep on walking, which you gladly accepted. As you walked further around the godswood, the sounds of children playing grew closer.

“Hai-yah!” a boyish voice cried out. When you turned your head in the direction of its source, you spotted two young boys, one with a shock of silver hair, another one with a tuft of auburn hair. They were wielding tree branches as if they were swords, clashing them against another and running wildly through the woods.

As you watched them, a strange sense of nostalgia bloomed in your chest. You distinctly remembered these woods, the familiarity growing stronger with every step. The two of you used to run through these very woods a long time ago, laughing wildly and jumping over the twisting roots.

“Little brother! Cousin! I must ask you to compose yourselves before our distinguished guest,” Valarr called out to the two boys. They slowly halted their wild chase, and padded over to you.

“My lady, may I introduce you to my brother, this is -“ 

“Matarys,” you interrupted Valarr’s introduction when you recognized the soft, auburn curls. He had been only a newborn when you last saw him, but Lady Jena’s auburn locks and Prince Baelor’s stern jaw was evident in the young princeling. “My Prince, it is an honor to meet you. Last I had seen you, you were still only a babe.” You dipped in a shallow curtsy and introduced yourself.

Valarr smiled fondly at you recalling the short meeting. 

“The honor is all mine, my lady,” Matarys bowed, albeit a little clumsily. “Are you the lady friend my brother has been talking about?” He studied your face.

“Matarys,” Valarr hissed, the tips of his ears burning. Matarys let out a giggle, but held his tongue.

“And I’m Egg, my lady!” The silver-haired boy cried out, bouncing in excitement. “My name is actually Aegon, but everybody calls me Egg for short.” He grinned.

“It is a true pleasure to meet you, Prince Egg.” You dipped into a curtsy, your use of his nickname earning a giggle out of him. 

“One day, I will be Ser Aegon of the Kingsguard! You see, I’m already training hard to be a strong knight.” He puffed his chest out, which reminded you a little bit of a small bird puffing its feathers to make itself seem bigger. You smiled fondly at his antics.

“Speaking of,” Egg turned to Valarr. “In case your squire cannot come, could I squire for you, cousin? Daeron does not wish to participate, but I would like to be a squire. Ser Donnel has already said I would make a good one! I-“

“Sure, cousin,” Valarr mirrored your fond smile at the little boy. “Gareth is quite healthy as of now, but at the event that he may not be able to partake, I will send for you.”

Egg whooped in joy, thanked Valarr, and took his leave by making an exaggerated bow. He dragged Matarys with him, who politely bid his farewells to you while Egg pulled at his arms. 

“He has grown so fast,” you murmured as you resumed your walk, “sometimes, I cannot believe how time has passed by so quickly.”

Valarr hummed in agreement, and the two of you started back to the clearing.

-

On the bright and early morrow of his nameday, Valarr Targaryen used his privilege as a crown prince of the realm, and ordered his page to summon the Small Council for the first time in his short life. After he dressed himself in a formal doublet and trousers, he opened the small drawer of his writing table, and took the small, folded parchment out. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight of the hide and the wax seal. The passing of time and his frequent touches had frayed the edges, the surface smooth from the oils of his fingers. The creases and wrinkles showed that it had been folded and unfolded many times over the past decade, but the content etched in ink was still very much legible, clear as day. He tucked the parchment safely in his breast pocket before leaving his quarters.

He willed his drumming heart to calm on his walk over to the council chamber. The nervosity made him restless, his hands lightly shaking upon close inspection. As he waited for the council members to arrive, he mindlessly turned the signet ring with your house’s sigil on his right little finger, willing it to give him courage for what was to come. 

The members of the council arrived one by one, some with still bed-tussled hair. His father, Baelor, was perfectly composed as ever, and raised his eyebrows at him in curiosity as to what the summons may be about. The remaining council members sat down groggily, and mumbled a good morrow and merry nameday wishes to Valarr.

“My Lords, father, I thank you greatly for your presence, and your heartfelt nameday wishes. I wished to bring a matter before the Small Council this morrow, ahead of the tourney starting at midday.” He did his best to speak with the quiet authority of his father, and stilled the small tremor in his voice. “As you all know, I have come of age today, and wish to let my intentions for  marriage to be known. After all, it would be my utmost duty to the realm to marry and strengthen the line of succession.”

Many nodded, Baelor merely raised his eyebrows even further at his son’s sudden declaration of his interest for marriage. After all, he had sternly rejected every single courtships and proposals until now, and he had begun to suspect that he had no intention to marry at all.

“That is most wise, my prince,” croaked the old Grand Maester. “The council has a list at ready of all the eligible ladies of the realm, including-“

“Thank you, Grand Maester. However, that will not be necessary”, Valarr interrupted with a raised hand, “for I have been promised to a lady for nigh on a decade already.”

All eyes in the council chamber widened almost comically. Using the stunned silence, he took the parchment out of his breast pocket, unfolded it carefully, and placed it on the table. Baelor reached calmly for it, and read the words carved into it, remarking the childish handwriting. The Grand Maester rose from his seat, and leaned down from behind him to inspect the document as well.

“What is this?” his father asked, eyes lifting from the parchment.

“A marriage contract,” Valarr stated plainly. “It’s been signed by our own hands, and has the official seals of our houses on it.”

“I can see that,” Baelor furrowed his brows. “When-“

“My prince, if you would excuse me,” Grand Maester interrupted. “Marriage contracts usually involve witnesses, and I can’t seem to see any accounts of them.”

“I am a witness to this contract,” Valarr declared firmly. “I was there when it was written, signed, and sealed, obviously.”

“My apologies, your Grace, but a witness is usually-“ the old maester croaked.

“I am a prince of the realm, and a man grown as of today. Do you mean to doubt my abilities to stand witness to such significant matters?” His voice deepened, summoning an air of authority and sternness seldom witnessed in him.

The room fell into silence. Finally, the silence was broken when Baelor spoke. “According to the date, this was agreed upon when you both were but six years of age. Do you mean to stand by this contract nevertheless?” The look on his eyes was illegible. 

“I do not take vows for naught, father,” Valarr stood his ground. “I have given my word upon my honor, and will stand by it. I have loved her since I was a boy, and will not take any other to wife.” He hesitated for a sliver of a moment, then added, “if she will have me.”

Baelor put the parchment down on the table, and pinched his nosebridge. The Grand Maester immediately picked up the document, and inspected it so closely, Valarr was worried he may bury his nose in it.

“My Lord Hand, the seals and signatures are indeed.. genuine. And if the prince and the lady are in fact, both of age, then I fear that there are no grounds upon which this contract can be denied.” He sighed.

Valarr watched his father’s reaction. For what seemed like an eternity, Baelor’s eyes remained closed, with his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he opened his eyes to face his son, and placed his hands on the table.

“And you are certain, my son?” He asked, an exasperated look on his face.

“I have never been more certain, father.” The young prince met his gaze steadfastly.

“Very well,” Baelor huffed out, “I will speak to her father about this after the jousts today. Considering the delicate nature of this.. pact,” he waved his hand at the parchment, “I will need to approach this matter in a careful fashion.”

Valarr felt a great weight lifted from his chest, and breathed out in relief. Through the window, the sky seemed to shine a brighter blue, the trees the most vibrant green, and the sun’s rays graced everything with a golden glow.

“Thank you, father.” He bowed his head slightly.

“Do not thank me yet, son. We will see how the day goes, and whether her family will agree to this arrangement. Until then, nobody is to speak of this matter to those outside of this council.” With that, Baelor rose from his seat, and dismissed the council with a curt nod of his head. As Valarr watched the rest of the council members scurry out, he felt he could’ve hugged his father, so great was his gratitude at this moment.

-

The gates of the Red Keep was buzzing with excitement as carriages and horses carried the spectators of the tourney out of the Keep and towards the tourney grounds right outside of the city gates. As you sneaked a peek out of the carriage window, you could see children running alongside, shouting in glee as they made their way to the tourney as well. 

You held a silk ribbon in your house colors in your hands, fidgeting mindlessly with it as you watched the narrow streets of King’s Landing pass by. The topaz earrings dangled from your ears, swinging along with every bump and pothole in the road. Your parents were chattering about the participating knights, and voicing their concern for your cousins’ safety. You were admittedly not too concerned about the matter, the jousting lances’ tips were made out of soft wood, made to shatter, and your overeager aunt and uncle had commissioned very intricate armors for your cousins to joust in.

When you rode past the city gates, your eyes were greeted by hundreds of colorful pavillions and banners snapping in the wind. The empty meadow outside of the city walls had been transformed into a marvelous tourney ground, bustling with life. 

The carriage stopped, letting your family step out onto the spring grass. Your parents craned their necks as they searched for your cousins’ pavillion, which was spotted rather quickly due to the tall flag with your heraldry stitched upon it. You threaded your arm through your mother’s, walking past the busy squires, merchants shouting out for the nobles to look at their wares, and steelworkers hammering away in their tents. 

Once arrived at your relatives’ pavillion, your parents eagerly entered, wishing to bid your cousins good fortune for their tilts. You were briefly distracted in front of the entrance by a small mouse scuttling about, watching its movements, when a warm touch on your shoulder startled you.

Your body whipped around in surprise, and yelped when you came face-to-face with Valarr standing before you in his armor. His broad frame, with the added breadth of the armor, easily towered over you.

“Hi,” he was already smiling, dimples forming on his chiseled cheeks. His mismatched eyes were glinting with something you could not quite place. When he spotted the jewelry dangling from his ears, his smile widened.  

“Valarr, hi,” you breathed out. 

“I wanted to come see you before the jousts started shortly,” he took a small step towards you. The heat eminating from his body was almost palpable, even through his thick steel armor. “For the favor.”

That made sense, you supposed. You did promise him a favor for the tilts today. 

You were still holding the silk ribbon in your hand, the floral stitchings along with your house sigils had been embroidered by your own hands. 

“May I-“ you gestured at his arm hanging by his side.

“Oh, yes, of course.” He slightly lifted his arm, allowing you sufficient space to wrap the ribbon around his upper arm, and secure it with a bow. 

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” He took your hand, and bent down to plant a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I must get going, the champions must be present when the start of the tourney is announced. I hope I’ll see you in the stands.”

"You will," you smiled back at him, "happy nameday, Valarr. And good fortune in the lists today."

"I have all the fortune I need, but thank you," Valarr mused, holding up the arm with your ribbon tied around it. 

And with that, he took his leave. You blinked, processing whatever just occurred, then collected yourself and entered the pavilion to wish your cousins good fortune. 

-

Your mother's closeness with Lady Jena ensured that your family's seats in the stands were situated right next to the royal box; offering an excellent view over the jousting grounds. As you sat, the herald blew the horn, marking the start of the tourney, and announced the champions as they rode in.

The crowd burst into a roar as the knights in shining armor rode in on their mounts, you quickly spotted Valarr, the white streak in his hair a clear beacon even from a distance. Your ribbon on his arm was snapping in the wind, you could faintly hear the whispers of courtiers speculating whose favor the Young Prince could possibly be wearing. Riding on his pitch black destrier clad in elegant armor, he really did paint a handsome picture, his body moving fluidly with the horse, adeptly commanding it with a squeeze of his legs and a light tug on the rein. His black armor with his house’s sigil enameled on the breastplate glinted in the sun, and you briefly wondered whether that was done intentionally as to blind his opponents in the sunlight.

The champions raised their swords as the crowd cheered, then all bowed their heads to the royal box in a show of respect before riding off to the sidelines where their squires were waiting. The champions’ first opponents rode in as well, searching for their squires in the chaos of it all.

“Helmet!” You heard Valarr shout out to his squire, his voice a couple notes deeper than usual. He was always soft-spoken and gentle, and you had never heard him sound quite so commanding before. Soon, his white streak was hidden under the helm, and he was only recognizable via his armor.

As the knights lined up by the lists, the warhorses were impatiently huffing and stomping on the ground. You squinted to see who Valarr’s first opponent be, and identified a blue enameled fish upon the armor. A Tully, then.

The horn blew, and kicking up a great dust storm, the mounts galloped forward, the riders upon their backs lowering their lances. The first pass was over in a blink, the wooden tips of tourney lances bursting against shields and armors, and you saw that some riders had been unhorsed already.

Your eyes seeked Valarr out, and to your relief, him and his black destrier emerged from the dust cloud victorious; his opponent lay unhorsed on the ground. Valarr dismounted at the sight, and walked over with a hand on the sword’s hilt to his opponent, struggling to get back on his feet.

From a distance, you faintly heard him yell out, “I yield, my prince! I yield!” Only then, Valarr eased the grip on his sword, and held his hand out to help him get off the ground. The crowd burst out in another wave of cheers at the sight; praising the Young Prince for his chivalry. 

In the next tilts, Valarr faced five more challengers, one of them being his own cousin, Aerion Brightflame. He donned a spiky black armor, paired with a helmet showing a monstrous visage upon it. After two titillating matches, Valarr finally rode him down; after which Aerion rose against him, unsheathing his broadsword. The melée that followed was not short-lived, steel met steel in a flash of sparks and wooden shields splintered under heavy blows, until Valarr unarmed him and held him at swordpoint. 

The crowd, highborns and smallfolk alike, were roaring in his support; a glinting hope in their eyes that Baelor Breakspear’s line proved to be just as skilled in arms as he was. An ember of pride was fanned every time he raised his lance arm after unhorsing an opponent, your favor waving in the wind. Maybe it really had brought him good fortune.

Your cousins fared adequately enough, Devin, the eldest, unhorsing two opponents before being unseated himself in the third tilt. The others had not been so lucky, and fell from their horses in their first rides. But they all seemed unharmed, aside from minor scraps and bruises.

The tilts, which started at midday, continued until the sun was nearing the western horizon and a pale moon shone on the opposite side of the sky. There was only one tilt left for the day; Valarr was to ride against Ser Roland of the Kingsguard. After a brief break, Valarr returned to the lists.  He swung onto his black destrier, riding to the sidelines as his squire followed with the helmet and shield in his arms. 

As Valarr held his helm in his hands, his head turned towards the stands. At first, you thought he might be looking at his family in the royal box, but his gaze came to rest upon you. His hair was matted from sweat, dark brown strands plastered across his forehead from the heat and exhaustion, but his face held a determined look. You held eye contact and gave your dear childhood companion an encouraging nod before he slid his helmet on. You could not be sure due to the distance, but it almost seemed as if the corner of his mouth lifted in a soft smile before it was obscured by the enameled helmet.

His squire promptly delivered him the shield and put the lance in his hand, and scurried off to the weapons’ racks as to be ready when Valarr would need his next lance.

Ser Roland looked formidable as well on the opposite side of the lists, he was sitting upon his chestnut warhorse, clad in all-white armor and cloak of the Kingsguard. He was older, and more experienced, which pushed the odds in his favor. However, Valarr rode as if he had been blessed by the Warrior himself that day, the memory of the success in the council chamber that morning filled his tired muscles with strength, and he felt almost battle-high.

Not a moment too soon, the herald announced the start of the final tilt. “May the Crone guide your lance, and the Warrior grant you strength!” He cried out, then blew the start horn. 

The sound of the hooves striking the ground thundered across the meadow, the cheering of the crowds so loud your ears were threatening to ring. In a flash, both lances broke cleanly off the shields, and both riders remained seated. You held your breath as Valarr seemed to sway slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. As he urged his destrier around, you were not sure if the glint of his mismatched eyes gazing in your direction was only imagined or not.

The second pass was more brutal; the riders met in a clash of bursting wood again, but Ser Roland had met Valarr’s pauldron with the tip of his lance, sending the Young Prince reeling from his seat. In contrast, Valarr’s lance had harmlessly broken against the Kingsguard’s shield.

A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Valarr’s body lurched backwards, with only one foot remaining in the stirrups. However, to the delight of the spectators, his hooked his foot firmly around it, and pulled his body upright again, sitting tall upon his mount. 

As the horn urging the third pass blew, Valarr kicked his destrier’s sides firmly with his greaves, riding with his torso lowered against his mount, and his shield raised in defense. In the final moment before impact, Valarr’s lance drifted laterally by a minuscule bit, its tip bursting against Ser Roland’s breastplate in a shower of splinters. Ser Roland was cleanly unhorsed, landing with an uff on his back.

The crowd erupted in a roar, and you felt yourself grin at his victory. He had won his nameday tilt, your sweet, gentle Valarr had truly grown into a most gallant knight.

While the cheers died down and Ser Roland was helped up by his squires, the herald climbed down from the stands and marched towards Valarr holding the wildflower crown. The victorious prince lifted the helmet off, revealing a proud smile upon his face. He nodded to the royal box in a show of respect, to which Baelor and Jena rose their cups in response.

Valarr took the wildflower wreath from the herald, and the grounds fell into silence in anticipation to which lady would be crowned queen of love and beauty by the Young Prince. You looked on in anticipation as well, but your breath caught in your throat when he urged his destrier towards your family.

He softly called out your name, and you felt all eyes turn towards you. “Would you grant me the honor of crowning you as the queen of love and beauty?” You almost choked on your own spit from surprise. “For old times’ sake.” He added in a hushed voice, his eyes glinting under the blueish lights of dusk. Despite the apparent exhaustion, he looked beautiful. In the background, you vaguely perceived an excited squeal from your mother.

You barely registered yourself nodding before you made your way down to the railing and lowered your head to accept the wildflower crown. Valarr gently lowered it on the crown of your head, and brushed a hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. In your daze, the deafening applause and cheers from the crowds sounded almost muffled in your ears. You accepted the crown in a haze of confusion and perplexity. To the onlookers, his eyes held the look of a man utterly enamored when gazing upon you, clear as day. Not that you noticed.

-

The festivities in the Great Hall were as grand as any, if not grander. King Daeron the Good had not been frugal at all when planning his grandson’s sixteenth nameday feast, quite the contrary in fact. There were seven absolutely extravagant courses gracing the tables, not even counting the appetizers and desserts. You dug in as your hunger had grown quite insistent during the day, t’was hard work sitting unmoving in the stands under the sun. Jests aside, the food was marvelous, every course truly a testament to the castle’s cooks.

When the last course had been cleared away by the servants, the guests started to take to the dancefloor. Strangely enough, Prince Baelor had vanished from the dais around the same time. Probably some matters of the realm, you brushed it off as the Hand of the King attending to some royal affairs. You adjusted the flower wreath on your head as it was starting to slide down to your brows, and watched the dancing pairs glide across the floor. As you reached for your goblet of wine, a warm hand reached from behind and tapped on your shoulder.

“Valarr,” your face broke into a smile when you saw the victor of the day’s jousts. “My congratulations for winning in the lists today, you rode splendidly.” 

“Well fought, my prince,” your father, seated next to you, joined in with his own praises.

“Thank you, truly.” Valarr tilted his head in gratitude. “Would the queen of love and beauty grace me with her first dance?”

You looked down at his hand held out in invitation, before nodding and graciously taking his hand in acceptance. As you walked to the middle of the floor, heads turned as they spotted the crown prince and the flower wreath perched atop your head. You both took up the starting pose, with your hand placed on his shoulder, and his arms wrapping around your waist to rest on the small of your back. His hand gently held your free hand, and you drifted into familiar steps of the dance.

“Do not be alarmed,” Valarr whispered, “but I think my father has just summoned yours to his solar. I saw his page speak to your father, and leave the room with him.”

“Oh?” Your head tilted in bemusement. “Whatever might that be about?”

Valarr’s cheeks reddened at the question, and your confusion deepened. Perhaps he did not feel well discussing his father’s more confidential proceedings, so you decided to leave the topic for the sake of the poor boy. Your two families had been close for a decade now, surely they had enough matters to discuss. If it was important enough, your father would disclose it to you later anyways. 

“Your final tilt against Ser Roland was magnificent, by the way,” you teased, “I had feared you might lose your seat during that second pass, but the recovery was quite impressive.”

The poor prince’s cheeks grew impossibly redder. Even as a child, he’d never been adept at handling praise. He could only mumble out a thank you. The contrast between the valiant knight at the lists and the blushing prince in front of you was almost adorable; perhaps Valarr had not yet entirely outgrown the sweet, timid boy he used to be.

As the song came to an end, a Lord you did not recognize stood in front of you, requesting your next dance. Valarr, ever the kind, dutiful prince, took his leave to return to the dais. 

The status as the queen of love and beauty of the day came with a steady stream of dancing partners, you forgot their names almost as soon as they introduced yourself; you were never really adept with names and faces anyways. When your feet began to ache and you excused yourself to take your seat by your mother’s side, a page intercepted you just as you were about to pull out your chair. Your mother raised an eyebrow at that, her husband had been occupied in a meeting with the Hand for a good while, and apparently it now required your presence, as well. 

“M’ady, I apologize for the interruption. The Hand and your father require your presence in the Hand’s solar.” The young boy, twelve years of age at most, stuttered out.

“Of course, would you be so kind as to lead the way?” You smiled as you lowered the crown from your head and placed it on the table, assuming you’d be returning in a short while.

-

The dim, torchlit corridors leading to the Hand’s solar were unfamiliar at first sight, but as you ventured further with the young page, the memories started swarming back. The afternoon teas with the two families, Valarr’s sixth nameday morrow, and sitting idly while your father discussed lordly matters with Prince Baelor surfaced with every step you took.

Soon enough, you stood in front of the familiar double doors leading to Baelor’s solar. This time, you patiently waited as the page announced you before stepping in. You were greeted by the sight of Baelor sitting at his desk, your father sat in the armchair facing him. The candlelights bestowed a rather serious atmosphere in the room. 

“Father, my Lord Hand,” you took a shallow curtsy, “I have heard you sent for me.” You searched their faces for hints as to what this may be about, but failed miserably.

“My lady, thank you for joining us,” Baelor tilted his head. “We have quite important matters to discuss with you, specifically-“ he briefly searched for words, “regarding your marriage pact.”

Your head went blank. “..What?” What is it with a marriage pact now?

Letting the evidence speak for itself, Baelor slid a piece of parchment in your direction. You approached his desk, and lifted the document to your eyes. The parchment was obviously quite old, but not old enough to crumble in your hands. The soft, smooth surface indicated frequent handling, as did the numerous creases. The writing upon it was carved into the hide in a child’s handwriting, and it contained a very briefly written marriage contract between you and Valarr. When your eyes reached the end of the parchment, you identified your own handwriting as a child, crooked and wonky in a way the late Septa Marya used to scold you about. Your thumb traced the wax seals, worn down by time but still obviously genuine.

Oh. You now feintly recalled the day where you produced this document. It came as a surprise that Valarr had kept this all this time, but then all Valarr did the last few days was surprise you. 

“Valarr presented this contract to the Small Council this morrow, he says he will not take anyone else to wife.” Baelor calmly explained, watching your face closely. “The Grand Maester has inspected the document himself, and has declared it genuine. I initially wished to discuss this matter with your father alone, but he has insisted on hearing your opinions on this. Believe me my lady, neither of us will see you married unwillingly on the basis of a pact you signed at the age of six.”

You briefly unpacked your mental balance scale, weighing your options. The benefits included the fact that 1. he was your dearest childhood companion, 2. he had grown into a quite handsome man, and 3. he was considerate, gentle and kind. The only drawback was.. Well, you rummaged through your head, but failed to come up with any. 

“Will you have him?” Baelor asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern at your silence.

“Yes, I will,” the words left your lips without a hint of hesitance as you placed the parchment back on the table.

“Are you sure, daughter?” It was your father’s turn to question you.

“Yes, why not?” You shrugged. “He’s grand.”

“Grand?” The Hand’s eyebrows rose in amusement at you describing his son as grand. You and Valarr’s antics today were certainly providing Baelor’s facial muscles with quite an exercise.

You nodded, as if your statement was to explain anything and you did not understand what the confusion was about. He truly was grand, after all. There wasn’t much else you could wish for in a future husband. The crown prince and your father were staring at you with a look one could only describe as bewilderment.

“Just to confirm, you will accept the terms of this.. contract, and take my son as your lawful husband?” Baelor asked, a slight look of confusion upon his eyes, wondering whether you had heard the question correctly.

“I will, my prince.” You nodded again, your casual tone steadfast.

“Then it is settled,” The Hand looked to your father, who nodded in agreement.

As you and your father took your leaves from the solar and shut the doors behind you, you came face to face with Valarr, who had obviously been pacing. His gaze shifted between you and your father, a look of hopefulness evident in his eyes.

“Val,” you softly called his name. “Guess we truly are getting married now.” You shrugged lightly, and giggled. 

A sigh of relief punched itself out of him, and he looked to your father.

“You have my blessings, my prince. You can consider yourselves.. officially betrothed now.” He offered a slight bow.

“That is most wonderful news,” his face split into a smile as he stepped towards you to clasp your hand within his own two hands. “I swear, I will do the utmost to make you happy, anything you want. Simply tell me, and I will see it done. Even if it is not in my power, I promise I will make it so.”

You blushed, then looked down, suppressing a wide grin. Only then, your eyes trailed down to his right hand, where the small, children’s sized signet ring rested upon his little finger. Your breath caught in surprise as the torchlight glanced off the polished band.

“You kept it,” You murmured.

Valarr looked confused for a moment, but lowered his gaze to follow yours. When he realized what you’d meant, his joyous smile melted into a more calm, fond one.

“Of course I have, it’s from you. And I promised to always cherish it.” 

Oh. You felt as though somebody had smacked you on the back of the head. Every hint, every glance, every word clicked into place in that moment. Valarr had been in love with you all along, since you were all but children. He’d taken care to remember all your childish promises to each other, even keeping the scrap of parchment tucked away safely for nigh on a decade. 

“Have you really? After all this time?” Your voice was hushed, your heart picking up its pace in your ribcage. Your lips parted slightly in awe.

“Yes, love. It’s always been you.” Finally, he confessed, his beautiful, mismatched eyes gazing adoringly at you. 

As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

- Epilogue -

When you returned to your family’s assigned quarters, your motherr was already waiting at the tea table, eagerly waiting to hear what all the fuss had been about. When your father retold the events of the evening, she was practically bouncing in her seat in excitement at your betrothal.

“In retrospect, I must ask you, daughter,” your father turned his head towards you, “have you been aware of the existence of that document all this time?”

“Frankly, I had forgotten,” you shrugged. “But now that I saw it, I do remember sneaking into Prince Baelor’s office that day.” Your parents tried to look scandalized, but the air of amusement was evident.

“Darling, she did try to tell us that one time, remember? When we told her we were leaving King’s Landing.” Your mother’s eyes lit up, recalling your confession which they both had assumed was simply a child’s fancy. “She said that she was going to marry him, and that they promised.”

“Well, nobody expects their six-year-old daughter to go and sign a marriage contract,” your father snorted. Honestly, that was a fair assessment.

“The most important thing is, it did turn out quite well,” you held up your palms in defence, a smirk on your face. “I am quite satisfied with the match, if I dare say so myself.”

Your parents laughed out at your understatement laced with a jest. Indeed, it had turned out quite alright. 

Taglist: @good-night-starlight @enouche @literallyafallenangel @rakiroad