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Kiera stared out of the small window she had found in the hallway of the Red Keep, looking over the ghost town that had once been King’s Landing. The Spring Sickness had ravaged the city for a year and two moons now, wiping the streets clean of their once bustling and lively personality. Smallfolk were either dead or too scared to leave their homes, Lords and Ladies retreated to their residences away from the most populated areas - leaving the ‘bad air’ behind. Even the servants at the Keep were few and far between, the less maids and cooks running around the less chance of the infection reaching the castle again. It was such an eerie sight. Many said The Stranger ruled these streets now: the Spring King was no match for death himself. Kiera thought otherwise. Valarr Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm - Kiera’s husband - had fought The Stranger and come out on top.
He even remained in the city, as did Kiera by extension, under the guise of ‘duty’ to his people. Some thought it foolish, that the King was putting himself and his wife at risk by remaining where the illness ran rampant. Such claims were brushed away by relying on his unwavering commitment and duty to the people of King’s Landing. The smallfolk didn’t need to know the true reason the royal couple were locked behind the palace gates, rather than with Valarr’s uncles as had been expected. The doors of Summerhall had been opened to most of the Targaryen family; a more modest palace near the border of Dorne, it was far more shielded from the ravages of the disease than the Keep or Dragonstone were. Prince Maekar had sent letters to his brothers Aerys and Rhaegal, inviting them and their families to take refuge with his own, he had the rooms and would be more than happy to accommodate. Valarr had received no such invite.
‘He has no right.’ Valarr had protested to her, ‘Of all people.’ Kiera had turned to him, placing a hand on his, softly caressing his bruised fingers.
‘I know, my love.’ She cupped his face with her free hand, drawing him closer to her, ‘But we must make the best of it, at least we will not have to suffer the company of your cousins.’
Valarr scoffed lightly, ‘You mean my cousins will not have to suffer in my company.’ His eyes were dark and clouded, illuminated only by the faint moonlight that shone through the bedroom window. ‘They look at me like a ghost. Like if they get too close I might suddenly begin disintegrating under their touch.’ He laughed, hollow and dry, ‘or worse, that everyone might disintegrate under mine.’
Kiera shook her head softly, ‘They don’t think of you that way, you are their King and more importantly their blood.’
‘And yet they can’t meet my eyes. They do not invite me to shelter with them, and will not visit here as the risk is too great. They did not even attend my brother’s funeral-’ he bit his lip, sucking in air as he did. ‘I was unkind to Maekar, I know. But to leave me here? In what has recently amounted to a glorified crypt? I never thought I would encounter such disgust from my own blood.’
‘It is not disgust. Only fear, my love.’
‘And yet they have nothing to fear.’ He winced, the effort of anger was slowly draining his energy so late at night, and the price was a pounding right behind his eyes.
‘We should rest, Valarr.’ Kiera pushed, ‘What your uncle thinks of you matters not, you have no need for his approval. We will manage here, as we have for the last moons, and when the sickness has run its course with the city, we will command that your family returns to court.’
Valarr sighed, ‘You are right, I know in my head you are. But my heart aches when I think of them. The way they must whisper, what I know they think of me.’
‘Their whispers are not your concern. Let them whisper.’ She kissed his cheek softly, wiping away a single tear that had rolled from his eye.
He smiled, slowly pulling her hand up his mouth and planting a kiss between her knuckles, ‘Let them whisper.’ There was still an air of sadness to his voice, Kiera noticed, but it was a more resigned melancholy. He could not stop them whispering, could not prevent their anger and fear from spilling out and finding him, but he could comfort himself with the knowledge that he ruled the Seven Kingdoms, with a wife he loved dearly, and the devotion of the smallfolk. His uncles could control that no more than he could their hushed discussions when his back was turned.
Kiera thought back to that conversation, not a fortnight ago, as she sat perched on the cold stone of a windowsill, looking out across the King’s Landing skyline. Typical city lights had been replaced with the sickening green of wildfire, spilling from the dragonpit as the corpses of hundreds of thousands burned under the orders of Lord Bloodraven. Kiera had no love for Valarr’s new Hand of The King, to be quite honest at first she didn’t understand why he had been named Hand to begin with; then she saw the furious letter delivered by raven from Prince Maekar, and the wry smirk on her husband’s face as he read the curses contained within it. There was no doubt in her heart that once his family realised they wouldn’t keel over and die in his presence, he would replace the Hand with immediate effect - unless he still wished to spite them for their slights.
Kiera was so wrapped up in her thoughts of somehow ridding the keep of the Hand that she did not hear footsteps approaching behind her. So when she felt two strong arms wrap around her waist she nearly leapt from the window in shock.
‘Boo.’ Valarr whispered in her ear, chuckling a little as she swatted at him vaguely.
‘By the gods Valarr you shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that-’ She spun to face him, watching as a smirk twisted across his face,
‘Oh but it’s such a great pleasure to me,’ he pulled her in closer by her waist, leaning in so their faces were almost touching, ‘and maybe, if you don’t want people sneaking up on you, you should be more aware of your surroundings.’
She rolled her eyes, ‘As if there’s anyone left to sneak up on me.’
Valarr shrugged, ‘Bloodrav-’
Kiera lifted a finger to his lips, cutting him off, ‘Shhhh- Don’t even mention that name, gods Valarr - he’ll appear out of the walls!’
He chuckled and playfully bit at her finger, ‘You can’t silence your King like that, I’ll have you sent to the Wall for treason.’
‘Oh yeah?’ She reached her arms up around his neck, pulling him down to her before she kissed his lips softly, pulling away as he tried to reciprocate, ‘I think I can silence the King whenever I please.’ She laughed, sweet and slow, bashfully turning her head away from Valarr, who took the opportunity to lightly press kisses against her neck.
‘Well then the King might have to take matters into his own hands.’ He whispered, still stroking his tongue along her neck, now taking small nicks with his teeth. Kiera sighed, feeling a warmth beginning to spread through her, as her husband continued moving down her body, threatening to slide off the light silk dress she had wrapped around her.
‘Not here.’ She whispered, taking his hand in hers, and beginning to lead him towards the stairs. A cocky smile spread across Valarr’s face, as he slipped his hand away from Kiera,
‘I’ll race you.’ She intended to protest, but he had taken off before she could, strong legs carrying him up the stone stairs. He was much taller than her, and wasn’t having to hold a dress above his ankles - so it was never truly a fair fight. Not that she minded so much, she would have let him win anyway; he always smiled so brightly when he won, she would do anything to see him smile that way.
The corridors to their bedchambers felt endless, and Kiera had lost sight of Valarr rather early into the winding passages and staircases; she imagined he must be there already waiting for her. Her feet pounded, one after another after another. There wasn’t far to go now, just one more corner and-
Oh. Oh no.
Valarr was crumpled just around the final corner to their chambers, pressed up against a wall. His head was slumped against his knee, his other leg outstretched and twitching slightly. Kiera could see his chest rising and falling, but every breath looked like he was trying to move a mountain. He was gasping and coughing, barely able to choke out a scarcely audible sob, and she could tell that every tiny movement was paining him. Small shivers racked his body, and as Kiera slid down to hold him, she could feel his skin burning up.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Kiera I-” The words seemed to get stuck in his mouth, each one taking more breath than he could presently afford. ‘Shhhh. Shhh.’ Kiera wrapped her arms around him tightly, imagining that if she just held on tight enough she could force his broken pieces back together. Valarr seemed to melt into her arms, his body still twitching with muscle spasms and shaking with tears. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’ She kissed his cheek softly, and could taste the salty tears that rolled down it as she did. His skin was hot, too hot, burning underneath her fingers and her lips - like the fever that almost took him from her had returned. Slowly, she began to thread her fingers through the soft locks of hair that framed her husband’s face, pushing it back from his eyes and tucking it behind his ear. He had let his hair grow longer since becoming King, and the strong white streak intertwined with his dark waves was more prominent than ever. They remained there for a minute, the two of them - locked together against the cold stone floor - until Valarr’s body stopped shaking, his breaths becoming more regular and less laboured. Kiera felt him shift beneath her, trying to push himself further up the wall. ‘I can help you up.’ Softly, she stroked his arm through the thin bedshirt that he wore, ‘Our chamber isn’t far.’ Nodding slowly, Valarr screwed his eyes shut, pained by the small effort it had taken simply to shift his weight up slightly. ‘I-I don’t think I can.’ He muttered, the words small and quiet, drifting out into the vast hall. “Okay. That’s okay.” She wrapped her arms around him once more, letting him put his weight onto her. There was a beat before he nestled his head on her shoulder, allowing him a moment of relief from the aches that had come from simply holding his own head up.
Slowly, underneath her hands, Valarr’s skin began to cool, and Kiera could feel him relaxing a little as she continued to wind her hands through his hair. Tight skin no longer crinkled around his eyes, the tension released as the pain began to pass. Methodically, his chest rose and fell, still regular and calm. He was almost peaceful, she thought. It felt selfish to even think, but he was pretty this way. Vulnerable and open, every guard he had up so harshly broken down. There was something almost angelic in the way he lay right now, tragic as that may be. Though she would never admit as much to him, she loved him more than ever in this moment right here.
Only a few minutes passed before Kiera noticed Valarr grow restless once more, ‘Is something wrong? Is the pain worse?’ He shook his head slowly, ‘I think I can make it now.’ A beat passed, she assessed the best way to manoeuvre the two of them up the hall. ‘Okay. I’ve got you.’ She pressed a light kiss to the top of his head, wrapping his arm around her shoulders for support, and then slowly drawing both of their bodies up off the floor. For her, this was of relative ease, despite her small stature she was rather strong; but her husband still seemed uneasy on his feet. Weariness was still plaguing him, and she remembered he had told her once of how simply placing his foot on the floor felt as if his entire leg was being stretched out by the rack. ‘You’re okay.’ She whispered softly, ‘I have you.’ He did not answer, but as she began to move he began lifting his feet. One at a time. Just one at a time. Halfway down the hall his pained gasps became too much for Kiera to ignore, and she tried to stop. She couldn’t hear him in pain like this, it was killing her. But he insisted she continue, ‘You have to. I’m okay.’ There was a strain to his voice, but they were oh so close now. Just one foot at a time. Again and again and again. The monotony of it was comforting, she could almost tune out the winces from her husband that were hitting her like punches to the gut every time.
By the time they reached their bedchamber, she was crying too, each wince and groan had hit her like a knife through the heart. The two of them collapsed together onto the bed, a sweaty, tear soaked mess of a couple all intertwined with one another. Valarr’s breathing was ragged and rushed, more gasps than true breaths, as if he were somehow drowning on dry land - clinging to Kiera like a life raft. And she held him there, cradling his head to her shoulder as he wept, racked by both sobs and shakes that had returned. The sound of his heartbeat pounded against her, fluttering and skipping ever so slightly, trying so hard just to keep beating, keep going. “I’m so sorry.” He repeated again, slower this time, less frantic and more fuelled by exhaustion.
“I love you.” She responded, “You have nothing to apologise for.”
The longer they remained like that, Kiera whispering affirmations into his hair, kissing him softly, the more he seemed to be able to relax. Enough to open his eyes, to stare up at her as she slowly caressed his cheek. “You feel colder.” She pushed the tears from the corner of his eye, “And your heart seems to be more regular.” The fluttering had all but stopped, replaced by the rhythmic thumps that she was used to, a good sign by all means.
“I feel better.” He mumbled, slowly shifting his weight off of her and onto the soft cotton of their bedsheets, “I just need to apol-”
Kiera put a finger to his lips, pressing softly as he batted thick eyelashes back at her “You do not. Do not waste your energy on unnecessary apologies. I would do anything for you, you know that.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” He protested, kissing her hand as she pulled it back. His voice was still weak, but now he was no longer gasping for and rationing his oxygen, the words came easier to him. “I am your husband, I should be the one protecting you, looking after you not- not this.”
“I do not need you to look after me. I have my maids, my ladies, they can look after me if they must but even then - I am more than capable.”
Kiera twisted a lock of white hair around her finger, Valarr humming as she did, there was a sadness to it but he always had enjoyed her playing with his hair. He insisted he grew it out to emphasise the white streak, but Kiera liked to believe it was so she could braid it at night, when no one else could see. “You are alive. That is all that matters to me.”
“But surely, this cannot be what you imagined. I should be strong I- I was strong.” His voice broke, as it often did when he thought of their life before he had gotten sick. Kiera had heard him at night sometimes, crying softly as he stared at his old training swords he kept in the corner of their room. He would trace his fingers over them, remembering what they felt like, remembering how it was to be a knight. The last time he had jousted was at the ill fated Ashford tourney, the last time he had swung a sword was when he chased Prince Maekar from the castle with one only a few weeks later.
“You are still strong. You survived.”
“And for what? So I could watch my brother die? So I could watch as my kingdom succumbs to the very same disease? What use do I have as a King now? What use as a husband?” Resentment dripped off every word, the guilt and grief was still eating him alive, even almost half a year on. “I was a knight. My father taught me to be strong, to be a leader. How can I do that if I can’t even make it up my own stairs?” Valarr’s voice caught on the word ‘father’, he so rarely spoke of Baelor, as if the mention of his name would bring down the patched together facade that had been so carefully constructed.
“Baelor would be proud of you.” Kiera whispered, and watched as Valarr came undone. It was such a simple thing, six words, but to her husband it was the world. Everything he had ever done since Kiera had met him, every action, every word, had been in the pursuit of his father’s approval. Baelor was kind, he cared for Valarr, but by dying he had removed the safety blanket of reassurance. All her husband could receive comfort from now was his own memory of his father, maintained and moulded by the continued words of those who knew him best. It was dangerous, but for today, Kiera would tell him what he needed to hear. Baelor would be proud of him, she was sure.
Valarr didn’t speak for a minute, Kiera was sure if he did then the sobs would overtake any words he tried to get out anyway. When he did, his voice was almost a whisper, “Would you still love me if I can never fight again?”
“I will love you until my dying breath, no matter what.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and watched his eyes close with a small smile, finally giving in to the exhaustion of the night, his arms still wrapped tight around Kiera’s waist.