The wind shifted.
Rhaegor's arm curled around Eiryn as if it had always belonged there, and perhaps it had. She rested quietly against him, listening to the rhythm of his breath—uneven, rough… like a man learning peace for the first time.
But peace, for them, never lingered long.
A knock echoed on the stone door.
Neither moved.
A second knock, firmer this time.
> "Your Majesty," a voice called beyond the door. "The chieftains demand an answer."
Rhaegor's jaw tensed. The war council.
Eiryn pulled away slightly, her fingertips brushing the scar near his collarbone—the one shaped like a broken crescent.
> "They can wait," she said.
He almost smiled. Almost.
But duty weighed heavy on men like him.
> "If I go," he murmured, "they'll expect blood."
> "Then give them blood," she replied, rising slowly. "But not your own."
She stood now in the moonlight, hair glowing like spun silver, eyes hard with the steel of old battles. Valkyrie, lover, warborn soul.
> "Let them talk of empires and vengeance. I will talk to you of skies and stars."
He rose, too. And for a heartbeat, he wasn't the Barbarian King.
He was only a man—tired of being anything else when she was near.
> "Stay," she whispered. "And if you must go... come back as mine."
Rhaegor cupped her cheek again, slower this time.
> "You are the only crown I've ever worn willingly."
She closed her eyes, leaning into him one last time before the door creaked open behind him.
The chieftains could wait.
The battlefield could wait.
Even fate could wait.
But her?
She had waited long enough.
And this time, he would return—
Not as a king.
But as hers.
The door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the stone halls like the toll of some old god's bell.
Eiryn stood still. Her fingertips touched her lips, as if they could hold the shape of his parting words.
He would return.
He always said that.
But this time… it felt real.
---
The council chamber stank of sweat and fury. War maps lined the table, and old men barked like wounded wolves.
> "The southern tribes break from the pact," one spat. "They test your patience, Rhaegor. If we do not crush them now, we invite rebellion."
> "We do not need more skulls stacked on fires," another said, voice calm but eyes sharp. "We need alliances. Steel forged in peace, not slaughter."
Rhaegor said nothing. He stood at the head of the table, tall and unmoved, yet distant—his thoughts still tangled in moonlight and her scent.
> "Are you listening, my king?" one dared ask.
Rhaegor's eyes finally lifted—storm grey and cold.
> "I'm listening," he said. "But I am not obeying."
Silence fell. Even the flames in the braziers seemed to shrink.
> "What we need," he continued, "is a future that does not drown our sons in the blood of our fathers' wars."
"We will send envoys. If they speak reason, we listen. If they raise blades, then—and only then—we raise ours higher."
---
That night, Eiryn stood on the watchtower, wind clawing at her cloak.
She watched the campfires flicker like stars fallen to earth. Somewhere among them was him. The man who once bathed in blood, now trying to build something more.
Footsteps behind her.
> "You waited," said a voice she already knew.
Rhaegor.
He had come. Sooner than she expected.
> "I always do," she replied without turning.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, and the warmth chased away the cold.
> "There will be no war. Not yet," he whispered. "There's still time. For us."
She let herself lean into him.
> "You're changing," she said softly.
> "You changed me," he replied. "And I've never thanked you for that."
> "Then do it properly," she smirked.
> "How?"
She turned, lips brushing his.
> "Start with a kiss."
He obeyed.
But this kiss was not born from passion—it was a vow.
To try. To return. To live.
Not as a king. Not as a weapon.
But as a man who chose love over legend.
The kiss lingered, not in heat, but in depth. Eiryn pulled away just enough to rest her forehead against his.
> "You still smell like steel," she murmured, eyes closed.
> "And you still smell like spring," he replied. "Even in this cursed cold."
She laughed quietly—genuine, unguarded. A sound that reminded Rhaegor of everything he never thought he'd deserve.
> "They think you've gone soft," she said, brushing snow from his shoulder. "Even your own men."
> "Then let them test me," Rhaegor answered. "But I'll no longer be ruled by fear. Or by ghosts."
> "Not even hers?"
The question hung in the air like frost. He didn't flinch.
> "Not even hers."
They stood in silence, wind howling through the cracks of the tower. Eiryn's hand found his chest.
> "Then you're mine now," she whispered. "Fully. No shadows. No debts."
> "No lies," he promised. "Only this."
---
In the weeks that followed, things began to change.
Rhaegor no longer slept with his sword under his pillow.
Eiryn began teaching the young squires how to read and write in the Valkry tongue.
Laughter, once a stranger to the stronghold, started echoing in its halls.
But peace is never a guest who stays long.
One evening, as orange skies kissed the edges of the mountains, a raven came.
Its wings bore silver paint—Royal Crest of the Eastern Dominion.
Rhaegor opened the scroll alone in the war chamber. Eiryn found him standing motionless, jaw tight.
> "What is it?" she asked, stepping forward.
> "My brother," he said, handing her the parchment. "He's not dead."
Her eyes widened.
> "He was presumed slain in the Battle of Dusk Valley—"
> "Lies. All of it." Rhaegor's voice was low. "He lives. And he wears a crown."
She read the message again, slower this time. Her fingers trembled slightly.
> "He's declared himself High King… and demands your fealty."
> "He'll never get it."
> "Then war will come again."
Rhaegor turned to her, his expression unreadable.
> "And this time," he said, "I won't fight for a throne… I'll fight for what I've built here."
> "For us?" she asked.
> "For everything."
And though the fire had not yet started, they could already feel the smoke on the horizon.
But their hands remained clasped.
And for now—that was enough.