【HEART AND NAME】

REGRET FLOODED THE HALLS OF VAELOR'S MIND AS THE WORDS SLIPPED FROM HIM, YET NONE FILLED HIS HEART. He couldn't find guilt, even in the little crevices that bore the last remnants of what could've been his sense. Though, were the remnants sewn together into a nice blanket, he doubted it would hardly be large enough to drape over half his head, and he wasn't even a man with half his sense- he wasn't worthy of it, not with her before him.

Genavene's tender hands shriveled back, her form sunk away, and Vaelor- stupid Vaelor, as he was, let the words tumble. "Forgive me, I did not mean-" He took a sharp breath. He did mean the words. He meant them, because how could he not?

Unlike his brothers, frivolity did not gild his heart. At least not until her.

And then he wondered if his brothers knew love at all.

Because Genavene... Genavene... What words did he have to describe what had been ravaged upon him during these five moons other than Genavene Hightower herself and herself alone?

It was the only thing that made sense, for she was the only one his heart called out for. Not a thing nor feeling, but her. The being behind it all.

She could tell him the universe had been her doing and he'd believe it blindly.

It was then that he was pulled from thoughts by the fair lady, as a laugh sprouted from her throat. "To love a lady like me is to doom yourself to the darkest pit of the Seven Hells!" She cackled, placing her hands upon her hips. With her laughter, she glanced around the tent, at anything but Vaelor. "It's foolish. Idiotic. Ludicrous."

He couldn't blame her, he was a fool. A fool for her, a fool for Daemon to torment, a fool for Viserys to occasionally dangle before maidens. In truth of all those, he did prefer her. She was far sweeter in taste, even with her tendency to bite.

"Pretty- petty words." He muttered. "They mean nothing, not to me- not to my heart."

His heart which he hid beneath his hand as it rested over it. Beating a somber tune. Something is going to happen. His mind insisted- something was. He preferred to find happiness in some way, some place, someone- someone like her, before everything fell to ash- because it would, it would, he was certain it would.

What precious little life the world carried, and Vaelor had found a kindred part of it vested in her, Lady Genavene Hightower. She made his heart slumber, when others let it wile, and with the world feeling to be ending for him in some way, some witless way that made no sense- but he felt it, he knew it, he saw it- he wanted her by his side.

"To your heart, but what of within it?" The lady in green questioned, her head drifting to the side, a lazy candor to it, a true unsteady way the way she held herself entirely.

A breath, a pause, a moment- and what was in a moment but a frail piece of time, so fragile in one's hand, it was imperative they handle it with care, as all things? "You are unspeakable in it. Your very name is unworthy of a mere utterance." He replied.

Her brows furrowed as if his words confused her. She glanced down, to the side slightly, her jaw tensed, then her gaze returned to his, and as always when their eyes met, his breath caught. "Why?" She asked, the single word marred by- bewilderment, yes, that's the word to describe it.

Why? Countless times he thought her name in a day, dreamed it by night, it was a rare jewel of a name to him, the grandest of all, and yet from him himself, the name felt like an injustice to carry, for he wondered if he pondered it correctly at all. A name like hers was to be thought of in perfection and said even more kindly. It was a name like glass, he said it without enough and it crumbled off his tongue, and in his mind- his mind of clouds, it became a misery to say it without such grace.

"Because it is unworthy of you." He spoke it as if admitting to something greater than himself, and to him, whatever this was, it felt right to speak of it with such attentiveness. Not only did the words feel right, but this- this felt right.

There was a thoughtfulness, a contemplative expression she took on, and even that, she wore with ease. "And if it were?" She asked eventually. "Worthy?"

This was madness, utter and complete, and he was falling right into it. Stalking forth, allowing himself closer just to murmur, "Only you could name that."

And there came that question, that question that dripped with a honey-sweet ichor. How was it, that a girl born of the Hightower's tempered flames, had managed to mangle the heart of a Targaryen afraid of his own shadow? How was it that she, so violent in her passion, had sunk him to his knees and forced words of sacred prayer down his throat?

Her name, her very name. That which kept him falling from the brink of madness- he still teetered off the edge of it, at times, yes- but, she remained his tether, her name, her presence, lent him the strength, even if it was only to tortuously dangle himself like some offering to the Gods, like a beggar to his ensuing insanity, pleading that it stay back a little longer, just for... just for Genavene.

The lady stood before him with crossed arms, still her face bore the visage of musing. "And... if I don't think it is?" She questioned, thumbing her sleeve- golden tansies embroidered on emerald cloth, eyes downcast upon the fabric.

There was a certain way her fingers touched the fabric, not gently, nor forcefully. She circled the flowers like a prowling beast, then pounced, puncturing them in the middle with her thumb, like a boot stomping upon a field.

Tilting his head, Vaelor questioned in turn, "The name or the heart?"

This wasn't a simple matter, yet the words to speak it were so, and it pained him for he believed he could not do the situation justice by emotion alone, no, the words too should've flown from his lips with some candor of grace or intelligence, but he found naught upon his tongue.

Genavene dropped her sleeve, the fabric now crinkled, almost appearing wilted. "Both." She breathed, eyes meeting his.

"I could accept it." He admitted, the tension fraying from his shoulders. "Though, I might inquire how to earn both in time."

How to earn her, foolish as the desire was.

The tent gave a quiver as the wind began to beat at its sides. "I am not one to be spoiled with devotion, it only rottens my soul further." She quipped, brushing a hand against the tent's fabric absentmindedly.

In the distance, one could hear the neighs and whinnies of horses, the paddling of their feet along the dirt. The tourney isn't over yet. Vaelor remembered as he heard the muffled calls of men across the field. The tourney isn't over.

He would not care for it under different circumstances but this- this was to celebrate Aemma and her nonexistent heir to the throne- to be celebrated as she labored- the tourney isn't supposed to be over.

Something had happened. Something had happened, and he had known something was going to happen, and he couldn't have done anything to stop it, whatever it was that had happened.

But it was a dreadful thing, a dreadful thing indeed, that he knew. That, he'd foreseen.

A/N

Just a little update, I'm now cross-posting chapters to AO3, thought I'd let y'all know, that's really all I have to say, so I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 have a lovely day or night.