Chapter 1: Zūgagon daor


A.N: I own nothing but my mistakes.

There is a very high possibility that I have mucked something up within the customs of the whole Game of Thrones universe, but bear with me here. Or I'll just make the claim of artistic licence.
I know that the wait for this fic has been pretty long and I apologize for that. School gets in the way of writing and sucks me dry of any creative inspiration at times.

The title is High Valyrian, meaning "kissed by fire."

Chapter title means, "Do not be afraid."


"You do not wish to be married," he says, carefully, the statement formed as a question, only in fear that he might offend her in some way.

A panic-stricken look washes over her face, for only a moment, before she masks whatever emotion comes to surface. She forces a smile onto her lips, almost coy in nature, and she turns her face away from him as they continue walking along the path. "What makes you think that?"

Robin turns to her and smiles teasingly, albeit honest. "Your eyes, my lady. They're very expressive."

He hears the hitch in Regina's breath and waits for a hurried rebuke or a string of insults, but none come.

"Is that so?" she asks instead, her voice meant to be taunting, yet it only falls flat due to the quiet timber of her voice. Robin nods, eyes taking in the image of her profile as she purses her lips and tucks her chin to her chest, her eyes trained to the ground.

"I did not wish to marry either," he admits, causing Regina's gaze to snap up to him, eyes wide. "If it were up to me, I'd wait a few more years before I'd take a wife — preferably one of my own choosing —but alas, we are but pawns in an alliance our families wish to form." He catches her eye then, something akin to a bright sense of wonder in her gaze, but even so, she does not speak. Robin wonders if she's ever spoken up about what she wanted for herself. He knows that he gets away with a lot, his parents being very generous and lenient with him, but he hopes that even Regina found some form of happiness in her days, despite knowing what a strict mother she had. His eyes drift to Blackwater in thought. It still baffles him to this day how a commoner, from the Reach, such as Cora had become the one to rule with an Iron Fist in their household, compared to the youngest Prince of Dorne. She may have been a commoner, but there is nothing about Regina's mother that is common, in any way whatsoever. Other than her blood, the woman is rather regal in every sense of the word. He's heard quite shocking tales of the older woman about the way she went about raising Regina. Thankfully, her daughter doesn't seem too miserable— if only soft-spoken.

He looks away from the Bay then, his gaze landing on her face. She looks healthy, glowing… Most definitely one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen. "I will admit, I'm not all that disappointed to be betrothed to you, despite my previous wishes, my lady." He sees her cheeks pinking and he knows he's said the right thing.

"Why's that?" she asks, peering up at him from beneath her dark lashes.

"You certainly are enchanting," he compliments, holding out his arm for her to take. Her blush deepens but she slips her hand into the crook of his arm with an air of nonchalance, her eyes trained forward.


She seems to look at him with a new found respect now, which lights a sort of fire in Robin's heart that scorches through the very bones of him. Whenever her gaze falls on him and their eyes meet, his heart leaps in his chest and he smiles at her. In almost every instance, she looks away, but he can spot the beginnings of a smile on her lips and a tinge of pink in her cheeks and he can't help but be pleased with her reaction.

Her mother watches them keenly, seemingly scrutinizing every one of her daughter's reactions, and though he can tell that she's satisfied in his interest in Regina, he catches the looks she shoots her, reminding her not to behave like a giggling child. But what Lady Cora doesn't seem to realize is that he is just as observant, if not more, and he catches the way Regina's genuine smile drops when she catches the reprimanding look on her mother's face, into something more reserved and false; the way that she sets her shoulders, and corrects her posture— because even if her mother wishes to compare her to a brood mare or some sort of bargaining chip to settle the lingering animosity between the Lannisters and Martells, she is still a child, with her rosy cheeks, pink lips, and excitement he can see bubbling under her cool exterior whenever she spots him across the large expanse of the halls.

Robin decides then to try and treat her with the delicacy of a flower, one of the many exotic ones he'd seen painted in portrays from Sunspear, though he knows she captures his attention far more than a picture ever could.


Regina grows ill after a fortnight in King's Landing, her chest rattling with every breath she takes. Though, he cannot deny, that even with her hair matted and her eye's lacking the liveliness he's become accustomed to, she's breathtakingly beautiful.

"My mother will not be impressed if she catches you in my bedchambers without supervision," she says as he slips through the door, closing it behind him without making a sound. The room is stuffy and smells of herbs and ointments, her curtains drawn to disallow much natural light from entering, a small candle on her bedside table the only thing he can use to see in the dimly lit room.

"In that case," he says, sitting down on the stool next to her bed, "we'll have to make sure she doesn't catch me." He smiles at the way her eyes roll and her lips quirk. He's relieved to see that she isn't frightened by his presence. In truth, he hadn't even thought of what her reaction to his visit might have been. He'd only wished to see her after he'd heard that she'd succumbed to a case of pneumonia.

"What brings you to my quarters, Lannister?" she asks, shaking him from his thoughts. Her lips are pursed, eyes narrowed— studying him, no doubt, but there's a sense of mirth there that disarms him.

"I craved only to be in your presence, my lady." And though his words are honest, Regina lets out a short laugh that immediately turns into a cough. Despite the stack of pillows behind her back, keeping her relatively upright, Robin moves to sit on her bed, and settles her back against his chest, at the sight of her exertion. He feels her gasping for breath, her body warm with fever. Even having her here like this, sick and clothed, makes his heart thrum against his ribs. Her head settles against his shoulder before she relaxes against him, her tense muscles giving in to the comfort he's providing.

"I find that difficult to believe," she says after her breathing has relatively evened out. Robin has to think for a moment before he realizes she's referring to his comment from minutes ago. It wounds him to think that she still has doubts about him and he draws on the skin of her hand in contemplation. He really shouldn't be astounded by her response, considering nothing in the Crownlands is kept very discreet, his dalliances included. The idea of her finding out about just how many times he has visited a brothel has him wincing. He can't imagine her being very much like many of the other Dornish women he's encountered in the past— Cora doesn't seem like a woman that would encourage her daughter to be very fluid with her sexuality, which only shows him how much influence the woman has on her family.

"But do you?" he finds himself asking, as his hand covers hers on the mattress, his fingers slipping between her own, thin digits.

"Believe you?" she asks for clarification, and he nods behind her, his chin brushing against her temple. She doesn't respond for a while and he thinks that she's fallen asleep, but then he feels her take a deep breath, before letting it out slowly. "I do." And it's barely a whisper, but he hears it anyway and he's smiling, the urge to wrap his arms around her waist and embrace her growing tenfold but he doesn't. He keeps his hands by their sides, one on her hand and the other clutching the fabric beneath him.

"Would you like to see the sunrise?" he asks after several minutes of silence. He is aware that he should allow her to rest and let her be, but he's greedy with her company, always reluctant to leave her side.

"I can't imagine it being any different from the sunrise in Sunspear," she comments, and her words are drawn together like she had been on the edge of sleep. He regrets his self-indulgence then, guilt rising up in his throat.

And yet— "Perhaps you could take a look and tell me," he says carefully, his voice rising in question.

Regina huffs weakly, and he thinks she's going to send him off and he's about to resign and leave her to rest, but then she sighs and speaks before he can say anything else. "Alright."

"A bit of fresh air will do you good," he says, slipping from behind her, gently, to not jostle her. He pulls the curtains open, and unlocks the balcony door, opening it. Looking back at her, he sees her squint at the fast approaching dawn light. He slips an arm behind her back and beneath her knees, lifting her off the bed, blankets and all, and brings her out on the balcony, before settling on a chair, and placing her in his lap.

He sees the slow rising of the sun and he wishes he could see colours play out on her features, imagines the light playing across her dark eyes.


"I swear it on all the Gods," Robin insists and Regina laughs, the sound tinkling and light, and he cannot seem to tear his eyes away from how brilliant she looks when she's actually enjoying herself. This is why he doesn't feel guilt for stealing her away from the rest of the lot.

She shakes her head, eyes rolling before she releases another laugh. "That doesn't make me think you any less of a trickster."

He lets out a scoff before putting his hand over his heart in jest. "Do you think me a Godless man?"

Regina looks at him, her eyes narrowing in thought and then speaks. "You do not seem to be one who would worship anything he cannot set his eyes on… or rather, have some sort of proof of it's existence."

Robin nods with an admitted shrug, dropping his comical act, though his smile remains. "You are very perceptive, my princess."

They continue their stroll through the gardens until he spots the flush on her cheeks. From the pinch of her brows and the fire in her eyes, he can tell it's not of the good kind so he slows his walk, bringing them to a stop.

"Have I said something to upset you?"

"Just because I am to be your wife, it does not mean that I am yours," she almost snarls, setting her jaw. Robin's lips pull into a smile, finding amusement in her ardor. She seems to come to a sort of conclusion that perhaps she's misstepped and her gaze falls away from his eyes, looking to the far wall of hedges that surround them. "Forgive me," she says almost reluctantly after a moment of contemplation, but Robin only shakes his head in response.

"Becoming my wife won't make you any less of a person, Regina," he says, his voice hushed as he steps closer to her and her eyes snap back up to his face. He reaches out slowly, giving her enough time to step away from him if she so wishes. Her eyes flint down to his hand, but she does not react, so he takes it as consent. "You would only be mine, as much as I would, in turn, be yours," he says gently, placing a hand on her waist. He can touch her skin here, where the cut of her Dornish gown leaves her exposed to him, and he feels her flesh prickle beneath his fingers.

"You're a liar, Lannister," she whispers, and he's so close now, he can see how the black of her eyes grow. "Just as the rest of your blood."

He smiles and sees her eyes drop to his lips. "Perhaps. But on my honour as your husband—"

"Future husband."

"Future husband," he corrects with a smirk, as he moves even closer to her. He knows that it is unwise to behave so frivolously in public; that anyone could walk into the garden at any moment and spot them— and he's sure Regina knows this as well. "I promise never to lie to you."

Regina remains quiet and when the seconds slip away and she still has no sharp retort on her tongue, his smirk grows. The sound of footsteps behind the tall hedges makes him think of her virtue and how this would look unfavourable on her dignity, rather than his, so he presses his lips to her cheek and against the corner of her mouth —her only response a sharp intake of breath— before pulling away and offering her his arm.


Regina is warm and light, like the summer sun rising early in the morning. She's receptive to his easy touches now, his hand on her hip, her elbow, pulling her closer— always closer. She smells like the richest of chocolates with a spice of cinnamon and he can't help but wonder what her skin tastes like.

It's simple to spend time with her— despite how his heart beats rapidly when he meets her gaze and he catches the way her eyes fall to his lips— and he finds himself spending most of his free time with her, time when he isn't required to train for combat, or being educated on the importance of counselling, just for the possibility that perhaps someday he will become the Lord Commander, just as his father.

Regina's flesh prickles beneath his touch, her breath hitching in her throat as he closes the distance between them. "Robin?" she asks, her voice soft, dark eyes questioning, but she doesn't look frightened by his advance and for that he is grateful. It wouldn't do to scare her off, not when he craves her so.

They'd been walking quietly down the corridor, having just left the dining hall, where he'd offered his arm and requested to bring her back to her quarters, before pulling her into a darkened crook, no doubt a passageway for her handmaidens, when he couldn't stand the polite words and her tentative touch on his arm— because where he is free with the contact he offers her, she is more hesitant— not when their gazes are heated and their touches threaten to burn.

"Have I told you how much I look forward to being married to you?" he asks, breath ghosting over her lips and he feels her shudder and wonders if it's from the cold stone behind her back or the warmth of his body against hers. He hopes it's the latter— for all the reasons why his own blood is rush in his veins.

"Why's that?" she whispers, her head falling back against the stone, eyes half lidded. His eyes drop to her lips, stained with some sort of maquillage to make them appear darker than the soft pink of her mouth. He thinks it might be some form of sorcery, that tempts him, draws him in, and he has to press his hands, palms flat, against the wall to resist the urge to touch her and keep touching her until she's a squirming, panting mess in his arms.

Robin doesn't speak but she seems to read his thoughts and he can see, from the torchlight just above as her cheeks darken. He knows it's foolish to do so but he leans further into her, skimming his nose along her cheek bone, her lips a mere fraction from his.

"I've never wanted a woman more than I want you," he says, his voice hushed as though just admitting this aloud would somehow taint their inevitable union. She lets out a sigh of a moan, the sound of it needy, and the pliancy of her body lets him know that if he were to close the gap between their mouths, diminish that chasm, that she wouldn't object. If anyone were to know of this, this temporary lapse of insanity, she would be regarded with disappointment, her reputation dirtied. And he thinks of how unfair that is. How his actions would look badly upon her when she is always so well behaved.

"Have you ever wanted a woman that you couldn't have?" Her voice, despite the breathless quality of it, is teasing and he laughs, his forehead falling to hers, because no, and he tells her so.

He's loved before, when he was much younger and barely a man, and she'd only been a scullery maid. They both knew, deep down, that a union between them would be impossible, but they had hoped, and hoped, and hoped in secret, until she caught the eye of a soldier from the Iron Islands and her parents hastily agreed to a marriage and she'd accused him of being too cowardly to ask his father. She'd been right. But he'd known that their hope had been fruitless. His knowledge had only been confirmed years down the road when his father told him he'd arranged for him to marry a beautiful bride from Dorne. Robin hadn't believed her to be beautiful until he actually laid his eyes on her.

Yet, here that girl is in front of him, his Lady from Dorne, and he thanks The Seven for giving her to him because his heart burns with a fire for her that he hasn't ever known before.

Robin pulls back, adds distance between them for fear of her feeling him grow long and hard against her thigh. Yet, when he finally escorts Regina to her chambers, the small smirk on her lips makes him think she'd already known.


Robin visits the brothel the next morning with little persuasion from his companions (he needs some form of release and he hasn't visited the establishment since Regina's arrival), and choses the brunette with the honey brown eyes. He's had her before, knows her to be quite talented with her tongue, but when she's between his legs, his cock in her mouth, he finds her exaggerated moans nothing but irritating. Her breasts, that he'd once found phenomenal, are suddenly too large for his taste and he has her turn and asks her to quiet when he can't reach his peak. Even then, the tone of her skin is all wrong and he gives up on trying to bring his fantasy to life, getting the girl off before he grunts out his release with dissatisfaction. He doesn't let it show though. The last thing he wants is for this guiltless whore to pay the price of something she hadn't done.


The next time Robin sees his Dornish bride-to-be, she sends him a withering glare and turns on her heal, walking back the way she came, head held high and shoulders set.


He finds out that week that she has a talent for avoiding people she doesn't wish to see.