The joust lasted long into the night — night shattering the lances trying to unhorse each other. It was tiresome and hard for them, almost exhausting. Yet the need to win and come out as a champion was stronger than any other excuse.

Valarr fought bravely — facing the knights twice his age as his father set the lists this way. To keep his son safe, some would think but Valarr couldn’t help but think how Barlow did that to ensure his son’s victory.

But there he was anyway — tired and sweaty and victorious. With his armor long gone and hair sticking out in various places from the helmet and his own hand going through them. He was tired — you could see that clearly on his face, after all the knights were not green boys and even if they weren’t the strongest due the age they still had experience Valarr was yet to acquire.

You laid next to him, head resting against his shoulder as you watched his breathing with a hand on his chest to feel your husband’s heartbeat. His gaze didn’t moved from the ceiling of Ashford castle yet despite his annoying thoughts he still rubbed the small of your back almost mechanically as if to calm himself down too.