❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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MARRYING BROTHERS TO sisters was a Valyrian tradition, practised by the ruling noble families, intended to keep magical blood pure. Mixing blood with others would taint it. Infect it. Corrupt it.
Many places frowned upon the act, an abomination they called it, but all fell eerily silent when a dragon roared. Those who partook in incestuous marriages after the Doom of Valyria were Targaryens, the ruling dynasty of the Seven Kingdoms. Few were foolish enough to openly speak against them or their queer customs. Those who did soon learned to hold their tongues.
Targaryen marriages were much like others between nobles: the groom and bride held no affection for the other, they were pawns, wielded by families who searched to increase power. As was the case of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. It was mostly Queen Alicent and Ser Otto's doing; the second option, which was supported by King Viserys, was for Helaena to marry her nephew, Prince Jacaerys — Alicent would rather relinquish her Faith than do that to her poor sweet Helaena. Mere children when betrothed to each other, the years passed quickly, now the day was upon the Targaryen children, which would bind them together in perpetuity.
"Are you all right, sister?" Softly asked Rhaella, who stood behind her dreamy sister, delicate fingers twisted ringlets of white hair. Nerves often ebbed at brides in the hours before their wedding. Helaena — since rising from slumber with the sun, a sleeping Rhaella resting next to her — barely uttered a word, not a muffled rambling or a prologued discussion about bugs. The unusual behaviour was noted by Rhaella. "I know you do not wish to marry him, I cannot say I blame you, but at least you get to remain in King's Landing with Mother, Aemond and I."
Poor attempts to soothe Helaena began hours ago; none worked as the girl refused all food and dismissed all the fussing maids. She had declared her desire for Rhaella alone to help her ready; mentions were not made to the chaotic, disorderly room, which would need emptying entirely now Helaena was to reside in shared rooms with Aegon, her soon-to-be husband. An ivory dress of lavish silk, detailed with elegant gold stitching was draped over an unused chair, begging to be worn. Though beautiful to the eye, its meaning was ugly: a symbol of Helaena losing part of herself, becoming the property of her sadistic brother.
Staring in a polished mirror at Rhaella, her own Targaryen hair pinned up by bejewelled clips, Helaena posed a question, which stopped her sister abruptly: "Will it hurt?"
Both girls knew what it was.
It was the act danced around by Septa Enith, whispered about by young boys of court, and weaponised by women with nothing else. The youngest Targaryen Princess remained silent, mouth opening like a gaping fish — something under different circumstances Helaena would have laughed at — her rosy cheeks rivalled Lannister red. "I do not know...mayhaps. I know as much as you on the matter. From what I've heard it can be...well...pleasant depending on the partner."
