~I think of how the mystics read by the light of their own bodies. What a world of darkness that must have been to read by the flaming hearts that turn into heaps of ash on the altar, how everything, in the end, is made equal by the wind.~
Daenys Ve...
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Year: 121 AC
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On this crisp, foggy morning, the world seemed to exist in a realm between reality and dreams. The mountainside, veiled in a dense shroud of mist, appeared as a mystical land untouched by time. The air hung heavy with a serene somberness as if the very atmosphere were holding its breath in hushed anticipation, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the ancient trees.
Amidst this serene natural backdrop, a man and a woman stood face to face, their figures enveloped in traditional Old Valyrian robes, the woman wearing an additional elaborate headdress. The garments were of a soft, beige hue, and they cascaded gracefully down to their feet, the fabric flowing like water as they moved. Yet, it was the sleeves that captured attention most starkly, dipped in a deep crimson that resembled the rich hue of freshly spilled blood.
A septon, solemn and dignified, stood before them, his voice resonating with ancient wisdom as he recited traditional words in the melodic language of Old Valyrian. His words were both a blessing and a binding, invoking the gods of their ancestors to witness and sanctify the union. His presence added an air of gravity to the intimate affair, a reminder of the tradition and lineage they were honouring.
The man held a fine dark blade of dragonglass, and slowly, almost reverently, he made a cut down the center of the woman's bottom lip. The cut welled with blood instantly, and he tenderly brushed it away with his thumb, using that to draw a symbol on her forehead, between her eyes. The woman returned the gesture and when they were both marked, the man used the same blade to carve a line into his palm, lining it up with a matching one on the woman's. As they entwined fingers, the septon tied an embroidered sash around their clasped hands, reciting the vows of matrimony.
Blood of two Joined as one Ghostly flame And song of shadows
As the man and woman exchanged their vows in the presence of the solemn priest and the misty mountain landscape, their children stood a little distance away, watched over by a maester who was there to ensure their well-being. The children, however, did not share the same air of reverence that hung over the ceremony. Their young faces bore varying degrees of displeasure, and it was clear that this union had stirred complex emotions within them.
Baela and Rhaena, the twin girls, stood side by side, their identical features accentuating the stark contrast in their expressions. Baela, the older of the two, had a fiery look in her eyes that hinted at resentment and fury. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her arms were tightly wrapped around Rhaena, as if she were protecting her younger sister from the world. She glanced towards her father with a mix of anger and betrayal, unable to reconcile the sight of him marrying a woman who was not their mother.
