Amaryllis Joseph died in a hospital shooting while tending to a patient, the youngest surgeon to ever had died on her 21st birthday after refusing medical attention and saving the lives of twelve patients before succumbing to her injuries. Instead o...
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The wedding of Queen Visenyra Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen was an event steeped in tradition, mystique, and the ancient customs of Old Valyria. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, the ancient Dragonpit of Dragonstone was bathed in flickering torchlight, illuminating the towering obsidian walls with an ethereal glow.
Noble houses from across the Seven Kingdoms had gathered to witness the union of the first Queen of House Targaryen. The air was thick with anticipation and the whispers of courtiers as they awaited the arrival of the bride and groom.
At the heart of the Dragonpit, a grand dais adorned with silken banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen stood beneath a canopy of black and red velvet, embroidered with shimmering threads of gold. On either side of the dais, braziers burned with a mesmerizing blue flame, casting dancing shadows upon the gathered throng.
As the guests took their seats, the sound of distant drums echoed through the cavernous chamber, heralding the arrival of the bride. With each beat, anticipation mounted until finally, the massive doors of the Dragonpit swung open, revealing Queen Visenyra Targaryen, resplendent in a gown of silver and sapphire that shimmered like moonlight on water.
Her long platinum hair cascaded down her back in intricate braids, adorned with strands of black pearls and dragonbone combs. Upon her brow, she wore a delicate circlet of Valyrian steel, its intricate filigree gleaming in the torchlight.
As Queen Visenyra made her way down the aisle, accompanied by her handmaidens and a retinue of dragon riders, the guests rose to their feet, their murmurs of awe blending with the strains of a hauntingly beautiful melody played by a harpist in the gallery above.
At the foot of the dais, Queen Visenyra paused, her violet eyes meeting those of her groom with a mixture of apprehension and determination. Prince Daemon Targaryen stood waiting, clad in armour forged of blackened steel, his cloak of crimson silk billowing behind him like the wings of a dragon in flight.
Their eyes locked in a silent exchange of vows, pledging their hearts and souls to each other and to the ancient bloodline of House Targaryen.
As the last notes of the harp faded into the stillness of the chamber, the High Priest of the Valyrian faith stepped forward, his robes of silver and gold shimmering in the torchlight. With a voice like thunder, he began the ancient rites of union, invoking the blessings of the gods of Old Valyria upon the couple.
"By fire and blood, by steel and stone, by the ancient bond of dragon and rider, do we unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony," intoned the High Priest, his words echoing off the walls of the Dragonpit.
With each invocation, the flames in the braziers leapt higher, casting a warm glow upon the faces of the bride and groom as they exchanged vows of love and loyalty. The air crackled with power, tinged with the scent of incense, and burning dragonbone.
