Targaryens are known to have queer costumes, an unusual tradition in which the brother and sister wed each other in order to secure the line of succession as pure as possible. Well, it is not always the Targaryens that have such habits, who says tha...
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~128 A.C~ King's Landing
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
(NO SILENT READERS. PLEASE🥰)
THE RED KEEP The chambers were dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows against the stone walls. These rooms—once their home in childhood—felt both familiar and foreign now, as if the memories of their younger years had been buried beneath the weight of everything that had changed.
Vellena moved with quiet purpose, gathering a cloth and a basin of water from the small wooden table. She dipped the cloth into the cool water before kneeling beside Lucerys, gently pressing it to his forehead where Aegon had slammed him into the table.
"I'm fine," Luke muttered, flinching slightly at the touch but attempting to smile through the pain. His fingers brushed against the bruise forming on his temple. "It's nothing, truly."
Vellena arched a skeptical brow but said nothing, merely continuing her work with a soft touch. Jacaerys, sitting nearby, flexed his fingers as if testing for pain, though the stiffness in his movements betrayed him. His knuckles were bruised, the result of the force with which he'd struck Aemond, and the way he had been shoved to the floor afterward.
Vellena shifted her attention to him next, reaching for his arm. Jace, tense and watchful, hesitated as her fingers brushed against his skin.
"I can do it myself," he mumbled, pulling back slightly.
Vellena gave him a look—not unkind, but firm. "Stop being difficult," she said simply.
Jace clenched his jaw but let her take his arm, wincing slightly as she dabbed at the scrapes. The silence between them was thick, weighted by the unspoken tension that had simmered since the tournament that afternoon.
She worked carefully, her focus on the task at hand, but Jace could feel it—the lingering frustration between them, the distance he had put between them since that morning. He hadn't wanted to talk about it, hadn't wanted to admit that he had been cold, even cruel, to her without reason.
But she was here, tending to him despite it all.
The guilt gnawed at him until he could no longer bear it. He sighed, shifting his gaze away from her hands and to her face, where her expression remained unreadable.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice quiet but sincere.
Vellena's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she continued. She didn't respond, but she didn't need to.
