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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~129 A.C~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
(Enjoy😏)
DRAGONSTONE The sky above Dragonstone was dark with heavy clouds, the waves crashing against the cliffs below as the two dragons descended upon the volcanic island.
Vermax and Silverwing landed in the Dragonmont, their massive wings kicking up ash and sand. The air smelled of salt and sulfur, the ever-present warmth of the island's molten core seeping through the very ground beneath them.
Standing just beyond the Dragonpit was Baela.
Her posture was stiff, her silver-white hair braided back tightly, but her eyes—her deep Targaryen violet eyes— were filled with pain.
Pain that mirrored their own.
As Jacaerys dismounted Vermax, Baela stepped forward, her expression unreadable.
Then, without hesitation, she pulled him into a hug.
Jace stiffened for a moment before exhaling, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He could feel how hard she was trying to keep herself together, to be strong—but her grip on him was tight, almost desperate.
When she pulled back, she turned to Vellena next.
Vellena hesitated. She had no words.
But Baela didn't need words.
Instead, she embraced Vellena—tighter, longer, more desperately than she had Jace.
Vellena could hear it then—the muffled sob that Baela tried to swallow down into her shoulder.
She was mourning too.
For Lucerys.
For the future they were meant to have together.
Vellena swallowed hard, squeezing her sister-cousin just as tightly.
When Baela finally stepped back, she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly as if to banish the tears that threatened to fall.
She offered a small, painful smile.
"Come," she said. "She's waiting for you."
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Baela led them through the castle halls, their boots echoing softly on the black stone floors.
