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~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
WINTERFELL The cold northern wind howled around them, biting against their skin, but neither Jocelyn Velaryon nor Rhaenys Targaryen paid it any mind. The sky belonged to them.
Above Winterfell, two magnificent dragons soared—Meleys, the scarlet queen, her powerful wings slicing through the crisp air, and Mirax, Jocelyn's own beast, her chocolate-colored scales glistening under the pale sun, her blue eyes sharp as she followed her mother's dragon. Below them, Winterfell looked smaller, a vast castle of gray stone surrounded by snow-dusted trees, its courtyards and walls busy with movement. Preparations for the wedding were well underway.
Jocelyn let out a breathless laugh, her cheeks rosy from the wind. "I never thought I'd be wed in Winterfell," she called over the rushing air, glancing toward her mother, who rode slightly ahead on Meleys.
Rhaenys turned her head slightly, smirking. "You always spoke of adventure, did you not?"
Jocelyn grinned. "Yes, but I imagined myself in Dorne or sailing beyond the Stepstones—not racing through the North on dragonback, betrothed to a Stark."
Rhaenys chuckled, guiding Meleys into a slow arc above the castle. "Life has a way of surprising us, my love." Her tone softened as she gazed at Jocelyn. "Are you happy?"
Jocelyn's smile faltered for only a moment before it returned, softer now, thoughtful. "I am." She glanced down at Winterfell, where Cregan was likely overseeing the wedding preparations, perhaps tending to Rickon or speaking with his bannermen. "Cregan is... good to me. He is kind and honorable, and he makes me laugh. I think—I think I love him." The words left her lips with a surprising ease, as if speaking them made them more real.
Rhaenys watched her carefully, her golden eyes unreadable. Then, after a long moment, she exhaled. "That is all I have ever wanted for you, Jocelyn. Love, kindness." Her voice wavered slightly, so faint Jocelyn barely caught it over the wind.
Jocelyn frowned, studying her mother. "You're sad."
Rhaenys turned her gaze back to the open sky. "Not sad. Just..." She hesitated, as if weighing her words. "Rhaenyra is still uncertain of what to do next. None of us want bloodshed or suffering, but war is inevitable and everyone knows it. And I find myself here, watching you about to begin a new life—one that will take you far from me." She let out a small, breathy chuckle. "I have always known you would leave one day, but I did not expect it to be so soon."
Jocelyn's chest tightened. "Mother..." She guided Mirax closer to Meleys, the two dragons flying side by side. "I will never be far from you. Even here, even in Winterfell, I am still your daughter."
