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~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
ROOK'S REST The skies over Rook's Rest were a dull, lifeless grey, clouds crawling low as if even the heavens mourned the destruction below.
Jocelyn barely noticed the chill in the air as she guided Mirax down from the clouds, the dragon's great wings beating the smoke and ash into swirling patterns. The once-proud castle was now a broken, blackened corpse. The fields that had surrounded it — once green, alive with horses and tents — were now nothing but churned mud, charred wood, and scorched bones.
It had been a moon since the battle. Since her mother — Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was — had fallen.
Jocelyn's boots hit the ground with a heavy thud as she dismounted, her blue gown with its white fur trim billowing slightly in the breeze. The hem of her gown darkened as it dragged through ash and soot, but she didn't care. Her breath came in short, shaking gasps. She could still smell it — the terrible, iron scent of fire and death that no rain could wash away.
She walked forward slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The ground was littered with broken weapons, shattered banners, half-buried helmets... and bones. Human bones, twisted and blackened, some so small she thought they might have been children. Jocelyn pressed her lips together to stifle a sob.
Suddenly, Mirax growled — a deep, reverberating sound that made the ground shudder. Jocelyn looked up sharply and saw him nudge something massive with his snout, shoving away the wreckage that half-buried it.
Her heart stopped.
It was a skull. Huge, with curved, jagged horns — its surface cracked and blackened from fire.
Meleys.
The scarlet dragon, her mother's faithful companion, her partner in battle, reduced to bones and ash.
And beside her... Smaller, frailer, but still unmistakable... Another skull.
Jocelyn's knees buckled. She sank into the blackened mud, hands trembling so hard she could not even wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"No..." she croaked, her voice breaking into a thousand pieces. "No, no, no..."
Mirax roared again — a sound of rage and mourning, a call to the skies that echoed through the empty ruins. He thrashed his tail against the earth, sending ash and bones scattering, but Jocelyn barely heard him.
