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~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
DRAGONSTONE Jace sat at the heavy oaken desk, the flickering candlelight casting restless shadows on the parchment before him. His hand trembled slightly as he dipped the quill in ink. The room was thick with the stale tension left behind by his last argument with Vellena—the sharp words still stinging in his mind.
How many times must I make a fool of myself? he thought bitterly.
His gaze flicked toward the window where the sea wind rattled the shutters. Addam, he seethed quietly. The new rider of Seasmoke. A stranger—yet she smiled at him like she was enchanted.
He pressed the quill to parchment and began:
Dear Jocelyn, I write to you with a heart heavier than any stone beneath Dragonstone. Today I let my jealousy turn me into a man I barely recognize. Vellena—my sister, my... something—spoke with Addam, the new rider of Seasmoke. I saw it. I hated it. And in my foolishness, I let my temper rule me, tearing words between us like claws.
I am a fool, Joy. A fool who regrets the bitterness and the silence I left in her wake. I wish I could undo what's done, but all I can do is ask for your counsel. How does one navigate the storm of desire and duty when the heart is both prisoner and warden?
And how are you, my lady of Winterfell? I imagine the halls colder without your warmth, yet filled with the fierce strength only you could bring. Does the North treat you well? Do the lords bend to your will, or do you still find fire in your path?
Write me back, Jocelyn. I need a friend now more than ever. I miss you...
Your closest friend, Jace
Jace leaned back, rubbing his tired eyes. He whispered to the dark room, I need her—more than anyone.
He rolled the parchment, sealed it with his signet, and summoned a page to send the raven north.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
WINTERFELL Jocelyn sat by the window in her solar, the early sun casting a golden glow on the raven's feathers as it perched lightly on the sill. She carefully untied the letter sealed with Jace's mark, her lips curling into a soft smile as she read his words.
Poor Jace, she thought, always tangled in storms of his own making.
Setting the letter down, she took up her quill and parchment, the scratch of ink soon filling the quiet room:
