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 The stone halls of Dragonstone still whispered with the roar of dragons as Vellena led Jacaerys gently through the torch-lit corridors. His steps were heavy. Not from injury, but the kind of exhaustion that came from grief withheld too long, from being strong too often, too loudly.
She said nothing. Not until they entered his chambers.
The door creaked open, and she led him to the jbed with care, as though afraid he might collapse if she let go. He sank down onto the edge like a marionette with cut strings.
Still silent, Vellena kicked off her boots, shed her cloak heavy with soot and wind, and moved behind him. She climbed up onto the bed and gently pulled him back, guiding his head to rest in her lap. He didn't resist.
His hair was thick and tangled from the flight and sweat and grief. She ran her fingers through it, soft and rhythmic, just the way he always liked when they were children—when storms made the castle tremble and his nightmares refused to loosen their grip.
Now, the storm was inside him.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeper.
"You never did like to cry in front of people," she murmured softly, voice just above a whisper.
Jace scoffed faintly. "I am people now, apparently." He exhaled. "Heir to the Iron Throne, future commander of dragonriders, the next hope of House Targaryen." He turned his face slightly into her skirts, bitter. "And a godsdamned wreck."
Vellena looked down at him, her fingers pausing briefly in his curls.
"You're not a wreck," she said. "You're just human. A human who's carrying the weight of a thousand dying men, and their children, and their homes."
He didn't respond.
"You will do everything you could," she went on. "You will train them. You will rally the riders. You will fly across the realm on wings of fire. You will make them believe in this war."
"And if we lose?"
"You won't."
Jace's throat worked.
"And if I die?" he asked, quieter.
Vellena stroked his hair gently, brushing a damp curl from his brow.
