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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~130 A.C~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
(No silent readers pls thx. English is not my first language so please forgive me for any mistakes. Art by Jota Saraiva 2023)
NARROW SEA The wind had shifted. What began as a tranquil voyage was swallowed by dread as ninety dark-sailed warships materialized on the horizon, stretching across the sea like a steel trap.
From the deck of the Gay Abandon, Rhaena Targaryen's heart sank into her stomach. She gripped the railing, knuckles pale, as the sigils on the sails grew clearer: the Triarchy.
"The Stepstones' scourge..." she whispered, breath hitching.
Behind her, Aegon and Viserys still giggled with their toy dragons, oblivious to the storm closing around them. Rhaena turned sharply, her braid lashing her cheek.
"Come with me. Quickly!" she ordered, her tone more forceful than she'd ever used with them.
"Rhaena? What is it?" Aegon asked, confused, still clutching his wooden dragon.
"No questions!" she hissed, grabbing his small wrist while nudging Viserys forward. Her steps were swift, decisive, even as her insides quaked. She half-dragged them below deck into the hold, her ears filled with the growing creak of enemy ships closing in.
She shoved them inside their small quarters and crouched before them, seizing both by their shoulders. Her violet eyes, so much like their mother's, blazed with urgency.
"Stay. Here."
Viserys whimpered, "But—"
"No!" Her voice cracked but held firm. "Do not come out, no matter what you hear. Do you understand me? No matter what."
Tears welled in Aegon's eyes, but he nodded fiercely. "I'll look after him."
Rhaena pressed a swift kiss to their foreheads, fighting the urge to break down herself, then slammed the door shut and turned the lock. Their frightened voices muffled against the wood.
Straightening her cloak, she yanked the hood up, shadowing her silver hair, and climbed back to the deck.
By now the Gay Abandon was encircled. The towering hulls of Triarchy ships blotted out the sea, their masts bristling with men like a forest of steel. Six figures crossed a plank to her deck.
The leader was impossible to miss: a broad man with long, unkempt hair and arms thick as oars. His leather jerkin bore scars of old battles, and his face was lined with cruel amusement. He scanned the modest vessel before his gaze landed on Rhaena.
His lips curled. "What ship is this?"
Rhaena steadied her breath. Her dagger's weight in her pocket grounded her, though her palms were damp.
