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. PLEASE READ TILL THE END)
DRAGONSTONE The chamber door shook with the force of Vellena's fists as she pounded against it, her throat raw from screaming.
"JACE, YOU FUCKING MORON!" she shrieked, slamming her palm flat against the wood. Her knuckles stung, but she hit it again. And again. "YOU THINK YOU CAN LOCK ME IN LIKE SOME PET?!"
The silence on the other side mocked her. She kicked the bottom of the door, the thud echoing through the stone.
"I SWEAR BY ALL THE GODS, IF YOU DIE I WILL DRAG YOUR STUPID ASS BACK FROM THE SEVEN HELLS JUST TO KILL YOU MYSELF!" Her voice cracked, her breath ragged. She cursed in High Valyrian, every ugly word she knew spilling out until her throat ached.
Her fury burned her up, yet underneath it all was panic. She pressed her forehead to the cold wood, trembling. "How dare you leave me, Jacaerys. How dare you..."
Her gaze darted to the balcony. She ran to it, yanking the doors open, the sea wind smacking her face. Below lay only jagged rock and crashing waves, far too high to leap.
"No, no, no..." she muttered, pacing, her hands clutching her hair. Then her eyes snapped to the curtains.
She rushed forward, tearing them from the iron rods with a scream, the fabric ripping as she pulled. She knotted them together in frantic desperation, fingers fumbling but relentless, tying length after length until she had a makeshift rope.
"Fine," she panted, dragging the heavy fabric to the balcony, securing one end around the carved stone. "You want to play at clever? I'll show you clever."
She stripped quickly into her riding leathers, hands shaking as she buckled the belt at her waist, tugged on her boots and put her bow and arrows over her shoulder. She threw the curtain-rope down over the railing and leaned out. It dangled, swaying in the wind but still, the rocks yawned far below, a deadly gap.
Her hands clutched the fabric so tight her knuckles whitened. "Too short. Gods damn it, TOO SHORT!"
The fight bled from her legs, and she collapsed onto the balcony floor, her back against the stone, the salty wind drying the tears streaking her cheeks. She buried her face into her knees, curling small, her voice a broken sob.
"Silverwing," she whispered hoarsely. Then louder, her chest splitting open. "SILVERWING!"
The name tore from her like a wound, again and again, until her voice echoed off Dragonstone's cliffs.
In the depths of the Dragonpit, Silverwing stirred. The old she-dragon lifted her head, nostrils flaring. Her rider's voice anguished, desperate cut through the stone walls.
