━━━━━━━━━━━🗡️━━
⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆
𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐈𝐍 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑫
⛧°。 ⋆༺ sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴏɴᴇ ༻⋆。 °⛧
━━━━━━━━━━ .°୭̥ ❁ ˎˊ˗━

𝔗he first pale light of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow across the endless sea. The stillness of the morning was disrupted only by the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship's hull and the distant calls of gulls. Onboard the vessel, the crew moved with quiet urgency, preparing for the arrival at Driftmark.

Vaegon Targaryen, as always, was awake well before the others. The crisp morning air and the bustle of the sailors had stirred him from sleep long before the sun had fully risen. His heart beat with anticipation, his mind racing with thoughts of what awaited them on the shores of Driftmark. The land where his step mother had been born, the place where she would now be laid to rest. A land full of memories-of the past and the future, and the uncertain path ahead.

As he sat at the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots, his eyes flicked toward the cot beside him. There, beneath a pile of blankets, lay his twin brother, Aeron.

Aeron was, without a doubt, not a morning person. Where Vaegon rose with the dawn, Aeron preferred to sleep until the last possible moment, resenting the very light that came with it. Vaegon knew this all too well. He could already hear the soft grumbles escaping Aeron's lips, the faint rustle of his brother's body shifting in protest.

With a determined gleam in his eyes, Vaegon moved across the cabin with purpose. He knelt beside the cot, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to yank the blankets from over Aeron's head.

"Aeron," Vaegon said, his voice a mix of excitement and impatience. "Time to rise. Driftmark awaits."

Aeron groaned loudly, pulling his pillow over his head to shield himself from the cruel light. "Vaegon, go away," he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. "It's too early."

But Vaegon was resolute. He leaned down, lifting Aeron's arm and tugging insistently. "Come on. We're nearly there."

Aeron, not yet fully awake, muttered something incoherent, but Vaegon was already pulling him up from the bed, quite literally dragging his brother to the door. With a final, dramatic heave, he hoisted Aeron out of the cabin, ignoring his twin's protests.

"Seven hells!" Aeron yelped, his eyes still half-shut with sleep. "Let me go back to bed!"

"No, no chance of that," Vaegon teased, grinning widely.

Aeron muttered something vulgar under his breath, sounding anything but enthusiastic as he stumbled up the stairs with his twin. The early morning wind bit at his skin, but he was still far too groggy to fully appreciate the cold sea breeze.

Vaegon, on the other hand, was brimming with energy. He practically bounced up the steps, eager to reach the top of the ship. He felt the excitement buzzing in his veins as the ship drew closer to the distant outline of Driftmark.

When they reached the deck, Vaegon was the first to lean over the railing, his eyes searching the horizon eagerly. Aeron, however, stood a few paces behind, still rubbing his eyes, trying to ward off the sleep that clung to him. He glanced over at his brother with a mix of annoyance and resignation, but the sight before them did bring a flicker of interest to his tired eyes.

The sky was painted with soft hues of pink and purple as the first rays of sunlight kissed the cliffs of Driftmark. Below, the sea was a rippling mirror, reflecting the land and the clouds above. The towering cliffs of the island rose from the water, dark and craggy, the jagged rocks standing sentinel over the waters below.

Above them, the unmistakable shapes of dragons soared, their massive wings slicing through the air with effortless grace. Caraxes, with his blood-red scales gleaming in the light, led the way, his wings outstretched like a king of the sky.

Pyraxes and Zyraxes, already half the size of their father, flew closely behind, their crimson bodies catching the light in a dazzling display. The twins watched in awe as the three dragons glided through the sky, their movements fluid and powerful.

But it was Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon, who captured their attention next. Perched upon a high cliff that overlooked the bay, Syrax lifted her head to the sky, a soft, melodic chirp escaping her throat. It was a welcoming call, a cry of recognition that echoed through the still morning air.

At that moment, Caraxes, as though responding to Syrax's greeting, dipped his wings and veered toward the cliff, his fiery eyes fixed on the golden dragon. He gave a low, clicking sound, a dragon's version of a greeting.

Pyraxes and Zyraxes, ever eager to mimic their father, followed closely behind, their wings fluttering in the wind as they, too, chirped in unison, their voices high-pitched and sharp, attempting to join in the chorus.

Aeron, though still groggy, couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was hard not to be moved by the beauty and power of the dragons, even in his half-awake state. He had never been one to rise with the sun, but there was something about this moment, the sight of their dragons soaring above the island, that made the early morning worth it.

As the dragons continued their graceful dance above the island, Vaegon leaned forward, his heart swelling with pride. He could feel the connection to the creatures in his bones, the ancient bond that linked dragonriders to their dragons.

"Look at them," Vaegon said, his voice filled with awe.

Aeron, still blinking sleep from his eyes, gave a half-hearted shrug. "Aye," he said, though his voice held a trace of fondness. "But I'd rather be back in bed than standing here watching dragons."

Vaegon chuckled and slapped his brother on the back. "You're impossible, Aeron. Come on, just look. We're nearly there."

But Aeron, in his sleepy haze, didn't seem to care. His gaze wandered lazily to the far side of the island, where a large shape moved in the distance.

There, on the farthest edge of Driftmark, Vhagar-still mourning-drifted slowly through the air, her great wings beating heavily. Her mournful presence was a stark contrast to the playful antics of the younger dragons. She had been quiet, distant, since Laena's passing, and now, she made her way toward a secluded part of the island, laying down upon the rocky shore as if retreating into solitude.

Vaegon noticed his late step mother's dragon, but his attention was soon drawn back to the other dragons, his heart light despite the weight of the journey ahead. He was ready for what Driftmark would bring, ready to face the uncertain future, as long as his dragons-and his family-were by his side.

"Let's go, Aeron," Vaegon urged. "We've arrived."

Aeron gave a final yawn, rubbing his eyes one last time before standing tall beside his brother, his sleepy grumbling giving way to the undeniable reality of their arrival.

The ship creaked as it made its way closer to the shores of Driftmark, the air thick with the salty scent of the sea. Vaegon and Aeron, having caught the first glimpse of the island, were filled with a sense of anticipation that almost made the early morning worth it. Without a word to one another, they raced down to their chambers, eager to prepare for their arrival.

Vaegon, ever the more energetic of the two, was quick to shed his nightclothes, throwing on a dark tunic and breeches with practiced ease. He adjusted his hair in the reflection of the small, polished mirror, brushing through the wild silver strands with his fingers. His mind raced with the thoughts of what lay ahead-what awaited them on the island that held so many memories for their mother, and now, a place that would forever mark the end of one chapter of their lives.

Aeron, though, was slower to rise, still groggy from the abrupt awakening. He groaned as he stood before his trunk, rummaging through his clothes with a mixture of impatience and reluctance. He muttered under his breath, finally pulling on a black tunic that matched his brother and father's style. The dark fabric felt warm against his skin, but the young Targaryen still wasn't quite ready to face the day.

"Come on, Aeron," Vaegon urged, pacing restlessly as he pulled on his boots. "Father's waiting."

"I know, I know," Aeron grumbled, his voice thick with sleep, though he couldn't help but notice the gleam in his twin's eyes. Vaegon was always eager for adventure, and even now, as they stood on the precipice of something far more serious, the boy couldn't resist his brother's infectious enthusiasm.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Aeron was dressed. The twins took one last look around their chambers to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, then hurried from the room, their footsteps echoing in the corridors.

They met Baela and Rhaena in the hall just outside the main chamber, both girls already dressed and standing with their own preparations for the day. Baela, with her usual composed grace, seemed to have no trouble at all with the early hour. Her sharp gaze softened when she saw the twins approach, but she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the sight of Aeron, still grumbling under his breath.

"Did you have to drag him out of bed, Vaegon?" Baela asked with a wry smile, crossing her arms. "He looks like a bear that's just been woken from hibernation."

Vaegon grinned, shrugging. "He's just stubborn. I had to pull him out by the ankles."

Aeron scowled at his brother's teasing, but Rhaena-ever the gentle soul-simply smiled and gave him a soft nudge.

"You'll wake up soon enough, Aeron," Rhaena said kindly, her voice warm like the rising sun. "Besides, we're almost there."

Aeron mumbled something in response, but the promise of their arrival on Driftmark was enough to quell his grumbling for the moment.

The four children, now assembled, made their way up to the deck, where the sight of Driftmark's shores grew ever clearer, the dark cliffs and rocky coastline rising from the ocean like ancient sentinels. They stood side by side as the ship drew closer, the sound of the waves crashing against the hull seeming to grow louder in their ears.

Vaegon felt the anticipation building within him. His heart raced as he looked to his siblings, then to the sea ahead, knowing that they would soon disembark and set foot on the land where their step mother had been born-where she would now be laid to rest. It was a moment that felt both monumental and deeply personal, as if the very land before them was tied to the echoes of their past and future.

Their father, Daemon, stood at the helm of the ship, his dark cloak billowing in the wind as he guided them ever closer to the shore. His stern expression softened just slightly when he saw his children approach, though his eyes remained sharp, ever watchful, and ever calculating.

"Are you ready?" Daemon asked, his voice carrying over the wind. He gazed at his children, his gaze lingering on Vaegon and Aeron, his twins, as they stood at his side. The boys were always full of energy, though today, there was something more in their eyes-an awareness, a quiet understanding of the gravity of what was to come. Daemon felt a pang in his chest, knowing their innocence was lessening as the days went on-and that being around his family would speed this process.

Vaegon nodded first, his excitement evident in the sparkle of his gaze. "We're ready, Father."

Aeron, despite his early grumpiness, couldn't help but feel the pull of the moment. He had always been more reserved, less outwardly enthusiastic, but even he felt the quiet stir of something-something deep and unspoken.

"I suppose," he said, his voice reluctant but sincere. "I'm ready too."

Baela and Rhaena nodded as well, their faces set with determination, though their eyes, like their brothers', held the soft sorrow of what was to come.

Daemon gave them all a look that seemed to weigh their words and intentions, before turning his gaze back to the land ahead. His lips twisted into a faint smile, though it was a smile touched with the quiet sadness of the moment.

"Then let us go," he said simply, his tone resolute as the ship made its final approach to Driftmark's rocky shore.

The ship came to a gentle halt against the rocky shores of Driftmark, the island's cliffs rising starkly from the sea like silent, ancient guardians. The children stepped onto the dock, their feet meeting solid ground after what had felt like an eternity at sea. The salty air was thick with the scent of the ocean, but it also carried the somber weight of the day-their arrival marking both a new chapter and the close of another.

As they made their way toward the waiting procession, their eyes immediately sought the familiar faces of their stepmother's family. Laena's parents, Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen, stood at the front, flanked by the cold, imposing figure of Vaemond Velaryon-Corly's brother. There was an unmistakable tension in the air, as if the very act of stepping onto Driftmark's soil was an affront to some unspoken expectation.

Rhaenys' sharp, regal eyes softened as they fell upon her granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. She crossed the short distance between them, her strong arms wrapping the girls in an embrace, the warmth in her touch a stark contrast to the chilly morning air.

"Baela, Rhaena," she said softly, her voice laced with a grief that mirrored their own.

Corlys, standing behind his wife, offered a more reserved smile, his silver hair catching the light of the rising sun. He placed a hand gently on Baela's shoulder, his eyes glinting with the pride of a grandfather who had always sought the strength and power of his bloodline in his grandchildren.

"The sea calls to you both," Corlys murmured, his voice as deep and commanding as the ocean he had once ruled. "Your mother would be proud."

But for the twins, the scene was different. Aeron and Vaegon, standing somewhat apart from the family reunion, couldn't help but feel the cold disapproval emanating from Vaemond Velaryon. Though they were Daemon's sons, their bloodline was not that of Driftmark. They were not born of Corlys and Rhaenys' blood, and Vaemond had never been one to hide his disdain for anything that did not reflect the purity of the Velaryon name.

Vaemond's gaze lingered over them only briefly, his eyes dismissing them with a cold, indifferent stare. He offered no greeting, no warmth, simply standing back with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes-dark violet and sharp as a blade-seemed to cut through them as if they were little more than a mere inconvenience.

It was a slight that neither twin could quite ignore, though neither of them voiced their discomfort. Instead, they kept their faces neutral, casting fleeting glances at each other as they tried to make sense of the situation.

Daemon stood behind his children, his posture rigid as he took in the scene. He, too, felt the weight of the tension in the air, though his expression remained stoic. There was no affection in the eyes of Rhaenys and Corlys for him-not like there had been for his daughters-their granddaughters. Instead, there was only a quiet, unspoken judgment that seemed to linger between them all.

But that was nothing new. His past with Laena had been messy, full of passion and tragedy, and now it seemed that the same weight was being passed onto his sons.

Though Corlys and Rhaenys offered polite smiles to the boys, it was clear that the familial bonds they shared with Baela and Rhaena were deeper, forged by blood. They looked at Vaegon and Aeron with a certain coldness, as though these boys were but distant relatives, more reminders of Daemon's previous marriages than true kin.

The moment of reunion between the grandchildren and grandparents lingered for a few beats, the air thick with the emotions of the past, before Rhaenys pulled back from her embrace with Baela and Rhaena, her sharp eyes flicking toward Daemon. She spoke not a word to him, but her gaze alone was enough to convey an unspoken message.

Daemon felt the sting of her silence, though he remained unmoved on the surface, standing tall as ever. He nodded to his children, signaling them to move with him toward the landing party. The twins followed close behind, their eyes downcast as they caught the subtle undertones of the awkward meeting.

With a final glance at his estranged family, Daemon moved toward the waiting carriage that would carry them further into the heart of Driftmark, the twins in tow. Rhaenys and Corlys watched them go, their expressions unreadable, while Vaemond stayed behind, his gaze never wavering from Daemon's back, as if daring him to prove his worth.

As the children climbed into the carriage, the weight of the journey and the loss of their mother still hung heavy over them all, but it was in that quiet moment, beneath the stoic stares of their stepfamily, that they realized just how much they still had to navigate. Driftmark had always been a place of power and pride-a place where the tides of history ran as deep as the sea itself.

But now, for the twins, it would be a place of new beginnings-and perhaps, in time, a place of reconciliation, where they might find their own footing in a family that seemed so reluctant to embrace them fully.

𝔗he great hall of Driftmark loomed vast and solemn before them, its high, vaulted ceilings casting long shadows beneath the flickering torchlight. The scent of brine and damp stone clung to the air, mingling with the faint traces of beeswax and smoldering firewood. Tapestries of deep cerulean adorned the walls, embroidered with silver-threaded seahorses that glimmered in the dim glow, each a silent sentinel of House Velaryon's unyielding dominion over the seas.

For all its grandeur, the weight of grief was a palpable thing within these walls, thick as the fog that clung to Driftmark's shores at dawn. Their arrival was not one of merriment, nor of long-awaited reunion, but of mourning-a stark reminder of the loss that had brought them here.

And yet, through the somber air, a sudden burst of movement shattered the stillness.

A figure darted forth, silver-haired and fleet-footed, her footsteps light against the cold stone. She moved with the unbridled energy of youth, her violet eyes gleaming like polished amethysts beneath the dim torchlight. The wind from the open archways caught at the curls cascading down her back, making them dance like the crests of restless waves.

"Rhaena! Baela!"

The girl's voice rang out, warm and bright, an ember against the cold.

Recognition dawned swiftly upon the twins, though it had been years since they last laid eyes upon her. Saela Velaryon-youngest daughter of Corlys and Rhaenys, little sister to their late stepmother, Laena. Once a mere child of the nursery, now standing before them on the cusp of her twelfth nameday.

She came to an abrupt halt before Rhaena and Baela, reaching out to clasp their hands in her own. There was a steadiness in her grip, a quiet strength that belied her age. "My dear nieces," she murmured, her expression shifting to one of solemn sincerity. "I am so very sorry for your loss."

A hush fell over them. Even the ever-mischievous Vaegon and Aeron, so prone to filling silence with jest or mischief, found themselves uncharacteristically subdued.

From where he stood, Corlys Velaryon watched the exchange with a measured gaze, his expression unreadable. But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Saela, my pearl. Why don't you show the others to their chambers? It has been long since they last visited, and I trust you will make them feel right at home."

Saela straightened at her father's words, dipping her chin in acknowledgement before turning back to the assembled children. "Come," she said, her tone shifting, lighter now. "You must be eager to stretch your legs after such a journey."

She moved with purpose, leading them through the winding corridors, where the stone glistened with the dampness of the sea air, and the sconces flickered, casting their golden glow against the walls. The echoes of their footsteps trailed behind them, their passage heralded by the occasional creak of the doors that lined the halls.

As they walked, Saela turned her gaze upon the twins, taking them in with a look of appraisal. "Gods," she mused, a teasing glint in her eyes, "you two have grown."

Vaegon and Aeron exchanged a glance, their identical faces wearing matching expressions of awkward amusement. Though they were of the same age as Saela, there was something about her presence that unsettled them-not in an unpleasant way, but in the way that boys of eleven often found themselves suddenly unsure in the presence of a girl their own age.

Saela merely smiled, her warmth unwavering. "I wish we were meeting again under better circumstances..." She trailed off, as if uncertain how to proceed, then exhaled softly, shaking her head. "Forgive me if I sound brash-Father warns it is my worst quality-but what I mean to say is... I am sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine the pain each of you are feeling."

For a moment, there was only the distant crash of waves against the cliffs, the cry of gulls in the morning sky. Then, Vaegon-ever the more forward of the lot-offered a small nod. "We are managing," he said simply, his voice steady.

Saela studied him for a brief moment, as if weighing whether or not to press further, but in the end, she chose a different path. With a shift in tone, she gestured toward a pair of dark oak doors ahead of them. "Here," she said, "these will be your chambers." Then, motioning across the hall, she continued, "And these belong to Baela and Rhaena. Jacaerys and Lucerys are just down that way." She pointed toward another corridor, where the torches flickered lower. "And Aegon and Aemond are just there. Helaena is further down."

At this, Aeron finally spoke. "Are they here yet? We saw Syrax on the cliffs."

Saela's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Yes! They arrived a few days past. Did not have to travel nearly as far as you did."

The knowledge settled something in them all. Their cousins-some close, others less so-were gathered here, their fates entwined by blood and duty. The days ahead would not be spent in solitude.

For better or worse, Driftmark was full once more.