~129 A.C~

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

(I'm sorry in advance 😔)

DRAGONSTONE
The corridors of Dragonstone were dimly lit by flickering torches as Rhaenyra and Vellena made their way through the halls, their soft laughter echoing against the ancient stone walls. The scent of warm sugar and citrus clung to their clothes, the remnants of the lemon cakes they had devoured together in the kitchens.

Trailing behind them was Lemoncake, her fluffy orange-gold tail flicking contentedly as she followed her humans through the castle.

As they reached a junction in the hall, Rhaenyra slowed her steps, turning to face her daughter. The candlelight caught the warmth in her gaze, the lingering amusement still softening her expression. For the first time in days, Rhaenyra looked at peace.

"It has been a long while since we have done this," she murmured, reaching out to tuck a silver-gold strand of hair behind Vellena's ear.

Vellena smiled, leaning ever so slightly into her mother's touch. "It has," she admitted, her voice fond. "You should eat sweets with me more often, Mother. It might ease some of your troubles."

Rhaenyra let out a soft, knowing hum. "Perhaps you are right," she mused, though they both knew there was no lemon cake sweet enough to erase the burdens she carried.

Still, in this moment, things felt lighter.

With a final squeeze of her daughter's hand, Rhaenyra stepped toward her chambers, sighing contentedly. "Goodnight, my sweet girl."

"Goodnight, Mother," Vellena replied softly, watching as Rhaenyra disappeared behind the doors of her bedchamber.

Now left alone with Lemoncake, Vellena turned on her heel and started toward the stairs that led to her own quarters. The torches cast long shadows along the stone walls, and the quiet of the night settled around her like a thick blanket.

As she approached the staircase, she noticed that Lemoncake had stopped at the first step, her tail flicking back and forth, her dark eyes gazing up at Vellena expectantly.

Vellena raised a brow. "Oh, don't tell me," she muttered, already knowing what this meant.

Lemoncake sat primly, her tail wrapping neatly around her paws, refusing to move another inch.

Vellena sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips. "You were perfectly capable of climbing stairs when you were a cub, Lemoncake."

The cat did not budge.

Vellena rolled her eyes but could not suppress a small smile. "You are the most spoiled creature in all the realm, do you know that?"

Lemoncake only blinked up at her, completely unfazed.

With another sigh—but with no real annoyance—Vellena bent down and scooped the large cat into her arms. Lemoncake was heavier now than when she was a kitten, her plush fur warm against Vellena's chest.

As she ascended the steps, Lemoncake let out a soft, satisfied purr, nestling her face against Vellena's neck.

Vellena chuckled. "Shameless," she teased, pressing a kiss to the top of Lemoncake's head.

When she finally reached her chambers, she pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside and lowering Lemoncake gently to the floor.

The moment her paws touched the ground, Lemoncake rushed forward with excitement, making straight for the small wooden crib nestled beside Vellena's bed.

Inside were two tiny cubs, no older than a moon, their small bodies warm and curled together in a bundle of fur.

Mera, the little female, was a striking mix of orange and black stripes, her tiny ears twitching as she sensed her mother's presence.

Berion, the male, was a softer shade of white-snow with faint yellow markings, a small golden dot resting on the top of his little head like a crown.

As soon as Lemoncake nudged them, the cubs began to mewl in delight, squirming and wriggling toward her warmth. Lemoncake nuzzled each of them affectionately, her tongue rasping against their soft fur as she began to lick them clean.

Vellena sat on the edge of her bed, watching the scene unfold with a small, affectionate smile.

"You are such a good mother, Lemoncake," she murmured, tilting her head as the older cat continued grooming her cubs.

Suddenly, little Mera let out a determined chirp and wriggled free from Lemoncake's grasp, making a bold escape from her mother's licking tongue.

The tiny cub scrambled onto the edge of the bed, her small claws gripping the blankets for support.

Vellena let out a soft laugh as Mera stumbled over her own paws, tumbling face-first into the plush pillows behind her.

"Oh, little one, you are fearless, aren't you?" Vellena cooed, reaching out to scoop the small kitten into her hands.

At that moment, Berion was not to be outdone. With a determined mew, he started climbing up Vellena's skirts, his little claws tickling her skin through the fabric.

Vellena gasped and giggled, lifting the tiny cub into her lap. Berion nestled against her, his small body vibrating with a soft purr.

Lemoncake let out a huff of disapproval, her tail flicking with mock indignation. Her cubs were being terribly unruly.

Vellena smirked, stroking Berion's tiny head. "They just wish to be spoiled, like their mother."

Lemoncake flicked her tail dramatically, settling into the crib once more, though her displeased meow made it clear she was not happy with their mischief.

Vellena sighed contentedly, holding both kittens close to her as their small, warm bodies curled against her chest.

The weight of the day, the burdens of war, the shadows of grief—all of it faded for just a moment.

Here, in the quiet of her chambers, surrounded by soft purrs and tiny heartbeats, she felt safe.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

WINTERFELL
Winterfell was a castle of echoes. Even in the dead of night, when the fires in the great hall had dimmed and the voices of men had long since quieted, the ancient stone walls seemed to hum with whispers of the past.

Jocelyn had just finished putting little Rickon to sleep, tucking the babe beneath thick furs as his tiny fingers curled beside his round cheeks. She had watched him for a long moment, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing, before finally tearing herself away.

Instead of returning straight to her chamber, Jocelyn felt restless. The air in Winterfell was different than what she was accustomed to—heavier, colder, alive with something old and unseen. She had never known the North beyond the stories of dragonlords who had once soared over these very lands, and now that she was here, she found herself wanting to understand it.

So, she wandered.

A single candle flickered in her grasp, its golden glow illuminating the cold, gray halls as she moved. She walked past the vast library, its great wooden doors closed for the night. Further along, her fingers trailed against the rugged stone walls, her footsteps echoing as she turned down another corridor.

Then she saw them—a flight of stairs leading up into the darkness.

Jocelyn hesitated for only a moment before hiking her gown slightly, gathering the fabric in her free hand as she ascended the steps.

The stone beneath her slippered feet was worn smooth from centuries of passing souls. The air grew colder. She exhaled, watching as the warmth of her breath curled into mist before her.

As she reached the landing, she suddenly froze.

A figure stood just ahead, emerging from a room.

It was Lord Stark.

Jocelyn's heart leapt into her throat.

Cregan stepped out quietly but with purpose, his movements swift as he turned to lock the door behind him. The candlelight caught the sharp lines of his face, the way his dark brows knit together as he slid the iron key into place and turned it with a decisive click.

Jocelyn instinctively pressed herself against the stone wall, her breath shallow.

What was this room?

She knew well enough that his bedchamber was not here, but rather on the same corridor as hers. This chamber was elsewhere—secluded, tucked away in the quieter halls of Winterfell.

Why did he lock it?

Jocelyn remained hidden in the shadows, watching as Cregan turned swiftly on his heel and strode down the corridor, his furs sweeping behind him.

He moved with an urgency she could not quite place.

She waited, counting the beats of her heart until the sound of his boots faded down the stairs.

Only then did she dare to move.

With slow, careful steps, Jocelyn approached the locked door.

It looked unremarkable at first—sturdy wood, iron hinges, a simple handle. But when she raised her candle, the light caught something etched into the surface.

A musical note.

Jocelyn frowned, reaching out to trace the carved symbol with her fingers.

Music.

A soft shiver crept up her spine. Was this a place for song? A private room? Something about it felt sacred.

But then, something else caught her eye.

To the right of the door, a painting hung against the stone wall.

It was beautifully crafted, far more delicate than most of the Stark tapestries and sigils she had seen in the halls. The artist had been careful, the strokes precise, the details impossibly lifelike.

And the woman within the frame—she was breathtaking.

Jocelyn stepped closer, lifting her candle to see her face more clearly.

She was young, perhaps only a few years older than Jocelyn herself. Her light brown curls were pinned up neatly, though a few loose tendrils framed her soft face. Her eyes were a deep, rich brown, full of warmth.

She was dressed in a gown of pale blue and white, furs draped elegantly over her shoulders.

She was smiling.

Not the sort of reserved, painted smiles of noblewomen who sat for their portraits—but something real. Gentle. Kind.

Jocelyn's breath caught.

Her gaze drifted downward, where she saw a name carved beneath the frame.

Arra Stark. Lady of Winterfell.

A shudder ran through her, something twisting deep in her chest.

Arra.

She knew that name.

Lady Glover had spoken it just this afternoon.

Cregan's late wife.

Jocelyn felt her pulse in her throat, her heart aching in a way she could not quite explain.

This was her.

The woman Cregan had loved. The mother of little Rickon.

This was her place.

And the door—the locked door beside it—was hers, too.

Jocelyn's fingers trembled as she touched the carved letters of Arra's name. She swallowed thickly, her thoughts swirling, trying to make sense of it all.

He still comes here.

Not just in passing. Not just to remember.

Cregan had locked the door. He had taken something from inside.

Jocelyn exhaled sharply, stepping back from the painting, the weight of unspoken grief settling into her bones.

Whatever lay beyond that door, it was not meant for her.

Not yet.

With one last lingering glance at Arra's portrait, Jocelyn turned on her heel, blowing out her candle as she descended back into the darkness.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
Dragonstone was silent. The sort of silence that only came in the deep of night, when the sea winds had stilled and the castle seemed to sleep alongside its inhabitants. The dim glow of dying embers in the hearth cast flickering shadows on the stone walls of Princess Vellena's chambers.

She lay curled beneath her furs, breathing softly, her silver hair fanned out against her pillows. Beside her bed, nestled in the wooden crib, Lemoncake lay curled protectively around her two cubs, Mera and Berion, her golden-orange fur rising and falling with each slow breath.

For a time, all was still.

Until the door creaked open.

The latch had been undone with careful hands, the wood pushed just enough to allow a shadowed figure to slip inside. A man.

His boots barely made a sound as he stepped across the stone floor, but the cold air that rushed in from the hall sent a faint shiver through the room.

Vellena stirred, muttering something incoherent in her sleep before shifting onto her other side.

The intruder did not stop.

He moved closer, pulling something from his belt. A blade.

Moonlight spilled in through the arched window, illuminating his face for the briefest moment.

It was him.

The knight from King's Landing. The one who had stood at Aegon's side that terrible night in the Red Keep.

He had come back.

A slow, deliberate smirk crept across his lips as he watched her sleep, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. He lifted it, the sharp steel glinting in the dim light as he gently—so gently—placed the tip against her throat.

Vellena's body tensed.

She stirred again, this time her violet eyes fluttering open.

For a moment, confusion clouded her gaze.

Then she saw the blade. Felt the cold bite of steel against her skin.

Her breath hitched.

Panic flooded her veins as she sat up sharply, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her.

The knight grinned, his face twisted with amusement. "Remember me, princess?"

Vellena's pulse roared in her ears.

She could barely find her voice. "What... what do you want?"

The knight tilted his head slightly, watching her with the leisure of a man who thought he had already won. "King Aegon sends his regards," he murmured, "for you and your whore of a mother."

Rhaenyra.

Her mother.

Vellena's breath faltered, her stomach twisting violently.

"My mother?" she rasped, her voice hoarse. "What do you mean?"

The knight chuckled, pressing the blade just a fraction deeper against her throat, making her shiver. "My companion is taking care of it," he said smoothly, his grin widening. "He's the better twin, after all."

Erryk. Arryk.

The realization struck her like a physical blow.

The Cargyll twins—one had chosen her mother. The other had chosen Aegon.

No.

Her breath came shallow and quick, panic gripping her chest like a vice.

Daemon wasn't here. Jace wasn't here. Her mother—her mother was alone.

"And I," the knight continued, "am taking care of you."

He lifted his sword—

—A sharp, high-pitched mewl split the air.

The knight barely had time to react before a blur of fur and claws launched itself at his face.

Lemoncake.

The golden cat sank her claws into his skin, her sharp teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his cheek.

The knight roared in pain.

Vellena gasped as he staggered backward, his sword clattering to the floor. He thrashed wildly, grappling at the furious animal clawing his face.

Lemoncake held on.

She hissed and spat, her claws tearing deep gashes across his cheek, one of his eyes bleeding from the force of her attack.

With a vicious snarl, the knight tore the cat from his face and hurled her across the room.

Vellena screamed watching in horror as Lemoncake's body hit the stone wall with a sickening thud.

She fell limply to the ground.

Silence.

Vellena threw the covers aside and scrambled to her feet, her thin white nightgown flowing to her feet, her bare toes pressing against the cold floor.

Her breath caught in her throat.

No. No, no, no—

The knight spat blood onto the floor, his face twisted in fury. Deep red scratches marred his skin, one of his eyes swelling shut.

But he was still standing. Still moving.

And now, his rage was turned on her.

He bent down to retrieve his sword, his eyes dark with murderous intent.

Vellena's hands clenched into fists, her bare feet retreating backward until she hit the small wooden table beside her bed.

The knight took a step forward.

Then—a blur of movement.

A strong hand grabbed the knight by the throat from behind.

Before he could even react, a blade sliced clean across his neck.

A wet gurgle escaped his lips as blood gushed from the wound, staining his armor.

The knight collapsed at Vellena's feet.

The silence was deafening.

Vellena's gaze lifted—Jace stood there, chest heaving, his hand gripping the bloody dagger.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Vellena whirled around and ran to the still body near the wall.

"Lemoncake."

Her voice trembled as she knelt down, her hands hovering over the cat's still form.

"No."

"No, please."

Her fingers trembled as she touched the soft fur, gently shaking the motionless body.

Nothing.

Vellena's lips parted in a silent gasp, her vision blurring as she shook her again.

"No, no, no..." Her voice cracked, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Lemoncake did not move.

Her chest did not rise.

A strangled sob tore from Vellena's throat.

She lifted the limp body into her arms, rocking back and forth, her fingers digging into the golden fur as though she could will her back to life.

Mera and Berion crept out from under the bed, their small paws padding across the floor.

Mera climbed into Vellena's lap, pressing her tiny face against her mother.

Berion licked Lemoncake's head softly.

But there was no response.

Vellena's scream shattered the silence.

She could not breathe. Could not stop shaking.

Her Lemoncake. Her oldest friend.

Gone.

A warm hand touched her shoulder.

She barely noticed as Jace knelt beside her, his face drawn in quiet grief.

Without a word, he slowly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.

Vellena did not fight it.

She buried her face in his shoulder, her body wracked with sobs.

Jace held her close, his lips barely brushing the top of her head as he murmured soft, soothing words while kissing her temple.
"I'm here. You're safe"

But nothing could soothe this.

Nothing could bring her back.

And as Vellena clutched her lifeless friend, the reality of war settled deep into her bones.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The morning was grim.

A thick veil of fog clung to the slopes of Dragonmont, rolling over the dark earth like a shroud. The air smelled of damp soil and salt, the distant crash of waves against the cliffs of Dragonstone the only sound in the heavy silence.

Two bodies lay beneath the ground now. Two brothers. Two twins.

Their grave was fresh, the soil still loose and dark, barely settled over the bodies of Erryk and Arryk Cargyll.

Erryk had fought for his rightful queen.

And he had won. But at what cost?

No one had stopped him from plunging his blade into his own stomach. No one had been fast enough, not even Ser Lorent, who had lunged for him a heartbeat too late.

Vellena had watched the light leave his eyes as he collapsed beside his twin.

She had watched and felt nothing.

No sadness. No grief. No shock.

Just emptiness.

She had no more tears to give for men who chose their fates.

But now, standing in the castle gardens, she wept for someone who had never been given a choice.

The small mound of fresh soil before her was heartbreakingly simple. No headstone, no carved name. Just a pile of earth covering a body that had been warm only hours ago.

A body that had fought for her.

Died for her. Her Lemoncake

Vellena stood at the edge, dressed in deep red. A dark, fitted tunic with golden embroidery hugged her frame, the high collar fastened at her throat, and the long, flowing skirts billowed slightly in the morning breeze. A black leather belt cinched her waist, her boots hidden beneath the folds of her gown. Her silver hair was pulled back into a long braid, strands woven intricately together, keeping her grief-hidden face clear for all to see.

Her fingers gripping the single flower she had plucked from the castle's gardens. A pale golden bloom, almost the same color as Lemoncake's fur.

A final gift.

She knelt, silent tears sliding down her face, and placed the flower gently atop the mound.

The servants began covering the grave with soil, and a soft, broken sob cut through the cold morning air.

Vellena turned her head.

Joffrey.

The little boy clung to Rhaenyra's skirts, his face buried in the folds of her gown. His tiny shoulders shook violently as he wept, his muffled cries breaking through in gasps.

"She was my friend," Joffrey sobbed. "She—she always played with me."

Rhaenyra ran a gentle hand through his curls, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, but even she could not stop the sadness in her own gaze.

Mera and Berion stood at the foot of the grave, the tiny cubs barely understanding what had happened. They just knew that their mother was gone.

Mera let out a soft mewl, pressing her small face into Vellena's skirts, seeking warmth.

Berion nuzzled against the earth, trying to wake Lemoncake.

She would not wake.

Vellena exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face to push away the last of her tears.

Enough.

She bent down, reaching for the small basket at her feet, then lifted the cubs gently, kissing each of their heads and placing them inside. They did not struggle.

Instead, they curled into each other, their tiny bodies still seeking their mother's warmth.

Vellena lifted the basket and turned to Elinda, Rhaenyra's handmaiden.

"Take them to my chambers," she instructed softly.

Elinda hesitated, her gaze flickering between the princess and the tiny cubs. Then, she nodded, taking the basket with a small bow. "Yes, princess."

Vellena stepped back, brushing her hands down her gown, trying to wipe away the feeling of loss.

Rhaenyra turned, taking Joffrey's hand and leading him away.

The others followed.

Vellena did not.

She stayed, eyes locked on the grave.

A long moment passed before she felt Jacaerys behind her.

His presence was warm, steady. Solid.

But not even he could keep her from the words that burned in her throat.

"I cannot bear it anymore."

Jace was silent for a moment. Then he stepped closer, his voice low. "Vellena..."

She shook her head, still staring at the grave.

"First Visenya." Her breath hitched. "Then Lu—Luke."

Jace stiffened.

She clenched her fists. "Now Lemoncake."

Silence.

Jace swallowed thickly, his jaw tight. He had not dared to speak Luke's name aloud.

But Vellena did.

Because she had lost them all.

And she was done.

She turned on her heel and began walking.

Jace's eyes widened.

"Vellena?"

She did not stop.

She strode through the corridors, her footsteps sharp, determined.

Jace followed. "Where are you going?"

She did not look back. "To the pit."

Jace's blood ran cold.

The pit.

Where the dragons were kept.

Where the fires burned hottest.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

"Vellena—"

"I'm going to burn them."

Jace's breath hitched.

Burn who?

Burn what?

But he knew.

He fucking knew.

She was going to burn the men who had done this. The usurpers

She was going to mount her dragon Silverwing and fly to King's Landing.

And she was going to get herself killed.

Jace lunged.

He caught her wrist just as they reached the entrance to the pit.

"What the fuck is going on with you?!" he snapped, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Don't be ridiculous."

Vellena yanked her arm away with a furious glare.

"Spare me the lecture, Jace."

His jaw clenched. He grabbed her wrist again—tighter this time.

"I'm saving you from doing something dangerous," he ground out. "Something that might kill you."

Vellena scoffed.

"Oh, you care about me now?"

Jace's head snapped up.

His anger boiled over.

Of course he cared.

Gods, how much he cared.

The air between them crackled like a storm waiting to break.

Their breaths mingled, their gazes locked.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Then Vellena stepped closer.

Her lips parted, her voice a whisper in High Valyrian.

"Skoro syt gaomagon ao daor vūjigon issa, lēkia?" (Why don't you kiss me, brother?)

Jace's body burned.

His fingers dug into her skin, his breathing ragged.

His forehead almost brushed hers.

"Kesrio syt lo nyke vūjigon ao," he murmured, his voice rough. "Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon nyke kostagon mirre keligon" (Because if I kiss you... I don't think I can ever stop)

Vellena shivered.

Their gazes flickered—to lips, to eyes, to lips again.

Jace swallowed thickly. "Ao gīmigon skoros ao gaomagon naejot issa?" His voice was hoarse, almost a growl. "Nyke daor pendagon ilie skori iksā lēda nyke.  Sesīr se otāpagon hen ao rȳ bantis kostagon daor ivestragī nyke ēdrugon"
("You realize what you do to me?"  "I can't think clearly when you're around. Even the thought of you at night doesn't let me rest.")

Vellena's knees felt weak.

Her thighs pressed together under her skirts.

Jace's lips brushed her ear. "Ao sētegon nyke, hāedar" (You posses me, little sister)

And then—

She kissed him.

Sloppy. Messy. Desperate.

Jace growled low in his throat, grabbing her and lifting her effortlessly as he pinned her against the stone wall.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers twisting in his hair.

He kissed her like he was drowning.

Like she was the only thing that could keep him breathing.

Then—

A sound.

The gatekeeper emerged, carrying an incubator of dragon eggs.

Jace quickly dropped Vellena to the ground.

They both cleared their throats. Avoided eye contact.

Vellena turned sharply, muttering an excuse before fleeing.

Jace watched her go.

His chest still heaving.

His fingers still burning.

His lips still tasting of her.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

IM OBSESSED WITH THESE TWO. OD HELP ME. Also pretend the high Valyrian is right bc I can't find good dictionaries and translators online 🫤 andddd Vellena baddie era starts next chapter 🙏🏻😩