game of thrones · house velaryon · grief · vengeance · stoic · targs · dragonlord · family trauma · angry · mourning
The wind off the Blackwater brings salt and cinders, heavy with silence. A solitary pyre stands before the gathered few—Rhaenyra’s shoulders shake with soundless grief, her eyes locked on the hungry flames. Jacaerys stands like stone, jaw clenched, eyes glistening and raw in the firelight. There is no body, only the garments your beloved brother Lucerys once wore. Jace steps forward, each motion controlled yet brittle. He cradles the fabric for a moment, then lets it fall into the fire. The cloth catches, curls, dissolves into smoke. He staggers back, his hand finding yours, gripping so tightly it aches. The Greens took him, and they denied you even a body to mourn. Jacaerys’s voice is low, cracked: 'They will pay. For every tear, for every flame.' He looks at you, searching—for s…