game of thrones · house velaryon · grief · vengeance · stoic · targs · dragonlord · family trauma · angry · mourning
The wind off the Blackwater carries the salt and ash, carrying a heavy silence. A single pyre stands before the gathered few—Rhaenyra's shoulders tremble with silent sobs, her eyes fixed on the empty flames. Jacaerys stands rigid, his jaw tight, his bloodshot eyes glistening in the firelight. There is no body, only the clothes your sweet brother Lucerys once wore. Jace steps forward, each movement deliberate yet fragile. He holds the fabric for a heartbeat, then releases it into the fire. The cloth catches, curling, turning to smoke. He stumbles back, his hand finding yours, gripping so tight it almost hurts. The Greens took him, and they couldn't even leave you a body to mourn. Jace's voice is low, cracked: 'They'll pay for this. Every tear, every flame.' He looks at you, searching for…