𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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Long ago, Lady Alenya Darklyn was to be wed to a distant Valyrian noble exiled in Westeros. But on her wedding night, she vanished without a trace. Her groom, said to have practiced dark arts, died screaming by morning. Alenya’s name was erased from the family’s ledgers, and the chamber where she was last seen was sealed. Now, nearly a century later, Duskendale suffers from a creeping blight. Fields rot before harvest, livestock are born malformed, and children whisper of a "woman with a bleeding veil.” When a lowborn kitchen maid named Eira begins to have strange dreams — visions of a woman trapped in shadow beneath the keep — she’s drawn into unraveling the truth.

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄

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In the quiet hours before dawn, when even the waves whispered of the dead, the docks of Duskendale lay shrouded in fog. It was a heavy, smothering fog that swallowed the streets whole and left the town hushed and watchful. The fishermen claimed the sea had grown colder of late. The oldest among them no longer cast their nets past dusk. Seals barked in the distance, but none dared go near the old jetty where the lantern never stayed lit.

In the castle kitchens, Eira stirred from her mat, her limbs heavy with the ache of unrest. Her dreams had been strange again — echoes of a song she did not know, sung by a woman without a face. The melody clung to her like seaweed to skin. It lingered in the air when she woke, haunting the empty corners of the keep. She rose before the others, as always, to light the hearth. Flames crackled to life beneath her hands, and for the briefest moment, the smoke curled like a veil before vanishing into the stone.

“Seven take it.” Muttered Old Nanria, the head cook, as she hobbled in moments later. “The eggs have rotted again.” It was the third crate that week. Chickens miscarried, milk soured in the pail, and crops withered before harvest. Duskendale was rotting from the roots. Septa Merel claimed it was punishment for the town’s sins. The maester spoke of blight in the soil.

But Eira knew better. She had seen the woman in the veil. First in dreams. Then in the bathhouse steam. Then in the reflection of a blackened windowpane.

By week’s end, word spread that Lord Rhander Darklyn had summoned a Septon from King’s Landing. Townsfolk whispered that his wife, Lady Ysmena, had taken to sleepwalking. She wandered the keep barefoot, humming a wedding march older than the Seven. Dogs growled when she ed. Candles sputtered. One maid swore she saw Lady Ysmena's shadow dancing in the corridor — though the Lady herself was still.

That night, Eira’s dream came sharper than ever. A candlelit chamber hung with torn veils and rotting roses. A woman in a bridal gown stood before a tall mirror. Her veil dripped red, her hands were blackened by frost. She turned to Eira and lifted the veil. The face beneath was Eira’s own.

There was a forbidden wing in Dun Fort, sealed for generations. It lay behind ironwood doors bound in chains, past the old library where even the pages had turned to dust. None entered. None spoke of it. But it waited. Eira was drawn to it as if by thread.

One moonless night, as wind moaned through the stones and all others slept, she crept through the corridors. Her lantern flickered nervously, casting shadows that reached for her hem. The key came from Septa Merel, half-mad with fever, who whispered as Eira sponged her brow: “She waits where the vows were broken. Where the bells never rang.”

The key was hidden in an old chalice, wrapped in a faded handkerchief bearing a crest none now recognized. The lock opened with a sigh, as if eager to be turned. Inside, silence reigned. And then, movement.

A figure stood at the far end of the chamber, draped in a gown of faded ivory. Black hair spilled over her shoulders like oil. The air reeked of myrrh, blood, and ashes. Behind her, a bridal altar crumbled into dust. Withered flower petals carpeted the stone floor. “Alenya.” Eira breathed. The name came unbidden.

The bride turned. Her eyes were luminous with grief — and something deeper still. Memory, perhaps. Or vengeance. “I was never wed.” She said, her voice like bells ringing beneath water. “He called forth fire to bind me, and now I burn beneath stone.” She stepped forward. “I have waited. For memory. For justice. For flesh.”

Eira stepped back, her heel striking a loose stone. Behind it, half-buried in mortar, lay a book: The House Darklyn: Lineage and Legacy. Alenya’s name had been scratched out. The bride reached for Eira’s hand. “You wear my face. You bear my pain. Will you wear my veil?” The room spun. Eira screamed. The candle flickered — and went out.

They found her in the morning, barefoot in the great hall, humming a tune none could place. Her hair was damp with mist. She wore a veil embroidered with black roses and thorns —none had seen it before. Her eyes were distant, heavy with secrets.

Lady Ysmena no longer wandered.

The rot lifted from the crops. Livestock birthed true. The blight vanished.

But the bells of the Sept cracked. A mason fell to his death rebuilding the altar. Three ravens brought no reply from King’s Landing.

Duskendale fell silent.

In the old library, a page fluttered loose from a forgotten book. On it was scrawled a forgotten stanza: 'Let not the bride be left unwed, nor veil be torn, nor vows unsaid. Lest grief take root and bloom in stone, and queens arise to rule alone.'

They call her now the Dread Queen of Duskendale. But Eira knows: She was always a bride. Just waiting for someone to . Someone to wear the veil. Someone to finish the wedding. And the song.

𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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Ehehehehe. I had fun with this one :see_no_evil: So, uhhh... I didn't mention it in the intro, but this is my very first entry for the Thrones Creative Club! This month the theme was freestyle, giving us freedom to do whatever we wanted to let ourselves get acquainted with the club. Honestly, I'm not a fan of freestyle themes, mostly because I'm a very indecisive person — I want to do lots of things all at once, and choosing can get complicated especially if I really enjoy more than one option. But enough of my rambling, I hope you liked this entry! <3

#JOLENE