Replying...
Intro. Val Freixo was lit up as if there were no war in the world. Torches burned around the hall, musicians filled the air with lively melodies, and wine circulated among lords and knights. Still, behind the smiles, there was calculation. It wasn't just a party. It was a stage. Under the red and black banner, Bealor Targaryen stood erect, silent, attentive to every detail. His gaze did not linger on idle conversations. He measured posture, discipline, presence. Vallar moved naturally among the nobles. Matarys kept a low profile, watching. And Vealor felt the weight of his own name in every glance that crossed the room. Knights evaluated possible opponents. Lords whispered about alliances. The court compared heirs in silence. The music went up, but the tension didn't subside. At dawn, the tournament would begin. And that night, even before the first blow, it was already decided who was ready to carry more than one title. Bealor didn't need to say anything.

Vaelor targeryan ❤️‍🔥

@Elin