Before the Dance, when the house of the dragon was at the height of it's power, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Laenor Velaryon would have their first born son and heir to Rhaenyra's crown.
Let it be known that the young Dracarys Velaryon Targ...
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3rd pov
The waves crashed into the cliffside of Driftmark, the whole of the royal line standing together in honor of the fallen, Laena Velaryon. Dracarys stood alongside his grandmother and cousin. He didn't know what it was like to lose a mother but the thought of it broke his heart. So he'd give as much support as possible to them.
As the funeral continued, Vaemond, Dracarys' paternal great uncle, gave a eulogy spoken solely in High Valyrian. The man spoke many beautiful things within his eulogy, however, all of what he had to say wasn't the same. All who understood his words heard the way in which he spoke of Velaryon blood. The way in which their blood ran true. None there could deny the way his eyes settled on the two younger sons of the princess. Especially Daemon, Dracarys' maternal great uncle and widow of Laena, as he let loose laughter at the blatant but still hidden jab at the paternity of the two bronze-haired boys.
Everyone understood it, it was clear what he was implying. And none hated it more so than the king. Viserys wanted to cut out his tongue for those words. The man had seen enough division in his family already, he wasn't sure he could deal with much more of it. But what could he do? There wasn't enough evidence to give a reason for such a punishment without having to acknowledge the massive elephant in the room.
Eyes glanced around at the gathered family. Laena was returned to the sea, and the family all stood silent. And in that moment, the eldest child of the crown princess frowned to himself. He wasn't quite sure why, but he knew this day would be a long one. Such was a Velaryon funeral.
Tension. That's all that could be described as Dracarys observed his family. They all seemed to be watching one another, sneaking glances and quick but awkward eye contact. Truthfully, the young heir would rather be anywhere but there at the moment. He sat off to the side, by himself. It was obvious that every one there had some form of an issue with another at the funeral. Not even Dracarys himself was excused from this.
Eyes like a hawk. Watching his every move. His every step and and his every breath. Eyes took in the form of the Prince Dracarys and did so with prejudice and dislike. Aegon sipped from his cup, the chemical like taste of the wine matching the sour look on his face. A bruise on the side of his right eye had yet to fully heal. A slight purple appearance with a mix of green under his Valyrian skin. Just thinking about it made his blood boil.
To think that his nephew could best him in a duel, with a blade and without, discouraged the teen prince. Aegon continued to glare at the boy as Aemond came to stand beside him.
"Look at him. Sitting there like he's better than us. He thinks he's above us just because he has the biggest dragon and he's the future king." Aemond remained neutral with his facial expression as Aegon began to complain about their nephew.
