Blood Upon The Snow ||| Cregan Stark

sixteen

The funeral for the baby girl, Visenya, was held on the Dragonmont. It was a traditional Targaryen funeral, where the body was burned. Rhaenyra and Daemon stood beside the bed of wood and fire while the others from the castle were scatted behind her.

Jacaera, Luke, Jace, and Joffrey stood together in a small group. They kept each other close, watching on as Rhaenyra burned her youngest and last child. As if there could be more loss on top of Viserys and the throne.

There was no feeling to describe the deep and strange grief inside. The loss of someone they never knew. It was grief for the future, for things that could have happened. Opportunities that had been ripped away.

All her life Jacaera had wanted for a sister. She loved each and every one of her brothers. But a sister was something she'd always asked for. Someone to share her experiences, to love and shower with a different kind of love.

Yet there they were. Watching as Visenya's body, much too small for a funeral, was burning. Rhaenyra was broken, Daemon was broken. The second time he'd lost a child.

As they watched, though, someone walked up the path. Someone in a King's guard uniform, a white cloak hanging from his armour. Everyone was distracted by the funeral, so the man made it a fair few steps, past the people gathered, toward Rhaenyra.

When her sworn Queen's guard saw the man, they drew their swords, ready to kill one of their former brothers.

Instead, the Knight pulled his helmet off of his head. "I mean no harm, brothers."

He revealed himself as Ser Erryk, a Knight that had been loyal to Viserys, the one who'd tried to get Rhaenys out of the Red Keep.

With his identity revealed, the Queen's guard sheathed their swords and allowed Ser Erryk to approach Daemon, who had a hand on his own sword.

Ser Erryk took a few steps forward before he dropped to his knees and went for the satchel on his hip. Rhaenyra turned then, to see why he had come.

Jacaera could only get a glimpse of what he pulled out of the satchel. But she knew what it was, it couldn't be mistaken.

The crown of Jahaerys and Viserys. The one that rightfully belonged to Rhaenyra.

He held the crown up toward Daemon and began to swear his oath to the Queen.

"I swear to ward the Queen... with all my strength... and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife... hold no lands... father no children." Daemon reached down and took the crown from Ser Erryk. For the first time, Jacaera saw him look truly hurt. His brother was dead.

"I shall guard her secrets... obey her commands... ride at her side, and defend her name and honour."

He studied the crown for a moment longer before turning toward his wife, who said nothing. She was feeling the full effects of her grief. But also the love and support of the people who recognized her as the true Queen.

Daemon took the crown and approached Rhaenyra. Gently, he placed the crown on her head.

It fit perfectly.

As soon as it had been placed, Daemon dropped to a knee in front of Rhaenyra. "My Queen."

Behind him, everyone followed. The servants, the Queensguard, the Lords.