DRIFTMARK
124 AC
Baela and Rhaena hadn't left her side since the passing of their mother. The Targaryen and Han household voyaged on sea to the ancestral seat of House Velaryon for Laena's funeral.
Dressed in the colours of mourning, Hira stood with the twins as they listened to the eulogy given by Vaemond Velaryon. Baela was clinging onto the Princess Rhaenys, her hand grasping Hira's, whilst Rhaena held the other. Ming, Jade and Linh stood behind them, providing a silent comfort.
In Leng, death wasn't a solemn affair, but rather a celebration of life through a bonfire of lights and a special dance which guided the deceased's spirit to the other realm. It felt odd to wear black.
Death wasn't foreign to Hira, for the Dark Other had paid their visit to her through her lifetime. But this wasn't a simple someone, this was Laena who over the past year became someone she cherished, a woman she viewed as a mother figure. Losing Laena felt a lot like losing a limb.
The pact between Laena and Hira lingered in the air and wrapped a tight coil around her tanned, slender neck. She was forever bound to this vow.
"Salt courses through Velaryon blood," Vaemond declared, staring sharply at the brown haired boys she knew to be Princess Rhaenyra's sons, the heir to the Iron Throne. Vaemond's gaze was like daggers.
She knew of the whispers being said about the next-in-line to the throne, how her sons were bastards and not true Velaryons.
Hira pondered on this. Why did it matter if they weren't trueborn Velaryons? The Targaryens held the throne, if the successor came from the womb of the heir, then their legitimacy shouldn't even be a question.
She supposed she could relate to the boys' disposition. Hira wasn't born from either of her mother's Lengii or Yi Tish husband-consorts, yet she was a Han by blood and later by name when her mother crowned her as the spare, officially legitimising her.
It was a pity that Westeros was so heavily patriarchal, with their society's need for men to be valued higher than women and girls.
In Leng, the people worshipped the God-Empress, therefore society was skewed towards the matriarchy, but at least the Lengii knew and appreciated the value of their men, in a way that the Westerosi had trouble with their women.
"Our runs thick. Ours run true. And ours must never thin."
A mocking laugh interrupted the eulogy.
"Has he no shame?" In Lengii, Linh questioned, disapproval written across her face.
Hira shook her head in response, sighing disappointedly at Daemon's condescending behaviour. This was a funeral for his wife, the mother of his girls. How could he behave in such a manner?
She knew Rhaenyra was the lost love of her father.
There was an incident, the one time where Laena was deep in her cups and revealed that Daemon had a minor transgression with the princess in her youth.
Hira may not know her father as well as his lady-wife did, but she knew well enough that he still yearned for the heir, even after a decade of separation. To draw attention to himself at his late wife's funeral, so that the suspicious glances given to the princess' son were instead directed to him. Truly, Daemon's acts of love was conflicting and deeply confusing.
The tension was obvious, it littered the air like a bad odour and clung to the little princes' bodies. It was clear the Targaryen House was divided in black and green, whilst their King stood ignorant.
YOU ARE READING
The Passion of a Thousand Suns | Aemond Targaryen
Fanfiction❛❛ Aemond yearned for her, that much she knew. It was a pity duty held a crown over her head, for Hira would have gladly fallen into his desire. ❜❜ - Hira, known to the Seven Kingdoms as Daemon's bastard daughter. In Leng, a Princess, a daughter of...
