The Passion of a Thousand Suns | Aemond Targaryen

Nine: of something peaceful

KING'S LANDING 

Before departing for the Dragonpit, Hira changed into a loose white tunic and dark blue pants. Layering a thick shenyi, her long coat ended at her knees and was tidied with a black belt. 

She signalled to Emica stationed at her door, the third member of her Sapphire Guard and her mother's oldest childhood friend. Emica was a tall woman who towered over even the lengthiest of Lengii men, with shaved sides and a thick braid that ran down the middle of her head to her waist. She was bulky and intimidating, even by Lengii standards.

Passing the corridors of the Keep, a few noble ladies sent a look to Hira, before whispering behind their hands and giggling. In response Hira sent a false smile, with Emica glaring daggers at them.

As they made their way towards the Hill of Rhaenys, they crossed the Street of the Sisters. Hira kicked the stones off the cobbled road and followed the footpath to their destination. She was silent, lost in her thoughts.

"Is all well, princess?" Emica questioned in Lengii, aware of the eyes that peered openly at them. "Out of the two Targaryen boys, I thought the tallest was most manageable."

"It's not either of the king's sons who afflicts my mind, but rather my mother," she paused, unsure how to carry on. Emica patiently waited for her to continue, knowing she needed time to explain how she felt. "Leng hasn't seen their second princess for over three years. I wonder if my mother misses me."

"Yhatia is known for her fierce love of her daughters. You doubt her love for you?"

She immediately rebuffed. "I doubt my importance to her. She might have sent me away to protect her succession, but there are many in Leng who wanted me gone even before the civil war. Perhaps my mother thought it was better seeing me off across the sea, than to live in regret of my legitimisation."

"Leng has its flaws and her people are unfair, but your mother legitimised you because you are her daughter. She sent you to learn at your father's feet, knowing of the battles he's won—there is much to learn at his knee. You are the daughter she sent to foster relations with the dragons who conquered and united kingdoms under one rule."

The words were meant to be a balm, but somehow they felt hollow.

"You know Emica, you do this funny little thing where your mouth moves and all I hear are my mother's words."

Emica side-eyed her, unimpressed. "I've known Yhatia since she was little more than the third child of your grandmother."

The third child who survived the Spring Sadness, a great plague that swept through Essos and reached even their shores when everyone believed it wouldn't. The first and second daughter had died from the plague and Hira's mother ascended the throne ten years later when her own mother passed.

All the humour left Hira, as she confessed, "I don't doubt her love. But my name day approaches and the only wish I yearn to come true is to return home. Yet, mother demands a marriage with a dragon. If I return empty handed, would she still love me then? Or will I simply be a failure in her eyes?"

Emica gave no reply, causing Hira to tuck her face into the collar of her shenyi, already knowing the answer. Her mother's love has always been intense and deep, but her ambition was far greater. It'll be the death of her, for ambition was a disease to those who courted it.

Abruptly, Hira was yanked to the side by her guard, who covered her body with her large form against a wall. As the scrap of metal was heard, Hira peek from behind Emica's arm.

"What in the Old Ones? It's a child, Emica! Withdraw your sword this instant," Hira exclaimed.

"I meant no harm," the child cried out, hands in the air as if surrendering. "I simply wish to greet the Lady. Her clothing looks so soft and strange. I only wanted to feel the material."