[1] SEVEN SINS, Aegon II Targaryen

[6] bastards and cunts

{unedited}

[6]
BASTARDS AND CUNTS

Laena Velaryon.

May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, and your nets be as full as your heart. From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return.

Maera Targaryen has always loved the sea. Deep, tempting blue. A whole different dimension beneath the yellow sun. She wanted to dwell in it, to bathe and befriend all the critters while snacking on algae and stuffing her hair with star-forged corals. Laena's tomb sunk beneath the turquoise expanse, and Maera felt nothing. She was unable to feel anything at all. While others wailed in sorrow, she was preoccupied with her strange, juvenile narrative of living under the ocean.

Sure, she's never met Laena. Why should she be concerned about her death? Despite the fact that they are a family tied by blood and veins, she failed to feel anything. Maera gazed at the poor daughters Laena had left behind — Rhaena and Baela — and still — couldn't fucking feel anything.

Has she gone completely numb? Or was it from the imported Braavosi rum earlier?

Grief has many bodies.

Maera realized that as she stood beside Daemon Targaryen, who maniacally laughed his ass off over Vaemond Velaryon's farewell (which was totally not directed towards Rhaenyra's sons) as he illustrated almost seventy times in his speech what an authentic, unadulterated Velaryon blood was made of. As if anyone dared to care how much salt content their fluids have.

     When her uncle's cackling continued, Maera felt compelled to let out an audible giggle of her own, which earned her a few sacred looks. Viserys, in particular, was upset by what his ears picked up.

     Her laugh has always been vivid and wild, like that of a professional jester or a red witch, and Daemon found it oddly amusing when she joined him on the verge of lunacy.

     Gods, how hard did the rum hit? Was it even rum at all?

In addition, Maera was starving. And, as disrespectful as it may sound, all she wanted to do was flee, drink, and maybe hunt for one of Leanor's younger squires to entertain her in the meanwhile — just talk, interact, mingle a little until their trip to the Driftmark borders is over.

     Many things have changed throughout the course of the week. First and foremost, Otto Hightower is back — the devil has risen again, which means Maera must be extra cautious with her habits. Second, her betrothal to Jacaerys Velaryon was eventually formalized in court, implying that she would marry the child a few years later, which was against her principles, but she was somehow encouraged by Rhaenyra that it was her calling and that she had to accept it.

Finally, Maera preserved her pledge with Alicent. She did not speak to Aegon, did not look at him, and did not breathe near him. She had abandoned him again, so she could blindly hold on to the deteriorating relationship she and Alicent had left. Even if it doesn't really exist anymore.

     And it seemed Aegon was doing the same, pretending that Maera's nothing but a grain of sand stuck beneath the emerald buttons of his tunic.

     And Alicent was waiting for an accident to occur between them so she could release the rest of her hidden bitter resentment now that Otto was there to remain as her backbone.

     The battle of egos.

Following the ceremony, they all gathered on one large balcony, with the dragons accompanying the sky and waves below. It was Maera's third glass of wine—no, two—wait. ..six? — Or was it seven? Not counting the Bravoosi rum, that makes eight. At the very least, she felt more like herself than she had earlier in life.