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DRAGONSTONE || 130 AC
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𝕿he sky was overcast, casting a somber light over Dragonstone as the mourners gathered for the funeral of Princess Visenya, the stillborn daughter of Rhaenyra. The air was thick with grief and the scent of burning incense as the family stood in solemn silence around the small pyre where the tiny body rested, swaddled in silken cloth. Rhaenyra's face was a mask of pain, her eyes hollow from the loss of her child, her grief palpable as she struggled to maintain her composure.
Daena stood close to her sister, her heart breaking at the sight of Rhaenyra's agony. She had felt the sting of loss before, but this—the loss of a child, of a daughter who would never know the world—was a different kind of pain, one that cut deeper than any sword. She reached out, taking Rhaenyra's hand in hers, offering what little comfort she could, though she knew it would never be enough.
As the flames began to consume the small pyre, the crackle of the fire was the only sound that filled the heavy silence. The flames danced, their light reflecting in Daena's tear-filled eyes, but she forced herself to stay strong for her sister, her fingers tightening around Rhaenyra's as if trying to share the burden of her grief. Then, through the haze of smoke and sorrow, Ser Erryk Cargyll made his way toward them. In Ser Erryk's hands, he carried a crown—the crown of Rhaenyra's father, King Viserys. The sight of it brought a shift in the air, a subtle but undeniable change as those gathered realised what was about to take place.
Erryk knelt before Rhaenyra, offering the crown with a reverence that spoke to the gravity of the moment, "Your Grace," he said, his voice steady despite the emotions that rippled through the gathered crowd, "I swear to ward the Queen..." Rhaenyra hesitated for only a moment, her grief-stricken face hardening with resolve as Daemon took the crown in his hands.
Daena watched as her sister, with the weight of both loss and responsibility heavy upon her, had the crown upon her head. It was a moment of profound significance, a declaration that despite all the pain and betrayal they had suffered, Rhaenyra would not be defeated. She would rise, as she always had, and claim what was rightfully hers. As the crown settled on Rhaenyra's head, a murmur of allegiance rippled through the gathered crowd. Daena's heart swelled with pride for her sister, but it was a bittersweet pride, tinged with the sorrow of the day's loss. She squeezed Rhaenyra's hand one last time before letting go, stepping back to allow the others to pledge their loyalty to the new queen.
In that moment, as the flames consumed Visenya's body and Rhaenyra stood crowned as the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daena felt a fierce determination settle within her. Whatever battles lay ahead, she would stand by her sister's side, ready to fight for their family, their legacy, and the crown that now rested on Rhaenyra's brow. She was now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
