THE LUCKY ONES; house of the dragon

chapter 7

[act one; chapter seven     -     woven threads]

    A girl, aged only eight years, stands between her family. She stands silently, surrounded by faces she knew and others she did not. A strange thing, really. To have so many of those whom she did not know gathered to mourn the life of the one who she never imagined she would lose.

    Her mother. Laena.

    Her grandsire's brother spoke, the man quite a stranger to her in this life that she lived. "We join together at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come."

    She stood silently, biding her tears with her attention focused entirely on the stone beneath her feet, her eyes cast downward as her grandsire rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, allowing her to lean into his side.

    "As she sets to sea for her final voyage," Vaemond spoke solely in High Valyrian, a language in which Daena had learned some time ago, though she was still very much a student of her father's teachings. "The Lady Laena leaves three true-born daughters on the shore. Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will remain bound together in blood."

    She cast her eyes, then, sidelong, allowing them to drift across the platform and fall upon all of those who had come to attend the final goodbye to her mother. The Royal Family was, of course, in attendance, her father's family. She had never truly known them, not really. Though she supposed her father's younger brother, Aerion, had been quite an idol of hers. And his wife, Rhaella. They're children were still several years her senior, save for their youngest. But she did not know them. Not truly. She supposed her closest companions were her sisters, Baela and Rhaena. Twins.

    Daena felt quite alone in her world. As if there was no one else there to accompany her. As if she were a ghost of the Stranger, floating through the castle halls, only ever a witness to true life.

    Her eyes, a dark violet, fell to Vaemond once more as his sharp words were made to cut at unspoken truths. "Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. Ours must never thin."

    Her fathers laughter pulled her from her thoughts, eyes snapping up to watch as he tipped his head to the ground, a smile, one filled with something she could not quite understand, lifting at his lips. She looked away, almost instinctively, and her eyes, however, met much kinder ones adjacent from where she stood.

    Rhaella Targaryen, born a Baratheon, had her arms draped over her youngest child, a little girl with dark hair and pale skin. She was beautiful, Daena realized. A beautiful woman that her father had always spoken highly of. The Princess' eyes lifted, meeting her own, and she smiled. It was instinct, Daena noticed. The reaction and coming of a gentle kindness that she felt as though she lacked as of late.