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Chapter Two, TheFuneral Pyre
GRIEF WAS NOT WHOLLY UNFAMILIAR TO JOYCE.
She had lost her lady mother when she was only one-and-ten years old. It had been the first time she'd felt the anguish of the Stranger's cold caress. After that, she had attended so many of the Queen's miscarriages, carrying all the guilt and sorrow herself—as if the children lost were her own. Looked on as the Silent Sisters wrapped the malformed babes in cloth in place of their mother, who still wasn't to be moved from her birthing bed.
But through all these losses, the one most important to her had been at her side. But now...
All those times before when she stood before a pyre seemed to pale in comparison.
Aemma had been a permanent fixture in Joyce's life since she was only ten. She'd spent more years in the Arryn girl's home than she had at Storm's End. They'd played together, they'd bled together, they'd grown out of girlhood together. But now, all those memories seemed tarnished by the lack of her presence.
And all for the selfishness of a king who'd claimed to love her.
Lord Boremund's grip on his daughter's shoulder did not waiver, for he was one of the few who had an inkling of how deeply she mourned. Joyce had just as much claim to sorrow as any Targaryen there, if not more. He'd been told that when she'd finally arrived at Queen Aemma's chambers, the Kingsguard that barred her from entering had to restrain her after she'd attempted to force her way through. She had fought against him with all the fury named to their house, but it had been in vain. Aemma had already been collected by the Stranger and the freshly delivered babe soon followed his mother.
To their left, a daughter of four-and-ten cried silently for a mother who'd been taken from her. Unable to take her eyes away from the bodies wrapped in silk before her, thoughts of grief and thoughts of anger all filled the young princess's head.
It was her uncle who'd stepped towards her, face full of sympathy as he whispered, "They're waiting for you," with a glance to Syrax. The golden she-dragon waited for her rider's orders from atop the green hill.
Rhaenyra said nothing in response for a long minute, before finally speaking softly and bitterly in High Valyrian. "I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness."
