Salvation | HOTD

8

Driftmark lay in somber hues, the air heavy with the weight of grief as the Targaryen family gathered for Laena's funeral. The sky seemed to mirror the mood, cloaked in muted grays, casting a melancholy shadow over the island.

Aemma stood alongside Helaena, the sea breeze gently tousling their hair. The scent of salt lingered in the air, a poignant reminder of the vastness of the Narrow Sea that surrounded Driftmark. Helaena, lost in her own world, played with a delicate spider, its intricate web capturing the dim light like a mournful tapestry.

Aemond observed Aemma from a distance, an internal conflict etched across his features. Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Aemma's presence seemed to offer a glimmer of solace. Her stark white hair contrasted with the darker hues of her surroundings, an ethereal figure amidst the sorrow.

The breeze carried whispers as Aemma and Helaena exchanged quiet words, a subtle dance of camaraderie amidst the solemnity. Aegon's voice cut through the air, expressing a stark truth. "We have nothing in common," he declared, the weight of his marriage to Helaena in the air.

Aemond, gazing at Aemma, responded stoically, "She's our sister." His words carried a sense of familial duty, a reminder that blood ties surpassed the disparities that set them apart. The funeral atmosphere hung thick around them.

Aegon's retort, "You marry her then," echoed in the somber air.

Aemond's response carried a sense of resignation and duty. "I would perform my duty if Mother had only betrothed us," he replied, acknowledging the weight of familial obligations, even in matters of marriage. Yet, Helaena wasn't the one he was referring to. 

Aemma's youthful enthusiasm contrasted with the melancholy of the funeral. She bounced over to Aemond, her small hand seeking his. "Aunt Helaena is telling beautiful stories, Uncles," she shared, momentarily diverting their attention from the weight of the occasion. The youthful curiosity and the surrounding sadness painted a poignant scene.

Aegon's sneer cut through the air as he questioned Aemma's seemingly inappropriate happiness. "Why are you so happy? Your aunt just died," he remarked, unable to fathom her joy amidst the somber atmosphere.

Aemma swiftly adjusted her expression to a cold demeanor. "I didn't know her very well," she replied, deflecting Aegon's judgment with a reserved tone. Before Aegon could reply she added, "I would only attend your funeral if they serve lemon cakes."

Aemond found himself chuckling at Aemma's audacity, appreciating her fearless demeanor in the face of Aegon. She stood her ground, something Aemond often struggled to do.

As Aegon hastily departed, chasing after another drink, the two were left alone. Aemond lowered his head to speak to Aemma, his voice a hushed invitation, "Aemma."

Her violet eyes met his, and she eagerly rose on her toes to catch his low words. "Do you want to help me acquire a dragon?"

Aemma's eyes widened, glancing around before nodding in agreement. "Where are you planning to get a dragon?"

"Well... Laena left behind Vhagar, she's riderless now. I could claim her."

Aemma nibbled on her lip, glancing at Rhaena, aware that the girl shared the same desire for Vhagar. Aemond sensed the internal struggle in her eyes, and a burning sensation flared in his chest. He wanted  Aemma to choose him.