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"WE JOIN TODAY 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. As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the lady Laena leaves two true-born daughters on the shore. Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will all remain bound together in blood," Vaemond Velaryon spoke firmly, allowing his anger to seep through his speech. "Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin."
An unexpected burst of laughter interrupted the speech, and everyone tilted their heads upwards to stare at Daemon Targaryen, who grinned ironically at Vaemond's elaborate choice of words.
"My gentle niece," Vaemond continued, turning a blind eye to his insolence. "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."
Laena's coffin was released into the sea and embraced by the mild waves. Her final destination.
Laenor expelled an agonized breath and stormed away from his family as soon as the ceremony ended. Naerys shifted uncomfortably, not knowing where to turn. She stared at Daemon momentarily, intrigued by his behavior. His outburst had no doubt been an attempt to divert the attention from what Vaemond was trying to convey to everyone present, that she and her brothers were bastards. They were not true Velaryons.
It irked him that he had seized his niece's funeral to take a jab at Rhaenyra's children, who were not to blame for the circumstances of their births.
If anything, their mother was the one to blame.
"Have you seen your father?" inquired Rhaenyra, placing a hand over her daughter's shoulder. "Your little cousins have lost their mother. They could use a kind word." Little cousins... or little half-sisters. She would have to tell Naerys the truth one day.
"We have an equal claim to sympathy," Jacaerys retorted, refusing to meet her gaze.
Rhaenyra sighed heavily. "Jace."
"He's right, mother," Naerys countered, removing Rhaenyra's hand from her shoulder.
"We should be at Harrenhal, mourning Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin," Jacaerys muttered.
"It would not be appropriate," Rhaenyra reminded them. "The Velaryons are our kin and the Strongs are not. Look at me. Do you understand?"
Naerys rolled her eyes. "How can you say that? Everyone knows the truth about us. Did you not hear what Vaemond said? Our blood does not run thick nor true like theirs. Our mere existence offends him. We should not have come here."
