Terms of Endearment │Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

Chapter 27: Requiem

Vhagar's immense form is curled prostrate on the sand, as low to the ground as she can get. As you draw nearer and nearer, following your sister still, you can see a flicker of white among the browns and greens dappling along Vhagar's scales.

Laena. Why is she not moving? Save for the wind tousling her hair, you can see that she is making no attempt to dismount.

When Vhagar growls at Ser Harwin, you and your sister pause.

Daemon grasps at your elbow from behind you. "Careful, sweetling."

You hum an acknowledgement, stepping forward to clutch your sister's hand. Vhagar will not harm you, this you know. She has grown familiar enough with you over the years, and it is clear from her strange behaviour that there is something wrong, something she is seeking your help for.

You and Rhaenyra move forward hand in hand, stopping in front of the beast.

"Ziry baelagon kosti, Vagus?" your sister asks. May we help her, Vhagar?

The aged wyrm cocks her giant head. It is as though she is responding in a language that pounds at some hidden recess of your mind when she stares deep into your eyes. Eventually, she concedes, bowing to the sand and collapsing entirely upon the surface. Her wing folds down and drops as it always does when Laena seeks to ride, giving you and your sister a steady surface upon which to walk.

Together, you stride onward, working in tandem to scale the colossal frame of the oldest dragon in the known world. As the sun rises, casting the isle in pale morning light, you stop. You know.

Rhaenyra falls against Vhagar's hot scales, keening.

There, sat atop her dragon's back, is Laena.

For the first time in days, her eyes are wide open. Her lips are blue, unmoving, as is the rest of her. Her face is ashen and bloodless, frozen forevermore with a smile.

"At my end, I want to die a dragonrider's death," she had said to you once. You smile through your tears at the memory.

You did, Laena, you think to yourself. You did.

Driftmark is as grey and overcast as Dragonstone.

Save for the markedly angrier lashing of the sea upon the shore, the waves crashing with a cacophony of rushing sound, you would think you had not travelled from the isle at all. But there are key differences about that remind you of where you are. The rock is the colour of fawn, not soot, the scent of salt sharper, almost sickening, the Keep brighter, a beam of light among a grey backdrop. And, perhaps, the greatest hallmark of your new location—an effigy of wood and stone bearing the likeness of Laena standing upon the craggy cliff where you have gathered to say your farewells.

Ser Harwin stands pallid and drawn next to the solemn figure of Vaemond Velaryon, eyes fixed firmly to the casket encasing the body of his wife. Beside him are the sombre forms of Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys in mourning black, clutching Baela and Rhaena to their respective sides as the Sea Snake's brother commits your cousin to the ocean.

Vaemond's voice is loud and resonant above the rush of sea. "Tubī Velario Lentro Ābrāzme Laene iēdrarta mōrqittot, māzīlarē tubirri Elēdrion ziry umīsilza luo dāriot, hannagon Embrurliot gierūlti..."

We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, he says, the dominion of the Merling King, where He will guard her for all days to come.