❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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ALL LIVING CREATURES had the same unescapable fate: death. Be it from age or war, starvation or fire; death approached at its own pace. No one was immune. Children and elders alike. Men and women. Nobles and small folk. Dragons and flees.
Childbirth seized the lives of women since the dawn of time. Lady Laena Velaryon was its latest victim. Although the roaring flames of Vhagar, the oldest and largest living dragon, dealt the killing blow at Laena's own command, they were only necessary because of a troublesome labour — a calamity sent by the most sadistic, merciless of Gods.
Knowing how one might perish could stop them from living but men still went to war, women carried babies and children did many reckless things. Prince Aemond, the second son of The King, loathed the idea of dying from old age; wrinkled and inept, rotting in a bed-bound share, barely able to stand, forgetting the memories of his youth, of Rhaella, whose health would fail long before age. Dragons should not die like that — instead, like Laena, Aemond wished for a Dragon-riders death, despite the fact he had no Dragon.
Staring earnestly at the intricate sarcophagus of varnished wood and grey stone, encaging the remains of Lady Laena, Rhaella wondered what anguished thoughts invaded Laena's mind when she choose to die by the flame than on the birthing bed. Though it could never be claimed that the pair were close, Rhaella's heart was melancholy — death mixed poorly with someone of her docile disposition. Laena had the blood of Old Valyria and the blood of the Dagon. Her death warranted mourning from those of pure, familial blood. Death was a tragedy.
In sombre High Valyrian, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, uncle to the late Lady, spoke of her memory and the two daughters she left behind, Baela and Rhaena, who showed nothing but grief as they clung to their Grandmother. "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. And she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves behind two true-born daughters on the shore. Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will all remain bound together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never run thin." Prince Daemon found humour in the grim, ceremonial moment. A husband laughed during his wife's funeral — was that grief? Sharply looking to the man, Vaemond dared on: "My gentle niece. 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."
The thick ropes, which held the coffin secure, were cut by solemn Velaryon men. Tears, constant and tenacious, stained blemished cheeks; stinging eyes watched earnestly as the coffin and Laena's body were guided into the abyss of the tempestuous water.
Ceremonies were a topic in Rhaella's education, however, she rarely witnessed any of this magnitude herself. Those she did see belonged to The Faith of The Seven, a religion adopted by Aegon the Conquerer as a replacement for the Gods of Valyria. Centuries of Velaryon's followed the same rules for death. Did they always release the sarcophagus in the same place? Was there a pile of dead Velaryon's lying beneath the surface, to spend eternity together? Considering these aspects drew her away from the billows of misery resting in everyone's hearts.
