On dragon back, Vaemyra rides across the sea to Driftmark. She rides the Dire Shadow whilst the Snow Beast trails not too far behind. She rides with her two dragons that have nearly outgrown their confinements within the pit in King's Landing. Vaemyra rides in tears as she still mourns the loss of her love, and as she mourns... her dragons feel her pain.

The princesses are reunited after barely a few days of being apart, but the circumstances are far from ideal. Both of their lovers are dead, and instead of Rhaenyra being at the funeral for hers, she must be at the funeral for Vaemyra's, for mourning the loss of Ser Harwin would only raise suspicion.

And within the short time, they've been apart... Otto Hightower has been reinstated as Hand of the King.

"Īlon join tubī rȳ se seat hen embar naejot commit se riña laena hen lentor velaryon naejot se eternal waters, se dominion hen merling dārys skoriot kessa guard zirȳla syt mirre tubissa naejot māzigon. Ziry sets ezīmagon se embar syt zirȳla mōrī voyage, se riña laena tēmbi lanta true-born daughters va se rāenion. Though pōja muña kessa daor return hen zirȳla voyage, kessi mirre umbagon bound hēnkirī isse ānogar. Lopor courses rȳ velaryon ānogar. Īlvon dakogon qumblie. Īlvon dakogon drēje. Se īlvon ēdruta dōrī vasrie."

Daemon can't help but chuckle at the words of Vaemond Velaryon, who seems very keen on insisting that Jace and Luke do not have salt coursing through their veins, and thus are not true Velaryon blood. He draws the attention to himself and creates a disrespectful scene at his wife's funeral. All but Vaemyra seem to care. Her eyes have been locked on the wooden coffin ever since the funeral began, and everything else just fades away.

The ropes on Laena's coffin are pulled as Vaemond continues to speak over it, throwing sand over the wood as it makes its way closer and closer to the edge of the rock... until it falls into the shores down below.

Both Laenor and Vaemyra feel the true burn of Laena's death. To Vaemyra, she lost what could have been her true love. But to Laenor... he lost a sister.

The funeral processions move on to the large balcony that houses all of the patrons, allowing all those to mourn together. Instead of mingling or sharing her trauma with others, Vaemyra sits by herself, back against the rock and eyes facing the sea. The sea where her Laena now lay. She sits by herself on a bench with no one by her side, and ignores the servants going around with wine just waiting to be poured. She ignores every fiber of her being that tells her to take a sip of the delicious grape nectar. She can't drink, she can't bring herself to do it. Something in her mind or body tells her not to, perhaps as a way to prevent her from falling down the slippery slope and drowning her sorrows in wine yet again.

Vaemyra ignores the dramatic glances exchanged between Rhaenyra and Daemon, Rhaenyra and Alicent, Rhaenyra, and Jace, and so on. She ignores the drama and truly wishes to take no part in it. She'd rather be anywhere but here. Being around all these people makes her skin crawl. She'd much rather be with her children, for only they would be able to comfort her.

Rhaenyra sees the discomfort and torment of her sister but still has to maintain appearances. She has her child go comfort Baela and Rhaena, whilst Aemond stares at his sister, mind toiling over whether or not he should go over.

But the little prince puts his best foot forward and approaches the princess, whose eyes appear glazed over and out of focus.

" Vaemyra," Aemond starts with a little nod, doing his absolute best to keep calm and breathe, " I-I would like to offer my support... may I sit?"

" No," Vaemyra utters as she keeps her eyes locked on the sea.

Aemond's brows are furrowed. He's not used to such a short and straight-to-the-point response, but in Vaemyra's mind, no is absolutely a complete sentence.

Vaemyra's mourning takes her away from the crowd. She joins the dragons, for at least they can at least bring her some comfort. Her stale tears stain her cheeks as she approaches her child, whom opens her wings to accompany the princess, but soon growls as she hears someone approaching. Vaemyra groans as she lifts her head, but turns only to see her nephew.

" What are you doing here, Lucerys?" She asks.

" I'm running away!" Luke desperately shouts, " Everything sucks!"

" Yes, everything does," Vaemyra chuckles, then turns her head once she hears the pained groans of Caraxes.

Her eyes spot a tiny little creature latched onto its neck, and she nearly rolls her eyes as she approaches the beast. With ease, she removes the little crab from Caraxes' neck, who dramatically squeals and roars as Vaemyra faces her nephew, of whom is shaking in his boots.

" Do you know what happens to the blood of Old Valyria when it feels threatened?" She asks as she holds up the crab, " It snaps," then she bends down to allow the crab to crawl down the rock and back to the sea, " And one day, you will, too."

But something else catches her eye. Inside Caraxes pouch, there appears to be a bundle of parchment. Her heart skips a beat, and a surge of anticipation courses through her veins.

Drawing closer, Vaemyra climbs up onto the dragon, ignoring his snarls and low growls as she seats herself on his saddle and retrieves the bundle with trembling hands. With each unfolding page, the words of her lost letters come alive, their ink breathing life into her suppressed desires and unspoken truths. The veil of secrecy lifts, revealing the depths of her emotions that had long been denied.

All this time... her letters were hidden. Kept a secret from her darling Laena... all because of her uncle. All because of Laena.

Vaemyra's anger boils over as she reads the heartfelt words she had written to Lady Laena over the years. The pain of their separation intensifies, knowing that her love could have known the depth of her emotions all along. She clenches her fists, crumpling the parchment in her grip, and lets out a guttural scream that echoes across the shores.

The dragons, sensing their rider's distress, respond with their own roars of anguish, adding to the cacophony of grief that fills the air. The sound reverberates through Vaemyra's bones, fueling her fury. She has lost her love, and now she discovers the betrayal of her uncle, who had conspired to keep her letters hidden.

As the tension of the wake grows with Lord Corlys making a scene and nearly exposing the truth of his son's sexuality, all heads turn up to the sky as a dragon screech roars overhead. Princess Vaemyra rides on dragonback above the castle and around the sea's edge... but not on one of her own dragons.

But on Caraxes.

She rides a dragon that has already been claimed, a practically impossible achievement. She shows off, carelessly and unabashedly, making it obvious whose dragon it is and who's riding it. She makes her mark on her uncle as Caraxes flaps his wings overhead as they make their way back to the pads of grass.

And she finally did it. She finally rode Caraxes, all on her own.

Daemon merely chuckles at the scene, thinking not much of it, perhaps this is just how she mourns... but a part of him feels the more profound meaning. Part of him feels her little show's aggression and antagonizing nature of her little show.

And if this were under different circumstances... that could have been seen as an act of war.

Caraxes lands back on the grass with yet another nasally screech as he tries to shake off the princess, who holds onto the saddle tightly and clenches her legs as much as she can.

" Gīda ilagon, Caraxes ( Calm down )" Vaemyra utters as the dragon's neck rolls back to face her, and from the look in his eyes, she knows exactly what he's going to do, " Ȳdra daor sesīr pendagon nūmāzma ziry ( Don't even think about it )", to which he only whines and screeches as his head plops to the side.

Vaemyra hops off the dragon's saddle with ease, and as she walks in front of the dragon, she feels him push her with his nose.

" Caraxes!" She scolds as she turns around to the childish dragon, " Vestan daor ( I said no )", and the dragon whines yet again, like a child who isn't getting what he wants.

Vaemyra approaches her children once more, giving them loving pets and scratches to show where her true loyalties lie. They are her children, first and foremost, but any dragon is a friend of hers. Even a spoiled brat like Syrax. They are her kin as she is to them. The bond is stronger than others, for she doesn't few the dragons as animals, nor beats or lesser than.

But she views them as one of her own. Blood of her blood.

As the day grows to night, Vaemyra's anger only grows as her mind toils over all that she has lost. She lost her childhood, her womanhood, her first male lover, and her first female lover. She's lost so much, and yet seems to have everything at her fingertips.

She is Vaemyra of House Targaryen.

To most, Vaemyra appears to have everything she could ever want, and they're almost right... almost. She almost has the power to change everything... she almost has the power to burn everything down.

But why would she do that? Why would she burn the very thing that gives her life and power?

All-be-it, limited power. She's just a princess. She's just a girl. She's practically nothing. She's not the queen, for if she were... nobody would be able to take anything from her ever again.

Princess Vaemyra takes her toiling mind to the sandy shores of Driftmark, where her jaw aches from how tightly she clenches it. She lets the anger consume her, she lets it consume every part of her, clouding her vision and impairing her judgment, for her aimless walk takes her to a shore abandoned by most... but not to all.

A massive figure looms in the darkness, its scales reflecting the moonlight.  Fear and awe mingle within Vaemyra's heart as she approaches the giant dragon cautiously. Vhagar's eyes follow her every move, a hint of hostility in their depths. The princess understands that this dragon demands respect, and she must tread carefully.

With slow, deliberate steps, Vaemyra extends her hand toward Vhagar, who huffs and shifts, her gaze fixated on the princess. As Vaemyra's hand inches closer, Vhagar leans away, her warning clear. But Vaemyra does not falter. She persists, inching even closer until her fingertips brush against Vhagar's scales. The dragon's eyes narrow, a low rumble emanating from deep within her chest. It seems as though Vhagar is on the verge of breathing fire, but then, with a surprising display of trust, she relaxes. Vhagar unfurls one of her wings, revealing a small, gleaming dragon egg nestled within its protective embrace.

Vaemyra's breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening with a mix of awe and wonder. She reaches out to touch the delicate egg, her fingertips grazing its smooth surface. A surge of warmth courses through her, a connection to the untamed power and potential it holds.

She realizes that her power is not limited to her station as a princess or her role as a protector of dragons. She possesses the blood of Old Valyria, the fire that runs through her veins, and the unwavering spirit of a Targaryen.

Vaemyra's mind races, her heart pounding within her chest. The daring notion that has taken hold of her felt like a wild flame, threatening to consume her very being. A mad thought enters her mind, but if it works, will cement her as a true power. With her hand still resting on the dragon egg, she locks eyes with Vhagar, a mixture of determination and desperation etched across her face.

"Dracarys!"

Time seems to stretch as Vhagar, the giant dragon, responds to her command. With an intimidating presence, the massive creature slowly opens her jaws wide, revealing a glimpse of the inferno that lay within. And then it happens—the torrent of searing flames burst forth, an awe-inspiring display of raw power and unleashed fury. But to Vaemyra's astonishment, the fire does not consume her. It dances and swirls around her, an ethereal inferno that obeyed her will, as if recognizing the blood of Old Valyria that courses through her veins. The flames caresses her skin with a warmth that both exhilarated and frightened her. She stands unscathed, the epitome of the dragon's daughter.

As the flames subside, the dragon egg, still nestled within Vhagar's wing, cracked open with a delicate splintering sound. Vaemyra's breath is caught in her throat as she witnessed the miracle unfolding before her. From within the shattered shell emerges a tiny dragon, its scales a deep, blood-red hue. The creature lets out a soft, melodic chirp, its wings fluttering with a tender vulnerability.

Vaemyra's heart swells with a mixture of joy, awe, and trepidation as she gazes upon her third child, her first son. In that moment, she knows she had witnessed something truly extraordinary—a union of fire and blood, a testament to her ancestry and the power she holds within.

" Rhaeyn... your name is Rhaeyn," She utters with a grin, " Ñuha tresy ( My son )"

The newborn dragon regards her with curious eyes, recognizing her as his mother, forging a bond that transcends mere instinct. It's a connection that ran deep, rooted in the very essence of their shared heritage. Vaemyra cradles Rhaeyn in her arms, his tiny form both delicate and resilient.

Across the sandy beach, she walks, stark naked as the day she was born and enters the castle with her eyes still locked on the baby dragon. She ignores the pleas of the servants, who assume she may have been harmed, but only she knows the truth.

She, as well as the two other sets of prying eyes who witnessed her emerge from the flames untouched.

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