Chapter 25: The Empress's Return to the Living Heart
Time: 46 AC, shortly after Vala's passing
POV: Kaelen Silvanor
The days following Vala's quiet departure had settled into a profound stillness within Ael'tharion. The initial, raw shock had given way to a deep, pervasive sorrow that touched every living thing in our city. My own grief was an ancient ache, familiar yet utterly fresh, a sorrow woven into the very fabric of my being. I had withdrawn, as was my way in times of profound loss, allowing the ageless rhythms of the land to absorb my pain. But now, it was time for the final farewell, the solemn ceremony that would honor Empress Vala and mark her passage from our sight.
The funeral of an empress, especially one who had so profoundly bridged two worlds, was to be a convergence of traditions, a testament to her unique legacy. My Ael'athar kin, with their deep reverence for the cycles of life and their quiet, light-infused rituals, would join with the Valyrian solemnity and fiery ancestral rites brought by House Belaerys. It would be a goodbye unlike any seen before, a farewell fit for the mother of a new dynasty.
The ceremony was held in the Heartwood Sanctum, a newly consecrated space deep within the central, oldest parts of Ael'tharion. It was an immense, naturally formed cavern, its walls luminous with ancient moss and veins of glittering crystal that pulsed with soft, internal light. Massive, ancient roots, as thick as lesser trees, crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling, their surfaces glowing with the subtle energy of our world. At its center stood a raised platform of polished living wood, which would serve as her final resting place. The air, though sorrowful, was clean and carried the faint scent of growing things and rare, sweet incense.
A procession formed, solemn and silent. Leading it were my children, their faces etched with a profound, quiet grief that bespoke their unique heritage. Aerion, holding himself with the solemn dignity of the eldest, walked beside his grandfather, Lord Maekar Belaerys. Aerion's emerald eyes, though clouded with tears, carried a steady resolve. Elaron, introspective, moved with a controlled gravity, his amethyst gaze fixed straight ahead, while Aelia, usually a whirlwind of motion, walked with a pained slowness, her head bowed, her brilliant silver hair a stark contrast to her somber demeanor. Behind them came Valerion, his heightened senses likely overwhelmed by the collective sorrow, and little Lorien, her small hand clutching Elaron's robes, tears streaming silently down her face, her connection to life feeling the profound emptiness of loss.
Behind them came the Belaerys kin, their silver hair a river of mourning, their Valyrian robes dark and unadorned. Lord Maekar, though visibly aged, bore his grief with the stoicism of a true Dragonlord, his eyes often flickering towards us, his grandchildren, a bittersweet solace. Then came the Emerald Council, my wise advisors, their Elven faces etched with sympathy and quiet understanding. And finally, the gathered populace: Ael'athar citizens, their ethereal beauty touched by sorrow; and the human settlers of the Sunstone Isles, their faces testament to the Empress who had embraced them.
My own place was at the end of the procession, walking alone, absorbing the collective grief, but feeling my own loss with an ancient depth that no one could fully comprehend. My gaze remained fixed on Vala's form, borne on a litter woven from luminous living fibers, draped in an emerald cloth embroidered with silver dragons.
As we reached the Heartwood Sanctum, the mournful, melodic strains of the Silvanar Laments began. Voices, pure and ethereal, rose and fell, weaving a tapestry of sound that spoke of the cycle of life, the beauty of existence, and the gentle passage from one state to another. It was not a lament of despair, but one of profound reverence for the journey of a soul.
Lord Maekar then stepped forward, his voice, though rough with emotion, clear and strong. He spoke in the ancient Valyrian tongue, praising Vala's spirit, her loyalty, her courage in embracing a future so different from her heritage. As he spoke, a single, deep mournful cry echoed from high above the Sanctum, piercing through the stone ceiling. It was Veridian, Aerion's dragon, a sound of shared grief that made the crystals in the walls hum. Other dragons, unseen, echoed the lament from afar, a low, sorrowful chorus.
Then, Aerion, Elaron, and Aelia stepped forward, each carrying a small, intricately carved wooden box. Aerion placed a sprig of eternally blooming night-lotus beside his mother. Elaron, with a controlled tremor, placed a small, perfectly smooth river stone. Aelia, with a deep, shuddering breath, set a single, vibrant sapphire, a gem she had personally coaxed from the earth. These were symbolic offerings, bridging their inherited powers with their deep, personal love.
I then stepped onto the platform, my heart heavy, my gaze fixed on Vala. I knelt beside her, taking her hand one last time. Her skin was cool, but a faint, luminous warmth still seemed to emanate from her, a testament to the radiant spirit she possessed. I spoke to her, in a voice meant only for her, words that spanned the ages, words of love, gratitude, and a promise that her legacy, our children, would be cherished and guided for all eternity.
Then came the final goodbye. At my gesture, Eldrin, the Guardian of Lore, and Gareth, the Sentinel of the Verdant Shield, approached the bier. With solemn grace, they began a unique ritual of the Ael'athar. From beneath the platform, threads of luminous, flexible living wood, almost like fine, glowing vines, began to emerge. They gently wove around Vala's form, slowly enclosing her, creating a shimmering, organic cocoon. Simultaneously, a faint, almost invisible mist rose from the floor, carrying a subtle, sweet fragrance.
As the living wood cocoon fully enclosed her, Lord Maekar, with a heavy heart, stepped forward with a small, unlit brazier. At his silent command, one of the Belaerys loremasters, using a small, ancient Valyrian glyph, ignited a small, controlled flame within the brazier. It was a symbolic pyre, a nod to the Valyrian tradition of fire and return to ash, yet here, it was contained, purified. The smoke that rose was thin, shimmering, and absorbed by the living wood above, carrying her essence into the very being of Ael'tharion.
This was not a destruction, but a transformation. The living wood would slowly, reverently, absorb her, integrating her into the timeless essence of our world. Her physical form would become one with Ael'tharion, her spirit woven into the heart of the Emerald Empire she helped to build. It was a sacred merging, a final homecoming that honored both her Valyrian fire and her new, eternal home.
The ceremony concluded with a long silence, broken only by the soft, almost imperceptible hum of the living city around us. My children stood beside me, their hands finding each other's, a silent testament to the strength of their bond forged in shared grief. Vala was gone, her mortal life concluded. But her legacy, my children, empowered by her blood and my own, lived on, ready to carry the torch of the Silvanor Empire into an unknowable future, forever marked by the memory of the Empress who bound dragons to elves, and brought a brilliant, if fleeting, human warmth into an ageless world.