Chapter Text
It's a dragon that does him in, in the end. Grog is well into his fifties and, as powerful as he is, isn't quite in the same shape as he was when he and Vox Machina were still adventuring. The dragon, an ancient blue thing by the name of Blitzslag the Sky Flayer, takes him down with some effort; it's a fight she ultimately loses, but no one can survive a dragon claw to the heart, even Grog Strongjaw.
Most of Vox Machina is there with him when he goes down. Keyleth has barely aged a day since the fall of Vecna, but has years of training and wisdom behind her to aid in the fight. Vex has a faint threading of grey at her temples and few lines at the corners of her eyes, but she’s as eager to have Fenthras in her hands again as Scanlan is to flex his combat muscles. Percy is absent, and that fact will haunt him for years to come—but he is only human, and that means age catches up to him far sooner than his friends. He directs from afar instead, while young Freddy takes his father’s place as sharpshooter.
The battle is fierce and Grog falls like the champion he is, speared on a claw for mere moments before his friends land the killing blow. Pike is to him as fast as she can manage, but it's far too late. It's far too much like Percy’s death at the hands of Raishan—he's been gored, his guts scattered like so much gold from a dragon’s hoard. She doesn't even realize the screaming she hears is her own until she finds herself bundled into Scanlan’s warm but shaking arms. “It's alright, sweetheart,” he whispers, barely holding her up. “You’ll fix him. You always fix us.”
The resurrection doesn't take hold. It's always a risk, she knows. They’d gotten unforgivably lucky in the past, it was bound to happen eventually. Scanlan insists on a second, more intensive ritual in Vasselhiem, but it seems fate’s design is set in stone. Pike briefly considers going to the temple of Vax’s Lady, but….no. Grog is in a better place, as much as the ache in her chest kills her. This is the proper way for him to go, not of old age in his oversized bed. This way, they’ll sing songs of his bravery. Scanlan will make sure of it.
Percy sees that a funeral befitting of the Grand Poobah is thrown in Whitestone, though it's more of a festival in his memory. There’s food, and fighting, and so much ale that the collective hangover stalls the entire city for three days afterward. A life-sized statue is installed in the cemetery with the rest of the titled dead.
The fact that it's right next to the Raven Queen’s temple is purely coincidental, of course.