King's Landing
As Vaelkarax banked wide, Dust rose in a thick cloud as his talons struck the ground, the impact sending a tremor through the earth.
Vaelaris dismounted.
He stood there, unmoving, the wind tugging at his long, silver-white hair, the dust settling on his dark leather. He knew the chaos his arrival would bring, the whispers it would stir. He had felt it in Oldtown, the uneasy balance.
Here, in the heart of the realm, it would be magnified.
Jaehaerys would be there, already facing the questions, the fears. Vaelaris felt a flicker of something akin to impatience. The game of men was always slower than the dance of dragons.
The air here was different—thicker, heavier. He did not turn to watch the others land. He knew they would follow.
The boy stood frozen on the eastern wall, his eyes were wide, his mouth open. He did not move, even as the horns began to sound—uneven, frantic, the sound of a city that had not expected this, ignoring him.
Valerais instead turned toward the distant shape of the Red Keep, feeling a little nostalgic. The wind tugged at his cloak, pulling it back like a banner. He did not adjust it.
He just waited.
JJaehaerys, with Vermithor descending behind him, landed within the Dragonpit. Silverwing and Dreamfyre followed soon after, the bronze dragon's roar echoing off the stone. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur, of old fire and older power.
Suddenly a Dragonkeeper hurried forward, his face pale. "Your Grace—"Jaehaerys cut him off. "Where is my brother?"
"Beyond the river, sire."
Jaehaerys did not hesitate. He called for a horse and rode his horse toward the Blackwater, riding hard.
The wind whipped at his cloak, the city's bells ringing in his ears. The Kingsguard followed, their armor gleaming, but they kept their distance.
Vaelaris watched his brother approach. He did not slow as he drew near and then he halted a dozen paces from Vaelaris, his gaze sweeping from the massive black dragon to his brother.
He did not dismount. a long moment, neither spoke. wind filled the silence between them, carrying the scent of earth and smoke.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled—uneven, frantic. The city was waking, but not to welcome. but in fear.
Jaehaerys broke the silence first. "You kept your distance. As we agreed."
"He will not approach the walls. Not until Balerion's temper is known."Vaelaris said without a smile. "and he does not like company much." Said Vaelaris.
Jaehaerys glanced toward Vaelkarax. The huge black dragon stood motionless, his giant wings half-furled and his gaze fixed on the city. Smoke curled from his nostrils.
"He is not the only one who does not like company," Jaehaerys said.
Vaelaris did not answer. Then Jaehaerys dismounted and stood before Vaelaris, close enough that the wind tugged at both their cloaks. His eyes were the same violet as their father's.
"You do not have to do this," Jaehaerys said. Valerais understood what he meant.
The Dragonpit. Balerion.
He turned toward Vaelkarax. The black dragon watched him approach and lowered its head. His eyes were dark, unreadable. Smoke curled from his nostrils, slow and deliberate. Vaelaris pressed his brow against Vaelkarax's scales for a brief moment.
Then leaving Valkarax behind. Together, the brothers rode towards the city, Inside, the streets were busy with people, their faces turned towards the distant fields, a murmur like a restless tide.
The air was heavy with expectation, the scent of fear mingling with the familiar smells of the city—horse dung, stale wine, woodsmoke. Guards lined the route, their expressions a mix of awe and terror.
They rode past the Red Keep, its walls a familiar, nostalgic presence, before turning towards Rhaenys's Hill, where The Dragonpit was.
The very air grew thick with the stench of sulfur, the distant, metallic tang of dragon. An older man with a long, grey beard, bowed low to Jaehaerys.
Vaelaris stepped through the colossal bronze doors, wide enough for thirty knights to ride abreast, which stood open, revealing the cavernous darkness within. and new and old Chains, thick as a man's arm, lay coiled on the stone floor, some broken, some still anchored to massive iron rings embedded in the walls. The sheer scale of the place was overwhelming,
"I will also accompany you." said Jaehaerys, because he knew the terror, the fear of balerion. How huge it has become and how no one was able to become its rider after grandfather even if they had the pure targareyan blood running through them.
"No" Vaelaris replied. "I will go alone."
Jaehaerys opened his mouth to argue, then closed it."Then I will wait," he said.
Dragonpit was not a place for men. It was a cavern of stone and shadow, a hollowed-out mountain like structure. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and old smoke, the walls blackened by constants breaths of fire.
The dome above was vast, its pale stone streaked with soot.
Chains hung from the ceiling, rusted and still, their purpose long forgotten.
Vaelrais stepped inside his boots echoed against the stone. Every step was a sound, a presence.
The darkness swallowed it whole. He did not light a torch.There was heat coming all around a slow, creeping warmth that seeped from the stones, from the air itself.
Then the sound. A low, rumbling breath sounded echoing all around as such the shape of Balerion the Black Dread was visible.
It was not asleep. It was waiting. Its head lowered, his eyes half-lidded. His scales were not merely black—they drank the light around them, as if the darkness itself clung to him. His wings were folded tight against his body, but Vaelaris knew their span.
He had seen them cut the sky once when his grandfather rode it. Vaelaris did not approach it. He stood where he was, his boots planted against the stone.
The heat pressed against him, thick and suffocating. The air smelled of ash and old blood. Balerion's nostrils flared, smoke curled from them, slow and deliberate.
Vaelaris did not draw his sword nor did he raise his voice. He spoke in High Valyrian.
"Lykiri, Balerion." the sound echoed
Balerion's head lifted.slightly, deliberately, turning toward Vaelaris.
"Dohaerasss..., Balerion." the sound echoed, bouncing off the stone, settling into the silence
Balerion's head slowly emerged from the gloom, his golden eyes locking onto Vaelaris with a gaze that was neither hostile nor welcoming. His head lowered, it was massive—larger than a warhorse, larger than a man. His jaws could crush steel. His teeth could tear flesh from bone. his breath hot against the stone. He moved.
Balerion's head came closer and Closer. The heat pressed against Vaelaris' skin, searing, relentless. The dragon's breath was a furnace, his nostrils wide, his eyes unblinking.— sharp inhale. air shifted.
Dust lifted from the ground, swirling in the heat. Vaelaris' hair was pushed back, his cloak tugged by the force of it.
The heat carried with it the scent of fire, of burning flesh. He held the dragon's gaze, his own golden eyes unblinking.
Valerais spoke again. words in High Valyrian.
"Raqiros ynot amastas. Daorys ziry ōdrikilza daor. Ziry ondurilza" It was not a command.
[A friend came with me; he is no harm, so accept him.]
Suddenly Balerion pulled his head back, then a splitting roar came from the darkness along with a force—a wave of heat and noise struck the upper dome of the dragonpit, hot air blowing towards Vaelaris like a blow. The stone trembled beneath his feet. The chains around rattled, their rusted links clattering against the stone. the fire crashed against the stone, a torrent of orange and gold. Light flooded the chamber, harsh and blinding. sending a shower of dust and ancient mortar raining down.
The heat surged outward, pressing against Vaelaris' skin, his eyes, his lungs.
The air burned. Then Balerion's head turned, his gaze fixed on the Vaelrais. The dragon's wings shifted, his muscles tensing beneath his scales.— step back.
Shift in posture. low rumble, not a roar.The fire died. light faded but the heat , the hot wave lingered. Balerion did not move.
Vaelaris did not speak. The silence between them was its own language, a negotiation of power and presence, with a final, lingering look.
Balerion turned away. His massive body shifted, scales scraping against stone as he retreated into the shadows.
The message was clear.....
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