THE HOUSE OF DRAGON: THE FIRST AGE OF TARGARYEN

CHAPTER 14

Vaelor stood tall, his voice unwavering as he addressed his brother. The air was heavy with the scent of fire, the massive shadow of Virmathrax looming over them both. The dragon's breath hissed, a low growl rumbling deep in its throat, but Vaelor's eyes were fixed not on the beast, but on Elron, who sat upon its back like a dark specter.

"Is this what you want, brother?" Vaelor's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Elron the Great, Lord of the Andals, King of the Realm. By the eyes of the gods who watch, is this truly what you desire? At least before I die, I want to know the reason why you did this to our mother."

Elron's expression remained cold, detached, as if the words meant nothing. His grip on the reins of Virmathrax tightened, the dragon shifting restlessly beneath him. "Veronica will only bring an end to our ancestry," he replied, his voice sharp. "The kingdom we've built will crumble because of her."

Vaelor's voice rose, interrupting him, "We've built? She built it! Long before you were even born! It was her dreams that brought us to where we are today, her visions that made you what you are now!"

Elron smirked, a bitter laugh escaping him as Virmathrax growled in response to his rider's mood. "I'm the king, Vaelor," he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Do you believe I became king because of dreams? Dreams don't make kings—dragons do."

Vaelor's chest tightened with anger, but he took a deep breath, his gaze flickering toward his two sisters. Maelein stepped back, her face etched with sorrow, while Rhaevenya stood tall, her posture rigid with defiance.

Before Vaelor could speak again, Lord Vaedros, standing with the assembled council, raised his voice to the gathered crowd. "In the name of the King, Lord of the Andals and Protector of the Realm, Prince Vaelor is hereby sentenced to die."

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Vaelor closed his eyes for a brief moment, accepting the fate that had been handed down. Elron raised his hand, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

"Dracarys."

Virmathrax reared its head, drawing in a deep breath, the heat from its chest glowing brighter as the flames prepared to burst forth. Vaelor stood unmoving, his eyes closing in quiet acceptance. The roar of fire surged forward, engulfing him in a brilliant wave of heat and destruction.

As the flames consumed his flesh, Vaelor's last thoughts lingered on the face of his mother, Veronica, and the kingdom she had once fought to protect. The legacy she built, now burned by the very dragons she had once commanded.

And in the silence that followed, only the crackle of fire remained.

                                       THE HOUSE OF DRAGONS

                                   THE FIRST AGE OF TARGARYEN

The crackling of the fire danced in the silence, casting flickering shadows on Elron's face as he stared into the flames. His thoughts were distant, trapped in a past he desperately tried to forget. The quiet was broken when Rhaevenya entered, her steps soft yet deliberate, her presence commanding.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, her voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

"Does it still bother you?" she asked, her tone laced with both curiosity and accusation. She took another step forward, her gaze unyielding. "Does his face still haunt your mind, even as his soul perished in those very flames?"

Elron stiffened but did not turn to face her. Instead, he stood and clenched his fists. "I don't want to speak of it," he muttered, his voice strained with the weight of old wounds.