The Dragon's Dilemma

Vaelora IV

Vaelora

The winds whipped violently across the barren ridges of the Dragonmount, howling through the jagged peaks as Blackfyre and Whitefyre, the two massive dragons, watched the shifting skies. The air crackled with their presence. Blackfyre, fierce and protective, his dark, obsidian-like scales shimmering in the dying light, stretched his wings in a display of silent dominance. His green eyes—the color of wildfire—gleamed as he lowered his head toward Whitefyre, his mate, a gentle, rumbling growl passing between them. Whitefyre, smaller but no less powerful, nuzzled him back, her pale green eyes mirroring his affection as her white, sleek scales glistened in the mist. Their connection was as fierce as it was tender, and they moved in perfect unison, a silent understanding that had formed over the years.

Vaelora Selaerion smiled softly as she watched them from the edge of the Dragonmount. She felt their bond in her soul, the way they communicated without words—an intimacy that surpassed even the strongest human relationships. Beside her, Lyraella stood quietly, her sharp eyes on their dragons, but her thoughts far away.

"They've always been inseparable," Lyraella said softly, her voice barely audible over the wind. "It's almost... calming."

Vaelora's lips quirked. "A rare sight indeed, given how often Blackfyre intimidates anyone who comes near you or me."

Lyraella chuckled quietly. "He always was the possessive one."

Before Vaelora could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them. A young guard, one of Rhaenyra's men, approached, his eyes wide with uncertainty as he neared the towering dragons. His steps faltered as Blackfyre turned his head slowly, fixing the man with an unblinking stare. The guard froze, his face paling as Blackfyre rumbled softly, his nostrils flaring. The dragon's massive form shifted, inching closer, his green eyes burning with a possessive fire that sent a chill through the air.

Vaelora sighed and stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Blackfyre, enough."

The dragon let out a low growl, but his gaze softened at Vaelora's command. He reluctantly settled back, his wings folding as he watched the guard with a lingering suspicion. Vaelora turned to the man, offering a small, almost amused smile. "Forgive him. He's a bit... protective."

The guard swallowed, his voice shaky as he finally found his words. "T-the queen, Lady Vaelora. She summons you and Lady Lyraella. There's a council meeting. She requests your presence immediately."

Vaelora exchanged a glance with Lyraella, her brow arching slightly. "A council meeting?"

Lyraella's expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "It seems Rhaenyra is finally ready to talk."

Vaelora turned back to the guard, her tone now measured. "Very well. We will come."

As they descended from the Dragonmount, Vaelora couldn't help but think of the weight of the conversation ahead. Rhaenyra had called this meeting out of desperation—she could sense it. The Targaryens were stretched thin, their enemies closing in from all sides. The Greens, the Lannisters, the Hightowers—forces that threatened to crush Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. The Targaryens needed the Selaerions now more than ever, and Rhaenyra knew it. The question was, how far would she be willing to go to secure their alliance?

The Great Hall of Dragonstone was dimly lit by the flickering light of torches, casting long shadows across the vaulted ceilings. The atmosphere was thick with tension as Vaelora and Lyraella entered, their presence drawing every eye in the room. At the head of the table, Rhaenyra sat, her expression drawn and weary, though her gaze sharpened the moment it landed on the Selaerion sisters. Daemon stood beside her, ever watchful, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Jacaerys, Baela, Lord Corlys, and the other key advisors were present, their faces a mix of wariness and curiosity.