Fire and Blood

Chapter 145: The Last Stand (Vaelor)

The Riverlands - Near Harrenhal...

Vaelor lay gravely injured following his brutal fight with Vhagar, the scars and gashes etched deep into his flesh, as well as lacerations and slight tearings on his wing membranes. As the relentless rain poured down, drenching the earth and turning the ground into a muddy quagmire, thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and lightning splitting the sky with blinding flashes continued battering the Riverlands. The once vibrant landscape was now a blurred canvas of gray, the trees swaying violently as if in a desperate dance to escape the storm's wrath. The Swiftrunner, in a state of semi-consciousness, could scarcely hear a faint commotion of humans from a distance. With just one eye still functioning, the other gone, he mustered the strength to raise his head slightly, but the weight of his fatigue forced it back down to the ground, where the mud clung to his scales like a shroud. Yet, after what felt like an eternity, even his primal instincts began to recognize that something was wrong.

"Valor mōriotnyke mīstagon ñuha giez glaesot ao... Sesīr... ñuha pālegonmīstan ao. (You've always protected me my whole life, Vaelor... And now... it's my turn to protect you.)"

"*R-Rrrrr...*" Vaelor emitted a faint growl, resonating with pain and recognition. The voice that reached his ears was unmistakably that of his rider, Aeonar Targaryen. Their bond was strong, and even in his weakened state, Vaelor could feel that Aeonar was somehow back on his feet. It was a sensation that stirred something primal within him. Vaelor's keen eyesight, sharp even in his current condition, caught sight of the Yi Tish bow cradled in Aeonar's hands, the two quivers slung across his back brimmed with arrows, each a promise of retribution and defense. As Aeonar took several deliberate steps away from him, Vaelor could see the determination etched on his face, a stark contrast to what the dragon had seen for the duration of the Dance. More crucially, the Swiftrunner finally observed Aeonar swaying before what appeared to be a formidable legion of armored humans, all wielding sharp swords and spears.

"Kill them!"

"Kill the dragon!"

"Kill the Deceiver!"

"*R-Ruuuurrr...*" Vaelor tried to call his rider again, but once more, no response came. Aeonar either couldn't hear him through the storm or ignored him. The Swiftrunner's instincts flared, a primal urge to protect his rider surging through him, but he still couldn't get up. It should be him, not Aeonar. Vaelor was meant to protect him, not the other way around. It shouldn't have to end this way, not like this. He wouldn't allow it.

Not after everything they went through...

...not since Vaelor first hatched.

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ooOoo

Flashback: 38 years ago (95 AC)...

Once thought to have been turned to stone from the passage of time for a century, a black dragon egg with intricate deep crimson swirls began to twitch beside the cradle of the infant Aeonar Targaryen. It quivered ever so slightly, first shifting to the left, then to the right, as if it were testing the boundaries of its confinement. As it did so, a delicate cracking noise echoed in the stillness of the room.

"Is that...?" Viserys exclaimed, almost in disbelief. "Father! Look!"

"Ah, it's finally begun," Baelon spoke boldly. "The Dragonkeeprs thought I was mad when I brought this egg from Dragonstone for my first grandchild, but now, after centuries of being dormant, Vhagar's egg sired from Balerion... is finally starting to hatch." He, his sons Viserys and Daemon, and his daughter-in-law Aemma leaned in for a closer look. "Let's see..."