𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄
𝟏𝟐𝟎 𝐀𝐂
༻♕༺
" 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚.. 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐴𝑒𝑔𝑜𝑛'𝑠 𝑖𝑟𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐼𝑟𝑜𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒. "
— ᴋɪɴɢ ᴠɪsᴇʀʏs ɪ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
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"A storm rages in my chest, made of enormous dark red clouds. My screams are drowned out by the howling wind which whips sharp sand right into my skin. Attempting to pierce through and get a glimpse of the world crying to be heard by more than just the ghosts of emotions stuffed deep down in me. It burns and it bleeds and it scathes.. yet still I bear it with a bitter smile."
A deep grumble that trembles the ground on which the young girl rests her belly on, her feet gently kicking the crisp evening breeze drifting through the grass the book she reads rests atop, brings forth a giggle from her lips. She turns her head to look at the great beast beside her with her loving, deep plum eyes sparkling, her hair the most extraordinary shade of brunette and silver swirling with the delicate flow of the wind. "I rather like it, my dread, do you not?"
The black dragon huffs, lazily shifting his gigantic snout closer to her. The girl giggles as she lifts her hand to caress his warm scales for but a moment, before she returns her gaze unto the book below her. Flipping few of the pages, she softly squeals in delight as she comes across another one of her favorite quotes within it's ink-written depths, finger tracing the words as she speaks them aloud, "Keep walking. If I look back, I am lost. Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. Will I ever see such sights again? On dragon's back, she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of the world could not touch her. How could she abandon that?"
Her dark brows bend with thought as she looks to the sky above, pure white clouds drifting across it's glorious pale-blue surface. A purr rumbles from the throat of the dragon beside her and a grin blooms across her lips as she closes the leather-bound book with a thump and jumps to her feet, dusting blades of grass off of her clothes; a black tunic tucked into dark brown trousers along with her black, leather boots.
The dragon beside her lifts his head from the grass having been dampened by the light squall of rain just that early morrow and stretches his jaws into a yawn then shakes his head to be rid of the lingering effects of slumber he enjoyed beside her not an hour ago.
A bright giggle emits from the girl's lips the shade of a freshly bloomed poppy-flower, stuffing the book within the satchel around her torso as she gazes up at her dragon, whom coos as he lowers his gigantic head toward her, glowing pools of blood with black veins for eyes fondly staring down at her. She lifts her hand to caress his gleaming black snout, scales always so warm to the touch.
The young girl, then, leans her sun-kissed cheek against the scales beneath his eye, the rumbles of his purrs bringing her bones to a tremble as he nuzzles her with a gentleness a creature of his size shouldn't have accomplished. She smiles, "Oh, Balerion. To fly the skies.. if only mother would allow it."
Balerion the Dread, the last living creature in all the world to see Valyria in it's glory. The largest of all the dragons in the known world; the span of his wings so large that his shadow engulfs all of Runestone when he passes overhead. A willful beast and not to be trifled with. Having seen two centuries within the history books of Westeros ever since he fled with Aenar Targaryen across the Narrow Sea before the Doom consumed old Valyria, he were certainly older in dragon years yet with food and freedom, Balerion were still ferocious and often flew faster than the wild dragon, Sheepstealer, whenever the he-dragon came to saturate his craving for mutton in the vast Vale.
Maelera Stormborn of House Royce, the Child of the Blood Moon and Daughter of Death, were the second in Westerosi history to have been claimed by the Black Dread. Though, she had yet to ride him.
Until the fifth moon of 𝟏𝟐𝟎 𝐀𝐂.
It was then that Balerion the Dread turned his side to her, lowering his wing for the girl so she may mount him. The dragon twists his long neck to look at Maelera Royce, whom stared at his back vacant of a saddle then looked into the red eye of her dragon, whom huffs, smoke emitting from his nostrils at the motion.
Maelera's shoulders rose and fell to a heavy breath, then. . . she climbs unto her dragon's black wing that seems to glitter with rubies beneath the light of the setting sun and expels another breath as he raises it to be level with his back dotted with lethal horns and spikes. Maelera navigates across the expanse of his back to find something to cling onto, lowering herself within a dip between his shoulders and latching her hands around a pair of smaller horns seemingly awaiting for the rider of the Black Dread.
Balerion stands to his black claws, shaking his head with a grumble and, inhaling the chilled breeze, Maela looks around herself, nerves and excitement fluttering through her belly, and at that moment she feels taller than the world. He turns his head to look at the Targaryen mounted atop him, purring.
The dragon and girl gaze into one anothers eyes, and a sense of trust swirls throughout the bond connecting their souls, bound in blood. And Maelera Stormborn shouts with fire behind her breath, "𝐒𝐨̄𝐯𝐞̄𝐬!"
The Black Dread obeyed with a ground shaking roar as he outstretched his glittering wings and, with a push from his legs, took to the skies. A smile as bright as the stars stretches across the Targaryen's youthful face as the wind drifts through her hair, she was riding a dragon.
The Black Dread, no less. The King of Dragons whom had chosen her before birth.
Balerion's wings beat the wind into submission as he flew above the Vale, his roar echoing across all the plains and rolling hills. Shadowcats and deer fled for shelter for miles on end, and smallfolk below were altered to his presence, growing wary. For even though the Black Dread made a home amidst the green lands housing the Mountain Men, the fishers of Gulltown, and all those living within the walls of Runestone, the Eyrie and all other keeps, for seven years his roar still struck fear within the hearts of men for he was wild.
Together, Balerion the Dread and Maelera Stormborn were wild. Chaotic and restless.
Mounted upon the Black Dread, clouds were seen from above. Deer small as ants thundering through the grass in fright to return home. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch with her hand. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the setting sun.
The words within her book were truth, Maelera thought. Would she ever see such wonders again when not on the back of Balerion? On dragon's back, she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of the world could not touch her. How could she abandon that?
There, on the twentieth day of the fifth moon of 𝟏𝟐𝟎 𝐀𝐂, those living within the walls of Runestone saw the remarkable; the sky red with fury at sunset as Balerion the Black Dread soared across the sky with the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them upon his shoulders. A true Targaryen dragon.
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