103 AC
King's Landing – The Dragonpit
POV: King Viserys I Targaryen
He was king now.
And yet, as Viserys stood within the cavernous Dragonpit, surrounded by smoke and silence, the crown upon his brow felt heavier than ever before. Not from the weight of gold—but the legacy it represented.
Beside him stood young Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen Royce, barely five years of age. The boy's silver-gold hair shimmered in the light of the torches, his violet eyes wide but solemn. It still surprised Viserys that the boy had truly claimed Vermithor—the mighty Bronze Fury who had not taken a rider since the days of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.
When the guards had told him what happened, Viserys had felt fear at first. Vermithor was no docile beast; he was fire made flesh, and a five-year-old boy had walked into his den like a dreamer from a song. But then the guard had said something that struck Viserys cold:
"The old king asked the boy to go to him."
And suddenly, it made sense. Jaehaerys had always been sharp beyond his years—clever, thoughtful, even gentle. He had the same quiet depth the old king once held. He was a child, yes, but one carved from the same stone.
Now, in the Dragonpit, Vermithor lay crouched in reverence, his massive wings folded, his eyes glowing with ancient sorrow. Before him stood the pyre—the body of King Jaehaerys, wrapped in crimson and gold silk, laid upon oil-soaked wood. A king of peace, now waiting for a dragon's fire to return him to the flame.
Jaehaerys stepped forward, his small hand trembling as he held it out. Viserys could see the hesitation in him… but also the resolve. He was afraid, but not paralyzed by it. He took a breath and straightened his back like a little lord.
Then he spoke the word.
"Dracarys."
The silence broke like glass.
Vermithor rose with slow, terrible majesty, his scales catching the light—bronze and burnished gold in the gloom. He lifted his head, opened his jaws, and with a thunderous roar, released a torrent of dragonflame.
Bronze fire engulfed the pyre in an instant.
The heat blasted outward, sending ripples through the air, as the flame consumed the old king's body. Smoke and ash spiraled upward, curling toward the cracked dome above, as if carrying Jaehaerys the Conciliator to the heavens.
Viserys felt his throat tighten.
He had lost a grandfather, a mentor, a symbol of a golden age that was already slipping into memory. And now, watching his namesake stand brave beside Vermithor, Viserys felt something stir in his chest—grief, pride, fear. The realm had a king… but perhaps it also had something more.
A future.
He placed a hand gently on young Jaehaerys's shoulder. The boy didn't flinch. He stood, watching the flames, eyes shimmering.
The past had burned.
Now, the future stood beside the fire—and behind him, a dragon
103 AC
*Later Above In The Skies Above King's Landing
POV: Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen Royce
The world was huge from up here.
Jaehaerys's heart pounded in his chest—not with fear exactly, but with something close to it. Awe. Thrill. A dizzying rush that made his head spin and his fingers grip the worn, warm ridges of Vermithor's bronze scales even tighter.
The Bronze Fury's massive wings beat the sky with thunderous rhythm, each one sending gusts of wind that stirred the clouds themselves. They were high above the Red Keep now, far above the towers and halls and courtyards below.
And sitting behind him, holding on with a nervous grip, was Princess Rhaenyra—his cousin, his friend, and today, his most persistent shadow.
"Don't let me fall!" she cried out, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
"I won't!" Jaehaerys shouted back, laughing despite the tension in his arms.
She had begged him. Begged, with tears in her eyes and promises that she wouldn't tell anyone if he said no. But how could he deny her? She had looked at him the way no one else did—not like a prince, or a rider—but like someone who had something she didn't and was scared to be left behind.
So he said yes.
Now here they were, flying together atop a dragon older than both of them by centuries. Jaehaerys could feel the power in every breath Vermithor took. The bond between them was strange and invisible, but it hummed inside him like a string pulled taut. The dragon knew him. Trusted him. Obeyed him.
And for some reason, tolerated Rhaenyra.
"Look!" she squealed, pointing as the sea came into view. The morning light caught the water and scattered it in sparkles. Ships below looked like tiny toys, and the gulls soared far beneath them like whispers.
Jaehaerys glanced back at her. Her face was flushed, her golden hair streaming in the wind, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. She looked terrified—and thrilled.
"I told you it would be beautiful," he said proudly.
"It's better than beautiful," she breathed. "It's magic."
Vermithor let out a low, pleased rumble and dipped slightly in the air, sending Rhaenyra shrieking with laughter and gripping him even tighter.
"Tell him not to do that again!"
"He hears you," Jaehaerys said with a grin. "I think he likes scaring you."
"I'll remember that when syrax grown" she huffed, but she was smiling now, wide and full of wonder.
For a moment, they simply flew—no kings, no crowns, no court. Just two children in the sky, the wind in their hair, and fire beneath their feet.
Jaehaerys didn't know what would happen in the years to come. Rhaenyra would ride a syrax beside him he wonder what the Seven had planned for them.
But today, they flew.
And for the first time in a week, he felt like he could breathe fully.