Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Vermithor's bronze eyes radiated cold indifference, as if crushing a few insignificant insects was of no consequence.

Aemon's small mouth hung slightly open as he gained a direct understanding of the dragon's overwhelming power.

"Roar!"

With a low growl, Vermithor swung its massive head and retreated beneath the platform.

But it wasn't returning to sleep.

Aemon noticed movement as the dragon adjusted its massive body, heading toward a second natural opening deeper within the cave—a tunnel leading outside the mountain.

That must be Vermithor's exit to the outside world.

"No, I'm not done yet!"

Driven by desperation, Aemon sprinted to the edge of the platform.

The dragon trainers had often said that feeding a dragon could significantly increase the chances of successful bonding.

And if he failed to tame it this time, there wouldn't be another opportunity.

"I can't let this chance slip away."

Determination filled his chest, his breath coming in heaving gasps as he prepared himself.

Tonight, he would tame a dragon.

And it would be this one.

Vermithor's powerful frame turned fully toward the exit. Its massive tail swept across the platform, unbothered by the small figure behind it.

It was clear: the dragon had no interest in forming a bond.

As an untamed creature, it would wait for a true warrior, not some weakling child grasping at power.

To Vermithor, the weak were unworthy of even acknowledgment.

This dismissive attitude ignited a fierce determination within Aemon.

"Look at me, Vermithor!"

He stepped forward, his voice echoing in the cavern.

Vermithor snorted dismissively, showing no sign of turning back.

"You won't escape!"

Aemon's eyes gleamed with unwavering resolve as he assessed the platform's height compared to the dragon's back.

Just enough.

"I'm coming for you!"

With a determined yell, Aemon leapt off the platform's edge.

His small body soared through the air, tracing a less-than-perfect arc.

The momentary sensation of freefall overtook him, sending shocks through his limbs.

Thud!

He landed hard on Vermithor's broad back, bouncing slightly before nearly sliding off its tail.

"I've got you now."

Aemon groaned through the pain, clutching at the grooves between Vermithor's bronze scales.

Had it not been for his enhanced resilience, thanks to the "Sturdy as Stone" trait, the fall might have shattered his bones.

"Grrrr..."

Vermithor swung its massive head around, bronze eyes locking onto the small figure perched on its back. Its maw opened, revealing jagged teeth and the glow of a fiery buildup in its throat.

"No! No fire!"

Aemon shouted in High Valyrian, commanding the dragon to cease its attack.

For a brief moment, Vermithor's eyes flickered with a trace of recognition, and it closed its mouth.

The dragon's long neck turned forward again as it resumed its crawl toward the tunnel.

It had caught a familiar scent, faintly reminiscent of its former rider—a scent it shared with this boy.

Anyone else would have been reduced to ashes.

Relieved, Aemon's heart pounded wildly in his chest, but his mind remained sharp.

Positioned near the dragon's tail, he endured the throbbing pain in his limbs as he clambered toward the middle of its back.

To tame a dragon, one had to ride it—and survive.

Outside the Mountain

The silver moonlight bathed the land in a frosty glow.

"Roar!"

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the silence of the night.

A massive, bronze-scaled creature with membrane wings of brown soared over the mountain's peak, diving downward.

The air erupted into chaos, gales howling furiously.

Aemon clung desperately to Vermithor's back, his silver hair and black cloak flapping violently in the wind.

The sheer force of the air distorted his face, leaving him unable to keep his eyes open.

Vermithor dove swiftly, its trajectory carrying it down the mountainside, its enormous frame blotting out the moonlight as it descended.

With a single, mighty flap of its wings, it propelled itself upward, soaring hundreds of feet into the air.

"AHHH!"

Aemon screamed, his voice torn away by the wind.

No one could have expected the sheer terror that came with riding a dragon for the first time.

Vermithor's body sliced through the night air with an elegance that belied its bulk. While it appeared cumbersome on the ground, it revealed its true strength in flight.

Each beat of its massive wings sent it hurtling higher into the sky.

Aemon clenched his jaw against the unrelenting wind, but the challenges of this flight were far from over.

The dragon, having no rider for years, had burned away its saddle long ago.

Its bronze scales, polished smooth over time, provided no secure footholds for a rider.

"Fly, Vermithor!"

Aemon shouted over the roaring wind, his small hands raw and bleeding as they gripped the gaps between scales.

If not for his innate resilience, his fingers might have snapped from the strain.

With another mighty beat of its wings, Vermithor rose above the peak of the mountain.

The force of the motion flung Aemon outward, leaving his body dangling precariously, held only by his grip.

"Not like this..."

For a brief moment, panic seized his thoughts.

But his training and instincts took over.

Releasing one hand, he retrieved the Dragonclaw Dagger from his sleeve and drove its curved tip into the gap between scales.

Clang!

The blade held firm.

Relieved of some of the strain, Aemon quickly drew the Dragonsfang Dagger with his free hand, securing it in another gap.

The daggers acted as makeshift handles, granting him a precarious stability on the dragon's back.

"Grrraaa!"

Vermithor roared in frustration as the sudden sting from its scales being pierced disrupted its flight.

But it didn't retaliate. Instead, it continued its ascent, wings slicing through the air with precision and power.

"I'm not letting go."

Aemon muttered, pulling himself closer to the dragon's spine and adjusting his position.

From here, he could truly appreciate Vermithor's immense size and terrifying beauty.

The dragon's majestic wings spread wide, each stroke sending it soaring effortlessly higher.

The wind carried the cries of seabirds, which collided with Aemon in their disoriented flight.

Finally, Vermithor leveled its flight path, allowing Aemon a moment to catch his breath.

"Fly, Vermithor! Fly higher!"

His voice was raw but resolute.

If he could command it to fly, he could make it his.

At last, Vermithor seemed to yield to the boy's indomitable will. It let out one final, bone-shaking roar before spewing a torrent of molten bronze fire into the night sky.

Aemon grinned through his exhaustion, knowing that he had succeeded.

This dragon was his.