Last True Remnant of Old Valyria

Dragonstone

3rd Person POV

Vermithor stirred, his golden reptilian eyes gleaming like molten fire in the darkness. As Viserys drew near, the dragon raised its head, emitting a low growl that echoed through the cavern. Wisps of smoke seeped from Vermithor's nostrils, and his wings gave a slight twitch, sending a clear warning to Viserys: leave or be incinerated.

Viserys swallowed hard, his fingers brushing the handle of the whip strapped to his belt. He hadn't wanted to use it, but the knowledge that Vermithor had remained unridden for so long gnawed at him. The whip was more a symbol of control than a weapon—dragons were too mighty to feel true pain from such a tool, but they responded to its crack like a command, a reminder of their bond with men.

Viserys unfurled the whip while advancing, his heart racing. Initially, his voice quivered, but he composed himself, injecting as much force as possible into each uttered word.

"Dohaeris! Vermithor" he called out, voice echoing through the cavern. 

Vermithor's growl deepened, the dragon shifting his enormous body, the movement sending vibrations through the stone beneath Viserys' feet. The air grew thick with heat, the unmistakable scent of sulfur and fire filling his lungs. The dragon did not bow. He did not yield. Vermithor's tail lashed the ground with a thunderous crack, sending a clear message of defiance.

Viserys' grip tightened on the whip.

"Then you leave me no choice," he muttered.

He raised his arm high and snapped the whip sharply. The crack echoed like a bolt of lightning through the cavern, and Vermithor's reaction was immediate. The great beast flinched, muscles tensing beneath his bronze scales, as his eyes flared with recognition and fury. The whip could not hurt him, but the sound pierced the air like a command—a challenge.

Vermithor unleashed a deafening roar, its force almost toppling Viserys. The dragon's wings spread wide, vast and dark as the night, blotting Silverwing from Viserys's vision who was also within the cave. Viserys's pulse raced, yet he stood his ground. He sensed it—the tension, the trial. Vermithor was not just challenging his authority; the dragon was assessing his mettle.

Viserys snapped the whip again, its crack sharp and commanding. Vermithor growled, yet his movements decelerated. He turned his colossal head fully towards Viserys, his golden eyes narrowing as they fixed on him. The Bronze Fury's tail swished once more, though with diminished vigor. The whip did not injure the creature, but it captivated his attention. Viserys was unaware of how the ancient Valyrians of Old Valyria achieved this, but a whip wielded by one with the Dragon's blood could influence Dragons in some manner. This was the reason no Targaryen had ever perished while taming a Dragon.

"I once tamed Balerion," Viserys said, his voice rising above the growl of the dragon. "I was just a boy when the Black Dread was ancient and formidable, yet I succeeded. You are formidable in your own right, but pale in comparison to him." Viserys is uncertain whether he is speaking to Vermithor or to himself in an effort to reclaim the strength he has lost. The fire that once blazed within him as Balerion's rider was extinguished following his dragon's demise. Yet, witnessing Vermithor's defiance, Viserys senses the spark within him rekindling.

Another crack of the whip.

Vermithor's wings shook with the movement, but slowly, begrudgingly, the dragon seemed to calm. His fiery eyes, though still burning with intensity, flickered with something else—something closer to recognition. Viserys took a deep breath, stepping closer. His pulse raced with each movement, but he kept his posture straight, unyielding. He had no choice but to succeed.

Closer now, Viserys could feel the heat radiating from Vermithor's scales. His hand trembled as he reached for the dragon's snout, still holding the whip in his other hand. Vermithor's growl remained, low and dangerous, but he didn't strike. The dragon's massive head lowered slightly, the heat of his breath scorching Viserys' skin.

"Lykiri, Vermithor!" Viserys whispered. "You were once the Dragon of my Grandsire. Under his reign, House Targaryen and the realm knew only peace. But now, our very existence is threatened. I seek your aid to vanquish the foes of House Targaryen."

He touched the hot, rough scales of Vermithor's snout, his heart hammering in his chest. The moment his hand met the dragon's skin, a bolt of power seemed to surge through him, the ancient bond between dragon and rider flaring to life once again. Vermithor flinched, but he didn't pull away. Instead, the dragon's growl softened into a low rumble, though the tension in the air remained.

Viserys cracked the whip once more, but this time, there was a shift. Vermithor's resistance ebbed, his massive body relaxing slightly under Viserys' touch. The Bronze Fury's eyes were still fierce, but they no longer burned with outright defiance.

Viserys moved to the side, slowly, deliberately, his hand sliding along Vermithor's neck as he made his way to the saddle. With another sharp crack of the whip, he reached for the leather straps, climbing with the experience of someone who had ridden the greatest of dragons before. His muscles burned, but he ignored the strain, focusing entirely on the moment. Vermithor's wings twitched, his body tense beneath Viserys as he mounted.

The moment Viserys settled into the saddle, the dragon reared back with a furious roar, his wings unfurling to their full span. Viserys felt the rush of wind, the raw power of Vermithor beneath him, but he held firm, his hands gripping the reins. Vermithor looked back at Silverwing, and the Dragon of late Good Queen look back and after some time the stare between them broke and Vermithor started to make his way of lair they have built for themselves.

Vermithor roared again, his tail whipping through the air, and for a brief moment, Viserys felt as though the dragon would buck him off. But then—one final crack of the whip. The sound echoed like thunder, and Vermithor stilled.

And then, with a single, mighty leap, Vermithor launched into the sky.

Viserys gasped as the force of the ascent nearly tore him from the saddle, but he held fast, the reins tight in his hands. The wind screamed around them as Vermithor's massive wings beat the air, sending them soaring higher and higher. The ground below became a blur, and the skies opened up before them.

Viserys' heart pounded with exhilaration. They were airborne. He had done it.

The dragon roared again, this time not in defiance but in triumph. Vermithor soared with renewed ferocity, slicing through the skies above Dragonstone as a formidable force. Viserys finally experienced the power he had dreamt of with Balerion, the power he thought would accompany the conquest of his house's mightiest and grandest dragon, yet it had eluded him after just one flight with Balerion. Though not on par with Balerion, Vermithor radiated a fierce, mighty aura of his own. Vermithor accepted him reluctantly, but that was enough. As it would take time for their bond to become strengthen.

As they soared over the sea, Vermithor gave a final, earth-shaking roar, and Viserys knew that the Bronze Fury had recognized him at last. Not just as a family of his previous rider—but as a Targaryen, as the blood of Old still flowed within him, as a dragonlord worthy of commanding the skies once more.

The scene unfolding below is entirely different. All the Dragon's keepers are looking towards the sky with awe and reverence. Viserys has achieved what was thought to be impossible. Taming the Black Dread was an accomplishment in itself, but to try again and succeed in taming Vermithor, known for his temperamental nature, is extraordinary. They are aware that the realm didn't give much thought to Viserys taming Balerion, attributing it to Balerion's old age leading to his acceptance of Viserys. However, they know better; the Black Dread was a whimsical beast, not known for accepting just any rider who attempted to tame him. If he accepted Viserys as his rider, then there must be something the realm has not seen in their current king that Balerion has recognized.

Daemon gazes at the sky with an emotionless expression. Yet, anyone who has known him for a long time can see the pride in his eyes—immense pride, at that. There was a reason he was prepared to go to war with Velaryon when they raised an army at the Great Council. He understood what his brother was capable of; he alone grasped why Balerion would accept his brother as his rider. No one in his family knew this but him. However, before Viserys could reveal that side of himself to the world, Balerion died, and the constant loss of his children had weakened his brother. Daemon hopes that this ordeal will bring forth that side of his brother—the side that Daemon Targaryen was proud to call his older brother.

Upon reaching the cave to which Caraxes had been led, he observed the charred earth and the bones of sheep that Caraxes had devoured. Caraxes himself was gazing skyward where the Bronze Fury circled, issuing roar after roar as if to declare to the world that he had a new rider. Daemon placed his head against Caraxes' snout, attempting to discern his dragon's emotions. Astonishingly, he sensed confusion, curiosity, and a degree of shock towards Viserys and Vermithor. The revelation sent Daemon into fits of laughter, echoing down to the Dragon's keeper below. They looked up, curious about what had amused their prince so greatly. Meanwhile, Daemon reveled in a joy he hadn't experienced in quite some time.

"Ah, are you curious, Caraxes? How does that beg of mass and flesh that you have brought here claim your furious kin?" Daemon asked his mount. He could see in Caraxes's eyes that he understood him and wanted to know why. "Because some of the firstborn son of Baelon Targaryen, 'The Spring Prince,' and Alysaa Targaryen, 'The self-styled Red Maiden,' still resides in the one now called King Viserys. The loss of Black Dread has changed my brother. Let's hope the Bronze Fury can fill the void left by Balerion."

Daemon mounted his dragon, and with a few powerful wingbeats, Caraxes took to the sky. They quickly reached where Vermithor and his rider were performing aerial acrobatics. Daemon, never one to avoid a challenge, guided Caraxes through many intricate maneuvers. However, having witnessed Lord Drakonar's mastery with his own dragon, Daemon was unimpressed by his performance, aware that he had a considerable distance to go before achieving that level of control and aerial prowess.

After a while, he gestured to Viserys to begin their journey towards King's Landing, knowing the trip to the capital of the Seven Kingdoms would be lengthy. Viserys acknowledged with a nod, and with several beats of Vermithor's wings, they charted their path and commenced their flight towards King's Landing. However, before departing Dragonstone, Vermithor issued a farewell roar, which was met with a similar roar echoing from the depths of Dragonmont.

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