Chapter One: Bronze and Fire
Location: Qohor
Year: 111 AC
Jaehaerys Volantis told himself he was a simple man. A bastard. A blacksmith.
Nothing more.
He shook his silver-white head and kept working.
Long strands of pale hair fell past his shoulders as he leaned over the anvil, the muscles of his arms straining against the dark green fabric of his tunic. The spearhead in his massive hands was nearly finished. He polished the edge one final time, then seated it firmly onto the shaft. When the weapon was complete, he gave it a few testing swings in the open space of the forge, the light catching on the steel and the faint purple of his eyes.
The door opened.
Cain strode in with his usual grin, a small sack of gold dragons swinging from his hand. The merchant's dark, curly hair was slightly tousled, and the rich gold-and-bronze patterned robe he wore shimmered in the forge light. He whistled as he eyed the towering figure moving about the workshop.
"Well, well. Looks like my weapon is done," Cain said, dropping the gold on the counter.
"Pleasure as always, Cain." Jaehaerys set the spear aside. He reached for his personal hammer, Bronzefury, and secured it at his hip before picking up Darktide. The greatsword's dark blade caught the light as he began the simple work of polishing and sharpening it.
Cain leaned against the counter, arms folded across his ornate robe. "Here's the gold for the spear. Your order of rare ores will be delivered tonight. Did you hear the news? Two dragons have appeared somewhere near Qohor."
Jaehaerys paused, purple eyes lifting. "Dragons? Which ones?"
Cain's smile turned sharp. "One of them is Vermithor. The Bronze Fury."
The silver-haired giant stopped working on the sword.
"Oh, right," Cain continued. "You are the son of the exile princess. I already heard some sorcerer's boy tried to claim the beast. It's not far holed up in a cave it made the day it arrived. That's all I know for certain, but the dreamers are gathering. Half the city's would-be dragonriders are crawling over each other for a chance."
He laughed, watching the massive bastard set Darktide down. Even after years of friendship, Cain still called the blade Valyrian steel. He never fully understood what else to call it.
"Don't get it twisted. Most of them just die in dragonfire. It's hilarious. This morning some Valyrian-looking brat tried a ritual. The dragon went on a rampage and killed his guards before they could even load the scorpions."
Jaehaerys was quiet for a long moment. He remembered the Great Council years ago. He had been a boy then, and one of the great dragons had turned its head toward him. He had always wondered if it was only his imagination.
"I might try to claim the old beast," he said at last. "Don't get me wrong. I like this life. Making weapons. Working on new alloys. But I've hit a dead end trying to recreate true Valyrian steel."
Cain's expression sobered. The merchant studied the towering man he had known for years the one who only ever wanted to forge and create now speaking of claiming a dragon that would drag him into the political storms of Westeros.
"My friend, I stand with you on most things. But this? You have something good here. Why throw it away?"
Jaehaerys considered the warning. Claiming a dragon would pull him into danger and politics. Yet it would also give him wings wings to seek new metals, lost techniques, the sky people of the Summer Islands, and knowledge no forge in Essos could provide.
"It might cause me trouble," he said, voice low and steady. "It might even kill me. But I don't believe I'll die. I believe I'll thrive."
He set Darktide aside and began putting on the bronze-and-steel armor he had forged for himself.
Cain raised both hands in surrender, the gold embroidery on his sleeves catching the light. "Fine. I'll be taking everything in your shop if you don't come back. Consider it claimed."
Weeks earlier Dragonstone
Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, had finally stirred.
The great bronze dragon had been restless since the death of the Old King. One night he left the Dragonmont, flying far across the Stepstones. It was the first true journey he had taken in decades. He did not approach the city of Qohor itself, but his presence was felt. He found a place that suited him and carved out a cave of blackened stone and bone with his own fire. There he waited for the rider he somehow knew was coming.
Present day
Vermithor was growing angry.
The small people would not leave him alone. He burned those who came too close. He remained in his cave, ready to destroy any scorpion that appeared. Then the wind carried a new scent familiar, right. The dragon let out a deep, eager roar. His rider was finally approaching.
Another scent arrived first: rot and weak magic.
A group of Unsulled and slaves approached, dragging a cauldron filled with herbs and blood. Three slaves were sacrificed, their blood poured into the mixture. Rare materials and a severed head were added. The fire beneath the cauldron turned a deep, unnatural black-red.
Vaelor Qhaerys, an ancient blood sorcerer of pure Valyrian descent who hid his true face behind illusion, raised his arms and spoke in High Valyrian.
"Vermithor. Kneel. Submit to me."
Pain lanced through the dragon's mind. The magic clawed at him, trying to force obedience. Yet something stronger already claimed him a rider approaching who was meant to be his.
Enraged, Vermithor burst from the cave. His great wings beat the air as he rose. Bronze flame poured down, consuming half the Unsulled in an instant. The sorcerer continued shouting commands, only feeding the dragon's fury.
From the edge of the Craft Quarter, Cain and Jaehaerys watched the sky light up with bronze fire.
The last of the sorcerer's men died screaming. High above, Vermithor turned and locked eyes on the towering figure in bronze armor.
Cain took a step back, gold robe shifting. "Well, my friend. Looks like you've got this handled. I'll be watching from a safe distance whether you die or claim the beast."
He turned and ran.
Jaehaerys removed his helmet. Long silver-white hair spilled free as dust and ash swirled around him. The massive dragon landed before him with a heavy boom. Vermithor roared fury mixed with recognition.
Jaehaerys felt the dragon blood in his veins answer. He roared back, not in submission, but in respect. Dragon and dragonlord had found each other.
Vermithor lowered his great head.
Jaehaerys climbed the bronze scales, finding a secure place among the spikes. He knew only a few words of High Valyrian, but one was enough.
"Fly."
Cain watched from afar as his friend rose into the sky, carried by the Bronze Fury into the clouds and into a new path.