King's Landing, The Red Keep — 103 AC
POV: King Jaehaerys I Targaryen
He was old. That much was certain. Death lingered nearby like a quiet servant, waiting patiently outside his chamber door. He could feel it in his bones, in every breath that rattled through his chest. He had ruled well—wisely, some would say—but at what cost?
He had lost his beloved queen. He had watched his family splinter and turn to ash. He had placed the realm above all else, and now, lying alone in his bed, he wondered if the price had been too high.
There was only one reason he still clung to life—his great-grandson, his namesake: Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen Royce, the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce.
The boy was just five, but already clever—sharp-eyed and curious. He reminded the old king of himself at that age… and yet, there was something gentler in him. Something of Alysanne. A softness. A warmth. He cherished his family deeply, and Jaehaerys couldn't help but smile as he recalled a recent memory—his little namesake and Princess Rhaenyra squabbling over a dragon toy, only to end up in a tight hug when the boy let her have it. Just like him and Alysanne, all those years ago.
The heavy doors creaked open.
The child entered quietly, his silver hair gleaming in the firelight. "You asked for me, Your Grace?" he said, his voice unsure but respectful.
"Just call me Grandfather, young one," the old man replied, offering a faint smile. "And yes… I did summon you."
"Alright, Grandfather," the boy said, eyes full of concern as he stepped closer.
"Sit with me," Jaehaerys said. "I haven't much time left, and I need to ask something of you—one final favor for an old man."
The boy climbed onto the stool beside the bed, listening intently.
"You remind me of myself… but also of your great-grandmother. That's why I brought you here. I want you to remember this—family comes before thrones. Always. Love them. Protect them. Be better than I was. I failed in the end, when it mattered most."
He paused, his breath coming shorter now. His hand found the boy's, frail fingers wrapping around youthful ones.
"When I'm gone… go to the Dragonpit. Seek out Vermithor. I believe he will accept you as his rider."
The boy's eyes widened in awe.
"You are Jaehaerys Targaryen," the old king whispered. "Perhaps, one day, King Jaehaerys the Second… but I pray to the Seven that day never comes. The Iron Throne can ruin any man who dares sit on it. I want you to be happy. And when you ride Vermithor, think of me."
His voice faded, eyes fluttering shut as a final breath left his lungs.
The boy sat in silence, holding the hand that had gone still.
Here's a follow-up scene with young Prince Jaehaerys visiting the Dragonpit after King Jaehaerys I's death, in a tone that matches the Targaryen legacy and your original style:
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King's Landing, The Dragonpit — 103 AC
POV: Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen Royce
The great dome of the Dragonpit loomed over him like a slumbering giant. Shadows danced across the ancient stone walls as torches flickered in the morning gloom. The air smelled of smoke, ash, and something older—something alive.
Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, just five years old, stood at the threshold. His hand clutched a small silver ring—the last gift his great-grandfather had ever given him. The old king had passed in his sleep three nights ago, and the court still mourned. But Jaehaerys hadn't cried. Not yet. His grandfather had asked him to be strong.
Now, he was here.
Guards and dragonkeepers watched him warily but made no move to stop him. They had been told: if the boy asked for Vermithor, let him through. No questions.
The heavy doors groaned as they opened, revealing the cavernous chamber within. Heat struck his face, and his heart pounded. He stepped inside.
Vermithor waited.
The Bronze Fury, once the mount of the old king, was curled in the shadows—vast and coiled like a living mountain of scales and power. Smoke drifted from his nostrils. His eyes, golden and ancient, opened at the sound of small footsteps.
The boy stopped. For a moment, neither of them moved. The air crackled with tension.
"I'm Jaehaerys," the boy said softly. "He said… you'd remember."
The dragon stirred. Claws scraped against stone. A low rumble built in its throat—a sound like thunder rolling in a deep canyon. The keepers tensed, but the boy stood firm.
"He's gone," Jaehaerys whispered. "But he wanted me to take care of you. So… I'm here."
Vermithor rose slowly, stretching his massive wings before folding them again with a deep whoomph. The rumbling ceased. The great head lowered, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air—then the boy.
Jaehaerys reached out, trembling, and touched the warm, rough hide just above the dragon's snout.
For a heartbeat, all was still.
Then, the bond formed.
It was not loud. No roar. No fire. Just a quiet understanding—an invisible thread tying two souls together. The dragon let out a long, deep breath that smelled of smoke and old storms… and lowered himself fully to the stone floor.
Jaehaerys smiled, eyes glistening.
"Thank you," he said. "We'll take care of each other. Like he wanted."
"He gone we shall say are goodbyes tomorrow" the boy said sadly to the bronze fury.