108 AC
King's Landing grew tense with every passing raven. The court wore smiles, but rumors traveled faster than truth. Whispers of alliances, of broken promises, of the Queen and the Princess watching each other across the throne room like cats before a storm.
From Dragonstone, I observed it all through Maelion and the ravens. I no longer needed to hide my readings or questions. My bond with Silverwing—though not officially announced—was no longer secret. Enough had seen me ride. Enough had chosen silence over interference.
Silverwing grew stronger with every flight. Her fire burned hotter, her wings steadier in harsh winds. I learned to read the signs—the tilt of her head before a dive, the twitch of her back muscles before taking flight. She accepted my commands easily now, but more than that, she listened.
Meanwhile, I continued laying quiet roots. A few keepers loyal to Maelion now spoke with me in confidence. I helped manage the dragons' feeding, trained with younger keepers who thought me a mere senior apprentice. Slowly, I made myself indispensable, always at the edge of notice but never a threat.
Prince Aegon turned one this year. His naming feast had been grand, with gifts from every corner of the realm. Yet behind the smiles were cold calculations. Lords no longer saw just a baby—they saw a possible king.
And still, Rhaenyra remained heir.
I stayed quiet. Patient. Let the game unfold.
If the Dance came, as it would, I would not jump into the fire blindly. I would watch who burned and who rose from the ashes.
When the realm was cracked open, there would be need for someone steady, someone known by both dragons and men. Someone who did not fight for pride or banners, but for balance.
Silverwing roared one night from her cliff, a deep sound that echoed down the mountain.
"Soon," I whispered.
Not as a threat.
But a promise.
My time would come. And when it did, I would fly into the storm with wings already tested, while others still searched for theirs.