109 AC
Prince Aegon had turned two. The court at King's Landing was bloated with tension and celebration alike. The child was strong, loud, and favored by many of the Hightower allies. The greens had grown bolder, and even from Dragonstone, I could hear the whispers flying on the wings of ravens.
Silverwing and I trained almost daily now. No longer just flight, but formation patterns, high-altitude stalls, fire bursts timed to movement, even simulated skirmishes against the wind. I worked alone, of course. There were no other riders who could match what I was doing in secret, and I preferred it that way.
Maelion brought word more frequently now. He had managed to slip back into the Queen Who Never Was's good graces, bearing stories from the capital. Most importantly, he passed me documents—ledgers of food stocks, records of dragonpit activity, even minor mentions of new riders being tested in secret. The greens were preparing. And so was I.
I had started to keep track of which dragons would remain unclaimed by the time war broke out. Vermithor. Seasmoke. Possibly even Cannibal, if the brave or foolish dared. But none would touch Silverwing. She was bound to me, and I had already begun crafting the tale of our bond—legitimized through an old rite, with the Queen's reluctant blessing. A fiction, but one I would one day tell publicly.
Despite the secrecy, I began making myself known—just enough. I spoke with keepers in the yards, offered advice on handling anxious hatchlings, even guided one boy through a failed bonding with Moondancer's sibling. They started to nod at me. Some even called me by name.
Rhaenyra had returned to Dragonstone with her children. She brought her dragon, Syrax, and the old halls stirred again with life. I kept my distance, though sometimes I saw her on the battlements, staring out to sea. She hadn't acknowledged me yet—but she would.
I didn't want war. But I knew it was coming.
The Dance would begin soon enough. The moment King Viserys closed his eyes, all the oaths in the realm would mean nothing. What would matter then was power, dragons, and those willing to fly.
And I would be one of them.
Not for glory. Not even for honor.
But because I had already chosen this path.
Because I had a dragon.
And when the realm burned, someone would need to rebuild it from the ashes.