The chill of early morning clung to the stones of Runestone, but it did little to dampen the stir of determination that stirred within me. Each dawn brought new challenges, not of battle or bloodshed, but of creation and discovery. While others trained with sword and spear, I honed the quiet power of invention, intent on shaping history not with fire and steel, but with knowledge and craft.
Aereryth greeted the rising sun with a low rumble, his breath mingling with the cool air in faint wisps of frost. Though young, his senses were keen beyond measure, ever alert to the twists and turns of the world we shared. Together, we were a living echo of ancient days when dragons ruled the skies and men feared to cross their shadows. Yet, unlike my forebears, I sought not destruction but growth.
I made my way to the glassworks at the edge of the courtyard, where shards and scraps littered the ground like forgotten stars. My experiments had begun here weeks ago: blending sand, ash, and salts into molten rivers of light and color. The old Vale glass was thick and brittle—a pale imitation of the smooth, flawless panes I longed to create.
Today, I intended to change that.
With steady hands, I fed the fire, coaxing the glowing lava within the crucible to a brighter hue. Aereryth watched silently from his chained perch nearby, his golden eyes reflecting the flames as if grasping the secret I sought. Smoke curled upward, carrying the sharp tang of minerals and burning charcoal.
I shaped the molten glass with care, blowing through a hollow reed until the surface shimmered thin and even. The result was a fragile, yet flexible disc, clearer than any I had seen in these mountains. When it cooled, I held it up to the light, watching as the sun fractured into a thousand tiny rainbows dancing across its surface.
A sound behind me shifted my focus.
"Impressive, little brother," Rhaenyra's voice greeted me, soft but tinged with admiration. She stepped forward, her dark hair catching stray sunbeams, the warrior's confidence in her stance unyielding.
"I'm glad you think so," I replied with a smile. "This glass could change how the Vale lives. Windows that don't shatter at the slightest breeze. Mirrors for those who seek truth in reflection."
She looked toward Aereryth and back at me. "And tell me, what of the others? The lords who fear what they do not understand? This glass, your dragon — do you not think they would see you as a threat?"
I considered her question carefully. "Perhaps. But knowledge and progress are flames that will burn regardless. Better they burn with me at their side than consumed by fear and ignorance."
Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with a mixture of caution and hope. "You speak of fire with a builder's heart. Our family... it is no simple thing to change."
"True," I nodded. "But the Vale deserves better than old grudges and stagnant ways. I will be its shield and its forge, not its conqueror."
My days soon filled with travels across the Vale, riding upon Aereryth's broad back to villages tucked beneath the high cliffs, to fields waiting for better harvests, and ports yearning for safer ships. My vision stretched beyond glass and flame—it reached toward better tools, stronger timber, and the alchemy of fermented grains that could warm the long winters ahead.
One evening, as twilight bled crimson over the mountains, I sat before the fire in the hall's great chamber alongside Maester Corwyn and the Castle's steward.
"What you propose is bold," the steward said, his voice gruff but intrigued. "If your ships can brave the Narrow Sea quicker than the Crown's own, the Vale might rise in prosperity unheard of before."
Corwyn nodded slowly, adjusting his spectacles. "And the agriculture improvements—the strains of grain you've brought from the south—they respond well to the soil here. We could feed more than just our own."
I smiled with a quiet certainty. None of this would come easily, but change—like the slow turning of dragon wings—could not be hurried yet was inevitable.
Yet, news from King's Landing and beyond grew darker. Rumors of unrest, angry counsels, and the brewing storm of the Dance of Dragons reached even my remote world in the Vale. Lords began fortifying, alliances shifting in whispers as the great game unfolded.
But I kept my focus. The throne was not for me—it belonged to those willing to drown in blood and steel. My legacy would be written in the earth and sky, in the glint of clearer glass and the cry of swift ships on the sea.
Aereryth and I soared over ancient ridges, and beneath us, the Vale spread beautiful and wild. Below, the future waited.