110 AC
The days stretched long, and Dragonstone simmered beneath the weight of what was to come. News from the capital became more tightly controlled, but ravens still came. Maelion was more careful now, and his messages often arrived without signature or seal. He no longer stayed long—just enough to leave scrolls or pass a quick word before vanishing down the cliffs.
One scroll brought a simple message: The King is ill.
It was no surprise. Rumors of Viserys's declining health had echoed through the keep for moons now. But to see it written, even so plainly, made the future feel suddenly close. Real.
The Queen Who Never Was—Rhaenys—had begun preparing too. She rode Meleys more often, sometimes circling the island without landing. Other times, she held court with her granddaughter Baela, training her in the old ways of Valyria. I watched from afar, unnoticed. I wasn't ready to reveal myself to them—not yet.
Silverwing had grown restless. She would sense the tension in me, in the skies, in the earth itself. Dragons knew. They always knew.
I spent more time in the old records. Studying maps, tracing family lines, calculating how many riders would be left if the worst came. Many of them were children or untested. And some dragons would never allow a rider at all. Not now.
If war came, and the skies turned to fire, there would be few left standing. That was when I would act. That was when Silverwing and I would rise.
I had also begun drafting letters. Nothing treasonous. Nothing direct. Just offers of aid, of wisdom, of loyalty. Some to Rhaenyra's known supporters. Others to those whose allegiance still wavered. I signed them only with a symbol—an old sigil from the dragonkeepers of Valyria. Let them wonder. Let the seeds be planted.
When the true battle began, words would matter as much as flame.
The keepers still watched me, but now they spoke my name with a little more respect. One even called me "dragonseed," though not unkindly. They could sense I was no mere stable hand. And they knew, or at least suspected, what Silverwing meant.
In my dreams, I flew above burning cities, smoke rising in spirals as dragons roared beneath moons made red by fire. I woke sweating, always gripping the knife beside my bed.
Not yet, I told myself. But soon.
Let the kings and queens play their game of thrones. I would be ready when the board collapsed.
I had no banners, no castle, no noble blood.
Only a dragon.
But in the war to come, that might be more than enough.