Time passed quickly, and the days blended together with the same routine. Seasmoke had grown rapidly, now large enough to fly on his own. Dragons grew fast—especially the younger ones—and though Seasmoke was still under ten years old, he had become formidable. News from the wider realm occasionally reached Dragonstone, but it rarely trickled down to young dragonkeepers like me.
I couldn't go to taverns or marketplaces to gather news either—a nine-year-old wandering into a tavern would only draw unwanted attention. So I focused on what I could control: training.
Aside from our duties caring for dragons, we had free time. Most used it for rest, but I began lifting stones and running laps in the dark alleys behind the pits. I needed to prepare my body for the future I was planning. As the months went by, I added swordplay to my routine, learning under the elder dragonkeepers. Sword training was permitted, but only under supervision.
We started with the basics: stances, balance, control. Now, after nearly two years, I could handle a blade without cutting myself. Recently, we were allowed to spar with one another. During those sessions, I finally drew the attention of our instructors. Thanks to the foresight of my adult mind and quick learning, I could outmaneuver most boys my age without relying on brute strength. But I never flaunted it—defeating children wasn't something to be proud of.
One afternoon, after a long training session, I sat down to eat. As I chewed on hardened bread and stew, I listened intently to a conversation among elder keepers.
They spoke of Queen Alysanne's visit. She had grown older and frailer, especially after the death of her beloved son, Crown Prince Baelon. The Queen had officially withdrawn from court life and returned to Dragonstone. The Keepers whispered about the great wail of Vhagar—Baelon's mount—how she had roared so fiercely upon sensing her rider's death that the mountains echoed with it. The sound had woken me that night, and I had watched, terrified, as the sky split with fire and wings as Vhagar flew toward King's Landing.
But now, the Queen was back. And with her return, my hopes rekindled.
Silverwing.
Since Queen Alysanne had broken her hip three years ago, she hadn't been to Dragonstone, and her dragon remained here, nestled in her mountain lair. I hadn't found a way to approach the dragon—not without drawing suspicion. But now, with the Queen's return, I knew she would visit her.
For days, I kept a keen eye on the Dragonpit. And finally, on the fourth morning, it happened.
With enough pleading—and perhaps a bit of childish charm—the elder Keepers allowed me to accompany them to the observation platform. I was under strict instructions to be silent, to do nothing out of the ordinary.
Then I saw her.
Queen Alysanne, pushed gently in a wheeled chair by a sworn protector clad in white. A Kingsguard. Her silver hair glinted in the morning light, and her violet eyes, though weary, held a commanding strength. She raised her voice, soft but regal:
"Jemēla, Silverwing!" ("Come to me, Silverwing!")
Her call echoed through the hollow cavern. From deep within, there came a distant rumble. The sound grew, steady and sure. And then, she appeared.
Silverwing.
She emerged from the shadows, scales shimmering like polished silver, eyes like molten quicksilver. She was immense—far larger than any dragon I had seen up close. She could have swallowed me whole. Even her tongue, when it flicked out, was longer than I was tall.
And yet, she was beautiful.
She approached her rider gently, nuzzling Queen Alysanne with care. The Queen reached out, whispering:
"Vezof jin azantys, Silvē?" ("Did you miss me, Silver?")
The dragon cooed softly, and I could feel something stir in me. A strange sense of recognition. Of destiny.
I watched, transfixed. This was the one. My future partner.
After some time, Queen Alysanne smiled, though the lines on her face deepened.
"Vestri ēdruta, Silvē." ("I will visit later, Silverwing.")
She gestured to her guards to take her back to her quarters. As she left, the Keepers resumed their tasks. I too had chores—Seasmoke's pen needed cleaning after his flight.
But in my mind, I stayed behind.
Staring at the dragon who would one day carry me into fire and war—and, if I succeeded, through the storm alive.