103 AC
Time passed quickly. During this period, many changes swept through the realm. King Viserys officially took control, as the Old King Jaehaerys had grown too feeble to rule. One of his first decisions was to move the young hatchling Syrax to King's Landing, hoping his daughter Rhaenyra would bond with the dragon rather than seek out an older, more dangerous one. With Syrax gone, several of her keepers followed.
I was given the option to go with them, but I declined. My eyes were set on another—Silverwing.
A year ago, Daemon Targaryen arrived at Dragonstone and bonded with Caraxes. I hadn't witnessed the moment, but the stories spread quickly among the keepers. It sounded thrilling, and I quietly hoped that my day might come too.
After months of requests, visible progress in my swordsmanship, loyal service to Seasmoke, and—perhaps most importantly—turning thirteen, I was finally granted permission to serve Silverwing. This was no ordinary task; Silverwing was an ancient dragon, bonded once to Queen Alysanne herself. The other keepers assigned to her were seasoned veterans who had served her for decades.
I approached the new role with respect and caution. My first visit echoed my first time with Seasmoke. Under elder supervision, I helped feed her. When it was my turn, I pushed the cart forward and gently called, "Vezho, Silverwing" ("Eat, Silverwing"). Then I backed away and waited. She sniffed the offering, then ate and returned to slumber.
Unlike with Seasmoke, the labor here was harsher. Silverwing was vast—over 70 meters in length. Her droppings alone were monumental, and as the newest and youngest among her caretakers, I took on the bulk of that unpleasant task. But I did it without complaint. I had my goal.
Five months in, I had grown familiar with her routine, but the bond was still shallow. I began to speak more often when alone with her, hoping to stir recognition. During this time, the Old King died. His funeral was held in King's Landing—far from our duties—but the death brought consequences.
Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, returned to Dragonstone to grieve. Once his mourning ended, he often lingered near Silverwing. Perhaps they remembered the days when their riders ruled together. But his presence made my work harder. He was aggressive, temperamental. On my first attempt to approach Silverwing while he was nearby, he roared and blasted fire dangerously close. He never liked me, and I had to stay cautious. I knew that if he attacked me, Silverwing wouldn't protect me—I wasn't her rider. Not yet.
Time continued to pass. A year in, I grew more confident. I had earned a degree of trust from Silverwing. She no longer ignored me, sometimes even watching me as I worked. I could feel it. The connection was forming. We were no longer strangers.
If I remained patient and careful, I might one day claim her. The path was clearer now. My dream was no longer impossible. It was within reach.