105 AC
The moon was high when I returned to the cliffs.
Silverwing lay stretched along the edge, her wings like ancient sails catching the wind. Her scales shimmered beneath the starlight, soft and worn in places, yet strong as ever. My heart thudded in my chest. The scroll from Maelion still burned in my sleeve—an old decree, signed years ago by King Jaehaerys, permitting Silverwing to reside unclaimed unless chosen by a Targaryen of his line.
I wasn't of his line.
Not publicly.
But blood remembers.
In secret, I had taken to pricking my palm before training, letting drops fall into the scorched soil near Silverwing's den. She had sniffed them once. Stared long and deep into me. Since then, she no longer recoiled from my touch.
The rite of claiming was not a thing to be taken lightly. A dragon without consent could kill. But I had waited. I had studied. And she had listened.
Now, alone beneath the stars, I approached. My voice was quiet.
"Lykirī..."
Silverwing stirred.
"Lykirī," I repeated, stronger. "I am yours. And you, mine."
She rose slowly, wings folding tight to her body. She watched. Waited.
"Dracarys," I said, not as a command, but an invocation.
She opened her jaws and released a stream of pale fire into the sky, lighting the clouds above like a second moon. The wind blew back my hair, but I did not flinch.
When the fire died, she turned to me and lowered her neck.
It was not a roar of triumph that followed. It was silence. A sacred moment passed between us. Then I climbed. Slowly. Carefully.
Her back was broad and warm, muscle and scale beneath me. There was no saddle—not yet. No guards or nobles to witness. Only the sea, the stars, and my heartbeat.
"Soves," I whispered.
And she leapt.
The wind screamed past me, the force of the air nearly tearing me from her back. But I clung tight, arms locked, body low. She climbed high above Dragonstone, above the clouds, where the stars seemed close enough to touch.
I laughed. I couldn't help it.
She spun once, twice, before gliding downward in a wide arc. The island glowed below us, the towers of the castle like candle stubs, the dragon pits steaming. No one looked up. No horn was blown.
We landed by the western cliffs before dawn.
I dismounted, legs trembling. She nudged me once with her snout. I pressed my hand to her cheek.
"We tell no one," I said. "Not yet."
She blinked slowly.
We had flown. In secret. In defiance. In truth.
The old fire stirred in me still. And Silverwing, ancient and proud, had accepted me not by decree, but by blood.
Let them argue in courts and councils. I had a dragon.
And the skies were mine.