106 AC
The bells of King's Landing rang for three days and nights.
From the high towers of Maegor's Holdfast to the teeming alleyways of Flea Bottom, every corner of the city felt the pulse of celebration. King Viserys had taken a new queen. Alicent Hightower, daughter of the Hand, stood regal in green silk and gold embroidery, smiling from the throne room as the realm toasted her ascent.
I was not there. I remained on Dragonstone.
The raven brought news swift and frequent—scrolls describing the colors of her gown, the feast that fed thousands, the tourneys where knights shattered lances for the Queen's favor. Even Maelion seemed distracted. He read the reports aloud each evening, lingering on the detail of every noble who bent the knee to Alicent.
"A new queen," he said. "And one with powerful kin."
I said nothing.
The memory of Togar's death still clawed at my ribs some nights. I saw the smoke in dreams. Heard the bones crack.
But Silverwing remained calm. She flew with me now, more often than before, and with more certainty. We ranged further across the island's cliffs and misty skies, always under moonlight, always when the castle slumbered. The older keepers watched me with respectful distance now. They knew something had changed, even if no one spoke it aloud.
And still, I told no one.
The world beyond Dragonstone stirred. Aegon, the king's son by his new queen, was born soon after the wedding. Rumors blossomed like wildfire across the realm—a new heir, a mother ambitious, a daughter of the Hand whispering in her husband's ear.
But I remained where I was. Training. Waiting.
I was not a lord, nor a knight, nor a Targaryen in name. But I had a dragon. And I had flown.
One night, high above the Smoking Sea, I whispered my vow into the wind:
"Let them dance. Let them scheme and crown their heirs. I will not kneel. I will not burn. When the storm comes, I will ride it."
Silverwing heard me.
She answered with fire.