107 AC
The days grew longer on Dragonstone, but the winds did not calm.
Spring brought storms that lashed the island's cliffs and drowned the valleys in mist. Ships from Blackwater Bay came fewer and farther between. The ravens, however, flew without fail.
One morning, Maelion entered the rookery with a letter bearing the king's seal. He broke the wax with trembling hands and read the message aloud.
"A son is born to King Viserys and Queen Alicent. Aegon Targaryen, strong and hale."
His voice faltered. He glanced at me.
"The boy was born healthy. And the smallfolk cheered."
So it begins, I thought.
Not with fire. Not with blood.
But with a name.
The castle stirred with whispers. The keepers spoke more openly now, wondering if the new prince would supplant Princess Rhaenyra. Even the youngest stable boys knew the rumors. Some dared say the Queen would not stop with one son.
Maelion watched me carefully that evening as we shared supper in the tower.
"Aegon is a name of kings," he said, chewing slowly. "A name that gathers loyalty."
I said nothing. What could I say?
The flame inside me remained quiet, but steady.
Silverwing flew with me every night now. Longer, higher. We flew over the broken hills of Driftmark, the shores of Massey's Hook, and sometimes just out over the endless sea, chasing stars. Each time I flew, I felt her trust grow. She obeyed quicker. She rose swifter.
I had stopped hiding it. The keepers knew. They said nothing.
One night I passed another rider in the distance. A small shadow against the horizon—Caraxes, perhaps. Or Seasmoke. We did not cross paths. But I knew then: I was not alone in the sky anymore. And I had no banner. No house name. Only the bond between beast and boy.
The war had not come. But it would.
In my dreams, I saw fire on the horizon, black wings blotting out the sun.
And I woke always with the same thought:
Let them crown who they will.
I have already flown.
And when the time comes, I will rise again.