ULF
Dawn at the Dragonpit became ritual.
Every morning, before the city fully woke, I walked the empty streets with a sheep carcass slung over my shoulder. The butchers knew me now—the madman who bought livestock before sunrise. They took my coin without questions.
Silverwing waited.
She'd learned my footsteps, I realized on the fourth day. Her head lifted before I entered her chamber, already turning toward the entrance, that deep rumble building in her chest.
Recognition. Anticipation. Progress.
I set down the sheep. Retreated to my spot along the wall.
"Good morning."
A huff. Warm breath washing over the chamber.
"The council met again yesterday. Otto wants to fortify the Goldroad. Aemond wants to attack the Riverlands directly. They argued for three hours and decided nothing." I settled against the stone. "Politics. You're lucky you don't have to deal with it."
Silverwing ate. Watched me between bites.
"Helaena's dreams are getting worse. More fire. More blood. She won't tell me everything she sees, but I can tell it's bad." I pulled out the small journal I'd started keeping—Valyrian phrases, dragon behavior notes, observations about the bond. "I need to be ready. We both do."
She finished the sheep. Settled back.
I waited.
The flame came without warning.
Not a warning blast—a test. Silverwing opened her jaws and unleashed a controlled stream of fire directly at my position.
Tekkai. Full body. Instantaneous.
Heat washed over me. My clothes caught—the cheap linen I'd taken to wearing for these visits, easily replaced. Smoke filled my nostrils.
Twenty seconds. Thirty.
My skin reddened. Didn't blister.
Forty seconds.
The fire stopped.
I stood there, smoking, clothes ruined, flesh tender but intact.
Silverwing's eyes held something new. Respect?
"I'm getting better at this," I said. My voice came out rough. "Another week and you won't be able to hurt me at all."
A rumble. Almost like laughter.
"Don't get cocky. I know you can do worse."
She huffed agreement and closed her eyes.
I stripped off the charred remnants of my tunic, sat bare-chested against the wall, and opened my journal.
Day twelve. Fire endurance: forty-three seconds sustained. No blistering. Mild redness, healed within hours. Silverwing seems pleased by progress.
Tomorrow: try fifty seconds.
DAY FOURTEEN
The books had been hard to find.
Old texts. Dusty scrolls. Fragments of dragon-taming lore from before the Doom. I'd bribed three maesters and one septon to get access.
Worth it.
"Dracarys," I said carefully. The word felt strange on my tongue—old, powerful.
Silverwing's head lifted.
"Naejot." Forward.
Her neck extended slightly. Interested.
"Lykiri." Calm.
She settled immediately. Completely. Like a command spoken by someone she trusted.
The language. She responds to Valyrian. Of course she does—that's what Alysanne spoke.
I tried more phrases. "Dohaerās." Serve. "Sōvēs." Fly. "Umbas." Wait.
Each word produced a reaction. Small movements. Shifts in attention. Understanding.
"You've been waiting," I realized aloud. "Waiting for someone who speaks your language."
A rumble. Deep. Affirmative.
Sixty years since Alysanne. Sixty years of dragonkeepers who don't understand, riders who never came, silence where there should be speech.
I moved closer. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Rytsas, Silverwing." Hello, Silverwing. "Nyke jaelagon ao." I need you.
She lowered her head. Brought those massive eyes level with mine.
And for the first time, I felt it—not just tolerance, not just acceptance. Connection.
There you are.
THAT EVENING
Helaena studied me across the dinner table.
"You smell like smoke. And something else." She tilted her head. "Dragon."
"I've been visiting her daily."
"I know. The servants talk." She pushed food around her plate. "How close are you?"
I considered the question. The weeks of patience. The fire tests. The language breakthrough.
"Close. Maybe another week if she'll have me."
"She'll have you." Certainty in her voice. "I've seen it."
"In the dreams?"
"In the way you move. The way you talk about her." Helaena smiled slightly. "You speak of Silverwing the way you speak of me. With respect. With care. Dragons notice such things."
"You're comparing yourself to a dragon?"
"We're both ancient creatures who require careful handling." Her smile widened. "And we both breathe fire when provoked."
I laughed. Genuine surprise.
"Did you just make a joke?"
"I make jokes. Occasionally. When the dreams allow it."
She reached across the table. Took my hand.
"Be careful tomorrow. The fire tests are one thing. Actually riding is another."
"I'll be careful."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
She squeezed my fingers. Held on.
One more week, I thought. One more week and I'll be ready.
The war wouldn't wait much longer.
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