HELAENA
She stood in the gallery, hands gripping the railing until her knuckles whitened.
Below, the Dragonpit spread like an arena. Silverwing waited in her chamber—the opening had been cleared, allowing spectators to watch from above.
He'll survive. He has to survive. I've seen him flying, seen him burning, seen him—
The dreams showed many things. Not all of them good.
"You're going to break the railing."
Alicent stood beside her. Watching. Judging.
"Mother."
"You care for him."
Not a question. Helaena didn't bother denying it.
"He's protected my children. He's protected me."
"He's a bastard. A guard. Whatever... services he provides, he's not worthy of a queen's affection."
"Worthiness is measured by actions, not birth." Helaena didn't look at her mother. "You taught me that."
"I taught you to survive. To protect your family. Not to—"
"He is my family. More than Aegon ever was. More than this court that treated my visions as madness."
Silence.
Below, a figure emerged into the Dragonpit.
Ulf.
Helaena's heart lurched.
ULF
The chamber felt different with crowds watching.
Silverwing lay in her usual position—massive, ancient, silver scales catching the light from above. But something in her posture had changed. Tension. Awareness.
She knows this is different. Knows what today means.
I entered slowly. Deliberately. No rush.
"Rytsas, Silverwing." My voice carried through the chamber, echoing off stone. "Iksan Ulf."
A rumble. Recognition.
The watching nobles murmured. High Valyrian from a bastard's lips was unexpected.
I continued walking. Step by measured step.
"Nyke māzigon bē ñuha rōvēgrie." I come in peace. "Nyke jaelagon sagon aōha rider." I wish to be your rider.
Silverwing's head rose. Those amber eyes found mine.
Trust. Show her trust.
I stopped ten feet away. Knelt.
"Jaelagon ao jāhon nyke?" Will you have me?
Silence.
The crowd above held their breath.
Then Silverwing opened her jaws.
THE GALLERY
The fire came in a torrent.
Helaena screamed—couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself. Her mother grabbed her arm, holding her back from throwing herself over the railing.
Below, flame engulfed the kneeling figure completely.
"Ulf!"
But she couldn't hear her own voice over the roar. Couldn't see anything but fire where he'd been.
Not like this. Please. Not like this.
The flame continued. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
He's dead. He must be dead. Nothing survives that long—
Forty seconds.
Fifty.
Sixty.
The fire stopped.
And Ulf stood.
Naked—his clothes had burned away completely. Skin reddened but not blistered. Hair scorched short but present. Eyes open.
Alive.
The crowd's shocked silence broke into gasps, murmurs, disbelieving whispers.
Helaena's legs gave out. Her mother caught her.
"How?" Alicent breathed. "How is that possible?"
Helaena didn't answer. Just watched.
ULF
Steam rose from my skin.
The heat had been intense—more than any test Silverwing had given me before. A final examination. Full power.
I'd held Tekkai for the entire duration. Hardened every inch of flesh. Let the fire wash over iron-dense skin.
My body screamed. Every nerve ending raw. Every muscle burning.
But I was alive.
"Kirimvose," I said. Thank you. "Bisa iksis ñuha jaelagon." This is my desire.
Silverwing's head descended. Came level with mine.
Those ancient eyes studied me. Measured me.
Come on. I've given everything. Given months of patience, weeks of visits, blood and burns and loyalty. Accept me.
She exhaled. Warm breath—not fire, just breath—washing over my raw skin.
Then she lowered herself.
Dropped her wing to the ground.
An invitation.
I climbed onto her back.
No saddle. No harness. Just scales against skin, warmth against burning flesh.
My hands found grip points along her neck ridges. My legs wrapped around the base of her wings.
"Sōvēs?" I whispered. Fly?
A rumble. Agreement.
Her muscles coiled beneath me.
We launched.
THE SKY
Wind screamed past.
King's Landing fell away—the Dragonpit becoming a circle, the city becoming a maze, Blackwater Bay becoming a mirror of blue and silver.
Silverwing climbed.
I held on with everything I had. No experience with this—no training, no preparation for the raw terror and joy of flight.
Higher. We're going higher.
The air thinned. Cold now, despite the furnace-heat of her body.
She leveled out.
Below, the world spread like a map made real. I could see the Red Keep, tiny as a toy. The Dragonpit, where crowds still gathered. The ships in the harbor. The roads spreading out like spider's threads.
I did it. I'm a dragonrider.
Silverwing rumbled beneath me. Satisfaction.
"Naejot," I said. Forward.
She flew.
We circled King's Landing twice. Three times. Learning each other's movements, each other's rhythms.
Then she descended. Gentle. Controlled.
We landed in the Dragonpit's yard, where handlers waited with blankets and stares.
I slid from her back. My legs buckled—exhaustion, burns, emotion.
Someone caught me. Hands under my arms, keeping me upright.
Criston Cole's voice: "You did it."
"I did it."
"How the hell did you survive that fire?"
A laugh escaped me. Raw. Broken.
"Practice."
HELAENA
She pushed through the crowd.
Propriety be damned. Protocol be damned. Everything be damned.
He stood in the yard, blanket around his shoulders, skin red and raw, hair a scorched mess.
Alive.
She crashed into him. Arms around his neck. Face pressed to his chest.
"You're an idiot," she sobbed. "You're an impossible, stubborn, fire-walking idiot."
His arms came around her. Weak. Trembling.
"I know."
"I watched you burn. A full minute. I thought—"
"I know." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
She pulled back. Looked at him.
The burns were healing already—she could see the pink new skin forming, the redness fading. Not natural. Nothing about him was natural.
"You're a dragonrider now."
"I'm your dragonrider."
She kissed him. Right there, in front of the court, in front of her mother, in front of everyone.
Let them see. Let them talk.
Her impossible man had walked through fire and come out the other side.
The real war could begin now.
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