ULF
The sky was nothing like I'd imagined.
Wind tore at my face, my chest, my exposed skin. Silverwing's wings beat in rhythms I couldn't predict, each stroke shifting her body beneath me.
I nearly fell three times in the first minute.
Hold on. Just hold on.
My hands gripped the scale ridges along her neck. My legs clamped against her sides. But dragon scales were smooth—designed for speed, not for clinging passengers.
She banked left.
I slid right.
Geppo instinct—
I kicked against air, adjusting my trajectory, landing back on her spine instead of tumbling into empty sky.
Silverwing rumbled. Approval? Surprise?
She felt that. She knows I did something impossible.
"Sōvēs naejot," I called over the wind. Fly forward.
She obliged. Smoother now, as if compensating for my inexperience.
We circled King's Landing. Once. Twice. Each rotation, I learned more—how her muscles tensed before a turn, how her neck dipped before a dive, how her wings flared before a stop.
Work with her. Not against.
I tried a command. "Īlon jikagon." We descend.
She dropped.
My stomach lurched. The ground rushed up—too fast, far too fast—
Tekkai. Full body. Brace.
Silverwing pulled up at the last moment. Graceful. Controlled. My tension had been unnecessary.
She'd been testing me.
You ancient, clever beast.
A laugh escaped my throat. Wild. Free.
"Again," I said. "Arlī."
We climbed.
ONE HOUR LATER
The Dragonpit's yard swarmed with people.
I'd seen them gathering during our flights—nobles, servants, soldiers—all watching the silver dragon and her unlikely rider.
Silverwing landed with a grace I couldn't match. My dismount was more of a controlled fall, legs buckling as my feet touched stone.
Someone caught me. Wrapped a cloak around my shoulders.
Otto Hightower. His face arranged in careful approval.
"Ulf the White," he said. The name carried through the crowd. "Dragonrider. The queen chose her protector well."
Ulf the White. Is that what they're calling me now?
"Lord Hand."
"You've accomplished something remarkable. Few bastards dare approach dragons. Fewer survive." His voice dropped, meant only for me. "You've become valuable. Don't make me regret allowing it."
"I protect Helaena. That hasn't changed."
"See that it doesn't."
He moved away. Another figure approached—stumbling, reeking of wine even at midday.
Aegon II. The king himself.
"Welcome to the fucking club, bastard." He slapped my shoulder with genuine enthusiasm. "Thought the old girl would cook you like the others. Should've known better—you're too stubborn to die properly."
"Your Grace."
"None of that shit. We're dragonriders now. Brothers of scale or whatever the poems say." He leaned closer, wine breath washing over me. "Between us, I liked watching Hugh burn better. That was entertaining. Yours was just... weird."
"Weird?"
"You didn't scream. Didn't run. Just stood there while she tried to roast you." He shuddered theatrically. "Fucking unnatural."
You have no idea.
"I'll take that as a compliment, Your Grace."
"Take it however you want. Just don't die before the war's over—I've got coin riding on you lasting at least two battles."
He wandered off, shouting for more wine.
I stood in the yard, cloak around my shoulders, burns fading on my skin, a dragonrider at last.
Now the real work begins.
THAT EVENING
My quarters had never felt so small.
I'd bathed—scrubbing away ash and sweat and fear—and dressed in fresh clothes. The burns from Silverwing's test had already faded to pink marks, my fire resistance accelerating the healing.
A knock. Soft. Familiar.
I opened the door.
Helaena stood there. Eyes red. Hands trembling.
She crashed into me before I could speak.
Her lips found mine—desperate, claiming, relieved. Not the gentle forehead kisses we'd shared before. This was hunger. Need.
I pulled her inside. Closed the door.
"I thought—" She kissed me again, cutting off her own words. "I dreamed you'd burn. I dreamed you'd fall. I dreamed you'd succeed." Another kiss. "I didn't know which was true until I saw you flying."
"I'm here. I survived."
"I know." She pressed her forehead to mine. "I know. But watching... I've never been so afraid. Even when Blood and Cheese came. Even when—" Her voice broke.
I held her. Let her shake against me.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just don't die." She pulled back. Met my eyes. "Promise me."
"I can't promise—"
"Promise me anyway. Lie if you have to. I need to hear it."
What does a promise mean when war is coming? When dragons will fight dragons and men will burn?
"I promise. I'll come back to you. Always."
She kissed me again. Softer this time. Grateful.
"I'm staying tonight."
"Helaena—"
"I'm staying. In your chambers. In your bed." She touched my face. "I'm tired of pretending we're not what we are."
"And what are we?"
"Everything."
We lay together that night.
Not physical union—that boundary remained, unspoken but understood. But closer than we'd ever been. Her head on my chest. My arm around her waist. Bodies intertwined.
"The children are with their septa," she murmured. "They know I'm here."
"What did you tell them?"
"That Mother was visiting a friend." A soft laugh. "Jaehaerys asked if you were my friend now. I said yes."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Good. I like him. He does the heavy trick.'"
I smiled in the darkness.
The heavy trick. My introduction to their world.
"When do you deploy?"
The question cut through the warmth.
"I don't know. Soon. Otto's gathering the dragonriders for a council."
"Rook's Rest."
"You've dreamed it?"
"I've dreamed fire over water. Dragons falling. I don't know what it means." Her hand tightened on my chest. "But you're there. In the center of it. Standing when others fall."
"Is that good?"
"I don't know. The dreams don't come with explanations."
I kissed her forehead. Held her closer.
Tomorrow, war. Tonight, peace.
It had to be enough.
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