ULF
A week passed.
The village adapted to its new reality with the practicality of people who'd survived storms and famines and all the other disasters the sea could throw at them. Two dragons on the beach were just another disaster to survive.
Vermithor's wing had been properly broken in the crash—bone snapped, membrane torn, the kind of injury that would take months to heal even for a creature as formidable as a dragon. He lay on the sand, accepting fish from cautious villagers, occasionally rumbling at Silverwing when she flew overhead.
Grounded. Again. Just when we might need him most.
The children adapted faster than any of us.
Jaehaerys—the seven-year-old who was technically King of the Seven Kingdoms—spent his days with the village boys, learning to mend nets and gut fish and do all the practical work that royalty never touched. He seemed to enjoy it. Found satisfaction in the simple tasks.
"It's strange," he told me one evening, watching his hands turn pink from hauling rope. "In the Red Keep, everyone did things for me. Here, I do things for myself. I like it better."
"Don't get too used to it. You might have to go back to being a king someday."
"Maybe." He considered this. "Or maybe kings should learn to gut fish. It might make them better at their jobs."
Wise. Wiser than his father ever was.
Jaehaera had befriended the village girls—teaching them noble embroidery in exchange for lessons in practical crafts. At five, she was already showing signs of the intelligence that Helaena sometimes glimpsed in her prophecies.
"Mother says I see things clearly," she told me once. "Does that mean I'll have dreams like her?"
"I don't know. Would you want to?"
"No." No hesitation. "Her dreams make her sad. I don't want to be sad."
Smart girl. Smarter than most.
Only Maelor stayed close to Helaena, clinging to her skirts, not yet ready to explore this strange new world. At three, he understood only that his home was gone and everything had changed.
"When can we go back?" he asked constantly.
No one had a good answer.
Intelligence trickled in through the fishing boats.
My network had survived the fall of King's Landing—barely. Contacts throughout the city had either fled or gone to ground, but those who'd escaped were now scattered along the coast, passing messages through a chain of fishing vessels and coastal traders.
The news was uniformly terrible.
King's Landing had fallen completely. The Shepherd controlled the streets for three days before his own mob turned on him—too many factions, too many grievances, everyone wanting different things. He'd been torn apart by the crowd he'd created.
Poetic. If not satisfying.
Rhaenyra's forces had entered the city on the fourth day. She'd taken the Red Keep, claimed the Iron Throne, declared the war over.
It's not over. It's never that simple.
The Greens were scattered. Criston Cole had retreated south with whatever forces he could gather. Otto Hightower was confirmed dead—killed during the riots while trying to reach the harbor. Various lords had either submitted to Rhaenyra or fled to distant holdings.
And young Jaehaerys—the boy helping fishermen mend nets fifty yards from where I sat—was technically a traitor to the crown. His existence threatened Rhaenyra's claim. If she found him, he'd die.
She won't find him. I won't let her.
The secret visits continued.
Every afternoon, Dalla brought the babies to the village square, where other mothers gathered to gossip and watch their children play. Helaena made it her habit to be there—the grieving noblewoman who found comfort in the presence of infants.
She held Aegon for an hour each day.
Fed him. Talked to him. Memorized every change in his three-month-old features.
Then gave him back.
I watched from a distance, feeling the weight of what we'd built—the elaborate lies, the careful separations, the family that couldn't be a family.
"You love her." Corwen's voice interrupted my thoughts.
The village elder had approached without my noticing—rare for anyone to surprise me. I must have been more distracted than I realized.
"What makes you say that?"
"The way you watch her. The way you protect those children like they were your own." He settled onto the bench beside me. "And the way she looks at you when she thinks no one else is watching."
"We're complicated."
"All love is complicated." He lit a clay pipe. "The child she holds every day—the wet nurse's nephew—there's something there too. She looks at him differently than the others."
Perceptive. Dangerously perceptive.
"She lost a child. Before. The boy reminds her."
"Hmm." Corwen drew on his pipe. "And this child—the one she lost—would he have been about that age?"
I turned to face him directly.
"Some questions are better left unasked, elder."
"And some secrets are better left unspoken." He met my gaze. "I've lived seventy years. Seen more than most. I know when people are hiding something, and I know when that something could get us all killed."
He's guessing. But he's guessing close to the truth.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. I'm not asking for more gold, or more promises, or anything else." He exhaled smoke toward the sky. "I'm asking you to be careful. This village has survived by being unremarkable. By being the kind of place no one notices. If your secrets bring attention here—"
"They won't."
"They'd better not. These people trusted you with their safety. Don't make me regret encouraging that trust."
He rose and walked away, leaving me with the weight of his words.
He knows something's wrong. Doesn't know what. But he knows.
Another complication in a life that was nothing but complications.
That evening, Jaehaerys found me checking on the dragons.
He walked across the beach with the confidence of a boy who'd spent a week learning that dragons wouldn't eat him as long as he moved calmly. Silverwing watched him approach, rumbled a greeting, and returned to grooming her scales.
"Are we hiding?" he asked. "From the people who burned our city?"
I considered lying. Decided against it.
"Yes."
"Because they'd hurt us if they found us?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm—" He hesitated. "Because of what I am?"
He knows. Or suspects. Seven years old and already understanding that his existence is a threat to someone.
"Because of what you are. Because of who you might become. And because people are afraid of possibilities."
"I don't want to be king." The words came out in a rush. "I never wanted to be king. Father was king and he was drunk all the time and now he's dead. Uncle Aemond was going to be king and he's dead too. Kings die."
"Not all of them."
"The important ones do. The ones people fight about." He kicked sand with his bare foot. "Can I just stay here? Be a fisherman? Let someone else be king?"
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because people will always know who you are. Because your blood makes you important whether you want it to or not. Because running from what you are just means someone else decides your fate for you."
He absorbed this. His young face showed more thought than most adults managed.
"Then I have to get stronger. So I can decide my own fate."
"Yes."
"Will you teach me? How to be strong like you?"
The question caught me off guard.
"I'm not—"
"You killed people in the Red Keep. I saw you. You moved faster than anyone I've ever seen. And you can make dragons do what you want." He looked up at me with something like hope. "Teach me. So I can protect Mother and my sisters like you protect us."
Seven years old. Already understanding that protection requires strength.
"It won't be easy."
"I don't want easy. I want strong."
I looked at this boy—this child who'd lost his father, his home, his throne, and still stood here asking to learn rather than to hide.
"All right. We'll start tomorrow."
His face lit up.
"Really?"
"Really. Dawn. On this beach. Don't be late."
"I won't!" He ran back toward the village, energy restored by purpose.
I watched him go, thinking about what I'd just promised.
Training a king. In a fishing village. While hiding from the queen who wants him dead.
What could possibly go wrong?
Silverwing rumbled behind me—amusement, maybe. Or warning.
I chose to interpret it as encouragement.
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