OTTO
The small council chamber felt smaller every day.
Otto surveyed the men around the table—survivors of a political earthquake, desperately trying to find footing. Aemond at the regent's seat. Criston Cole, freshly scarred from the Riverlands campaign. Lord Jasper Wylde, clutching reports that brought only bad news.
And in the corner, the bastard. Ulf. Watching. Always watching.
"We're losing the dragon war," Otto said flatly. "Rhaenyra has Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, Arrax—" He paused. "Well. Had Arrax."
"Lucerys fell to Vhagar," Aemond said. "That counts as victory."
"One dragon. Against half a dozen." Otto spread his hands. "We have Vhagar, the largest. Dreamfyre, bonded to Helaena but never flown in battle. Sunfyre, crippled. And Silverwing."
"Silverwing is mine," Ulf said. First words he'd spoken in the meeting.
"Silverwing is a strategic asset. You may ride her, but she serves the realm."
"She serves who she chooses. Right now, that's me."
Otto let the challenge pass. They needed the bastard. His performance at Rook's Rest had proven his worth, however much it grated.
"The point stands. We need more dragons. There are unclaimed beasts in the Dragonpit—Vermithor, Seasmoke, others. Beasts that could turn the war if we had riders."
"Targaryen riders," Aemond said. "Dragons don't accept common blood."
"Targaryen bastards." Otto had been building to this. "The realm is full of them. Dragonseeds. Men and women with just enough of the blood to have a chance."
Silence.
"You want to legitimize bastards?" Alicent's voice carried from her position near the window. "Grant them access to dragons?"
"I want to win this war. If that requires... flexibility regarding bloodlines, so be it."
"The Faith will object."
"The Faith can burn with everyone else if Daemon reaches King's Landing."
More silence.
Aemond tapped his fingers against the table. Considering.
"Where would we find these dragonseeds?"
"Flea Bottom, primarily. The Velaryons had a program on Driftmark as well, before they declared for Rhaenyra. We can identify candidates, test them, bond those who survive."
"Test them how?" Criston Cole asked.
"Dragon exposure. Those the beasts accept, live. Those they reject..." Otto shrugged.
"Mass sacrifice to win a war." The Lord Commander's voice carried no judgment. He'd seen worse.
"Calculated investment. Ten deaths for one dragonrider is acceptable mathematics."
ULF
The meeting ended. I caught Otto in the corridor.
"Lord Hand."
"Ulf." Otto's tone carried carefully measured neutrality. "Something on your mind?"
"The dragonseed program. I want to recommend candidates."
"You know Flea Bottom bastards?"
"I know who's likely to survive dragonfire. Who has the temperament to bond." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I also know which candidates might harbor Black sympathies. Better to identify them before they're mounted on dragons."
Otto studied me. Those calculating eyes, always measuring, always weighing.
"You're offering to vet the candidates."
"I'm offering to keep traitors off our dragons."
A long pause.
"Provide a list. We'll discuss."
He walked away. I watched him go.
One more piece of influence. One more lever to pull.
THAT EVENING
Helaena found me in the godswood.
The heart tree's face watched us with wooden eyes. Ancient. Uncaring. A witness to a thousand confessions it would never share.
"You're planning something."
I sat on the root-twisted ground. "I'm always planning something."
"This is different." She settled beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. "You've been quieter. More focused. You barely slept this week."
"Found the traitor."
"I know. The servants are whispering about Garrett's disappearance."
"He won't be found."
She didn't ask for details. We'd passed that point long ago.
"There's something else," she said. "Something you haven't told me."
The kitchen girl, Marta. I tracked her today. Confirmed her involvement. She'll disappear tonight.
"Nothing important."
"Liar." But she said it gently. Understanding.
We sat in silence. The evening air carried the scent of pine and distant smoke—fires burning somewhere in the Crownlands, probably. The war spreading.
"The council approved a program to find more dragonriders," I said.
"I heard. Bastards on dragons. My mother is appalled."
"Your mother is often appalled. I'm going to help them select candidates."
"Of course you are." Helaena leaned her head on my shoulder. "Always positioning. Always building. Sometimes I wonder if you ever just... stop."
"I stopped when I came here tonight."
"Did you?"
No. I'm calculating escape routes. Noting guard positions. Listening for threats.
"Close enough."
She laughed. Soft. Tired.
"My strange protector. My impossible man."
"Yours," I agreed. "Whatever else I am."
The sun set over the godswood. We watched it go.
Tomorrow, deal with Marta. The day after, begin vetting dragonseed candidates. The day after that...
Always planning. Always moving.
It was the only way to stay alive.
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