ULF
The training yard at midnight.
I moved through Rokushiki forms with weighted anklets strapped to my legs—fifty kilograms each, forcing every step to be deliberate, every kick to be earned.
Soru.
The world blurred. Ten meters. Twenty. Thirty.
Tekkai.
My body hardened. A training dummy's weighted club struck my chest. The impact jarred my bones but left no mark.
Rankyaku.
My leg whipped forward. Air compressed, solidified, flew—struck the practice target across the yard. Cut through wood and straw.
Again.
I'd been at this for hours. My muscles burned. My lungs ached. Sweat dripped despite the cool air.
Again.
Since Rook's Rest, I'd pushed harder than ever. The battle had shown me my limits—and how close those limits had come to killing me.
Meleys nearly caught us. If Vhagar had been two seconds slower...
I couldn't afford limits. Not with Daemon still alive. Not with Caraxes waiting for revenge.
Again.
Soru. Tekkai. Rankyaku.
The combinations flowed together now. Near-instinct rather than conscious thought.
Not enough. Never enough.
"You're going to work yourself to death."
Criston Cole. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Watching from the colonnade.
I stopped. Caught my breath.
"Better than being killed by someone else."
"Is there a difference?"
"The timing."
He walked into the yard. Armor gleaming in the moonlight. Sword at his hip.
"I watched you at Rook's Rest. What you did on Meleys's back. The impossible jumps. The way you survived the fire."
"I trained."
"No one trains to walk on air."
Silence stretched between us.
"What do you want, Lord Commander?"
"I want to understand what I'm dealing with." He stopped three paces away. Close enough to fight. Far enough to react. "You're not normal. Everyone who watched that battle knows it. The question is whether you're an asset or a threat."
"Ask the queen's children if I'm a threat."
"The children trust you. Children trust many things."
"Ask Helaena then."
"The queen's feelings for you are... complicated." His voice carried an edge. "Perhaps too complicated."
Ah. There it is.
"You think I'm manipulating her."
"I think a bastard guard who becomes a dragonrider who becomes the queen's confidant is climbing awfully fast. Fast climbers usually fall hard."
"Or they reach the top."
"And then?"
Then I protect what I love until the war ends or I die trying.
"Then I keep doing what I've always done. Keep her safe. Keep the children safe."
Criston studied me. Looking for the lie.
He didn't find one.
"Aemond trusts you. The queen trusts you. Even Otto sees your value, though he'd never admit it." He stepped back. "I don't trust anyone. But I respect capability. Just remember—if you ever become a problem..."
"I won't."
"See that you don't."
He walked away. I watched him go.
Another piece on the board. Another calculation to make.
DAWN
Silverwing waited at the Dragonpit.
I'd flown her a dozen times since Rook's Rest. Each flight smoother than the last. Each command obeyed a little faster.
But we'd never pushed. Never tested our limits.
Today, that changed.
"Higher," I murmured, leaning forward. "As high as you can go."
Silverwing rumbled. Uncertainty.
"Trust me."
Her wings beat. Once. Twice.
We climbed.
The city shrank. The Keep became a toy. The Blackwater Bay became a mirror reflecting morning light.
Still climbing.
Air thinned. Cold bit through my clothes. My lungs worked harder.
Still climbing.
How high can we go? How far can we push?
The world curved at the edges. Clouds drifted below us now—strange, seeing them from above.
Silverwing's wingbeats slowed. She was laboring.
"Enough. Level out."
She obeyed. Grateful.
We hung there, impossibly high, watching the realm spread beneath us.
From here, the war seems small. The politics, the betrayals, the deaths—just patterns in the dust.
But it wasn't small. It was everything.
"Dive."
Silverwing hesitated.
"Trust me. Dive."
She folded her wings.
We fell.
Wind screamed past. The world rushed upward. My stomach lurched, fighting the impossible speed.
I dropped my weight to 1kg. Became nearly weightless. The wind couldn't tear me from Silverwing's back.
Faster. Faster.
The ground approached. King's Landing grew from dot to city to rushing death.
"Now!"
Silverwing's wings snapped open. The dive became a curve. We skimmed over the Dragonpit's roof close enough to touch.
Then we climbed again, arcing into clear sky, my heart pounding with exhilaration and terror.
That's new. That's something Daemon can't do.
I laughed. Wild. Free.
For one moment, all the fear and planning and paranoia fell away.
Just a man and his dragon, dancing on the edge of death.
This is why they fight for these beasts. This is why men die for the chance to fly.
We spiraled down. Landed in the Dragonpit's yard.
Silverwing settled her wings and looked at me with those ancient eyes.
Was that approval?
I stroked her neck. Felt the furnace-heat of her body, the pulse of her enormous heart.
"Good girl. We'll do it again tomorrow."
She rumbled. Agreement or tolerance—I couldn't always tell the difference.
LATER
The nursery was quiet when I arrived.
Jaehaerys played with his wooden knights—the collection had grown since I'd first seen it. Jaehaera read silently by the window. Maelor napped in his crib, watched by a septa who nodded respectfully as I entered.
"Mother's knight!" Jaehaerys scrambled up. "Show me the heavy trick again!"
I knelt. Picked up one of his wooden figures.
"Watch carefully."
I shifted my weight into the small object. Just enough to make it noticeably heavier.
"Try to lift it."
Jaehaerys grabbed the knight. Pulled. His face screwed up with effort.
"It's stuck!"
"Not stuck. Just heavy."
I released the weight shift. The knight came free suddenly, sending Jaehaerys stumbling backward.
He laughed. Pure and joyful.
This. This is what I'm protecting.
"Can you teach me to do that?"
"Maybe when you're older."
"How much older?"
"Old enough to keep secrets."
"I'm good at secrets!"
"Prove it. Don't tell anyone about the heavy trick."
He nodded solemnly. Six years old, swearing an oath of silence over a parlor trick.
I ruffled his hair. Moved to check Jaehaera by the window.
"What are you reading?"
"Mother's book. The one with the butterflies."
Helaena's illustrations. Her attempts to make sense of her visions.
"Does it make sense to you?"
Jaehaera looked up. Those violet eyes—so like her mother's. Seeing things others couldn't.
"Some of it. The pictures are sad. But also pretty."
"That's a good way to describe it."
I stood at the window. Looked out over King's Landing.
Somewhere out there, Daemon plots. Rhaenyra schemes. More assassins train for the chance to slip past my defenses.
But here, in this room, three children lived and played and laughed.
That's what matters. That's what I'll die to protect.
Footsteps in the corridor. Helaena entering.
She saw me with the children and smiled—that rare, genuine expression that made everything else worthwhile.
"Staying for dinner?"
"If you'll have me."
"Always."
She took my hand. Led me to the table where servants were laying out food.
Outside, the war continued.
But here, for now, there was peace.
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