ULF
The Dragonpit filled with spectators.
Otto had insisted on witnesses. "If you succeed, the realm must see it. If you fail, they must see that too." The political calculation was obvious—either I became an unprecedented asset, or I died and removed a potential threat to his influence.
I didn't care about his motivations. I cared about the result.
Lords and ladies occupied the viewing galleries. Gold Cloaks maintained order. Criston Cole stood near the front, hand on his sword, ready to... what? Fight a dragon if things went wrong? The thought almost made me laugh.
Silverwing waited in the main yard—calm, patient, understanding what I was attempting even if no one else did.
Vermithor had been moved to an adjacent chamber. I could hear his rumbling through the stone walls.
"The crowd is ready," Marston reported. "Both dragons are in position."
"Then let's make history."
I approached Silverwing first.
The silver dragon lowered her head as I drew near, a gesture of trust we'd built over months of bonding. I placed my hand on her snout.
"Rytsas, Silverwing." Hello. "Nyke jāhor ūndegon dārys mēre tolī." I will try something dangerous.
A rumble. Understanding.
"Nyke jāhor claim Vermithor se Ulf." I will claim Vermithor too. "Ao jāhor share nyke lēda zirȳla."
You will share me with him.
Her amber eyes studied me. In that gaze, I saw something ancient calculating—weighing my request against decades of instinct, centuries of dragon nature.
Then she huffed warm breath across my face.
Acceptance.
I climbed onto her back. The familiar weight of the saddle, the familiar warmth of her scales. But instead of taking flight, I guided her toward Vermithor's chamber.
"Naejot."
She walked.
VERMITHOR
The Bronze Fury waited in the open yard.
He'd been led out by a combination of brave keepers and careful chains—not restraining him, just guiding. Now he stood in the afternoon sun, bronze scales gleaming, ancient eyes fixed on the approaching silver dragon.
And her rider.
The crowd went silent.
This was the moment. Two dragons, face to face, with a human presuming to claim both. If they fought, dozens would die. If they rejected me, I'd burn.
I guided Silverwing to within thirty feet of Vermithor.
Close enough to communicate. Far enough to react if things went wrong.
"Vermithor." My voice carried across the yard. "Nyke māzigon claim ao."
I come to claim you.
The bronze dragon's head rose. That low growl started again—the same sound I'd heard in his chamber days ago.
But this time, Silverwing answered.
Her own rumble echoed his—a conversation in sounds too deep for human ears, meanings too complex for human minds.
They were... talking.
I sat frozen in my saddle, watching two ancient beings negotiate my fate.
The conversation lasted minutes that felt like hours.
Rumbles. Growls. Soft sounds I couldn't interpret. Silverwing's head turned toward Vermithor, then back to me, then toward him again.
What are they saying? Are they agreeing? Fighting?
Finally, Silverwing went still.
Vermithor's growl faded.
And the bronze dragon lowered himself to the ground.
An invitation.
"Silverwing. Umbas." Stay.
She rumbled acknowledgment.
I dismounted. Walked across the yard toward Vermithor.
Every step felt like a mile. Every breath might be my last. The crowd was utterly silent—hundreds of people holding their breath, waiting to see if history would be made or if I would die.
I reached Vermithor's side.
He was massive—nearly twice Silverwing's size, built for war rather than grace. The scales under my hand were rougher than hers, hotter, thrumming with barely contained fire.
"Lykirī." Calm. "Nyke iksis aōha."
I am yours.
A rumble. Testing.
I climbed onto his back.
THE FLIGHT
Vermithor's muscles coiled beneath me.
For one terrible moment, I thought he'd throw me—buck and thrash until I fell, then burn me where I landed.
Instead, he launched.
The acceleration was brutal. Silverwing flew with grace; Vermithor flew with power. Every wingbeat drove us higher with force that threatened to tear me from the saddle.
I clung on. Used Tekkai to strengthen my grip. Let him feel that I wouldn't fall, wouldn't fail, wouldn't surrender.
We climbed above King's Landing. The city spread below—tiny buildings, tiny people, all of it fragile and flammable.
"Kelītīs." Halt.
He hovered.
The wind screamed around us. Vermithor's bronze scales caught the sunlight, turning him into a beacon visible for miles.
"Jikagon." Descend.
He dropped.
My stomach lurched. The ground rushed up.
"Umbas!" Stop!
He caught himself twenty feet above the Dragonpit yard, wings thundering, force of displaced air knocking spectators backward.
Then he landed.
Gentle. Controlled.
He's accepting commands. He's accepting me.
I dismounted on shaking legs.
"Silverwing. Māzigon."
The silver dragon approached. Lowered herself beside Vermithor.
I climbed from one saddle to the other—bronze to silver, war to grace.
"Sōvēs."
Silverwing launched.
We circled the Dragonpit once. Twice. Then landed beside Vermithor.
Two dragons. One rider.
The crowd exploded into noise—cheers, gasps, prayers, curses. I couldn't distinguish one from another. Just the roar of hundreds of voices witnessing the impossible.
Otto Hightower stood at the gallery's edge, face pale.
Criston Cole was actually smiling.
And somewhere in the Red Keep, Helaena was waiting to hear if she'd become a widow.
THE AFTERMATH
The Small Council convened within the hour.
I sat at the table—something I'd never done before as Lord Protector. The others stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"You control two dragons." Otto's voice carried calculation beneath the shock. "That makes you potentially more powerful than the Queen Regent."
"I serve the Queen Regent and her children." I kept my voice flat. "My power is theirs."
"Forgive me, Lord Protector, but power doesn't work that way. Power accumulates. Power corrupts. Power—"
"Power protects." I leaned forward. "Right now, the Greens have one functional dragonrider. One. The Blacks still have multiple dragons, multiple riders, multiple threats. If they attack King's Landing tomorrow, who defends the city?"
"The Gold Cloaks—"
"Will burn. Dragons against men isn't a battle, it's a slaughter." I gestured at the window, toward where the Dragonpit loomed. "But two dragons? That's a deterrent. That's the difference between invasion and hesitation."
"You could also use those dragons to—"
"To what? Seize power for myself?" I stood. "Lord Otto, I've had opportunities to seize power since before the war began. When I killed Blood and Cheese, I could have used that leverage to demand anything. When I returned from God's Eye, I was the only survivor—I could have claimed whatever I wanted."
I walked around the table. Stopped behind Otto's chair.
"But I didn't. Because I don't want to rule. I want to protect the woman I serve and the children in her care." I placed my hand on the back of his chair—not threatening, exactly, but pointed. "Question my loyalty again, and you'll find out what two dragons can do to a lord's castle."
The threat hung in the air.
"That's... not necessary," Otto managed.
"Then don't make it necessary."
I returned to my seat.
The council continued in strained silence.
THAT EVENING
Helaena was waiting when I returned.
Six months pregnant now—her belly swollen, her movements careful, her face showing the strain of carrying life while the world burned around her.
"You lived."
"I lived."
"And now you have two dragons."
"I have two dragons."
She crossed to me. Touched my face with trembling fingers.
"They fear you now. I could see it in Otto's eyes when he came to report. He looked at me like I was harboring a monster."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." Her voice hardened. "Let them fear you. Let them fear you enough to never threaten what's ours."
Her hand moved to her belly.
"This child will be born under the shadow of two dragons. Perhaps that's fitting."
I placed my hand over hers.
"She'll be born safe. Protected. Loved."
"By a father who commands more fire than any man in history."
"By a father who would burn the world to keep her safe." I kissed Helaena's forehead. "And her mother. And her siblings. Everything else is negotiable."
She laughed softly.
"My impossible man. With his impossible dragons."
"Yours. All of it. Always."
We stood together as the sun set over King's Landing, two dragons visible in the distance, circling the Dragonpit like guardians.
Let them fear, I thought. Fear keeps people honest.
And honesty might be what saves us all.
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