Chapter 29: The Dragonseeds Whisper
The tavern stank of spilled ale and desperate ambition.
I'd come to check on my informant network—the street children had been quiet lately, which usually meant trouble or they were saving up something significant. But the moment I walked in, the conversation at the corner table caught my attention.
"—my father was a Targaryen. Silver hair doesn't lie."
Big man. Massive, actually. Maybe six-five, built like a blacksmith because he was a blacksmith. Silver-blonde hair tied back, lilac eyes that marked him as clearly as any royal banner.
Hugh Hammer.
I knew him from the show. The bastard who'd claim Vermithor, turn traitor, try to crown himself king. One of the biggest threats in the Dragonseed program.
And here he was, two tables away, bragging about his heritage.
"You think hair makes you special?" Another patron laughed. "Half of Flea Bottom's got Targaryen blood. Doesn't mean shit."
"It will when the dragons need riders." Hugh's voice was confident. Arrogant. "War's coming. Everyone knows it. And when it does, they'll need bastards like us. Men with the blood but not the claims."
"You think you can ride a dragon?"
"I know I can. It's in my blood. My right."
I sat at the bar, ordered water, and listened.
Hugh continued boasting. About his strength. His lineage. His certainty that when the time came, he'd claim a dragon and show the realm what a real Targaryen looked like.
Dangerous. He's already thinking like a king. And in the original timeline, he acted on it.
Our eyes met across the tavern. Recognition passed between us—two bastards with silver hair in a room full of people who'd never amount to anything.
He nodded. I nodded back.
Nothing more. But it was enough.
I knew his face now. His attitude. His ambitions.
When the time came, I'd have to watch him carefully.
Or kill him.
The man approached me an hour later, when Hugh had left and the tavern had thinned.
Nondescript. Middle-aged. Steward's clothes. The kind of person who blended into any crowd and remembered every face.
"Ulf the White?" He sat without invitation.
"Who's asking?"
"Someone who knows you have Targaryen blood. And unusual abilities." He placed a coin on the table. Gold. Stamped with the Hand's seal. "Lord Otto Hightower has a proposition."
I picked up the coin. Examined it. Set it back down.
"I'm listening."
"War is coming. The realm will need dragonriders. Men with Targaryen blood who can bond with the unclaimed dragons." He leaned forward. "Swear loyalty to Prince Aegon, and when the time comes, you'll have first opportunity to claim a dragon."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you remain a bastard guard with unusual tricks. Your choice."
I considered. This was expected. Otto was smart enough to prepare for dragon combat before the war even started.
But swearing to Aegon? The drunk, cruel princeling who mocked Helaena and would make a terrible king?
"I already serve the Crown," I said carefully. "Through Princess Helaena. If you want my oath, it goes to her. Not Aegon."
The steward's eyes narrowed. "That's... irregular."
"I'm an irregular man. Take it or leave it."
He was silent for a long moment. Then: "Lord Otto wants dragons ridden. Personal loyalties are less important than capability. If you swear to serve the Crown through Princess Helaena, that's acceptable."
"Then you have my oath. I'll claim a dragon when the time comes. And I'll use it to protect Princess Helaena and her children."
"Not to fight for King Aegon?"
"I'll fight where the princess needs me to fight. If that aligns with King Aegon's interests, fine. If not..." I shrugged. "I serve her. Not him."
The steward didn't like it. But he'd been given flexibility, and Otto needed dragonriders more than he needed absolute loyalty.
"You'll be contacted when the time comes. Don't leave King's Landing."
He stood, left the coin, and disappeared into the crowd.
I pocketed the gold. Waited ten minutes. Then left through the back entrance.
Mira found me that evening with her report.
"The steward's been busy. Talked to maybe a dozen bastards. Most told him to fuck off." She grinned. "But some accepted."
"Names?"
She pulled out a crumpled list. "Hugh Hammer—the big one. Addam of Hull—one of Lord Corlys's bastards, they say. A few others I don't know. Street kids with the hair but no names."
I memorized the list. Addam I knew from the show—loyal, competent, would fight for the Blacks eventually. Hugh was the traitor. The others were unknowns.
"Keep watching Hugh," I said. "I want to know everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to."
"He's dangerous?"
"He thinks he's important. That makes him dangerous."
She nodded, pocketed her payment, and left.
I stood on my balcony, looking out over King's Landing.
The Dragonseed program was beginning. Otto was preparing for dragon combat before Viserys was even cold.
Smart. Ruthless. Exactly what I'd expect from him.
But it also meant the timeline was accelerating. The Dance was coming. Days away, maybe hours.
And I needed to be ready.
Helaena was in the nursery when I found her. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were asleep, curled together on their shared bed. She sat beside them, watching them breathe.
"The war's about to need dragonriders," I said quietly. "I'll be one of them."
She didn't look up. "Dragons kill their riders. The histories are full of burned corpses."
"Only the ones who aren't prepared."
I held up my hands. Scarred from fire training. Toughened from dragon breath. Pink and new in places where Silverwing's flame had cooked me.
"I've been preparing since..." I paused. Almost said since I woke up in this world. Caught myself. "Since the day I decided you mattered."
She finally looked at me. "You're going to claim Silverwing."
"Yes."
"When?"
"Soon. After Viserys dies. After the chaos begins." I knelt beside her. "But I won't leave you unprotected. I'll make sure you and the children are safe first."
"How can you promise that? You're one man. The Dance will be..." She gestured helplessly. "Everything. Everywhere. How can one man stop it?"
"I can't stop it. But I can protect what matters. You. Jaehaerys. Jaehaera. That's enough."
She touched my scarred hands. "These hurt you. The training. The fire. All of it hurts you."
"Yes."
"Then why?"
"Because pain is temporary. Losing you would be permanent."
She kissed me. Right there in the nursery, with her children sleeping nearby. Desperate and frightened and clinging to me like I was the only solid thing in a crumbling world.
When we broke apart, she whispered, "Don't die."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
"I promise. I'll live. I'll fight. I'll burn if I have to. But I'll survive. For you."
She believed me. Or wanted to believe me badly enough that it amounted to the same thing.
I stayed with her until dawn, watching the children sleep, both of us knowing this peace wouldn't last much longer.
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