The sun had barely risen when I opened my eyes to the scent of pine and cold stone. The castle was quiet but for the low hum of the servants beginning their day and the distant call of hawks circling above the mountains. My dragon, Aereryth, nestled close, his warmth a steady pulse against my side. Even as a child, I knew few comforts better than this bond—his breathing synchronous with mine, a shared heartbeat between boy and beast.
I stretched, feeling the unusual strength in my limbs, the sharpness in my mind even before the day's lessons began. My nurse, Maester Corwyn, was already waiting outside the door, his robes rumpled, spectacles perched crookedly on his nose.
"Good morning, Your Grace," he said with a smile that did not quite mask the worry in his eyes. "Are you ready for your reading today?"
"I am," I answered, rolling from the bed with a grace uncommon in one so young. Aereryth stretched beside me, claws clicking softly on the stone floor, eyes bright with curiosity.
Mother appeared at the doorway, her posture as commanding as ever, though a faint softness crept into her gaze when she looked at me. "Daemon's son learns fast. The Maester says you are eager beyond your years."
I smiled, though Daemon's son was a title I carried cautiously. The man himself was far away on some distant errand or war, leaving us to the fragile peace of the Vale.
"I read to understand, not to impress," I said. "There are things out here in the mountains the books do not tell."
She nodded slowly, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from my forehead. "The Vale is old and wise, but old often means brittle."
Our conversations were rare but insightful. Rhea Royce was a woman carved from the stones of her homeland—hard, sharp, and unyielding. Yet beneath the steel lay a mother who bore her burdens alone, and I understood the weight she carried better than most.
The days blurred into cycles of lessons and practice. Maester Corwyn drilled me on history and science, while Aereryth and I explored the high cliffs beyond Runestone. The bond between us grew stronger with each passing week, his flights pushing me to test my strength, reflexes, and will.
One afternoon, as the golden sun dipped behind the mountains, I stood watching Aereryth glide through the pink sky. His silver scales shimmered like molten starlight, wings powerful and sure. It was during these moments I felt the pulse of my destiny—not in crowns or swords, but in the whispered promise of change.
Back within the castle, I began experimenting with the scraps left by the masons and glassblowers. The Vale's glass was crude, brittle like stagnant water frozen too long. But in my mind, I saw clear panes as smooth as lake ice, fragile yet strong enough to bend light like a prism.
I worked secretly at first, mixing sand, charcoal, and a pinch of salt over small fires. Days turned to weeks. Finally, one evening, a small, clear shard emerged from the flames—thin, gleaming, and unlike anything Runestone had ever seen.
The maester inspected it with wide eyes but said nothing. My mother, dismissive as ever of curious children's toys, simply shook her head. Yet from that night on, the glasswork deepened, a quiet revolution starting from my hands.
Not all welcomed change. Old men of the Vale muttered in taverns about the young dragonlord who flouted ancient ways. Lords who saw threats in any flame that burned too bright. I did not seek confrontation. My strength lay in subtlety.
Peace was fragile, held by oaths and fear. The Dance of Dragons whispered beyond the horizon, a tempest I sensed but would not claim as mine. I stood firm, rooted in this land of stone and sky, determined to shape its fate not through fire and war, but through endurance, growth, and invention.
One evening, as Aereryth curled beside the hearth, I sat with my mother, maps stretched between us.
"How do you see the Vale, child?" she asked quietly, her fingers tracing the veins of rivers and mountains.
"A land of plenty, if only we dare to reach for it," I replied. "Stronger than desire for thrones. Richer than gold. A place where people thrive, not just survive."
She regarded me long, the firelight flickering across her sharp features.
"Then you have your path," she said at last. "But tread carefully, for even the strongest stones can crack."
I nodded, feeling the truth in her words. The story had only just begun. The dragon was young, and so was the Vale's future