The Tournament of Birth
The Tournament of Birth
The winds of Dragonstone were restless, as if the island itself could sense the stirring excitement that had begun to grip the realm. Annatar stood near the cliffs, his gaze lost on the horizon, where the distant light of King's Landing flickered across the waters. His thoughts were far from the safety of his home and the familiar faces of Dragonstone. They had wandered, as they often did lately, to the recent news that had reached them. A grand tournament would be held in King's Landing, not for a crown, not for conquest—but to celebrate the birth of a Targaryen heir.
The tournament was an event that all of Westeros had been eagerly anticipating. Whispers swirled around the capital, speculating on who the child might be, and some even claimed that the infant would be the future of House Targaryen. No one knew the baby's name, for it had yet to be born, but the excitement surrounding the tournament in honor of the child's birth was palpable. Knights, lords, and warriors from across the realm were preparing for the competition that would showcase their prowess in battle, their skill with the sword, and their loyalty to the Targaryen family.
For Annatar, however, the tournament raised more questions than answers. It had been a month since the announcement of the heir's impending birth, and with each passing day, his curiosity about the Targaryen bloodline grew. He had been born on Dragonstone, raised by his mother, a woman of unknown parentage, and his life had always been shrouded in mystery.
Could the Targaryens be his family? Could the newborn child's arrival mean something to him? He didn't know. He only knew that the more he thought about it, the more unsure he became of his own identity. His mother had never spoken of his father, and the mystery of his parentage still haunted him.
"Annatar?"
Annatar blinked and turned at the sound of his name. Aeron stood at the entrance to the courtyard, his face creased with concern. The son of Daeron, Aeron had been Annatar's closest companion since childhood. Together, they had trained, laughed, and sparred, each drawing strength from the other. They were inseparable in many ways, but today, Aeron seemed more focused on Annatar than ever before.
"What's got you lost in thought?" Aeron asked, crossing the stone floor to stand beside him. He peered out at the vast sea, as though waiting for an answer to come with the tide.
Annatar sighed, his gaze once more falling to the water. "The tournament in King's Landing. For the Targaryen child."
Aeron's face lit up with excitement. "Aye, it's going to be a grand event. Knights from all over will come, jousting, fighting in the melee. It's the sort of thing we've always dreamed about, isn't it? To prove our strength, our worth in front of the realm."
Annatar gave a tight smile but didn't respond immediately. His thoughts were elsewhere. "Do you think... do you think I might have some part of their blood in me?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
Aeron turned toward him, brow furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Annatar swallowed, feeling a knot form in his stomach. "I'm not just some bastard born of Dragonstone. My mother—she was from here, but she never spoke of my father. And with the tournament in honor of the child, I… I can't help but wonder. Could Viserys be my father?"
Aeron blinked, momentarily speechless. "You think... King Viserys Targaryen could be your father? But your mother was from Dragonstone. She wasn't even a Targaryen."
Annatar shook his head, his mind racing. "That's the thing. I don't know. Maybe she had a secret. Or maybe my grandfather was a Targaryen. I don't know. But something about this tournament, about the child's birth… it makes me wonder."
Aeron put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Annatar, you don't need to worry about any of that. You are who you are. You've always been part of this family. Daeron's always treated you like his own, and I've known you since we were little. You don't need the Targaryen name to make you strong."
Annatar looked at Aeron, his heart heavy. His friend's words should have been comforting, but they only made the weight of the unknown heavier. He didn't know who he was. He didn't know what ties his blood held. And until he did, this nagging feeling would remain, gnawing at him like a wolf stalking its prey.
Annatar's Name Day
As the sun sank low behind the cliffs of Dragonstone, a soft wind swept across the island, bringing the scent of salt and seaweed. The air was filled with the sound of the distant waves crashing against the shore. For Annatar, however, today was different. Today was his name day, a quiet celebration he had never fully understood. Born on Dragonstone in 101 AC, his name day wasn't something that had been celebrated with grand feasts or lavish gifts.
But this year was special. He was no longer the small, uncertain child of his early days. He had grown, matured, and proven himself to be a warrior in his own right. And today, Daeron—his guardian, mentor, and the closest thing to family he had—had promised a small gathering in his honor.
The courtyard was set with simple wooden tables, adorned with small candles and a scattering of flowers. Daeron, standing tall with his characteristic solemnity, approached Annatar as he entered the courtyard. The master-at-arms was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes.
"Happy name day, Annatar," Daeron said, his voice gruff but warm.
Annatar smiled, the thrill of the moment flooding him with warmth. It was rare that Daeron showed such affection, but when he did, it meant the world. Aeron, his ever-loyal friend, was already seated at the table, his infectious grin on full display.
"I thought we were going to spend the day training," Annatar joked, his smile widening as he sat beside Aeron.
"Well, training will have to wait," Daeron said with a hint of a smile. "Today, we celebrate."
Aeron leaned over with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Didn't you say we'd get a feast, Daeron?"
"Feast," Daeron muttered with a chuckle. "If you call this a feast, you'll be disappointed. There's only so much we can do on Dragonstone."
The conversation continued with laughter and light-hearted jest. Annatar felt at ease, a rare moment of peace in his otherwise complicated life. He glanced around at the simple yet meaningful celebration and felt a deep appreciation for the life he had here. This island, with its rugged cliffs and ancient stones, was his home.
As the evening stretched on, Daeron presented Annatar with a gift—a small, finely crafted dagger with a dragon-shaped pommel. Annatar's eyes widened as he held it in his hands, the craftsmanship impeccable. It was a symbol of the bond Daeron had come to see in him, a mark of his future potential.
"A weapon for a warrior," Daeron said simply, pride evident in his eyes.
Annatar's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Daeron. This means more than you know."
Aeron leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Now, you'll have a dagger to match your sword. Soon enough, you'll be challenging knights left and right."
Annatar chuckled, glancing at his friend. "Maybe, but I think I'll start with you."
They both laughed, but Annatar's mind lingered on the gift, the significance behind it. A dagger from Daeron wasn't just a weapon—it was a promise. A promise that Annatar would continue to grow, to become something greater than he could imagine.
Later that night, as the last of the celebration faded and the island was swallowed by darkness, Annatar slipped away, as he often did, to visit Silverwing. The bond between them had only deepened with time, and in the quiet stillness of the night, he found solace in her presence.
He gently stroked her silvery scales, her warmth a comfort against the chill of the evening air.
"I've never felt more alive," he whispered to her, feeling the quiet strength of their bond, one forged not in blood but in mutual trust. "I think I understand now. This is what it means to be free."
The great dragon purred, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. For Annatar, this was the only truth he needed in that moment.