Shadows of the Past

Shadows of the Past

It was a quiet, almost serene morning at Dragonstone. The salty air of the Narrow Sea swept through the ancient island, a constant reminder of its long, storied history. The day was crisp, and the sun bathed the land in a soft golden hue as Annatar woke in his chambers. He had turned 20 that day, and while he should have been celebrating with joy, his heart felt heavy, as it often did. The shadow of the past hung over him—of the choices he had made, the people he had left behind, and the responsibilities he was now learning to bear.

Aeron had insisted on a small feast to celebrate, but Annatar had little taste for lavish meals or the hollow gestures of celebration. Instead, after a brief time spent with his friend and mentor, he had decided to steal away to a quieter place—the cliffs near the Dragonstone keep, where Silverwing rested. It was a place he had come to over the past few years, seeking solace and clarity from the dragon who, in a way, understood him better than anyone else.

"Happy name day, Annatar," Aeron had said, clapping him on the shoulder, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "The years have passed, my friend. But the journey isn't over, is it?"

Annatar had smiled faintly, nodding, "No. It's only just beginning."

After the brief celebration, Annatar quietly slipped away, his cloak drawn tightly around his shoulders as he made his way to the cliffs. Silverwing was there, perched atop the rocky outcrop, her shimmering scales reflecting the sunlight like the ocean itself. Her amber eyes followed him as he approached, her powerful wings half-spread in a show of quiet, regal strength. The dragon seemed to sense his presence before he even reached her.

"Silverwing," Annatar murmured softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. He reached out to touch her flank, the warmth of her scales sending a reassuring tingle through his fingers.

The dragon let out a low rumble, a sound that Annatar had long come to understand as a sign of affection. He smiled, leaning against her side, his mind wandering as the ocean breeze swirled around them.

"What does the future hold for us, I wonder?" he said aloud to her, his voice full of both uncertainty and quiet resolve. "I've been thinking, Silverwing… perhaps it's time I leave Dragonstone. A squire can't stay forever, can he?"

Silverwing gave a small snort, her wings fluttering slightly as if to agree. Annatar couldn't help but laugh softly at the dragon's unspoken response. But deep down, he knew there were questions still left unanswered, things he needed to learn about himself, his bloodline, and the life ahead of him. His name day felt more like a passing moment than an event to be celebrated.

What he didn't realize, however, was that as he spoke to Silverwing, a shadow moved through the corridors of Dragonstone. Someone had been watching him. Someone who knew of his bond with the dragon—someone who had been waiting for the right moment to act.

The following day, Annatar's peaceful existence on Dragonstone was shattered.

He had spent the morning by Silverwing's side, not noticing the movement of cloaked figures around the keep. As he left the cliffs and made his way back to his chambers, the air felt heavy. His instincts, honed over the years of life at Dragonstone, told him something was amiss, but he shrugged it off, attributing it to the strange sense of foreboding that often followed his name day.

But as he entered the keep, a group of guards blocked his path. Annatar froze, sensing something was wrong. Before he could react, a strong pair of hands grabbed him, pulling him back toward the dungeons. He struggled against their grip, but the guards were too strong.

"What's going on?" Annatar demanded, his voice sharp with growing concern. "I haven't done anything!"

"You're to come with us, ser," one of the guards said, his voice cold and impassive. "Lord Seastone's orders."

Annatar's heart sank. Seastone—the steward of Dragonstone, a man who was loyal to the Targaryen cause but held little respect for the dragons themselves. And there, in his steely gaze, Annatar saw the same suspicion that had haunted him for years: the fear of the dragons.

The next thing Annatar knew, he was thrown into the dungeons of Dragonstone, the cold stone walls enclosing him like a tomb. The air was damp, the smell of salt and old stone suffocating.

It was hours before Aeron arrived.

He stood before the bars of the cell, his face a mixture of frustration and helplessness. "Annatar, what happened?" he asked quietly, his tone not quite accusing but filled with concern.

"They think I've done something wrong," Annatar replied bitterly. "But it's not true. They're afraid of Silverwing."

Aeron's eyes darkened. He had heard whispers around the keep—rumors of a bond between Annatar and the dragon, something that made the people of Dragonstone uneasy. There was always fear when it came to dragons, even among those who had lived alongside them for generations.

"Lord Seastone… he's the one behind this," Annatar continued, his voice tight with anger. "They've been watching me for a while now. Ever since I returned here, they've been suspicious."

Aeron sighed deeply, his broad shoulders slumping with the weight of the situation. "It's not that simple, Annatar. They're not just worried about you. They fear what Silverwing represents. A dragon's bond with a person—especially someone like you, with the blood of the Targaryens running through your veins—well, they won't ignore that."

"I never asked for any of this," Annatar muttered, looking away, his anger beginning to give way to frustration. "I never asked for Silverwing. I never asked for this damn legacy."

Aeron stepped closer to the bars, his voice soft but firm. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. But this—this is not something I can fix. Not with so many guards, not with the steward watching every move. You're going to be sent to King's Landing for questioning, Annatar. The king will want answers."

Annatar's eyes widened at the mention of King Viserys. His mind raced, thinking of the consequences. If they take me to King's Landing, it's over. The rumors, the questions—it will all come to a head.

Aeron reached through the bars, resting a hand on Annatar's shoulder. "I wish I could do more, I truly do. But there's nothing I can do. The guards are too many."

Annatar looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You've already helped me more than anyone else ever could, Aeron. I can't ask for more."

The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air.

Aeron sighed, turning to leave. "I'll speak to them. Maybe there's something I can do."

Annatar nodded, though he knew it was a slim hope. As the heavy footsteps of Aeron faded down the corridor, Annatar leaned against the cold stone wall, his thoughts a swirl of uncertainty.

King's Landing, he thought. What awaits me there?

The sound of the heavy iron doors creaking open broke the silence in the dungeon. Annatar looked up as a shadow moved across the cell. It was the steward of Dragonstone, Seastone himself, accompanied by a pair of guards.

"I trust you've had time to think," Seastone said coldly, his eyes piercing as they met Annatar's gaze.

"Think about what?" Annatar responded bitterly.

"About your bond with Silverwing," Seastone said, his tone unyielding. "The king will want answers. But first, you will be sent to King's Landing for questioning. And we'll see what becomes of you then."

Annatar stood tall, meeting the steward's gaze with defiance. "I'm not afraid of your questions, Seastone. And I will not be your pawn."

The steward said nothing, only nodding to his guards. They moved forward, and Annatar was led from the cell, his mind racing. As he was escorted out of Dragonstone, he glanced one last time at the cliffs where Silverwing waited, the dragon's amber eyes reflecting the sky.

The journey to King's Landing awaited him, and with it, a future that seemed increasingly uncertain.