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Chapter 20 (A Song of Happiness), Chapter 21 (A Song of Sorrow), Chapter 22 (Father and Son), Chapter 23 (The Brave Prince), Chapter 24 (The Mourning Dragons), Chapter 25 (Hightower), Chapter 26 (The Council of 101), Chapter 27 (Jaehaerys and Alysanne), Chapter 28 (A Last Talk), Chapter 29 (Set Your Wings Free), Chapter 30 (The Young Dragon), Chapter 31 (A Song for A Lady), Chapter 32 (The Calm Before), Chapter 33 (Lady Hightower), and Chapter 34 (The Storm) are already available for Patrons.

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Aenar Targaryen

"Stand behind, your grace," Ser Ryam commanded with unwavering confidence, positioning himself in front of Aenar with his sword held tightly in both hands. His armor, adorned in a striking yellow hue, shimmered brightly against the fiery sun, starkly contrasting the dark fur of the nine direwolves that had formed a cautious circle around them. Despite their menacing presence, the wolves remained eerily still, their piercing eyes locked onto the pair as if waiting for a signal to attack. Ser Ryam's heart pounded with anticipation, but he remained steadfast, keeping a watchful eye on each wolf, ready to defend his prince at a moment's notice.

As the young Prince Aenar strode forward with a determined gait, his heart pounded with excitement and anticipation. The soft patter of his footsteps echoed off the land as he passed his esteemed Kingsguard.

Aenar's purple eyes, deep and piercing, scanned the area until they landed on the largest direwolf of the pack, whose white fur glistened in the sun like freshly fallen snow. The beast was easily as large as a horse, its muscles rippling under its fur as it watched the man approaching it. Aenar's heart raced as his eyes met the wolf's red orbs, and a flood of memories from years past washed over him. Despite the many years that had passed, he recognized the wolf's eyes right away and knew that fate had brought him here for a reason.

Aenar felt his eyes burning with tears, his heart beating faster with happiness, a broad smile forming as he came face to face with his best friend.

Aenar's heart leaped into his mouth, and he rasped out, "G-Ghost!". But before he could think, his legs started moving on their own toward the wolf. Ghost started running towards him at full speed, its eyes still locked on Aenar's. The kingsguards, who were following Aenar, called out his name in horror, expecting the wolf to pounce on him and bite his face off. Even Laena and Rhaenyra, who were watching from a distance, cried out Aenar's name in fear. It was as if they all knew something terrible was about to happen, and they were powerless to stop it.

But instead of attacking, the direwolf stopped right in front of Aenar and started licking his face with its rough, wet tongue. Aenar's laughter echoed through the trees as the direwolf's tail wagged around in excitement, almost blurring with its movements. Ghost kept making circles around Aenar, letting out sounds of happiness as he continued to shower Aenar with affection. At that moment, Aenar felt a sense of joy and wonder that he had never experienced before.

As time passed, their grips began to ease, and their postures relaxed as they saw no signs of danger. The kingsguards shared a confused glance, unsure of what to make of this bizarre situation. They had never seen a direwolf behave in such a friendly manner before. As the wolf approached, Ser Ryam tensed, expecting it to attack the prince at any moment. But much to his surprise, the direwolf simply bounded up to the young prince, its tail wagging happily, and began to lick his face as if they were the oldest of friends.

Laena leaned in towards Rhaenyra, her voice barely above a whisper as she asked, "Did you know about this?" Rhaenyra's perplexed expression mirrored Laena's, and her eyes followed the direction of Laena's gaze towards Aenar, who was sitting on the ground with a wide grin, while Ghost, his beloved Direwolf, was showering him with affectionate licks.

Rhaenyra's confusion only deepened as she shook her head and replied, "No, I had no idea." Aenar had never mentioned anything about having a wild animal as a friend. It was a startling revelation, and both Laena and Rhaenyra couldn't help but stare in amazement at the unlikely duo.

Ryam stood still and looked around, feeling a sense of unease in his gut. With a furrowed brow, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off.

As he watched Prince Aenar from a distance, Ryam couldn't help but remember the way the prince carried himself. From the way he walked and talked to how he paid attention to everything happening around him, Prince Aenar didn't act like a typical four-name-day prince. At first, Ryam thought that maybe Aenar was just a prodigy, someone who was born with natural talent and skill.

However, Ryam's suspicion grew as he observed the way the prince handled his knife during practice. It was as if he was born with a dagger in his hand, and he wielded it with a level of precision and ease that was far beyond his years. Despite Ryam's attempts to dismiss his suspicions, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't quite right. He couldn't help but wonder what secrets Prince Aenar might be hiding.

Ser Ryam Redwyne, the most honorable knight of the kingdom, had always been a keen observer of people's faces and their expressions, and whenever he looked at Prince Aenar's face, he saw something that tugged at his heartstrings. The prince's eyes, though belonging to a little prince, were not those of a carefree child but rather were filled with a deep sense of loss and sorrow that seemed to have taken root in his soul.

These were the eyes of someone who had witnessed the horrors of war and had been scarred by it for life, haunted by the nightmares that refused to leave him alone even after all these years. Ser Ryam knew this look all too well, having seen it in the eyes of many soldiers who had lost their comrades on the battlefields. It was a look of pain and anguish that no words could ever express, and yet it spoke volumes about the price of war and the toll it took on those who fought it.

Despite his observations, Ser Ryam kept his thoughts to himself, knowing that it was not his place to judge the prince or his experiences. However, he couldn't help but feel that Prince Aenar was perhaps the strangest prince he had ever seen in his life, whose soul carried the weight of a thousand battles.

Aenar ran after his beloved companion, laughing uncontrollably as Ghost darted around, always just out of reach. Suddenly, Ghost stopped in his tracks and began to lick Aenar's face, causing him to burst into even more hysterical laughter. Eventually, Ghost stopped licking and looked up at Aenar with his big, toothy grin, his red eyes shining brightly in the fading light. Aenar couldn't help but chuckle as he reached out to pet the top of Ghost's head, admiring the contrast between his own purple eyes and Ghost's fiery gaze.

"I missed you, Ghost," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears of joy. As he wrapped his arms around the massive white direwolf, he couldn't help but notice that something was different this time. Ghost's fur was as soft and warm as ever, but he was taller now and towered over Aenar in a way that had never happened before.

Prince Aenar slowly pivoted to direct his gaze toward the rest of the assembly. With his back straight and his head held high, he met the bewildered expressions of the two prestigious kingsguards who had been assigned to protect him, their faces etched with utter confusion. However, the sight of Rhaenyra, who was cowering timidly behind the kingsguards, caught his attention. Just then, Laena stepped forward, her expression a mix of perplexity and anticipation as she sought to make sense of the unfolding events.

The direwolf was beautiful, with its shimmering fur and piercing red eyes that seemed to hold a certain intelligence. Laena, who had been quietly observing the wolf for a while, finally voiced the question that everyone else had been pondering in their minds: "Aenar, how do you know him?" She pointed at the direwolf, and Ser Ryam and Ser Harrold nodded in agreement, their curiosity piqued. They, too, were wondering how Aenar had developed such a close bond with this magnificent creature.

As Ghost stood next to Aenar, his towering height was immediately noticeable, causing the eyes of the kingsguards to shift upward to meet his gaze. His piercing red eyes darted around the snowy field, scanning the faces of those present with a hint of wariness. This sense of unease did not go unnoticed by Ser Ryam, who was quick to react by surreptitiously gripping the handle of his concealed dagger, ready to defend himself and the others should Ghost decide to attack. Despite the tense atmosphere, Ghost remained calm and composed.

Aenar stood there, feeling the weight of the question on his shoulders, as he opened his mouth to answer. However, before he could even utter a single word, he realized that he didn't have an answer at all. Panic set in as he struggled to come up with a plausible excuse, but his mind was blank. As he stood there in silence, he became acutely aware of the situation's awkwardness. His cheeks began to burn as he opened and closed his mouth several times, desperately searching for something to say. But no words came out, and he was left standing there in embarrassed silence, hoping that the ground would swallow him up.

As Aenar was about to speak, the atmosphere was suddenly disrupted by the sound of the dire wolves' paws pounding against the snowy ground as they frantically bolted toward the dense forest. Despite the commotion, Aenar couldn't help but notice the unusual behavior of the wolves; their tails hung low and their eyes wide with fear, as if they had encountered something truly terrifying. It was a peculiar sight that left Aenar feeling uneasy as he wondered what could have possibly frightened them.

They heard a rustling in the bushes. Suddenly, another direwolf emerged from the dense foliage. This new direwolf was larger than Ghost and towered over them, standing as tall as a fully grown horse. Aenar could feel Ghost's muscles tensing up as the new direwolf started approaching them, its eyes narrowed towards them with a fierce intensity.

As Aenar stood frozen, the direwolf approached with an air of undeniable confidence. Despite its size, the beast moved with lightning-fast speed, much faster than Ghost. Its fur was the color of ice, shimmering in the light of the sunlight, while its eyes, as dark as the night sky, shone with a fierce intelligence. As the direwolf drew closer, Aenar could hear the low rumble of its growl, a menacing sound that sent shivers down his spine. The beast's teeth, bared and sharp as Valyrian steel, glinted in the light as it advanced towards him, every step calculated and purposeful.

His heart raced as he instinctively reached for the pommel of his dagger, anticipating an attack. However, before he could even draw his weapon, Ghost positioned himself between Aenar and the other direwolf. The wolf growled fiercely at the approaching predator, sending a clear message to back off and stand down.

As the snow fell gently around them, the two direwolves stood facing each other with bared teeth, growling fiercely in a language only they could understand. The tension between them was palpable, and neither was willing to back down. The larger of the two, with a thick, shaggy coat and piercing black eyes, snarled at the smaller direwolf with a ferocity that suggested he was itching for a fight.

But Ghost was not one to cower in fear. He let out a low growl of his own, baring his own set of sharp teeth and meeting the other direwolf's gaze head-on. For a moment, the two stood frozen in place, their eyes locked. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, they both leaped forward, their feet digging into the snow as they prepared to tear each other to pieces.

Suddenly, a deafening roar pierced the serene atmosphere, causing the ground to tremble violently as if an earthquake had just occurred. Everyone looked up in alarm, and their eyes met the sight of Cannibal, lifting his head up high into the sky, letting out another thunderous roar towards the Direwold, his eyes blazing with fury. The sound echoed through the hills and valleys, sending chills down everyone's spine.

As Aenar stood still, he could feel the earth's vibrations beneath his feet as Cannibal made his way closer and closer toward them. With each step, the ground trembled, and small rocks were sent rolling as if no longer able to withstand the weight of the behemoth creature. As Cannibal approached, he spread his massive wings, the leathery appendages casting a shadow over the area like a dark cloud. At that moment, the other Direwolf quickly turned on his heels and began to sprint as fast as his legs could carry him toward the safety of the nearby forest, his heart pounding with fear. The sight of the dragon, with his scales glinting menacingly in the sunlight, was enough to make anyone tremble with terror.

Cannibal loomed over the fleeing Direwolf with a look of sheer rage etched on his scaly face. The dragon's piercing eyes glinted with an otherworldly light as if fueled by an inner fire. Suddenly, Cannibal unleashed a deafening roar that echoed through the forest, causing the very trees to tremble in fear.

His large mouth opened wide, and a sickly green flame began to build up at the bottom of his throat, licking hungrily at the air. It seemed as though the Direwolf's fate was sealed, and he would soon meet his fiery demise at the hands of the fearsome dragon.

But then, a voice cut through the air like a knife, piercing the dragon's wrathful reverie. "No! (Daor!)" Aenar shouted, his voice ringing out clearly and forcefully through the air. He ran towards Cannibal with all his might, his heart pounding in his chest. As he drew closer to the dragon, he could feel the heat of the green flames on his face.

To his surprise, however, Cannibal seemed to be taken aback by Aenar's sudden intervention. The dragon closed his mouth and turned to face the young prince, his eyes narrowing in confusion. For a moment, there was silence in the forest, broken only by the sound of Aenar's ragged breathing.

The direwolf ran towards the forest and disappeared, but not before growling towards Ghost and Aenar once again.

The dark, ominous clouds above seemed to mirror the mood of Cannibal as he glared at Aenar with a fierce, unyielding gaze. His jet-black scales, shimmering in the light of the day, made him appear even more intimidating than he already was.

Aenar, however, refused to back down, standing his ground even as the massive dragon moved closer toward him with each passing moment. Cannibal's large head, bigger than a house, loomed over Aenar, and the young Prince could feel the heat emanating from the dragon's nostrils as he breathed heavily with anger.

Despite the dragon's displeasure, Aenar remained resolute, knowing he couldn't allow Cannibal to kill the direwolf. With his heart pounding in his chest and his adrenaline pumping, Aenar held his ground, refusing to give in, as Cannibal continued to glare at him with his piercing, green eyes.

As Aenar stood there, gazing at the massive black dragon, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with fear. The dragon's eyes bore into him, and suddenly, a voice spoke in his head, causing him to startle and look around frantically. "You're the blood of the Dragon; you're a Dragon, not a Wolf. You should choose what you are," the voice said as if reading his thoughts. Aenar couldn't see anyone around him, but he knew that the voice was somehow connected to the dragon in front of him.

Cannibal let out a deep growl. The dragon seemed annoyed with him as if he was wasting his time. Aenar felt his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he thought it might burst out of his chest at any moment. Looking forward once again, Aenar locked eyes with Cannibal, who seemed to be sizing him up. The black dragon's scales glinted in the sunlight. Eventually, Cannibal returned back to the other Dragons, Vhagar growled at Cannibal, and Cannibal growled back, but they didn't start a fight. Instead, they kept glaring at one another.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him, causing his legs to tremble beneath him. His head spun, and the world around him seemed to tilt, the sky and ground rolling together in a dizzying blur. Just as he thought he would topple over, his knees buckled, and he fell onto the frozen ground. Just as he was about to hit the snowy ground, however, a strong hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, steadying him before he could fall any further. Looking up, Aenar saw the concerned face of Ser Ryam and felt a sense of relief wash over him.

As Ser Ryam lifted the young prince upwards in his arms, he couldn't help but exclaim, "Your grace!" The prince lay still, seemingly asleep, but Ryam's trained eye searched for any signs of injury or distress. His fears were quickly allayed as he examined the young boy more closely; his breathing was even, and his skin warm to the touch.

"Aenar! What happened to him?" Laena's voice echoed through the open field; her eyes focused on Aenar as she pushed past the towering white direwolf Ghost. Rhaenyra, hesitant to come near the massive creature, followed closely behind. Aenar lay in Ser Ryam's arms, his chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Ignoring the tension in the air, Laena approached the knight, her gaze never leaving Aenar's face. Ser Ryam quickly assessed the situation, placing a gentle finger under Aenar's chin to check his breathing. With a sigh of relief, he reassured the group that Aenar was indeed fine and simply sleeping.

As Laena approached the sleeping Prince Aenar, Ser Ryam offered reassuring words to calm her anxiety, "There's nothing to worry about, My Lady. He's sleeping." However, Ser Ryam's attention was momentarily diverted by the presence of the majestic white direwolf lying on the snowy ground nearby. Its piercing red eyes seemed to follow the knight's every move, causing him to feel slightly uneasy. He pondered over whether the direwolf posed a threat to the prince but ultimately concluded that it was unlikely to harm their young prince.

"We are riding back to Winterfell," With the wind howling and the snow falling in thick flurries around them. Suddenly, Ser Ryam's voice shattered the stillness, ringing out with a commanding tone that echoed across the open field. Ser Harrold sprang into action at once, moving quickly to prepare the horses for the ride ahead. The animals were already anxious from the presence of a fierce direwolf.

"What about the direwolf?" Rhaenyra questioned, her voice trembling with fear as she peered through the gaps between Ser Ryam's armor, her eyes fixed on Ghost, who seemed to be entirely absorbed in Aenar's presence. Rhaenyra had seen dragons, but since she was a child, she had been told and taught that eventually, she would have a Dragon of her own; for this reason, she wasn't afraid of them, but this Direwolf almost the size of a horse was something she had never seen and experienced before.

Ryam's voice was calm and collected as he uttered the words, "Ignore him," his tone dripping with a dismissive air as he cradled young Aenar in his strong, protective arms. Meanwhile, Ser Harrold kept a wary eye on the imposing Direwolf, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Despite the tension in the air, the group eventually managed to mount their sturdy horses and make their way across the treacherous, snow-covered terrain, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they disappeared into the distance.

With a fierce determination in his eyes, Ghost sprang into action and quickly started running after the horses, his powerful legs propelling him forward through the dense snow as he relentlessly pursued the horse carrying Ser Ryam, who was desperately clutching young Aenar in his arms. Despite the harsh winter winds howling through the air and the biting cold nipping at his fur, Ghost refused to give up, his unwavering loyalty to his master driving him forward toward the looming Gates of Winterfell.

The journey to Winterfell was long and arduous, and as they finally reached the gates of the North's ancestral home, the horses, exhausted and panting, slowed to a stop, their hooves leaving deep impressions in the freshly fallen snow. The guards stationed at the top of the gatehouse had been alerted to their arrival and stood ready to open the gates, their eyes scanning the approaching party for any signs of danger. Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the courtyard, and the guards' eyes widened in alarm as they caught sight of a massive white direwolf padding silently behind the horses. Without hesitation, the soldiers reached for their crossbows, fingers tightening around the triggers as they took aim at the fearsome beast.

"Stop!" Ryam bravely yelled out his command to the soldiers who were about to unleash their deadly crossbows on the magnificent white direwolf. The soldiers were startled by his sudden outburst, but they quickly obeyed his order to stop, lowering their weapons and turning in confusion to face Ser Ryam, waiting for him to explain why he told them to stop.

Ser Harrold stepped forward and spoke to his commander in a hushed tone. "Commander, with all due respect, this is a wild Direwolf. He's dangerous," he said, pointing at Ghost, who was standing beside Ser Ryam's horse with a serious look on his face.

Lady Laena's voice cut through the tense silence, causing all eyes to turn toward her. "He's Aenar's friend," she said, her tone firm and resolute. As she spoke, her gaze flickered towards Ghost, who stood nearby, his fur ruffled from the recent scuffle with the direwolf. Despite his disheveled appearance, the wolf looked content, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a canine grin.

Lady Laena continued speaking, her voice growing stronger with each word. "And he protected him from the bad direwolf," she said, her eyes flashing with conviction. Rhaenyra, who had been listening intently, nodded in agreement.

"Lady Laena's right. This direwolf had shown no hostility toward any of us, and don't forget how happy Prince Aenar was when he first met him. We are taking him inside," Ser Ryam's voice boomed, his tone brooking no opposition. "Lord Stark will know what to do." His words were met with an air of solemnity, the type that only came with the weight of responsibility.

Ser Harrold, who had been standing beside him, let out a deep, resigned sigh as he cast his gaze downwards, briefly acknowledging the gravity of the situation. After a moment of contemplation, he reluctantly nodded, conceding to the wisdom of Ser Ryam's words.

The group of guards, who had been standing by, exchanged glances with one another before proceeding to open the gate. As the metal hinges creaked and groaned, a thick blanket of snow cascaded off the gate, adding an eerie quality to the already tense atmosphere. Ser Ryam led the charge, galloping forward through the open gate with a sense of purpose and determination. His horse's hooves pounded against the hard-packed snow, leaving a trail of deep footprints in their wake as they made their way to the castle's inner keep.

As they made their way to the imposing Courtyard of Winterfell, the group were met with a mixture of reactions from the bustling servants and soldiers who had gathered there. Their eyes were drawn to the magnificent and mysterious creature that accompanied the group, Ghost, who commanded attention with his stark white fur and piercing red eyes.

Some onlookers gazed upon the wolf with a sense of fear, while others were filled with a sense of awe and wonder at the majestic creature. As Ser Ryam dismounted his horse, he still held the young Prince Aenar in his arms, his tiny form nestled securely against his chest. Despite the chaos of the courtyard, the young prince seemed to be in a deep and peaceful sleep, completely unaware of the commotion around him.

As Ser Ryam gently handed the horse's reins to the waiting squire, a solemn hush fell over the crowd of onlookers who had gathered around the scene. All eyes were fixed on the young Prince Aenar, who lay in Ser Ryam's arms, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Fearing the worst, whispers began circulating amongst the crowd, with many lamenting the tragic fate that had befallen the beloved young prince.

"A Maester. I need a Maester." The urgency in his cry was palpable, and the small crowd of servants quickly scattered in fear as he pushed his way through them. However, their fear was quickly replaced with terror as Ghost growled fiercely at the group. The servants backed away, some of the soldiers were shaking in their boots, and many others watched the massive animal warily.

As Ser Ryam crossed the threshold of Winterfell, he was immediately struck by the grandeur of the castle, its towering walls, and sprawling courtyards. Yet as he stood there, taking in the sight before him, a sense of unease crept into his mind. The castle was so vast, and he had no idea where to begin to find the Maester. Lost in thought, Ser Ryam was startled when a voice spoke up behind him. Turning around, he saw a Northern guard standing there, his weathered face fixed in a stern expression.

"Follow me, ser?" The guard said before walking forward.

Daemon Targaryen

"What happened to my Son?!" With his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes blazing with fury, Prince Daemon stormed into the King's Quarters and bellowed at Ser Ryam and Ser Harrold. The two knights hung their heads in shame, unable to meet the Prince's penetrating gaze, as Lyanna stood beside him, her own eyes flashing with anger. Aenar was peacefully sleeping in his bedchamber.

As Daemon strode through the heavy oak doors of his son's chamber, his heart heavy with worry, he was not surprised to see his daughter Rhaenyra and Lady Laena sitting beside Aenar's bed, their faces etched with concern. However, what he did not expect was the sight that greeted him as he drew closer to his son's bedside - a direwolf, almost as big as a horse, resting his head gently on Aenar's chest. For a moment, Daemon's hand instinctively went to his dagger, ready to defend his son against any perceived threat, but before he could act, Lyanna's gentle touch on his arm stopped him in his tracks. The wolf, sensing the tension in the air, raised its piercing red eyes to meet Daemon's, and with a low, rumbling growl, it bowed its head in submission as if to say, "Fear not, I am here to protect your son, not harm him."

As Daemon's keen eyes fixed upon the direwolf, a wave of relief washed over him when he realized that the creature posed no imminent danger to his beloved son. The maester's words had been a balm to his anxious heart, assuring him that the young boy would fully recover in due time. The waiting game was a torturous one, but Daemon found solace in knowing that his son was not afflicted by any sickness.

King Jaehaerys stood in his solar; his eyes narrowed with concern as he peered at the two knights standing before him. Ser Harrold and Ser Ryam, two of the most trusted knights in the realm, had been summoned to the King's presence, their faces etched with unease as they awaited his questioning. With a deep furrow in his brow, King Jaehaerys demanded answers, his voice echoing through the grand chamber

Prince Baelon's voice was stern as he spoke to his son, Daemon, who had an intense glare on his face. "Let them talk," he commanded, almost scolding the young prince for his impatience. Despite his initial reluctance, Daemon reluctantly stepped back, allowing the knights to have their say. As he moved away, Ser Ryam looked up at the king, but his eyes remained fixed on the ground near the king. The tension in the air was palpable, with everyone waiting to hear what the knights had to say, and the silence was only broken by the sound of their armor clattering against the stone floor.

"Your grace, Prince Aenar, Princess Rhaenyra, and Lady Laena were sneaking out. Ser Harrold and I decided to follow them, we told them to return inside, but Princess Rhaenyra insisted they wanted to see Cannibal from up close. We followed them behind-" Ser Ryam went on and explained the rest, how the white direwolf had stumbled upon them, how Prince Aenar seemed to know the white Direwolf, how another direwolf almost attacked them. Still, Cannibal had scared the other direwolf away, and how Aenar had lost consciousness after that.

As the tense silence filled the King's quarters, the air was thick with anticipation as everyone waited for King Jaehaerys to speak. Once they heard everything that was said, the King's face remained stoic and emotionless, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Slowly, he turned his gaze towards Daemon, his grandson, who appeared lost in deep contemplation.

The King's piercing voice broke the silence, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Daemon, did you know about this white direwolf?" His words were sharp and laced with accusation, leaving no room for doubt. It was clear that the King wanted an honest and straightforward answer, and he expected nothing less from his own blood.

Prince Daemon was lost in his own thoughts, his mind wandering aimlessly until the sound of his grandfather's voice pierced through the silence like a sharp sword. The King's voice was commanding and authoritative, and it seemed to have a magical effect on Daemon, who quickly snapped out of his reverie, his eyes turning toward his grandfather with deference and respect.

His gaze was fixed on the aging king. As he bowed his head respectfully, Prince Daemon spoke in a calm and measured tone, addressing the king with the utmost courtesy and politeness. "No, your grace," he said, "My son has mentioned nothing about a direwolf with white fur." His words were measured and precise, and his tone was one of deference and respect. The king nodded in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to Ser Ryam.

Daemon always believed his son told him everything, yet, this direwolf apparently knew his son somehow. This realization led him to question whether his son had kept secrets from them, but after a moment's reflection, he pushed the thought aside, knowing that his son was a good and trustworthy person who would not hide anything without good reason.

As the air hung heavy with tension in the dimly lit chamber, Lord Stark's piercing gaze locked onto Ser Ryam with an intensity that could make even the bravest knight tremble. Though the silence was palpable, it was suddenly shattered by the abrupt questioning of the lord, causing all those present to jump in surprise at the suddenness of his words.

His voice, slightly grave as he spoke, echoed off the walls, filling the space with an ominous quality. "You said this direwolf had white-blue fur and dark eyes?" Lord Stark's words were like a blade, cutting through the thick atmosphere with an unwavering forcefulness that left no room for doubt.

"Yes, my lord, you know of this direwolf?" As soon as Ser Ryam asked about the direwolf, the entire room turned to look at Lord Stark with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

As Lord Stark hesitantly answered "Yes" with a tone of reluctance, he released a deep, weary sigh that seemed to echo through the room. Daemon shot a sharp, piercing glare at the man; his curiosity piqued as he pondered why the man had kept whatever information he had hidden for so long. Meanwhile, Daemon's father took a step forward, his face devoid of any emotion, yet his son could sense the fury that was boiling within him. The silence enveloped the room was palpable, and the tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

"Why haven't we been informed of him?" As the words left Prince Baelon's lips, the room fell silent. His voice echoed through the chamber, demanding answers that had yet to be given. The tension in the air was palpable, and all eyes were on Lord Stark, awaiting his response. With a piercing gaze, Prince Baelon locked eyes with the stoic Lord Stark, searching for any hint of discomfort or unease. However, to his surprise, Lord Stark remained unfazed, his cool demeanor unwavering. His steadfast composure did not falter, even in the face of the prince's intense scrutiny.

"We call him Night, we believe he leads a huge pack of direwolves, and they only attack at night. The reason why we know him is that many of our hunters had reported getting attacked by this direwolf who usually would steal their prey. But Night attacks only at the hour of the wolf. I don't know why he would be hostile towards Prince Aenar. My hunters had tried to capture him, but that resulted in my hunters not returning back." Lord Stark explained with a hint of shame in his voice before looking at Prince Daemon.

As Lord Stark looked upon Daemon, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. "Prince Aenar is my grandson," he declared, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm really sorry for what happened." The direwolf incident had shaken him, but it was not just any ordinary direwolf - it was a symbol of the Stark family, and killing it would have been a grave mistake. Lord Stark knew all too well the tragic story of King Darron Stark, 'The Cursed One,' and how his fate was sealed after he killed a direwolf. The entire community knew the legend, and it was a widely accepted belief that any Stark who killed a direwolf was destined to be cursed. Lord Stark had no intention of bringing such a fate upon his family, hence his refusal to kill the direwolf. Despite the consequences that may have arisen from his actions, Lord Stark stood by his decision and did what he thought was best for everyone.

As Lord Stark bowed his head with remorse, King Jaehaerys spoke with a calm and collected tone, his words cutting through the tension in the room like a sharpened sword. "Lord Stark, you have naught to apologize for. My great-grandson was not harmed, but you should have informed us of this direwolf's existence." The King's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind already whirring with thoughts of retribution.

He knew that the direwolf had dared to growl at Prince Aenar, and for that, it must pay the ultimate price. Despite Lord Stark's protests, the King dismissed his apology with a wave of his hand, his old and wise voice carrying a sense of authority that left no room for argument. "I will have one of my dragons hunt down and kill this direwolf," he declared, his eyes flashing with determination. "It will learn that no beast, no matter how fierce, may threaten the safety of the royal family without facing the most dire consequences."

As Prince Daemon pondered the actions of Lord Stark, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disdain toward the man's foolishness. Nevertheless, he knew that if he ever caught a glimpse of the direwolf that had dared to growl at his son, he would not hesitate to unleash the full force of his wrath upon it, reducing it to nothing more than a pile of smoldering ashes.

Aenar Targaryen

' "How is this possible, Maester Aemon?" Jon's inquisitive voice trembled slightly as he posed the question to Maester Aemon, his mind reeling with the possibilities of what he had just witnessed. The old maester stood before him with a twinkle in his eye and a broad grin on his face, as though someone had just bestowed upon him the greatest gift in all the Seven Kingdoms. The two men stood together in the dimly lit chamber, surrounded by ancient tomes and dusty relics that bore witness to the long and storied history of the Night's Watch.

As Maester Aemon sat in his chair by the roaring fire, he looked over at Jon standing before him and spoke in a voice that was both kind and wise, "You're a Dragon, my dear boy. Only a few from my house were able to touch the flames and not get burned." Jon's eyes widened with wonder as he listened intently to the old man's words. Aemon continued, "The Targaryens were known for their connection to dragons, and it seems you have inherited this trait. It is a rare gift, one that should be nurtured and cherished." As Jon pondered these words, Aemon's toothless smile widened, revealing a lifetime of wisdom and knowledge. The fire crackled and popped behind him, casting flickering shadows on the chamber's walls.

Jon gasped upon hearing that; he had been on his way to bring the old maester a book, and Jon had wanted to read it to the old maester, but while reading, he had accidentally flipped over the candle, falling on his hand.

Maester Aemon had quickly asked if he got burned, but Jon explained that the fire never really bothered him. After saying that, the maester had requested if he could touch his face before telling him that his face was very similar to that of his brother a long time ago.

As Jon Snow pondered over the secrets of his father's past, he couldn't help but mutter to himself in bewilderment, "I don't understand. Why would my father sleep with a Valyrian woman?"

Despite his low voice, Maester Aemon, who was sitting beside him, caught the question and replied with a hushed tone, "Not your mother. Perhaps your father is the one with Valyrian blood." Jon's face twisted with confusion and shock as he tried to comprehend the implications of what the aged maester had just revealed.

.

.

""Dragons don't grow Trees, Snow. You seem to have not yet understood that; you might carry a different name now, and you might have a Dragon, but you're no different from the sad little boy I saw in Winterfell. You're no Dragon.""

.

Aenar had been in a deep slumber for what felt like an eternity. His eyes were closed tightly, and his breathing was shallow and slow. As he gradually became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed a weight on his chest, making breathing difficult. Struggling to open his eyes, the weight seemed to grow heavier, and his eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. But Aenar was determined to see what was causing this pressure on his chest.

With all his might, he forced his eyes open, and his gaze fell upon the sight that made his heart swell with joy. Ghost was resting his head on his chest; his eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Aenar's heart was filled with delight, knowing that his friend had returned to him. He couldn't help but break into a broad smile, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He had feared that it was all a dream, but seeing Ghost there, he knew it was real.

"Ghost," With a bright smile on his face, Aenar called out the direwolf who had been lying beside his bed. Ghost immediately lifted his head upon hearing Aenar's voice, and with a graceful movement, he moved away from the bed, leaving Aenar with more space. As Aenar looked around the room, he quickly noticed that Laena and Rhaenyra had fallen asleep on their respective chairs with their heads resting on his bed. Aenar couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort wash over him at the sight of his siblings sleeping soundly nearby. Taking a deep breath, Aenar slowly sat up, gently moving the thick fur blanket aside to make himself more comfortable.

"Nyra, Laena," Aenar called them, nudging their shoulders softly to wake them from their slumber. The two girls stirred, their eyes fluttering open, and Laena lifted her head up, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and looked up to see Aenar's face smiling at her. It took her a moment to register that he had woken them up, but as the fog of sleep began to clear.

As Laena's piercing cry of "Aenar!" echoed through the room, Rhaenyra's attention was immediately drawn to her friend's distressed state. Rhaenyra's long, lustrous silver locks were tangled and unkempt, evidence of the hours she had spent sleeping. In a sudden whirlwind of emotion, Laena lunged towards Aenar, enveloping him in a tight embrace as if he were her only lifeline.

"Aenar, Don't scare me like that!" she shouted with a mixture of sadness and anger, her heart pounding in her chest. But as soon as the words left her mouth, Rhaenyra couldn't help but pull both of them into a tight embrace, grateful to have them by her side once again. The three of them stood there momentarily, locked in a warm and comforting hug.

"I'm fine," Aenar reassured them, his voice filled with gratitude and warmth. His heart swelled with happiness as he felt their arms wrapped around him, their love and concern palpable in the embrace. "I'm sorry for making you worry," he apologized, his eyes brimming with tears of joy. The weight of worry and fear lifted off their shoulders as they pulled back, their smiles wide and bright.

"Aenar, what happened?" Laena questioned with haste; her eyes flickered at Ghost, who was lying on the floor, looking at the door as if waiting for someone to come in.

Rhaenyra's voice was laced with impatience and a hint of hurt as she stared at Aenar. Her finger pointed accusingly towards Ghost, the Direwolf, who lifted his head up in response. "How do you know this Direwolf?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing. "Why did you never tell us anything?" Her mind raced with questions, wondering why her trusted friend had kept such a secret from her.

As Aenar was about to respond to the questioning gaze of Rhaenyra and Laena, the sound of the wooden door creaking open interrupted him, and he turned his attention toward the room entrance. In walked his parents, their footsteps quick and urgent, their expressions etched with concern. Both of them heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing Aenar awake, and Lyanna rushed towards his bed, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. She leaned down and planted a soft, loving kiss on his cheek, her hands caressing his face gently. Meanwhile, Daemon, Aenar's father, closed the door behind him, his eyes darting towards the White Direwolf that stood nearby, still wary of him.

Lyanna leaned over her son Aenar's bed and gently whispered, "Are you feeling better?" Aenar quickly nodded. As Lyanna sighed with relief, Daemon, the stern and commanding figure in the room, turned his attention to Rhaenyra and Laena. With an authoritative tone, Daemon addressed the young ladies, "Lady Laena, Princess Rhaenys requires your presence in your chambers immediately. And Rhaenyra, Lady Aemma wishes you to join her in her chambers for a meal." Both girls, displeased with the interruption, pouted before reluctantly leaving the chamber. Despite their reluctance, they knew better than to disobey Daemon's orders, for his voice commanded respect and obedience.

As the thick wooden door creaked shut behind him, Daemon's attention shifted from the outside world to the cozy interior of his son's room, where Aenar sat nestled on the bed, his dark hair spilling over the pillows like a cascade of midnight waves. With a tender smile, Daemon leaned in to gently kiss his son's forehead, relishing in the moment's warmth as Aenar's cherubic cheeks dimpled with joy. Then, with a playful twinkle in his eye, he ruffled the boy's hair, eliciting a light-hearted chuckle that filled the room.

"Aenar, how do you know this direwolf?" As soon as Daemon's question left his lips, the atmosphere in the room shifted, becoming tenser and more serious. Aenar could feel the weight of his father's piercing gaze on him, and he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. He knew that Daemon's tone meant he wanted the truth and nothing but the truth. Aenar's mind raced as he tried to come up with a good excuse, but he couldn't think of anything that would satisfy Daemon's curiosity. Aenar opened and closed his mouth several times, trying desperately to find the right words. Finally, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

With a voice as careful as a tightrope walker crossing a chasm, Aenar began to recount his dreams to his father. "I have dreamed of Ghost, Father," he said, his words hanging in the air like mist on a cool morning. His father's face remained impassive, but Aenar could detect a flicker of interest in his eyes. "Sometimes in my dreams," he continued, "I dream as if I am him. I see the world through his eyes, feel the wind in my fur, and taste the blood on my tongue. It's as if we are one and the same, Father." Aenar paused, gauging his father's reaction. When he saw that Daemon was still listening intently, he added, "That's how I knew him." Aenar's words trailed off, and the two of them sat in silence for a moment. From the way his father looked at him, Aenar could tell that Daemon knew his son was purposely hiding something.

"You can Warg?" Lyanna asked with a hint of excitement, but more like stating the obvious, Daemon looked at his wife in confusion with a furrowed brow.

"What's Warging?" Daemom asked, slightly confused, he had read about Dragon Dreams, but he had never heard of Warging.

"A skinchanger is a person with the ability to enter the mind of an animal and control its actions. A skinchanger is able to enter the mind of a wolf or dog and is known as a warg. If Aenar can dream of this direwolf, that means they are bonded," Lyanna explained; she was always fascinated with Wargs.

Lyanna's mother used to tell her stories of Wargs during the Age of Heroes, especially the most powerful Warg that existed during the Age of Heroes, Artorias Stark, who was said that he was able to warg even an Other. It was said that his weapon was a longsword, big enough to cut down a rider along with the horse.

Daemon seemed pleased at what he was hearing; if Ghost and his son were truly bonded, that meant the direwolf could become Aenar's guardian, someone they could trust more than anyone else.

As he pondered this possibility, Daemon couldn't help but feel a tinge of uncertainty. He wanted to ensure that Aenar would be safe, and he turned to Aenar, hoping for reassurance. "Are you sure Ghost is not going to harm Aenar?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Ghost, who had been lying quietly at his feet, lifted his head up when he heard his name being called, his piercing red eyes meeting Daemon's gaze with a steadfast and loyal gaze as if to say, "You can trust me."

"Ghost would never harm me," Aenar said with absolute certainty; Daemon, who had been apprehensive about the giant white direwolf, finally came to terms with the fact that the beast was not a threat. His eyes darted back and forth from the majestic creature to his son before settling on the latter with an expression of trust and understanding.

What Lyanna didn't share with Daemon was that Aenar should have had some kind of connection with Ghost beforehand hand before warging him; She knew that Aenar had never set foot in the North before, and it seemed impossible that he could have formed any kind of connection with the direwolf beforehand. Despite her misgivings, Lyanna kept her thoughts to herself, not wanting to pressure her son into revealing any secrets he wasn't yet ready to share. Instead, she silently contemplated what Aenar might be hiding, her mind swirling with possibilities. Was there some hidden power within him that allowed him to connect with Ghost despite their lack of prior interaction? What is it that you're not telling us, Aenar? Lyanna thought with a hint of sadness.

The torches flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the dimly lit chamber, where Aenar lay on his back, lost in thought. The silence was broken by the sudden sound of Daemon's voice, "Aenar, we have good news to give you." Aenar's confusion was evident as he looked up at his father, wondering what it could possibly be. However, before he could ask, Daemon reached out and gently placed his hand on Lyanna's belly, which was now swollen with new life.

As Daemon gazed at his little boy, a sense of pride and excitement filled his heart. "You will be a Rōva Lēkia (Big brother,)" he declared, his voice laced with joy. He and Lyanna had been eagerly awaiting this moment, wondering how their son would react to the news. To their surprise, the young boy's face lit up like a star, a wide grin spreading across his face as he realized the magnitude of what his parents had just told him. Neither of them had expected such an enthusiastic response, but as they watched their son's eyes sparkle with happiness, they knew he was ready to take on the new role with gusto.

Aenar jumped from the bed with pure joy. "When will she be born?" he asked his mother, a huge grin on his face. Aenar knew that soon he would have a little brother or sister to play with, and the thought made him giddy with excitement.

Daemon, couldn't help but chuckle at his son's reaction. "She? How do you know it will be a girl?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice.

"I will be a big brother, I know," said Aenar confidently, his eyes shining with excitement as he looked up at his mother, Lyanna, who could not help but burst out laughing at his adorable enthusiasm. With a gentle hand, she reached out and ruffled his hair before kissing his cheek, her eyes filled with pride at her son's confidence. As she did, Aenar's attention was drawn to her slightly swollen belly, and he couldn't resist reaching out to give it a tender kiss, his heart already overflowing with love for the sibling he knew was on the way.

The sight before him was a vision of pure bliss as Daemon watched his little boy, with his sparkling eyes, giggling uncontrollably with Lyanna, his beloved wife. The sound of their laughter was like music to his ears, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with love and contentment at the sight of his family enjoying each other's company. At that moment, he knew that there was nothing in the world that could compare to the beauty of his wife and son sharing a moment of pure happiness.

But just like every beautiful thing, it could only last so long.

Tomorrow

As the first rays of sunlight kissed the horizon, Daemon eagerly broke his fast, his stomach grumbling with hunger. He had promised Aenar, Rhaenyra, and Laena that he would take them on a thrilling adventure to the Wall and back on the back of his mighty dragon. As they made their way to the dragon, Laena's eyes sparkled with excitement, her heart pounding with anticipation. She had been begging her parents for hours to let her join the adventure, and finally, they relented, granting her permission to ride with Daemon.

Daemon had restrained himself from laughing when Lord Corlys made a subtle threat towards him; what would happen if something were to happen to Laena, with Rhaenys glaring at Daemon, knowing he was enjoying this.

As Rhaenys stood there in the vast open field, surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of the North, she couldn't help but appreciate the chill in the air that made her feel so alive. She had taken her dark, luscious locks and carefully woven them into a stunning waterfall braid, the loose strands dancing wildly in the wind as gusts of snowflakes fluttered around her. In the distance, she could see the ominous clouds gathering, a sure sign that the snowstorm she had been expecting was imminent.

"Naught to worry, Lord Corlys. Your daughter is safe with me," Daemon promised with a sly smirk, enjoying the way Corlys was glaring at him. Corlys glared back at him, but Daemon remained unfazed and simply smiled in amusement.

Meanwhile, Rhaenys watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, rolling her eyes so far back that she wondered if they would ever come back down. She couldn't understand what Lyanna saw in Daemon, with his ego the size of The Wall and his tendency to make promises he couldn't keep. Despite all this, she knew that Lyanna was hopelessly in love with him, and she could only hope that he would eventually prove himself worthy of her affection.

As the snow fell silently from the sky, Caraxes descended gracefully from the clouds and landed beside his beloved rider. With a powerful flap of his wings, the dragon sent a gust of wind through the snow, scattering it in all directions. His colossal size was truly a sight to behold, and as he stood there, his warm body radiated a pleasant heat that caused the snow around him to slowly melt into droplets of water. The mist that rose from the melting snow swirled around his massive form, creating an otherworldly aura that made him seem even more magnificent.

"Stand close," Daemon warned his son, his voice filled with caution and a hint of excitement. Rhaenyra and Laena obediently moved closer, standing beside Aenar, their eyes filled with awe as they gazed upon the magnificent creature before them. Caraxes towered over them, his scales glimmering in the sunlight as Daemon approached him, his hand outstretched to caress the creature's nose.

As his fingers brushed against the dragon's rough skin, Caraxes let out a contented purr, his eyes closing in pleasure. Aenar watched in amazement as the dragon allowed Daemon's touch, and slowly, he too approached, his hand tentative as he reached out to stroke Caraxes's scales. The dragon showed no signs of hostility towards him, his eyes softening as Aenar's hand met his fiery red scales, their warmth pulsating beneath his fingers.

As Rhaenyra and Laena cautiously approached Caraxes, they noticed a sudden change in his demeanor - a low growl emanated from his throat, his large teeth were slowly revealed, and he exhaled a warm breath from his nostrils, clearly indicating his displeasure at their presence. However, the situation was quickly diffused by Daemon, who whispered some soothing words to the fiery beast, calming him down. Although Caraxes eventually settled down, the two girls could still feel the intense glare of the red dragon on them, his eyes seemingly piercing through their souls as if warning them.

With a swift and graceful motion, he hoisted himself onto the beast's back, feeling the warm scales beneath his fingertips and the powerful muscles rippling beneath him. As he settled into the saddle, he reached down to help his son up, feeling the small hand grasp his tightly. Aenar's eyes sparkled with wonder as he clambered up behind his father. With a gentle smile, Daemon turned to help Laena and Rhaenyra up as well, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him as they joined him and Aenar on the dragon's back. As they settled into place, Laena's arms wrapped around Aenar's waist, her head resting against his back.

"Hold Tight!" Daemon shouted with urgency in his booming voice. Suddenly, the sound of Caraxes echoed through the air as he spread his magnificent red wings, ready to take flight. The sun shone down upon his crimson scales, causing them to glisten and sparkle like precious gems.

Lord Corlys took a step back, unsure of what would happen next. Meanwhile, Rhaenys kept her eyes fixed on Cannibal, eagerly awaiting his next move. Suddenly, the black dragon stirred from his deep slumber, lifting his massive head up and letting out a deafening roar that echoed throughout the air. His piercing green eyes scanned the area before settling on Caraxes, who stood poised and ready for whatever came next. With a sudden burst of energy, Caraxes took several steps forward, his claws digging deep into the snow, before launching himself into the sky and soaring northward, his powerful wings beating against the frigid air.

Rhaenys gazed with deep concern as she watched, Cannibal takes off into the skies behind Caraxes. As they flew further and further north, Rhaenys felt her heart beating rapidly against her chest as if it would burst out any moment. Her mind raced with worry and fear as she knew that Cannibal was a formidable opponent if he ever became their opponent. Rhaenys took deep breaths to calm herself, she hated to admit it, but Meleys was no match against Cannibal.

Vhagar is the only one that can go toe to toe with Cannibal, Rhaenys thought, feeling a burst of fear in her heart.

Benjen Stark

With a gentle yet firm knock, he announced his presence at the wooden door, his hand confidently grasping the handle and twisting it open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the Maester's chamber. As he stepped inside, his senses were immediately filled with the musty aroma of old books and the faint sound of quills scratching against parchment. His eyes quickly darted towards the figure of old maester Morghon, who sat hunched over his desk. The maester's wrinkled face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight as he meticulously wrote something on a small piece of paper using a delicate feather quill. After a few moments, he finally finished his task and carefully rolled the paper into a scroll, sealing it with a blob of red wax.

Morghon is a diminutive man with a head full of thinning grey hair and gray eyes that always seemed to be lost in deep thought; he was draped in a robe of soft grey wool that flowed down to his ankles, its voluminous sleeves hiding an array of pockets sewn into them. These pockets were never empty, and whenever Morghon needed anything, he would simply reach into one of them, his hand moving with the ease of a skilled magician pulling out objects. His maester's collar, a simple choker of silver, rested snugly around his neck, and he had a habit of tugging at it when he felt uneasy or uncomfortable, which was quite rare. Despite his unassuming appearance, Morghon was a man of great knowledge and wisdom, and those who sought his counsel knew that his quiet demeanor belied a sharp intellect and a vast wealth of experience.

As the candlelight flickered in the dimly lit chamber, Benjen cleared his throat and deliberately stepped forward, catching the attention of the old maester, who was deeply engrossed in his studies. The ancient, wrinkled hand of Maester Morghon gripped the small scroll tightly as he turned to face the approaching nobleman. Benjen's voice was firm and confident as he spoke, "Maester Morghon, I need you to send this scroll to Highgarden." After a moment of thoughtful consideration, a warm smile spread across the wise maester's face, and he nodded in agreement, acknowledging the urgency of the matter.

"Of course, Lord Stark," replied the wise old maester Morghon in a voice that was both frail and full of experience. His presence in Winterfell had spanned almost four decades, during which he had played a vital role in the lives of the Starks. He had healed Lord Stark's father from a deadly sickness and had been the guiding hand that had helped Lady Stark and her mother give birth to each of their children. Through his tireless efforts, not a single Stark child had perished during childbirth. The maester's knowledge and skill were renowned throughout the land, and his dedication to the Starks had earned him a place of honor and respect within the walls of Winterfell.

In the dimly lit chamber, the Old Maester's wrinkled hand extended towards the letter Lord Stark had just handed over, his bony fingers closing around it with a rustle of parchment. As he did so, the raucous cries of several ravens echoed through the room, their beady eyes fixed on the cages that contained them. Lord Stark's mind drifted to the birds, wondering if perhaps they were hungry and in need of sustenance. Lost in thought, he barely noticed Maester's other hand reaching for a scroll that lay on the table beside him, its contents as yet unread.

"What's the second scroll for?" Benjen asked casually, pointing at the other scroll lying on the desk that the old maester had written.

With a tug of his silver chain, Maester Morghon approached Lord Stark, his weathered face creased with a small smile. "Lord Stark," he spoke in a measured tone, "your daughter, Lady Lyanna, came to me at first light today with news that will surely please you." Upon hearing this, Lord Stark's heart leaped with joy, and a broad grin spread across his face.

With a burst of happiness spreading like wildfire through his body, Benjen couldn't help but feel elated. The news that he was about to become a grandfather once again was something that he had been eagerly anticipating, and it filled him with a sense of pride and joy that he couldn't quite put into words.

As he left the Old Maester's chamber, he was practically skipping with delight, his heart overflowing with happiness at the thought of welcoming a new member to his family. "Thank you, Maester Morghon," he said, his voice filled with gratitude and appreciation as he closed the wooden door behind him. With a sense of purpose and determination, he quickly turned on his heels and headed out.

Shortly after, two ravens left Winterfell, one to Highgarden, one to Citadel.

Aenar Targaryen

As Aenar and Caraxes soared through the skies, they had already been flying for two hours, with the sun slowly sinking into the horizon. The view from above was simply breathtaking, as the entire landscape was bathed in a warm and fiery red glow.

The surrounding mountains and forests were cast in deep shadows, while the rivers and lakes shimmered like molten gold in the fading light. The Wall loomed ahead, an impenetrable barrier of ice and stone stretching as far as the eye could see. Caraxes beat his wings harder, and the outline of the Wall gradually grew more defined against the darkening sky.

Despite the growing darkness, Aenar could make out the details of the Wall more clearly with each passing moment. He could see the intricate carvings and engravings etched into the ice, depicting scenes of battles and heroes long since forgotten.

Aenar felt an intense rush of warmth radiating from the magnificent dragon that lay beneath him. Despite the fact that they were flying through the frigid and icy northern skies, neither Rhaenyra nor Laena felt the slightest chill as they were perched atop the mighty beast's powerful back. Suddenly, a strong gust of icy wind swept by them, causing their hair and clothing to whip around in chaotic disarray. Yet, Caraxes remained unfazed as he continued to flap his massive wings, ever-growing closer to the towering Wall of Ice that lay ahead.

With a thrilling sense of eagerness, "I hope we can see, Giants," Rhaenyra's voice rang out across the vast expanse of the sky as she gazed up at the towering wall before them, her eyes alight with the fervent hope that they would catch a glimpse of the Giants that were said to roam the land beyond.

As they drew ever closer to the wall, Caraxes beat his powerful wings, causing a gust of wind to whip through Aenar's hair as he clung tightly to his father's waist. But just as they were about to reach their destination, Caraxes suddenly veered off course, executing a sharp turn that left them hurtling through the air in the opposite direction. With a jolt, Aenar felt his grip tightening as he struggled to stay upright, his eyes frantically scanning the sky for any sign of danger that might have caused the dragon to change course so abruptly.

Rhaenyra, caught off guard by the sudden turn, almost lost her balance and was forced to cling tightly to the saddle to avoid falling. Laena, holding the reins of the dragon's saddle, looked extremely pale as Daemon tried to steady Caraxes and maintain control over the massive beast.

"Caraxes, naejot se dōros (Caraxes, to the wall)," Daemon ordered his dragon, guiding his dragon towards the Wall once again; However, the stubborn dragon had other ideas, as he veered off course once again, refusing to fly over or even land on the Wall. Daemon's frustration grew with each failed attempt, but he persisted, trying two more times to no avail. Finally, Caraxes gave up listening to his rider, spreading his wings and soaring away from the Wall.

Aenar watched as Caraxes flew away from the wall. The sunlight glinted on his scales, giving them a fiery glow, as he landed on the snowy ground, creating a gust of wind that sent sparkles of snow flying through the air.

"Caraxes!" Daemon called out, concerned once they landed, but the red dragon didn't respond; he almost seemed afraid to be even near the Wall as he was looking away from Daemon.

"What is happening with Caraxes?" Rhaenyra questioned, her tone laced with concern as she walked up to Aenar, the air tense with anticipation. Her eyes were fixed on the dragon, its scales glistening in the sunlight. As she approached, she could see that Daemon was already there, his hand gently caressing the dragon's head as he murmured softly to him, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Laena's gaze wandered over the towering Wall of Ice behind her before she shifted her focus to Rhaenyra, the intense cold seeping through her bones and causing her to shiver involuntarily. "I don't know what's beyond the Wall, but I'm suddenly very happy to know it's still there," Laena said. Standing beside her, Aenar sensed her discomfort and quickly wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and offering a reassuring source of warmth in the frigid air.

Night

As they returned from their little journey to the Wall, Aenar felt a sense of anticipation building within him. He knew that the wedding was fast approaching. Aenar took great care in selecting his best clothes for the event, as did his parents, who were equally excited to witness the union of two souls under the watchful gaze of the Weirwood Tree in God's Wood.

As they arrived at the sacred location. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, and almost every face he saw was filled with joy and happiness. The snowflakes falling from the night sky only added to the moment's magic. And then, as if on cue, a snowflake fell from the sky and landed on the tip of Aenar's nose.

As Aenar stood there, watching the wedding ceremony unfold before him, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness and nostalgia wash over him. He gulped audibly, trying to force the tears away that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy from holding back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. As he looked around, everything about this wedding reminded him of his own wedding day many years ago. The way the flowers were arranged, the music that filled the air, and the joyous atmosphere that surrounded them - it was all too familiar. His wedding to... To... Daenerys and Rhaenys.

As Aenar closed his eyes, he felt the familiar pang of longing for the people he had left behind. He tried to remember what they looked like, to recall the sound of their laughter and the warmth of their embraces, but the memories seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. Yet, he persisted, determined to hold onto these precious moments from his past.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Aenar managed to conjure up their faces in his mind's eye. He saw the crinkles around their eyes when they smiled, the way their noses wrinkled when they laughed, and the gentle curve of their lips when they spoke.

But even as he held onto these memories, they felt like a distant dream, something he had once known but had long since forgotten. As time passed, Aenar found it harder and harder to remember them. The details of their faces blurred together, and the sound of their voices faded into the background.

As the sun began to set over God's Wood, the air was filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation. The entire realm had gathered to witness the union of two of the most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms - the Targaryens and the Starks.

Finally, the moment arrived. Princess Gael Targaryen, dressed in a beautiful white gown with fiery hair cascading down her back, walked down the aisle towards Rickon Stark, who was waiting for her under the ancient oak tree.

As they stood before each other, everyone in attendance held their breath in anticipation of what was to come next. And then it happened. Princess Gael leaned in and kissed Rickon, sealing their marriage once and for all. Everyone in God's Wood erupted into thunderous applause, their joy and happiness palpable in the air. Aenar couldn't help but shed a few tears of happiness for his beloved aunt.

Baelon, standing alone, watched his little sister, who had a bright smile on her face. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memories that threatened to overwhelm him, but a tear rolled down his cheek, betraying his pain. With a heavy heart, Baelon reached out to grasp Alyssa's hand, but his hand met with nothing but empty air. He remembered that she was no longer with him, and the realization hit him hard. He was alone, with nothing but memories to keep him company.

.

The atmosphere was lively and festive at the grand feast of the Weeding, which was no different from any other celebratory event in the kingdom, with an abundance of delicious food, lively music, and flamboyant costumes. However, as the night wore on, the guests eagerly anticipated the customary bedding ceremony, in which the newlyweds were escorted to their chambers to consummate their marriage. To the dismay of the northern lords and many ladies, King Jaehaerys abruptly announced that there would be no such ceremony, leaving them bewildered and disappointed. Rhaenyra, who was unfamiliar with the custom, looked on with confusion as Aenar could sense the disappointment etched on the faces of many nobles.

Tomorrow

As the first rays of the morning sun illuminated the vast expanse of the main courtyard of Winterfell, every soldier had gathered from House Targaryen, including the entire royal family. House Velayron had prepared for their journey back South.

In the early hours of a frosty winter morning, a diligent squire was seen bustling about, preparing a majestic pony for the esteemed Prince Aenar. With unwavering focus, he meticulously polished the saddle to a shine, ensuring every crevice was spick and span and every strap was firmly in place.

Meanwhile, a group of dedicated servants were bent over, scrubbing and brushing the prince's boots, determined to get them spotless and gleaming. As the squire finished his task and stepped back to admire his handiwork, Prince Aenar emerged from his chamber, fully dressed and ready to set out on his hunt. He donned his freshly cleaned boots and made his way through the snow, carefully treading through the one-foot-deep powder until he arrived at his waiting pony. His father was already atop his own dark horse, waiting patiently for his son to join him.

Aenar stood before his dear friend Laena with a heavy heart. With a sad smile on his face, he pulled her close into a tight embrace, feeling her warmth against his chest as he whispered softly, "Laena, I will miss you." Meanwhile, Rhaenyra stood a few feet away with tears streaming down her face, unable to hold back the flood of emotions that overwhelmed her. She had grown close to Laena during their time together, and the thought of saying goodbye was almost unbearable.

"Soon. I will have my own dragon, Aenar. Mine will be bigger than yours," Laena boasted with a confident smile; both Rhaenyra and Aenar burst out laughing. Ghost was standing near Aenar, almost like a guard, as was Ser Ryam, who, at this point, was used to the direwolf's presence.

Ser Ryam reached out and gave Ghost a piece of steak; the direwolf ate it quickly before licking Ser Ryam's hand while looking at Aenar as if to say. "He's a better owner than you," Aenar rolled his eyes playfully.

"Aenar, Nyra!" The young Prince and Princess turned around when they heard the familiar voice face their aunt, approaching slowly towards them with a bright smile.

"Aunt!" The faces lit up with joy and excitement, and without wasting any time, they ran towards her, their arms outstretched, ready to embrace her in a tight hug. Lady Gael welcomed them with open arms, wrapping them in a warm embrace, showering them with kisses on their foreheads, and caressing their hair fondly.

Gael felt a pang of sadness in her heart as she held her beloved nephew and niece in a tight embrace, trying hard to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. "I will miss you, my little dragons," she whispered softly, her voice choked with emotion.

Nyra, her little niece, gazed up at her with tear-filled eyes, her small hands clutching tightly onto Gael's dress. "We will see you again, right?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Gael felt her heart swell with love for the little girl. She smiled gently, trying to reassure Nyra that they would, indeed, meet again.

"Of course, my sweetheart," Garl promised, kissing her little niece's cheek; her attention turned to her nephew; Gael smiled slyly, kissing his cheek, much to his embarrassment. As Gael pulled away from the embrace, she felt a sense of longing and sadness wash over her. She knew that she would miss the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hugs, and the joy that they brought to her life. But she also knew that she had to let them go and trust that they would be safe and happy.

Queen Alysanne said farewell to her daughter, as did King Jaehaerys, who wished her a long, happy life. Gael kissed both of her parents; some soldiers said that King Jaehaerys shed a few tears.

With a practiced ease, Aenar approached his own mount, a sturdy pony he had trained himself, and prepared to mount it. He placed his left foot in the stirrup, testing its strength before pushing himself upwards with a burst of energy. His hand reached for the saddle pommel, which he grabbed tightly as he swung his right leg over the horse's back. With a sense of pride and accomplishment, Aenar settled himself into the saddle and looked out at the sprawling countryside.

Aenar spurred his pony forward, eager to be by his father's side as they waited for the massive double gates of Winterfell to open. The chill of the northern air bit at his cheeks as he rode, his eyes fixed on the towering gate ahead. As they drew closer, a soldier's voice rang out, shouting for the gates to be opened. Aenar could see the guards in the tower above, their hands gripping the massive wheel that would set the gates in motion, creaking and groaning as they began to turn. The gates themselves were a sight to behold, fashioned from ironwood and metal, as they slowly began to part, revealing the path ahead.

As the gate creaked open, a cascade of snowflakes tumbled down from its rusted bars, creating a sparkling mist that illuminated the view ahead. The piercing sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the land.

As they rode through the gate, Aenar couldn't help but feel Dread, as if something terrible would happen soon.

North Arc Completed

Let me know in the comments what you think about the Chapter. I hope you have a Wonderful Day.